‘Look, I should probably leave you to get on with things.’
‘Do you think we should tell the police?’
‘Tell them what? That Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid are about to gun down this girl? The police don’t give a damn. They waste most of their time trying to prevent under-eighteens from buying cigarettes or fireworks, or looking into so-called fraudulent benefit claims. Real crimes? Not their priority, is it? They don’t care.’
‘Great.’ Annabelle stands up. ‘So you’re on his side now, are you?’
‘Annabelle, I’m on no one’s side. I want things to work out as much as you do, but Laurie’s right. Life out there on the streets is different for these kids.’
‘Okay, then you pop off home and leave me to worry myself stupid.’
‘Well, do you want me to stay and talk more with you?’ Annabelle glares at him. ‘No, I didn’t think so. We’ll go to his school in the morning. I don’t know what else we can do at the moment.’ He pauses. ‘Well, do you?’
* * *
He sits in silence on the sofa and stares into the middle distance. The flat is cold, but he can’t be bothered to get up and turn on the heating. He thinks about what else he might have said to Annabelle. For instance, he didn’t leave her after twenty-five years, she was the one who wanted him to go. As for his being a disappointment, he could have pointed out to her that during the past couple of years, and certainly since she started seeing Bruce, she has developed a tendency to behave with that mean and slightly smug, green-wellied, middle-class sense of entitlement that he was so surprised, and pleased, to find her devoid of all those years ago at Bristol University. Anyhow, he can’t help feeling relieved that her relationship seems to be over. He knows full well that behind Bruce’s lapsed socialist prattle, he is a man who would have been pleased to help usher Annabelle in a direction in which she might feel inclined to start dressing like her mother in midcalf-length skirts of heavy material, and begin wearing discreet jewellery with plain, dull stones. This would have enabled Bruce to inch closer to joining the world that he claims to have spent his youth railing against, but he understands that people like Bruce never rail, they just blow. Although he is tempted to put on some music he decides that it is probably best to avoid anything that might remind him of his temporarily abandoned book. Through the window he can see that the late afternoon light is fading, and only the familiar hum of cars passing at the end of the street, and the distant cry of a police siren, disturb the peace. He tries to imagine how it might be to have his son staying in this flat with him, and he finds himself wondering again why Annabelle chose to share with their son the idea of his spending time here at Wilton Road. The two of them had only just raised the possibility, and suddenly it was as though Annabelle was trying to force Laurie upon him.
He knows that Annabelle feels that children ought to spend time with both of their parents, particularly if the child is without siblings. After all, he remembers how upset she becomes when she wistfully recalls lonely seaside holidays spent with her mother while her father was away on duty in Ireland, or inspecting troops in Germany, or in some long-forgotten outpost of what remained of the empire, such as Gibraltar. Her mother would sit in a deckchair and read a magazine while Annabelle played in the waves or collected shells, or waded in rock pools. Occasionally there might be a donkey ride, but the holidays were essentially miserable affairs, and ever since Laurie was born Annabelle has been adamant about his need for two committed parents, as though some deeply unconscious part of herself feared that she might replicate with Laurie the type of unhealthy dependency that has developed with her mother. However, her recent tendency to accuse him of deliberate absenteeism during the past three years is a bit rich. As soon as she’d ejected him from the family house, she started to spend practically every weekend with her mother in Wiltshire. His access to Laurie was limited to after-school visits and the odd Friday night excursion to McDonald’s, but fortunately things did become a little easier once her mother entered the Briars. He looks across at the thermostat and finally admits defeat. Levering himself off the sofa, he realises that he had better turn on the heating before he starts to see his own breath clouding before him.
It is clear to him that Annabelle’s anxiety over Laurie has been exacerbated by her own complicated feelings of guilt about her mother’s situation. While they waited for Laurie, Annabelle spoke about her mother’s continued confusion, to the extent that she sometimes barely recognises her daughter when she visits. Apparently, in among her semi-coherent ramblings about seeing white girls dressed as Arabs on the streets of London, and her conviction that there is a war being fought in the village of Ashleigh — a misunderstanding which apparently dates back to Annabelle’s childhood when an unexploded German bomb was discovered near the Norman church, and the whole village was evacuated for a night and day — her mother, according to Annabelle, did have one recent moment of clarity when she again apologised to her daughter for how they had treated him. ‘They’, of course, was her mother’s way of referring to her late husband, but Annabelle told him that although she always assured her mother that she had nothing to apologise for, her mother’s ‘apology’ did make her think again about the complicated bond between mothers and only children, especially when the mother begins to age. Annabelle swallowed deeply and seemed to tumble into a momentary reverie. ‘Once upon a time it felt like it was only Mummy and I, and in some ways, as you know, we grew too close and now I don’t think I’m coping very well with the responsibility. I know that Mummy needs me now, more than ever, but it’s difficult to watch her become little more than a nervous old fuddy-duddy. Her confidence has gone, and she does get very irritated when she is found out for having forgotten something. Her hands start to shake, and she weeps so easily, and I simply don’t know how to respond. The other day she wept like a baby and kept telling me that they’re all being kept alive so that like old fruit they can just rot. “It’s not fair” she said. “There’s no dignity to it” and I’m beginning to wonder, Keith. Really I am.’ Annabelle stared at him as though embarrassed that she had said too much, and then she gradually came to herself. ‘You know, spending some time with Laurie might help straighten you out too.’ He looked at her, but decided to let her comment go. The next thing he knows, Annabelle is raising the prospect directly with their son instead of finishing the conversation with him.
He looks around the living room and realises that should Laurie come here then his son will most likely take his bedroom and he will be relegated to sleeping on the sofa. And what, he wonders, of those days when Laurie is at home revising for his exams? The flat isn’t big enough for them to stay out of each other’s way, and he can already predict what his son’s reaction will be should he suggest that Laurie decamp and work at the undeniably grotty local library. It would have been better if Annabelle had said nothing to Laurie about the possibility of spending more time with his father, but given his son’s palpable lack of enthusiasm it is highly unlikely that he will have to grapple with these practical issues in the immediate future. He leans back, stifles a yawn, and listens to the wind whipping around the roof and rattling the window panes. Tomorrow morning he and Annabelle will have to face the annoying Mr Hughes. Rather than stay up late watching television it would probably make more sense to go to bed and try and get a decent night’s sleep. He looks at his mobile and can see that nobody has called him, but he decides to take no chances. He picks it up and adjusts the ring tone to ‘soft’. He will carry the phone through with him and leave it by the side of the bed, just in case.