Diary of an Unsmug Married (27 page)

‘Oh, well,’ I say, ‘that’s not a terribly important subject, is it? How did you do in the other two?’

‘U’s in both,’ says Josh. ‘’Bye, Mum. I’m sorry.’

Oh, my God. One D and two ungradeds. I may not understand the current education system very well, but I’m pretty sure that ungradeds must be
fails
. I try phoning Josh back, but he doesn’t answer, so I try a few more times, then give up and resort to texting Robbie: ‘Hi Robbie – is Josh with you? And how did you do in your A-levels?’ I say.

Robbie’s reply comes straight back: ‘Hello, Mrs B. Josh went home – said he wasn’t feeling well, so I think Holly went with him. I got two As and a C :-)’

I have no idea what I am going to say to Josh when I see him. It’s not that I think university’s a guarantee of success – I’m living proof
that’s
not the case – but there are no jobs for under-twenty-fives at the moment, and no one’s going to be offering them apprenticeships either. Greg suggests Josh could become a stand-up comedian, which is no help at all.

After work, I walk very, very slowly all the way home, and when I finally get there am tempted to turn around and head straight off in the opposite direction – anything rather than go inside. But Connie’s obviously been on the look-out and opens the front door before I can make my escape. She is absolutely
beaming
.

‘Mum, Josh failed almost everything,’ she says. ‘
What
a muppet!’

If there were exams in sibling rivalry, both my kids would have doctorates. Now I have to find a way to convince Josh that there’s more to life than academic success – without making Connie feel I don’t value hers. Sometimes parenting’s much closer to the practice of politics than is generally appreciated.

FRIDAY, 20 AUGUST

I get a brief email from Johnny first thing, via his BlackBerry. He says he’s at his in-laws’ now, so can’t message me as much as usual, but that he has a solution to Josh’s under-achievement: bring back grammar schools.

‘It worked for us,’ he says.

‘Some of us,’ I say, meaning him. He’s got a point, though. He definitely wouldn’t have got where he is today if he’d gone to Josh’s school.

‘You’re turning into a Tory,’ he says, when I tell him I’m inclined to agree with him.

I can’t be. I just need a holiday, then I’ll be fine – and better able to deal with surgeries, too. God, today’s is aggravating, though it starts out okay. First up is Paul Taylor, who I rather like. He’s been divorced for a few years now, ever since his ex-wife ran off with a fitted kitchen salesman, and he’s desperate to see his daughter Ava more regularly.

I admire Paul’s latest photo of her, while he tells us that his latest attempt to get the courts to enforce his right to access has failed.

‘My ex complied for a few weeks this time,’ he says, ‘but then she started messing me about again. I haven’t seen Ava for the last three months, though obviously I’m still paying maintenance for her. I don’t want her to go without.’

I wish I could say the same for Mike Templar, who comes into surgery next, accompanied by his second wife, Penny. Mike ran off with her, leaving his first wife and three young children without, it seems, a second thought. Maybe he liked her day-glo tan and WAG-inspired sense of style.

I don’t know why they’ve bothered to come to see The Boss, though, seeing as Penny already phones me every week without fail – always to complain about the amount of money Mike’s supposed to pay to support his children.

She’s looking oddly smug today, and the reason for that soon becomes clear: she is pregnant.

‘So now the CSA
^fn5
will
have
to agree to reduce the amount Mike has to pay that grasping bitch,’ she says. ‘Won’t they?’

I count to ten in my head, then say, ‘Well, they do have a formula they work to, which takes account of the number of children a parent’s responsible for.’

‘Damn the formula, that’ll hardly reduce it at all,’ says Penny. ‘We need a much bigger slice taken off. We’ll have to move, fit out a nursery, and we need a holiday, too.’

I count to ten again, while trying to send Andrew a thought-message that he should join in any time he likes, preferably right this minute. He’s never been any good at telepathy, though.

‘Well,’ I say, after the silence goes on for just a little too long, ‘I’m sure your husband wants to be sure that
all
his children are well cared for, doesn’t he?’

I look at Mike Templar, urging him to say the right thing, but he wimps out and starts fiddling with his shirt cuffs, as if his life depended on them.

‘You lot need to explain to the CSA that his
new
family is the most important thing,’ Penny says, slapping her hand on the table for emphasis. ‘That bloody woman needs to get a job. I mean,
I
won’t be able to work once my little ‘un is born.’

I am counting to ten for the third time, this time
very
slowly. It doesn’t work – I still want to punch her. God knows how I manage not to. It hasn’t even occurred to her how she’ll feel if Mike trades her in next, and she becomes the one relying on his payments to feed and clothe
her
child. Affairs are so messy, aren’t they? Oh. Oh,
God
. I may be having one.

SATURDAY, 21 AUGUST

Holly’s been here for the last two nights, in an apparently fruitless effort to cheer Josh up – so, as soon as she finally goes home today, Max and I decide it’s time for the ‘what next’ conversation: the one you have with sons who’ve just failed almost all their A-levels. It takes far less time than we anticipate.

Josh says he is
not
going back to school to do re-sits, and nor is he going to do them at the local further education college.

‘It’s not as if I even
want
to go to university,’ he says. ‘I’m not cut out for academic crap, I have no patience with stupid teachers and, anyway, you and Dad can’t afford it. Plus I don’t want all that debt.’

Connie is infuriated, and keeps saying, ‘Crap?
Crap?
’ while I try to reassure Josh that, however broke Max and I might be, we’d still find a way to help him out somehow, just as we do for Connie.

Max keeps completely quiet throughout the whole discussion and, all of a sudden, it feels like the girls against the boys, or the university-educated against those of the University-of-Life school of thought.

It’s not as if I’m in favour of everyone going to university anyway, despite what Max and Josh may think, so I suggest to Josh that he could learn a trade skill instead.

‘Greg says you might enjoy it, and it’d probably be more lucrative than getting a poor degree in a made-up subject,’ I say. ‘
And
he says you wouldn’t have to spend years trying to pay off your loans while delivering pizzas for a living either.’

‘Great,’ says Josh. ‘So that’s all Greg thinks I’m capable of, academically, is it? A degree in a made-up subject?’

I’ve just managed to negotiate my way out of that one (by telling Josh that academic study is not the be-all and end-all, and that we’ll support him in whatever he decides to do), when Connie goes ballistic and reminds me that she still has another two years at university to go. It’s like walking on eggshells around here – or across the San Andreas fault.

In the end, the whole conversation becomes impossible to continue while both kids are in the same room. I’m wriggling like a fish on a line, so it’s a relief when Josh goes upstairs to indulge in some Xbox violence – probably involving the virtual murders of a posse of sisters or university students – while Connie stays downstairs with Max and me, looking through details of houses to rent.

She starts her
Year in Industry
internship soon, so time’s getting short for her to sign the contract on somewhere to live.

‘Mum,’ she says. ‘Do you think I’m wasting my time with all this study, then?’

‘No, of course I don’t, Con,’ I say. ‘I’m very proud of you.’

‘So why is it right for me, but a waste of time for Josh?’ she says. ‘It’s not as if he’s stupid – even though he
is
a tosser. He scored two points higher than me on the
Big
Intelligence
Test
, on TV.’

‘Well, Con – I don’t know,’ I say. I’ve had enough. ‘Max,
you
explain it.’

There’s no reply. Max has dozed off. Sleeping while family fault lines open up in every direction is obviously a skill they need to teach at university.

SUNDAY, 22 AUGUST

Max and I go into town, more for a wander than to shop, as we are broke until payday. We leave Connie and Josh at home, arguing desultorily about whether university is a waste of time.

Max says maybe we should try to arrange something for next weekend, and suggests we ask David and Susie if we can borrow their holiday cottage. Just the two of us.

I’ve no idea what brought this on, but I’m thrilled – especially as it’s entirely Max’s idea, and not the result of furious hinting. And, if anything is likely to result in sex, this is it. Being fifty miles away from the kids would mean there’d be no chance of being interrupted by one of them wanting us to referee a stupid argument.

‘Phone David now,’ I say. ‘
Quick
, before you change your mind!’

‘Why would I change my mind?’ says Max.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say. ‘But something always crops up, and then we end up doing nothing.’

Max gives me a hug and picks up his phone.

David and Susie must be otherwise engaged, as Max’s call goes straight to answer-phone. He’s about to hang up but, after some nudging from me, he leaves a message first, asking if we can borrow the house. Hooray! I’m so happy that I’m almost bouncing along as we start to make our way back home.

When we come out on the other side of the underpass, thankfully uninterrupted by bad skateboarding, Max’s phone starts to ring. Surely it can’t be David calling back already?

‘You what?’ says Max. There is a barely discernible note of panic in his voice. ‘He’s done
what
?’

I stick my head up close to his, and can just make out Connie’s voice – which is pitched rather higher than usual.

‘Well, don’t move him,’ says Max. ‘We’re almost home.’ He breaks into a run, and I follow suit – but he’s too fast for me. By the time I walk into the house, he’s examining Josh, who is lying on the floor, half inside the living room and half in the hallway. He looks distinctly green and is unusually quiet. So is a rather twitchy Connie.

‘What happened, Con?’ says Max.

‘He was getting really stroppy about students, so I told him to piss off and leave me alone,’ says Connie.

‘And?’ Max raises his eyebrows and looks hard at her.

‘Well, he wouldn’t,’ she says. ‘He just kept bugging me.’

‘You
thumped
me,’ says Josh. (Thank God for that – at least he’s capable of speech.)

‘Not hard! And, anyway, it was your bloody fault what happened.’

Connie’s chin is sticking out – as it always does when she feels under attack. She’s about to continue when Max interrupts. ‘Look,’ he says, ‘never mind that. Josh’s arm is blue – so we need to take him to A&E. I’ll go and get the car.’

As he heads for the door, I say, ‘What d’you think is wrong with him?’

‘I think he could have broken his arm,’ says Max, ‘and the bone might be cutting into his blood supply.’

‘Oh, Christ,’ I say, sitting down on the stairs, without having intended to.

‘Get his coat and a blanket, and I’ll bring the car round,’ says Max. ‘And you can stay here while I take him to the hospital. You’ll just wind him up if you come, you look so worried.’

Gah. I deal with stressful situations every day of the week – so why does my husband think I’m useless in a family emergency?

‘I’m coming,’ I say. ‘Connie, you can prepare dinner while we’re gone. I’ll phone you when we know what’s going on.’

I’m not sure, but I could swear Connie says, ‘Serves him right’, as Max and I help Josh to the car.

We wait for hours in A&E, as usual. Josh perks up a bit while he’s waiting, as all the nurses seem to recognise him, but he won’t tell us any more about what happened to his arm. He just sits there muttering, ‘Connie’s
so
f*cking unbelievably annoying.’

When a doctor finally arrives, he orders an x-ray, but not before he has asked Josh to explain exactly how ‘this latest accident’ came to happen.

Max and I look at Josh expectantly. He says nothing, just hangs his head.

‘Go on, tell him,’ says Max. ‘We’re all waiting to hear this one.’

‘Well, it’s my sister, you see,’ Josh says to the doctor. ‘She’s just really –
really –
annoying. I mean
really
annoying.’

‘I see,’ says the doctor. ‘And?’

‘She wanted me to go away, so she thumped me.’

‘What – hard enough to break your arm?’ says the doctor. ‘What is she, some sort of prize-fighter?’

‘No-o,’ says Josh. ‘She’s a wimp. I tried to kick her back …’

‘Ah,’ says Max. ‘What sort of kick, exactly?’

‘Well, a roundhouse kick, of course,’ says Josh, the family’s self-appointed ninja.

‘So why are you here in A&E with a possibly broken arm, when you were the one who kicked your sister?’ says the doctor.

‘I missed,’ says Josh.

I’ll give the doctor his due, he doesn’t laugh out loud, though I’m pretty sure he sniggers a bit.

It’s really late when we finally get home, and Josh’s arm is in a sling to support it. It’s not broken after all, but very badly bruised. The doctor says that the injury’s probably temporarily damaged some of the nerves and that blood vessels have been affected, hence the attractive blue colour of the skin.

Connie gives Josh a big hug, which makes him wince, and then she says, ‘How did you tell them you did it, bro?’

‘Told ‘em I bloody well kicked you,’ says Josh.

‘
And
that you missed, and fell
onto your
own
arm
?’ says Connie. She’s enjoying this far too much, but then so are Max and I.