What Came Before He Shot Her

family: arm in arm with an equally tall dark-skinned husband, three winsome children stairstepped in front of them.

Luce went behind her desk, but she didn’t sit. Instead, she pulled the chair out and drew it around the side. She pointed to another chair for Joel, so that they could sit facing each other. They almost touched knees since space in the room was so limited.

            Luce took a folder from the top of her desk, and she glanced inside it as if to verify something. She said to Joel, “We haven’t talked before this. You’re Toby’s brother . . . It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

            Joel nodded. The only reason he knew that adults called children into official places like their offices was if there was some sort of trouble. So he assumed Toby had done something he wasn’t meant to do.

            He waited for elucidation and steeled himself to its inevitable appearance.

            “He’s talked about you quite a bit,” Luce Chinaka went on. “You’re very important to him, but I expect you know that.”

            Joel nodded again. He sought something in his head as a response, but he could come up with nothing other than the nod.

Luce picked up a pen. It was gold and slender, and it suited her. Joel saw that a form had been fixed to the cover of the folder she was holding, and there was writing on this, which she read for a moment before she spoke. Then it was to tell Joel what he already knew: that Toby’s primary school had made the recommendation that he enroll in the learning centre, that in fact the school had made it a condition of his acceptance as a pupil. She concluded with, “Do you know this, Joel?”

            At his nod, she continued. “Toby’s quite behind where he should be for his age. Do you understand anything about the nature of his problem?” Luce Chinaka’s voice was kind, as were her eyes, which were deep brown although one had flecks of gold in it.

            “He i’n’t stupid,” Joel said.

            “No. Of course not,” Luce assured him. “But he has a serious learning disability and... well, there do appear to be . . .” She hesitated. Once again, she looked at the file, but this time it seemed to be a way of deciding how best to say what needed saying. “There appear to be other . . . well, other problems as well. Our job here at the centre is to determine exactly what  those problems are and how best someone like Toby can be taught. We then teach him in the way that he learns, as an adjunct to his regular schooling. We also offer him alternatives in . . . well, alternatives in social behaviour that he can learn to choose from. Do you understand all this?”

            Joel nodded. He was concentrating hard. He had the distinct feeling that Luce Chinaka was leading up to something important and dreadful, so he felt wary.

She continued. “Essentially, Toby has trouble both processing and retrieving information, Joel. He has a language  disability complicated by what we call a cognitive dysfunction. But that,” Luce fl uttered her fingers as if to wave the words away and make what she had to say sensible to a twelve-year-old boy for whom every word sounded like another step on the familial trail of tears he and his siblings had been treading for ages, “is just how we label things. The real issue is that a language disability is serious because everything we’re taught in school depends first and foremost upon our capacity for taking it in in the form of language: words and sentences.”

            Joel could tell that the woman was making her explanation simple for him to understand because he was Toby’s brother and not Toby’s dad. He wasn’t offended by this. Rather it felt oddly comforting, despite the trepidation he was feeling about the entire discussion. He expected that Luce Chinaka was a very good mother. He pictured her tucking her three children into their beds at night and not leaving the room till she made sure they’d said their prayers and received her kiss.

            “Good,” she said. “But now we come to the crux of the matter. You see, there are limits to what we can do for Toby here in the learning centre. When we reach those limits, we have to consider what we’re going to do next.”

            Alarms went off in Joel’s head. He said, “You sayin you can’t help Toby or summick? You want him to leave?”

            “No, no,” she said hastily. “But I do want to develop a plan for him, which we can’t do without a broader assessment. Call it . . . well, call it a study of him. Now, everyone needs to be involved in this. Toby’s teacher at Middle Row School, the learning centre staff, a doctor, and your parents. I see from the records that your father is deceased, but we’d definitely like the opportunity to have a meeting with your mum. We’ll need to begin by having you give her these documents to read and after that—”

            “Can’t.” It was the only word Joel could manage. The thought of having his mother here, in this offi ce, facing this woman, was too much for him, even though he knew it would never happen. She wouldn’t ever be allowed out on her own, and even if Joel could fetch her from the hospital, Carole Campbell would have lasted less than five minutes in the presence of Luce Chinaka before she crumbled to bits. Luce looked up from the paperwork she’d been removing from Toby’s file. She seemed to dwell on the word can’t, and she seemed to compare it to everything she knew about the family so far, which was very little and had been deliberately kept that way by the family itself. She made an interpretation. “Your mum doesn’t read?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I did assume because her name’s on the paperwork . . .” Luce brought it closer to her face and examined what Joel knew had to be his aunt’s hasty scrawl.

            He said, “Dat’s . . . That’s Aunt Ken’s writing.”

            “Oh, I see. Kendra Osborne is your aunt, then, not your mum? She’s your legal guardian?”

            Joel nodded although he had no knowledge of what made someone legal or not.

            “Is your mum deceased as well, then, Joel?” Luce Chinaka asked. “Is that what you meant when you said she couldn’t read this?”

            He shook his head. But he couldn’t and wouldn’t tell her about his mother. The truth was that Carole Campbell could read as well as any person alive. The additional truth was that it didn’t make any difference if she could read or not. He reached for the papers that Luce Chinaka held, and he said the only words that he could manage, which were the only words that told the truth of the matter as Joel saw it. “I c’n read it,” he told her. “I c’n take care of Toby.”

            “But this isn’t about . . .” Luce sought another way to explain. “Oh, my dear, there needs to be a study done and only a responsible adult can give approval for it. You see, we must have quite a . . . well, let’s call it quite a thorough  examination of Toby, and it must be done by—”

            “I said I c’n do it!” Joel cried. He grabbed the papers and crumpled them to his chest.

            “But, Joel—”

            “I can!”

            He left her watching him in a mixture of confusion and wonder as he went to fetch his little brother. He also left her reaching for the phone.

            Chapter

      13 When Ness deserted her brothers on that day in Paddington, she didn’t leave the railway station at once. Instead, she paused behind a sandwich kiosk, using the excuse of lighting up a cigarette that she’d nicked from Kendra. As she dug in her bag for matches, though, she also eased her way around the kiosk so that she had a view of the WH Smith. Although it was crowded within the shop, she had no trouble picking out Joel. He was dutifully heading for the magazines, his shoulders slumped as they generally were and Toby in his wake as he always was.

            Ness waited until Joel was in the queue at the till, his purchases in hand, before she went on her way. She couldn’t see what his choice was from among the various magazines on offer, but she knew he’d get something appropriate for their mother because she also knew that was just who Joel was: dependable and dutiful to a fault. He was also capable of pretending whatever he needed to pretend in order to get through the day. But as for herself, she was through with pretending. Pretending had got her exactly where she was at that moment, which was nowhere. Pretending changed nothing, and it especially did not change how she felt inside, which was full to bursting, as if her blood might seep through her skin.

            Had she been asked to do so, Ness couldn’t have put another name to that feeling of being full. She