Chapter 8
8
JONATHAN
T oday, the quaint school room is less cheery nostalgia and more gothic claustrophobia. The rain’s still drumming against the windows and thick fog presses in. What little sunlight fights its way in through the panes is weak and watery.
The children have arranged themselves at the desks: Alisha at the back, Enrique on her lap, Mal in front of her and Ben beside him. All four children are in matching white golf shirts—uniforms, I suppose.
I push my glasses up on my nose. “For our first lesson, I’ve prepared a few little quizzes so I can get an idea of where you’re sitting, academically speaking.”
“We’re doing a test already?” Ben asks as I set his worksheet down in front of him.
“Just a little quiz. It will help me work out where to start. What you know, what you have yet to learn.”
Mal eyes me warily as I set his page down.
“Alisha, maybe Enrique can play with some toys while you take your test?”
“You said it’s not a test,” Ben interjects, his voice wobbling a little.
“Your quiz ,” I correct.
Alisha looks doubtful, but she shifts Enrique off her lap and hands him her notebook and a pen. She tells him something quietly and he hesitates only a moment before starting to scribble in her book.
“You may all begin.”
There’s silence in the room for a few moments, punctuated by the sound of pencils scratching across paper, before Mal throws down his pencil, leans back with folded arms and states, “I’m not doing this.”
“Me either,” Ben agrees, readily, casting aside his own pencil.
“You seem to be under the impression that it’s optional.”
“I won’t do it,” Mal states.
Maybe he’s scared. Maybe the questions I set were too difficult. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. It’s just a few questions and/or activities. Don’t worry if you can’t do them. It’s just so I understand?—.”
He forces a laugh. “Right. So you can tell The Beast how stupid we are.”
Ben sucks in a breath.
“I assure you, that’s not?—”
“We may be poor little orphans but we’re not dumb,” Mal says. “Just coz we’re not boujee or whatever.”
“I’m not going to tell The Beast anything. This exercise is for my records only?—”
“Bullshit.”
“Mal—” Alisha cautions.
He whips around to glare at her. “What’s he gonna do? He can’t force me to take a test.”
I suck in a breath. I really thought that we got somewhere last night when he opened up to me. Maybe that’s why he’s acting out now, because he allowed himself to be vulnerable. I need to be the adult. I need to keep calm. I try again. “Mal, I’m not your enemy. I’m just trying to help.”
“Sure. Everyone says that.”
“We need to start somewhere with your education. That’s what I’m here for.”
“What does it matter?” He raises his voice, turning to look around the room at the others. “Not like we’re going to be doctors or astronauts or whatever. Just tell us what to say to the rich folk. That’s all we really need to know.”
“There’s no reason you can’t—” I start.
“No one ever tell you, you can’t polish a turd?
“—what?”
“That’s what we are. That’s why they chose us. The worst fucking turds they could find.”
He swipes his arm across his desk, sending pens, pencils, glue sticks and other sundry stationery flying. His feet slam to the ground as he stands. Ben draws himself up tight around his knees and Enrique starts wailing, his cry as shrill as a siren. Alisha tries in vain to shush him. She stands too, bouncing Enrique as if he’s half his age.
Mal’s fists are clenched and his chest is rising and falling rapidly as he glares at me. I’m just frozen. Uni didn’t prepare me for anything like this.
Mal waves the paper pointedly “Who cares what a… a… compound adjective is? You really think that’s what’s going to prove our worth to those fancy fucks?”
“Don’t use that word.”
He responds by crumpling up that quiz and throwing it at me.
“Mal, for god’s sake, please!” Alisha calls.
He whirls towards her. “Don’t you see? None of this matters! All we need to do is pretend we’re little angels for The Beast’s friends. We don’t need to do any stupid tests.”
He snatches the quiz off her desk and reads the first question before letting out a bark of laughter that’s on the verge of hysteria. “He wants to know how many books you’ve read, Alisha. Because that’s what’s going to keep you off the streets when you age out. Fucking books.”
He attempts to throw the page at her, but it’s not particularly aerodynamic and only drifts to the desk. This appears to anger him further. “You have no clue, do you?” He yells at me. “You think we are the stupid ones!”
“When did I say that?”
“You don’t have to say it. It’s what you all think. But you’re the dumb ones. You know nothing about how the world really works!” He grabs Ben’s quiz, tears it in half and then pushes past me, heading for the door. “I’m done with this.”
“Mal!”
He ignores me. I need to make him stop. I need to regain control of the situation. What do I do? What would dad do?
No. What would Zane do?
Zane, who teaches preschoolers. Because Mal is behaving exactly like a member of Zane’s reception class. This is a tantrum.
Regulate. That’s what Zane always said about tantrums. Before you can do punishments or anything else, you have to get their emotions regulated.
I let Mal leave.
He slams the door hard enough that the blackboard rattles. But, once he’s gone, it’s like the calm following a particularly violent electric storm.
I collect the scattered paper and stationery from the floor. My hands are trembling. Alisha hugs Enrique and distracts him with a toy. His wailing turns to gulping sobs.
Ben is still all curled in on himself, so I kneel in front him and put a hand on his knee. “That was quite something, wasn’t it?”
He jerks away, still hiding his face.
“He didn’t mean those things he said,” I say gently.
“Yes he did,” comes the muffled response.
“Even if he did, they weren’t true.”
The door slams open again. I jump and Enrique cries out again.
The doorway is blocked by The Beast. Adam has one giant hand wrapped around Mal’s upper arm. The boy’s face is sheet white, aside from the red around the rims of his eyes and nose. All the defiance that was so overwhelmingly present mere moments ago is gone.
“Found something that belongs to you,” Adam rumbles, shoving Mal into the room.
Even now, despite everything, I rankle at the ‘thing’ and ‘belong’.
“I sent him out,” I say.
“Sure you did.”
“Truly. We had a… disagreement, he needed to walk it off. I sent him out.”
“Oh, we all heard your disagreement . I’m sure I speak for my entire staff when I request that you lower the volume of any subsequent disagreements so that we might get some work done.”
As if it’s my fault that Mal lost his temper. Mal hasn’t moved from his spot just inside the door. His head is bowed now and his body tensed, as if bracing for an attack.
“I’ll be certain to do that,” I say to Adam.
He eyes me, expression calculating. Then, without saying anything more, he turns and leaves, shutting the door securely behind him.
“Take a seat, Mal.” I keep my voice soft and even and I’m a little surprised when he does as he’s told, sinking into his seat with his eyes downcast and his expression blank.
What did Adam do to him?
“I think some quiet reading time is in order, don’t you?”
When Zane’s charges are done with their tantrums, he will generally take them aside for a little one-on-one chat about what’s really bothering them. Even though Mal is quiet, I don’t mistake this for regulation. He’s terrified. Nothing I say now is going to make an impact.
Unfortunately the classroom’s little library doesn’t have all that much to offer children born in this century. It’s nothing more than a small collection of classics. I pick out The Velveteen Rabbit for Ben, Pride and Prejudice for Alisha and Frankenstein for Mal.
It takes a few minutes for Enrique to settle with a box of crayons and some blank paper. Alisha makes an attempt to read next to him, but he keeps demanding attention. Mal doesn’t even look at his book. He simply stares down at the desk, lost in his own thoughts. Ben tries, he really tries, but after only a few moments I catch his shoulders shaking. He’s crying.
I shouldn’t be here. I’m hopelessly under qualified.
I try to focus on my own work, planning lessons for children who will probably refuse to take them.
The rain stops a little before lunch and the fog lifts — both literally and metaphorically. I have a plan. Well, more of an inkling. An idea that might become a plan.
“What do you say we take our lunch outside and have a picnic?” I ask the silent room.
“A picnic?” Alisha glances out at the weather. “Are you sure?”
“Certain. The fresh air will do us all good.”
“You don’t think it might be a little… too fresh?”
“We can wear coats.”
“Enrique will get muddy.”
“Is that really so bad?” I look to the other boys. “Mal? Ben? What do you think? Picnic yay or nay? I’ll arrange some treats from the kitchen.”
Mal shrugs. “Whatever. You’re the teacher, aren’t you?”
“Ben?”
Ben’s looking at his hands. “I do like picnics. Do you think we can have cakes?”
“I’m not sure about cakes, we’ll have to see what Ray has available. At the very least some little sandwiches.”
“There won’t be anywhere to sit,” Alisha says.
“We can put down blankets. If it is too awful, we’ll just come back inside.”
“What if The Beast won’t let us take the food?”
“You really do worry a lot, don’t you? Come along.” I stand. “You heard Mal. I’m the teacher and I think a picnic is a fine idea.”
I send Alisha to help the others get dressed into warmer clothes and jackets and stop by the kitchen to make my request of Ray. They’re delighted at the idea, especially when I explain the day we’ve all had. Ray offers to bring out the food as soon as it’s ready.
On my way out of the kitchen, I ask, “Do you know if the children have a ball?”
“The kids? No. But Geoff will.” They tell me where to find him.
The top floor of the manor has that modern industrial feel of being suspended mid renovation. The walls are a mix of bare brick and concrete and the floorboards are untreated pine. It’s hard to tell if the look is intentional or if the mystery decorator just never made it this far.
A long passage leads off the landing, with doors to the left and right that must be bedrooms. At the end, I find the Scottish headquarters of the De Villeneuve foundation: an open-plan office full of mismatched desks and old filing cabinets.
Geoff is right at the back of the room, sprawled in an office chair with a clunky cellphone from the 90s tucked under his chin. No, a satellite phone.
“Yeah Carole, that sounds great… no, of course… I know, but it’s a hard line for him. Yeah…” He spots me and waves me over. “Look, look , I’m trying to meet you halfway, but Beast is very clear on this. Unless your photographer wants to quarantine… Yeah. Mmhmm.” He rolls his eyes at me. “I know… I know.” He listens for a beat then gets up and paces to a filing cabinet. “How about this? We have some pics of when he first bought the place... Yeah, with the hubby… Yes, absolutely… I think that will work very well… See, this is why they pay you the big bucks.”
After exchanging a few more niceties, he ends the call and gives me a Hollywood grin that’s all teeth. “Hey, Teach. What can I do you for?”
I manage to suppress a cringe. “Um, hi. Ray said you might have a ball?”
“A… ball ?”
“I’m taking the children outside for the day.”
“You’re brave.” He laughs as he walks over to a big plastic container that’s pushed up against the back wall and starts digging in it.
“The weather’s cleared up. I think it will be fine.”
“Oh, it’s not the weather you have to worry about.” He tosses me a basketball and I, thankfully, catch it.