Page 39 of Worth Every Risk

I pull out my phone and bring up his phone number. I have no idea what he's about to say, but I know it won't be good, and as the ring tone buzzes in my ear, a chill runs down my spine.

“Matt,” says Barney’s gruff voice. “Didn’t expect you to call so late.”

“This email,” I reply. “What’s it about?”

Barney splutters before clearing his throat. “One of the boys found a bag of marijuana in Charlie’s sock drawer.”

I wait, and every muscle in my chest tenses until it feels like my entire torso has solidified. The divorce has been hard on Charlie, but for some reason it never crossed my mind that he would turn to drugs.I'm not prepared for this. “And?”

“You know the rules. If a student is found in possession of drugs, he’s out.”

Expulsion. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Want me to fund a new library?”

Barney is quiet. “This is serious, Matthew.”

“Sorry. I know. What did Charlie say?”

“That’s the thing. Charlie says it’s not his. Said he’d never seen it before.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“I want to, but his grades have been dropping off. For the last year, he hasn’t been himself. Longer, probably. He looks…”

His voice fades as if he's reluctant to pass judgement, but I can't bear the silence so I fill in the blanks. “Stoned?”

Barney sighs. “Not necessarily. But tired. Haunted, even.”Haunted? “Your son is a wreck, Matt.”

I close my eyes again, letting the sentence sink in.Your son is a wreck. I’m not sure anything has ever felt this bad. “Who found it?”

“What?”

“The bag of weed. Who found it?”

There’s a creaking sound, like Barney is leaning back in his chair. “Hugo Charlton.”

For fuck’s sake.Hugo Charlton is one of Mark Charlton’s twins. And Mark Charlton is Gemma’s new boyfriend. Damn unfortunate that she’s decided to play house with a man whose sons are at school with Charlie. In the same boarding house, no less. I’ve even wondered if she had her eye on him before we got divorced.Her wandering eye. The seeds were sown, at any rate. God knows, we saw Mark often enough when we went up tothe school. “What the hell is Hugo Charlton doing going through Charlie’s sock drawer?”

The question hangs unanswered for a few moments before Barney speaks. “I know this is a thorny situation. And I want to believe Charlie. I really do. But the rules are rules—”

“It won’t be Charlie’s. You can’t expel him. He wasn’t smoking it. It wasn’t on his person, was it?”

“No. In the sock drawer.”

“Anyone could have put it there. You cannot expel him for this. And I’m serious about the library. Or science block. Whatever you want. Whatever the school needs.”

“Matt…” Barney’s voice is low and quiet, and the sad tone of it causes a shattering sensation behind my breastbone and a thickening in my throat. “Focus on your son. Some things you can’t fix with money. We’ll have to investigate this marijuana situation, but if there’s no evidence he’s smoking it or sharing it or whatever, then we can dismiss it this time.” He breathes down the line for a few moments. “But there’s something here that you really need to pay attention to. I’m advising you to take notice of your son, especially with the holidays coming up. He’ll be under your care then. Not mine.”

It feels a lot like I’m being reprimanded and I have to check the urge to protest. To fight back. “Okay. I appreciate the call.”

Silence falls, during which one of us should say goodbye, but the word sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I hang up before Barney has the chance to say it.

In the dark corners of my mind, I can hear a voice, but it’s not mine.What do you mean he’s a wreck? Of course he isn’t. He’s a fucking Hawkston, and we can weather all the shit life throws at us.

The image of my father fucking our housekeeper flashes in my mind and I wince at the recollection. I was eleven when I found him, and when I told my mother what I’d seen she screamed atme. Told me to mind my own business. To keep my mouth shut and never mention it again, because ‘Daddy needs to do what Daddy needs to do’.

I’m not a stranger to fucked-up family lives, and I turned out all right.Didn’t I?I certainly didn’t give the kids a happy home, and Charlie shouldered most of that. I hope Lucie won’t remember me and Gemma living together because it was beyond miserable.

I thought I’d be happy once the divorce was finalised, but I’m not sure I am. It wasn’t the magic pill I thought it would be. Yes, we aren’t fighting all the time, and I don’t come home to find a woman I can’t stand waiting in the house for me… but I’m not happy. But maybe ‘happy’ is an illusion. A temptation that doesn’t fucking exist. A word used to drive us forward, always seeking that elusive fucking happiness, but never finding it.Like the pot of fucking gold at the end of the rainbow.

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