The last Wednesday of first Term

Inveresk Primary School

2.25pm

PROLOGUE The dragon lady blocks

the way, the safe

looms empty. . ..he cringes

small hand on the metal door.

She charges

claws grasp she’s

singeing him with anger

crying thief

Matthew’s first day That Matthew Bandon’s only five

at Big School and he’s already done

(Mrs Mawson speaks) the teachers’ cars

‘cause I was bored he said

(good job the teachers keep

their bags inside)

Jane Wilson says he just likes

locks the stupid girl here even preps

need watching.

A mother’s caution: Matthew never ever

touch locks: on

other people’s doors

or bikes or little

jewellery boxes,

or teachers’/anybody’s

cars

Now, do you

understand?

Yes Mummy,

Now tell me . . .

and he did

he’s a good boy, my

Matthew we’ll have

no problems now.

Any afternoon in Babies propped one

Hunter Street at each breast nice hot

Meet Gaye cup of tea and the

latest Sue Grafton

from the library the world

turns on its axis

Matthew and Melissa are

safe at school there’s peace here

before the first term ends

well almost

Jason’s just out

in the passage working

on his motorbike.

The phone shrills

Germaine starts and bites my nipple

I slop tea on Rosanne’s leg

she screams

Get that Jason

I yell above the din

I hear a crash

and Bloody leggo

then a silence

Mum its school!

If you’d ask The teacher’s pay-cheques

Mrs Mawson gone! Where was Queasling this time?

Some headmaster! The dregs will always

slither through the gaps

and steal he should

know that and dregs

is what we get at Inveresk.

The paycheques (end of term)

three hundred from

the mini-fair in cash.

We know that Matthew’s good with locks

his mother (slut she is

with all those kids) has trained

him up now where

was her Melissa?

Tableau from The Corner

a third rate play Uniforms stoop

over Matthew

whimpering

in a chair

Behind the desk

Our principal, Queasling

his consternation’s slipping

Against the wall

Blank Grey suit

plain clothes

new for sure

I’ve never seen him at the dog track

In the foreground

Mrs Mawson hovers

Gaye’s view of I’ve never liked her that

Mrs Mawson Mawson woman’s got

no imagination besides

my Matthew never lies.

If he says he didn’t, then that’s

enough for me.

(I wish I’d told him not

to open safes)

The fingerprint team are

outside I

hold the dragon lady’s

spiteful gaze.

What’s missing

then? I ask

And then

the nightmare starts.

The inquisition “And who is Matthew’s father?”

I really can’t recall . . .

(“Not too many like your Dad”

my Mum had warned,

when John shot

through with Aunt Rosie’s takings

from the grey-hound track

“but kiddies are ok”)

grey suit’s face is very close to

mine “ . . . and Jason’s?”

I say I really wouldn’t know

Looks flick between the players

Welfare ‘s just around the corner.

Guilty He’ll go to children’s court?

I try to keep it courteous even though

the dragon lady’s rude even though

grey suit is stuck

in a groove “This,” he says

”is a very serious business

this is a very serious business.” I

believe in manners.

What I ask

is the procedure?

Female pc shiny as a cupie doll

hands me Matthew “Don’t

worry now,” she says

“he’s underage he won’t

be charged.”

my legs buckle

no investigation no hearing no

chance to prove him

innocent

My Matthew’s five years old and

finished.

Fingerprints Two sets on the safe

Melissa overheard

Queasling’s and the

little kid’s

Gloves We all know thieves wear gloves

Jason’s adamant

At Inveresk?

That should make it easy

After school next day: In the kitchen

A family portrait the babies playing ‘shred

the potplant’ with the cat.

Sprawled on the lounge

eight-year-old Melissa

engrossed in the

Financial Times her

Wednesday treat.

(did I mention she’s quite

bright?)

Reading comics in the boys’ room

Jason he’s my eldest

Huddled by the fire watching the telly

little Matthew.

Gaye decides I’m tired the twins

are grizzling Jason’s

underfoot as usual

(at seventeen you’d think

he’d try and get a job)

and now I’ve failed

Matthew.

The books all say

“encourage their fine

motor skills” but I guess

the kiddy safe just wasn’t

such a good idea

and when everybody

thought it cute

to bring him their old

locks to practice on

I should have intervened.

But this is getting

no-where Fisher Price

have taken

their ‘crack your

own safe’ off the

market, and Kinsey or V.I.

wouldn’t sigh into their

cups of tea they’d get up

off their tails and

solve the crime.

The neighbours Friendly folk round

here they’ve all

called in to sympathise

bring me up to date

“Good little boy your

Matthew I know he’d

never do a thing like that.”

And such a sudden interest

in the furniture and nick nacks

round the house

File Cards Just Like I crack the cellophane,

a Real Detective one of Jason’s ‘network’

salvaged these to help.

Where from? It doesn’t

do to ask too many questions.

The house is quiet for once.

I start to jot:

The dragon lady locked the cheques

away at twelve (everybody knows

her routine’s set in concrete)

Two hours and

twenty minutes

to cover.

The final term assembly Ivy Croswell’s

The school cleaner gone cried she did cut to the

retires quick no doubt with

no more mopping floors

or scrubbing out the

senior boys’ urinal

Her farewell speech was

moving, so they tell me

(I wouldn’t set a foot

in Inveresk while Matthew’s

in the frame)

Mrs Croswell told the

kids to keep their little hands

off what’s not their’s and

aways to uphold the

school’s good name.

Our school’s got a name

and its holding up nicely.

Matthew Matthew’s thumb-sucking

off his food

even fish and chips

curled up in the babies’ cot

the watch his sister bought

him with the savings from

her piggy bank

unopened

Who’d have a clair- The phone its Mum

voyant for a mother? I draw a breath

“The energy round

your place,” she snaps

is heavy.”

Did you say heavy metal Mum?

Jason’s playing Kurt Cobain.

But she’s having none of that.

“Think you can keep your

mother in the dark? Now

what is going on?”

(Life was so much simpler when

Mum was into Mills & Boon)

Look Mum, the cards aren’t always right!

“And what about the gossip

round White City?” She had

me now Aunt Rosie runs a book

at the dog track and punters

tend to talk.

(I study crayon scribble on the wall

the peeling paper in the hall)

and try a soft-shoe shuffle.

“Look girl,” my mother fairly bites,

“who do you think your humouring?”

Matthew has his say I’n not a naughty boy

the workjobs in the passage

was too easy

Mr Queasling wasn’t

there, an’ Mummy

tol’ me, “Neva steal

a fing.”

I had a little safe

when I was free

an’ I’m sure I heard

him say one day

“That safe’s a problem, always

b-word sticks,” he

musta been too

sad to say a word

that Mummy

doesn’t like

so I jus’ fought I’d help

an’ everybody’s cross

and says I took the money

just cause I’m

good at locks

But I’n not

a naughty boy.

Counsel from “Don’t you dare: let

Gaye’s Mum that child go as far as the

front gate let alone

near all those gossips down

the street until this

things cleared up

we’ve got to keep

him clear of

prying eyes.”

I wait

I know there’s more

“In fact your Aunt Ethel out at

Evandale, could use some

company I’ll pick

Matthew up

tomorrow.”

“And talking of eyes

Have you forgotten

I can see further

than most?”

Chalk and cheese Aunt Ethel’s

ducks and chooks

starched table-cloths

and home-made

apple-pie.

Aunt Rosie’s

sharpened at

the track she’s

got contacts

and Melissa’s

her favourite.

The first reading Bliss

this couch is comfort, not

like mine at home

all lumps

Here there’s only grown-up mess

no lipstic murals on the wall

and quiet even the tea

tastes better.

Mum’s old rocker