I realized that we didn’t have the father’s address, which is normally on the forms the students fill in at the beginning of the year. We didn’t even have his phone number to contact him in case of an emergency. I decided to ask to see the mother without any particular motive. I didn’t go through Théo or the school’s website. I sent a brief note in the mail with my telephone number, asking her to contact me as soon as possible. She rang me the same day, her voice betraying her worry. Théo hadn’t given her the nurse’s message, that’s why she hadn’t replied. I don’t know why, but I really didn’t warm to her right from the start. She said that Théo was at his father’s till Friday and she could come in one evening at my convenience after 6 p.m. I arranged to see her the next day.
In the distance I saw a fragile figure walking quickly across the schoolyard. She was in a belted beige raincoat. She wasn’t wearing a scarf or jewelry. The color of her clothes, the way she moved and held her bag all indicated how much she wanted to live up to expectations, to strike the right note. I went out to meet her and we went upstairs to the science lab. She wasn’t at all like the woman I had imagined.
I began talking about Théo. I said I thought he looked tired, exhausted. That he had increasing difficulty following the lesson. He’d been to the nurse several times and hadn’t answered any of the questions in the last quiz. At first she appeared not to understand; her son’s grades were good, she didn’t see what the problem was.
I said, “The problem is that there’s something the matter with your son. I am not questioning his ability. I’m talking about him, about his increasing difficulty with concentrating.”
She looked at me for several seconds. I’m certain she was trying to gauge my power to cause trouble; she was calculating the risk of telling me to get lost there and then: What business is it of yours?
She adopted a soft but firm tone that must make quite an impression in a professional situation.
“My son is absolutely fine. He’s a teenager who has trouble getting to sleep and who probably spends too much time staring at a screen like all young people his age.”
I’m not the sort to let things drop that easily.
“He’s a bit young at twelve.”
“He’ll be thirteen in a few days.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of life he leads when he’s at his father’s? Does he have a regular schedule?”
She took a breath before replying.
“My husband left me six years ago and we no longer have any contact.”
“Even about Théo?”
“No. He’s not a baby. We have joint custody.”
“Does that work for him?”
“My ex-husband insisted on it to reduce his child support. Which he doesn’t pay anyway.”
I could feel a blind rage against this woman building in me, something dark and fierce flooding into me, which I couldn’t contain. I sensed the steeliness beneath her fragile appearance; I wanted to see her retreat into her protection zone, to feel her fold.
“You refuse to let Théo go on school trips. That’s a pity, because trips are an important time for class bonding.”
Her surprise was not the sort that can easily be faked.
“You mean he doesn’t go on school trips?”
“No, not a single one.”
I wanted to go further. I wanted to throw her off balance.
“If it’s a question of money, you could ask for help from the office…”
She raised her voice to interrupt. “It’s not about money, Ms. Destrée. But when he’s at his father’s, his father is the one who ought to pay.”
I let the words hang for a few moments.
“The principal is also surprised that you never come to parents’ evenings.”
“I don’t come because I can’t risk bumping into my ex-husband… I… I’d find that hard to bear.”
“We have never seen your ex-husband either, and I’m not sure that he has been informed about these evenings. Since you haven’t seen fit to give us his details.”
She paused. She was trying to understand.
“It was Théo who filled in the forms. In the beginning of the year when he got me to sign them, I noticed he hadn’t put down his father’s address, you’re right, but he told me he’d add it later.”
I could sense she was faltering. A doubt had fractured her defense system.
I wanted to hurt her. Hurtful words and sarcastic remarks came to my mind that I had difficulty holding back. I hadn’t felt that for years.
This woman wasn’t protecting her child and that made me furious.
“Was your ex-husband violent?”
“No, not at all. Why are you asking that?”
I had crossed a red line. The red line was far behind me.
“You know, by the time children are found in a pit or at the end of a rope, it’s too late.”
She looked at me as though I were possessed. She looked around for a witness or some support. But we were alone in the science lab, white and tiled, surrounded by lab benches and microscopes, a smell of disinfectant in the air reminiscent of a hospital. At the back of the class, a tap was dripping as regularly as a metronome.
Then, without warning, she covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Taken aback, I clumsily attempted to backpedal.
“Listen, a few of us have noticed something wrong with Théo. He’s withdrawn. There’s a risk he’ll just switch off.”
She kept crying while hunting for something in her bag. She kept saying, “I don’t understand.” There was no arrogance left in her, no posturing. I noticed traces of foundation on her neck that she hadn’t blended in properly and blotches that her makeup didn’t conceal. The collar of her blouse was a little frayed and her hands looked very worn for her age. She was a woman whom life had treated harshly. A woman whose dream had been crushed and who was trying to put a brave face on it.
I suddenly felt ashamed of having made her come in and subjecting her to this. With no valid reason.
I had to bring the meeting to a close, calm things down, restore some semblance of normality. I eventually handed her a Kleenex.
“I think you ought to take Théo to the doctor. Check he’s OK, that he doesn’t have… deficiencies… The extent of his tiredness worries us. That’s the nurse’s opinion too.”
She pulled herself together as quickly as she had fallen apart. She said she’d make an appointment the following day and told me she’d ask Théo about school trips.
We parted at the bottom of the stairs.
I watched her go off across the schoolyard. She looked back at me one last time before going through the gate, as though checking that I wasn’t following her.
I took my phone from my bag and called Frédéric.
He picked up after the first ring and I said, “I’ve screwed up. Big time.”