The Only Boy For Me (26 page)

‘I can imagine. Do you want toast?’

‘No thanks, we’d better not risk the smoke alarm.’

‘Very funny.’

I wave him off to work and for a moment have a fantasy of being a corporate wife seeing my breadwinner off for a day at the office. But I get over it very quickly, as apart from anything else I’m not wearing the right kind of slippers; in fact I’m not wearing slippers at all but horrible old gardening shoes which were by the door and are caked in mud. I go back to bed and am just dropping off again when Charlie wakes up.

‘Where’s Mack gone?’

‘To work.’

‘Bugger.’

‘Charlie, please stop saying that silly word.’

‘I didn’t get my money, and now he’ll forget.’

I don’t want to get involved in Mack’s bribery deal, because if I do Charlie will insist I do the same tonight. But I also don’t want him to think Mack is unreliable.

‘Oh, he said something about tell Charlie I haven’t forgotten the deal and we’ll sort it out next time I see him, whatever that means.’

Charlie gives a huge sigh of relief and says, ‘Oh, that’s alright then. Mummy, what’s for breakfast? I’m starving. I need to eat lots, you know; I’ve been very ill.’

I’m chatting to Leila, and trying to get her to stop sending presents by special courier delivery because apart from anything else the garage is now full of the small white polystyrene pellet things that seem to come in every parcel. Every time I get them rounded up in bin bags Charlie rushes in and liberates them. The garage is now like a giant version of those little plastic things you shake and snow whirls about. Leila says she understands completely, and she’s found a marvellous book on post-traumatic stress, and apparently it’s vital to get back to normal routines as quickly as possible. She’s shopping as much as she can, and suggests I do the same, because it really takes your mind off things. I agree with her, but point out the difference in my case is that if I do indulge in any major shopping sprees, I’ll have the added bonus of having my mind taken off things twice: once when I do the shopping and then all over again when the bank manager writes one of his special rude letters.

Charlie is getting slightly calmer, and his tantrums are now less frequent, though still blistering when he does launch into one. There are lots of unbearable moments when he’s sitting having a cuddle or I’m reading a story to
him, and he suddenly asks why he got ill: did he do something wrong, and can I promise it won’t come back? We have long discussions about germs and how it was just bad luck, and he seems to accept this but I’m left shattered. I can’t bear seeing him so anxious and afraid. Sally has talked to her friend Mel, a child psychologist, who says it’s very common for children recovering from a serious illness to come up with all sorts of behaviour problems, and the only thing to do is just hang on in there. I can’t imagine how parents cope with long-term serious illness: it must be crucifying. I feel very lucky, but I also feel traumatised, and there is simply no space for this. I feel guilty that I let him down, and wasn’t able to protect him, and guilty that I keep thinking about how I feel instead of concentrating on him. I know this is going to be a long haul, and it seems awful to mind about his furious temper tantrums and anxiety attacks compared to what might have happened. But I do mind, more for him than for me, and seeing him raging away makes me feel like I’m letting him down all over again. I feel somehow things will never be quite the same: once your worst nightmares have started to come true you realise just how fragile everything really is. I’m going to have to work really hard not to be too over-protective. I’d like to wrap him up in blankets and keep him indoors for the next ten years, but realise this is not sensible, and anyway it’s probably illegal.

The GP, Dr Bennett, arrives to check Charlie over, and is very friendly once it becomes clear that I’m not going to sue him for failing to come up with the right diagnosis during our first two appointments. Charlie is horrified that a doctor has turned up at the house, and throws Lego at him, and then insists the poor man empties out his bag and
puts all the needles and syringes back into his car. Once he’s reassured that he’s not going to be given any injections, he calms down, a bit, but he’s still wary and clings to me and holds my hand very tight. The poor doctor tries his best to be friendly, and even attempts a little joke, but Charlie is having none of it, and narrows his eyes and watches his every move intently. He gives Charlie the all-clear to go back to school, and has a stab at another little joke, and then says he’d better be off.

As I’m showing him out, he says, ‘Of course it’s a notoriously tricky thing to spot, and we do rely on parents to call us in before things go too far.’ I think this is unfair and tell him so.

‘So if something terrible had happened, it would have been my fault?’

‘No, no, of course not, that’s not what I meant at all.’

‘I know. But that’s how it feels.’

‘Oh, well, I really didn’t mean it like that. Actually I still feel pretty awful about it. I really am very sorry, you know.’ And he looks totally wretched.

‘Yes, well, it’s over now, and he’s fine.’

‘Fighting fit with the old Lego anyway.’

‘Yes, sorry about that.’

‘Oh not at all, not at all; I’ve had much worse, believe me. I once got a very nasty bite from a toddler, and he was only in with his mum to get a repeat prescription. Really, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see him so well.’

He walks off down the drive, and I return to the living room to find Charlie crouched by the window pretending to shoot the doctor in the back as he gets into his car.

Charlie’s first day back at school turns out to be much harder than I’d expected. Loads of parents come over at the
school gates to say hello and generally welcome him back. Miss Pike appears and doesn’t seem to mind that Charlie nearly knocks her over with a hug. Suddenly Mrs Harrison-Black looms into view and shouts, ‘Oh there you are, young man. Honestly, you gave us all such a fright. Poor Dr Bennett was besieged with panicking parents. I told them not to be so silly, but you know what people are like. And here you are looking as fit as a fiddle.’

Charlie shrinks behind me and looks nervous, as if he’s being accused of frightening the whole school on purpose. I’m on the verge of telling her to fuck off, despite the long-term consequences of swearing in front of Mixed Infants, when Miss Pike says in her special loud voice, ‘Thank you, Betty. What an unfortunate way to put things. I think what Mrs Harrison-Black is trying to say, Charlie, is that it’s very nice to have you back at school, and we all missed your lovely smile. Now, dear, do you think you could ring the bell for me and be my special helper today?’

There’s a gasp from all the parents standing nearby, as Mrs Harrison-Black is revealed as a Betty. She always signs her PTA letters Mrs Robert Harrison-Black, which is ludicrous, and we always wondered why. Betty is just not the kind of name she would feel was appropriate. I always knew Miss Pike could be lethal when she needed to, but this is a triumph. Mrs Harrison-Black goes bright red and rushes off to her car, and Kate says, ‘Goodbye, Betty,’ to her as she runs past. Marvellous, marvellous.

Charlie bolts off to get the bell, which is normally strictly out of bounds to the under-tens. I’m not sure Miss Pike meant him to ring it for quite so long, or quite so loudly, but she’s smiling as she wrestles it back off him. Everyone smiles indulgently, and lots of parents give their children an extra cuddle before they leave. It’s a bit like that film
Truly Madly
Deeply
where Alan Rickman talks about a little girl who has died. Her parents have put a bench in her favourite playground with a plaque on it which says ‘For Rosie, who used to like to play here’. And every parent who reads it flinches and goes over to their child and holds them very tight for a moment. I’d like to hold Charlie very tight for a moment but he’s off running around in circles. Then he trots into his classroom quite happily, holding Miss Pike’s hand and occasionally hopping.

We’ve agreed that I’ll pick him up at lunchtime because Miss Pike thinks that a full day might be too much for him on his first day back. I find myself close to tears, and Kate puts her arm round me. I can’t quite believe I’m finally back on my own again, without a small child watching my every move. We decide to go back to my house rather than Kate’s, just in case the school rings, so we drive off in convoy and a very emotional hour or so follows while I recount the full saga. But thankfully we soon grow tired of talking about what might have happened and how lucky we all are to have healthy children, and move on to better things: gossip and scandal. We agree we will call Mrs Harrison-Black Betty at every opportunity from now on, and Kate tells me that there was almost a fight at ballet last week when Mrs Bates found that her daughter Sophie had not been picked for a role in the forthcoming show. Sophie dances like a small elephant, and was not deemed suitable for the part of a gladioli. Phoebe is to be a daffodil, but is refusing to wear yellow.

We hate Mrs Bates because she’s bossy, a terrible snob, and sometimes wears a leotard to pick up Sophie, and doesn’t look fat in it. But more importantly she once disparaged a salad Sally made for the school picnic. There have also been dramas at the recent PTA meeting on
literacy, when someone pointed out that there were two spelling mistakes on the information leaflet. And the fire drill didn’t go well, as Miss Pike forgot it was a drill and had to have a lie-down in the staff room. And then three boys from Year 6 went missing, and were discovered in the school office trying to ring an Adults Only chatline. Suddenly it’s time to pick up Charlie, and I rush off feeling much happier.

Charlie is furious.

‘Mummy, Miss Pike said I had to do some reading even though I’ve been ill, because my reading is so nice she wanted to hear it.’

‘Well, that’s nice, isn’t it, darling, you love reading.’

‘Yes, but I was playing and I was busy.’

‘Well, never mind, you’ll need to get used to being back at school and I’m sure Miss Pike will help you.’

‘Miss Pike is a bugger.’

‘Charlie, you love Miss Pike.’

‘I used to love her, but now I think she’s a bugger.’

‘Stop being silly. Let’s talk about something else. What do you want for lunch? You can have anything you like.’

‘Lobster.’

‘Charlie, stop being silly.’

‘I’m not being silly. I think it will be lovely and just what I need to build up my strength. I feel as weak as a kitten.’

I cannot imagine where he picks these phrases up from. He eventually agrees to cheese and crackers, with butter on but not too thick, and peaches for pudding and we spend the afternoon in a haze of jigsaws and Lego. I opt for an early supper and bath; the pasta is described as disgusting muck but turns out to be edible if there is chocolate cake for pudding. I made the cake during the afternoon, to get away from all the Lego. Actually I think I’m developing an allergy
to Lego: every time I see piles of it all over the floor I feel an overwhelming desire to tip it all into the bin. The cake has turned out, as usual, rather flat and not at all like the picture in the book. Maybe Delia is less tense than I am, and does not have to dodge quite so much Lego. Charlie eats it, but asks if we can have a proper cake next time, from a shop.

I finally get him into bed at seven thirty, although it feels like midnight, and I read bloody annoying baby books for the umpteenth time. He’s rediscovered them all and wants them read to him again and again. He pretends to snort with derision at the baby-style plots and the endless repetition of phrases like ‘I love you, Little Bear’, but actually he adores them. He falls asleep and I lie watching him. I realise that I really do love him more than life itself, and never really understood what that phrase meant before. It’s all very gratifying, but I also realise I’m on the verge of getting cramp, have to face the supermarket tomorrow and must see about getting some work soon or my bank manager will have a heart attack.

Barney rings, and announces that it looks like the job with the flying piano might be happening, and if I feel up to it he’d like me to come in on Friday and run through it with him. He doesn’t want Lawrence to do the job because he’s bound to panic.

‘I mean, you know what he’s like. I think the combination of the piano and the pool is just going to be too much for him.’

‘What pool?’

‘Well, I’ve worked on the script a bit. Now the piano comes down the stairs chasing the waiter and then they both end up in a swimming pool.’

‘Barney, you’ve got to be kidding. It’ll be a nightmare.’

‘Yes, very probably. But great fun, and I think I’ve worked out a way to do it. Well, almost, and I’ll make up the rest as we go along.’

‘Oh, so that’ll be a nice change then.’

Friday morning, and Edna arrives to look after Charlie. She’s been itching to get her hands on Charlie and start feeding him up, and has come round every day to see her boy. In fact she and Mum have developed a sort of vaguely competitive home-baking routine. I get into the office and realise that this job is going to be horrendous. But it will also involve at least three days in the studio, which will cheer up the bank manager enormously. Lawrence tries to be nice and asks about Charlie, but soon reverts to his normal behaviour and gets very snippy when I turn my desk round so it’s no longer facing the wall in the darkest corner. He says this ruins his entire redesign of the office and is getting very agitated, when Barney comes downstairs and stands behind him making faces. Lawrence finally works out what’s going on, and goes off in a huff for lunch and doesn’t come back until five. Barney has another meeting tomorrow with the agency for the piano job and says he’ll let me know if we get the go-ahead so I can start booking everything. He reckons we’re sure to get it because he’s heard no one else is up for it, as they all think it’s impossible. This has naturally encouraged Barney no end, and he keeps doing drawings of the set which no one can understand. He is interviewing stuntmen, who are all mad, and has asked me twice if I know how to scuba dive.