Prime Time (10 page)

‘Right, darling,' I said brightly to Stanley. ‘Daddy is going to take you for a burger or something –' I flicked my eyes toward Emily, who looked pained ‘-and I'm going to see the teachers on my own. So you don't have to stay after all. You can go and eat chips instead,' I added, as Daniel came up behind us.

‘There's a nice little Mediterranean place in Harbour Street,' he said hastily to Emily. ‘You can have a Greek salad.'

‘Feta cheese?' I said, in shocked tones. ‘Packed full of calories …'

Daniel frowned and put a protective hand on Emily's arm.

Stanley looked at me uneasily. ‘I think I'm supposed to come with you.'

‘It's optional, I've checked,' I said firmly. ‘It's only if I want you to come. And of course that would be fine, but I really think you'll get bored and we'll be a bit of a crowd, all four of us going round and since Dad's here … I'll text you when I'm finished,' I said to Daniel.

As they walked away, Stanley a little behind, shuffling his feet slightly, Daniel taking long strides, Emily little short ones as though her tight black skirt wouldn't allow anything else, I stood transfixed. As I watched the back of Emily's red coat, spindly red heels tap-tapping along beside Daniel, I saw him reach out and take her hand. She moved in closer, their forearms close together, the side of his body touching hers as the three of them walked toward the school gates.

My son, my soon-to-be ex-husband and the woman who would be his new wife. I had stopped Daniel saying the D-word – in that instinctive, self-protecting way the squeamish stop someone telling them the details of a gory operation. Oddly, although I'd quipped about it to Sarah, I hadn't seriously thought about divorce.

I wasn't in denial – I knew he wasn't coming back. I didn't even want him back, did I, not now, not after all he'd said and done. But I hadn't thought beyond that. Panic gripped me. Surely he wouldn't make us sell the house? Not while Stanley was still young. I would have to find out my rights. Get a solicitor. As the three of them disappeared from view I sat down sharply on a low wall, my stomach knotted in a sick spasm of foreboding. I felt hot and suddenly tearful.

‘Have you got a list?'

‘Sorry?'

A boy of about 15 was proffering a sheet of paper. ‘It tells you where all the teachers are.'

‘Oh – thank you.'

Another boy with round glasses and an acne problem stepped forward. ‘What's the name of your son?' he asked politely.

I swallowed, suddenly unbearably moved by having to say his name out loud.

‘Um. Stanley Meredith'

The second boy ran a finger down his list and ticked something.

‘Most teachers are in the hall,' he said gravely. ‘But some are in the gym and the music teachers are in the music department. The metalwork room and art rooms are open if you would like to see a display of Year Seven and Eight work.' He stopped and looked at his list again. ‘And welcome to parents' evening,' he finished.

The other boy nudged him. ‘You were supposed to say that first.'

‘You go in there,' he said helpfully, pointing to some open double doors. ‘That's where the hall is.'

I saw them exchange glances, obviously wondering why the mad old bat was still just sitting there. I got up and forced a smile, swallowing hard. ‘Thank you very much.'

Chapter Ten

The hall smelled of school – that warm, airless mixture of past dinners and socks and cleaning fluid and the odour of hamster cage that emanates from six hundred over-heated boys. Tables were dotted about, with teachers sitting one side of them, parents and boys on chairs opposite. More parents stood about in clumps.

I stood for a moment, breathing deeply, letting my ears adjust to the clamour of voices, and then skirted the room, making my way through the groups of parents, consulting my list, looking at the names on the tables. Most of the staff already had a small queue forming. Eventually I found a small, bald man who was apparently Stanley's chemistry teacher and sat down opposite him.

‘Laura Meredith,' I said. ‘Stanley's mother.'

He looked down a long list of names. ‘Ah, yes.'

‘This term,' he intoned robotically, ‘we have looked at the periodic table …'

Five minutes later I had a full breakdown of the syllabus but was none the wiser about Stanley's progress, learning only that he was quiet, “no trouble” and had, so far, always handed his homework in on time. I moved on and joined another queue.

Mr Geography evidently had trouble visualising which boy Stanley was, but also offered the view that he did his homework, most of the time, and the French teacher – Madame Lavisse, a well-preserved 50-year-old with bright red lipstick and a particularly nice handbag – said he was a “good boy” who needed to learn his verb endings.

There was a large crowd of parents jostling to see Mr Crawford the maths teacher; the noise was deafening and I was beginning to feel rather hot and in need of some fresh air, so I made my way over to the door out to the playground.

I looked at my list again and the piece of paper Stanley had given me. He'd got me down to see Mr Lazlett, his form teacher and head of Year Seven, at 5.45 p.m. and it was nearly that now, so I took one last gulp of the cold air and re-entered the fug of the hall.

I found him in the corner, a dark-haired man in his forties, who looked vaguely familiar, wearing a blue sweater. Another family – a sharp-faced woman with one of those mouths that went down at the corners, a morose-looking husband and their lanky son – were already waiting.

‘And try and look a bit intelligent,' the mother was instructing the boy. ‘Anyone would think you weren't all there.'

The boy rolled his eyes. I heard him mutter, ‘Get a life,' and she swung round again.

‘What did you say?' she demanded.

‘Just leave him, Jan,' said the father. ‘It's up to him.'

The boy pulled another face and our eyes met. I smiled and he gave me a self-conscious grin. He had a nice face – I wondered if he knew Stanley. I wondered too how Stanley was getting on. I hoped Daniel had bought him something decent to eat and was making a fuss of him, rather than mooning over The Twiglet. At the thought of Emily, I got that sick feeling again. I thought of her small hand tucking itself into Daniel's, her petite, stylish little feet tripping along beside him …

The couple at the table had got up and the family in front were settling themselves in front of Mr Lazlett. ‘Sit up straight,' I heard “Jan” instructing her son.

I moved back a bit and studied the notices on the wall without seeing them. I really didn't want Daniel back – he was a stranger to me now – but it felt weird seeing him with someone else. Particularly someone who made me look like an ageing hippo.

I wished he'd emigrate or at least move to Scunthorpe or somewhere. I just didn't want him in my face. Particularly with her hanging off him. I was going to have to talk to him. Make it very clear I was staying in the house until Stanley had left school. I couldn't put him through any more upheaval …

My mind drifted off, thinking about my son. It seemed amazing he was at secondary school – it felt like only last week that I'd dropped him off at nursery for the first time, feeling sick like this all morning in case he was bereft without me. I still thought we might have another child then. Perhaps the way things had turned out, it was just as well it had never happened …

‘Are you waiting for me?'

I came out of my reverie to find the family with the lanky boy filing past me. I smiled at him again. Mr Lazlett was standing up. ‘Would you like to come and sit down?'

‘Er yes, thank you.'

He held out his hand. ‘Andrew Lazlett.'

‘Hi.'

As I sat down I suddenly realised where I'd seen him before. He was the one who'd taken me to task for stopping on the zigzag lines outside school. When I'd been wearing my nightie. And hadn't brushed my hair.

He'd had a suit and overcoat on then and looked tall and imposing. He looked a bit tired now and slightly crumpled but it was definitely the same bloke. I felt myself blush as I wondered if he remembered. If he did, he showed no sign of it. He smiled and said in a friendly voice: ‘And you are?'

‘Oh, er – I'm Laura Meredith. Mother of Stanley.'

He nodded. ‘Ah, yes. Stanley.'

He shuffled some papers on the desk in front of him and then looked at me directly. ‘Nice, polite boy.' He smiled again. ‘Seems to be settling in – a bit quiet at first but seems fine now. Very co-operative, not one of the raucous ones. How do you feel he's finding everything?'

‘He's …' I paused, thinking how to put it. ‘I'm not sure how he is. He won't say much about it. He did tell me he was being teased, but then again I suppose that's normal with a lot of boys together, isn't it? It's just that he was very happy at his primary school, had good friends … and now,' I faltered, not sure what I was trying to say, ‘he doesn't seem so happy.'

‘In what way?'

‘Well, he's quiet – I mean, he's always been quiet but now he's –' I struggled to find the right word. ‘Unforthcoming.'

Mr Lazlett didn't speak but just nodded as if I should go on.

‘At his old school, I'd ask him about his day and he'd tell me. And I always heard about what his friend, Connor, had been up to as well. What the teacher had said, that sort of thing. Now all I get out of him is that it's OK and I hardly hear about Connor at all although he's here too. Perhaps they've fallen out? I mean, he is in a different form, but I would have thought they'd see each other at breaks …'

I stopped – a sudden image of Stanley, on his own in the playground with nobody to talk to, giving me a lump in my throat. I swallowed hard and spoke a little more briskly.

‘I've asked him, of course, but he won't really say. He just seems – different.'

There was a small silence. Andrew Lazlett still didn't say anything – just continued to look at me as though listening intently.

‘But then again,' I went on, ‘I can't really be sure if that's school or other things. He's been through rather a lot since he started here. My husband and I separated during the summer holidays and so Stanley now only has me at home …'

As I said it, I was suddenly overwhelmed and felt, to my horror, my chin begin to quiver and my nose tingle.
Oh Christ
. I looked away across the room, biting my lip. More parents had gathered around us, waiting.

‘We do find,' Andrew Lazlett said quietly, ‘that the boys often form new friendships when they get here and they tend to congregate with the others in their form. Has he mentioned any of the other boys at all?'

‘Um, I'm not sure really –'

‘Are you all right?'

‘Sorry,' I said, mortified, ‘it's all been a bit …' I stopped, feeling the tears well in my eyes and spill over, helpless to stop them running down my face and wishing I could shrink away to nothing, ‘I'm sorry.' I scrabbled in my pocket for tissues. ‘I'm so sorry.'

‘Would you like a glass of water?'

I felt the parents standing behind me begin to shuffle their feet.

Mr Lazlett stood up. ‘We'll be a little longer yet, I'm afraid,' he said pleasantly. ‘Sorry for the wait but perhaps you'd like to go and see another member of staff in the meantime or you could sit over there.'

I heard muttering and the sound of steps moving away. I sat hot-faced, head low, my hands over my eyes. A few minutes later, a glass was put down in front of me.

Andrew Lazlett sat down opposite me again and began speaking, still in the same quiet voice. ‘A lot of the boys take a while to adjust. It's a big change – moving from primary school to here – all the different teachers, having to move about the school for the different lessons. The noise, the sheer numbers of pupils, having to remember which books to take where.'

I took a mouthful of water, too embarrassed to look up and meet his eyes. He was still talking.

‘It takes a few months for some, but they get there in the end. I haven't seen anything to make me worried about Stanley but I'll keep a special eye on him and if you have any concerns you can always phone me. If I'm not able to speak right then, leave a message with the school office and I'll call you back …'

His voice was low and soothing. ‘And I'd like you to tell Stanley that he can always come and speak to me at any time too. If there's anything he's unhappy about.'

‘Thank you,' I mumbled, still feeling like sinking into a hole.

‘And I will make a point of having a chat with Stanley myself. Not in any heavy way that will draw attention to him, but when the opportunity arises. I'll make sure that happens quite soon.'

He was looking at the papers in front of him again. ‘He seems to be doing fine work-wise. No concerns from any of the staff. No detentions. I take him for English, as you know, and there are certainly no problems there.'

‘That's good. He was always quite good at English at primary school,' I said lamely, forcing myself to glance up. ‘I'm not really worried about the work, more whether he's happy or not. I think it's all been very hard on him since …' I felt my voice begin to break again and stopped.

Andrew Lazlett went calmly on. ‘I don't know the details of your situation, of course, just that it's always difficult when a marriage breaks up. But kids are surprisingly resilient, you know. My wife has children from her first marriage and it hasn't always been easy – my stepsons were going through a hard time when I first met them.' His tone was reassuring. ‘But they came out the other side and, if anything, are stronger for it. I'm not in any way minimising the situation, but I'm sure Stanley will be fine.'

I nodded and sniffed and blew my nose. I opened my mouth to say something – to thank him and tell him that I knew I was probably being over-anxious but that Stanley was sensitive and not given to talking much and that it hadn't really been very long since Daniel left – but I knew if I actually attempted to put any of this into words, I would cry all over again. So I just kept my head down and nodded a bit more and took another sip of my water.

‘We do our best to look after the boys here,' Andrew Lazlett was saying. ‘I'll have that chat with him as soon as I can.'

There was the sound of more feet around the table. ‘Could you just give us five minutes?' I heard him say. His voice dropped again. ‘I know a bit about what you're going through.' There was another small silence. Then I felt his hand briefly touch my arm. ‘It will get better.'