Читать книгу Strangers on a Bridge - Louise Mangos - Страница 14

MAY

Leon’s class at school had organised a public presentation about European cultures, and his teacher had asked whether some of the mothers from the Chat Club could help with an English-language exhibit. I was thrilled to be asked, for this was a tiny step closer to being accepted as part of the community.

I was helping Leon’s teacher move a folding table in the foyer of the sports hall when the bell rang for the end of school. Children spilled out of the schoolhouse like marbles from a jar. Some of them dribbled into the exhibition and were joined by their parents later. Leon and a friend of his were in charge of one of the exhibits on the other side of the hall. He hadn’t wanted to participate in the English project and had instead chosen an exhibit on Serbian culture with some friends.

‘It’s nothing to do with you specifically, Mum, but it’s kind of embarrassing to be standing with your own mother at an exhibit all afternoon,’ he said when we initially talked about the project.

I felt out of place, though. Parents stopped to talk easily to my best Chat Club ‘student’, Esther, and the other woman at our stand, but no one was prepared to speak to me in either English or German. I was still the foreigner here. When I caught Leon’s eye across the hall, he looked away guiltily. He must have known it would have been easier for me if he were by my side. He wasn’t aware I simply wanted to hold on to that mother–child connection before he grew into an adult.

As we cleared trestle tables and poster boards away at the end of the day, Leon’s teacher caught up with me, and we crossed the courtyard together.

‘Frau Reed, I didn’t want to talk to you before because we were so busy with the exhibition, but I need to speak to you about Leon.’

My heart sank. Her tone didn’t sound positive.

‘I want to thank you so much for helping with this exhibition. Your input was invaluable.’

She hesitated. I knew immediately she had some bad news for me. The one-minute manager. Praise before the bad news.

‘I don’t know if you are aware, but Leon seems to have lost his way this year at school. His grades are way below the level for his transfer to Gymnasium and he does not seem happy to be at school. He and another boy are being very disruptive in class, and I am afraid they may have been picking on some of the younger students in the primary school during break. I wanted to wait until the end of the school year to see if things improved, but an incident this week means I have to speak to you. This is something the school cannot tolerate, and the school counsellor has asked me on more than one occasion whether we need to address the issue with you, the parents.’

‘Wow, I knew he was behind on some assignments, but… no, I wasn’t aware. I’m stunned.’

I knew I was distracted at the moment, with the Manfred incident and the decision to run a marathon later in the year. But I didn’t think there were signs I had ignored. Or worse, could I be the cause? This was surely every mother’s fear.

Taking a deep breath, I thanked the teacher for making me aware of the situation, and promised to address the issue.

Simon and I lay in bed reading, the silence a comfortable familiarity. I finished a chapter before closing the book and placing it on my stomach.

‘Leon’s teacher talked to me at school today. He’s having a few problems with his work and… his social behaviour. I’m finding it very difficult to talk to him at the moment.’

Simon lowered his book and looked at me.

‘Oh, really? What’s up? It sounds like he’s doing great when he talks to me. Is he getting poor grades?’

‘His grades are pretty bad. He doesn’t get his assignments in on time and he’s doing the absolute bare minimum at the moment. Plus his teacher says he’s been teasing some of the younger kids in the playground. She talked about getting the school counsellor in, to address bullying.’

I waited while Simon absorbed this.

‘That’s not so good, Al. I’ll have a talk to him at the weekend. I’m sure it’s something we can straighten out. Are you okay? I wouldn’t worry. He just needs a bit of nudging in the right direction.’

‘I’m fine. It’s just a little weird, coming on the back of the suicide thing. I feel like a load of negatives are building up. I didn’t get a very good feeling at the exhibition at school. It’s still so hard to feel accepted by the community.’

‘Then it’s good you’ve decided to run this marathon. It’ll be great for you to concentrate on a goal for yourself. And Kathy will be supporting you.’

I thought of Kathy and her lifestyle. Endless shopping and lunches with the executive wives. Running was really the only thing we had in common.

‘I’ve got to get some sleep,’ he said, pecking me on my cheek.

He rolled over onto his side and turned out his bedside light.

It seemed I had been asleep but a moment when the telephone rang persistently on the bedside table. Normally a light sleeper, I dragged myself out of the somnolent depths before reaching across to the phone. The light blinking dully from the number display was enough to allow me to locate the handset in the darkness.

‘Hallo,’ I mumbled sleepily. A static crackle. I was about to return the handset to its cradle when I heard a slow intake of breath. I pushed the phone tightly to the shell of my ear, thinking I had missed something, and heard a subsequent exhalation.

‘Hello, who is this?’ I asked, senses now alert.

‘Mmm?’ groaned Simon beside me, ever the comatose sleeper.

‘Ssshh.’ I pressed the receiver harder against my head, until all I could hear was my own ragged breath roaring from the mouthpiece to my ear. I cleared my throat, and heard a click and the drone of the dial tone.

‘Wrong number,’ mumbled Simon and sank back into slumber. I squinted at the caller-identity screen on the handset. It showed ‘withheld’ which didn’t give me any clues. It could be a mobile phone.

Annoyed I had been fully awakened, I shuffled to the bathroom for a pee. The fluorescent light over the bathroom mirror blinded me. I gathered my nightie and sat on the toilet with my eyes half-closed, cursing the boys’ inconsiderateness as my thighs hit porcelain so cold it felt wet. I reversed my crouch, put the seat down, sank back down and crossed my arms on my thighs, absently studying the ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor.