Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

It is clear to him that Annabelle’s anxiety over Laurie has been exacerbated by her own complicated feelings of guilt about her mother’s situation. While they waited for Laurie, Annabelle spoke about her mother’s continued confusion, to the extent that she sometimes barely recognises her daughter when she visits. Apparently, in among her semi-coherent ramblings about seeing white girls dressed as Arabs on the streets of London, and her conviction that there is a war being fought in the village of Ashleigh — a misunderstanding which apparently dates back to Annabelle’s childhood when an unexploded German bomb was discovered near the Norman church, and the whole village was evacuated for a night and day — her mother, according to Annabelle, did have one recent moment of clarity when she again apologised to her daughter for how they had treated him. ‘They’, of course, was her mother’s way of referring to her late husband, but Annabelle told him that although she always assured her mother that she had nothing to apologise for, her mother’s ‘apology’ did make her think again about the complicated bond between mothers and only children, especially when the mother begins to age. Annabelle swallowed deeply and seemed to tumble into a momentary reverie. ‘Once upon a time it felt like it was only Mummy and I, and in some ways, as you know, we grew too close and now I don’t think I’m coping very well with the responsibility. I know that Mummy needs me now, more than ever, but it’s difficult to watch her become little more than a nervous old fuddy-duddy. Her confidence has gone, and she does get very irritated when she is found out for having forgotten something. Her hands start to shake, and she weeps so easily, and I simply don’t know how to respond. The other day she wept like a baby and kept telling me that they’re all being kept alive so that like old fruit they can just rot. “It’s not fair” she said. “There’s no dignity to it” and I’m beginning to wonder, Keith. Really I am.’ Annabelle stared at him as though embarrassed that she had said too much, and then she gradually came to herself. ‘You know, spending some time with Laurie might help straighten you out too.’ He looked at her, but decided to let her comment go. The next thing he knows, Annabelle is raising the prospect directly with their son instead of finishing the conversation with him.

He looks around the living room and realises that should Laurie come here then his son will most likely take his bedroom and he will be relegated to sleeping on the sofa. And what, he wonders, of those days when Laurie is at home revising for his exams? The flat isn’t big enough for them to stay out of each other’s way, and he can already predict what his son’s reaction will be should he suggest that Laurie decamp and work at the undeniably grotty local library. It would have been better if Annabelle had said nothing to Laurie about the possibility of spending more time with his father, but given his son’s palpable lack of enthusiasm it is highly unlikely that he will have to grapple with these practical issues in the immediate future. He leans back, stifles a yawn, and listens to the wind whipping around the roof and rattling the window panes. Tomorrow morning he and Annabelle will have to face the annoying Mr Hughes. Rather than stay up late watching television it would probably make more sense to go to bed and try and get a decent night’s sleep. He looks at his mobile and can see that nobody has called him, but he decides to take no chances. He picks it up and adjusts the ring tone to ‘soft’. He will carry the phone through with him and leave it by the side of the bed, just in case.

He stares at the headmaster, whose permanent smile is beginning to irritate him. Annabelle can barely bring herself to look at the man, but he knows her well enough to understand that although she may be smouldering inwardly, she will do her best to avoid any overt conflict.

‘Let me put it this way.’ Mr Hughes stops playing with the stapler and pushes it to one side of his desk. The space in front of him is now clear. ‘If Laurie works hard, or should I say harder, then there’s every possibility that he can still go to university. When he applies himself he’s a very able boy, and in the top twenty per cent of this school in terms of ability. But the key is when he applies himself.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Annabelle looks up. ‘No, I’m afraid neither do I.’

‘Why are you suddenly talking about our son as though university is something that he might miss out on? He’s at home revising for his mocks. Nothing’s changed since we last spoke to you.’

Mr Hughes seems surprised. ‘He’s at home?’

‘He’s got time off to do his revision. They all have, don’t they?’ He looks across at Annabelle. ‘Isn’t that right?’

Annabelle nods. ‘It’s their revision week.’

Mr Hughes rocks back in his chair and uncaps, then recaps, the expensive fountain pen in his hands, before tucking the instrument back into his breast pocket.

‘Fair enough, although I must say I wasn’t aware of this, but so be it. However, the point is that things have changed since we last spoke. I’m afraid that back then there was already some concern about his lack of appetite for study, and the slipshod manner in which he was applying himself, but I think you’ll agree that recently things have gone a little downhill. Shoplifting and brawling, and now time spent under investigation in a police station.’ The headmaster looks directly at them both. ‘We are doing all we can at our end, but when it comes to shepherding a boy through these difficult years then there must be some kind of partnership between school and home.’

‘Are you suggesting that Annabelle and I are not doing our bit?’

‘Heaven forbid.’ Mr Hughes laughs now. ‘Of course not. All I’m suggesting is that there is only so much that we can do from our end. We are extremely careful about monitoring social networking sites like Facebook for signs of gang activity. On school property we have zero tolerance with regard to bandannas or colours, and carrying a weapon of any kind leads to immediate expulsion. We don’t allow top of the range mobile phones, and all coincidental absences are investigated, as are any reports of over-sexualised behaviour or dress on the part of the girls. What else can we do short of bringing in airport style scanners and random searches? But if, for instance, drugs were to become a problem, then of course we would have no hesitation in really clamping down. That said, we are a school, not a prison system, so we have to be a little open, which is why we rely greatly upon the vigilance of parents. After all, we’re in the fight together against this culture of adolescent silence.’

He looks at Annabelle, who has again chosen to avert her eyes and is now staring across the school playground at the tall brick wall which surrounds this Gothic Victorian structure. They never discussed sending Laurie to a private school, although Annabelle’s parents made their feelings clear. An inner city comprehensive was not what they had imagined for their grandchild, but then again they had not anticipated somebody like Laurie entering their lives. Annabelle had been predictably stoic in the face of their displeasure, but she has never successfully disguised the fact that this school, with its loutish pupils and ill-mannered parents, has been a source of great disappointment to her.

‘I’m still not clear what you’re saying to us.’ He realises that he should probably lower his voice. ‘Laurie’s not in a gang or doing drugs. I feel like we’re being lectured, and I’m not too happy about it, okay? Is there something that you would like us to do, or is there something that you think we’re not doing? If so, just say it.’