even to try to do so, even if that might have been best at times.
No, it seemed her mother wanted to carry on seeing Benjamin Kerran. Monica had begun to notice the first signs that her stability was starting to waver, but the more she was able to hold that Sunday morning experience at arm’s length, the more convinced she became that it might be possible to sort things out somehow or other.
That her mother and Benjamin might be able to have a perfectly normal relationship, and that this shameful triangular affair in the early days might gradually fade away and be forgotten.
Why not? she thought again, and wondered if perhaps this was how it felt when you weren’t seeing problems from a slightly manic point of view.
Mind you, how she would react when she met Benjamin the next time was something she was not at all sure about.
And she had no desire to think about it, either. Que sera sera , as they say. And how would he react?
She noticed that sitting there on the chair was becoming uncomfortable, and that she was becoming impatient.
Turn green now, you little bastard! she thought in irritation as she gazed at the lamp over the welfare officer’s door – and as if as a result of a telepathic miracle, it suddenly did just that.
‘Wow!’ Monica whispered to herself. She stood up and opened the door.
It went more easily than she had imagined.
Much more. The welfare officer listened to her account of the situation at school, and to her proposed solution. Nodded encouragingly and promised to make contact with Joannis that very afternoon and see if there might be a place for her there. If Monica called in at the same time tomorrow, she would find out what decision had been made.
It was almost as if she wanted to get rid of me, Monica thought as she walked back to her classroom; but she dismissed the thought.
And when she found herself sitting once more on the comfortable green sofa in the welfare officer’s room the next morning, she was informed that everything was done and dusted. There was no reason why Monica couldn’t start at the Joannis Grammar School this coming Friday: there was a biology class with only twenty-three pupils, and if she found that she would be happy in it, she could transfer straight away.
She was given the name of another welfare officer at the new school who would help her on Friday, then she could spend the weekend thinking things over, and make up her mind.
So easy, Monica thought. But perhaps these matters weren’t so difficult after all, provided you applied yourself to getting to grips with things.
And she hadn’t said a word about Benjamin Karren.
That same evening, Thursday 21 September, she noticed definite signs that her mother was on the way down again.
When she came home from school her mother was in bed, half asleep. Monica woke her up and explained that she was thinking about changing schools and would be travelling out to Löhr the next day: but her mother only nodded and muttered something about that no doubt being a good idea.
She had a sore throat, she claimed, and had skipped today’s course – but it was a crappy course anyway, so it didn’t really matter.
She hadn’t done any shopping, so if Monica wanted a meal that evening she would either have to go to the shops or see what was available in the freezer. She wasn’t hungry.
There was virtually no money in the housekeeping kitty, so Monica made an omelette and a sandwich. She had just finished eating and washing up when the phone rang. She expected her mother to answer, but gathered she had probably pulled the plug out in the bedroom. Monica hurried into the living room and took the call.
It was Benjamin.
He was in his car, outside their front door, talking on his mobile, he explained. He asked if she had anything against meeting him for a little chat. It might be a good idea to discuss a few matters, he suggested.
She hesitated for a few moments, made a quick calculation and concluded that it was