‘I don’t think so, dear.’
Achilles Cleverley
I’m free on Thursday. Bit short on cash right now though!
‘I’ll do my best,’ said the ghost.
They finished their meal and Beverley stood up to clear away the plates while Achilles shamelessly looked the ghost up and down as if he was considering purchasing her but wasn’t sure whether she’d go with his new jacket. She was quite sexy, he decided eventually. But in an understated way, which was always his preference. He waited for her to turn and look at him too, but she seemed more interested in investigating the condition of her nails. When she finally deigned to glance in his direction, she simply frowned.
‘Is something wrong with you?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Achilles. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You’re staring at me in a weird way. Your eyes have gone all strange.’
‘People always compliment me on my eyes,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t complimenting you,’ she said. ‘I said that they’d gone all strange.’
‘Good strange or bad strange?’
‘Like the wind had changed and you’d been stuck like that.’
‘Bad strange, then,’ said Achilles, sulking. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, deciding that he didn’t care for this new ghost very much, but her indifference to him had left him with no choice but to consider seducing her.
Jeremy Arlo
Drinks are on me. And Thursday’s good. I’ll text you that morning with time/place. Still a bit nervous about this so maybe keep it to yourself?
‘Have you heard of Peter O’Toole?’ asked Achilles.
‘Yes, of course,’ said the ghost.
‘Some people think I look like him. Back in his Lawrence days. Only younger, obviously.’
She sat back and examined him carefully for a long time before shaking her head. ‘I don’t see it,’ she said. ‘He was an incredibly good-looking man.’
Well, that settles it, thought Achilles. You, Missy, are in for a rude awakening.
Achilles Cleverley
Secrets make it even more exciting. Until Thursday xoxoxo
‘Right, you,’ said Beverley, clearing the rest of the lunch detritus away. ‘Go away and do whatever it is you do when you’re on your own, but please don’t let it involve ropes. It took for ever to get that door fixed last time. And we have to get on with this bloody novel.’ She paused for a moment, glancing at the clock. ‘Hold on,’ she said, turning to her son. ‘It’s Tuesday. Why aren’t you in school?’
Achilles smiled. At moments like this, he truly loved his mother. ‘It’s taken you until one thirty to think of that?’ he asked.
‘Just answer the question.’
‘Free morning,’ he lied. ‘Mr Rice told us all to go home and study.’
Beverley pulled a face. ‘Awful man,’ she said.
‘The worst,’ agreed Achilles, standing up now and kissing her three times on the cheeks, European-style, despite the fact that she was a staunch Brexiteer. ‘And as for you,’ he added to the ghost as he made his way out of the room, ‘let’s talk later, yes?’
‘Why?’ asked the ghost, frowning, as if he’d just invited her to take a hot-air balloon trip over Sri Lanka with him. ‘What have we got to talk about?’
On the way to his room he checked his phone, but no more messages had arrived from the mark. He’d probably stay quiet until Thursday morning. He flicked into Twitter and was surprised to see his name, or his surname, trending, and scrolled down the page, his mouth opening wider with everything he read. Switching back to his phone, he opened his contacts list and pressed the number for his sister.
‘What?’ said Elizabeth when she answered.
‘Something’s happened,’ he said. ‘Dad’s in trouble.’
After he had explained the situation, he hung up and called Nelson.
‘Achilles?’ asked his brother. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Have you been online?’
‘No. Why? What’s happened?’
‘Get on to Twitter right now. Dad’s fucked up. Big time.’
Part 3
* * *
16 July 2010
It’s Elizabeth who tells George and Beverley the truth about why Nelson doesn’t want to go to school any more. Last week, he complained about a sore stomach and was kept off; this week, he claims to have an ear infection. Elizabeth has known the truth for months but waited until now to talk to her parents, not wanting to betray her brother’s confidences.
They knock on his door and open it tentatively, looking inside. His eleventh-birthday cards are still standing on his desk and he’s lying on his bed, wearing the Luke Skywalker costume he’d asked for, claiming that it made him feel brave. Looking at their son, curled up, holding on to a childhood cuddly toy that he immediately casts aside, he doesn’t look brave. He looks frightened. And ashamed.
‘Nelson,’ says George, sitting down at the end of the bed and reaching out to lay a hand on his son’s feet, although the boy pulls them away. He doesn’t like to be touched, and they know this, although they both often long to throw their arms around him, to hold him close and keep him safe. ‘We need to talk to you.’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, sitting up and putting one of his pillows behind his back. ‘My throat is still sore. I can’t go to school tomorrow.’
‘I thought it was your ears,’ says Beverley.
‘Oh yes, that’s what I meant.’
‘Is something …?’ George pauses, wanting to phrase this carefully, so he doesn’t scare his son into silence. ‘Is someone bothering you at school?’ he asks. ‘Is that the reason you don’t want to go in?’
‘No,’ snaps Nelson, looking away, staring at his fingers, which are dancing anxious melodies upon the bedspread. ‘Of course not.’
‘Elizabeth says—’ begins Beverley, but he cuts her off.
‘Elizabeth doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s just trying to cause trouble.’
‘I don’t think she is,’ says George. ‘Who is this Martin Rice anyway?’
Nelson says nothing for a moment, then, quietly: ‘A boy in my class.’
‘And he’s being mean to you?’
Nelson nods.
‘But why?’ asks Beverley. ‘Why would anyone bully you? You’re such a loving boy.’
‘He’s not bullying me!’ says Nelson, tears starting to form in his eyes now. He wipes them away. He doesn’t want them to see him weak. Home is the one place he feels safe, and he won’t have this taken away from him.
‘Is he calling you names?’ asks George.
There’s a long silence, and they wait, saying nothing, until Nelson nods.
‘And what else? Is he hurting you?’
The tears come now, and he breaks down and tells them the extent of the bullying he’s been receiving. And not just from Martin Rice, but from the teachers too, who know what’s going on but won’t challenge the older boy, because he’s good at football and, if they’re honest with themselves, because they’re frightened of him too.