Jon McGregor has twice been longlisted for the Man Booker Prize. This story is taken from his new collection, "This Isn’t The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You," published on 2nd February by Bloomsbury. Many of the stories in the book feature men who are failing in some way. McGregor explains, “I’m intrigued by the failure of many men to adapt to adulthood, and by the inarticulacy they often bring to these failures. The gap between a man’s description of his situation and its obvious reality can be both horrifying and illuminating. It can also sometimes be bleakly funny.”
They told him he wasn’t allowed on the school premises. They didn’t even use the word allowed to start off with, they just said they thought it would be better if he didn’t come in. Better for everyone concerned is what they said. Only that didn’t even feel like an everyone which included him. He wasn’t really bothered what they thought, he said, he just wanted to come in and see his daughter. That’s when they actually stepped in his way and said he literally wasn’t allowed on the premises.
For Christ’s sake, this was the school nativity.
When would he get another chance to come and see his little girl in her first ever school nativity? Never is when. But the man just stood there all immovable and what have you, his arms folded to show just how totally immovable he was. Said his name was Carson. Mr Carson. Wasn’t even the headteacher or anything, but the other teachers were obviously all women so he must have been sent out to deal with the situation.
That’s what he was now. A situation.
He said to Mr Carson, he said, look, it’s only the school hall we’re talking about here. He was only going to stand at the back. He wouldn’t try and talk to her. Rachel wouldn’t even have to know he was there, he could hide behind another parent, he could slip out before the end. There didn’t need to be a problem here, he said. Mr Carson just stood there and said it was out of his hands.
Yeah I’ll take it out of your hands you four-eyed fucking twat.
He didn’t say that. He knew better than saying something like that, these days. He wasn’t there to make trouble. He was just there to see a nativity play. The shepherds were mightily afraid. The wise men followed yonder bright star in the east. All that. There weren’t no room at the inn. He held up his hands in surrender. A conciliatory gesture. He’d been learning about those, at the sessions. He even attempted a smile. He told Mr Carson, he said, OK, he was leaving now, he was sorry to have caused any disturbance, he hoped the performance went well and could someone perhaps tell Rachel that her father had said hello? Mr Carson did this disappointed shrug and said for him to take care. Not saying whether he would or he wouldn’t pass on the hello to Rachel, take note. There were other parents hanging back behind him, waiting to get in the school, not wanting to get involved. But standing just about close enough to hear what was going on, and then none of them meeting his eye when he turned and walked away. Like they didn’t know him or they didn’t know what was going on.
They knew though. They all did, round here. Some of them had even known certain things before he had, when it would have been useful for him to have been told. They all like to hear stuff but they’re none of them that keen on passing it on.
***
He got to the corner before he looked back. The other parents were all safely inside, and Mr Carson was closing the door. Bolting it, probably. Even saying something about how they couldn’t be too careful. He walked off. Calmly. He followed the line of hedging around the edge of the school playing field, where the road dipped down a bit and you could see out past the edge of the village. Someone was out ploughing, which seemed early but what did he know. The seagulls were following behind the plough. He got to the sign that said School Property: No Dog Walking, and climbed over the double-gate there. That was harder than it used to be. Used to come over this way when he was a kid and they were looking for somewhere to play football. Or, later, for somewhere to drink. He even came over here with her once or twice, before he’d got a car.
He didn’t really even have a plan, now.
He wasn’t here to make trouble.
He could just stand outside the hall and listen. Rachel had such a good voice he’d probably be able to hear her over all the others. She got that from her mother, the voice. Among other things. He walked across the playing field towards the hall. Walking calmly and casually, not running or ducking down or any of that. He wasn’t going to attract attention to himself. The curtains were closed, so no one could even see him. He listened right up to the glass. They were singing a song about the angels, and then when it went quiet he heard a little girl saying Joseph Joseph you must find somewhere for us to stay the baby is coming soon. That didn’t sound like Rachel. Probably an older girl would be playing the part of Mary. Maybe Rachel would do it another year, when she was older. There would be other years, after all. There wouldn’t always be this situation. But this was her first nativity. He couldn’t miss the first one.
He didn’t even know what part she was playing. He didn’t know anything about it at all. He’d only found out it was on when he’d heard some women talking about it in the post office.
He didn’t know if Rachel’s mother would be in there. She’d have a prime seat at the front, if she was. Guaranteed. He hadn’t seen her going in the whole time he’d been waiting up the road from the main entrance. But she’d got pretty good at sneaking around in the last few months. Since the injunction. So she could have easily found another way to get in. And she wouldn’t be hiding behind another parent, or tucked away at the back of the hall. She’d be right in Rachel’s line of sight, right where she could see her. And little Rachel would be delighted to see her, her little face would be all lighting up right now probably, in the middle of this song about the happy sheep coming down from the hills to find the baby Jesus lying in a manger, and that was fine, that was good, he was happy to think of her little face all lighting up the way it does. He just wanted to be there to see it sometimes, was all. He wanted to be the one who her little face would be lighting up about, sometimes, was all.
He saw Mr Carson coming across the field towards him, looking all purposeful and what have you. There were some others with him. He turned back towards the hall, sliding his face along the window to try and find a gap in the curtains, listening out for the sound of that one little voice he’d come to hear.
He didn’t even know how it had all started going wrong. With Rachel’s mother. He couldn’t really blame her, not like most of the others who went to the sessions had someone to blame. It wasn’t her fault. But it wasn’t really his fault either, and something like that didn’t just come up out of nowhere. Maybe it was both of their faults in a way. Maybe there were some things he probably shouldn’t have said, or done. Or broken. Breaking things had never helped. But just sometimes it was hard to know what else to do. When she said those things. When she purposefully misunderstood what he was trying to say.
He’d always made sure Rachel wasn’t there to see. That was one thing that could be said in his defence.
It was one way of getting to touch her again anyway at least.
Later, once the police had got the handcuffs on and were picking him up off the ground, he noticed that someone had opened the hall curtains, and he thought he could see Rachel standing on the edge of the stage wearing what must have been a sheep costume. She’d grown a bit since the last time he’d seen her. It didn’t take long. He tried to smile at her and call hello. But unless she was doing some very good acting she was looking pretty upset, pretty tearful and scared and what have you. Which made him wonder what was going on in there, if she’d maybe been pushed into doing the school nativity when she didn’t really want to, or if she’d forgotten her words and no one had helped her remember them. He wondered why no one was looking after her right now, while she was standing there on her own all tearful and upset-looking. He wondered what kind of a school this was that her mother was sending her to anyway.
He’d definitely be coming back for some answers. There wasn’t any doubt about that. Just as soon as he’d sorted out this current situation. They didn’t need to worry about that, any of them. He’d be coming back, and someone was going to be asked, in no uncertain terms, to explain.
They told him he wasn’t allowed on the school premises. They didn’t even use the word allowed to start off with, they just said they thought it would be better if he didn’t come in. Better for everyone concerned is what they said. Only that didn’t even feel like an everyone which included him. He wasn’t really bothered what they thought, he said, he just wanted to come in and see his daughter. That’s when they actually stepped in his way and said he literally wasn’t allowed on the premises.
For Christ’s sake, this was the school nativity.
When would he get another chance to come and see his little girl in her first ever school nativity? Never is when. But the man just stood there all immovable and what have you, his arms folded to show just how totally immovable he was. Said his name was Carson. Mr Carson. Wasn’t even the headteacher or anything, but the other teachers were obviously all women so he must have been sent out to deal with the situation.
That’s what he was now. A situation.
He said to Mr Carson, he said, look, it’s only the school hall we’re talking about here. He was only going to stand at the back. He wouldn’t try and talk to her. Rachel wouldn’t even have to know he was there, he could hide behind another parent, he could slip out before the end. There didn’t need to be a problem here, he said. Mr Carson just stood there and said it was out of his hands.
Yeah I’ll take it out of your hands you four-eyed fucking twat.
He didn’t say that. He knew better than saying something like that, these days. He wasn’t there to make trouble. He was just there to see a nativity play. The shepherds were mightily afraid. The wise men followed yonder bright star in the east. All that. There weren’t no room at the inn. He held up his hands in surrender. A conciliatory gesture. He’d been learning about those, at the sessions. He even attempted a smile. He told Mr Carson, he said, OK, he was leaving now, he was sorry to have caused any disturbance, he hoped the performance went well and could someone perhaps tell Rachel that her father had said hello? Mr Carson did this disappointed shrug and said for him to take care. Not saying whether he would or he wouldn’t pass on the hello to Rachel, take note. There were other parents hanging back behind him, waiting to get in the school, not wanting to get involved. But standing just about close enough to hear what was going on, and then none of them meeting his eye when he turned and walked away. Like they didn’t know him or they didn’t know what was going on.
They knew though. They all did, round here. Some of them had even known certain things before he had, when it would have been useful for him to have been told. They all like to hear stuff but they’re none of them that keen on passing it on.
***
He got to the corner before he looked back. The other parents were all safely inside, and Mr Carson was closing the door. Bolting it, probably. Even saying something about how they couldn’t be too careful. He walked off. Calmly. He followed the line of hedging around the edge of the school playing field, where the road dipped down a bit and you could see out past the edge of the village. Someone was out ploughing, which seemed early but what did he know. The seagulls were following behind the plough. He got to the sign that said School Property: No Dog Walking, and climbed over the double-gate there. That was harder than it used to be. Used to come over this way when he was a kid and they were looking for somewhere to play football. Or, later, for somewhere to drink. He even came over here with her once or twice, before he’d got a car.
He didn’t really even have a plan, now.
He wasn’t here to make trouble.
He could just stand outside the hall and listen. Rachel had such a good voice he’d probably be able to hear her over all the others. She got that from her mother, the voice. Among other things. He walked across the playing field towards the hall. Walking calmly and casually, not running or ducking down or any of that. He wasn’t going to attract attention to himself. The curtains were closed, so no one could even see him. He listened right up to the glass. They were singing a song about the angels, and then when it went quiet he heard a little girl saying Joseph Joseph you must find somewhere for us to stay the baby is coming soon. That didn’t sound like Rachel. Probably an older girl would be playing the part of Mary. Maybe Rachel would do it another year, when she was older. There would be other years, after all. There wouldn’t always be this situation. But this was her first nativity. He couldn’t miss the first one.
He didn’t even know what part she was playing. He didn’t know anything about it at all. He’d only found out it was on when he’d heard some women talking about it in the post office.
He didn’t know if Rachel’s mother would be in there. She’d have a prime seat at the front, if she was. Guaranteed. He hadn’t seen her going in the whole time he’d been waiting up the road from the main entrance. But she’d got pretty good at sneaking around in the last few months. Since the injunction. So she could have easily found another way to get in. And she wouldn’t be hiding behind another parent, or tucked away at the back of the hall. She’d be right in Rachel’s line of sight, right where she could see her. And little Rachel would be delighted to see her, her little face would be all lighting up right now probably, in the middle of this song about the happy sheep coming down from the hills to find the baby Jesus lying in a manger, and that was fine, that was good, he was happy to think of her little face all lighting up the way it does. He just wanted to be there to see it sometimes, was all. He wanted to be the one who her little face would be lighting up about, sometimes, was all.
He saw Mr Carson coming across the field towards him, looking all purposeful and what have you. There were some others with him. He turned back towards the hall, sliding his face along the window to try and find a gap in the curtains, listening out for the sound of that one little voice he’d come to hear.
He didn’t even know how it had all started going wrong. With Rachel’s mother. He couldn’t really blame her, not like most of the others who went to the sessions had someone to blame. It wasn’t her fault. But it wasn’t really his fault either, and something like that didn’t just come up out of nowhere. Maybe it was both of their faults in a way. Maybe there were some things he probably shouldn’t have said, or done. Or broken. Breaking things had never helped. But just sometimes it was hard to know what else to do. When she said those things. When she purposefully misunderstood what he was trying to say.
He’d always made sure Rachel wasn’t there to see. That was one thing that could be said in his defence.
It was one way of getting to touch her again anyway at least.
Later, once the police had got the handcuffs on and were picking him up off the ground, he noticed that someone had opened the hall curtains, and he thought he could see Rachel standing on the edge of the stage wearing what must have been a sheep costume. She’d grown a bit since the last time he’d seen her. It didn’t take long. He tried to smile at her and call hello. But unless she was doing some very good acting she was looking pretty upset, pretty tearful and scared and what have you. Which made him wonder what was going on in there, if she’d maybe been pushed into doing the school nativity when she didn’t really want to, or if she’d forgotten her words and no one had helped her remember them. He wondered why no one was looking after her right now, while she was standing there on her own all tearful and upset-looking. He wondered what kind of a school this was that her mother was sending her to anyway.
He’d definitely be coming back for some answers. There wasn’t any doubt about that. Just as soon as he’d sorted out this current situation. They didn’t need to worry about that, any of them. He’d be coming back, and someone was going to be asked, in no uncertain terms, to explain.
