Джон Бойн - A Ladder to the Sky

‘I don’t own a dinner jacket,’ said Henrietta, narrowing her eyes. ‘Now, are you going to—’

‘I just thought the story was a little boring, that’s all,’ he said. ‘It didn’t seem to go anywhere. There were some interesting moments, of course, and your writing is as strong as ever, but the overall effect was—’

‘You’re just insulting me now,’ she said.

‘I don’t believe I am. I certainly don’t mean to.’

‘Two can play that game. I read the last issue of Storī cover to cover and, if you ask me, it was entirely pedestrian and utterly unexciting.’

Which is the same thing , thought Maurice.

‘It’s like you don’t want to take risks or chances.’

‘And now you’re insulting me ,’ he replied.

‘I’m not insulting you. I’m insulting the magazine.’

‘A magazine that I founded.’

‘Why don’t you just admit that my story was too challenging for you and your readers? That you didn’t fully understand it?’

‘If I didn’t understand it, then how would I know it was too challenging?’

‘Don’t play games with me.’

‘I’m not. But your interpretation of why I said no to the story is simply incorrect. I understood it perfectly well, I’m not an idiot. I can read, even the big words. Look, it’s not a bad story, it’s just not your best, that’s all. And you wouldn’t thank me if I published something that went on to be criticized by others, particularly with your novel coming out soon. You need to keep your reputation as high as possible during these next few months. It’s critical. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about here. I’m not new to this industry and I know how easily one can turn from being flavour of the month to a sour taste in some publisher’s mouth. I’ve seen it. I’ve been it.’

‘I just feel hurt, that’s all,’ she said after a lengthy pause, softening her tone a little. ‘It’s been a very stressful time for me recently. Did you know that my grandmother died in January?’

‘No,’ said Maurice, who didn’t particularly care. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘She was only ninety-eight.’

‘Well, that is quite a good age.’

‘And then my dog was run over in the street by some idiot on a motorbike. And then I got cancer—’

‘What?’ he asked, leaning forward. This was new.

‘Well, I thought I had cancer,’ she said, correcting herself. ‘There was a mole. On my shoulder. One that hadn’t been there before. Anyway, my doctor said that he was worried about it so he sent a sample to the lab and it came back clear. But, you know, for a few days there I was convinced that I had cancer.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘No, but that’s hardly the point. I might have done.’

Maurice tapped his pen against the desk. This was one of the reasons he preferred working from home for the most part, only visiting the office once or twice a week. Bloody writers. He’d spent so many years desperate to be among their number but there were times when he truly despised them.

‘So your rejection really hit me hard,’ she said.

‘Well, if you can beat cancer, then surely you can get over a rejection from Storī ,’ he said, and she was just opening her mouth to reply when his phone rang. He rarely answered calls, preferring to let them pile up before deciding which ones to return later in the day, but he picked it up quickly now, glad of the distraction, glancing at the screen first.

School , it said.

‘Sorry,’ he said, holding his index finger in the air to silence Henrietta before she could start barking at him again. ‘It’s my son’s school. I should take this.’

She threw her hands up as if she couldn’t quite believe that he was prioritizing his son over her and he stepped outside, marching past the interns and into the stairwell beyond where there was an occasional chance of privacy.

‘Maurice Swift,’ he said.

‘Mr Swift,’ said the voice at the other end, who sounded simultaneously bored by her job and thrilled by the momentary drama of calls such as this. ‘This is Alisha Macklin from St Joseph’s.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Maurice, already feeling the first rush of irritation build inside him. He didn’t much care for Daniel’s school and felt a certain anxiety every morning when he dropped the boy off at a place that might be riddled with child molesters or gun-wielding psychopaths. It was like living in some dystopian society or a Young Adult novel. He still couldn’t believe there was an airport scanner on the door that each of the children had to pass through before being admitted to classes. ‘What’s he done this time?’

‘First, let me say there’s nothing to worry about,’ replied Alisha. ‘Your son is perfectly fine. But we think you should make your way to the school as soon as possible.’

‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘There’s been an incident.’

He didn’t ask anything else, just hung up and pressed the button on the lift. The school was only a ten-minute walk away, but the sun was shining so he took it leisurely. One of the interns could deal with Henrietta. That’s what I pay them for, after all, he thought, ignoring the fact that he didn’t actually pay them anything. They worked for free but with the unassailable conviction that a couple of months spent on a desk at Storī would add a solid detail to their résumés. Ultimately, he knew, they were using him to get ahead. And who was he to argue with that?

Daniel, as it turned out, had slapped one of the girls in his class.

‘We’ve been experiencing problems between Daniel and Jupiter for some time,’ said Mrs Lane, the forty-something school principal, who, with her bouffant dyed-blonde hair and sensible sweater, gave off an air of mild desperation. A photograph in a silver frame was turned towards her on her desk and Maurice longed to see the picture it held, a human or a pet. He bet the latter.

‘Jupiter?’ he said, trying not to laugh. ‘I’m sorry, did you say Jupiter?’

‘Yes, Jupiter Dell,’ said Mrs Lane.

‘And she’s a little girl? Or a boy, perhaps?’

‘She’s a little girl, Mr Swift.’ The principal’s face relaxed a little, and she shrugged. ‘Between you and me, her parents are rather hippy-dippy types, if you know what I mean.’ She looked around and, despite the fact that they were alone, leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘She has a younger brother named Mercury.’

‘He’ll have an easy time of it in school. Maybe you should bring the parents in to chastise them for forcing their children to grow up with such ridiculous names.’

‘Actually, the Dells were in here just before you,’ replied Mrs Lane. ‘Naturally, we had to call them first. Jupiter is very upset.’

‘Perhaps you could tell me exactly what happened,’ said Maurice, feeling the same level of anxiety in this room as he had thirty years before when he’d been dragged to the principal’s office, along with his best friend at the time, Henry Rowe, two fifteen-year-old boys trembling in anticipation of what was to come. This memory, one that he had tried to block from his mind for decades, made him feel nauseous.

‘Miss Willow, Daniel’s teacher—’

‘I know who Miss Willow is,’ said Maurice.

‘Yes. Well, she’d already noticed an unusual dynamic between Daniel and Jupiter and had brought it to my attention.’

‘An unusual dynamic?’ he repeated, wondering whether these were terms drilled into teachers and school principals to avoid any potentially slanderous, and thereby litigious, remarks.

‘Jupiter has… I suppose we can just call it a crush on your son.’

‘But he’s only seven,’ said Maurice with a bewildered smile.