Walking up the steps to the school, with yet another bad day under my belt, I realise that it isn’t over just yet when I see Mrs Snowball standing in the school doorway with Frankie next to her, her hand placed on his shoulder to keep him in place.
I approach them cautiously, although I’m not sure why – Frankie is usually good as gold and, for once, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.
‘Lily,’ Mrs Snowball greets me. ‘A word, if you don’t mind?’
It sounds optional, but I don’t think it is.
‘Sure,’ I reply.
The playground has pretty much emptied, so Mrs Snowball directs me to a wooden picnic bench. Well, it is such a lovely day – far too nice to be stuck inside getting a telling off.
Mrs Snowball removes an iPhone from the pocket of her maroon trousers and places it on the table.
‘Do you know what this is?’ she asks me.
‘Wow, SATs are getting easier,’ I joke. ‘It’s an iPhone.’
‘Correct,’ Mrs Snowball replies.
I shrug.
‘Your son brought it to school.’
I look over at Frankie, who looks down at the table.
‘Oh?’ I say coyly.
‘Oh, indeed,’ Mrs Snowball replies. ‘I realised something was amiss at lunchtime, when I noticed a crowd of children around him. I went over and, one of the boys, who I shan’t name, was trying to search for something I shan’t mention.’
Ship! I told Frankie the phone was only for using at home. It’s not like anyone could’ve used it today, it only works when I connect it to my phone or to the Wi-Fi at the cottage. Still, I don’t suppose explaining this to Mrs Snowball is going to do anyone any favours.
‘I asked him what he was doing. He said he was trying to ring you.’
‘Is everything OK, kiddo?’ I ask him, but Mrs Snowball isn’t having any of it.
‘Lily, listen, I don’t know how things were in London, but here we don’t give our 8-year-olds iPhones to pop in their backpacks.’
‘I didn’t do that, I assure you,’ I tell her.
‘And then I tried to call you, but your phone was off. Anyway, I’ve confiscated the offending phone.’
Frankie looks up quickly, panicked. I suppose to him fully functional or not, that phone is his only connection to the outside world.
‘You can’t do that,’ I insist. What is it with this woman and confiscating things? First his lunch, now the phone…I suppose the second one is a little different, but these are tough times for my son and me. ‘It’s my phone.’
‘This is your phone?’
‘Of course it is,’ I reply. ‘Eight-year-olds don’t have iPhones.’
‘And that phone…’ Mrs Snowball starts, nodding at my actual phone, on the table next to my bag.
‘…is my business phone,’ I say. ‘That one is my personal phone. You won’t bring my phone to school again, will you, Frankie?’
Frankie shakes his head.
‘Well, I can’t confiscate your phone from you, I suppose,’ Mrs Snowball tells me reluctantly.
‘Nope,’ I reply. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have a word with my son.’
‘Please do,’ she replies. ‘If not, we’ll have to seriously reconsider his place at this school.’
I take my son’s hand and lead him across the playground and down the stone steps. We walk along the road, past my car, until we reach a little beauty spot at the side of the road. I sit down on the grass, patting it to tell Frankie to sit next to me. He does.
I’ve been a mum for eight years now and I have never seen my son so miserable. When I’m not busy with the deli, I’m stressing out about it. The poor kid is going to a school with a militant headteacher, where he has no friends – I’m not surprised he’s so sad.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, before I have chance to ask him any questions. ‘I kept the phone with me, just in case, and then today I just needed to talk to you.’
‘What happened?’ I ask, sensing a bigger issue.
‘Is my dad a murderer?’ he asks.
His question stuns me into silence for a moment. I feel my hands lightly shake as his question continues to sink in. As far as Frankie is concerned, he doesn’t have a dad, and seeing as he’s only 8, I’ve never expanded on that. I always knew that, when he grew up and learned a lot more about where babies come from, he would ask questions, but I figured he’d find the truth much easier to understand at that age. I’m sure that, in this day and age, my son probably knows more about sex than I would like (I think every mum wants to keep their child a baby forever, right?) but I don’t think he’s in a position to understand how a young woman can find herself knocked up and alone, not without each answer resulting in another question.
‘Of course not, who told you that?’
‘Some of the kids were saying that they’d heard their mums talking about how my dad was in prison for murder!’
It doesn’t matter how hot and sunny it is – I go freezing cold from head to toe.
‘I promise you that isn’t true, Frankie. I promise.’
He nods in agreement. There’s a sad, confused look on his face, but I know that he believes me.
‘Things aren’t getting better, are they?’ I say. Frankie shakes his head. ‘Well, I can’t just leave the deli without someone to run it, but I can have a word with the bosses, tell them it’s not working out. In the meantime, what about if I ask Viv to come and stay with us, would you like that?’
‘Yeah,’ Frankie says enthusiastically. I wouldn’t say he sounds excited, it’s more relieved.
‘Yeah? She can help us out, while we sort things out, and I’ll see what the bosses say,’ I assure him.
‘Do you not like it here either?’ he asks.
I could lie to him and hope that, if he thinks I like it, he’ll like it too, but the last thing I want is for him to think that there’s something wrong with him because, honestly, living here is a nightmare so far.
‘Not at the moment,’ I tell him honestly yet tactfully. ‘It’ll be great when Viv is here though, right? We always have fun when Viv is around.’
‘Yeah, like when she used to take me to karate every week and then we’d go to McDonald’s,’ he says. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s because she wanted to (and did) sleep with his karate teacher. Frankie absolutely loves Viv, and I don’t think he loses out by not having a little old knitting nana, I think he appreciates her even more for being younger and cooler than his friends’ grannies.
‘Yeah, it’ll be great,’ I assure him. Plus, it will be nice to have an ally – a real one, that isn’t just trying to bed the new girl in town.
‘Maybe we could go see Clara and Henry, get some chicken nuggets,’ I suggest. Well, it has been over a week since he had them last, so I’m sure Mrs Snowball won’t be calling Social Services in too much of a hurry if she gets wind of it.
‘Yes!’ Frankie cheers. I love that he’s so sweet and pure, that the day can be turned around with chicken nuggets.
‘Hey look, it’s Alfie,’ Frankie says excitedly, pointing over at his car.
Alfie has pulled up alongside my Beetle and now he’s walking over to us.
‘You broken down again?’ he asks as he approaches us. ‘I’ll take it back for you, mechanic said he’d fixed the problem…’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I say quickly. ‘We were just having a chat.’
‘Oh, OK,’ he replies. I think he’s picking up on my coldness. ‘So you guys have plans tonight?’
‘We’re going to see Clara and Henry,’ Frankie tells him. ‘For chicken nuggets.’
‘Oh,’ Alfie says again, turning to me. ‘Is that all your plans are? Because I was planning something for you – and it involved Frankie going to Clara and Henry’s for some chicken nuggets.’
Oh, I’ll bet it did.
‘You should go out with Alfie, Mum,’ Frankie tells me. ‘I like hanging out at Clara and Henry’s, we play games and puzzles and Henry tells me stories.’
‘I don’t want to leave you again,’ I tell him.
‘Mum, I’m not a baby,’ he insists. ‘You can go out with Alfie.’
‘I do have a surprise arranged…’ Alfie adds.
I don’t know how to say no, not without an explanation, but I can’t exactly tell my son my reservations, and I can’t really tell Alfie that I know what a womaniser he is, so could he please stop being nice to me.
‘OK, sure,’ I say, not sounding all that convincing.
‘Great stuff,’ Alfie says optimistically. ‘I just need to go and make some arrangements, then I’ll text you and arrange a time.’
‘OK,’ I reply, forcing a smile.
‘OK,’ he echoes, kicking the grass gently with the toe of his boot. ‘See you later.’
I watch Alfie walk to his car before turning back to Frankie, who has the cheekiest little smile on his face.
‘What?’ I ask him, laughing awkwardly.
‘What?’ he repeats back to me, still smiling.
I narrow my eyes as I smile at him. He thinks there’s something going on between Alfie and me, bless him.
‘Come on you,’ I say, pulling myself up from the floor before giving Frankie a hand up. ‘Let’s go call Viv and beg her to come and look after us.’
You really are never too old to need your mum.