Jackie watched as her sons scuffed their way up
groan came from the body on the bed. Rob rol ed over
the garden path from the school bus. Ties askew, laces
slowly. “You won’t make me go wil you? Promise?”
trailing, bags gaping, the picture much as usual. Robbie, Jackie saw a crumpled envelope in her sons clenched the elder by two years, looked even crosser than usual, hand.
pushing his brother when they reached the door so that
“Rob, until I know what has happened I can’t help
sundry untidy books fell, from his bag, into the hedge.
you. Now, come on, sit up and drink this tea, then you’l Jackie opened the door and helped to pick them up.
feel better. I’m sure we’ll sort this out, come on.” Another
“Steady Rob” she said, “Come on in, I’ve just made the
groan.
tea”.
He took his tea but didn’t release the letter. Jackie
The kitchen couldn’t have looked more inviting,
held out her hand and he slowly uncurled his fingers. She stove twinkling, cake and cups on the bright table-cloth; took the letter. He hung his head.
Steve rushed in and collapsed on the dogs chair,
“Country dancing! All this drama about country dumped his bag, grinning at his mother as she handed
dancing!?” The crumpled paper hung from her fingers.
him his tea.
“They want you to stay after
“He’s got a letter” he
school for COUNTRY
said. Then Jackie realised
DANCING!” Jackie shouted
that Robbie had gone straight
not in anger but relief. She
upstairs, “What sort of letter?”
wanted to laugh, then when
“I dunno, it made him
she pictured a group of
ballistic!” Jackie poured
graceless fourteen year olds
another cup of tea and took it
gallumphing around to whistle
upstairs. Rob was lying face
pipes and violins she wanted
down on the bed, school bag
to laugh even more.
tossed into a corner, coat and
“Country dancing, that’s all.
shoes still to be discarded.
Country dancing. Oh Rob”.
“Here’s your tea, come
on sit up, tell me what’s the
matter” Jackie ruffled his hair
and ran her finger round his
collar, “Come on tel me, then
I can help.” A muffled groan
came from under the tousled heap.
I write because…
“Go away, no one can help, I can’t go back to
school, don’t make me, I’l die”
Jackie stood and pondered on the enormity of this
I love words, and I love the people and places they create for me
problem. What had he done? Smoking? Molesting?
Drugs? Did the letter summon her and Richard to see the