Lights Out

It must have been six months ago that Rose was asked to sign the form. She’d checked in with Matt’s dad. He’d said, “why not?”, so she’d signed. The premise of the show was something she would actually watch herself; A group of private school children would come to visit Matt’s school and then the kids from his school would go up to the private school. The television company would follow them and film their reactions. One of Matt’s teachers had recommended him for the show. She’d said he had a big personality, and this would be perfect for him. She hadn’t been so positive about his “big personality” at parents’ evening.

Rose could see the appeal for the students from the private school. While they were getting their costumes on for swimming or on the way back from the lacrosse match, they would say to each other “aren’t we lucky to be here and not there?” They’d know how good they had it. But what was the lesson her Matt was supposed to take home with him?

At Westbridge, it’s lights out. The house master has collected their phones and although Matt usually doesn’t mind this, he misses it tonight. It’s easier for him to communicate over text and he wants to tell his mum about how he’s feeling. He thinks about the boys in the other beds. This makes him feel worse. They weren’t like him, not really. Their lives had been on a set trajectory from the moment they were born.

In the living room, Rose takes out her phone. She’s using it a lot more these days, although she’d always ribbed Matt for being glued to his. Whenever she gets that dull ache in her stomach or starts thinking too much about things long past, she starts scrolling through Facebook, looking at other peoples faces, seeing their lives. It doesn’t actually make her feel happier, but it quiets things down. She still has a few of the mums from the private school as friends. They’d been very pleasant to her when she’d met, so she needn’t have worried as much as she did. She had made a real effort to look put together on telly and she was shocked by how dowdy the rest of them had looked. If she didn’t need to work and had all the time and money in the world for face creams and treatments, she would’ve put them to shame.

The bed at Westbridge is more comfortable than his bed at home but Matt is forcing himself to stay awake. He needs to make a decision, and soon, or he will look ungrateful. He does get on well with the private school kids, which had surprised him. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but they liked football and could have a laugh. They didn’t say much during lessons — they just got on with things. They had all stuck their hands out to shake his when they’d arrived. This was unacceptable in a state school car park — they should have been a laughing stock — but there was something about them that meant you just didn’t take the piss. He likes the fact that they are so friendly, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever laugh as hard with them as he does with his friends at home.

Rose had asked Matt how the private school kids were getting on at his school, but he hadn’t had much to say. She’d tried “have you asked them if it’s different from their own school?” She always had to draw information from Matt in this way, like filling up a bath with a dripping tap. “It’s different,” he’d replied. Rose imagined they would probably say what they really felt in one on one interviews.

The cameramen had come to the house to interview Matt. Rose asked if they could do this at school instead but they were insistent. Frenzied, she’d told Matt that he needed to tidy up. After giving him an hour, she’d gone up to check, resigned to do it herself. It still looked a mess, so she’d started telling him to get off his console and finish the job. Matt told her that he’d already done it. Looking around the room a second time, she realized he was right. There was nothing more that could be done to neaten up the room, not with them arriving in a few hours. His dad had always meant to go over the paint.

When it was time for the kids to swap and for Matt to leave, she’d kept herself busy. He would need his clothes washed and ironed and you never knew how the weather would turn. Matt ate more than ever now, and she’d used the last of her wages for the week to get him some of his favourites from the shop. Matt had baulked at the weight of the bag, and then started rooting through it to see what she’d smuggled in. Tipping out most of the snacks onto his bed, he explained that they had a fancy dining hall with “really fantastic” hot meals. This phrase sounded unnatural, but she hadn’t mentioned it.

She’s making her way through the snacks tonight. Cooking for one seems like a waste of time and she’s not going to bother making a balanced meal just for herself. She sends Matt a picture of all the chocolates, followed with “more for me then!!” although she knows he’s only allowed his phone between 4 and 7.

Now Rose is reading through his old messages. She wants more information than he gives her; pictures, videos, blow by blow descriptions of staff and students. He’s told her about car club, the rugby team and that they have to sing hymns in the chapel. Rose would never have imagined her son belting out hymns, but Matt is different at Westbridge.

Matt is imagining his life as two parallel lines. The timelines for both end when school is over. He could never imagine what he wanted to do before coming here and now is no different. On the tour, he was shown paintings of ex-students that were supposedly famous, or at least rich. Their frames were almost as luxurious as those in the chapel.

Westbridge’s website says that the fees are around £27,000 a year. Rose has checked. The kids go on to become MPs or CEOs; the website has an alumni section full of half-recognisable names. On the phone, Rose told Matt to go for it. What kind of mother wouldn’t?

Rose hesitates, then lights another cigarette. Mid draw she calls out an answer to a question on a quiz show she is watching. Her voice is too loud in the empty room, thick and heavy, and she feels disgusting. It’s late, but the house is brightly lit; she leaves the lights on all the time now that he’s gone.

Matt has a meeting with the head teacher first thing in the morning. The big one. The decision of which future version of himself to kill and bury needs to be made by 7am. He’s already changed so much; he’s struggling to relate to either one. He has a life at home, and he knows his friends probably won’t leave the city they grew up in. He can stay in the same social group and probably end up in a house a few streets away from his family. He might end up joining the army and people will clap him on the back and say they’re proud of him. Surely no one would judge him for turning down the scholarship. He would tell them that he doesn’t want to board, or that the teachers were too strict. It would be easy to convince himself of that too.

If he stays at Westbridge, he isn’t sure what his life will turn into. He’d probably be invited to dinner parties and marry a girl that grew up around horses. He would tell his kids to be grateful for the advantages they had, and his previous life would become a morality tale about people less fortunate than them. When he comes back, what will he have in common with his old mates? Will they look at him the same way that they looked at the private school kids and their smart little handshakes? He wants his phone badly, he wants to ask his mum how she would really feel. Surely she’d be proud of him? His mind keeps returning to the comments she used to make about ‘private school wankers’ when watching the news. He wishes they’d chosen someone else to take part in the show.

It’s around 2 in the morning when he finally falls asleep, still undecided. In the living room, Rose turns off the telly.

The dull ache returns.

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