Ben? Because just don’t, that’s all. If you want something else, you cook it. And buy it, for that matter. I’ve had a long day, too, you know.’
‘For Christ’s sake, what is the matter with you? No, I’m not being sarcastic. Mince is fine – what do you expect? Applause?’
‘Don’t be so bloody cheeky, Ben.’
I walked back into the kitchen and slammed the door behind me. For a moment I stood still, frowning, then I moved over to the sink and picked up another potato. Why do I always do that? Why do I always lay into him? He’s only sixteen; he’s only a child. He’s going to hate me if I go on like this. I reached forward and switched on the small portable radio that stood next to the sink, but the sweet, swooping sound of Delius only made me feel worse, and I quickly changed to Radio 4, hoping that the crisp tones of a newsreader or the laughter of a studio audience would distract me. The Archers was on, and I listened with one ear as I tried to dismiss the picture of Ben’s resentful gaze from my mind.
I knew that to let myself sink too deeply into the thoughts that were bound to come next was far too dangerous. Ben and Sally growing up, Ben starting to loathe me. Sally off with her friends all the time and Charlie and I skittering about on the surface of our lives, tired and irritable. What does it leave me to look forward to, I thought sadly: my work?
Hardly. I’d known for some time that there was no realistic hope of actually changing anything, in spite of all the good intentions I’d had originally. I soon abandoned the simplistic ideals I started out with on those first few inspections once I was faced with the reality of just how far wrong the system had gone. I suppose hard grind took over and wore me out. How could I possibly hope to improve even the basic standards of literacy, when I could see that the majority of the teachers’ time was spent in keeping the peace and preventing outright physical damage to children, staff and property? If I closed my eyes I could still picture my latest inspection, and I shuddered as I recalled the scenes in the playground: the huge figures of teenage girls, made more menacing by their giant Puffa jackets and stacked shoes, towering over and threatening any teacher brave enough to interfere in the constant fighting and bullying.
I decided to put my mind firmly onto the problems of The Archers while I finished off the pie, and, once it was in the oven, I went upstairs, intending to give myself a quick tidy in the bedroom, but stopped on the landing outside Ben’s room. I knocked loudly, hoping the sharpness of the sound would work its way into his consciousness through the relentless, rhythmic tones of the rap music, but after a couple of seconds I opened the door without waiting to find out. He turned to look at me from where he sat at the desk, and I felt a little stab of remorse as I took in the school books laid out in front of him.
‘Hi!’ I said, trying to sound interested but not too concerned.
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing, darling, Just wanted to say I’m sorry I got ratty again. Didn’t mean to.’
‘That’s all right. What do you want?’
There was something in his tone that didn’t sound right, and I noticed he avoided looking at me and instead turned quickly away again and studied the notepad in front of him intently. He picked up a pencil and began to doodle on it as he waited for me to answer.
‘No – nothing. I told you. Just to say sorry, that’s all. How’s it going?’
‘OK, thanks.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. I’m just finding it a bit hard to – to get down to it, that’s all.’
‘Anything I can do?’
‘No, thanks.’
I walked over to him at the desk, then bent forward to kiss him briefly on the cheek.
‘Supper about fifteen minutes, all right?’
But he wasn’t listening. He was tapping his pencil unthinkingly in time with the music as he stared at the books in front of him. I watched him for a second, then turned to go.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing. It’s OK.’
I nodded briefly, and left him alone. I started to walk towards the stairs but paused outside my bedroom. I didn’t feel good – the brittle exchanges with Charlie and the worry of seeing Ben so abstracted and isolated had unsettled me. If I went into the bedroom now, using the excuse of a quick brush of my hair, I knew it wouldn’t stop there, that I would give in to temptation and indulge myself. I took a deep breath, then turned away from the door and went back downstairs.
I peered round the sitting-room door on my way to the kitchen and was about to call out to Charlie when the sight of the back of his head bent over the small desk stopped me short. I could hear his quiet, steady breathing as he concentrated on the papers in front of him and I leant against the edge of the open door for a moment and watched him. He was concentrating so hard that I felt excluded, and I had a pang of some terrible, nostalgic need for the Charlie of old who had loved me so much and so irreplaceably. Why do I always find it so difficult now to tell him how much I need him? If I ever try, my words become twisted into something ironic and jokey, as if I’ve lost the ability to convey any genuine emotion without being embarrassed.
I stood there quietly a little longer, then spoke gently to the back of Charlie’s bent head.
‘Charlie. Supper’s almost there.’
He turned to me and smiled.
‘Good – I’m starving.’
Maybe the warmth of his smile stayed with me. In any case, I felt more at ease, I remember, as I walked back to the kitchen, and the feeling of contentment persisted as I opened the oven to check my pie.
So it wasn’t all bad before it happened. It would be tempting to think I saw it coming, that the signs were obvious, that our life as it was then was untenable. But it wasn’t – not at all – and it’s not as if I didn’t appreciate the good things we had. I did – I’m not imagining it. I used to think that people who have terrible tragedies or who lose everything must look back and wish they’d known just what they had at the time. But I did – I did know just what I’d got. And it still didn’t stop it going, did it?
He thought I didn’t know he was watching me. But I always know, don’t I? And it’s not as if I dunno why, is it? Like that time at school. Just bend your leg up on this bench, Kylie said. Just bend it up. What for? I said. Just do it, she says. Why? I says. I want to show you something, she says. So I bend it up and she calls the others over and they all start laughing. ‘It’s gross’ – that’s what Steph said. ‘Oh my God, it’s so gross!’ Just ’cos she’d heard that on TV. She never said gross before that. No, she never.
It did look gross. They was right. I had my gym shorts on and the way she’d made me put my foot up on the bench and then bend my knee it made all my leg go wide. It was gi-normous; even I could see that. Even then. That’s what I can’t stand. They think I don’t see it just as well as what they do. I’m not
