Текст книги "Guilt Tripper"

Автор книги: Geoff Small

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

PART THREE

 

CHAPTER: 11

 But for a small lounge, the ground floor of the crofter’s cottage up in Gairloch was now dominated by a flagstone kitchen with an oak table, which almost spanned the room and seated thirty people. It was to be during long evening dinners here that Danny believed his little community would be cemented. These soirees would be overlooked by his mother’s portrait, which took pride of place on the back wall, directly opposite as you entered from outside. Fortunately, this painting had avoided the apartment fire, having been moved to Katy’s house just after Mrs. White’s death, because it had been upsetting her son too much.

 As for the byre, well, its wooden walls had been replaced with red brick and white stucco, its tin roof with terracotta tiles. Inside, either side of a long corridor stood six small rooms, just large enough for a bed, wardrobe and a writing desk with a computer on top. Meanwhile, the ablutions were situated at the far end, beneath a loft conversion which served as a recreation suite, featuring a TV, pool table and library.

 On a blazing day at the end of August, Fin drove six lads and six girls up to this new Highland home, in a custard yellow, Ford Transit Minibus. The journey was a silent affair where suspicious, sideways glances were the only communication. But, as they pulled up outside the cottage, the sight of eight local students lounging about on the grass seemed to bring the Glaswegians together at last, against a common foe. Throughout the next hour, the two groups remained stand-offish until they were called in for their welcome dinner, cooked by Judith and Angie who, along with Hamish and Danny, had already been in residence for a fortnight.

 Townies and Highlanders were alternated around the table so that they had no choice but to mix, with the five adults making up the numbers. At first it was uncomfortably quiet, but as soon as everyone had finished their aperitifs a pleasant murmur was developing. The townies were a tad cautious about their food, though. “Urrs” and “yuks” accompanied the smoked salmon starter, much to the amusement of the locals, who scoffed theirs enthusiastically. Each student was allowed one glass of wine during the main dish – grouse in black cherry sauce – helping to create a more boisterous atmosphere by the time desert arrived at the table. By now there was something of a first night on vacation mood about the newcomers, so much that the locals reluctantly boarded Fin’s minibus back to their villages, many wanting to stay behind with their exciting new friends instead.

 That night, raucous laughter bellowed from the student accommodation until dawn. At one point Judith was woken by cheering and, as she looked out of her dormer window she caught the pink flash of a teenager’s backside, streaking across the meadow. For the next hour she lay in darkness, sharing the kid’s amusement as the young naturist pleaded to be readmitted to the byre, its door and windows having been so cruelly locked in his wake. Judith entertained Angie with this recollection next morning, while they prepared a massive picnic in the kitchen.

 The local students arrived at around eleven and everyone walked to Big Sand Beach. While a mass game of water volleyball ensued in a turquoise and cobalt sea, Judith sat on a dune admiring the Torridon Mountains, situated across the bay. There, the students would run wild for the next month, hiking, canoeing, learning to fish and generally bonding. All except Danny’s scar faced friend, Ryan Kearney, who chose to disassociate himself and write a book in his room, where he’d work day and night. Whenever Judith went out the back for a cigarette in the early hours, his light was the only hint of life in an otherwise sleepy byre. His curtains were never shut and she’d often stand in the darkness, just feet from the window, marvelling at the boy’s stamina and commitment. Usually, he’d be bent over his desk scribbling so frantically that four sides of A4 were filled before her cigarette was spent. On others, he’d have his baseball capped head in his hands or be pacing about the room in search of inspiration, looking haunted. Danny had tried coaxing Ryan to join in with the others, but he said he’d sooner leave than waste valuable time playing “kiddies’ games”. Out of everybody, Belinda took particular exception to this isolationism and, whenever he left the dinner table – having rushed his food to get writing again – she’d start her daily moan about what she considered rude behaviour.

 “Why did he come here if he just wants to be on his own? He’s treating the rest of us like idiots…someone should sort him out!”

 This was said loud enough for Danny to hear, and was interpreted as a challenge to do something about the situation; but he left Ryan in creative peace all the same.

 October arrived and it was time to start lessons, held in two mobile classrooms, situated behind the cottage, at the foot of the mountain. Each morning, Judith taught art history, followed by Danny’s painting classes, where he wore the blue, paint dappled overalls which would become his second skin. Meanwhile, Hamish and Angie took turns with their eight literature pupils, seven of whom were girls, including the patron’s dear young friend, Katy, and Ryan’s nemesis, Belinda. Ryan didn’t attend either class, much to the chagrin of the raven haired beauty. Inevitably, one night at dinner, things came to a head. Ryan had arrived slightly late, as usual, and as he squeezed past fellow diners on route to his seat he inadvertently nudged Belinda’s arm, just as she was about to sip from her wine glass. The spilt claret soaked into her white tracksuit top like ink on blotting paper, causing her to leap up from her seat.

 “You stupid friggin’ idiot!” Ryan, oblivious to his crime, looked bewildered as he turned to face her. “You’ve got no social skills what-so-ever have you! You friggin’ retard!”

 Belinda stormed off, before the loner even had chance to reply.

 Uncharacteristically, Ryan ended up being last to leave the table, obviously upset by Belinda’s remarks. Judith and Hamish were actually clearing plates around him when he got up, but Danny told him to stay put and laid down an ultimatum: either he started attending classes with the rest of the group or he’d have to go.

 Ryan wore the expression of a man who’d been betrayed and reproached his benefactor.

 “I was starting to think you were alright…that you were a fellow traveller. But you’re just another out of touch asshole aren’t you?”

 Danny tensed up, clenching his right fist as if on the verge of striking the irreverent teenager. Judith, who’d never seen him like that before, intervened before something happened which everybody would regret.

 “Ryan? If you’re going to be staying here, then I think Danny should at least be able to monitor your progress, see where you might need help. You are here to learn after all.”

 “I know how to analyse literature, alright…you can’t teach people how to write!”

 At this point Hamish, who was now sat opposite, interjected:

 “Even the best writers relied on quality editors. You know, the objective, academic eye.”

 “If you want me to go, then fine. I’ll leave in the morning,” Ryan said stubbornly and got up to leave, but Judith headed him off at the door.

 “Ryan? Just let Hamish see your work and then we’ll take things from there.”

 Ryan looked petrified at the prospect of people seeing his writing, so much that Judith had to spend half an hour alone with him in the lounge before he agreed to fetch a sample from the byre. When he returned carrying a thick sheaf of A4, he refused to share it with anyone but her. Indiscriminately, she selected a page of spidery handwriting and found herself enjoying his first recollection of snowfall on the Easterhouse housing scheme, while he paced around the couch anxiously. In truth, she’d been expecting a pile of drivel, but not only was his work poignant and poetic, it was well structured too. She was instantly gripped and only stopped reading when he asked her opinion, some seven pages later.

 “Ryan, I’m astounded. It’s absolutely beautiful.” He wandered over to the window and stared out at the night, biting his nails as if unable to deal with the compliment. “Why haven’t you word processed your work?”

 He turned to face her. “I don’t know anything about computers.”

 “See! There are always new things we can learn, aren’t there?” Judith declared with great enthusiasm, causing Ryan to shrug his shoulders diffidently. “I tell you what: I’ll teach you how to get round a computer if you let me read the rest of your book…you’ve got me intrigued.”

 Judith winked at Ryan and he couldn’t help but return a lovely, wide smile. It was the first time she’d ever seen him anything other than sullen.

 As they re-entered the candlelit kitchen, Danny pulled a chair out from between himself and Angie, so that Ryan could join them for a dram of whisky. “If you’re as well read as you reckon, then there’s no reason why you can’t sit in and help teach. We’re promoting a philosophy of co-operation here. There’s no place for elitists,” he told the youngster.

 “But I spend every minute of my day working on the book,” Ryan protested. “When I’m not actually writing I’m thinking about what I’m going to write. It’s a torment, like having an eternal itch. The only way to find relief is to scratch. So I have to keep writing all the time. You should know this as an artist. Did the renaissance masters have time to waste?”

 Danny laughed and grabbed Ryan in an affectionate headlock, full of admiration at his passion.

 “Two days a week you can help Angie here with her seminars – that gives you five days undisturbed to work on the book. Ok?” He pulled his captives head back, playfully. “Ok?”

 “Ok.”

 On being released, Ryan struggled to repress only his second smile since they’d known him. He even removed the checked baseball cap – hitherto welded to his head – revealing a sandy crew cut, which made him instantly more amenable. As more whisky flowed the mood became so relaxed that Ryan announced he had a confession to make to Danny. All went silent.

 “You know that first meeting you had? Up in the old textiles mill?”

 “Aha.”

 “There were about twelve of us, right?”

 “Yes.”

 “There should have been more – a lot more.” Ryan placed his cap back on, holding the peak and rubbing it against his scalp, nervously. “There were a good fifty from all over the city waiting outside in small groups, but our little crew chased them away with potato peelers. If you’d got us to fill the applications in there and then you’d have seen that nine of the thirteen people present where all from my scheme. They only turned up coz I told them to. That’s why there were just three the following week.”

 “Why would you want to scare the others away?” Angie interrupted.

 “Get rid of the competition of course. I knew places would be scarce and that you’d never pick some volatile loser with a second prize. In my experience most people are out to disadvantage you, so you have to make your own luck.” Unable to look at anyone he stared past Hamish sat opposite and focused on Danny’s mother’s portrait. “I’m sorry…not just for you, but for the people I scared off too.” He let go of his cap and emptied his glass in one. “So, if you want nothing more to do with me, I totally understand.”

 Danny stood up and raised his glass of water in a toast: “Everybody! To Ryan! And may all the students in this college be as worthy as him!”

 “To Ryan!” the others concurred, chinking their tumblers together.

 Ryan looked like he was on the verge of tears and left before betraying any more emotion.

 

 

CHAPTER: 12

 Except for occasional fallouts, the college was getting along fine. Thanks to passionate teaching and a co-operative ethos – which saw the more able students obliged to coach those lagging behind – astounding advances were made during that first term. Consequently, meal time conversations evolved from idle gossip to full-on intellectual debates, which rarely saw anyone leave the table until midnight. There’d also been something of a revolution in the preparation of the meals themselves, with every resident student and teacher being partnered off to do their stint at the range. Despite a few burnt meals early on, by winter everyone had become a competent chef, except for Danny. In fact, his meals were so abysmal, he got banned from all kitchen duties except washing-up, and even then he left a lot to be desired.

 That December, the students went home for a month, leaving Danny, Judith, Angie, Fin and Ryan, who’d been invited to stay in Hamish’s room rather than be all alone. While enjoying Christmas dinner together, they were interrupted by someone knocking at the door. It was just after three o’clock. The Highland dusk had already fallen, so that when Judith answered she could only make out a man’s silhouette. Being the season of goodwill to all men though, she brought the stranger into the candlelit kitchen where it took a moment before she recognized Dickens without his glasses. Still wearing his old brown suit, he’d been walking all day from Kinlochewe.

 Judith did the utmost to make Dickens welcome, but he threw it back in her face. Taciturn and sullen, he inhibited what had been a merry gathering, rudely smoking his roll ups while everyone was still eating. It was obvious he wanted her exclusive attention, so she took him up to her room where they sat together on the bed.

 Just out of prison, Dickens had hitched-hiked from Glasgow to Kinlochewe on Christmas Eve, having acquired the college address from a cell-mate whose daughter was a student. It turned out that he’d been arrested for fare dodging on a London bound train the day after Judith had last spoken to him at Herman’s house. Typing Dickens’s name into their computer, Motherwell Police had discovered he was already on the run, having jumped bail for two assaults, one in Edinburgh and another in Dundee. Not only that, but Bob Fitzgerald had made an allegation against him the previous day, when Dickens had been round to his apartment and dispensed a farewell head-butt. All three assaults had been inflicted upon former acquaintances who Dickens had felt let down by. One was beaten up for asking him to leave their family home, after he’d been sleeping on the couch for two months, another for not inviting him to their wedding. As for Bob Fitzgerald, well, Dickens had elevated the singer to hero status and he’d repaid him with ridicule.

 Judith was perturbed to learn that Dickens had been harbouring a dream of him and her being a couple. Indeed, to him it was destiny. He kept banging on about “us” and “we” as if their future together was ineluctable and it had only been prison bars keeping them apart. She was paying the price now for her affectionate farewell eighteen months earlier, when she’d said she loved him, in that way women do with men whom they have no physical attraction to whatsoever. She tried subtly to disabuse him of this fantasy, all the time fearing that she might become another victim of his violence.

 “Dickens, I don’t want a relationship with anybody, Ok.

 Dickens sprang up from the bed and banged his palm violently against the wardrobe.

 “Dickens, please, calm down,” Judith implored.

 “I am calm!”

 “You’ve got to stop demanding so much of people.”

 He spun round to face her again. “Demanding so much of people? Demanding so much of people! I’ve never had anything!” Then he turned and, this time, punched the wardrobe with all his might.

 Judith stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Until you stop seeing every little thing that doesn’t go your way as a personal slight, you’re not going to develop one jot – and I know you don’t want that.”

 But there was no assuaging him at this time and he stormed out of the room. She followed, but by the time she’d got downstairs he’d gone. Temperatures of around minus five had been forecast, so Judith took the minibus and searched the only available road, stopping every hundred yards to holler Dickens’s name across the pitch black moorland. After a fruitless twenty minutes, though, she drove back, relieved not to have found him if she were honest.

 Three days later Hamish came back and Ryan returned to the student quarters, where he encountered absolute carnage. All the computer monitors had been smashed, wash basins and pipes torn from walls – flooding the wash rooms – while every book in the recreation loft had had its pages torn out and strewn across the pool table, its blue felt in shreds. A discarded Old Holborn tobacco packet betrayed Dickens as the culprit and explained why Judith hadn’t found him on Christmas night.

 Everyone wanted to report Dickens to the police, except Ryan and Danny. The youngster – viscerally opposed to the authorities – wanted to hunt him down and dispense his own justice, while Danny pleaded for some understanding on behalf of the homeless orphan, whose vandalism he perceived as the honest expression of a powerless man.

 “Can anyone of us here begin to imagine the sense of rejection and exclusion that poor man must be suffering? I can see no practical purpose in sending him back to prison. The man needs a family. Perhaps we should be that family? Perhaps we should take him in and forgive him, like a mother or a brother forgives when a close one goes berserk – as so often happens – smashing household objects out of hurt.”

 This was a step too far for the others, so a compromise was reached and Dickens went unreported.

 Danny postponed the students return until February, by which time the byre had been restored to its former glory. Unfortunately, one of the lads – Mucky Tea from Castlemilk – got embroiled in a gang fight during the interim period and ended up on remand at a youth offenders centre. A month later he received a six month jail sentence – something for which even Danny struggled to forgive Dickens. Mucky Tea’s place in the byre was soon filled though, by one of the local students who had trouble at home with his father.

 

CHAPTER 13

 By summer, Gairloch College was back on track. The art students were exhibiting their work at the village hall and Ryan was due to sign a publishing deal, thanks to Angie, who’d sent sample chapters of his work to her mother to distribute among the London literati. It had been the first time she’d contacted her family in over four years and Judith admired the way she’d swallowed her pride to help others.

 An even more miraculous event occurred after Ryan’s celebratory meal, when he ended up snogging Belinda. This wasn’t the sudden phenomenon it might have seemed. The morning after their spat at the dinner table, Ryan had taken advice from Danny and sent her some flowers as an apology, bringing them onto speaking terms for the first time. Thereafter, his teaching sessions helped develop the situation from one of polite diplomacy to mutual respect, before literary success finally wooed her.

 Judith was delighted to see Ryan and Belinda’s relationship flourish, but Danny expressed reservations about the whole thing. Remembering how he’d been distracted from painting by Ingrid, he worried that Ryan’s contentment might have a harmful effect on his writing. He claimed that, in his experience, love narrowed perceptions, shrinking the universe from a chaos of infinite stimuli and possibilities until it became just one person. Single track minds, he argued, rarely produced interesting art.

 In what seemed like no time at all, Gairloch College was enjoying its first anniversary dinner, where freshly shot grouse was being washed down with Chateau Haut-Brion at one-hundred and twenty pounds a bottle. This wasn’t as profligate as it might seem. Before a single cork had been popped, Danny had treated his students to a wine appreciation course and legitimised the expense as part of their education. He reckoned that if the kids knew what decent booze tasted like then they would aspire to better things in life than Buckfast and Special Brew, when they eventually returned home.

 It was a bright, muggy evening so the front door had been left open. What with the party atmosphere, no one noticed a woman walking into the kitchen, carrying a small child in her arms. Judith was only alerted when, one by one, students suddenly stopped talking and stared towards the door. She looked up to find Ingrid, suntanned and beautiful, staring across at Danny, sitting halfway along the table, beneath his mother’s portrait on the back wall. Wearing those perennial blue overalls, he was too busy tucking into a grouse and slurping on red wine, to realize that the love of his life had just entered the room. It wasn’t until complete silence reigned that he eventually looked up, by which time Francesca – Ingrid’s less attractive sister – had arrived too. As his eyes darted from Ingrid’s to the child in her arms, his face grew pale. He sprang up and rushed round the table towards her.

 “Ingrid? What’s going on?”

 “We need to talk,” she asserted arrogantly.

 Danny gestured towards the lounge then followed the hip swaying actress in her white, diaphanous trousers and matching silk, strapped summer top. Meanwhile, Hamish gave his seat up to Francesca – who was now holding the child – while Judith took advantage of the distraction. She slipped out into the sticky evening, ostensibly to have a cigarette, but mainly to eavesdrop at an open, front window. Blowing smoke, she stood with her back to the rugged, grey-stone wall, while Ingrid’s spoilt voice filtered through the net curtain.

 “It makes no odds whether I informed you at the time or in the next century, your Lawrence’s father – end of.”

 “How do you know he’s not Bob’s?”

 “Because we hadn’t had sex in years…we were never really a physical couple.”

 There was a contemplative pause before Danny’s next question.

 “Why have you only seen fit to tell me about Lawrence now?”

 “I was a psychological mess…coming down off years of coke and booze. My meagre energies would have been denuded even more if I’d had to deal with you as well as Lawrence, and that would have benefited no one. I thought it more practical to concentrate on getting myself fit.”

 “There’s that ‘practical’ word again…your euphemism for being a selfish bitch!”

 “Like your use of ‘sacrifice’ you mean, whenever you shirked responsibility. I mean, where’s your sense of sacrifice now?”

 “What?”

 “Can’t you see that missing my pregnancy and avoiding Lawrence’s first sixteen months was a sacrifice worth making, so that he wasn’t damaged for life. We’d have been arguing, just like now, and that can really screw newly born babies up – forever.” There was a brief pause. “I needed time to get my head straight, ok?” At this point, the actress’s voice quavered a touch too emphatically for Judith’s liking. “Part of the reason I never told you was because I was on the verge of having an abortion… then I nearly gave him up for adoption. If I hadn’t had the space to resolve my psychological problems, we wouldn’t have even made it through the pregnancy together. It’s from this point now that you have to start being Lawrence’s father…now’s the time for you to start applying your morality to practical purposes, like raising our son.”

 “Do you mean within a family unit?”

 Ingrid hesitated before answering, “yes.”

 There were another thirty seconds before Danny spoke again, making an attempt at levity which Judith interpreted as an articulation of his delight.

 “Come to think of it, we really need a drama teacher.”

 But there was no laugh from Ingrid, polite or otherwise. “Well, you’ll have to throw your little toys away now you’ve got responsibilities.”

 “What toys?” Danny laughed in bewilderment.

 “This place I mean. We’ve got to move full steam ahead, for Lawrence’s sake. There’s no way we’re going to achieve anything stranded out here in the back of beyond. If we move to London, I can get back into acting and you can realize your full potential in the art world, instead of hiding away from life up here.”

 “But…I…I can’t desert these kids.”

 “Your responsibility is to me and Lawrence now, not a bunch of scrounging schemies. I noticed that was good wine they were quaffing out there at my child’s expense…Haut-Brion!...Chateau Haut-Brion! Oh, you’ve got to toughen up Danny! Time to join the real world I’m afraid.”

 “I need to think.”

 “You shouldn’t have to think about it…you love me right?”

 “I’ve got to get some air.”

 Totally preoccupied, Danny didn’t even notice Judith as he bounded out the front door, heading towards the beach. By the time he returned, after dark, the party had broken up and the students were lying outside the byre on their mattresses, unable to sleep because of the heat. When he entered the kitchen, Judith was washing dishes with Francesca, while Ingrid sat drinking wine at the table.

 “Where the hell did you get to?” she moaned.

 Judith and Francesca left them alone, the latter going upstairs to check on little Lawrence, the former going outside to listen in at the kitchen window.

 “So?” Ingrid demanded.

 “This isn’t easy for me.”

 “Life isn’t easy Danny.”

 “The way I see things, I’ve not made any bond or promises to our son. In fact, until the last few hours he may as well not have existed. But these kids, these ‘scrounging schemies’ I have bonded with and I have made promises to. I’ve already seen enough to know I’ll never have anything in common with you or our child…not like I have things in common with these people. I mean, you’ve already got him dolled up in designer clothes for God’s sake! No. Under your terms, fulfilling the obligation to my biological child would mean betraying twenty-two others…my spiritual children if you like. Surely, being as ‘practical’ as you are, you’ll acknowledge that it’s more efficient to bring twenty-two kids up well, rather than just one, who, in fact, isn’t going to be brought up well at all, but encouraged to be an obnoxious, selfish, greedy, grabbing brat like his mother.”

 “Typical friggin’ socialist! Worry about everyone else’s kids while avoiding responsibility for their own! What sort of a man abandons his family?”

 “I don’t know. This is my family…you’re quite welcome to join us.”

 “You’re a lunatic! You’ll never rise out of the gutter because you love it there you freak! Francesca!” Ingrid wailed up the stairs. “Bring Lawrence! We’re leaving!”

 Judith hid herself round the side of the cottage, where she waited until Ingrid’s silver Range Rover had tore off, spraying gravel in its wake. When she re-entered the kitchen, Danny was removing a bottle of malt and a glass tumbler from an overhead cupboard. On turning round he spotted her and went back for another glass, while she sat down at the end of the table in silence. He came and sat on the corner next to her, half filling the tumblers before handing her one. Though she was happy to see the back of Ingrid, Judith’s conscience compelled her to play devil’s advocate. There was, after all, a child involved.

 “Danny, I overheard you and Ingrid.” Danny took his first ever sip of whisky and screwed his face up in displeasure at the taste. “Are you absolutely sure you’re making the right decision?”

 “I’ve never felt so sure about anything in my whole life Judith. This past year or so has been the best time I’ve ever had. I didn’t realize my happiness until Ingrid appeared and reminded me how miserable our relationship actually became. Within minutes of being here she was dragging me down a dark well and making me claustrophobic.” He turned his head to look out the window. “Down at the beach, listening to the waves and the piping Oystercatchers, I thought ‘God, I’m free’. Not only that, but free within a community. Why the hell would I want to imprison myself in some overpriced, terraced house in a soulless city, where I know nobody except my grasping, dictatorial missus and a kid who, shaped in her mould, I’d only end up hating anyway.”

 “But Danny, he’s your son. Surely that means something?”

 “Of course it does, and that’s why I’m doing what’s best for him. It’s no good him being torn between us all the time. Much better that he has a set path to follow, and that’s either hers or mine. I’m wise enough to know that it’s going to be hers. And as for any emotional attachment, well, that doesn’t even exist yet, so it’s not like I’m going to be pining after him.”

 “But you are going to see him from time to time?”

 “That’ll be up to her.”

 “But if you do see him that’s when you’ll become attached. By then it will be too late to become a family, though, because of your decision tonight. I mean what if Ingrid gets someone else in…someone who neglects Lawrence because he’s not their flesh and blood?”

 “What if that ‘someone else’ can be a better father than I ever could, simply because he doesn’t suffer the egotism that comes with being a biological parent? Perhaps he’ll see Lawrence as an individual rather than his personal ambassador.” Judith puckered her lips while thinking about what he said. “That’s possibly why I get along so well with these kids, because they’re not my own. You know those stories we hear about new born babies being mixed up in hospital wards and going home with the wrong parents? Perhaps that should be done as a matter of course. That way we’d eradicate that emotional involvement which only ever ends in arguments, and kids would get the rational, objective guidance they need.”

 “All you’d get is mothers dying of angst and streets full of orphans sleeping rough. Take away that sense of ownership and most people would just stop giving a damn about kids.”

 Danny nodded, slowly in contemplation.

 “Truth is Judith, I just can’t abide that woman anymore. I’d love to bring Lawrence up, but we know that’s never going to happen.” Danny drained his glass and began pouring himself another. “He’ll be ok, don’t you worry about that. He’ll be brought up all nice and bourgeois, go to university, take drugs at weekends and moan about his taxes and dole scroungers. I don’t want to confuse the poor lad.” He looked down at the furrows in the wooden table, while rolling the tumbler between his thumb and forefingers. “I don’t want him worrying about the planet and wearying everyone with boring negativity. It’s better if Lawrence sees the world through his mother’s positive eyes. I’ve tried to change but I can’t, and I’ll only infect him too if I’m around. No, it’s for the best.”