Jenna
Jenna
Jenna sorts through the pile of clean laundry heaped on her bed. It is mostly Callum’s: jeans, t-shirts, underwear, athletics kit. She does not know how he gets through so much in a week.
Glancing at her watch, worry needles her like a jabbing finger. It is almost six o’clock. Callum is usually home early on a Friday, has no lessons after lunchtime. He tends to work in the school library for a few hours and is invariably back by five.
Her thoughts spool back through the past seventy-two hours. The sudden appearance of police officers at the school play, the trip to the station, the forty-five minutes of questioning about what Callum was doing the night Isla was killed: what he and Isla argued about, what time he left her, where he went. The officers showed them CCTV footage of Callum running along a street not far from where Isla was knocked down, not long after the accident occurred.
But despite the gravity of the situation, Callum was unable – or unwilling – to provide any insight into his movements for the half-hour window during which Isla was killed. Friends at the party reported Callum and Isla having a row in the hallway and leaving together at about eight forty-five. Callum had not been seen thereafter. And yet, when the police asked – again and again – where he’d gone, what he’d done, Callum’s only response was that he ‘just wandered around’. Even when the police warned him he was not helping himself by failing to give a more detailed account of his whereabouts, still he refused to provide any more information. And when asked why he had been running along the street, he insisted he’d been racing to catch a bus. It was, in one sense, entirely plausible. But the interviewing officers clearly didn’t believe a word of it.
Later, when they were finally allowed to leave, Jenna grilled Callum about his movements that night, about what he’d done for the ninety minutes between leaving the party and arriving home. She reiterated again and again that she wouldn’t be angry with him, that she would always support him, no matter what. All she wanted from him was the truth. But Callum kept insisting there was nothing to tell; he’d just been walking around, there was nothing more sinister to it than that. When they got home from the station, Callum went straight to his room and had already left the house when Jenna got up the next morning. He’d been avoiding her ever since, and when they’d been in the house together, told her point blank he didn’t want to talk about it.
Jenna’s phone rings, and she sees the number of Collingswood School displayed, feels a prickle of anxiety.
‘Hello?’
‘Ms James? It’s Mr Marlowe from Collingswood.’
‘Hello. How are you?’ Apprehension bristles her skin. For the past three days she has been waiting for this call, waiting for the inevitable remonstration about Tuesday night’s events.
‘Good, thanks, yes.’ There is a momentary pause. ‘I’m sorry to call you on a Friday evening. I just wanted to catch up before the end of the week, see how things are.’
The euphemism does not fool Jenna. She knows this is no friendly catch-up. She understands why Mr Marlowe is calling. But she will not pre-empt it. If she is going to face yet another telling-off, he will need to take the lead. ‘Yes, all fine thanks.’
There is another brief hiatus. ‘I thought we should probably touch base about what happened on Tuesday. I had a chat with Callum on Wednesday, so he’s brought me up to speed. Hopefully that will be an end to it, as far as the police are concerned.’
Jenna finds herself on the back foot. If only Callum had told her he’d met with Mr Marlowe, relayed what had been discussed, she would not be entering this conversation in complete ignorance.
Mr Marlowe continues. ‘I think what’s important now is to focus on next steps – on where we go from here.’
An imagined conversation plays out in Jenna’s head: the school expelling Callum, him having to finish his A-level studies by himself, the absence of any reference to accompany his university applications. The fear prompts contrition to tumble from her lips. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened on Tuesday night, and I know Callum is too. He loves the school so much and he’s working so hard. All he wants is to be able to focus on his schoolwork and prepare for his A levels.’ There is an undertone of pleading in her voice and she blanches at the sound of it.
‘Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ Mr Marlowe pauses; just a few agonising seconds into which all of Jenna’s worst anxieties seem to coalesce. ‘Callum hasn’t been quite as... focused lately as we’ve come to expect of him. We understand he’s been through a lot these past few weeks. It’s been a difficult time for him – for the whole school community. We want to support him, especially after all that’s happened.’ Mr Marlowe inhales audibly. ‘Has Callum mentioned to you that we’ve suggested he see our in-house counsellor?’
For the second time in as many minutes, Jenna feels as though she is playing poker with a blind hand. ‘He hasn’t, no.’ Just three short words and yet they seem to advertise all her maternal failings.
‘Okay, well, we think it’s something Callum might benefit from. Help him to... reconnect.’
The words hum in Jenna’s ears. ‘What do you mean?’
There is another loaded pause. ‘He’s just a bit... withdrawn at the moment. His teachers say he’s somewhat defensive in class: quick to take offence, easily provoked. It’s entirely understandable, of course. But I do think some sessions with our school counsellor might be beneficial, and I wondered if you could maybe speak to him, see if you can persuade him. We all want the same thing, after all: for Callum to be happy and fulfilling his potential.’
Jenna nods before remembering Mr Marlowe cannot see her. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Great, thanks. And we do think it would be better for Callum to spend his study periods at school – better for him, and for his focus throughout the day.’
The words jar in Jenna’s head like jammed pieces in a tile puzzle. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’
‘Sixth formers don’t have to stay on site all day, of course – that’s one of their privileges. But most do; they make use of the library, socialise in the common room, get on with independent study. I think it would help Callum feel more connected with school if he were present more.’
Jenna feels as though she is on a roller coaster, information flashing by so quickly she is unable to take it in.
‘I wondered if you knew where he was going during his free periods? Is he coming home? We’d just like to know he’s getting on with work at those times.’
Jenna understands this is a question to which she should know the answer, but in truth she doesn’t have a clue. She is not at home all day like half the Collingswood mums, who complain about being tired and stressed and are always perennially late for everything even though they seem to have very few tangible responsibilities.
But she does not want to alert Mr Marlowe to her obliviousness. Does not want to reveal she had no idea her son was not present at school all day, does not know where he is going instead, what he might be doing. With whom he might be spending his time.
‘No, he hasn’t been coming home – it’s a bit too far on the bus. He’s been going to the public library, to the quiet reading room on the first floor. He says he can concentrate better there, without the distraction of his friends around.’ The elaborate lie flows seamlessly from her lips, and she does not know where it has come from.
‘Ah good. As long as he’s still focused on his studies. He has so much potential, we’d hate to see him flounder at this stage.’
Jenna thinks she hears something unspoken in Mr Marlowe’s words, her imagination running wild as to what he might be implying. ‘I really do appreciate your concern, Mr Marlowe. As you say, Callum has had an awful lot to contend with over the past few weeks. Isla’s death hit him very hard – probably more than he’s letting on. But I’ll talk to him, suggest he stays in school for his free periods, and encourage him to go to counselling. I agree it would be good for him.’ She hears the conciliatory tone in her voice, hopes it is enough.
‘Great. That’s much appreciated. And maybe we can catch up in a few weeks to see how things are going?’
It is another of Mr Marlowe’s rhetorical questions, and Jenna chooses each of her words carefully: thanks him for calling, says she looks forward to speaking with him again soon.
The phone call ends but the conversation replays in her head like an earworm she cannot shake free.
She thinks about how defensive Callum was both during and after the police interview. She thinks about the CCTV footage of him running down the street, and his alibi about racing to catch a bus. She thinks about the visit from Liam Walsh ten days ago, about his claim of having spent time with Callum recently, and about Liam’s threat to visit Collingswood.
Jenna pulls a shutter down on her thoughts. She cannot allow herself to speculate, cannot indulge her fears. She cannot let herself believe that Callum has re-established his friendship with Liam Walsh, or hypothesise about what he was running away from the night Isla was killed. She cannot assume the worst about what Callum is doing during the study periods he should be at school. She has to believe in Callum’s innocence, his honesty, his integrity. Because, if she doesn’t, she is all too aware that there is no one else who will.