The End of Cuthbert Close

by Cassie Hamer

  How big are you?

  Big enough, I think!

  I think we’ll be a perfect fit! See you tomorrow! Xx

  Max looked up and caught Beth staring at him. She juggled the iPad and put it behind her back.

  ‘Ready for lunch?’ she said, too brightly.

  He rose and jammed the phone into his pocket. ‘Sorry, but I’m going to have to get back to the office.’

  ‘Oh. All right.’ She stood still, unsure what to say next.

  ‘I’ll put it in a container, shall I?’ He looked at her, expectantly.

  ‘No, no. It’s all right, I’ll do it.’ Cheeks flaming, Beth scurried back to the kitchen and busied herself opening and shutting cupboard doors and drawers.

  Max was back on his phone again, not watching her, thank goodness. Her fingers trembled and the rocket leaves quivered on the spoon.

  Finally, she pressed the container into his hands. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thanks Bethy. See you tonight.’

  With that, he was gone and the house was again silent.

  She stood at the front windows and watched him reverse out of the driveway and take off out of the close in a hurry.

  It was then that it struck her. He hadn’t kissed her goodbye.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Alex paid the driver and climbed wearily out of the cab. He sped off before she even had time to close the door and her ‘thank you’ was sucked up in the squeal of spinning wheels.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she shouted uselessly into the gassy fumes left behind. At least she’d had the decency to puke outside of the vehicle.

  Alex straightened her skirt, turned on her heel and walked straight into James coming the other way.

  ‘Hey there.’ James caught her arm. ‘Are you okay? You’re really pale.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, you look terrible too.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m okay. Just a bit of morning sickness, that’s all.’

  ‘So what’s all this about then?’ He took her hand and they walked towards the school gates.

  ‘I suspect the principal has called us in to tell us the boys are too clever for Year One and need to be accelerated into Year Two.’

  James looked at her, eyebrows raised. ‘You really think that?’

  Alex stopped. ‘No, of course I don’t but it’s better than the alternatives.’

  ‘A positive attitude,’ said James, with approval. ‘I like it.’

  They stopped at the wrought-iron gates. The school itself was a red-brick monolith built in the fifties, designed to last well into the next century and intimidate all who passed through its doors.

  Alex took a breath and walked forward.

  Inside, the principal’s secretary asked them to take a seat in the hall near Mrs Ryan’s office. Alex sat and shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Did you see the look she gave us?’ she whispered to James.

  ‘What look?’

  ‘That look, like oh, you poor people.’

  ‘Maybe that’s just her normal look?’ James leant over and squeezed her knee. ‘What happened to trying to think positive?’

  ‘I gave up on it.’ Alex crossed her legs with effort. The chairs were just as she remembered school chairs to be. Hard and plastic and designed to encourage excessive sweating of the legs.

  The door swung open.

  ‘Mr and Mrs O’Rourke?’ The principal smiled grimly.

  Alex peeled herself off the seat and wiped a sweaty palm against her skirt before offering it to the composed woman before her. ‘Please, call me Alex. And this is James.’

  Mrs Ryan nodded briskly. ‘Thank you for coming at such short notice.’ She closed the door behind her. ‘I think it might be best if we conduct this in the boys’ classroom with their teacher, Miss Douglas. All the children are at lunch.’

  ‘Of course,’ said James agreeably.

  ‘This way.’ Mrs Ryan set off down the hallway.

  Following her, Alex noted the sensible court shoes and nude pantyhose, wrinkling a little above her heel. She wouldn’t like that, Alex thought. Mrs Ryan struck her as the kind of woman who liked things to be smooth. Professional. She ran Prince’s Park Primary as a tight ship, Alex had observed, not that she’d actually spent that much time at the school, much to the twins’ disappointment. They were always going on about how all the mums did tuckshop except for her, and how lots of them volunteered to come in and read with the kids which, again, Alex never did. She came to the big things – the swimming carnival and the Mother’s Day breakfast – where she usually snuck in, made a big fuss of saying hi to the boys before promptly sneaking out again.

  Mum, did you see me in the 15 metre backstroke?

  Of course I did, darling, you were wonderful!

  But I came last!

  You did your best, and that’s what counts.

  Alex absolved herself of the guilt by laying blame at the school’s feet. It was quite ridiculous, the degree of parental involvement it required. There were book-covering bees for the library, bake sales to raise money for the sister school in India, second-hand uniform shop sales, costume-making sessions for the annual show, barbecue attendants for the Father’s Day breakfast, not to mention the annual spring fair – an extravaganza of cake, sausages and giddying rides.

  Alex was happy to contribute. As long as the contribution was money. But the school only wanted her time, and that was something she simply didn’t have. Her own parents never once set foot on her school grounds and she survived Hunter High just fine. Came second top in her final exams, a fact that Alex liked to use as evidence that parental involvement was not in fact critical to student success, as the boys’ school would have had them believe. They were forever going on about the teachers educating ‘in partnership’ with parents, which Alex found disingenuous. She was a mother, not a teacher. She could read books to the boys, but not teach them how to read.

  What’s this word, darling?

  Is it ‘dog’, Mummy?

  Really? Look again. You really think it’s a D?

  Is it an X?

  How about I just read the book to you?

  The principal turned down another hallway and sounds of the playground filtered down the corridor. High-pitched squeals of delight, thudding basketballs and the occasional whistle pierced through it all. Alex pictured the twins in the thick of it. There was nothing they loved more than the rough and tumble of the playground at lunchtime.

  Mrs Ryan stopped in front of the classroom door. ‘Now, as I said on the phone, the boys are fine, but there has been some … damage, you might say.’

  Alex’s stomach catapulted. Damage to what? Damage to who?

  Mrs Ryan opened the door and Alex’s eyes flew to the sight of her two sons, sleeves rolled up and washcloths in hand. To her surprise, it was Jasper who looked up first and launched himself across the room and into her arms.

  ‘Mummy, I’m so sorry,’ Jasper sobbed. ‘I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Shush, it’s all right, darling. Mummy’s here,’ Alex crooned, and hugged the little boy tightly. Over his shoulder, she could see Noah, dawdling by the desk and clutching his crotch.

  ‘Noah,’ James called softly and crouched down. ‘Everything all right, mate? Come here.’ He opened his arms, but the little boy stayed resolutely by the desk.

  Alex and James gave each other a look. That was strange. Usually it was Noah who came running for cuddles while Jasper was the tough guy.

  ‘I’m Miss Douglas, the boys’ teacher.’ An earnest young woman in her late twenties thrust her hand forward in Alex’s direction. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, finally.’

  She disentangled herself slightly from Jasper’s embrace and shook the teacher’s hand. Finally? It was only March, which meant the boys had been in the class for less than six weeks!

  ‘I tend to meet most of the parents at the school gate in the afternoons,’ she said, as if reading Alex’s mind. ‘Hello, James. Good to see you.’

  ‘Hello, Gise
lle,’ said James, rising off his haunches.

  ‘Now, I think it might be best if I take the boys outside for a minute while Mrs Ryan has a quick word with you both. Jasper? Noah?’ She held out her hand. ‘Let’s go and find some extra cleaning cloths.’ The two boys meekly folded themselves into their teacher’s floral skirt, and trailed out of the room. Only Jasper looked over his shoulder, at which point Alex noticed the bruise on the side of his face, and a number of buttons missing from his shirt. Noah didn’t turn around once and, for the first time since entering the school gates, Alex felt real fear.

  What the hell is going on?

  She went to follow the twins but James reached out to gently hold her back.

  ‘Please take a seat.’ Mrs Ryan gestured to two small chairs.

  Alex sat, and nearly swallowed her knees. With as much dignity as she could muster, she sat up taller to give off an air of confidence that she certainly wasn’t feeling.

  Mrs Ryan straightened the already neat folder in front of her. ‘There was an … incident this morning, as you can probably tell.’ With an expression of distaste, her eyes roved about the room.

  Alex had been too focused on the boys to notice the classroom, but as she looked around, she took in the chaos. Chairs upended. Picture books tossed about. Rorschach-test paintings of butterflies half-ripped from the walls. A large jar of paint spattered over the wall and dripping onto the carpet.

  What had happened to this place? Or, more precisely, who had happened to it?

  ‘Jasper,’ she said, more to herself than anyone else.

  ‘Actually, no,’ said Mrs Ryan. ‘This is all Noah’s handiwork.’

  ‘Really?’ Alex shook her head. ‘That can’t be.’

  Not her precious, sensitive son, the twin who’d followed his brother into the world and had been following him ever since. Noah never did anything without his brother doing it first. When they were toddlers, she’d discovered the nursery smeared, wall to wall, in nappy-rash cream, with Jasper holding the pot. The same went for the time they discovered the Nutella and thought it was make-up just like Mummy wore. Then there was the period, as four year olds, where Jasper decided they were running away and ended up dragging Noah to the end of Cuthbert Close before Alex offered them a lollipop to come back home. Jasper was first back in the door, just as he’d been first to leave.

  Noah didn’t trash classrooms. Not unless Jasper did first.

  Mrs Ryan cleared her throat. ‘We have witnesses who saw them.’

  ‘Who are these witnesses?’ Alex leant forward.

  ‘Miss Douglas, for one. And several of the other children, too. They all say that Noah was doing the damage and Jasper was the one trying to stop him. That’s how he ended up with the black eye and the ripped shirt. His brother attacked him.’

  Attacked him.

  The words fizzed about the classroom.

  ‘No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong.’ Alex raised her palms, the comments still buzzing in her head like a mosquito. ‘This is ridiculous.’

  ‘Annabelle, I think what my wife means is that this is very out of character for Noah,’ said James. ‘Of course, whichever one of the twins did this, it’s extremely disappointing. But we could perhaps understand it more if Jasper were responsible.’

  The principal clasped her hands. ‘I know this is difficult to hear, but in this case, there is no doubt. Noah was responsible for this, and, to be frank, both Miss Douglas and myself think this behaviour has been building for a while.’

  Alex felt disquiet mounting inside of her. These people didn’t know her sons at all. They’d barely taught them anything. Noah still couldn’t spell his own surname. How dare they tell her that her dear little son wasn’t the boy she knew. Alex prepared to unleash the vitriol inside her, but felt James gently squeeze her hand.

  ‘How so, Annabelle? Because I have to say that Alex and I really haven’t noticed anything amiss.’

  So damn reasonable. Alex wanted to scream.

  ‘At first, we weren’t sure.’ For the first time in the meeting, Mrs Ryan looked awkward. ‘A few weeks ago, another child reported an envelope with some money for a book order being taken from his bag. We found the money in Jasper’s locker, but he denied it and we put it down as a mix-up. But then, there was another occasion where paint was poured into another child’s desk drawer. Noah came to Miss Douglas and told her Jasper had done it, but again, nothing was conclusive.’ Mrs Ryan paused and pulled out an artwork from her sheaf of papers. ‘The children were asked to draw a picture of their families. This is Jasper’s.’

  She handed it over and Alex and James studied the picture. It was the four of them, standing in a circle with their arms linked, and the house in Cuthbert Close behind them. The likenesses were rather good. He’d given James his trademark curly hair, while Alex had a big smile and her favourite red dress, right down to its bright gold buttons. The house had its gabled roof and he hadn’t missed the small crack that existed in the front window. My family, he’d scrawled in big letters across the top, and below, I love my family because they make me feel safe and happy.

  Alex couldn’t help but give a small smile. On the outside, Jasper was all rough and tumble, but inside existed a kind and loving little boy. She handed back the artwork to Mrs Ryan.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she remarked.

  ‘Yes, and it’s exactly what we would expect for a well-adjusted child of that age.’ She paused. ‘And here is Noah’s.’

  In silence, Mrs Ryan handed over another piece of paper. The drawing was mostly in blacks and browns. Noah had drawn himself at the top, with his parents beneath on either side in a triangle formation. In the picture, Alex held a phone to her ear, and her mouth was turned down in a frown. She squinted. In the lower right corner there was a tiny figure. Jasper, she supposed. There was no house. Just blank white space behind them. At the bottom, there was written scrawl, from which Alex could only make out the words Mummy and lollies.

  Watching them, Mrs Ryan spoke. ‘I think you’ll find it says I love my family because my mummy gives me lollies when she’s on the phone.’

  ‘Really?’ asked James, peering more closely.

  ‘Years of correcting children’s work,’ said Mrs Ryan. ‘Makes you very good at reading the illegible.’

  Alex cleared her throat. ‘So, he’s a little behind in his writing. We can fix that, can’t we? Hire a tutor?’ She handed back the artwork.

  ‘It’s not so much the handwriting that worries us. It’s the actual depiction of the family.’

  Alex thought back to the words Noah had written. ‘Annabelle, I’m sure you understand that I work full-time, which means I am sometimes on the phone when the boys are around but I can assure you that I don’t bribe them with lollies. You know how children tend to exaggerate.’

  Mrs Ryan shook her head. ‘That’s not it either.’ She paused. ‘When Miss Douglas asked Noah to explain the picture, he said that the figure at the top was Jasper, and that he, Noah, was the little one at the bottom.’ She waited. ‘That’s highly unusual. At this age, we expect a child to depict themselves as the major figure in their families, or at least one of the major figures. It’s normal to see themselves as the centre of their own universe. If anything, they need it this way because it gives them confidence. Self-assurance.’ She held up the artwork again and pointed to the small, sad figure at the bottom. ‘Here, Noah’s showing us that he feels small. Overshadowed by his brother.’

  ‘But it’s just a picture,’ Alex protested. ‘He probably didn’t even think about it. He doesn’t even like drawing. He probably just wanted to finish it quickly. Small figures, less time, after all.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs Ryan. ‘But in the context of the other behaviours, and certainly from what we saw today, I think Noah is trying to get our attention.’

  ‘By framing Jasper as the naughty boy, and him as the good one,’ James continued. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Interesting?’ Alex exploded. ‘It’s not inter
esting. It’s rubbish.’

  James put his hand over Alex’s. ‘I’m sorry, Annabelle. My wife’s had a bit of an emotional twenty-four hours.’

  Alex whipped her hand away. ‘Don’t patronise me,’ she snapped. ‘I might be pregnant, but I haven’t lost my mind.’

  The principal looked from James to Alex. ‘Congratulations.’ She said the word with a slight upwards inflection, as if it was almost a question.

  Alex seethed. The outburst was a poor move on her part, but everyone was being so ridiculous. She couldn’t help it. And now, that principal was sitting there in judgement of them. Her face said it all. The down-turned mouth. The doubt in her eyes. The expression that read, You two can’t even parent the children you have, and now you’re having another one?

  James cleared his throat. ‘It’s, uh, early days, but our fingers are crossed that everything works out.’

  ‘All right then,’ said the principal, rearranging the papers in front of her. ‘Given this … happy news … I think it essential we address Noah’s issues before there’s any further deterioration in his behaviour.’ She clasped her hands and looked Alex directly in the eye. ‘We think he could benefit from being put into a separate class from Jasper.’

  ‘That’s an interesting idea,’ James mused.

  Interesting. That word again. Alex suppressed a growl. David Attenborough documentaries were interesting, miso soup was interesting, the last conference she’d attended on corporate law was interesting. But this? This was challenging and confronting to everything Alex wanted for the twins. She wanted the boys to be best friends and soulmates. To have that special ‘twin thing’. Not to be forcibly separated from each other.

  ‘They need to stay together,’ said Alex. ‘They need each other. This is probably just a testosterone spurt from Noah, and I’m sure it will pass. Anyhow, I don’t see how it could work – there’s only one class.’