by Karen Osman
‘How do you know all this stuff!’ exclaimed Simone and Paul savoured the rare admiration. They’d been talking about artificial intelligence, a first for Paul with one of the youth club members. Usually, it was football or the next night out.
‘I used to be pretty good in school,’ he replied, noncommittally.
‘How old are you?’ asked Simone, intrigued. For a minute, Paul thought about lying, then decided against it.
‘Forty-three,’ he replied.
‘Yeah, that is old,’ replied Simone with all the nonchalance of a teenager.
‘Thanks!’ replied Paul sarcastically, but he was grinning.
Simone appraised him thoughtfully. ‘You don’t look forty-three if that makes you feel any better.’
‘I don’t?’ said Paul. ‘How old do I look then?’
‘Still old, but maybe thirty-five or something like that.’
‘Thanks, I’ll take it.’
They were sat at the table where Simone was busy sewing two pieces of fabric together. A skirt, apparently.
‘So, what was your favourite subject?’ asked Simone, surprising Paul by returning to their previous conversation.
‘Science,’ replied Paul, trying to ignore the strange longing that shot through him.
‘Urgh! I hate science, especially biology. I hate Mrs Jenkins – she made us dissect a frog. I thought I was going to be sick. And we have our mock exam soon – I’m dreading it.’
Paul felt the flutter of opportunity. But he had to go carefully. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t understand any of it – Jenkins makes it all so bloody complicated! And if I skive any more classes, they’ll end up suspending me,’ announced Simone, grabbing her sewing scissors and furiously cutting the fabric. Paul watched as the material sliced in two, her blonde head bent over in concentration.
‘When’s your exam?’
‘In a few weeks,’ murmured Simone as she finished and put the scissors down and looked back up at him. ‘Anyway, I don’t care. I just want to work in textiles. My friend’s mum works in a clothes shop and said she might be able to get me a job after I leave school.’
‘But don’t you want to study design?’ asked Paul.
‘Yeah, but I don’t see how I’m going to do that without any money. Besides, a shop is a good place to start, understand what customers are looking for… you know…’
Simone tailed off and Paul heard her uncertainty.
‘Well, you just need a handful of exam passes to go to sixth-form college and that doesn’t cost anything. And I can help you if you like…’
Simone looked at him and Paul feigned disinterest by examining a hangnail.
‘Help me? What do you mean?’ replied Simone, curiously.
‘Well, help you with your biology and other classes. You don’t have to get A stars – you just need to pass.’
Simone didn’t reply, and Paul panicked that he’d been too quick to propose his solution.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she replied, but Paul could tell from her smile that it was as good as done.
31
Claire was relieved to see Joshua smile at her as she entered his bedroom. He was reading on his bed. She had knocked on his door before entering, she just hadn’t waited for him to say ‘come in.’ As she placed the freshly ironed laundry on a chair, Claire made a show of straightening the room and aligning the curtains.
‘I’m just reading, Mum,’ said Joshua with a grin, knowing full well she was checking on him. Claire smiled back at him, grateful he was so understanding.
‘I know – I’m just tidying up your room a little,’ replied Claire, determined to keep up the pretence. ‘Are you ready to put up the Christmas tree decorations this afternoon?’
‘Are you going to make hot chocolate?’ bartered Joshua.
‘Of course!’ said Claire.
‘With marshmallows?’
‘Yep.’
‘And cream?’
‘Absolutely.’ It was a family tradition they’d had since Joshua was small. ‘Just give me five minutes to finish up in here.’
Joshua went back to reading his book, not planning on moving until he could smell the hot chocolate. Claire adjusted the chair and picked up a fallen book from his desk. Joshua’s room was always fairly presentable, just another example of the dream-child status that she’d attributed to him all those years ago when he’d first slept through the night at six months. From then onwards, Joshua had slept twelve hours pretty much every night.
At the mother and baby clinic, when other mothers complained about lack of sleep, Claire refrained from sharing her good fortune and instead, she listened to stories of sleep deprivation, feeding every three hours and babies screaming when placed in the cot. She couldn’t imagine it, but having got to know the other mothers so well, she realised how lucky she was to have a baby like Joshua. And since then, he’d rarely given them any trouble. He’d been an open book.
Until last year.
He’d just moved into sixth-form college and Claire had been stunned by the sudden mood swings, backchat, arguments and excessive use of his mobile phone. Those things had been difficult enough but what followed had been horrendous and Claire tried not to think about it. Since starting back at sixth-form college for his second year, things had much improved, but Claire still worried.
At the time, she had suspected it was something to do with a girlfriend. She hadn’t been sure, but she remembered one night, almost twelve months ago, as they were all sat around watching television, he’d received a message on his phone. He’d suddenly announced he was going out and he left the house in a cloud of aftershave and a fresh T-shirt. Claire didn’t know who the girl was; she could only hope that she was nice and didn’t mess him around.
But when he came back less than an hour later, it was clear that the evening had gone wrong. When she’d gently asked him about it, he’d muttered something about not even messaging to let him know she was no longer coming and Claire knew he’d been stood up. Her heart broke for him. But she knew there was nothing she could do and as he’d stormed off to his bedroom, Claire had hoped it would all blow over. Instead, it seemed to get worse, judging by Joshua’s absolute refusal to speak some days. Chris had warned her not to pressurise him but after a couple of weeks of this, Claire had gone into his bedroom, sat on the edge of his bed and gently removed his phone from his hands. His closed laptop lay next to him on the bed.
‘You okay, love?’ she’d asked simply.
Joshua had nodded, looking out of the window, refusing to meet her eye.
‘Anything on your mind?’ she’d tried.
‘All good. Just homework.’ He’d continued to stare out of the window, his chin defiant.
‘You know, if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m—’
‘I know, Mum, thanks.’
Claire had nodded. It was clear Joshua hadn’t been in the mood for sharing and she hadn’t wanted to push him.
‘Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it,’ she had said, reluctantly getting up from his bed. She had looked down at him, the top of his head reminding her of those early baby days when she would spend hours just holding him and smelling his hair. She had leant down then and given him a kiss and left the room.
After closing the door behind her, she didn’t hear Joshua reopen his laptop. Or watch him as he stared at the topless photo he’d received in his inbox, the girl’s name at the top of the email making his stomach flip in desire.
*
Chris had looked up at her questioningly as Claire sat down next to him on the sofa. She’d shrugged. ‘Nothing. Maybe you’ll have better luck.’
‘Okay. I’ll see if I can drop him off in the car somewhere this week, but honestly, Claire, you’re overreacting. It’s just normal teenage stuff.’
‘I know, I know. I’m just not used to him being like this, that’s all.’
‘Well, it had to happen sooner or later – we’ve had it good with him so far. And
to be honest, it could be far worse. At least this way, it’s just girl problems.’
Claire recalled this conversation with Chris knowing now that he’d been right but at the time, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that there was something more to it. But then she’d always been more sensitive about Joshua. When Joshua was little, Chris was always saying she spoilt him too much, hugged him too much, was too cautious with him. She used to watch in horror as Chris threw him up in the air and caught him again, her precious boy screaming with laughter. When the two of them would roll around on the floor play-wrestling, Claire’s heart would be in her mouth that Chris would squash him or break one of his bones.
As Joshua had got older, she’d become used to it, but she still struggled with just how much physicality boys seemed to exert towards one another. Always moving, pushing, shoving, running, kicking, wrestling, jumping. Once, Joshua had run towards her, his head down, and she’d held the tears back as his forehead had connected with her pelvis, his boyish desire to hug her resulting in a painful head-butt.
But now seeing Joshua on his bed, relaxed and happy, she leant over to kiss him on his forehead, and he swatted her away playfully before grabbing her in a big bear hug, Claire leant in to him, thankful that her son had returned to his usual self.
‘Come on,’ she said, happily. ‘Let’s go and make hot chocolate and put up the Christmas decorations.’
*
‘Did you see about the reunion?’ asked Chris, as he took the empty boxes of Christmas decorations from her to put back into the loft.
‘Reunion?’ replied Claire.
‘Yep – it was on Facebook.’
‘A school reunion?’ she asked, trying to not let the panic creep into her voice.
‘No – university.’
‘Oh right, any particular reason?’ The panic subsided and Claire was curious.
‘Well, they were supposed to have it two years ago to celebrate twenty years since we graduated but no one got their arse in gear.’
‘When is it?’
‘Next month – shall we go?’
‘Yep, why not? Could be fun,’ replied Claire distractedly, picking up her phone to check her Facebook notifications for the reunion date. She knew it was more likely that they wouldn’t end up going.
‘God, can you believe it’s been over twenty years? Makes me feel ancient,’ said Chris.
Claire looked up in surprise. It was rare for him to bemoan his age. ‘You’re still gorgeous though,’ she complimented.
‘Your mother thought so too,’ he added with a wink, giving her a peck on the cheek.
Claire laughed. He wasn’t wrong. When her mother had found out she was going out with Chris, she’d been absolutely delighted.
‘Just the type of boy every mother wants for their daughter!’ Claire remembered her announcing. Claire wondered how her mother knew about Chris and questioned her.
‘Everyone knows the Carmichaels, love. Even your father knows the Carmichaels.’ And Claire had understood then. It was about status. About appearances. About connections. In fact, her mother had done everything possible to encourage their relationship, but she needn’t have worried – Chris was smitten. Everyone had told her how lucky she was to have a boyfriend like Chris.
So committed!
So thoughtful!
And for the most part she agreed but, occasionally, she wondered why no one said he was the lucky one.
‘After everything that happened with Paul and the incident,’ her mother had commented one night when she was back home for the Easter holidays in her last year of university, ‘well, it’s a relief he’s so understanding. Didn’t I tell you everything would work out?’
Claire had been surprised; Paul’s name was rarely mentioned since she’d told her mother everything that fateful afternoon. But that holiday, between endless hours preparing for her final university exams, Claire had sensed something was going on. Her mother seemed almost euphoric. A couple of times, she’d heard her mother speaking in a low voice on the phone. It was only when she found a bridal magazine hidden between the sofa cushions that she started to suspect. Was Chris planning to ask her to marry him?
Chris himself was acting perfectly normal although they hadn’t seen much of each other as they were both revising so hard. Later she learnt her suspicions had been correct and after they had both finished their final year exams, Chris took her on holiday to Santorini and presented her with an engagement ring.
When she came back from that holiday, her tanned skin showing off the diamond, she didn’t think she’d ever seen her mother so happy. Claire had looked at the ring and she had to agree that its impressive size, cut and clarity were a stunning symbol of everything she had to look forward to in a future with Chris.
32
The first thing Paul did when he got back to his bedsit from work or the youth centre each evening was turn on his computer. He felt the hum of anticipation as he logged on to his social media accounts. He found Facebook the most useful and had hacked into several profiles as well as created different accounts for himself. He connected with Claire as Dr Bradley, a law professor at the University of London, who rarely posted on Facebook. Claire, however, had always been surprisingly active on her account and he’d found it easy to trace a lot of her movements and keep up to date with her life. It was certainly easier than trailing her. He hated going back to Castlefield and rarely ventured into the town.
Although he doubted anyone would recognise him when he walked the streets, he still remembered the fear of being jumped on by Gavin and his mates. While he’d watched Claire’s house many times, he’d never been back to his own childhood home. Let someone else have it – it was a shithole anyway, haunted with violence and secrets.
Paul clicked on Claire’s profile and quickly scanned to see if there was a new update since the day before. There wasn’t and, disappointed, he searched through her other social media accounts, knowing it was unlikely he would be rewarded today. Claire was active on Twitter but only to communicate legal updates, and she rarely used Instagram. He didn’t believe she had any other profiles, apart from a fairly static LinkedIn page, although he checked regularly.
His task finished, he sat back in the chair, thinking what to do next. He knew he shouldn’t stay on his computer, typing, clicking, and scrolling through other profiles of people from his past, but it was like a scab that wouldn’t stop itching. As he leaned in to the monitor, his eyes held hostage by the screen, he burned with resentment as he frantically browsed, their successful lives a stark contrast to his own.
*
It was past eleven at night when he finally shut down. The hours hadn’t been for nothing though. During that time, a notification had popped up on Facebook saying Claire had posted an update and as he clicked on to her profile, he’d been rewarded with a photo of Chris, Joshua and Jamie, although he was disappointed Claire wasn’t in it.
My boys x
They were in a park, all wrapped up in hats and coats, looking like something out of a fucking Ralph Lauren advert and he guessed she’d taken it earlier that day, cheerfully directing them to put their arms around each other, choreographing the perfect shot. He made a note of the location, Alexandra Park, in case it came in useful.
Paul was hungry, but he couldn’t be bothered to make a meal, so instead grabbed a bread roll from the kitchen, slathered it with butter and lay down on his bed. He was tired. After work, he’d had to supply a couple of customers. As a dealer, he had about twenty regulars. He’d kept it deliberately small, as he didn’t need the hassle.
Over the years, he’d accumulated and saved a fair amount of money, mainly because he never spent it on anything. He had a feeling that he should keep it safe knowing he might need it for something important one day. He’d always been careful not to get involved with any of the drug gangs or impose on anyone else’s turf. Most of his customers were his old neighbours from Fairfield but he also supplied a professional footballer, a T
V executive, and a couple of D-list celebrities. Not that he’d ever met them in person of course, and he knew all his clients appreciated his discretion.
As he ate, he thought back to a post he’d seen during his earlier social media search. One of his old classmates, Phil Newsom, had recently won some bullshit award at his boring job. He couldn’t remember what the job was, or the award, but he remembered reading a comment underneath.
So proud of you, Love Dad.
He didn’t ever remember his dad saying he was proud of him and though Phil clearly had nothing better to do if he was posting such things on Facebook, he’d certainly got lucky in the parent stakes. He remembered how Maureen had looked at him when he’d come home from school after being expelled. It was clear from her expression the headmaster had already called her and explained what had happened. He’d seen it in her eyes; the horror and dismay. She hadn’t even bothered to ask him. Just assumed. He’d stormed upstairs to his bedroom, slamming the door, gulping down hot tears of rage.
It had all been Claire’s fault. If she’d just…
But she hadn’t. He would get her though. If it took a lifetime, he would get her and this time he would be in control. He would watch the fear flourish in her eyes and relish every moment.
January 2018
33
It was just a few days into 2018 and her third day back in the office after the Christmas and New Year holidays. Claire hung up the phone with relief and turned back to the document she’d been working on. It was just Natalie, the school secretary at Joshua’s school, requesting a change of appointment for the parent-teacher meeting, which was happening the following month. Still, she struggled to concentrate on the paperwork in front of her. Whenever she saw the number of the school flash up on the screen, she always had a moment’s anxiety, which turned into impatience as the speaker on the other end went through the verification process.
Yes, this is Mrs Carmichael; yes, I am Joshua’s mother.
The anxiety had become worse since one particular phone call Claire had received from the school last year. It was during Joshua’s off the rails phase and even now, she felt sick to her stomach whenever she thought about it. The phone had rung one Thursday afternoon when Claire had been playing on the floor with Jamie. The ring of her mobile had been a welcome distraction from the fifteenth round of car chases.
