by K. L. Slater
I sit up a bit straighter.
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shakes his head, fighting with himself.
This might be the only chance I get to speak to him about Archie.
‘Darren, you know you can tell me anything, and this is important. If Louise is overly distracted with work, then it’s up to us to make sure Archie isn’t suffering in any way.’
‘Has he said anything to you… about being unhappy?’ He looks wretched, as if he’s blaming himself.
‘No, but I can tell something’s not right. I tried to raise it with Louise, but she got annoyed, thought I was criticising her parenting skills.’
‘She’s so defensive, snaps my head off every time I try to get her to sit down and talk to me. Especially if it’s anything to do with Archie.’
I know how that feels only too well.
‘I know I’m just his stepfather, but I love that boy. I’d do anything for him, and it breaks my heart…’ his voice cracks, ‘when I think Louise is taking her frustrations out on him.’
‘Archie thinks of you as his father, Darren,’ I say firmly. ‘He always has and that’s what’s important. But what do you mean about her taking it out on him?’
He looks at the floor.
‘Sometimes I think he’s scared of her.’ He drops his voice lower, as if he’s worried someone might hear. ‘These past few weeks she’s been acting so weirdly at home, not like herself at all. She’s short-tempered and we’ve both felt the sting of her vicious tongue. I’m out of the house so much and I worry that Archie is taking the brunt of it.’
I consider this. I’ve witnessed her snapping at Archie and brushing away my concerns about him at school.
‘I told her I suspect he’s being bullied, but she seems to think the school have it all in hand.’
I wonder whether to confide in Darren about Archie’s bed-wetting. He didn’t want anyone to know, but it’s often the sign of a troubled child. Archie, at eight years old, is hardly the best judge of what the important adults in his life need to know.
‘You look as if you were going to say something,’ Darren prompts me.
I decide I can’t do it. Not this time.
‘Not really, just thinking about what you’ve said. Maybe you should speak to Archie, reassure him he can speak to you in confidence.’
Darren nods thoughtfully.
‘There’s something else.’ He shuffles to the edge of his seat and looks right at me. ‘I’m pretty sure Louise is having an affair.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I don’t know whether to expect Archie the morning after my set-to with Louise, but he arrives at seven as usual.
‘Thanks,’ Louise mutters, leaving him at the door.
Not overly friendly, but civil at least.
Archie seems a bit cagey as he skirts around me, takes off his shoes and then sits quietly in the lounge without turning the television on.
‘How’s things?’ I ask him brightly, wondering if Louise gave him a hard time last night when they left.
‘OK.’
‘Put the TV on if you like. I’ll just get dressed.’
I wait in the hall a few moments, listening, before heading for my bedroom, but the television remains silent.
I get dressed quickly, wincing but tolerating the twinges in my lower back. I’m distracted by trying to think of a way to get Archie to open up to me, to ascertain if there’s anything he’s worried about in a way that doesn’t put him under any pressure and doesn’t violate Louise’s probable instruction not to talk to me about personal matters.
When we step outside the apartment building, I pause to look up at the sky. I’m relieved to see the fine drizzle has stopped and the cloud is beginning to break up, allowing weak rays of sunlight to arrow through. The good weather is late coming this year.
I’ve left a few minutes early to give us time to take a more leisurely walk this morning.
‘Soon be the Easter hols.’ I smile down at Archie as we set off walking, but he keeps his eyes on the pavement. ‘Has your mum got anything planned… trips out, perhaps, or a holiday?’
‘I don’t know,’ Archie says.
‘I used to love school holidays because I got to do lots of artwork. Do you like art? Have you got paints at home?’
‘Mum doesn’t like the mess.’
‘What about your dad, does he like doing stuff with you when you’re at home?’
‘He’s busy.’
OK, clearly time to change tack. After a short pause, I try again.
‘Hey, I heard about this great game the other day. Want to play?
‘What sort of game?’ he says suspiciously.
‘It’s called the word association game.’
‘It doesn’t sound like much fun.’
‘It is, though. Wanna try it?’
‘OK.’ He shrugs.
‘Here’s how it works. I say a word, and you say the first word that comes into your head. So if I say salt, you might say pepper. Get it?’
‘Sounds easy.’ Archie is unimpressed.
‘Ah, but there’s a catch, see. You’re not allowed to think about your answer at all, you just have to say the first thing that comes into your head. That’s the golden rule.’
He kicks at pebbles but doesn’t say anything.
‘Let’s have a go. The first word is… flower.’
He hesitates. ‘Rose.’
‘Legs.’
He waits a second too long. ‘Errm… trousers.’
‘That’s good, but if you want to beat the best time, you have to answer like that!’ I snap my fingers.
‘OK.’ He grins.
‘Here we go then… Face.’
‘Ache.’ He comes back like a flash.
We both laugh.
‘Nose.’
‘Snot.’ Archie doubles over laughing.
‘Apple.’
‘Pie.’
‘Dog.’
‘Breath.’
‘Ha, ha, nice one.’ I grin. ‘You’re good at this, Archie.’
‘I like this game. Do I get to ask you some words?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Few more from me first, though.’
‘School.’
‘Boring.’
‘Teacher.’
‘Strict.’
‘Friends.’
‘Football.’
‘Mum.’
‘Angry.’
‘Carrot.’
‘Cake.’
‘Home.’
‘Work.’
‘Dad.’
A slight hesitation again. ‘Cry.’
‘Brilliant, Archie. Your turn to ask me, now, though I don’t think I can beat that.’
In between the silliest replies I can give to make him laugh, I review Archie’s own answers. They weren’t what I expected. His response for the word mum was angry, which makes sense. Louise seems to be snappy with everyone right now, myself included.
His response to dad was cry, which I found sad and made me feel like I was intruding in private family matters, but it fits with the stuff Darren told me himself yesterday.
There was no mention of bullying or hurting around the words related to school, but I’m still going to carry through with a plan I was thinking about all night, on and off.
‘Last word for me this time,’ I say to Archie as we approach the school gates.
‘OK… The last word is: Alice.’ He grins, pointing at me.
‘Weak,’ I say without thinking.
‘Weak?’ Archie stops walking. ‘You’re not weak, Auntie Alice. You’re strong and kind and you’re very intelligent, too.’
I turn to look at him, wondering if he’s being smart, but his face is open and honest.
‘Well, that’s… nice of you to say so, Archie. Thank you.’ I almost feel uncomfortable, which is silly because it’s only a game.
‘You’re welcome.’ He steps forward and squeezes my hand. ‘I like spending time at
your flat. I feel safe there.’
‘Do you feel safe at home, Archie?’ A look of alarm crosses his face. ‘You know you can tell me anything you—’
‘I forgot! It’s my turn to help make the toast at breakfast club. Bye, Auntie Alice!’ And in a flash he’s gone, trotting through the gates and into reception.
* * *
I’ve made some mistakes in my life I’d dearly like to reverse. Who hasn’t? I can never forget the past, but looking out for Archie is something I can do right now.
I can make a difference, if I find the courage.
I’ve tried talking to Louise about my concerns, which didn’t work, and I know Darren is worried about him but isn’t around enough to monitor the situation.
I’m certain someone is hurting and upsetting Archie and I feel completely justified in following that up, however awful the outcome might turn out to be.
A shiver of discomfort trickles down my spine into the pool of darkness at my coccyx.
I don’t know what I really think might be happening to my nephew.
I don’t want to second-guess, and I don’t want to try and identify the twisty, faceless shadows that play at the edge of my consciousness.
Instead, I’m going to do something I probably shouldn’t.
I’m going to do it right now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I wait until the school receptionist has buzzed Archie through into the main building and then I go back inside.
I know he’ll be going straight into breakfast club and they’re not allowed inside the classroom until the bell rings, signalling the start of the day.
‘Can I help you?’ The young receptionist slides open the glass hatch and offers me a faint smile.
‘I’m Alice Fisher, Archie Thorne’s auntie, and I wondered if it would be possible to speak to Mrs Booth, his class teacher, please?’ The faint smile disappears. ‘I literally just need a couple of minutes, that’s all.’
‘Can I ask what it’s about?’
An older woman sitting at an adjacent desk looks up from her paperwork.
‘It’s a health issue the school really needs to know about. The doctor said his teacher should be informed for health and safety reasons.’
She reaches for the phone. ‘Of course, I’ll try the staffroom now. Please, take a seat.’
The double whammy of mentioning the doctor and health and safety has clearly done the trick. In society’s new culture of blame, schools have to be careful to follow procedure to the letter.
I push away the twinge of guilt, telling myself I’m doing this for Archie.
While I’m waiting, my mind drifts back to my conversation with Darren yesterday. On the one hand, I feel vindicated in talking to him and hearing we have similar concerns about Louise. She’s always had a knack for making me feel as if I’m overreacting or imagining stuff. But on the other hand, hearing what he had to say has increased my worries about my nephew exponentially.
Obviously Darren seemed distracted by his suspicion that Louise might be having an affair. He didn’t elaborate much on why he believed it and I certainly didn’t tell him that I’d seen several clues that pointed to the very same conclusion.
Her increased focus on how she looks, her preoccupation with her phone, and the ‘meetings’ at unusual times… it doesn’t bode well.
Soon as Darren left the flat yesterday, I felt an absolute conviction that I have a responsibility to make sure Archie is safe, and if Louise isn’t taking that seriously, then as his aunt I feel entitled to make my own enquiries.
And consequently, here I am, waiting for his class teacher, feeling a little queasy at the thought of what I’m about to do behind my sister’s back.
A few minutes later, the secure doors open and a smiling woman in her thirties appears. Her hair is styled in a neat brown bob and she’s wearing minimal make-up and a knee-length floral cotton dress with sensible sandals.
‘Ms Fisher? Lovely to meet you.’
I stand up and we shake hands and find I warm to her immediately.
‘Thanks so much for seeing me,’ I say. ‘It won’t take long.’
‘No problem at all. We can talk in my classroom before the children come in for registration.’ She holds the door open and ushers me through with her arm, and I follow her down the corridor.
From outside, the school building looks very old. I think I recall being told at some point that it was built in the late 1800s and was a fine example of typical Victorian architecture. But inside, the rooms and corridors are very much up to date. The decor is bright and welcoming and it’s obvious that money has been spent on keeping the interior modern and an inspiring place for young people to learn.
Mrs Booth opens the glass-paned classroom door and again invites me to walk inside before her.
I look around Archie’s classroom with wonder. It’s a lovely bright space with a large picture window that overlooks the playground. The walls are crammed with vibrant artwork and I find myself walking towards a display taking over one entire corner, entitled ‘Our Solar System’.
Mrs Booth sees me smiling.
‘Ah, you’ve spotted our new whole-class display!’
‘It’s wonderful.’ I look up at the papier-mâché planets suspended on wires from the ceiling and twirling slightly in the draught from the door.
‘Thank you, we’re very proud of it. The children all contributed to it; in fact Archie played a big role in making our moon.’
She points to an impressive grey globe, its surface pitted with craters. I imagine Archie working on it, keen for the detail to be realistic.
‘We watched a programme on the eclipse together and he knew so many facts about the moon…’ For some inexplicable reason, I feel emotion welling behind my eyes.
‘Are you OK, Ms Fisher?’ She touches my arm gently. ‘Come on, let’s sit down a moment to talk. Would you like a glass of water?’
‘No, no,’ I say, sniffing like an idiot. ‘I’m fine. Just a little worried about Archie, that’s all. That’s why I came to see you.’
‘The office said there’s a medical concern?’
I hang my head, unable to continue my cover story. ‘There isn’t really… it’s not exactly medical.’
‘Oh!’ She looks a bit put out.
‘But I am worried about Archie, Mrs Booth. My sister has left him in my care for the past week, and spending more time with him has highlighted to me that there might be a problem at school.’
The teacher nods but stays quiet.
‘Louise is very busy with her job at the moment and she suggested I have a quick chat with you about how Archie is doing at school because I think there’s a distinct possibility he’s being bullied.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Booth sounds guarded. ‘Can you tell me a bit more about your concerns?’
I can’t betray Louise by telling her I think my sister isn’t taking enough interest in what’s happening to Archie. I also know that if I admit I’ve spoken to Louise and she’s told me in no uncertain terms to back off, it might spook Mrs Booth. She could just shut the conversation down and go straight to Louise instead.
‘As I say, spending a lot of time with him recently has led me to believe he’s quite anxious behind his facade of being angry and uninterested in everything.’ I remind myself to take it slowly. I won’t mention the stuff that’s really worrying me just yet. ‘It’s hard to get him to engage in talking about school at all, but he has mentioned he doesn’t really have any friends. I wonder whether someone is upsetting him in class. Louise told me he’s being assessed for ADHD, but to be honest, during the time he’s been with me, he’s been focused and articulate, and I question the wisdom behind this decision.’
I worry that I’ve gone too far, attacking the school’s decision, but Mrs Booth laces her fingers together and smiles at me.
‘I have to say I find your views on Archie refreshing, Ms Fisher.’
‘Alice, please.’ I brace myself for a put-down. By refresh
ing, she probably means naïve.
‘I’ve said much the same thing to Archie’s mum myself. He can be quiet and withdrawn in class when he first gets here, but once he’s involved in something like our planet display’ – she glances at Archie’s splendid suspended moon – ‘he is focused and brimming with ideas. I think if he were being bullied, he wouldn’t blossom like that. Our class teaching assistant, Miss Bramley, has a good relationship with him and she has spoken to Archie. He’s denied anyone is upsetting or hurting him in school. And as a recent report home showed, he did very well in his last set of practice papers in all subjects.’
I stare at her. ‘Then may I ask why you are adamant about assessing him for ADHD?’
‘The school isn’t involved in that decision, Alice,’ she sighs. ‘I’m afraid, despite advice to the contrary from me, Archie’s parents are undertaking the assessment privately.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
LOUISE
Ten years earlier
After the night that Martyn proposed, things moved fast.
‘We need to get our own place,’ he told Louise, causing her heart to blip with pleasure. ‘Somewhere nice to call home.’
‘Your apartment is plenty big enough for us, though, and I love it there.’
‘It’s a bachelor pad,’ he said. ‘I want a new place that’s completely and only ours.’
It was so sweet of him to think of it like that, she’d almost been moved to tears.
She’d only been to Martyn’s place once in the three weeks she’d known him. It was an amazing duplex flat overlooking a park on the outskirts of the city.
They’d just stayed one night there, but when Martyn took a shower the next morning, she’d walked around touching the glossy surfaces and staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the impressive lounge. She could imagine herself living here, the envy of everyone who knew her.
There wasn’t a single thing out of place. She’d peeked inside the dishwasher and it was empty. The two wine glasses they’d used last night had already been washed by hand and upended to drain on the side.
