Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,21

“Oh, erm,” he says slowly. “That’s a child.”

I stare at him. “Thank you, Peter. Your powers of observation are extremely well-honed. Now move off that chair and let Billy sit down.”

He still looks confused. I’m not sure why, as I’ve been extremely clear in my instructions. “The chair,” I prompt.

He quickly sits in the other chair, and I usher Billy to the vacated seat. He scrambles into it, sitting upright with his bag on his lap.

I look down at him. “Yes, erm, well. Peter and I are going to look at his work, Billy. And you can…” I hesitate and then look at his rucksack. “Have you got anything in your bag to do?”

He nods happily and unzips his bag. “Yes. Dylan bought me a colouring book and some new pens, and if we get hungry, I’ve got some banana sandwiches and orange juice.” He pauses. “What does completely and ridiculously helpless mean?”

“Why?” I ask suspiciously.

“Because Dylan said you were that, and I should do some colouring to help you if you looked a bit panicky.”

My eyes narrow. “Did he really?” I say silkily. “Well, we’ll show him, won’t we, Billy. We’re going to have so much fun. So much fun,” I add, and it sounds menacing to my ears.

Once he’s settled and is colouring a picture of a dragon very busily on his corner of my desk, I pull Peter’s work towards me along with my red pen. “Oh, look,” I say. "Another mistake. At this point, I'm beginning to fear that the worldwide supply of red ink will run out before I’ve finished marking this.”

“Would you like to borrow one of my pens, Uncle Gabe?” comes an earnest question from Billy. I blink and look up to find him resting his head on one hand and staring expectantly at me.

“Oh, no, thank you. I was being sarcastic.”

“What does that mean?”

“Erm.” I falter slightly and look at Peter, but of course, he’s no help. “It’s saying something horrid that’s funny.” I hesitate. “Erm, maybe don’t do that,” I say quickly. “I’m not sure whether Daddy and Jude would like that. Stick to being nice.”

“I am nice,” he says, going back to his colouring, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth while he’s concentrating on not going over the lines. “Although when Tom Richards is horrid to me, I don’t think I feel like being nice.”

“Why is Tom Richards being horrible to you?” I say, feeling my temper rise. “What’s he doing?”

He leans forward and says in a confidential tone, “Well, at lunchtime the other day he pushed me off the monkey bars.”

“And what did you do?” I demand.

“I hit him with a branch.”

“Good for you,” I say heartily. “I hope you got a few good whacks in.” Peter clears his throat, and I realise what I just said. “I mean, I think you should probably tell the teacher.”

"Mrs Winters was busy. She’s moving house, so she was talking on the phone a lot. Then she started crying.” He shrugs.

“Is your father paying for this education?” I demand, but Billy’s attention has shifted to looking at the paper in front of me.

“I think you should borrow my purple pen,” he says judiciously.

“Why?”

"Because Mrs Winters says that red pen is a bad sign for children. It feels better if she uses different colours when you make mistakes. Purple means good work. Pink means very good and green means it’s really super.”

“Does that work?” Peter asks, rather hopefully.

I snort. “Put it this way. We won’t need a refill for the green pen.”

Billy shakes his head. “It doesn’t make me feel better. It’s still pen all over my work.” He thinks for a second. “I'd like sparkly gold, but Mrs Winters hasn’t got that in her pack of pens.”

I press the intercom. “Alistair, could you purchase some sparkly gold pens?” I pause. “Please,” I add.

He chuckles. “Certainly. I’m off to get some coffee. I’ll pop into WH Smiths. Anything else you need, Billy?”

“Are there any other sparkly colours?” he asks somewhat longingly.

“Alistair, take the card. Do some shopping,” I say quickly. “Anything you think he’ll like.” I pause. “And maybe a pencil case and another bag to hold them.” I think of what Dylan would do. “And then take the rest of the day off.”

“Thank you, Uncle Gabe,” Billy says earnestly.

Warmth infuses my chest. “You’re very welcome,” I say somewhat awkwardly.

Silence falls for a few minutes as Billy goes back to colouring, I go back to marking, and Peter goes