by K. L. Slater
I’ve not heard from Ben or the boys since Monday evening. Each afternoon when I finish work, I slide into the same vacuous black space. A virtual no-man’s-land where there is no cleaning or laundry to do for Ben, no boys to collect from school. No tea to cook and, as Henry is away on his fishing trip, nobody to talk to. Not that we talk much these days.
I don’t want to bother Maura when she’s ill, and I realise, with some shock, that there is absolutely no one else I can offload to.
I just can’t seem to think straight. I can’t decide whether, as Henry claims, I am being unreasonable and oversensitive … is it me that’s driving Ben away? Or is it perfectly reasonable to feel concern about my grandsons and the fact that everything in their lives is changing with breakneck speed?
I decide the second option is the one that feels right. Ben has had his head turned to the extent that he’s letting Amber discipline the boys and destroy their stable environment at home. There’s no telling the damage that might be done unless someone challenges her.
I haven’t seen Noah and Josh for four days now. It’s the longest we’ve been apart for over two years.
I feel a blast of heat inside as I consider the possibility that Ben is intentionally keeping them away from me, knowing it will cause maximum distress to all three of us. If someone had asked me even a week ago if he’d ever use the boys to punish me for a disagreement, I’d have laughed in their face.
But I’m not laughing now.
His reaction when I told him about Amber snapping at the boys last Sunday lunchtime clearly showed me where his loyalties lie. I am under no illusions about that any more. The fact that he hasn’t texted or called just adds further proof that he has no intention of holding out an olive branch to repair the situation.
As I walk on, the thoughts playing over and over in my head, I realise that I do in fact have a choice. I can wait until Ben deems it appropriate to bring the boys to see me, or for once I can push for something I believe in very strongly.
That is, my own right to see my grandsons. I won’t gain anything by remaining quiet.
I glance at my watch. The boys’ primary school is just a few streets away from the surgery, and I happen to know that their lunch break finishes at one twenty-five. If I pick up pace, I should be able to get to the wrought-iron fence that surrounds the playground in under ten minutes.
I turn around and begin to walk back briskly the way I came. I pass the surgery hoping and praying that nobody spots me, and thank goodness, nobody does.
I’m aware as I walk that I’m standing a little taller; my shoulders are pressed back now and I’m moving with purpose. I’ve been reactive to others for so long, it feels liberating to take even this small action that I, and I alone, have chosen. The mere thought of getting even a brief glimpse of my grandsons is enough to lift my spirits.
I hear the school playground before I see it. Children squealing, shouting, a messy merge of voices and sounds, released whilst running and jumping. River View Primary is one of the smallest primary schools in Nottingham and it has a good reputation. Both boys are doing well there, even though I feel they’d fare better in Lady Bay.
As I turn the corner, I see a small knot of school staff leave the building and fan out over the yard, and I know that lunchtime is about to come to an end. Soon the children will be escorted inside.
I run the last few yards, pressing my face up against the cool black railings. I see Josh almost immediately, over the far side. He is with a group of boys all around his age and they are playing tag, or something similar. His face is ruddy and alive with mischief. He laughs and shouts, lost in a pretend world where adults and school no longer exist.
I am glowing within when I see him so happy and relaxed; it’s the balm I need to soothe my constant worry about him. My eyes scan the yard for Noah, picking out the slightly older children, but he is nowhere to be seen.
The electronic bell sounds and a whistle blows, and the children automatically begin to funnel rapidly into the building. I walk a little further along the perimeter fence so I can see behind the building, and that’s when I spot Noah, leaning back against a wall. He is alone and staring down at his feet.
‘Noah!’ I call, waving my hands madly. ‘Noah!’ But it’s far too noisy for my voice to carry over to him.
One of the lunchtime supervisors walks past Noah and says something to him. He nods and takes his hands out of his pockets. I gasp out loud when I see that his left hand is bandaged.
‘Noah!’ He still doesn’t hear, but his teacher, Miss Simpson, has just appeared in the yard. She glances at me and walks quickly over to the fence.
‘Sorry, is there something I can help … Oh, Mrs Jukes, it’s you.’
Miss Simpson knows me far better than Ben, since I’m the one who’s picked up the boys for the past two years.
‘Yes, I was just walking by and saw Noah, so I gave him a wave,’ I say, a little breathlessly. ‘Is he OK?’
‘As far as I’m aware.’ She frowns. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Well, he looks a bit downcast over there on his own,’ I say hesitantly, ‘and I see that his hand is injured.’
‘Ah yes, there was a note in the register.’ She holds her forefinger in the air as she searches her memory. ‘Apparently his stepmum called in at the school office a couple of days ago and said he’d hurt it playing football. It’s badly swollen and that’s why he’s not playing with his friends, in case it gets accidentally knocked again.’
‘I see,’ I say tightly. ‘Well, I’d better get off now the bell has gone, but just to let you know, she isn’t his stepmum. She’s just Ben’s girlfriend; he hasn’t known her very long at all.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Miss Simpson blushes furiously. ‘It’s just that Noah brought a new contact form in this morning, and Miss Carr’s name has been added as his stepmother.’
My forearms prickle with goose bumps and an unwelcome thought pops into my head, which I voice without thinking.
‘Can I ask … is my name and telephone number still on the sheet as an emergency contact?’
‘Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t really say.’ She looks at me and her face softens. ‘But off the record, no, Mrs Jukes. I’m afraid it isn’t.’
33
Judi
I think I bid Miss Simpson goodbye but I can’t be sure, because I find myself halfway down the road, rushing away from the school at breakneck speed towards the sprawling academy just two streets away. Ben’s workplace.
I’m forced to pause on the corner for a few moments to get my breath. Nostrils flaring, I lean a hand against the wall of Bilton’s butcher’s shop, where I often call for our Sunday joint, and stare into the window display with horror. The side of a pig hangs, still swinging slightly, on the hook, its glassy eye staring unseeingly. White gauze is draped on the surface below the head to catch the puddled blood.
I avert my eyes and look at the pavement. The white bandage on Noah’s hand and Esther’s story about what happened at the park fill my mind. My eyes sting and I bite down on my back teeth as I imagine Amber grabbing him hard enough to make him cry. I’m caught somewhere between wanting to sob with the hopelessness of the situation and scream with fury at both her and my stupid, naïve son.
‘You all right there, Mrs Jukes?’
I look up to see Simon, the butcher’s lad, staring at me with concern. His ginger hair and freckles are startling against the backdrop of his pale skin. I turn away. ‘Should I get Mr Bilton?’
‘No. No, thank you, Simon,’ I say, pushing myself away from the wall of the shop and standing upright. ‘I’m fine. I just rush around like I’m still a young woman at times. Catches up with me now and then.’
‘Ah, I see.’ He sighs, relieved. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’
I walk away from the shop, brisk but steady, looking the other way so I don’t have to see the curious stares from the customers standing inside.
Five minutes later, I’m striding
up the driveway of Colwick Park Academy. I wonder how I’m going to manage to speak to Ben when I know for a fact he’ll be teaching. I’m halfway up the drive when I see a signpost for the children’s centre, a narrow road leading off to the right. This is the place where Amber works.
I think about storming in there right now and challenging her about Noah’s hand, but I know that’s not the best way to deal with the situation. The fact that I had chosen to discuss my grandson’s well-being with her at all would be tantamount to acknowledging her new self-appointed status as stepmother to the boys.
I can hardly bear to think of that word in relation to Amber Carr, never mind say it.
The reception area of the academy feels cool and spacious after my flustered walk. The receptionist is currently dealing with two people, so I sit down on one of the comfy chairs and slip off my jacket.
Underneath my white cotton blouse my skin is already damp and sticky, and a rivulet of moisture snakes its way down my spine, only stopped in its tracks by the waistband of my smart black work trousers.
The two people at the desk, who I assume are parents, walk past me, and I see that the receptionist is now free. I leave my jacket and handbag on the seat and walk over to the glass hatch. There are wide double doors to my right; entry to the main school is strictly controlled by a keypad lock.
The young woman on reception is counting money, her lips miming the numbers as her fingers leaf deftly through the tens and twenties. After a couple of seconds she looks up and smiles expectantly at me.
I introduce myself and tell her I need to see my son. I need to see Ben.
‘I’m afraid he’s back in class now, Mrs Jukes. But if you’d like to leave a message, I can take it to his classroom right away.’
I shake my head. ‘You don’t understand.’ I’m struggling to keep calm. ‘This is an emergency. I need to see my son.’
She glances at the clock. ‘Give me a moment, please.’ She closes the glass partition and I watch as she walks down the narrow office. She stops at a desk and speaks to the woman there for a moment or two. The woman looks at her, looks at me and pushes her glasses up on to her head before getting to her feet. She doesn’t come to the hatch; she opens the office door and walks out into the reception area.
‘I’m Christine Hopkins, the school’s business manager.’ She extends her hand and I shake it, aware that my palm must feel horribly tacky. ‘I understand you’re Ben Jukes’s mother?’
‘I am,’ I say curtly, fearful of a knock-back. ‘I explained to your colleague that I need to speak with Ben as a matter of urgency.’
‘Ben is teaching right now and we’re under strict instructions not to disturb teachers unless—’
‘It is an emergency,’ I say, my voice shaking slightly. ‘Please. I really need to speak with him.’
‘We could get him to ring you at afternoon break if—’
‘I need to speak to my son!’ Three uniformed students walking by slow down and stare curiously at the sound of my raised voice, but I can’t stop now. ‘I just need to see Ben. For a few minutes, that’s all.’
And then I feel it, the powerful knot of rising heat that starts in my belly.
Not now, please.
Christine asks me to take a seat. ‘Please, Mrs Jukes, try and relax. I’ll see if I can arrange some cover for Ben, just for five minutes. Can I get you a glass of water?’
‘No,’ I say shortly, heading for the chairs. ‘Thank you. Five minutes is all I need with him.’
She scurries off, punching in a code at the double doors and then disappearing through them.
I press back into the cheap, squashy seat cushions. There’s a school prospectus on the low beech table in front of me. I snatch it up and fan my face in a bid to offset the steadily building heat that burns on the inside like a bed of sauna coals.
I realise I’m no longer clenching my teeth. There’s another feeling suppressing my initial anger. My scalp, face and neck feel as though they are covered in swarming insects; the skin on my forearms is crawling.
It’s a feeling I’m beginning to get used to. Fear.
34
Judi
‘Mum! What’s wrong?’ Ben rushes out of the double doors and flies towards me, arms outstretched and face pale. ‘Is it Dad?’
The office staff hover at the glass with concerned faces. I stand up and take a few steps forward and open my mouth to speak, just as the rising flush breaks through into my face.
‘Goodness, you’re sweating buckets.’ Ben guides me back over to the seating area. ‘Are you ill? Speak to me, Mum, what’s happened?’
‘I’m fine and your dad’s OK.’ I fish in my bag for a tissue and mop the moisture from my hairline and face. ‘I’ve come about Noah.’
‘What?’ He looks wildly out of the big glass window behind me. ‘Where is he? What’s wrong?’
‘He’s at school, but it’s his hand, Ben,’ I say, gathering myself a little. ‘Amber has hurt his hand; she grabbed him at the park.’
He stares at me and shakes his head faintly, as if I’m speaking in a foreign language.
‘She made him cry,’ I continue. ‘You have to do something. Please, just think about what you’re doing, asking her to move in with you.’
‘Are you talking about the bandage?’ Ben sighs, visibly relaxing. ‘On his hand?’
‘Yes. Amber grabbed him hard at the park a few days ago. I spoke to Esther Cairns at the surgery. She saw her do it, so don’t let her deny it.’
Ben rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling, saying nothing for a moment or two. When he speaks, he makes it crystal clear that I am testing his tolerance. It reminds me of how I used to speak to him as a boy when he’d misbehaved.
‘Mum. Noah hurt his hand when we were playing footie in the garden two days ago. He tripped and broke the fall with his hand, spraining his wrist.’ He shakes his head and softens his tone. ‘It was nothing to do with Amber.’
‘But … how … Did you actually see him fall in the garden?’
‘Yes! I picked him up off the floor and Amber bandaged his hand, but it was just to make him feel better because she said it was only sprained. She’s first-aid-trained so she knew right away.’
I dab frantically at my brow but the heat shows no sign of being assuaged.
‘She’s trying to damage us, Ben. All of us.’
‘What? Mum, get a grip. You’re becoming paranoid,’ Ben hisses, his eyes darting over to the reception desk. ‘Look what you’re doing to yourself … the state you’re in.’ He gestures towards my streaming face as if that proves his point. ‘Amber is not trying to hurt us. On the contrary, she’s trying very hard to build a relationship with you. But you’re not making it at all easy.’
‘Then why has she taken me off the school’s emergency contact list for Noah?’ My tight, sharp words ricochet around the echoing space. ‘She’s trying to get me out of the way because she wants you and the boys for herself. She’s a conniving, lying—’
‘Mum. Enough!’ he snaps. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to discuss family business, as well you know.’
‘So when am I supposed to discuss it? I haven’t seen you or the boys all week.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry about that.’ He pinches at the bridge of his nose. ‘I just thought we both needed a bit of space. After our conversation on Monday evening, I mean. Dad says—’
‘You’ve spoken to your dad?’ I say faintly.
‘I … Only briefly, yesterday. Just to check you were both OK and see how the land lies.’ Ben is backtracking.
‘And your dad says what, exactly?’
There’s a beat of silence.
‘He just said you seem a little stressed at the moment, a bit out of sorts.’
‘I’m not stressed or out of sorts; I’m out of my mind with worry!’ I snap back at him before I can check myself.
I look at my hands, thinking about the implications of what Ben has just said. I haven’t spoken to Henry
once since he left for his fishing trip. I’ve just had a short text to say he’s arrived and that the weather is holding up.
He never mentioned speaking to Ben.
I clamp my mouth closed and let the tracks of moisture run unchecked down my face. I feel like an outsider amongst my own family and I can’t really make sense of how it’s happened so quickly.
‘Don’t do this, Mum, please. Can’t you just be happy for us?’ Ben runs his fingers through his hair and I hear a door open and click closed behind me. ‘I’ve got to get back to my class. Listen, I’ll call round after school today and we’ll talk, OK?’
I don’t answer him. I stare at the floor, wondering how on earth we ever got to this stage.
Ben stands up, briefly lays a hand on my shoulder and walks away. I watch him vanish through the secure double doors.
‘Mrs Jukes?’ I look up to see that Christine, the business manager, is standing there, knotting her fingers in front of her. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea or something?’
I stand up. ‘No thank you. I’ll leave now.’
She nods, reassured.
Picking up my handbag and draping my coat over my arm, I walk slowly out of the automatic doors and head towards the school drive. Just before I get there, I spot a wooden bench set on a small, neat piece of lawn.
I stop walking and sit down, staring at the surrounding borders, neatly planted with rows of green leafy bunches that are yet to flower.
In one sense it seems a long way back, in the timeline of my life, that Ben was just a small boy. He and his brother were so reliant on me. Yet right at this moment it feels like that was only yesterday and I’ve woken up in a time-warp nightmare to find that my son is firmly under the spell of a woman who shows the world one face while carefully hiding another. A woman who wants to destroy all that we have.
And nobody else can see it.
It’s not until a car stops and the driver lowers her window and asks if I’m OK that I realise I am quietly sobbing.
