what that is?’
‘Radioactive dust?’ I asked sourly, startling her mightily.
Out in the garden, Harry was lying backwards across the plank bottom of the plaited rope swing, letting it untwist. ‘The clouds are spinning, Tilly.’
He didn’t see my face because he was leaning back so far his hair brushed the ground. ‘Til, when you went off to big school, did they ever flush your head down the lavatory?’
New one on me. But, on the track of information myself, I thought it prudent to offer a soothing answer. ‘No. There was a good deal of talk about it in my primary school, but once we all moved up to secondary, nothing ever happened.’
Relieved, he hauled himself upright and smiled. I took a chance, and went fishing. ‘So, Harry, what do you think they’ll all decide today?’
‘Who?’
Was he just checking? ‘You know. Your mum and dad and Mrs Dee.’
‘Oh,
them
.’ He sighed. ‘It isn’t just Mrs Dee,’ he told me gravely. ‘It’s
all
the teachers. And I think they’ll agree that I’ll be better off at Park Place School than Wallace Secondary.’
‘Less head-flushing?’
He pouted. ‘And more exams. And horrid purple blazers. And sports all Saturday morning.’ He sighed. And it was only as an afterthought he tacked it on. ‘But Gran says that she thought the tennis courts were
brilliant
.’
I took it gently. After all, she might have simply seen a catalogue. ‘So Granny went round the school with your mother?’
‘And Dad.’
See? ‘And Dad.’ Say what you like about deciding not to care, these things will send their poisonous bubbles up through any coating of tranquillity, however well laid down. A fucking
nerve
, to fix a time when Granny – who was barely on the radar – could look around a school, but not take me, who had looked after them for five whole months, and given up the one room in the house I used to still call mine, and made such efforts to be good to them.
Good job that Harry was back to spinning, and didn’t see the look on my face. ‘Til? What’s insurance?’
God, what a question. ‘It’s just money you pay in, and the insurance company gives you a whole lot more back if something bad happens.’
‘What sort of something bad? Like someone dying?’
Even through my distraction, alarm bells rang. I did my best. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ To make it clear he might be worrying in vain, I added, ‘Or the house burning down. Or the car crashing. Or stepping on your watch. Or losing your wallet.’
But he was on the ball, as usual. ‘Gran said to Mum, if they decide to send me to Park Place, she ought to think about taking out insurance for the school fees. And Mum snapped back at her and said, “I’m not dead yet, thanks! I think I’ll just take my chances.”’
‘Good on your mother,’ I said absently, still brooding on the fact that, yet again, I’d been left out of things.
Harry pulled himself upright to give me one of his searching looks. Then, falling back again, he launched into quite a long speech. ‘I
thought
you’d say that. You often stick up for Mum, don’t you, Tilly? Connor’s dad’s girlfriend is horrible about
his
mum. His dad says he’s to ignore it, and just not listen. But you quite like Mum, don’t you? She says you even told her you’d send Dad round to do the garden for her if she can’t manage. So you must like her a bit.’
‘Oh, yes. I have no problems with your mother.’
So what
should
I have said? The actual
truth
? That I had covered for the stupid cow through all her half-brained shiatsu and her reiki, her idiot zen, her numerology crap, her daft magnetic therapy and, for all I knew, classes in bloody runes. And in return, she and her unthinking ex-mate had fixed up to choose a school without the very person who would have to care for her son if (more than likely,
when
) her little cancer cells came back in force.
I really didn’t have a lot of choice. Harry was only twelve. How can you tell a boy that
‘Radioactive dust?’ I asked sourly, startling her mightily.
Out in the garden, Harry was lying backwards across the plank bottom of the plaited rope swing, letting it untwist. ‘The clouds are spinning, Tilly.’
He didn’t see my face because he was leaning back so far his hair brushed the ground. ‘Til, when you went off to big school, did they ever flush your head down the lavatory?’
New one on me. But, on the track of information myself, I thought it prudent to offer a soothing answer. ‘No. There was a good deal of talk about it in my primary school, but once we all moved up to secondary, nothing ever happened.’
Relieved, he hauled himself upright and smiled. I took a chance, and went fishing. ‘So, Harry, what do you think they’ll all decide today?’
‘Who?’
Was he just checking? ‘You know. Your mum and dad and Mrs Dee.’
‘Oh,
them
.’ He sighed. ‘It isn’t just Mrs Dee,’ he told me gravely. ‘It’s
all
the teachers. And I think they’ll agree that I’ll be better off at Park Place School than Wallace Secondary.’
‘Less head-flushing?’
He pouted. ‘And more exams. And horrid purple blazers. And sports all Saturday morning.’ He sighed. And it was only as an afterthought he tacked it on. ‘But Gran says that she thought the tennis courts were
brilliant
.’
I took it gently. After all, she might have simply seen a catalogue. ‘So Granny went round the school with your mother?’
‘And Dad.’
See? ‘And Dad.’ Say what you like about deciding not to care, these things will send their poisonous bubbles up through any coating of tranquillity, however well laid down. A fucking
nerve
, to fix a time when Granny – who was barely on the radar – could look around a school, but not take me, who had looked after them for five whole months, and given up the one room in the house I used to still call mine, and made such efforts to be good to them.
Good job that Harry was back to spinning, and didn’t see the look on my face. ‘Til? What’s insurance?’
God, what a question. ‘It’s just money you pay in, and the insurance company gives you a whole lot more back if something bad happens.’
‘What sort of something bad? Like someone dying?’
Even through my distraction, alarm bells rang. I did my best. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ To make it clear he might be worrying in vain, I added, ‘Or the house burning down. Or the car crashing. Or stepping on your watch. Or losing your wallet.’
But he was on the ball, as usual. ‘Gran said to Mum, if they decide to send me to Park Place, she ought to think about taking out insurance for the school fees. And Mum snapped back at her and said, “I’m not dead yet, thanks! I think I’ll just take my chances.”’
‘Good on your mother,’ I said absently, still brooding on the fact that, yet again, I’d been left out of things.
Harry pulled himself upright to give me one of his searching looks. Then, falling back again, he launched into quite a long speech. ‘I
thought
you’d say that. You often stick up for Mum, don’t you, Tilly? Connor’s dad’s girlfriend is horrible about
his
mum. His dad says he’s to ignore it, and just not listen. But you quite like Mum, don’t you? She says you even told her you’d send Dad round to do the garden for her if she can’t manage. So you must like her a bit.’
‘Oh, yes. I have no problems with your mother.’
So what
should
I have said? The actual
truth
? That I had covered for the stupid cow through all her half-brained shiatsu and her reiki, her idiot zen, her numerology crap, her daft magnetic therapy and, for all I knew, classes in bloody runes. And in return, she and her unthinking ex-mate had fixed up to choose a school without the very person who would have to care for her son if (more than likely,
when
) her little cancer cells came back in force.
I really didn’t have a lot of choice. Harry was only twelve. How can you tell a boy that
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