Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

‘You know, Annabelle, sometimes I wonder what that clown Bruce turned you into.’

‘How dare you be so condescending!’ She looked around and then lowered her voice. ‘He didn’t turn me into anything. I’m telling you what I feel and if you don’t like it I’d prefer if you would at least credit me with enough intelligence to be able to form my own opinions.’

‘And they’re really your opinions?’

‘Yes, they’re my opinions.’

He leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply. ‘Look Annabelle, I’ve known red-faced tossers like Bruce all my life, in their pink and black hooped rugby shirts, sitting on barstools pontificating about how we’ve carried the jocks for years despite the fact that they’ve got oil, and how we need our traditional friends, meaning New Zealand, Australia, and Canada, not these fair-weather Johnnies in Brussels.’

‘Don’t you think you’ve said enough?’

‘No, I don’t actually. Why don’t you credit me with some intelligence? I don’t want my son around arseholes like Bruce.’

‘Well as long as our son is in my custody then he’ll be exposed to my judgements on people, not just yours.’ She paused, then snorted in disgust. ‘You can really be an arrogant bastard when you want to be, can’t you?’

‘You’re entitled to your opinion.’

‘Thank you.’ Annabelle shook her head. ‘Was he that much of a threat to you?’

‘Who?’

‘Listen to yourself. It’s pathetic. You know exactly who I mean. Bruce. Or do I have to spell it out for you?’

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He was about to answer it when he thought he should check first with Annabelle, for he had no desire to further antagonise her. He reached into his pocket and held up his still vibrating mobile.

‘I don’t know who it is.’

‘Well, then you’d better find out, hadn’t you?’

Baron sounded hesitant and slightly unfamiliar with the telephone.

‘Keith? It’s you? I get your number from your father.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Good, good, man. It’s all right, but I’m staying by your father’s place as he has some chest pains. I tell him that I will let you know, so that’s all. I’m just letting you know that I’m staying here tonight.’

He looked across at Annabelle, who was averting her eyes and making a clear effort not to listen.

‘I didn’t call you to make you take off time from work or anything. I know you is a big man in a big job.’

‘No, it’s no problem. I’ll come up in the morning. Just tell him that I’ll be up in the morning, okay?’

‘You didn’t hear me? I said I have it under control. You just go along with the work business.’

He waited until Baron hung up, then he switched off the phone and placed it on the table. Annabelle looked back in his direction. She glanced down at the mobile.

‘Are you expecting another call?’

‘I hope not. That was my Uncle Baron, one of my dad’s friends.’

‘Well? You never told me how it went up there.’

‘Well other things kind of got in the way, like picking up our son from a police station. But it was pretty much just as you might imagine it.’

‘A laugh a minute then.’

‘Exactly.’ He paused. ‘So what do you think we should do about the school? You’re happy for him to stay there with the hoodlum children of the time-poor parents?’

‘“Happy” might not be the best way of putting it.’

He tried hard to concentrate on his conversation with Annabelle, but he found it difficult not to worry about what exactly was behind Baron’s call. His father’s friend was saying all the right things, but for Baron to ask his father for his son’s number, and then take the trouble to actually pick up the phone and call, suggested to him that his father must be in some kind of trouble.

‘Would you like my help looking for a larger flat? I can look online while you’re away.’

‘Away where? Who says I’m going away?’

‘Well, excuse me, didn’t I just hear you say that you would “come up in the morning”?’

‘But only for a day or so at most.’

‘So I should just leave it then?’ He stared blankly at Annabelle. ‘Hello, Keith. Anybody at home? Do you want me to look online or not?’

‘Thanks, but I’m not sure how much money I have.’ He took a sip of his latte and then shook his head. ‘Renting in this city is tough, and it’s probably a lot more expensive than it was when I signed the lease on Wilton Road.’

‘Do you have any savings? And don’t look at me like that because I’m not prying.’

‘I’ll have to figure out the whole money thing. I’m just not sure what’s happening.’

‘Is everything all right?’ Annabelle looked quizzically at him, but he suddenly felt overwhelmed as he realised what his next move would have to be. ‘Well, are you okay? You seem to have gone mental walkabout.’

‘I’m fine.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Really, I’m fine, just a bit tired, that’s all.’

‘Another coffee?’

‘No thanks. Honestly, I’m fine.’

He watches as Clive Wilson edges his way back from the bar with a pint in his hand, and then his boss sits opposite him.

‘Cheers.’

He knocks his own glass against that of Clive Wilson and then takes a drink.

‘I might as well come straight to the point, Clive. I’m resigning, okay.’

‘What do you mean “okay”? It’s not okay with me. I told you, these things take time and this one’s a bit tricky. However, I can now see some light at the end of the tunnel. I’m pretty sure that Yvette is going to be transferred.’

‘Is that what she wants?’

Clive Wilson laughs out loud. ‘What’s it got to do with what she wants? It’s better for everyone if she moves on. It’s a sort of sideways shift, with a more senior title, and the girl seems okay about it. This might happen next week, and then we can see about your coming back. To tell you the truth, I could really use you around the place at the moment. It’s a bloody nightmare trying to understand all this new red tape baloney.’ He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, which he unfolds. ‘Listen to this. I just got this email directive saying that as service providers, we have to “recognise the needs of diverse communities and provide facilities that are genuinely multicultural, being aware that different facilities might be needed for people with specific religious, cultural, or dietary needs”. All this rubbish just in case I start getting hassle from a one-legged Muslim who likes burgers and feels like the council isn’t paying enough attention to his needs?’ He tosses the piece of paper on to the table. ‘What am I supposed to do with garbage like this?’

‘I’ve got no idea, Clive.’

‘Nobody really understands this guff, except you that is.’

‘Well, that’s not quite true, but I still think that I should resign.’

‘Are you thinking of your pension? You can only lose it if you get fired and that’s not going to happen.’

‘I’m thinking of what’s best for me.’

Clive Wilson picks up the email and folds it back into his pocket, and then he takes a long swig of his beer. ‘I don’t know what to say. Except, of course, you’ve blindsided me. What are you going to do?’

‘I’ve no idea, but I’ll think of something.’

‘Are you going to write that book of yours?’

He laughs now. ‘I don’t think so, Clive.’ He stands and points to Clive’s glass. ‘Another one?’

‘I’ll have another one. Why not?’ Clive Wilson hands him the empty glass. ‘But you are going to stay in the business?’

‘Social work?’ He smiles. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to do something different with my life. You know, before it all gets a bit monotonous and predictable.’