Educating Simon (23 page)

Maxine did, in fact, arrive on Wednesday, sometime after I left for school. And the shit hit the fan.

The first thing Persie demanded of Maxine was that they go to a museum to see art. Maxine sensibly said she'd check with Brian, and Persie—knowing he'd already said she couldn't go—threw the first of many tantrums for the week. Again, I was put in mind of the elephant with the rope around its ankle. Because although Persie had sometimes thrown fits around Anna, she had always submitted in the end without a physical struggle. But she fought Maxine, sometimes even slapping her. She was a bigger elephant now, and perhaps it was this denial of Brian's that had motivated her to challenge the rope. But he must have known it would be a mistake to offer Persie a choice and then snatch it away from her again. “Which lollipop do you want, my child, the yellow or the green? The green, you say? Here's the yellow one.” And he had never intended to give her the green one in any case.

Friday when I got home in the afternoon, the screams hit me as soon as I opened the front door. I dropped my book bag just inside the music room and headed to the kitchen, where Ned was working on dinner.

“World War—what number are we up to, now?” I asked him.

He made a face. “Sit. Talk to me. Haven't chatted in days. What went on here over the weekend?”

I sat at the island, and magically a glass of San Pellegrino and a bowl of salted cashews appeared before me. “Thanks. Um, let's see. I think I'll have to summarise.” I crunched a few cashews. “Mum and Brian interviewed a number of candidates and got to a short list of two. One of them would be like Anna, live-in, and the other would be here only weekdays, with weekend care an occasional option. Brian preferred the live-in version, but Mum and I thought Persie could handle a little more latitude. We also thought Persie should be consulted. The three of us had a bit of a heated discussion Saturday morning, and Brian decided to offer Persie the chance to meet both candidates. Evidently, when he posed this idea to her, she pounced on the weekday option without meeting either of them. Which seems to have made Brian angry.”

“But that's not who he hired.”

I shook my head. Ned opened his mouth to speak again, but I waved at him. “I'm getting to that. I think he really expected her to choose another Anna. Personally, I don't think he gives Persie nearly enough credit for being able to handle things. And get this: Persie laid in wait for me after dinner Saturday to ask for my help—literally. She used that word.” I gave Ned a quick rundown of what Persie had said.

“Wait. So, Miss Persie asked you how to talk to her father? And she wants an art escort?”

“Mmmm. Mum knows a lot about art, but Persie wanted me to go as well. I told her I'd do just one visit to start; I don't really have time to do a lot of museuming. So Persie told Brian that, and I think she also told him she might like to have breakfast downstairs.”

Ned pulled a stool to the island and stared at me. “Simon, this is huge! Was he thrilled?”

“Far from it. He was
so
not thrilled he accused me of trying to influence Persie. Which I had by no means done. Well, maybe just about breakfast. And he decided that he would hire Maxine, ignoring Mum's opinion as well as Persie's request, which . . . Well, I'll stop short of criticising him, but you can imagine. He's said Persie's not to go museuming, and I haven't seen her downstairs for breakfast. Come to that, other than dinners I haven't seen much of her at all this week. Though I've heard rather a lot of her.”

Ned scowled and stared over my shoulder at nothing. “This isn't like him.”

“Maybe not in some ways. But he's always struck me as someone who believes he's figured everything out.”

Ned shook his head. “He can be moved by reason.”

“I think he's jealous.”

That got Ned's eyes back on me. “Of whom?”

“Persie didn't ask
Brian
to take her museuming.”

“She knows he works.”

“Right. And she's always so aware of everyone else's constraints.”

“You got me there.”

“I'm at school all day, and I have massive amounts of homework at night. But she asked me. And this particular conflict began after I told him that she doesn't know how to ask him for what she wants. So she asked me for help.
Me
. Plus, Mum's been spending a lot of time with her, lots more than Brian could. Or, she had been, before Maxine.”

“I hear you.” More scowling. “Well, I'll be surprised if Maxine stays longer than the weekend. She's bruised and battered and traumatised. She said something to me today that sounded like she thought Brian had misrepresented Persie's mental state. I assured her that Persie has never been like this, but that probably just made her more convinced that she should leave. I don't know. . . .” He stood and went back to dinner preparation.

Just then we heard a thud from upstairs loud enough to startle us.

“Simon, you're so good with her. Do you think you could calm her down just a little? For our sake as well as for hers?”

Not my problem. Not my problem. “I doubt it.”

“Try? Please?”

“You sound like my mother.” Don't know why I said that, but there it was. I heaved a melodramatic sigh, went to collect my book bag, and headed up to the landing. Halfway up, I heard another loud thud and a near-scream from Maxine. I dashed to the door and opened it.

The room was a shambles, and Maxine was white as a ghost, her frizzy blond hair making the effect almost comical. Beside her on the floor was a three-ring binder, which I gathered Persie had thrown at Maxine without quite hitting her. The binder had popped open, and some papers were still on the rings, whilst others had been thrown loose. I bent over and picked up a loose one. It was
BREATHE
with the Still painting, the one Persie had found. I picked up a few other pages, each of which had a painting printed on it, each with a different word. I saw
PATIENCE
and
LONELY.
And I saw
BETRAYED.

B
is sky blue, and the word
BETRAYED
also has periwinkle and two lilacs in it. Only the
d
is brown. But this painting had so much brown in it. She had skewed the colour importance to choose the painting she wanted, evidently one that suited her mood.

Art therapy. She'd said she didn't need it, but this said otherwise.

I looked at Persie, who had sat down on a wooden chair, her arms crossed over her chest and her face in the deepest pout I think I've ever seen on anyone. At least she was quiet.

I pulled another chair away from the wall, planted it across from her, and sat down.

“No,” she said, her voice loud and sulky. “It doesn't go there.”

I gestured with my arm, taking in the entire mess. “A lot of things are not where they belong. I'm choosing to move this one.” I did my best to look calm and unruffled, even though I knew I had just challenged her.

I watched her face for several seconds—though, of course, she wouldn't look at me—and then I said, “Persie, you don't want Maxine to be here, do you.” Not a question.

“No. I told him.”

“Do you mean you told your father you didn't want Maxine, or that you didn't want a live-in tutor?”

“No live-in tutor.”

“And he hired a live-in tutor. But here's the thing, Persie. That's not Maxine's fault. So you're unhappy with your father's decision, but you're taking it out on Maxine.”

She didn't say anything, just continued to pout.

“I'm not taking anything out on
you
.”

That got her attention. “Why would you do that?”

“Because when my mother forced me to move here with her, I had to give up my friends; I had to give up my piano teacher; I even had to give up my cat. That was
horrible
, Persie. I love my cat very much. And do you know
why
I had to give up my cat?”

She shook her head.

“It was because of you.”

If Persie had been a more typical child, this would have been a horrid thing to say to her. But if Brian was even half right about how AS affected her, it shouldn't cause guilt in Persie.

“Your father was afraid you and the cat wouldn't get along. So I had to lose my cat, my sweet, loving cat, whom I adore, a cat my father gave me before he
died,
Persie”—I had to clear my throat before going on—“because of you. I could have hated you for that. I could have hated you so much, and I could have treated you so badly. But would it have gotten me my cat back?”

She stared at the wall, silent, but here was another he-who-speaks-first-loses moment. I wasn't sure how it would play out with someone like Persie, and maybe this whole thing was pointless. Maybe it wouldn't matter at all to her that I'd wanted to hate her, or that I'd had to give up my beloved cat. So I waited. I heard Maxine shift her position behind me. I heard a car horn maybe a block away. I heard a timer go off in the kitchen.

Finally, “No.”

“No. Correct. It would not. And it would have been a very, very mean thing to do to you, because it wasn't your fault.” I couldn't tell whether that had sunk in or not, but I kept going. “And you're being very, very mean to Maxine. And it's not her fault you didn't get your way.”

I got up and found
BETRAYED,
looked around for a pen, and found one on the floor next to a table. I crossed out
BETRAYED
and wrote
DETERMINED.
I handed it to Persie, who stared at it maybe ten seconds before taking it.

“This is a better word. Not only is the word colour better for this painting, but also it's a better way to get what you want. Maybe you feel betrayed, but that won't get you what you want any more than my being mean to you would get me my cat back. So be determined. Figure out what you need to do to get what you want, and be determined in how you go about getting it. Not mean. Not sulky. Determined. I know you can figure out how to do that.”

“I can't! I don't know how!”

“So let's work it out. Maybe you start with what you want the most, or what would be easiest to get.” I waited, and then realised she was waiting for a question. “What would you choose first? Where would you start?”

“Museums.”

No hesitation at all. I turned to Maxine. “How much do you know about art?”

“Not as much as I'd like to.”

Back to Persie. “So you need to convince your father that Mum and Maxine can both go with you. Have you ever heard of water torture?”

“Dripping until you go crazy.”

“If your father has already said you can't go see art, you might try something like water torture.” I hesitated, remembering that she wasn't comfortable with metaphor. “If you ask very sweetly, and smile—you do know how to smile, yes?” She just stared at the floor, so I moved on. “Maybe at dinner on Monday, you smile at him and ask very sweetly if my mother and Maxine could take you the next day. Don't treat it as though it's once and for all; treat it like you're asking only for Tuesday. If he says no, you just sigh sadly. No sulking, no pouting. Because all he's said is that you can't go on
Tuesday
. Tuesday at dinner, you do the same thing. Smile, and ask sweetly for Wednesday.”

She was listening, I could tell; her pout was less pronounced. “Why start Monday?”

“If you ask tonight about tomorrow, he'll say no just because the museums are more crowded on Saturdays, and he would know that would make it harder for you. They're closed on Mondays. If you ask tonight about Tuesday, the best you'll probably get is ‘We'll see,' because it's three days away. You want a firm yes. So start Monday. Do you think you can do that?”

“Of course.”

“You say of course, but I'm not convinced that applies to smiling. Can you smile right now and show me?”

She pursed her lips, but at least that got rid of the pout. I waited, and then I smiled at her. She twisted her mouth in what she probably thought was a smile, but I gave her credit for it.

“That's good.” I stood again. “And now, you need to help Maxine pick up all this stuff and put it back where it belongs. She won't know all the places yet, but you do, so you need to be patient. I'll see you at dinner.” I set my own chair back where I'd found it to set an example.

As I passed Maxine on my way to the door, I barely heard her whisper, “Thank you.”

I shut the door behind me and was immediately wrapped in Ned's arms. “That was magnificent,” he said into my ear.

My trek up to the top floor was slow and plodding. With every step it hit me again what I'd just said to Persie. It was so very much like what everyone had been saying to me.
Figure out what's a bramble, hack it away, and focus on the good things. Keep moving forwards. Success depends on how you work through change. Be determined, not sulky.
Every step was another of these maxims, another nail driven into the coffin where my own sulk lay, where my own nasty, vindictive responses waited for good opportunities to jump out and slash at someone. All right, so my three-ring binders were aimed at the people who had fucked everything up for me rather than at a proxy like Maxine, but heaving things at these people would still not get me what I want. Only I can get me what I want.

Michael had said something like that to me once, that first day he'd shown up at St. Bony. He'd told me he was the only one who could open the doors to his true inner self.

Michael. I haven't heard from Michael since I turned away from him on Sunday, leaving him standing there holding that ridiculous bag. It was entirely possible I would never hear from him again. And I am not, I mean
not
going to contact him. If having his
nonna
see us as a couple disturbed him so much that he won't ring me again, what point would there be in my ringing him? This whole relationship was set up to fail, anyway.