CHAPTER 15
‘You were difficult, Eldred,’ Mildred reproached him later. ‘Why wouldn't you smile?’
‘I tried,’ he said, ‘but I didn't feel like smiling.’
‘And refusing to hold up that page of sums for the man to photograph,’ said his father. ‘That was rude of you.’
‘They weren't proper sums,’ said Eldred. ‘It was rubbish.’
‘After your mother ironed it so nicely and everything,’ said Edgar.
‘They wouldn't take any pictures of my real work,’ Eldred protested.
‘He explained why that was,’ said Mildred. ‘It's hard to photograph things on a computer screen.’
‘I could have printed it off.’
‘You should have done what you were told, without arguing,’ said Edgar. ‘I was ashamed of you. Those people know what's needed for a newspaper article, and we don't. You have to learn to recognize your limits, son. You may be a clever boy but you don't know about everything.’
‘Well, never mind,’ said Mildred. ‘They got what they wanted in the end, didn't they, Dad? Eldred, run along and wash your hands and change out of your school uniform and I'll start the tea.’
‘Can I go down to the library for five minutes first?’ Eldred wanted to see Terry Smith before Terry heard from his friend on the paper how hopeless an interviewee Eldred had been. He couldn't stand it if Terry was ashamed of him too.
‘You certainly can't, at this hour of the evening. By the time you've done your homework and watched a bit of telly, it'll be your bedtime.’
‘I don't want to watch telly, Mum.’
‘Don't whine, Eldred. I can't stand children whining. Of course you must watch a bit of telly in the evening; it does you good to relax and it's the only time your dad gets to see you.’
When the local newspaper appeared on Friday morning, the article was every bit as bad as Eldred had anticipated. Worse, the journalist had phoned the school and spoken to some of the teachers. Eldred's class teacher Mrs Garcia stated that Eldred Jones was ‘above average’ intelligence but nothing special. ‘We have a lot of bright children in this school,’ she said.
Mr Austin confirmed that Eldred ‘showed promise’ but added, 'It's important not to exaggerate his abilities. He's an ordinary child.’ There were few direct quotes from Eldred's parents. Mildred was aggrieved. ‘All that tea I gave her and all the time I talked, and all she can write is, "Mrs Jones claims her son taught himself to read by the age of five.” It sounds as if she's calling me a liar!’
There was only one quote from Eldred himself, at the bottom of the column: ‘Eldred claims, “My schoolwork's not my proper work; my proper work's done at home.”’ Eldred could not remember saying that. He thought it was unlikely to make him any more popular at school with Mrs Garcia.
There was also a photograph of Eldred, looking miserable, seated beside a blank-screened computer. A second photo showed the despised page of algebra, with a child's hand holding a pen poised over it.
‘That's not me!’ cried Eldred, enraged.
‘They must have found another boy to be your hand in the picture,’ said Mildred, ‘because you were so difficult about it.’
‘They've no right to print my stuff without permission,’ said Eldred.
‘You're getting above yourself,’ said Edgar severely. ‘Just because you've got into the paper doesn't mean you can act like a film star in your own home. Eat your breakfast and get ready for school.’
‘I don't want breakfast,’ said Eldred. ‘I'm not hungry.’ He left the room.
Mildred dabbed her eyes. ‘It's terrible of me, I know,’ she told Edgar, ‘but at times I almost wish Eldred was back in that hospital. He was no trouble to anybody then.’
‘Getting up at nights and reading all those textbooks, though,’ Edgar reminded her. ‘There was obviously a devious streak, if only we'd known.’
‘Yes, but we didn't know, did we? As far as we knew, he was just a sick little boy. At least the sickness was only in his lungs. Now what's he turning into? A smart-alec no one will want to know. I only hope it's not bad blood.’
‘He'll grow out of it,’ said Edgar uneasily. ‘All children get a bit full of themselves if they're not kept under control.’
‘Why can't he be like little Darren down the road? Always out riding his bike and playing games with other children on the estate. A normal boy.’
Edgar grunted. ‘And throwing stones at car windows. If you call that normal.’
‘I wouldn't mind if he was a real genius, like Mr Austin said,’ Mildred responded, ‘but they seem to be saying he's ordinary now. If he's ordinary, why isn't he like the other kids? He can't have it both ways.’
Edgar poured himself another cup of tea. ‘You never know,’ he said. ‘He might give us cause to be proud of him one day.’
‘I hope so,’ said Mildred, ‘or this worry will drive us both to an early grave.’
On Saturday morning, Eldred was sitting at the desk in his bedroom feeding a new box of disks through his computer to format them.
‘Get ready to go out, Eldred,’ Mildred called up the stairs.
‘Why, Mum?’
‘I have to go to the shops and your Dad's out.’
‘Can't I stay here? I'm in the middle of something.’
‘I can't leave you alone in the house, Eldred; come along.’
‘I promise I won't get into trouble, Mum. I'm working.’
‘Is that schoolwork you're doing?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Come on, Eldred; don't be a trial.’
Eldred emerged from his room. ‘Do you need me to carry the shopping?’
‘There's not much to carry,’ she said. ‘I did a big shop during the week.’
‘You don't really need me then?’ Eldred asked hopefully.
‘I can't leave you here, Eldred. You're too young.’
‘I was left alone in the hospital, Mum. For hours.’
‘That was different! There were people all around you there.’
‘There are neighbours all around here. Please let me stay. Please?’
‘Really, Eldred, I don't know why you're so difficult! Why do you have to make all this fuss every time? Oh, all right; have your own way again. But next time you do as you're told, do you hear me?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
So it was that Eldred was alone in the house when Louise Palmer phoned.
‘Four-two-three-seven; this is Eldred Jones speaking,’ said Eldred, pressing the receiver to his ear. He was rarely allowed to answer the phone; his mother usually got there first.
‘Thank goodness for that; I've tried all the Joneses in the phone book,’ said Louise.
‘Who did you want to speak to?’ asked Eldred. ‘My parents are not available at the moment.’
‘I wanted to speak to you. My name is Louise Palmer. I'm a freelance journalist supplying features to national newspapers and magazines, overseas press, TV, radio - you name it, I do it. I live in this area myself and I saw the piece on you in the local paper.’
‘Oh, that,’ said Eldred. It sounded like a groan.
‘Terrible article,’ said Louise cheerfully, ‘but that's the local rag for you. Were you disappointed?’
‘Yes.’
‘I'm not surprised. Only the vaguest reference to your achievements outside school and hardly one direct quote.’
‘I didn't even say that,’ said Eldred. ‘I didn't say I only did proper work outside school.’
‘Journalists do that,’ Louise told him. ‘They think people are too thick to say what they actually mean, so they rewrite their quotes to make them say what the reporter thinks they ought to mean. But I won't do that, I promise. Word for word.’
‘Are you going to interview me?’ asked Eldred.
‘If you'll agree to it, after that disaster,’ said Louise. ‘And your parents, of course.’
‘Are you going to ask my parents what they think I ought to
mean, or are you going to write what I say?’ asked Eldred.
Louise laughed. ‘No flies on you, are there? I'll write what you say. We won't let your parents answer for you, but I will want a few of their comments as well. Okay?’
‘Will you interview me first, on my own?’
‘If you want, Eldred, yes.’
‘Are you going to speak to the teachers at my school?’
‘Probably. Why?’
Eldred made no reply.
‘Don't you get on with them?’ Louise enquired.
‘Mr Austin - the high school computer teacher - took my disk,’ Eldred said. ‘The one with my farm waste reprocessing plant design on it. He said I must have stolen the idea on the class trip to the farm because I couldn't have designed it myself, but I did. He says the disk is school property and I can't have it back to copy it and he's going to erase the information. Then he asked me to join his class, then he said he was disappointed in me and I had to go back to the primary school again.’ Eldred drew breath.
‘I see,’ said Louise slowly. ‘This is a better story than I thought.’
‘It's not a story,’ said Eldred. ‘It's true.’
‘Of course it is. That's just what we call an article or a feature, in the media. We call every item a story.’
‘Is that because it's not really the truth?’ Eldred asked. ‘Because the quotes are made up by the reporters?’
Louise laughed again. ‘I can't wait to meet you,’ she said. ‘Can you make it this weekend?’
‘I'm free now,’ said Eldred hospitably.
‘Good. Tell me where you live.’
‘Flat 43 Cottrill Court, Aylmers Road. It's on the Hopthorp Estate.’
‘I know it. Give me five minutes.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure,’ said Louise.
‘What made you want to interview me, if the article - the story - in the local paper was so terrible?’
‘I thought there might be more to you than met the eye,’ Louise said. ‘The reporter made you sound like nothing special but I got the impression it could have been sour grapes - and the teachers’ comments as well. You get a knack for reading between the lines, when you're in the business yoursel£. Never believe what you read in the papers, Eldred! It's all subjective. Besides, the photo was a real give-away.’
‘You mean my face?’ said Eldred, perplexed.
‘No, the page of equations,’ said Louise. ‘I'm leaving right now, okay? See you soon.’
Eldred returned to his room and started slotting disks into the computer and printing off documents. When he had a batch of copies, he stuffed them into a carrier bag, put his football on top, and went to stand by the front gate.
Mildred arrived before Louise. ‘What's this?’ she asked. ‘A welcome home committee for me?’
‘Can I go and play football in the park, Mum? As soon as a friend of mine turns up?’
‘Yes, I don't see why not, love.’
‘What time do I have to be back?’
‘No rush,’ Mildred said generously. ‘Much better for you to be playing with your little mates than stuck in your room on that computer, and it's only a sandwich for lunch. Your dad and I can have ours and keep yours for when you come back.’
‘You look a bit tired, Mum,’ said Eldred. ‘Why don't you go and have a cup of tea?’
Mildred kissed him on the top of the head. She needn't have worried about Eldred, she thought, as she went in the front door and he closed it promptly behind her. Her son was all right: a nice thoughtful, straightforward boy.