to take him to A&E to get him checked out.’
I could feel sweat running down my back. ‘Will the police be involved?’
‘As I am sure you will appreciate, Ms Etxeleku, we cannot allow boys to take matters into their own hands, whatever the provocation. Mrs Seaford wanted to involve the police but I think I have managed to dissuade her from that course of action on the grounds that her son’s appalling behaviour would also come under scrutiny.’ His dark eyes were serious but kind.
I kept swallowing but I couldn’t seem to get any moisture in my mouth. I looked at Harley. He wasn’t making any noise but huge gloopy tears were pouring down his face and making dark circles on his white shirt. I patted his hand gently and he got up and poured himself into my arms, burrowing into my shoulder until I could feel the damp heat of his face.
‘May I talk frankly?’ Mr Peters said.
I nodded, though I knew that ‘frankly’ meant Harley would be emptying his desk.
‘Your son has great potential. I think Stirling Hall could help mould him into a fine young man. He is struggling with the academic work, but we have set up some one-to-one tutoring so we could potentially bridge the gap. He has real sporting talent and Harley’s drama teacher tells me he can see star quality there.’ A cufflink clinked against the desk as he leaned back.
I was getting hot under the weight of Harley leaning into me. I tried to relax my shoulders while I waited for the ‘but’.
‘Stirling Hall does have many boys from, let’s say, very comfortable backgrounds. However, the philosophy of the school is to ensure that every boy who comes here accesses the same opportunities. That does, of course, mean that all parents need to support our Platinum rules that include “We solve our disagreements by talking to each other”. I understand your circumstances are quite unique, so a period of adjustment is to be expected while Harley learns what is required of him.’ He unbuttoned his jacket. To my ironing lady’s eye, his blue striped shirt looked hand-tailored.
My heart lifted a little, a bit like it did when I thought I’d missed the bus but a big queue was still standing there when I came racing round the corner.
‘But—’ he said.
There it was. I looked to see how far it was to the door. I wondered if I could make a dash to the van before I started blubbing.
‘But we cannot have boys brawling. I know that some head teachers turn a blind eye to these sorts of disputes, but this is not the way of Stirling Hall.’
A shooting pain through my back tooth reminded me to unclench my jaw.
‘So. What I propose is that I suspend Harley,’ Mr Peters said.
‘Suspend? What? How long for?’
‘I think it would be fair to suspend Harley for two days and Hugo for one, which means Harley would be back in school by Thursday. I do have to say, Ms Etxeleku, if there is another occasion of this severity, Harley is likely to face expulsion. You may wish to convey that to your husband.’
Many years of practising good manners obviously helped him to leave out ‘your arsehole of a husband’.
‘Of course. Thank you, thank you so much. Harley won’t let you down again, will you, Harley?’ Something relaxed in my body as though someone had been standing on my shoulders and had finally hoicked themselves over the wall. Mr Peters smiled down at me. He looked quite boyish when he smiled, almost cheeky, probably not much older than me.
Now that a second chance was on the table, I wanted to stop patting Harley’s shoulders and drag him outside by the ear. Bellow at him for being so bloody stupid. Shake him till his teeth rattled. Ban him from ever talking to anybody on our estate over the age of five again. Ground him until he was twenty-five. Or maybe I just wanted to cry.
Harley peeled himself off my shoulder. His mouth was twitching with the effort of holding back his tears. He shuffled from one foot to another, staring at the floor, then finally seemed to gather the energy to speak. ‘I won’t let you down. Thank you very much, sir. And sir? I’m really sorry.’
‘You’re a good lad. Now get out of here and learn to keep your fists to yourself. You come to me first if there’s a problem.’
I wondered if Mr Peters had a wife.
Harley and I drove towards Clover’s. We took the turning by the pub where the smart townhouses gave way to fields and farmhouses and the road became an unsurfaced lane. Filthy splurges of water shot up the side of the van every time I clunked down a pothole. At the very end, hidden by mature sycamore and chestnut trees, stood a huge ivy-covered building with a dark slate roof. The windows looked as though random bits of putty were keeping them in their peeling wooden frames. Wellies, riding crops and scooters lay tangled in the front porch. Harley and I weaved our way to the door, dodging mini mountains of horse manure. I lifted the lion’s head door knocker. Judging by his green teeth, Brasso wasn’t on Clover’s shopping list.
Clover opened the door in a black swimming costume patterned with huge poppies. She looked like the potato men Bronte used to make – a big round body stuck on thin little cocktail sticks. Unlike Sandy, she was a stranger to the Brazilian, the Hollywood, and apparently, the Bic. I felt as though I’d blundered in on her in the shower, but she waved us in with all the confidence of a size zero model.
‘Come in, come in, hello Harley. Sorry, the girls really wanted to go for a little dip so Bronte borrowed a costume, hope you don’t mind. Orion’s in the pool as well, so do you want to go in, Harley? I’ve been in with them but you can all keep an eye on each other now, can’t you? Don’t worry about taking your shoes off, the whole place is so fucking filthy, keep meaning to get on top of it, but with the horses we’re always dragging in more muck so it seems a bit of a waste of time.’
We trailed behind Clover. The couldn’t-care-less-ness of someone who could greet near strangers in a swimsuit despite having gargoyles of cellulite hanging from her buttocks thrilled and shocked me. She led us into a huge kitchen with an Aga at one end where Y-fronts, stripy tights and hiking socks were drying, filling the room with the smell of damp sheep. A ginger cat as big as a pillow stretched out on the long pine table.
Harley grabbed my arm. ‘Is that a real bird?’ he said, pointing to a blue parrot on the dresser.
I was doing a double take when Clover said, ‘That’s Einstein. We found him in the garden about four years ago.’
‘Wicked! Does he talk?’
‘Yes, he says a few things. Orion is really good at getting him to speak, he’ll show you later.’
I wondered if it pooed everywhere. Clover led us out of a back entrance and into a massive garden full of apple and pear trees. ‘The pool’s out here. Careful where you walk. Orion is supposed to be on bleeding doggy-doo duty but he’s not very diligent.’
She grabbed Harley’s arm and steered him through the mud to the pool house, where shouts and squeals rang out. Through the steamed-up glass, I saw Bronte giggling away as she tried to balance on a blow-up dolphin and keep up with the twins. Orion was sitting on the end of the diving board, swinging his legs. As soon as we stepped through the door, he leapt in and swam over to us.
‘Hey, Mike Tyson. Are you coming in?’ Orion was on his own in finding Harley’s fisticuffs funny, but I felt relieved
