Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

Laurie turns and looks at his father. ‘It doesn’t work like that. They’re in a posse and soldiers look out for each other. At least I took the blade so they’re not vex with me.’

‘Son, tell me the truth. Is she in danger, because if so we ought to do something about it.’ He pauses. ‘Well? The only way out of this is to just tell the truth.’

‘I’ve told everybody the truth. You, the stupid police, the lawyer. What else do you want from me?’ Laurie turns from his father and looks down at his designer training shoes. ‘I wish I’d never met the two of them.’

‘Did the police abuse you in any way?’

Laurie looks up at his father. ‘What?’

‘I’m talking about racial abuse. Did the interviewing officer verbally abuse you in any way?’

‘What are you on? The copper who interviewed me was black.’

Laurie looks across at Annabelle, who throws him a quick, sympathetic smile.

‘Can I go up to my room now?’

‘Laurie, are these boys actually bullying you?’ He pauses. ‘If so, this is something that you can’t deal with by yourself, do you understand?’ Laurie continues to ignore him. ‘I’ll ask you one more time.’

‘They’ve got some issues with me, I think, but it’s over now, okay?’

‘So where have you been? With Chantelle?’ Laurie turns to face him. ‘Well, have you been at her place?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t say “what?” Your mother and I didn’t bring you up to be so rude.’

‘Okay then, pardon.’

‘Well, is she all right?’

Annabelle leans forward. ‘We just want to make sure that you’re both coping.’

‘Look, it’s got nothing to do with either of you, right? I shouldn’t have taken the blade and it’s a bit of a mess. But it’s sorted. You’re treating it like it’s some big tragedy. Can I go to my room now?’

Annabelle sighs, and again she touches her son’s shoulder. ‘Look, Laurie, it is something to do with us.’

‘Leave it, Annabelle. If that’s how he wants to play it.’

‘Look, Laurie, your father and I have been talking. Would you like to spend some time with him?’

‘What do you mean? I already spend time with him.’

‘You tell him, Keith.’

‘Shouldn’t we talk about this a bit more?’

Annabelle holds up her hands in exasperation. ‘When?’ She pauses. ‘Well?’

He turns to face his son. ‘What your mother means is that maybe you could come and stay with me at the flat for a week or two. So we can talk and just figure out what’s what.’ Laurie looks blankly at him. ‘You don’t have to decide now. How about if I come back this evening and we go out for dinner?’

‘Tonight?’

‘Well yes, unless you’ve got some other plans.’

‘I don’t really want to go out tonight.’

‘Well we can always stay in and talk. Or do you want to think about everything for a day or two?’ Laurie looks him in the eyes and slowly nods. ‘Okay then, we can leave it just now.’

Laurie gets to his feet. ‘Can I go now?’

Annabelle smiles. ‘Of course you can. I’ll give you a shout later when I’ve made something to eat.’

They both watch as Laurie leaves the kitchen, and then they listen as their son trudges his way up the stairs. He finishes his bottle of beer and then climbs to his feet. He doesn’t want a war with Annabelle or his son, but something has gone wrong.

‘Look, I should probably leave you to get on with things.’

‘Do you think we should tell the police?’

‘Tell them what? That Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid are about to gun down this girl? The police don’t give a damn. They waste most of their time trying to prevent under-eighteens from buying cigarettes or fireworks, or looking into so-called fraudulent benefit claims. Real crimes? Not their priority, is it? They don’t care.’

‘Great.’ Annabelle stands up. ‘So you’re on his side now, are you?’

‘Annabelle, I’m on no one’s side. I want things to work out as much as you do, but Laurie’s right. Life out there on the streets is different for these kids.’

‘Okay, then you pop off home and leave me to worry myself stupid.’

‘Well, do you want me to stay and talk more with you?’ Annabelle glares at him. ‘No, I didn’t think so. We’ll go to his school in the morning. I don’t know what else we can do at the moment.’ He pauses. ‘Well, do you?’

* * *

He sits in silence on the sofa and stares into the middle distance. The flat is cold, but he can’t be bothered to get up and turn on the heating. He thinks about what else he might have said to Annabelle. For instance, he didn’t leave her after twenty-five years, she was the one who wanted him to go. As for his being a disappointment, he could have pointed out to her that during the past couple of years, and certainly since she started seeing Bruce, she has developed a tendency to behave with that mean and slightly smug, green-wellied, middle-class sense of entitlement that he was so surprised, and pleased, to find her devoid of all those years ago at Bristol University. Anyhow, he can’t help feeling relieved that her relationship seems to be over. He knows full well that behind Bruce’s lapsed socialist prattle, he is a man who would have been pleased to help usher Annabelle in a direction in which she might feel inclined to start dressing like her mother in midcalf-length skirts of heavy material, and begin wearing discreet jewellery with plain, dull stones. This would have enabled Bruce to inch closer to joining the world that he claims to have spent his youth railing against, but he understands that people like Bruce never rail, they just blow. Although he is tempted to put on some music he decides that it is probably best to avoid anything that might remind him of his temporarily abandoned book. Through the window he can see that the late afternoon light is fading, and only the familiar hum of cars passing at the end of the street, and the distant cry of a police siren, disturb the peace. He tries to imagine how it might be to have his son staying in this flat with him, and he finds himself wondering again why Annabelle chose to share with their son the idea of his spending time here at Wilton Road. The two of them had only just raised the possibility, and suddenly it was as though Annabelle was trying to force Laurie upon him.

He knows that Annabelle feels that children ought to spend time with both of their parents, particularly if the child is without siblings. After all, he remembers how upset she becomes when she wistfully recalls lonely seaside holidays spent with her mother while her father was away on duty in Ireland, or inspecting troops in Germany, or in some long-forgotten outpost of what remained of the empire, such as Gibraltar. Her mother would sit in a deckchair and read a magazine while Annabelle played in the waves or collected shells, or waded in rock pools. Occasionally there might be a donkey ride, but the holidays were essentially miserable affairs, and ever since Laurie was born Annabelle has been adamant about his need for two committed parents, as though some deeply unconscious part of herself feared that she might replicate with Laurie the type of unhealthy dependency that has developed with her mother. However, her recent tendency to accuse him of deliberate absenteeism during the past three years is a bit rich. As soon as she’d ejected him from the family house, she started to spend practically every weekend with her mother in Wiltshire. His access to Laurie was limited to after-school visits and the odd Friday night excursion to McDonald’s, but fortunately things did become a little easier once her mother entered the Briars. He looks across at the thermostat and finally admits defeat. Levering himself off the sofa, he realises that he had better turn on the heating before he starts to see his own breath clouding before him.