The Last Weekend by Blake Morrison

didn’t,’ I said. The guy had a terminal illness, for God’s sake. And we were meant to be having a night out. ‘What’s the point?’
‘Apparently he thinks their mistake was not sending Archie to boarding school.’
‘I thought he was doing brilliantly where he was.’
‘He was. Then the usual happened. He got bored. Fell in with the wrong crowd. Started drinking, smoking dope, staying out all night. Much like the kids I deal with, in fact.’
‘A typical Friday afternoon for you.’
‘Yes, busman’s holiday. Except that Archie’s not in trouble with the police.’
‘Not yet,’ I said, pulling on my trousers, which were black like Archie’s but baggy. ‘He looks a mess.’
‘Daisy says he’s better than he was. She’s found this college where he can sit his GCSEs in January then do ASs next summer.’
‘Some posh West End crammer, eh?’
‘No, a sixth-form college down the road from where they live. Archie wouldn’t consider anything else.’
‘There’s my boy — good for him.’
Education has been a sore point between the Moores and us ever since they removed Archie from the local primaryschool and went private. They spent hours justifying their decision to us — Archie was being ‘held back’, state education in London was lousy, one’s kids were more important than one’s principles, and anyway the school they’d chosen for him was liberal and co-ed, etc. Later they didn’t even try to justify it — they just knew they’d done the right thing.
‘He’s friends with a couple of kids who go there,’ Em said. ‘It’s nothing to do with politics.’
‘Of course it is. He’s against his parents buying him privilege. It’s Ollie and Daisy who have screwed him up.’
‘He’s not screwed up,’ Em said. ‘He’s lost his way for a while, that’s all. Most kids do, at some point. Only Ollie can’t see that. So tonight I’m going to put him straight.’
‘Everyone ready?’ Ollie called from below.
Hearing his voice, I felt a pang: how many more times would I hear it? how much longer did he have? The brain tumour was surely a random event. But perhaps he thought the stress over Archie had brought it on or made it worse — another reason he found the truanting difficult to talk about.
‘Two ticks,’ I shouted down.
I slipped a jacket on, in case it was chillier on the coast.
‘Leave it for tonight,’ I said to Em. ‘Give Ollie a break.’
‘What are you afraid of? Ollie can look after himself.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’
‘What do you mean?’
I told her what I meant. About the brain tumour. And how he didn’t have long. With Ollie at the front door, shouting at us to hurry, I kept it brief. But she got the gist.
He had asked me not to tell anyone. But he could hardly expect me to keep it from my wife.
Em’s eyes filled and her lip trembled. I worried she would cry and that Ollie would hear her. Or that her mascara would run and give her away.
‘Don’t say anything,’ I said, as she rechecked her make-up.
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Unless they do.’
‘They won’t. Ollie can’t bear to and Daisy doesn’t know.’
‘What?’
‘He hasn’t told her.’
She shook her head, struggling to take it in.
‘Coming!’ I shouted, when Ollie called up again.
At the top of the stairs, Em pulled me back and whispered: ‘She can’t not be told. If Ollie won’t tell her, then we must.’
‘So it’s a seafood place,’ I said, as we set off.
‘That’s right,’ Ollie said. ‘Oysters from the local creek and fish from the North Sea.’
‘We remembered Em’s not keen on meat,’ Daisy said.
‘And that you’ll eat anything, Ian,’ Ollie said.
As usual they’d got it slightly wrong. Em avoids beef and pork but does eat chicken and lamb. The only fish I like comes in batter, with chips. But we both smiled and said the restaurant sounded great.
I sat in the front with Ollie, Daisy having surrendered the passenger seat on the grounds that I have longer legs