Read Online Another Mother's Son by Janet Davey - Free Book Online Page B

or more apart.
    â€˜Say what you’ve got to say.’ I breathe in and I breathe out again and by the second breath I see my surroundings. We are in front of the pharmacy. The interior is lit but partly shielded from sight by notices. ‘Do You Know your Cholesterol Levels?’ ‘Free Prescription Service’. A man smokes a cigarette in the doorway. The smell is oddly comforting. People walk past us. ‘I’m sorry, Deborah. I lost my temper. I just need to get home.’
    She wrinkles her nose and raises her upper lip; something between a sniff and a wary smile. ‘All right, I won’t mention his name but we know who we’re talking about, don’t we? I hope you’re keeping notes, Lorna. I am. A, his setting and marking of coursework are haphazard. B, he aims at the lowest common denominator. C, he leaves lessons as soon as the hooter goes and never makes himself available to answer questions. D, he fails to enthuse. To sum up – an all-round lacklustre performance.’
    She invites me round for a drink the following week to discuss an action plan. I agree to go though I loathe this kind of thing – middle-class people on their high horses.
    â€˜I scanned for viruses after he sent that email. I advise you do the same.’
    â€˜Which email are you talking about, Deborah? I haven’t had anything.’
    â€˜It was blank. No content. No subject. But he sent it. [email protected]. Ginny Lu had one too. I haven’t yet checked with the others. Ginny says he may be
depressed
.’
    â€˜Perhaps he is.’
    I knock on Ross’s door to report on the conversation with Dirk. All family information should be in the open.
    â€˜What will you say to them?’ Ross asks, referring to the coffee plan.
    I say that I guess we will just chat.
    â€˜Why? You don’t know them,’ he says.
    â€˜I realise I don’t but it’s good to be friendly to people. These difficulties Dirk mentioned, have you any idea …?’
    â€˜They’ll get a shock when they see you,’ Ross says.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜I don’t know why. But they will.’
    â€˜Tell Jude her dad called, will you,’ I say.
    â€˜Meaning what?’
    â€˜Not meaning anything. It’s polite to tell her.’
    He slaps the side of his head. ‘Man, you are bigging this thing up? This is disproportionate.’
    I think, since the conversation is not going especially well, that I should ask him if he is up to date with his coursework. My mother used to tell me that this was a bad tactic and that it is better to wait for a pleasant spell before tackling an unwelcome topic. First, when is this pleasant spell? And second, why spoil it? I prefer to soldier on – unless we are eating. I go in for any kind of appeasement at mealtimes.

20
    CD REVIEW
FOLLOWS the news on the car radio; different recordings of the same Schumann Trio meticulously compared, movement by movement. Scenery goes by, an irrelevant backdrop to the passages of music. I keep my eye on the road; on the stream of cars ahead and behind. Through the speakers, strings and piano rush forward in bursts of intensity against the pull of an opposing tide. It begins to drizzle so I switch the windscreen wipers on, then a squirt of detergent because the glass is greasy.
    I am on my way to Brighton. Another year nearly over. Oliver with a new life, Ross with a new life, William widowed which is a kind of new life. The sump of the year. Memory and expectation defeated by shopping. A fir tree lies on the living-room floor under the bay window. I realised too late that it is not wedged into a block and will not stand upright. I have made online donations: £50 to Crisis, £50 to Shelter and £50 to www.arrest-blair.com and bought Jude a present. A scarf and a pair of sheepskin mittens. I wrapped them in shimmery paper and tied the ribbon in a big bow. The boys never spend Christmas at