I wake up feeling determined. Today, nothing is going to get in my way. I take the kids to school then hurry home, lock the front door behind me and put my phone on silent. I’m going to take the advice that I dish out to my pupils and not overthink my writing. I am going to let the words flow and I’m going to splurge them onto the page without too much thought about whether they’re actually any good or not.
And so I write. And actually, once I relax and let my mind wander to Wyoming and the situation that Bella Rose and Daxx find themselves in, the scene plays out in my head like a film reel and my fingers fly across the keyboard, trying to keep up.
The horse galloped along the vast plains [note: do they have plains in Wyoming? Ask Google later] but Bella Rose barely noticed the incredible scenery as it flashed by. Instead, her mind was churning with the feelings that Daxx had aroused in her. [Note: good use of word ‘aroused’. Subtly suggests something sensual without being too obvious.] He may be the most gorgeous man that she had ever had the good fortune to rest her eyes upon, but he was also the most stubborn, pig-headed son-of-a-gun that she had ever met. [Note: add more colloquialisms like that – makes it more authentic and clearly set in Wyoming not the Shires. They do not say ‘son-of-a-gun’ in the Shires.]
I write all morning, stopping only for a brief sandwich at lunchtime, and then I keep writing all afternoon. And by the time it’s three o’clock, I have written two thousand words. Two thousand! And if that doesn’t call for Fizzy Friday then I do not know what does.
I nip into the supermarket before collecting the kids and purchase a bottle of their cheapest Prosecco. Then I drive home, letting my offspring’s inane ramblings wash over me, a feeling of warmth and happiness creating a barrier between their end-of-week outpourings and my sense of achievement at actually having created something tangible.
Which is why I am not really aware of the building tension until we get into the house and Dylan erupts.
‘He’s a dick, Scarlet. I don’t understand why you’d even speak to him, never mind hang around with him.’
‘Who’s a dick?’ I ask. ‘Benji, don’t forget to empty your lunchbox. And that’ll be twenty pence in the swear jar, Dylan.’
‘You don’t even know him.’ Scarlet is very quiet. Far too quiet actually; and it is this that gets my attention. When I turn to look at her, I see the same thing that people who have witnessed tsunamis have experienced. A terrible calm before all hell lets loose.
‘Why don’t we get a snack and you can tell me about your days?’ I start to herd them into the kitchen where I am hoping the presence of chocolate biscuits will defuse the situation.
You would think that I had been parenting for the last eighteen minutes, not the last eighteen years, with ignorance like that.
‘I don’t want to know him.’ Dylan slams his bag onto the floor and stalks across the room towards the fridge. ‘And neither should you, if you’ve got any sense. Ashley Dunsford is seriously bad news.’
Ashley Dunsford. He isn’t in any of my English classes but I’ve heard all about him. He moved here at the start of the school year and is single-handedly responsible for the fact that pupils now have random bag searches to check for illicit items. I had no idea that Scarlet had anything to do with him, other than issuing dire warnings about his ability to start a riot with Tupperware.
Scarlet assumes the position: hands on hips and feet slightly apart. Then she fixes her brother with a hard stare and lets it all pour out.
‘Who do you think you are?’ As an opener, it’s hardly unique. ‘It’s none of your business who I hang around with.’
I pass the biscuits to Benji and nod my head towards the sofa where Dogger is curled up, fast asleep. He takes the hint and sits down next to her, out of the firing line.
‘Excuse me for looking out for you,’ snarls Dylan, his head buried deep inside the fridge. ‘I won’t bother in future. You can get yourself out of trouble next time.’
‘Will somebody please tell me what is going on?’ I put the kettle on: this sounds like a situation where I’m going to need some kind of fortitude and I’m not prepared to waste my celebratory Prosecco on teenagers. Then I turn to face Scarlet. ‘What trouble did you need to get out of?’
Scarlet scowls at Dylan’s back. ‘It was nothing. He’s just trying to stir stuff up.’
‘Ha!’ Dylan finally emerges from inside the fridge, for some reason holding a packet of cheese and a red pepper. ‘Yeah, okay. If by nothing, you mean that you’ve got mixed up with a drug-dealing scumbag like Ashley, then I guess you’re right. It’s nothing.’
Every parent has certain key words and phrases that are guaranteed to trigger a reaction. I think it is a fair assumption to make that for most of us, the word ‘drugs’ is pretty high on the list, alongside ‘pregnancy’, ‘tattoos’, ‘Snapchat’ and ‘I need some money’.
I point at Scarlet. ‘You. Sit down.’ Then I turn to Dylan. ‘And you. Right now. Next to her.’
I walk across to where Benji is sitting, jaw gaping open, biscuit held out in front of him. ‘Have you got any homework?’ I ask. He shakes his head, his eyes wide.
‘Is Scarlet on drugs?’ he whispers loudly. ‘Because that’s definitely very bad. We’ve been learning about drugs in school. We saw a picture, Mum. They make the inside of your nose fall apart.’
He cranes round me and stares at Scarlet. ‘Do you want to look like Voldemort?’ he asks her. ‘’Cos that’s what’s going to happen if you take drugs. Your nose is going to collapse.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ mutters Scarlet. I shoot her an evil glare before turning back to Benji.
‘She’s not on drugs.’ I give him a quick smile. ‘But she does now owe the swear jar fifty pence, doesn’t she?’
Benji grins at me, the worry dropping from his face.
‘I need to talk to your brother and sister and I think that it would be okay for you to take one more biscuit and have some iPad time,’ I tell him. ‘Just because it’s Friday. And take Dogger with you.’
I don’t need the dog getting any ideas about delinquent behaviour either.
I wait for him to skip out of the room and then I sit down opposite my two oldest children and wait. One of them will crack before too long; they always do.
‘Dylan is being a prick.’ Scarlet obviously feels that attack is the best form of defence in this instance. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’
Dylan rolls his eyes. ‘Everyone knows that he’s a drug dealer.’
‘Whoop-de-doo. Big freaking deal.’ My daughter and I obviously have different ideas about what constitutes a big deal.
I take a deep breath. ‘Scarlet. I am going to ask you some questions and the answers will be either yes or no. Do not attempt to go off-topic or muddy the waters by slinging insults at your brother. I will accept one-word, one-syllable answers only, otherwise you are grounded for the next month, regardless of whatever you have or have not done. Is that understood?’
Scarlet nods sullenly. I never used to speak to my children like I was an off-duty prosecutor, but experience has taught me that unless I wish to drown in excuses and explanations then it is wise to limit their opportunity to talk.
‘Are we talking about Ashley Dunsford from school?’ I say gently, despite knowing the answer. Best to start your suspect off with a simple question. It helps to create trust and build a sense of security.
Scarlet nods, which I accept. For now.
‘And is he a friend of yours?’ I smile encouragingly at my daughter, putting her at ease.
‘Well, I wouldn’t say he’s a friend as much as—’
‘Ah, ah, ah.’ I wag my finger at her. ‘Yes or no?’
She glowers across the table. ‘Yes.’
I would actually make a great interrogator. There would be no need for any unpleasantness either; it would all be very civilised and clean.
‘And does Ashley partake in illegal substances?’ I enquire, dropping my voice an octave. I read somewhere that children are so accustomed to the high-pitched sounds of the female voice that they respond to a lower-pitched voice with more respect and authority.
‘What?’ Scarlet looks at me in confusion. ‘What’s wrong with your throat?’
‘Is he on drugs?’ I ask, in my normal voice this time.
Scarlet shrugs. ‘You’d have to ask him that, Mum. It’s not like he’s shooting up in our Maths lesson or anything.’
‘That’s not an answer, young lady.’ I lean forward so that she can’t avoid my stare. ‘Does he take drugs?’
‘Fine. Yes. Sometimes, I guess.’ Scarlet stares back at me with defiance. ‘But you can’t be mad at me because I happen to know someone who does something that you don’t like.’
‘It’s not about whether I like it or not,’ I tell her. ‘It’s about whether you’re friends with people who are safe.’
And for your information, young lady, I do not like it. Not one little bit.
‘He’s not going to ram a needle into my arm while I’m trying to figure out quadratic equations,’ snorts my daughter. Even Dylan cracks a smile. ‘Not without me noticing, anyway.’
‘What drugs does he take, exactly?’ I pale, imagining scenes from Trainspotting in the Year Eleven toilets. ‘I need to speak to the Head about this.’
‘No!’ Scarlet looks panic-stricken. ‘Honestly, Mum. If you grass him up then don’t be surprised if you start getting bits of my body delivered to you in the post. There’s a code of conduct, you know.’
I stare at her for a moment, feeling my stomach drop. And then Dylan bursts out laughing.
‘She’s winding you up, Mum. Our school might be crap but it isn’t run by the Mafia.’
I push my chair back and stand up, feeling both angry and foolish; a dangerous combination. ‘That’s it. If you aren’t prepared to have a serious conversation about something that is clearly a serious subject then I’m going straight to the Head and you can tell him all about it yourself.’
Scarlet holds up her hands. ‘Ok, I’m sorry. Sit down and I’ll tell you what happened today.’
I stare at her suspiciously, but I don’t really have any choice. ‘Does he really take drugs or was that your idea of a joke too?’
She nods. ‘He smokes a bit of weed now and then. And he might sell it to his mates, which is what Mr Moral Police over here was going on about.’ She jerks her head at Dylan. ‘But you don’t need to worry, Mum. I’m not interested in that stuff.’
I have no idea if she’s telling me the truth. I only have her word to go on. It hits me, not for the first time, that parenting teenagers involves an awful lot of blind faith.
I stare at my beautiful girl and contemplate how the last sixteen years can possibly have flown by so quickly. I wonder if Nick and I have equipped her with the necessary skills to navigate this complex, murky world that, despite all our best efforts, is totally bewildering to anybody under the age of thirty-five.
Scarlet stands up and walks behind my chair, bending down to rest her chin on my head.
‘I’m serious,’ she says and there’s no joking in her voice now. ‘I like talking to Ashley because he’s a laugh but I’m not mixed up in the crowd that he hangs out with. They’re not particularly nice to girls, if you know what I mean?’
I twist my head and look at her, hoping that my voice sounds calm and unthreatening. ‘In what way?’
Scarlet moves back to her seat. ‘Oh, you know. They think that every girl is put on this earth to give them something to look at.’ She pauses for a second and picks up her mug. ‘It’s kind of hard to work out whether it’s worse if they think you’re pretty or totally ugly – you get the same amount of attention, just a different flavour of abuse.’
‘Do they say things to you?’ I ask, glancing at Dylan. His jaw is set and he looks angry.
Scarlet laughs. ‘I’m female. Of course they do!’
‘And do they say things about you being nice to look at, or—’ I stop. These are not questions that I want to ask my daughter. It won’t somehow be less awful if the boys think she’s attractive.
Scarlet shrugs. ‘It depends on what’s going on. Like, when Martin wanted to go out with me then he wouldn’t stop talking about how sexy I am and then, when he finally got the message that I wasn’t interested, they all started slagging me off whenever they saw me, asking me if I was a lesbian or frigid.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘As if those are the only possible reasons that a person might have for not wanting to go out with pervy Martin.’
I am speechless.
Dylan is not.
‘Which one is Martin?’ His voice is low. ‘Is he the one who sent the revenge porn of that girl in the year below you?’
Scarlet nods. ‘That’s the one. He’s a charmer, can’t you tell? He’s good-looking but he’s a bit of a nob.’
I shake my head, trying to activate my brain. ‘Did he get punished for doing that?’ I don’t remember any incident involving a Year Ten girl.
‘Who was going to punish him, Mum?’ Scarlet picks at her nail varnish. ‘The girl was too embarrassed to report him and her friends probably all fancy him. And all the boys who saw it probably got off on it, so they weren’t exactly going to complain, were they?’
This is hideous.
‘We need to do something.’ I slam my hands on the table. ‘I can’t just sit here and listen to you telling me that this kind of thing is happening in the place where you’re supposed to be safe, for god’s sake.’
‘What can you possibly do?’ Scarlet sounds curious. ‘Boys want girls to act like they’ve just stepped off the set of a porn flick – it’s how it is. You can’t change how they think.’
‘Not all boys, thanks very much.’ Dylan glares at her. ‘Don’t lump us all in with the likes of pervy Martin.’
In the midst of everything, I feel a sense of relief about Dylan’s response. He’s right. Not all boys. Not my boys.
Scarlet nods. ‘Okay. Some boys want girls to act like porn stars and some girls are prepared to play along, especially if the boy is gorgeous. But you don’t need to worry, Mum. I’m not that stupid.’
I want to tell her that stupid will usually dress itself up as all kinds of other things. Stupid is a superb chameleon, disguising itself as love or bravery or a desire for recognition or acceptance. Nobody embarks on a situation thinking that they’re being stupid.
But I don’t, because the one skill that my daughter needs above all others is self-confidence and a belief that she can make decisions that won’t hurt her. I give her a hug, crack open the bar of emergency chocolate that I keep hidden at the back of the fridge and sit with my girl at the kitchen table while she talks about everything and nothing. The dramas and the angst and the friendship issues and the worries that are all so incredibly easy to dismiss as teenage hormones, but which are the foundations of her world right now.