Then, not daring to look at Mr Wallaker, I got up and glided out of the hall.
However, once outside I sat in the car thinking I needed to go back in and ask Mr Pitlochry-Howard more about the homework. Or maybe, if Mr Pitlochry-Howard should, perchance, be busy, Mr Wallaker.
Back in the hall Mr Pitlochry-Howard and Mr Wallaker were talking to Nicolette and her handsome husband, who had his hand supportively on Nicolette’s back.
You’re not supposed to listen to the other parents’ consultations but Nicolette was projecting so powerfully it was impossible not to.
‘I just wonder if Atticus might be a little overextended,’ Mr Pitlochry-Howard was mumbling. ‘He seems to have so many after-school clubs and play dates. He’s a little anxious sometimes. He becomes despairing if he doesn’t feel he is on top.’
‘Where is he in the class?’ said Nicolette. ‘How far is he from the top?’
She peered over at the chart, which Mr Pitlochry-Howard put his arm across. She flicked her hair crossly. ‘Why don’t we know their relative performance levels? What are the class positions?’
‘We don’t do class positions, Mrs Martinez,’ said Mr Pitlochry-Howard.
‘Why not?’ she said, with the sort of apparently pleasant, casual inquisitiveness which conceals a swordsman poised behind the arras.
‘It’s really about doing their personal best,’ said Mr Pitlochry-Howard.
‘Let me explain something,’ said Nicolette. ‘I used to be CEO of a large chain of health and fitness clubs, which expanded throughout the UK and into North America. Now I am CEO of a family. My children are the most important, complex and thrilling product I have ever developed. I need to be able to assess their progress, relative to their peers, in order to adjust their development.’
Mr Wallaker was watching her in silence.
‘Healthy competition has its place but when an obsession with relative position replaces a pleasure in the actual subject . . .’ Mr Pitlochry-Howard began nervously.
‘And you feel that extra-curricular activities and play dates are stressing him out?’ said Nicolette.
Her husband put his hand on her arm: ‘Darling . . .’
‘These boys need to be rounded. They need their flutes. They need their fencing. Furthermore,’ she continued, ‘I do not see social engagements as “play dates”. They are team-building exercises.’
‘THEY ARE CHILDREN!’ Mr Wallaker roared. ‘They are not corporate products! What they need to acquire is not a constant massaging of the ego, but confidence, fun, affection, love, a sense of self-worth. They need to understand, now, that there will always – always – be someone greater and lesser than themselves, and that their self-worth lies in their contentment with who they are, what they are doing and their increasing competence in doing it.’
‘I’m sorry?’ said Nicolette. ‘So there’s no point trying? I see. Then, well, maybe we should be looking at Westminster.’
‘We should be looking at who they will become as adults,’ Mr Wallaker went on. ‘It’s a harsh world out there. The barometer of success in later life is not that they always win, but how they deal with failure. An ability to pick themselves up when they fall, retaining their optimism and sense of self, is a far greater predictor of future success than class position in Year 3.’
Blimey. Had Mr Wallaker suddenly been reading Buddha’s Little Instruction Book?
‘It’s not a harsh world if you know how to win,’ purred Nicolette. ‘What is Atticus form position, please?’
‘We don’t give form positions,’ said Mr Wallaker, getting to his feet. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, his French,’ said Nicolette, undaunted. And then they all sat down again.
10 p.m. Perhaps Mr Wallaker is right about there being always someone ‘greater and lesser than yourself’ at things. Was just walking back to car when posh, exhausted mother trying to wrangle three overdressed children suddenly burst out, ‘Clemency! You fucking, bleeding little c***!’
FIFTY SHADES OF OLD