The Enumerations Read online

  She knows she should be asking about Juliet, but all she can manage is, ‘Go away?’

  3.

  ‘Eleven o’clock.’

  That’s what Mr Reynolds says over the phone. ‘The Blakes have agreed to a mediated process, Mr Groome. It’s a method that has proven very successful in the past, and it protects our students from unnecessary publicity.’

  ‘Protects his fancy school more like it,’ Kate says when Dominic puts down the phone. ‘How did that smarmy little shit ever get to be Head? All he wants is to settle things with the minimum fuss.’

  Dominic is at the window, looking out over his garden. Everything’s under control there, growing to demand, season after season, only his indigenous plants allowed to run wild, and even they are limited to one corner.

  Just like he controls his garden, he controls his work environment, regulates his diet, maintains a routine exercise regime. Everything in his life runs like clockwork, or at least it would if it weren’t for this situation. The moment he heard what Noah had done, Dominic knew they stood no chance. Kyle Blake is the wounded party. Noah is the aggressor, the one who wounded.

  ‘The best thing to do is listen,’ Dominic says now. ‘I’m sure we’ll come to a sensible agreement.’

  ‘Sensible?’ Kate looks at her husband as if she’d like to shake him. ‘Where’s the sense in a bully being given more power than he already has? They want revenge, Dom. I saw it in her eyes. Buddy wouldn’t even look at me. They want to crucify our son. It’s as simple as that.’

  4.

  Maddie is Noah’s younger sister, but she often feels that it’s her job to protect him. He’s such an easy target for people like Kyle Blake. Noah would never hurt anyone, not on purpose, she’s convinced of that. Part of her would have loved to have been there, to see Kyle go flying, see the shock on his face, hear his friends laughing at him for a change. If only that was all that had happened. Then people like him would know better than to mess with her brother. But now, with his arm, and the Blakes, and Mr Reynolds not even trying to get to the bottom of things, it’s looking really bad for Noah.

  Maddie wishes she could do something. Get a petition going, chain herself to Mr Reynolds’s door, like Emily Pankhurst and the suffragettes they’ve been learning about. Refuse to move until Kyle admits his part, accepts that his arm wouldn’t have been broken if he hadn’t been such a jerk.

  Justice for Noah. That sounds like a good cause to fight for.

  She won’t though. Her parents have enough to deal with, without her adding more to worry about.

  What Maddie has learnt, right from when she was very little, is that she’s the ‘easy child’, the designated good child who never gives her parents any problems.

  Maddie knows the script that’s been written for her. She’s never going to be a rebellious teenager; she’s never going to kick up a fuss. She’s the one Kate and Dominic rely on to be normal, to be happy. Maddie’s job is to dance through life, to sing when there’s a grey cloud of misery hanging over the house.

  ‘Maddie was born that way,’ her mom says. ‘She was born smiling.’

  She’s the uncomplicated one. Even if Mom doesn’t say it in so many words, Maddie knows it’s her job to stay that way.

  5.

  ‘You can’t just throw money at a problem and expect it to vanish.’

  Even so, Juliet’s father has decided to fling thousands of rands at Greenhills’ residential programme.

  Full-time resident, Juliet tells herself as she packs. That’s me now, in it for the duration, thanks to him. Her father hasn’t spoken to her since that afternoon, the clincher that sealed her fate. She knows she’ll have to talk about it to Ellen, the therapist, finally tell her everything. But for now, it’s all she can do to stuff some clothes and her folders into a suitcase. She can’t take her camera with her, or even her cell phone for quick shots. That’s going to be hard. As for the ‘occasional furniture’ she is allowed – desk lamp, a rug – she can’t be bothered. The only personal item she chooses is the framed photo she took of her sister a few months before.

  ‘Just what sort of example are you setting for Lily?’ her father had raged when Juliet was suspended because of the sort-of thing with Mr Wright, one of the maths teachers. That he’d kept his job, while Juliet had been asked to leave, had further angered her father and given her mother an additional reason to head to her secret stash for a surreptitious swig and flinch when her husband banged his palms on the dining table and made the cutlery jump.

  Mom had sent Lily to her room so she couldn’t hear what was being said. But the walls weren’t quite thick enough, which was why she asked her sister what the word ‘nympho’ meant.

  Not exactly her father’s words, Juliet remembers, as she throws the last of her clothes into her case. ‘A fucking nympho!’ That’s what he’d yelled after spending over an hour in Mr Reynolds’s office, where nothing her father had said or offered made him change his mind.

  Her mother hadn’t said a word; Juliet knew all she wanted was to get home as quickly as possible to get to a drink. Her father harangued, cajoled and harangued again. Sitting there in quiet contempt, Juliet knew he was never going to accept the headmaster’s decision with good grace. But if he would just shut up, they could all get out of there.

  Eventually, Mr Reynolds had held up a hand. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Ryan. There is nothing further to be said. Mr Wright’s behaviour has been exemplary, and he reported the situation immediately.’ To this he’d added, ‘I also have it on good authority that this is not the first time Juliet has … erm … exhibited this sort of behaviour. And nor, I believe, is it the first time she has received ‘help’. Perhaps you should consider getting to the bottom of this problem once and for all. Mr Wright said it was almost as if Juliet wanted to be caught.’

  With that, Juliet was damned. She stared at her father until he looked away, silenced at last.

  Not for long though. In the car, all the way home, he laid into Juliet’s mother. This was all her fault. She’d always been too soft on her daughters.

  Naturally, it could never be Bart the Great’s fault, Juliet muses. Even though, when it comes to setting examples, he’s far from perfect. He’s leaving his family to play house with a girl fresh out of university, a bright rising star at Goodson, Stander & Groome. Something, Juliet thinks, as she grips the handle of her bright blue shell case, she’ll enjoy saying in one of her sessions at Greenhills. ‘My dad’s shacking up with a twenty-two-year-old girl and it looks like she’s going to be my second mom. And I’m the one with the problem?’

  6.

  A mad dash, that’s what Mum used to say.

  Come on, Gabe, let’s make a mad dash! Then they’re running across the sand and into the sea. A mad dash and Dad’s laughing and Mum’s tummy is as round as the beach ball he blew up when they got to the beach. The water is cool around Gabriel’s ankles and then his tummy and then Mum is holding him and his legs are around her and the sea is rocking them and everything is calm.

  Gabriel loves being with Mum and Dad and watching how Dad makes Mum laugh, her head tipping right back, her eyes closed tight against the sun. He loves waiting on his towel, making sure not to kick sand near the picnic basket, ‘Otherwise we really will have sandwiches, Gabe,’ Dad always says, and that makes Gabriel laugh and he throws his head back just like Mum does and squeezes his happy eyes shut against the sun.

  Dad’s telling him all about a man called the Earl of Sandwich who used to love gambling. He gambled all day and all night says Dad, and suddenly Mum’s not smiling any more. She’s listening very hard, and so is Gabriel, because Dad is a font of information. He says it’s useless, but Gabriel disagrees; Dad has much more information in his head than any of his friends’ dads and that’s probably because they don’t study the Encyclopædia Britannica, like Dad does, and they don’t know that the ‘a’ and the ‘e’ squash together like that because it’s Latin for ‘British Encyclopaedia’.

  Dad an
d Gabriel look at the pages together. They’ve got the complete set, because Dad bought them cheap off a man who was selling them in the pub. Shame, Martha, he was really down on his luck and I was pretty flush.

  Sometimes Dad’s pretty flush, and sometimes he’s also down on his luck, but he always says, Don’t worry, Martha, our ship’s coming over the horizon.

  So Dad knows all about John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, and how the sandwich was named after him when he spent twenty-four hours gambling and only eating bits of meat between two slices of bread.

  7.

  6 February 2013 / 11:00

  Noah follows his parents as they walk into the small room and sit down opposite Leonie Blake. He looks around at the 8 straight-backed chairs with blue padded seats arranged in a circle. It’s very informal; no table with a place at the top and 1 at the bottom, just a ring of seats: 1 for Mr Reynolds, 1 for the mediator, 3 for the Blakes, 3 for the Groomes. No particular order, Noah sees. The mediator should be at 1 end of the table, Mr Reynolds at the other. Noah and his parents should be on 1 side, the Blakes on the other. Circles don’t work in a difficult situation. You need sides.

  Mrs Blake’s mouth is a mean line between her thin cheeks. She’s dressed for battle: khaki trousers and a boxy jacket open to reveal a plain, black t-shirt. Her short, manicured nails are painted a dark, dark red. Her feet are firmly on the ground, her arms are stiff in her lap. She looks straight ahead, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.

  The door opens again, and in comes Mr Reynolds, followed by Kyle and Mr Blake. Kyle’s father is a complete contrast to his well-groomed wife. His top collar button is undone, his shirt is untucked and his tie looks as if it’s been thrown on at the last minute.

  Mrs Blake turns her head and looks at her son. ‘Here, darling.’ She pats the seat next to her.

  Kyle moves forward slowly, one arm strapped to his body in a sling. He lowers himself gingerly into the chair and winces as he makes contact with the arm rest.

  ‘Shame, sweetheart. Is it still very sore?’

  Kyle grunts.

  Mr Blake sits on the other side of his son and there they are: 3 Blakes facing 3 Groomes. Mr Reynolds takes a seat and they all stare at the empty chair, waiting for the mediator to appear.

  Dominic glances at his watch and stifles a small sigh.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Dominic.’ Mrs Blake’s voice is as sharp as the creases pressed into her trousers. ‘Are we keeping you?’

  ‘No, not at all, Leonie. I was led to believe this meeting would start at 11.’ He smiles at her.

  Now Mr Reynolds is the one looking at his watch. ‘It’s not like her to be late,’ he says and Noah feels a flutter of relief. This mediator, the woman who’s going to determine his future, likes to keep to her timetable. Something unexpected must have delayed her.

  There’s the sound of running in the corridor. The pace slows, then stops outside the door. A moment of silence and it opens. A small woman stands just inside the doorway, still trying to catch her breath. Her eyes sweep the room, flicking from camp to camp. The chairs might be in a circle, but there’s no doubt as to who is with whom.

  ‘Ah, Miss Moloi.’ Mr Reynolds jumps to his feet. ‘Good, good.’ He ushers her to her seat.

  Noah slips his hand into his pocket and counts his pebbles, 1 2 3 4 5. His thoughts turn to David, who walked out onto the battlefield to face Goliath, with 5 smooth stones in his shepherd’s pouch. Noah tries to let his thoughts wander, tries take his mind off the folder in the mediator’s hand, the clipboard she has balanced on her knees, the pen she’s just clicked open.

  ‘Good afternoon. My name is Linda Moloi.’ She directs a bright smile at all of them.

  Noah sees Goliath swaying where he stands. And then, like a huge tree that the lumberjacks have been sawing away at, down he crashes.

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. The traffic was impossible.’ Noah’s mother smiles at her, his father nods. In Noah’s mind, the battle between David and Goliath plays out again, keeping Miss Moloi’s voice at a hum as she goes around the circle, asking their names, checking that everyone is comfortable, whether they need anything to drink, or to use the bathroom. ‘I’ll start with a brief rundown of how the process works,’ she says, ‘and then you’ll all get a chance to speak.’

  Noah’s side of the story is pretty obvious; Kyle’s arm says it all.

  Kyle’s mother is on the edge of her seat now, leaning into Miss Moloi’s words, waiting for the first available opportunity to dive in.

  Noah’s focused on his 5s, his stones are keeping him still. So far, no need to tap, or time his breathing. Not yet. If he can just keep sidetracking, he’ll get through this.

  Mom told him the tale of David and Goliath over and over when he was small. At tidy-up time, Noah would put everything away. He’d march his animals into their wooden ark, 2×2×2, then park his cars in their Duplo garages, one colour at a time – blue into the blue garage, red into red, black into black, green into green and yellow into yellow. Then it was ‘Hop into bed, Noah!’ And there was Mom, ready with a story from Fairy Tales from Around the World or Bible Stories for Children. David and Goliath was always his favourite.

  But that was so long ago. A bedroom, a mother and a son from another life, another family.

  ‘I’d like to ask you to try not interrupt each other.’

  Noah briefly tunes back in to his surroundings.

  ‘Let’s make the process a respectful one,’ Miss Moloi says. ‘Give everyone a fair chance to talk and be heard. I can assure you, you’ll each have an opportunity to share—’

  ‘Noah’s behaviour was un-ac-ceptable.’ Mrs Blake can’t contain herself any longer. She turns to her husband and he nods.

  ‘Unacceptable,’ he says, his voice an obedient echo.

  Mr and Mrs Blake feed into each other, deliberately touching Kyle as they speak.

  ‘Noah needs to take responsibility for his actions.’

  ‘There must be consequences.’

  Kyle is leaning back in his chair, his face blank. He glances at Noah and raises an eyebrow. Miss Moloi notices the interaction and, as she catches Kyle’s eye, he adjusts his position and winces audibly.

  ‘Do you see?’ Mrs Blake is glaring at the Groomes. ‘Now do you see?’

  The mediator raises a hand, but Mrs Blake won’t be stopped that easily. ‘A gunshot,’ she says. ‘That’s what Kyle’s friends told me. That when your son broke my son’s arm it sounded like a gun going off.’

  The mediator tries to regain control. ‘Mrs Blake, let’s try to get all sides of the story. I’d like to hear from everyone.’

  But Kyle’s mother won’t be silenced. ‘How many sides can there be?’ she demands. ‘He dislocated my son’s elbow.’ Her voice is shrill. ‘Do you realise how complicated an injury like this is? And it’s his matric year. This is the last thing he needs.’ She turns imploring eyes on Mr Reynolds.

  Mr Blake opens his mouth to say something in the small space his wife allows, but the mediator is quicker than him. ‘It would be good to resolve this as soon as possible,’ she says.

  Mr Reynolds nods eagerly.

  ‘Perhaps we should hear from Kyle and Noah,’ Miss Moloi says.

  Noah’s been preparing for this, listening to his sister saying, ‘You have to tell them, Noah. You have to let them know what Kyle and his friends are like.’ He licks his lips, lets his hands rest firm on his thighs. He can do this. He can tell the mediator what Maddie’s already told his parents: ‘It wasn’t his fault. Why should Noah have to pay when he was just defending himself, standing up to that bully?’

  Noah sits silently, Kyle straightens, flinches, and begins. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I was running to get to English. My friends and I were a bit … er … late.’ He smiles deprecatingly. ‘And I bumped into Noah here, said sorry, but I don’t think he heard me. You see, the thing is, Noah doesn’t really hear when you talk to him. It’s like he can’t. He’s too busy talking to himself … So anyway
,’ Kyle continues, ‘I bump into him and then he just pushes me. Like hard. Really hard.’

  Leonie Blake draws breath and rests her hand on her son’s shoulder and Kyle smiles bravely. He looks directly at Noah. ‘So yes, he pushes me and I fall down and all my friends are laughing.’ He looks at the Groomes, says apologetically, ‘Sorry Mrs Groome, Mr Groome. I mean, he shoved me for no reason, so what was I supposed to do?’

  He stops, shakes his head and his blond hair flops onto his forehead. ‘I retaliated. I shouldn’t have, I know.’ He bites his lip. ‘I thought I could stand up to Noah and look what happened. Who knows what he might do if someone else gets in his way and—’

  ‘That’s what we need to worry about.’ Mrs Blake jabs in Noah’s direction. ‘The next time, and then the time after that.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Kyle. ‘I know I should have walked away.’

  Mrs Blake nods virtuously.

  ‘The thing is, Leonie,’ says Noah’s mother, her voice almost conciliatory, ‘I’ve heard that this isn’t the first time Kyle has “bumped” into Noah. Or called him names—’

  ‘I knew it!’ Mrs Blake’s voice is triumphant. ‘What did I tell you? I knew she’d try to make it all about Kyle and not her son. I’m not the only one, you know.’

  ‘The only one?’ Noah’s father’s voice is quiet.

  ‘A lot of the other parents feel the way I do. About your son. About him being at the same school as our children.’ Her voice softens and she leans forward. ‘Don’t you see, Kate? Dominic? Noah needs professional help.’

  Noah’s mother is ready to speak, but it’s his father who answers. ‘So what is it you want, Leonie? What exactly do you want us to do?’

  Mrs Blake is about to answer, but Miss Moloi quickly steps in. ‘Perhaps Noah would like tell his side of the story? I’d like to hear what he has to say.’

  Noah opens his mouth, closes it again.

  Don’t even try, Noah.