The Perfect Lie

by Karen Osman

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is this Mrs Carmichael?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mrs Carmichael, this is Margaret Chillton, Joshua’s headmistress. There has been an incident this afternoon at the school – Joshua is fine – but we think it’s best if you or your husband could come in please.’ The headmistress’s tone had been firm and Claire had felt her chest tighten in response.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s a little delicate to discuss over the phone. What time could you or your husband be here?’

  ‘I’m leaving home now,’ replied Claire, already reaching for her handbag and Jamie. ‘I’ll be there in thirty minutes.’

  ‘Thank you – see you shortly.’

  Claire had hung up and quickly called Joshua on his mobile but it went straight to voicemail. She wasn’t surprised. There were strict rules about phone usage in the school and it was probably in his locker. She left home, shooing Jamie ahead of her, and hurried to her car and strapped Jamie in the back seat. She would call Chris en route.

  The traffic was heavy and as she weaved through the lanes impatiently, she’d tried to imagine what had happened. A fight seemed the most plausible. If there had been a serious accident, Mrs Chillton would have told her to go to the hospital. Bullying? Joshua didn’t seem the type, but Claire knew it took all sorts. And Joshua had been acting strange lately, but she’d put it down to a girl. What if it had nothing to do with a girl? Or worse what it if it had?

  She’d tried Chris’s mobile again, but it went straight to voicemail and she left another message, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. Claire focused on slowing down her thoughts. In her mind, she envisaged talking to Chris and what he would say.

  The school is probably overreacting.

  Whatever it is we will sort it.

  It can’t be that bad.

  No one has died.

  Chris had developed all sorts of platitudes over the years to calm her down when she got overanxious.

  Finally, Claire had arrived at the school, just before the official school day ended and as she raced up the steps and into the foyer holding tightly on to Jamie’s hand, they got caught in a maelstrom of uniform-clad teenagers all heading in the opposite direction. While the sixth-form college had its own building on campus, she was sure the headmistress’s office was in the senior school. Extracting herself from the crowds, she double-checked with reception where the headmistress’s office was and was directed to the third floor, fourth door on the left. When she’d finally arrived, she was dismayed to be told by the secretary to take a seat for a few minutes.

  Where was Joshua?

  Jamie was getting fidgety and she’d been grateful that she’d remembered to grab the iPad on her way out to keep him occupied. Claire kept herself distracted by typing out another message to Chris to let him know she was at the school. After that, there was nothing to do but wait and Claire reverted to a childhood habit where she would imagine the worst-case scenario in order to prepare for it.

  Within five minutes, the door to the headmistress’s office had opened and Claire instinctively stood up. She’d watched as a set of parents walked out of the office and tried to place them. Were those parents involved somehow? She didn’t have a chance to pursue the thought as Margaret Chillton stepped into the doorway. Claire didn’t meet her very often and the last time had been at the welcome event for parents whose children were transitioning from senior school to sixth-form college.

  ‘Mrs Carmichael,’ greeted the headmistress, smoothly. ‘Thank you for coming in at such short notice. Come through.’

  Claire turned to her son, checking he was still engrossed in the iPad before turning to Natalie, the school secretary. Without needing to say anything, Natalie had nodded at Claire, confirming that she would watch Jamie while Claire went to talk with her boss.

  Claire entered the inner sanctum of academia and the first thing she saw was Joshua’s laptop on the desk. She recognised it from the Manchester United sticker in the top right-hand corner.

  ‘As you’re probably aware,’ started Margaret Chillton, sitting behind her large imposing desk and indicating for Claire to be seated opposite her, ‘this is Joshua’s laptop. Unfortunately, we’ve found some extremely sensitive material on it. In cases such as these, we’re duty bound to inform the parents. I’m sure you understand.’

  Porn?

  Claire had felt her shoulders soften a fraction.

  Porn she could deal with. It wasn’t ideal, but didn’t every teenage boy have some? Yes, he was an idiot for doing it on a school laptop but at least no one was hurt, and the incident hadn’t involved anybody else. She imagined Chris’s laugh when she told him, and no doubt Chris would regale her with his own teenage porn stash. Chris would have a man-to-man chat with Joshua and then the matter would be forgotten.

  The headmistress had turned on the laptop and Claire had braced herself to see photos of stereotypical big-breasted random women in tantalising positions. But when Margaret Chillton had turned the screen towards her Claire had instinctively flinched. Gazing brazenly out at the camera was what looked to be a teenager wearing nothing but the bottom half of her school uniform.

  Please God, let her be over sixteen years old. What the hell was Joshua thinking?

  Claire felt sick. Porn was one thing but this was something else entirely.

  ‘As you’ve probably guessed, this girl is a student,’ said Margaret Chillton.

  Claire felt the walls recede.

  ‘We have learnt that she’s in her second year at Trimour Sixth-Form College, seventeen years old, and she sent this to Joshua after a series of intimate email exchanges.’

  Claire turned away from the image, trying to block out the photograph as the headmistress paused to let the information sink in.

  ‘I can see you feel exactly as we do here at the school, Mrs Carmichael. Joshua has rarely been in any trouble before. In fact, he’s been a model student. However, we take such things extremely seriously and our first step is to talk with the parents involved…’

  Claire let the rest of the words float over her. She couldn’t do this on her own. Where the fuck was Chris?

  ‘What will happen next?’ asked Claire, finally finding her voice.

  ‘As far as we know, Joshua has only received this image and he’s told us he hasn’t distributed it or shared it.’

  ‘You’ve talked to Joshua? What else did he say?’ appealed Claire. ‘Who is this girl and why would she send things like this to him?’

  ‘I have talked to Joshua, Mrs Carmichael, and he was very upset to have the image discovered as you can imagine. He should have reported it immediately.’

  Claire closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

  ‘I know it’s distressing, Mrs Carmichael, and I don’t want to lessen the severity of the incident, but please bear in mind Joshua hasn’t taken the photo or distributed it and this will be taken into consideration along with his previous excellent track record.’

  Claire nodded.

  ‘We also have to consider,’ continued the headmistress, ‘that this incident seems to be more experimental in nature rather than any aggressive form of sexting. Do you know if your son was romantically involved with a girl?’

  Claire thought back over the last few weeks.

  ‘We thought he could be, yes,’ admitted Claire.

  ‘Is she his first girlfriend?’

  ‘I believe so – certainly the first one to have affected his mood so dramatically.’

  ‘So, he’s been acting different at home?’ asked the headmistress, eyeballing her.

  ‘For the last few weeks, yes. Slightly closed off.’ Claire was trying not to feel interrogated.

  ‘We have noticed,’ continued the headmistress, ‘that Joshua has got to know some different boys in his year, aside from his usual friends who he came up from senior school with.’

  ‘Different boys?’ asked Claire, puzzled.

  ‘Yes. This year, we
received an intake from Colston Senior Boys School. There are four of them and while they’re academically strong of course, I do wonder if their… ahhh… interests might have influenced Joshua somewhat,’ explained the headmistress delicately. ‘Has Joshua ever mentioned any new friends over the last couple of months?’

  ‘No,’ replied Claire, bewildered. ‘He’s only ever mentioned Mark and the lads… the usual…’

  Claire realised her stupidity immediately. The lads could refer to anyone and she’d simply assumed it was the same group of boys he’d hung around with all through senior school.

  ‘I’ll ask him about them,’ promised Claire. She felt spent and was eager to leave the heavy atmosphere of the office.

  ‘Yes, that might be worth doing,’ confirmed the headmistress, standing up. Claire tried not to feel chastised.

  ‘Let me update the school board of our conversation,’ she continued, ‘and I’ll come back to you with our recommendations. He’s with Mr Robbins now. Would you like someone to take you up to him?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  It was clear the meeting was over, and Claire rose from her seat with what little self-assuredness she could muster. Margaret Chillton opened the office door and let Claire pass.

  ‘Natalie, can you take Mrs Carmichael up to Mr Robbins please – classroom four,’ instructed the headmistress before holding out her hand and shaking Claire’s firmly. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Claire. She went to Jamie, took his hand and obediently followed Natalie, her mind still trying to make sense of the conversation as they walked through the school corridors.

  ‘Just through here, Mrs Carmichael.’

  ‘Thank you.’ From the doorway of the classroom, Claire could see Joshua sat at one of the desks, his head bowed as if he was doing his homework, but Claire could see his pen wasn’t moving and she wondered what was going through his mind. A teacher, who she presumed was Mr Robbins, was sat working but rose from his seat when Claire and Jamie walked into the room. Yet, Claire’s eyes were only on her son and as he looked up at her, she saw the fear in his eyes and all she wanted to do was take him in her arms and hold him.

  When had it all become so complicated?

  At the moment, she would have done anything to go back in time to when he was just a baby, all innocence and talcum powder. But it was an impossible wish and Claire knew with absolute certainty that how she handled this situation would have many implications. The enormity of responsibility, of successfully raising a boy into a good man, almost winded her.

  It was Jamie who lightened the atmosphere though and his sheer delight at the unexpected meeting with his older brother broke the tension.

  ‘Come on, let’s go home,’ she’d said to Joshua who was now holding Jamie in one arm and having his cheeks squeezed by his brother’s pudgy hands.

  With his free arm, Joshua grabbed his rucksack. Claire turned to Mr Robbins and nodded her thanks. She was surprised when the teacher spoke.

  ‘I’m Mr Robbins, Mrs Carmichael,’ he’d announced, holding out his hand.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she’d said distractedly. All she’d wanted to do was get Joshua in the car and get home.

  ‘I teach Joshua PE,’ he continued.

  ‘Oh right – how’s he doing?’ replied Claire, politeness overtaking impatience.

  ‘Really well.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’ It was then that she looked at Mr Robbins a little more closely. He looked familiar. His tall frame, broad chest, and large ears.

  ‘Have we met before?’ asked Claire.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, why?’

  ‘No reason.’ Claire dismissed it, keen to get home. ‘You ready, Joshua?’

  ‘Yep,’ replied Joshua already walking to the door. ‘Bye, Mr Robbins.’

  ‘Bye, Joshua.’

  Claire had followed and gone to shut the classroom door behind her. It was then that she saw Mr Robbins sit down and pick up the small stress ball from his desk, squeeze it and start passing it from hand to hand.

  It was that motion that had brought back another buried memory. It had been after school and most students had left for the day. Paul and Claire had been studying in the empty library. Anyone wandering in would have simply seen two students doing their homework, but underneath the table, their knees touched. Paul would occasionally take a break and reach his hand for hers, the caress concealed by the graffiti-covered desk.

  After their study session, the school deserted, Paul had walked Claire home via the school field where the football team were wrapping up their practice, and it was there that she’d seen Paul wave to one of the players. She’d followed his line of sight and seen one of the boys wave back before picking up the football and passing it back and forth between his hands.

  ‘I didn’t know you and Brian were friends?’ Claire had asked, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  ‘Yeah, we bike together,’ replied Paul.

  ‘Oh,’ replied Claire. She didn’t know him personally, but everyone knew of popular Brian Robbins.

  ‘He’s a good friend too,’ Paul had added, and Claire had heard the pleasure in his voice.

  But that had been the end of it and Brian’s name had rarely come up again.

  34

  Paul lay down on the sofa bed and tried to get comfortable. He rarely opened it up into a bed, mainly because he couldn’t be bothered; most nights he slept on it as it was. He pulled the duvet around him. He was already wearing a jumper over his pyjamas, but it was still freezing. It was one of the coldest months of the year, but he was reluctant to switch the central heating back on once he was in bed. He didn’t want to waste his money on bills.

  Lifting his head up to lean against the armrest, he debated whether to get up and put his hat on. He decided against it and instead reached down for the biology textbook Simone had given him earlier. He leafed through it, his eyes quickly scanning the contents. Not much had changed since his own school days.

  He let the book drop on his chest, feeling the weight of it, and closed his eyes, going through the list of girls in his mind like an old-fashioned Rolodex. He never wrote any of their names down. He didn’t need to – he easily kept track of them. He had eight now, all stunningly beautiful, and he felt himself grow hard at the thought of them. He would work on Simone next – he couldn’t let such an opportunity pass by.

  The youth centre had welcomed his volunteer services as tutor and he’d taught quite a few of the members over the last couple of years. It wasn’t always easy; most of them didn’t come to the youth centre to study, but gradually, little by little, he’d built up a reputation, mainly by making his study sessions different from school. The days of textbooks were long gone and instead he would use different techniques that would resonate with each student.

  One of his students, Carl, had been passionate about boxing so he’d taught the periodic table along the same lines as a boxing sequence. Carl had brought in his gloves and before long all he had to do was imagine he was in the ring, punching out the elements. It was this technique, and others, that had got Carl an acceptable C in his chemistry exam instead of his predicted F.

  Now all he had to do was find a way to help Simone prepare for her biology exam in a way that represented her love of textiles and then she would be putty in his hands. Paul mulled over his approach and eventually fell into a restless sleep.

  *

  Paul and Simone sat back in their chairs at the youth centre, grinning at each other in satisfaction. Comparing cell biology to fashion design had been a new one for him but somehow, he’d managed it. The proof was in Simone’s blue eyes – the fog had lifted and they’d widened in comprehension as she started to sketch and label the cell structure. To most people, it was a scientific drawing. To Simone, it represented – and Paul was still trying to get his head around this one – a handbag – and every part of the cell – from the nucleus to the mitochondria – was a design element of the b
ag.

  As he watched her sketch and correctly label the cell parts, Paul knew he’d succeeded in capturing her interest. She was so engrossed that she hadn’t even looked up when the TV in the youth centre had been turned up high, the theme tune of The X Factor blasting out. Nor when Shelley, her mate, had shouted her name across the hall to come and watch. But the real test was when her phone had emitted a ping, signalling a message. Paul watched for her reaction, waiting for her fingers to drop the pencil and reach for her phone. It never happened, and Paul knew then he’d found a way to ensure she continued her extra study sessions with him.

  ‘At this rate, Simone, you’re going to pass biology with flying colours!’ said Paul, after she’d packed up her notes and they sat chatting at the table.

  ‘God, I wish Jenkins taught biology like you did! I’d have no problems then,’ replied Simone. ‘What will we work on next week?’

  Paul saw his opportunity. ‘The mock exam’s in a few weeks, is that right?’

  ‘Yeah end March – just before we break up for the Easter holidays,’ groaned Simone.

  ‘Well,’ said Paul, ‘I reckon we can review the majority of the syllabus if we meet two or three times a week – what do you say?’

  ‘But I only come to the youth club once a week,’ said Simone. Paul waited, holding his breath, knowing how critical it was to exercise patience. Move too fast and she might bolt. He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to fiddle with his rucksack. He saw Simone frown before looking up at him.

  Come on. Say it!

  ‘Unless we meet somewhere else?’ Simone suggested tentatively, and Paul allowed himself a split second of triumph.

  ‘Sure, can do,’ replied Paul, shrugging. ‘How about the twenty-four-hour coffee shop on Steeple Street around eight-ish? I could do Mondays, if that works, and Wednesdays at a pinch.’