Free Dare to Love by Penny Dixon

at the school.’
    ‘Make sure you call, Grant. Don’t let me down. I put a lot of time into this already.’
    ‘But Princess, I can’t do anything before my divorce come through anyway.’
    ‘That’s not true.’
    ‘I’ll call you later. I’m at the school now.’
    I walk up to the school entrance, my stomach turning over like it’s me in trouble. Like it’s me not doing my homework, me not completing assignments. In a way it is me. The way the teachers look at me, the stare that say ‘Your child is failing because you’re a bad parent, you don’t know how to get him to do what you want, and if you can’t, how you expect us to?’ The glare that’s dripping with judgement. Having a child in school is like I’m back at school. The teacher can send for me. If I get a letter from the head teacher I know is something big. My heart still beat faster when I get a letter from Darron’s school.
    My palms are sweating. I wipe them on my pants. I’m in work clothes. White shirt and dark pants. I don’t want them thinking Darron’s from a home that don’t care, that he live with ignorant parents. I try to give the best impression, especially as we don’t belong here. Being Guyanese, it’s like people watching you all the time, waiting for you to put a foot wrong, waiting to point a finger at you and say, ‘ What else do you expect? He from Guyana. ’ I spend years trying to build a good reputation and Darron doing all he can to tear it down.
    I show the letter to the receptionist behind the desk.
    ‘Take a seat Mr Spencer. I’ll get the teacher for you.’
    She gives me one of those “you-can’t-control-your-own-child” looks as she walk away. I glance around and sit in one of the four chairs, arranged round a small low table with magazines and information about activities at the school, feeling uncomfortable. In no time she’s back with Darron’s tutor.
    He’s a big man. At least six feet two. Probably more. With a head shaped like a lump hammer and eyes set way too high on his face. Maybe that’s to make sure his nose have enough space to spread out. You’d expect thick lips on a face like that but his are thin and flat like someone forget to blow them up. He have big ears that stick out. One’s a bit higher than the other. He’s like a building designed by five different architects who don’t meet to compare the drawings before they build it.
    ‘Good morning Mr Spencer. Thank you for coming in to see me. My name’s Mr Adams, I’m Darron’s form tutor.’ I shake the large soft hand. He can probably tell from mine that I work outside. The voice is quieter than I expect. As we make our way to his form room, which is empty so we can talk with more privacy, he almost float across the floor. I can see why the students call him “Lurch”.
    It’s not as bad as I expect. Darron’s grades slowly creeping back up. They still have two big worry though. His maths and English still letting him down badly. Can I help, give him some extra help at home, get him a tutor? I say, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I can help with the maths but English isn’t my strong point either.
    Mr Adams say, ‘We know you’re a graduate and have aspirations for Darron to follow in your footsteps but he must get these basic subjects back on track. It’s not that he’s lacking ability, he’s lacking application. The last six to eight months he’s been a different student. Still popular but with a creeping insolence. Did anything significant happen then?’ I don’t want to ask what insolence mean. He might think that’s why Darron’s no good at English. I must remember to look it up on the web when I get back. I tell him nothing significant happened.
    They know he’s a good boy and they just want home and school to work together. Can I monitor his homework more closely? Can I check he has the right books for lessons each day? Can I get him the extra help? I say yes to everything, wondering where I’m going to