She sighed. ‘My mum and dad are my best friends really. God, I know how naff that sounds, but they are. We do so much together and I would rather be with them than do anything else. Do you know what I mean?’
He nodded vacantly. Of course she’s not like you, idiot. He cursed the very idea. Look at her, she’s perfect.
*
The moment the bell rang at the end of class, Theo gathered up his books and headed off to find Mr Porter. He knew the man’s routine as well as his own and figured that he’d be up at the cricket pitch on this sunny day.
‘Now what’s that face for?’ Mr Porter placed his hands on his lower back and stood up slowly from where he’d been crouching. He made his way to the other side of the crease, where he bent down again and with his little white dabbing stick filled in the gaps in the line.
Theo sighed and began stripping the bark from a twig he’d found on the path. ‘Do you know any of Rudyard Kipling’s poetry?’ He thought it might be easier to learn a poem off Mr Porter than try and find an appropriate one in the book he had in his bag.
‘Can’t say as I do.’
‘Dammit.’ Theo tutted.
‘I see someone’s got a cob on today.’ Mr Porter laughed. ‘Poetry’s not really my thing. I might have recited the odd ditty to my comrades during the war, but none that’s fit for your tender ears, Mr Montgomery.’
For the umpteenth time that afternoon, the name and image of Angus Thompson came into his head. A fine name for a fine scholar and sportsman. ‘I wish I wasn’t named after Theobald’s House, a place I hate. It annoys me.’
‘Well, don’t let it,’ Mr Porter said, keeping his eyes on the white line as he continued dabbing it with paint.
Theo huffed. As if it was that easy.
‘When you met Mrs Porter, did you like her the first time you saw her?’
‘Ah, so that explains the face.’ Mr Porter rocked back on his haunches and looked away to the horizon. ‘Yes, I did. I liked her the very second I saw her and I loved her until the very last.’ His eyes crinkled in a smile.
‘Did you tell her you liked her?’
‘Oh no. Not at first. That’s not how it’s done. You have to be subtle, get to know a lady and win her over.’
Theo snorted. He had never won anything in his life, let alone a prize like Kitty Montrose. ‘I just wish...’ He kicked at the ground.
‘You just wish what?’
‘I wish I could be someone else.’
‘And who would you like to be, might I ask?’ Mr Porter’s knees creaked as he stood up. He looked Theo in the eye, easy now they were of a similar height.
‘Anyone,’ he said quietly.
‘Here’s the thing, Mr Montgomery. There isn’t a single pupil in this school, or any other, come to think of it, who hasn’t wished for the same at some point. Everyone wants to be taller, thinner, smarter, funnier, faster, less afraid, you name it! I’ve known you for a very long time and I can tell you that you are one of the best people I know. You have heart!’ He placed his fist on his chest. ‘And if you can find the confidence to follow your heart, which one day you will, you will be happy and that’s the greatest gift you can give yourself.’
‘How do I win a girl over?’ he asked. These life lessons were all well and good, but time was of the essence.
Mr Porter reached up under his cap and scratched his head. ‘Well, it depends on the kind of girl she is. You might be able to impress her with gifts and expensive treats, but therein lies a problem, because if she’s the kind of girl that’s impressed by gifts and expensive treats, the kind of girl who won’t pay her own way, then I would say she isn’t the girl you want, even if you think you do. But if you can make her laugh and she can make you laugh in return, oh boy, that’s the nicest way to live.’ He gave a small chuckle.
‘Did you and Mrs Porter make each other laugh?’
‘Every day, Mr Montgomery, every day. Spending time with her...’ He looked into the middle distance, his expression wistful. ‘It was like the sun was out, even when it was raining. She was my sunshine.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s important, those little things that bind you, and they’re often found in the mundane. There are some men, Mr Montgomery, who are like a glass of champagne – exciting, glamorous – but you don’t want to be a glass of champagne.’
‘I don’t?’
‘No. You want to be a cup of tea.’
Theo stared at Mr Porter. ‘I think I might like to be a glass of champagne!’
Mr Porter shook his head. ‘No, you don’t. Champagne is for high days and holidays – people don’t always have a fancy for it. But a good cup of tea? There isn’t a day in the year when it isn’t the best thing to have first thing in the morning. A cup of tea warms your bones on a cold day and can bring you close together as you sit and chat. You want to be a cup of tea.’
Theo smiled at him. ‘You sound mad. Going on about tea and champagne when all I want to know is how to make a girl like me!’
‘Aye, maybe so, but love makes you mad, that’s a fact, and when it comes to affairs of the heart, I know what I’m talking about. Merry was...’ He paused. ‘She was perfect and yet she picked me.’
‘Because you were a cup of tea.’
‘Exactly.’ He winked. ‘I was a cup of tea.’
A burst of laughter filtered across the grass. It came from behind the wide oak tree, where a gaggle of his peers were sitting chatting, flirting and studying, enjoying the freedom of being fourteen and with only a couple of weeks left on the school calendar.
‘Why don’t you go and sit with them?’ Mr Porter asked.
‘Are you joking? They hate me!’
‘They don’t hate you! And if they do, then it’s because they don’t know you. You should give them the chance to get to know you and you can only do that by going and saying hello.’
‘Mr Porter, I’ve been in their classes for seven years and they haven’t once shown any sign of wanting to get to know me. And I know why – it’s because I’m weird.’ He held the twig in both hands and pushed on the middle with his thumbs until it snapped.
4
The end of term arrived quickly and Theo was in his dorm packing his case for the summer break. He worked slowly, distracted as ever by thoughts of Kitty, the girl whose face sat behind his eyelids and pulled him from sleep in the early hours. He now longed for his English class, previously his least favourite subject, just for the chance to sit with arms touching and her scent filling his space with a cloud of sweetness. Under the ruse of reading the set texts and with his head propped on his arm, he was able to stare at her unnoticed, fascinated, while his heart ached with longing and regret that it was Angus Thompson whose name she wrote in a circle of hearts on her folder. He knew that if it had been his name so artistically inscribed, he would want for nothing else ever again.
‘Get a move on, Montgomery. No one wants to be hanging around here after the bell, especially not for you!’ The prefect, Xander Beaufort, hovered in the hallway, shouting his commands through the open door of Theo’s dorm.
Theo got it. Being held up when everyone was keen to get their summer started would be bad enough, but being held up by him would be doubly annoying. For the good-looking and popular boys there was always some leeway, but for him there was no softening of the rules and no kindness.
Toxic...
Having tossed his belongings into his case, he buckled it up, then sat on the end of his bed and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Once or twice he walked to the deep-set mullioned windows and watched boys and girls being swept into hugs by parents who seemed to be just as excited as their offspring, clapping and skipping as they herded them onto the leather backseats of Bentleys, Jaguars and a snazzy new Audi Quattro. But the cars had stopped coming a little while ago, and it was now painfully quiet. Theo looked up along the lane and over the hedge, where he knew the birds would have been hiding from the earlier cacophony.
‘
You still here?’
Theo stood up and faced Mr Beckett, as was the custom when addressed by a master. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Parents collecting you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He felt the familiar rush of heat to his face that came whenever he sensed he was inadvertently doing or saying something wrong. His housemaster snorted his irritation and swept from the room. Theo again walked to the window and prayed they might come soon. Please, Mum. Please hurry up.
It was evident after a further hour that his parents had been horribly delayed. Mr Beckett reappeared, in worse humour than before and with two high spots of colour on his cheeks. Theo’s spirits sank.
‘Come with me. Bring your bag.’ His housemaster pointed at the suitcase, his eye twitching furiously.
Theo knew it could only be bad news and wondered if his parents had crashed the car in the lanes. He pictured it: his mother slapping his father’s hand away from the radio dial through the fug of cigarette smoke and then quite suddenly the car swerving sideways...
He followed Mr Beckett into his study with his stomach bubbling, prepared to hear the worst. To his surprise, he was handed the telephone. He held it to his ear and heard the echo of a voice far, far away, along with the squawk of birds and the shouts of a crowd in the background. It sounded a bit like a party.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ His mother was roaring with laughter, carrying on a conversation with someone at her end, presumably. ‘It’s not funny!’ Her raucous giggles suggested the exact opposite.
‘H... hello, Mum?’ he interrupted.
‘Darling!’ She shouted this loudly, as if surprised to hear his voice on the end of the phone. There was a slight delay on the line. He could hear the sound of water splashing and it seemed like there were a lot of people around; mixed-up chatter floated down the line. Her words carried the slight slur they usually had after she’d drunk alcohol. ‘Darling, I am a terrible mother! Just terrible! Oh my goodness, Theo, what is there to say?’
‘You bloody are!’ he heard his father call out in the background. This was followed by another roar of communal laughter.
‘Okay, so this is what’s happened.’ There was a pause and then the unmistakeable sound of his mother drinking from a glass with ice in it. ‘Daddy and I got our dates in a muddle.’
‘Don’t fucking blame me!’ Again, his father’s voice called out, and again it was followed by a collective burst of laughter.
‘Sssshhh! I’m on the bloody phone! Keep it down!’ she yelled.
Theo felt his cheeks flame, not only because his mother sounded inebriated and was swearing, but also because he was in Twitcher’s study, and because the call felt a lot like eavesdropping on her and her friends. He pushed the earpiece closer to his head, hoping this might muffle the sound.
‘As I said, we got our dates in a muddle and didn’t realise that it was today that you broke up and, well, there’s no easy way of saying this, but we’re in St-Tropez!’ she squealed, as if the whole thing was uproariously amusing.
And maybe it was. For them.
‘I... I don’t...’ Theo struggled to find the words that would smooth the situation. ‘I don’t know where that is,’ he managed.
‘The French Riviera, darling! And you are going to love it here!’
‘How am I going to get there?’ he whispered, gripping the phone in both hands.
‘Now, we’ve been giving it some thought and plans are afoot! Fret not! We’re sending a girl and a car to collect you from school tomorrow, she’ll have your passport and she will drive you to the airport, where tickets will be waiting. Simply hop on a plane and Daddy and I will meet you at Nice airport.’
‘What girl? And what should I do today? Everyone else has left.’
‘Theo, listen to me, darling, you’re a wonderful boy and we are all very much looking forward to seeing you tomorrow! Tata for now!’
The line went dead and Theo was engulfed in silence.
Twitcher broke the quiet, firing a question that indicated he had heard the whole exchange, and this made Theo’s face even redder.
‘So the problem is, where are you going to spend the night? School is effectively closed and I’m heading off any minute. Are you friends with any of the day boys who live locally?’
Theo shook his head.
Mr Beckett gave a deep sigh and Theo wished he could drop through the floor and disappear. He hated this feeling of being unwanted, a nuisance, even though he was well used to it.
‘I do have one friend, I suppose.’ He paused and blinked at his housemaster.
*
‘There’s no need to look so fed up. You shouldn’t write off a place before you even get there. It might be wonderful – sea, sun, sand.’ Mr Porter spoke as he pottered in the tiny cottage kitchen, reaching behind the faded floral fabric that hung in lieu of cupboard doors and delving into the creaky, bulbous refrigerator as he packed the khaki knapsack with slabs of pound cake and freshly made cheese-and-pickle sandwiches. ‘There are many who’ve never left England’s shores and would give their right arm to travel to the south of France—’
‘They can have my ticket,’ Theo interrupted. ‘I hate sand.’
‘Well, aren’t you a ball of fun. And if you hate sand that much, my best advice would be, don’t joint the Foreign Legion!’ Mr Porter chuckled.
Theo didn’t get the joke and ignored it. ‘I just don’t like going on holiday. Well, I do and I don’t. I’ll be glad to be away from here.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the main school building.
‘Speaking for myself, I’m looking forward to the break. It’s a hell of a lot easier keeping the grass in tiptop condition and the place litter-free when there’s only the summer-school kids to contend with.’
‘You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what they’re like!’ Theo said, recalling his mother’s slightly sloshed voice and the raucous background noise.
‘You’re right, I don’t. But the fact is, you have to go tomorrow and the way I see it is you have two choices: you either jump into it and make the most of it, or you sulk and make yourself and everyone around you miserable.’ He fastened the buckles on the bag and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Come on then, let’s get walking while we’ve still got the light!’
The two set off in the late afternoon with the sun still warm and the birds singing overhead. Theo knew it was Mr Porter’s favourite time of day, in his favourite time of year.
‘Can you help me with my English assignment?’ he asked. ‘I have to do this writing thing and it’s really hard. I’m rubbish at that stuff. I just can’t do it.’
‘No such thing as can’t.’ Mr Porter stopped and turned to face him. ‘I will, however, help you because I know that otherwise it will prey on your mind and stop you having fun when you’re away, and that would be a rotten waste of a good summer.’
Theo felt a surge of affection for his friend, who was always so considerate. ‘Thank you.’
‘What’s it meant to be about then, this assignment?’
‘Oh...’ Theo tried to recall the title. ‘We have to write as if we’re an animal and describe how we see the world. So a dog in a car, or a rabbit in a hutch or something like that.’
‘Okay, I think I can manage that. Not a word to anyone, mind. They’d have my guts for garters if they knew I’d helped with your homework.’
‘I won’t tell anyone!’
‘In that case I’ll do a rough copy and post it to your room, then you can improve on it, use it as your template and make it your own.’
‘Thank you.’ Theo grinned. That was one less thing to worry about.
Mr Porter opened the kissing gate and set off down the bridleway. Theo followed in his wake, inhaling the scent of freshly mown grass and dry, sun-scorched earth. They trudged on, across hard, dusty ground that was littered with stones and uphill via sloping fields, until with sweat on their brows and a shortness to their breath, they reached Jackman’s Cross an hour or so late
r. Mr Porter came to a stop and sat himself down on a patch of lush green grass. Theo sat next to him and the two, now so comfortable in each other’s company, were happy to stay there in silence for a bit.
‘This is some view, eh?’ Mr Porter said appreciatively.
Theo let his eyes sweep the broad fields of the Dorset countryside from left to right. Full hedgerows formed the boundaries and deer frolicked on the lower slopes in the pink haze of the evening sun. It was when their breath had steadied and their muscles were rested that he spoke.
‘They... They forgot to pick me up,’ he whispered, running his hand over the grass and cursing the thickening in his throat.
‘So I believe.’ Mr Porter rested his elbows on his raised knees.
Theo pulled at clumps of grass and threw them into the air. ‘Kitty told me her mum and dad are her best friends.’ He paused. ‘I can’t imagine that.’
Mr Porter considered this. ‘It’s my belief that there are many types of parent, each probably doing what they think is best. My dad was raised under the philosophy “spare the rod, spoil the child” and because of his experience he never raised so much as a finger to me.’
‘I don’t think...’ Theo swallowed. ‘I don’t think my mum and dad like me very much. Whenever I’m with them, I always feel as if they’re just waiting for me to go back to school.’
Mr Porter glanced at him and gave a wry smile. ‘Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. Have you ever considered that maybe they like you very much but don’t know how to behave any differently? I mean, there’s no handbook that arrives with a new baby – I don’t know how we’d have fared.’
Theo looked at him. You’d have fared brilliantly. ‘I wish I had arrived with a handbook,’ he said, ‘although I’m fairly sure my parents would have been too busy to read it.’ He smiled at the laugh this raised in his friend. ‘I do know that if I had a son, I would never forget to pick him up at the end of term. I wouldn’t get in a muddle over exeat dates and invite friends over instead of cooking supper just for him. And I’d try to remember that he needs to eat more than cheese! And on phone-call night, I’d sit by the phone so that no time was wasted. In fact I’d never send him to a school like Vaizey College. I’d let him choose where he went to school. I’d let him be happy.’
Theo Page 5