St. Mallory's Forever!

33 HELEN: Family Secrets.

You'll probably have noticed by now that my mum and I don't have the best of relationships. I say that because, reading back, I only seem to write about our arguments, and I feel guilty because I'm about to do that again. But the fact is we never get a break from each other, and of course we argue sometimes — doesn't everybody?

Anyway, yesterday I had a snoop around the music block while Abby distracted mother dearest, pretending she wanted to learn to play an instrument but was torn between the triangle and the tambourine. Needless to say it didn't take long for said Mum to cotton on to the fact that Abby was play-acting, and it was a short leap of logic to then guess it was a deliberate ploy to distract from my activities in the next room.

At which point Mum declared that if Abby tried on any more nonsense of this sort she would announce to the school assembly that Abby would play When I'm Cleaning Windows on the ukulele, solo, for the Christmas concert, while dressed as one of Santa's elves.

Abby then conveniently remembered she had an urgent appointment with the department head of Latin, leaving me to face the music... not to mention the music teacher.

Fortunately, Mum's mobile rang at that moment. Mr. Tufft, the deputy head, wondered if she might spare a minute. Of course Mum said she would spare howsoever many minutes Mr. Tufft desired, and shooed me away.

But I hadn't found what I was looking for, so I went back to see Mum about the Nils piece this morning, working on the premise she might have forgotten about Abby and the ukulele, and be in more amenable mood.

I found her in the backroom where she keeps the boxes of music scores. I say "found her" because the music block main door was locked. It was only spotting Mum's mobile on the desk that made me think she must be inside. I was about to knock when I remembered the side door, which is used for deliveries of instruments, furnishing, etcetera.

If Mum was out the back she wouldn't hear me knock at the main door anyway, so I jogged round to the side entrance, somewhat surprised to find it ajar. Mum must have come in this way too, which was odd: to get here she would have had to walk past the main door, and she had obviously been in the main classroom as her phone was there.

From the side entrance you either turn right to the main classroom, where I knew Mum wasn't, turn left to the music hall, or straight ahead to the store room. I heard the shuffle of papers in the store room, so I headed straight for the door, only to find a chair pushed up against it from inside. It has a glass panel, so I was able to establish this fact and wave to Mum simultaneously. Yeah, Helen Stroud multi-tasking!

Mum looked up in horror, only to relax when she saw it was me.

She pulled the chair away. "What on earth are you doing here? You frightened the life out of me."

"Can't a mother and daughter get together now and again?" I asked, my suspicions aroused that all was not well. I mean, I've known Mum a long time — all my life, in fact — but I've never known her barricade herself in a storeroom before. On the official list of normal activities for mothers and music teachers in private boarding schools (second edition, annotated) the use of a chair to block oneself in a storeroom comes right near the bottom, just above forcing students to play the ukulele solo while dressed as Santa's elf.

"Is everything okay?"

Mum affected a look of nonchalance that didn't quite convince me, putting the chair back in the corner with a glare, as if the chair had moved to block the door all by itself. "You wanted to see me?"

"If you're not too busy." I cast my hand over the various boxes of music works Mum had spread across the table.

"I'm never too busy for you, darling."