Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

‘Well we’re not his social workers, we’re his parents.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Keith, I know that. I was just making a point about dealing with stress and young people. Why are you being so difficult?’

She sips at the coffee, then screws up her face in disgust.

‘Do you need more milk?’

‘I don’t think anything is going to help with this stuff. It must have been sitting there for days.’

‘What do you expect from KFC?’ He pushes his coffee away. ‘Are you sure they’re not going to charge him?’

‘That’s what the young man on the desk told me. It appears that two boys have confessed to stabbing the lad, but Laurie is some kind of friend of theirs.’ She pauses. ‘Anyhow, he told me that he didn’t do anything, and I believe him, but he simply shouldn’t be hanging around with hooligans like that.’

Annabelle takes a sip of her coffee, and then she opens another sachet of sugar and slowly stirs it into the drink with a wooden stirrer.

‘Look, Keith, I don’t know what else to do with Laurie. Except, I was thinking, what about going on holiday with him?’

‘Who? You and him?’

‘No, the three of us. We could maybe take him somewhere over Christmas and try to show him something else.’

‘You mean that we care for him?’ He pauses. ‘Annabelle, there’s no need to look at me like that. You’re the one who keeps implying that since we split up he seems to have got lost somewhere between the two of us.’

‘Look, all I’m saying is that we should consider taking a break together, but if you don’t want to then that’s fine. If Mummy wasn’t so out of it I’d have probably suggested that she join the two of us on a skiing holiday or something, but that’s no longer an option so I’m trying to be sensible. I’m trying to include you, Keith.’

‘What about Bruce?’

‘That’s pretty much over.’ She pauses. ‘Are you happy?’

‘It’s none of my business.’

‘I don’t care what you say, he’s a nice guy. But I’ve got other priorities, as should you.’ Again she pauses. ‘Our son, Keith.’

‘Don’t patronise me, Annabelle.’

‘Well pay attention.’

‘Listen, we’re both tired. Can we talk about this in the morning? Right now let’s just go back to the station and get Laurie. This coffee stinks and I’d like to be there when they let him out.’

They step out of the KFC, and into the eerily quiet street. Right outside the twenty-four-hour kebab shop, he notices a badly parked top-of-the-line Mercedes which strikes him as strangely incongruous. As they pass by he can see that the alarm is primed, for an energetic sequence of flashing red and amber lights illuminates a monitor on the dashboard. Annabelle’s phone begins to ring and she dives quickly into her handbag and retrieves it. He watches as she listens and nods her head, and then she flips the phone shut.

‘Apparently he’s ready to go home now.’

‘Was that the officer on the desk?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, the lawyer. He says there are no charges, but he’ll wait until we’re there to explain more fully.’

‘Jesus, that’s big of him.’

‘Keith, do me a favour and try to go easy on Laurie. He was scared when I saw him earlier. He’s not as tough as he makes out. In fact, he’s still a boy in lots of ways.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying he’s not you, Keith. We didn’t bring him up like you were brought up, remember? No white working-class estate and National Front kids on every other street corner. In fact, sometimes I don’t think he’s very streetwise at all.’ Annabelle looks closely at him, and then she opens her arms wide. ‘All right, I admit it. I can be a bit of a wimp. In this sense he’s my son, I get it.’

He nods, and then notices the light on her face. She is standing directly beneath a lamppost.

‘The truth is, I just don’t want you to forget that he’s my son, too, warts and all, and that makes him softer, okay?’

He lies in his own bed for the first time in three days and he thinks of Annabelle standing beneath the lamppost. She is still a beautiful woman, even though her black hair is now totally grey, and the veins on her neck and on the backs of her hands seem to be much more prominent than in the past. As far as he is concerned, Annabelle still looks like the posh teenager he met all those years ago on that night at the theatre. Serene, composed, and long before she leaned over and began to speak he had an idea of exactly what she would sound like.

When he and Annabelle reached the police station, Laurie was clearly surprised to see his father with his mother.

‘You all right?’

Laurie looked at his father and nodded in response to the question.

‘You must be knackered.’

Again his son nodded, and then Annabelle hugged Laurie tightly. He turned to the young officer on duty.

‘We can go now, right?’

‘Yeah, you can take him away. Your lawyer had to dash off. He says to call him in the morning.’

He stared at the officer, and wanted to say something in response, but for the sake of his son he decided to leave in silence.

Annabelle opened the passenger door and let Laurie climb into the front seat. She shut the door after him and then turned to face her former husband.

‘I can give you a ride home, if you like.’

‘Don’t worry, but thanks. I’ll have no problem walking it.’

‘Are you sure?’ He nodded then lifted his sports bag up and on to his shoulder. ‘So, what time can you come by tomorrow?’

‘You mean to talk to him again?’

‘Keep your voice down.’ Annabelle glanced quickly at Laurie, who was slumped in the passenger seat. ‘I don’t know what else to suggest, Keith. I’m going to have a sit down with him in the morning, but he really needs to hear it from you. And I don’t mean going to football or to the cinema. I mean really sitting down and talking to him.’

She turned from him and looked again at their son, who had tilted back the front seat and balled up his jumper into a temporary pillow.

‘Maybe take him to your flat.’ She paused. ‘It’s only a suggestion, but we have to do something to keep him in our sphere.’

‘“In our sphere?” What kind of talk is that? He’s not an orbiting planet, you know. He’s our son.’

‘Keith, I’m too tired to play semantic games with you. You know what I mean. He maybe needs to spend some time with you. Maybe he needs to stay with you for a while.’

‘Of course I’ll talk to him.’ He paused. ‘I’ll come over in the morning, but it won’t be early.’

‘Look, I should get him back home.’

Annabelle smiled quickly, and then she turned and climbed into the hatchback. The sound of the door slamming echoed ominously, and then lingered. He watched the lights snap on and then he heard the engine sputter to life. Only after she had pulled away, and passed out of sight, did he turn and begin to walk slowly through the gloomily silent streets of west London. As he crossed Uxbridge Road he saw a young couple on the other side of the street that, judging by the way they were laughing and looking at each other, had clearly just made love. They were still naked although they were now fully dressed. He tried to look inconspicuous, but then it occurred to him that they hadn’t even seen him. He moved his bag from one shoulder to the other and tried to stay out of the early winter gusts as he ducked his head and pressed on towards Wilton Road.

HE SLEEPS LATE, but it is the sound of somebody practically leaning against his doorbell that finally wakes him up. He rubs his eyes and then throws back the covers. Who the hell could it be at this hour? People don’t just drop by unannounced. Well certainly not to his place. When he lived with Annabelle the postman would occasionally call with boxes of manuscripts for her to read, but even he seemed to understand that it was best just to leave things on the doorstep. Stretching out a hand, he picks up the alarm clock, and he is surprised to see that it is now nearly twelve noon. He pulls on his T-shirt and his boxers, before opening the bedroom door and passing into the living room. He crosses the room and looks out, but unless he actually opens the window and leans forward it is impossible to see who is at the door. The sound of the doorbell is still ringing in his ears, and so he drowsily grabs a pair of tracksuit bottoms and then steps into his training shoes without bothering to undo the laces. He lumbers down the stairs and opens the front door, and he immediately recognises the man standing before him as Danuta’s friend, Rolf, but it is difficult to know if the agitated individual is frightened, or slightly crazed. His hair is ruffled and matted, as though he has not slept in days, and his thin khaki anorak is clearly inadequate on such a bitterly cold day.