The Ability (Ability, The) (5 page)

Chris and Miss Sonata turned quickly to see Mr. Tuckdown standing in the doorway, blocking out the light coming through the door like a moon eclipse.

He stormed over, his face turning red with a combination of effort and anger.

“I knew you were stupid from the first moment I set eyes on you, but even I didn’t think you were stupid enough to come into school when you’d been suspended!” shouted Mr. Tuckdown, who was now standing less than two feet away from Chris.

“Mr. Tuckdown, I was just asking Chris . . . ,” interrupted Miss Sonata.

In his fury, Mr. Tuckdown hadn’t noticed Miss Sonata standing there.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and took a deep breath.

“Miss Sonata, I’m sorry about this. I hope this boy hasn’t been pestering you,” he said, looking over at Chris angrily.

“No, not at all. In fact he’s been helping me to bring some chairs in,” she said.

“Helping himself to your belongings, more likely,” said
Mr. Tuckdown with a sneer. “I’d check my pockets if I were you; this boy’s got sticky fingers.”

He turned to Chris again. “An explanation, boy. Now. Why are you in school today?”

“I forgot, sir,” said Chris gruffly.

“Well, your forgetfulness has just got you another day of suspension. Perhaps that will give you some time to work on your memory. Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. “Now I’m going to say this slowly, so you can understand: Don’t . . . come . . . back . . . until . . . next . . . Wednesday. Now . . .
Get out!
”

Chris turned to walk out, but Miss Sonata stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“One moment, Christopher,” she said, facing Mr. Tuckdown. “Mr. Tuckdown, I would very much like to interview him. If you would allow it, I’ll have the test completed by the time school begins, and he can be on his way.”

Mr. Tuckdown’s face tightened, and he pursed his lips in anger, as if about to explode. Miss Sonata took a step back, startled. He opened his mouth, but instead of shouting, he started to laugh.

“Oh, Miss Sonata, I don’t know what lies he’s told you, but I can assure you that it would be an utter waste of your time. This child has as much chance of getting into an academy for gifted pupils as I have of putting on a tutu and dancing for the Royal Ballet. Now get out, Christopher, before I expel you permanently.”

Chris looked at Miss Sonata but could think of nothing to say. He turned and walked out in silence, the eyes of Mr. Tuckdown and Miss Sonata on his back.

At a quarter to four, after a day of wandering around the local park aimlessly, Chris walked up to his front door. The curtains were still drawn and the mail was sticking out of the letter box, a sure sign that his mother had had a bad day. He walked in, dropped his bag, and entered the living room.

Chris’s mother was sitting in the same armchair he had left her in that morning. She had changed clothes but was back under the blanket, staring blankly at the television screen, which cast a flickering dark-blue light across her face. Chris walked over to the faded curtains and pulled them open, letting the gray light of the winter sun into the room.

Chris’s mother winced at the light.

“Hi, Mum,” said Chris cheerfully.

His mother put her hand up to shield her eyes.

“Can you close them?” she asked. It wasn’t so much a question as a demand.

Chris hesitated, knowing by the tone of his mother’s voice that it was not a good day to antagonize her, but he decided to ignore her request.

“Mum, I thought we could go out.”

“Out?” she asked.

“Yes, out. I thought we could go to the cinema or something.”

Chris’s mother turned and glared at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Christopher. I haven’t left the house since—”

“Since Dad died, I know. But that’s seven years ago now. You can’t sit in front of the television for the rest of your life. And people don’t even visit us anymore—not since I could look after you. It’s not good for you.”

“Don’t tell me what’s good for me, Christopher,” she said, her voice getting louder. “Nothing is good for me. Just bad luck followed by worse luck—that’s the story of my life, and I’m not about to leave the house and let more misery pile up on top of the rubbish that I already have to deal with.”

“I just thought today would be a good day—”

“A good day? I haven’t seen a good day in years. What’s so special about today that you think this one should be any different?”

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but his mother didn’t wait for him to answer.

“Nothing. This day is as meaningless as yesterday, as the
day before that, and every single day before that one. Do you understand?” she asked, and then, without waiting for a response, she turned back to face the television.

“Close the curtains on your way out,” she said, dismissing him.

Chris considered saying something in response but decided that he would be wasting his breath. He walked up to the curtains and closed them. He was about to turn to leave the room when the doorbell rang. He looked at his mother.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked, confused.

“Of course not,” she said, looking at Chris accusingly. “Who did you invite?”

“I didn’t invite anybody,” he said.

“Tell them we don’t want whatever they’re selling. And that if they come around again, we’ll call the police.”

The doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it,” said Chris redundantly.

Chris opened the door and saw Miss Sonata leaning on the railings in front of his house, searching through an open brown-leather briefcase. She looked up.

“Oh. Hello! I didn’t think you were in. I was going to leave you a note.”

She stood up and walked over to Chris, standing silently in the doorway.

“I’m sorry I got you into trouble today,” she said.

“That’s okay. It wasn’t your fault,” said Chris uncomfortably.

“Anyway, I hope you don’t mind me turning up unannounced. I tried the home phone number on the school
records, but it wasn’t working, so I thought I’d come round instead.”

“Oh,” said Chris.

“Can I come in? I just wanted to have a quick chat with you and your mum, if she’s in.”

Chris closed the front door behind him a bit.

“It’s just that Mum’s not been very well for a while, and I didn’t want to upset her more, so she doesn’t know I’ve been suspended. I spent the day at the park until school finished,” he explained in a hushed voice.

Miss Sonata nodded.

“That’s fine. I won’t say a word. I just want to make an appointment for you to do the test. I’d really like you to give it a go.”

“What’s it for?” he asked suspiciously.

“It’s for a new school—a very exclusive school—that the government is opening up soon.”

“But . . . well . . . I’m not really a good student,” he confessed, surprised that this wasn’t already obvious enough to Miss Sonata.

“We don’t care how you’ve done at school so far, Christopher. We want students who have something different to offer.”

“Like what?”

“Creativity. Imagination. Other things like that,” she said. “I know we only spoke for a moment this morning, but I have a strong feeling you’ll do well.”

Chris thought about it for a moment.

“I’ll check with my mum.”

“Great,” said Miss Sonata. “I’ll wait here.”

“All right, I’ll be back in a second,” said Chris, leaving the door open behind him as he went back into the living room.

Miss Sonata leaned against the porch and waited. She heard the sound of muffled voices, and although she couldn’t make out what was being said, she could tell the conversation was getting heated. She heard footsteps and a door slam.

“You do what you like . . . I’m going to my room!”
shouted Chris’s mother, and before Miss Sonata had a chance to look away, she appeared in the hallway.

“What are you looking at?” said Chris’s mother, her hair matted and disheveled, her face lined and worn. Miss Sonata stood opposite her, suddenly conscious of her expensive haircut and her tailored suit, and shifted uncomfortably.

“Mum, please,” said Chris, appearing beside her. He touched her arm to try to calm her, but she shrugged it off angrily.

“I’ll come back another time; I don’t want to cause any trouble,” said Miss Sonata.

Chris’s mother shrugged and turned to walk up the stairs. “You go ahead and do your test with him or whatever it is you want. I’m going to sleep. Don’t bother making me any dinner,” she said to Chris without looking back, and with that she disappeared around the corner of the landing, into the upstairs darkness.

Chris and Miss Sonata stood awkwardly for a moment.

“Are you all right?” asked Miss Sonata.

Chris nodded but said nothing. He was both embarrassed and upset in front of Miss Sonata for the second time that day.

“Do you want me to go?” she asked gently.

Chris shook his head. “You might as well come in now; Mum won’t come down again tonight.”

“Is there anyone I can call—maybe someone from your family could come round and help with dinner?” asked Miss Sonata.

“No, it’s all right, honestly,” said Chris. “This happens all the time. I’m used to it.”

Miss Sonata hesitated and then closed the front door behind her. She had already been warned about Chris’s home situation from a quiet word on the side with the school secretary, but she was still shocked when she walked in. The house was dark and in desperate need of renovation. The paint was peeling as a result of the damp patches behind it, and strips of it had come off over the years, exposing the bare brickwork. The carpet on the stairs was threadbare and coming up at the edges, though she could see that there had been clumsy attempts to fix it in place with tape. Above her hung a cable with a light fitting that was missing a bulb and farther down the hall she could see a couple of mousetraps on the floor. There was a smell of damp, and it seemed to be colder inside than it was outdoors.

“We’re, er, having some work done to the house. Sorry,” said Chris, not looking at her. She followed him silently into the living room.

Chris quickly walked over to the sofa and picked up the blanket so that Miss Sonata could take a seat.

Miss Sonata smiled and sat down. She opened up her briefcase on her lap and rummaged through it.

Chris took a seat at the other end of the sofa.

“There it is,” said Miss Sonata, and pulled out a glossy printed card. She handed it to Chris.

“This is the school I was telling you about,” she said.

He looked at the front. The words “Myers Holt Academy, Center for Excellence” were written across the top in an ornate gold script, and underneath there was a picture of a Regency townhouse with wide steps leading up to a black front door and a gold plaque. He turned the card over, but there were no more photographs, just a paragraph, which he read to himself:

The Myers Holt Academy is a newly established, government-approved school situated in the heart of Bloomsbury, directly opposite the British Museum. Places are limited and are offered to a select number of students for a period of one year only. In this time, the staff at Myers Holt will provide pupils with an intensive, specialized curriculum aimed at stretching and developing the mind in a small class setting. In addition, pupils will enjoy a range of extracurricular activities, ensuring that your child will leave Myers Holt with the skills to guarantee him or her success for the future.

For further information, please contact:

The Admissions Office

Myers Holt Academy

40 Montague Street

London WC1 6JO

“The interview only takes about ten minutes—plenty of time to see if you have what we’re looking for. What do you think? It could be a very good opportunity,” said Miss Sonata.

“It looks expensive,” said Chris, studying the photograph on the front.

Miss Sonata smiled. “Actually, quite the opposite. We’re very keen to admit students who will get the most benefit out of the education that Myers Holt will be providing, regardless of income or background. As such, we will cover all costs for schooling, including books and uniform and any other school-related expenses. Not only that, but we would also provide you with a full scholarship to fund all your further education.”

“So I wouldn’t have to pay for anything at all when I’m at the school?” he asked, checking.

Miss Sonata nodded.

“Not even lunch?”

“No, you’d be boarding, so all your meals would be provided.”

“Boarding?” asked Chris.

“Yes,” said Miss Sonata. “You would have phone contact and come home on holidays.”

Chris thought for a moment.

“I’m sorry, but even if I did get in, and I don’t think I would, I couldn’t leave Mum on her own,” he said.

Miss Sonata nodded sympathetically.

“I completely understand. All I can say is that it is a small school of only one class, as we want to be able to offer a very individualized curriculum. There is a
maximum of six places available, and we are testing over two thousand pupils. If you were to be offered a place, then perhaps something could be arranged to help you both out. If not, well, you’re in no different a situation than you’re in now. In other words, you don’t lose anything by taking the test.”