Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

‘Annabelle, I’m hearing you, and I am concerned about him, but I’ve got a lot going on, okay? And, to be honest, you know what I think about Mr Hughes and that school. Most of the kids there learn by downloading information from Wikipedia and all the teachers do is just help them to organise the facts that they’ve gathered. Don’t you remember when he was doing his GCSEs, and the Religious Studies teacher showed them Spiderman because it was about “making choices”, and then The Nutty Professor because it was about “prejudice”. I mean, what chance do the kids stand if their headmaster lets teachers get away with lazy crap like that? Hughes is full of it.’

‘But it doesn’t matter what Mr Hughes says, it’s me Annabelle who’s telling you that Laurie is in with a bad set. I’m sorry, but those kids that he fraternises with are just not our type of people, and I don’t mean anything by it but I can’t put it any simpler than that.’

He looks closely at her and begins to shake his head.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘I’m serious about my son and his welfare, and to my mind that’s all that matters. I’m sorry, but I wish I sensed that you feel the same way. I know you’ve got a lot going on, but I don’t think that I can deal with his attitude by myself for much longer.’

He stares at her and swallows deeply. Then he silently counts to five. Are these really her opinions? ‘Our type of people’? He hasn’t seen or heard of Bruce in a while, but he assumes that the film editor is still in the picture.

‘I’ll come back later for Laurie. Just tell him to be ready, okay?’

As he climbs from the stool and turns to leave, he can feel her eyes upon him. He knows that she will say nothing further. She has said enough.

Laurie looks bored as the London Eye first hoists, then spins them skyward with its slow circular movement. His son stares down at the pod beneath them where a group of city businessmen are tucking into crustless sandwiches and champagne that is being served to them from a large hamper by two pretty young women in white aprons. Apparently, his son seems to think that the corporate outing is more fascinating than observing the tight switchback patterns of the River Thames, or looking out at the vast panoramic sprawl that is south London. However, now that they near the top, Laurie finally deigns to look interested in the view and he points to the newly refurbished Wembley Stadium in the north.

‘Check it out, Dad. You can almost see right into it.’

It does look impressive, particularly the high graceful arch which rises over the whole arena, but he wants to talk with his son about things other than sport. He points east towards the mouth of the Thames.

‘You know, if you look over there you can get a really good idea of how London developed as a great port city.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, fifty years ago, on either bank of the river there was nothing but docks and warehouses, and this river would have been filled with ships from all over the world. Cities have to make money in order to survive and grow, and London made its money out of shipping. That was its business.’

Laurie shrugs his shoulders. ‘Well, the business is all mashed up now, right?’

‘Well, there’s no shipping industry, as such, but there’s still business. Banking, insurance, high technology. I mean, London’s business infrastructure is pretty diversified these days.’

Laurie seems unconvinced and he shakes his head. ‘There ain’t no business. I know plenty of people who can’t get a job doing anything.’

‘Maybe they don’t want a job.’

‘Or maybe somebody doesn’t want to give them a job. It’s not always as simple as it looks.’

‘Is this your way of telling me that you still don’t know what kind of career you want?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Nothing, I suppose. But have you thought any further about what you might do after you finish at university?’

‘I’ve got to get in first.’

‘Are you worried about your exams?’

‘No, I’m not worried. Are you? Anyhow, it’s only November and I haven’t even done my mocks yet. The real thing’s not for another six months.’

‘I remember.’ He pauses. ‘I did them too, although it was a while ago.’

Laurie sucks his teeth. ‘You’re telling me.’ His son turns away from him and from the expanse of the river to the east, and re-focuses his attention on Wembley Stadium.

He looks to the west, where the sudden bend of the river creates the illusion that Battersea Power Station is floating on the water. A camera flashes and he realises that their photograph has been taken, and then a voice on the speaker system announces that at the end of the ‘flight’ they will be able to purchase a souvenir snapshot. He looks again at Laurie, whose eyes remain firmly fixed on the football stadium to the north, and he resists the urge to continue his history lecture, which is of course a veiled attempt to persuade Laurie that this is his city too. And then it occurs to him that it’s possible that his son already knows this, and that there is no reason for him to acquaint Laurie with what he already possesses. His son is probably quite at home with the Tower of London and the Palace of Westminster and Waterloo station and St Paul’s Cathedral, all of which are clearly visible from this vantage point. In fact, Laurie is most likely circling in the London Eye wondering why his old man is banging on like some demented tour guide about his city, the city of his birth. He looks again at his son, whose deep brown eyes remind him of Annabelle’s, and he wants to give the boy a reassuring hug, but he knows better than to spoil the moment. He is also, if truth be told, unsure as to which one of them is in need of reassurance.

Earlier in the afternoon, when he returned to Annabelle’s house, a sheepish-looking Laurie was already sitting downstairs and waiting for him. His son glanced up and muttered ‘What’s up?’ but when he asked the sprawling boy what he wanted to do for the afternoon, Laurie shrugged his shoulders and avoided taking any decision-making responsibility. He suggested to Laurie that it might be relaxing for them to go into central London and walk by the river, and so the pair of them ambled silently to the end of the street where he flagged down a taxi. He thought about saving some money and taking the tube, but Laurie seemed impatient and he had no desire to waste time ambling to and from train stations with a reluctant son. The taxi had only just pulled away from the kerb when Laurie stopped fiddling with his seat belt and began to mumble an apology for not having shown up at the football.

‘We got into some bother at school, but it was nothing. Some guys jumped us and there was a bit of a ruck.’

‘I thought it was shoplifting.’

‘The guy who runs the mini-mart near the school complained about us to the head. He said we’d been nicking stuff, but that wasn’t the main thing. Mr Hughes wanted to talk to us about the fighting, but it was nothing.’

‘What do you mean it was nothing? Why didn’t you just walk away?’

‘Walk away? Look Dad, you can’t walk away if somebody jumps you. It’s too late. It’s all over, right?’

‘So this was nothing to do with shoplifting?’

‘Like I said, the guy from the mini-mart made a complaint but Mr Hughes would have suspended us if we’d been shoplifting. He was more concerned about the ruck.’

‘Did the other gang hurt you?’

‘What do you mean “other gang”? I’m not in a gang.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I’ve just got a few bruises and stuff, but it was handbags.’

‘Handbags?’