‘Fucking hell!’ Wilson yelled and dropped to his knees, dabbing at the blood and rubbing his thumb over the pads of his fingers before bringing them up to his eyes, as if he needed visible proof. He remained kneeling, shocked and subdued by Mr Porter’s intervention, stunned by the flow of his blood.
‘What is going on here?’ Mr Beckett’s voice boomed across the quad.
Dinesh and Helmsley froze. Theo staggered backwards and tried to slow his breathing, which was now the only thing he could hear, loud in his ears. He glanced over at Mr Porter. The colour had drained from his face and he looked as pale as the ghosts he lived with.
*
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked insistently as Theo sat on the other side of the headmaster’s desk and waited. Mr Beckett hovered, straight-backed, by the door, as if ready to stop any escapees, and Mr Porter stared out of the window. It occurred to Theo that this was probably a rare opportunity for Mr Porter to see his work from this vantage point: the cut grass, the trimmed borders and the immaculate playing fields.
‘Mr Porter, I—’
‘Best say nothing,’ Mr Porter offered in a neutral tone, his head making a slight incline towards Mr Beckett.
Theo swallowed the words of gratitude and apology he wanted to share with his friend. They would keep.
Once the adrenalin had calmed, his face, and in particular his eye, began to throb. He looked down at the red stain on his right hand and flexed his fingers. He wasn’t sure if the dried blood crusting the underside of his hand was his own or Wilson’s.
The headmaster entered the room in a hurry. His robe billowed behind him and Mr Beckett followed in his wake like an impatient page. The head coughed and sat down hard in his leather chair. He let out a deep sigh, as if the whole thing was an inconvenience, before resting his elbows on the inlaid desktop and touching his fingertips in front of him to form a pyramid.
‘I must say that I am at a loss, Montgomery.’
There was another pause. The sound of the clock was now quite deafening.
Mr Porter coughed, as if clearing his throat to speak.
‘I will address you presently,’ the headmaster snapped in his direction.
For Theo, despite everything he’d already gone through, this was the worst part of his day, hearing his friend Mr Porter spoken to with such disdain. He glanced at Mr Porter, who seemed to shrink. Theo felt like weeping at the reddening of the man’s complexion. For him to be so humiliated when he’d only been trying to help, trying to stop Theo from getting a further beating. Mr Porter had defended him just as he’d defended his country. That was the sort of man he was.
The headmaster sighed again, his irritation apparent. Mr Beckett stood like a sentinel to his right, looking furious. Theo faced the two men and wished they would hurry up and get this over with. He wanted to be free to leave and to talk to Mr Porter out of earshot.
‘I don’t need to remind you that your father and your father’s father both made head of house. They are Vaizey men, like myself. In fact your Uncle Maxim and I played in the 1st XV together. This fact alone is going to earn you a second chance.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Theo barely hid the disappointment in his voice. He’d been half hoping for expulsion and permanent liberation.
‘Not that I shall be easy on you, and nor indeed will Mr Beckett. It is obvious that you need a firm hand.’ Theo looked up at them. It was laughable, the implication that until now they’d been soft on him. ‘I don’t need to tell you that yours is not Vaizey behaviour. Where did you think you were? A public house? The docks?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’ He kept his eyes fixed ahead. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’
The headmaster exhaled loudly through his nostrils. ‘In my experience, there are certain reasons why a boy might display such violent behaviour, especially when it is out of character, which I believe for you this was.’ He sat forward in the chair. ‘Mr Wilson, despite his injured state...’ He fixed Mr Porter with a steely glare. ‘...was able to throw a little light on the possible cause of this scuffle.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is there anything you would like to share with me?’
‘No, I don’t think so, sir.’ Theo shook his head, trying to think what Wilson might have said. ‘Just that it wasn’t a scuffle.’ That implied it had been a mutual thing, an altercation, almost playful, but Wilson’s actions had been nothing of the sort. ‘I would say that rather than a scuffle it was an attack. I didn’t do anything wrong. I had only just arrived back and they called at me from across the quad—’
‘Saying what, exactly?’ Mr Beckett interjected.
‘Erm...’ Theo wondered whether to repeat the vile taunts, taunts that Mr Porter had taught him would make you ugly on the inside as well as the outside. ‘They called me a sonofabitch. And then a faggot and then poof and homo, that kind of thing.’ A blush spread across his cheeks. ‘And then he called Mr Porter a homo.’
‘I see.’ The headmaster nodded and looked down at his hands, as if considering these words.
‘And then he punched me. And he carried on punching me,’ he levelled. ‘I didn’t punch him at all.’
‘So it was an entirely unprovoked attack?’
‘Yes.’ Theo nodded with confidence.
‘And Wilson attacked the groundsman too?’
Theo looked up at his friend and couldn’t decide how best to answer. The words caught in his throat as he recalled their pact, made on a rough wooden bench many years ago. ‘Here’s the thing: you never have to lie to me, and I will never lie to you, how about that?’
‘Mr Porter is my friend. He... He was only—’
‘It’s a simple enough question,’ the head interjected. ‘Did Wilson attack the groundsman?’
‘I...’
‘Yes or no, Montgomery.’ Mr Beckett joined in. ‘Did Wilson hit the groundsman?’
Theo looked directly at the men, unable to hold his friend’s stare. ‘No,’ he answered clearly. ‘Wilson didn’t hit him.’
The two masters exchanged a knowing glance and Mr Beckett breathed in and out through his nostrils.
‘But Wilson was hitting me, he hurt me! And Mr Porter hates fighting, he says we’ve all fought enough, and he was only trying to—’
‘Enough!’ The headmaster held up his palm. ‘You cannot possibly know what Mr Porter was or was not intending to do.’ He took another deep breath. ‘Mr Beckett, kindly escort Mr Porter to the staffroom. I would like to talk to Montgomery alone.’
Mr Beckett tilted his head in response and walked to the door. He opened it and stood back, waiting for Mr Porter. As he walked past, Theo caught the whiff of earth, petrol and real fires that he had so missed over the summer.
When the door closed behind them the head dropped his shoulders and gave a small smile that softened his face. ‘Now, Theo, is there anything else you might like to tell me about Mr Porter?’
‘No.’ Theo looked up, wondering what he might be getting at. He knew it was against the rules to loiter around Mr Porter’s house during lunchbreak, as it was officially off school premises, but he’d been doing that for years and had never been taken to task over it. He remembered then that Mr Porter had agreed to do his English assignment for him. Had Wilson found it in the dorm? Was that what he was talking about?
‘You have no secrets? Nothing that you would prefer to remain between the two of you?’
‘No big secrets, only small ones...’ Theo swallowed, remembering their agreement. ‘They’d have my guts for garters if they knew I’d helped with your homework.’
‘Has Mr Porter ever asked you to keep anything... private?’
He turned to face Theo, who felt a flush of fear that his friend was going to get into trouble. He pictured his pen torch, given all those years ago and still serving him well. ‘Nothing important, just something to help me, at night...’ He swallowed.
The headmaster stood and walked around the desk slowly, before placing his hand on Theo’s shoulder. ‘I take the reputation of my
school very seriously. Do you understand that, Montgomery?’
Theo nodded. Even though he didn’t understand at all.
‘Very well, you are free to go.’ The head coughed again and sat back behind his desk, where he reached for his telephone.
Theo looked to his left but couldn’t see Mr Porter anywhere. He walked to the dorm with the strangest of feelings; it was as if every pair of eyes in the school was on him. It wasn’t until he got to his room and looked in the mirror that he saw the mess of his face. There was already a yellowy green bruise forming around his swollen eye socket and the white of his eye was scarlet. Touching the soft tissue, he wondered what Kitty Montrose would make of that.
*
Despite being the innocent party, Theo was gated, so it wasn’t until the weekend that he was allowed to leave the confines of Theobald’s House. He made an effort to order his thoughts and calm the anger bubbling inside him. Twitcher gave him a nod of acknowledgement as he walked from the dorm and for the first time Theo wondered if Mr Porter had been right about that Gandhi fellow. Had he been cowardly? Should he have fought back?
His cheekbone was no longer swollen, but the rainbow-coloured bruise left by Wilson’s sharp fist had not yet disappeared. He walked purposefully along the length of the field, eager to thank Mr Porter for his intervention, keen to know what had been said and desperate to tell him about all the comings and goings at La Grande Belle. He was also hoping that Mr Porter would do what he did so well and help him make sense of what had happened, explaining Wilson’s sudden violent attack and making him feel better about it all.
Jogging up the path, he knocked on the door and with his hands in his pockets called his usual greeting through the letterbox.
‘Only me!’
There was no response. Theo ran through Mr Porter’s schedule in his head. He should be home. He turned and knocked again, then made his way along the wall to the sitting-room window. Bringing his hand up to his forehead, he leant on the glass and squinted.
A pulse of shock rocketed through him. The room was bare! Gone were the books from the shelves and the cushions from the chairs; the mantelpiece was empty of the knick-knacks that usually sat there gathering dust. It was as if Mr Porter had never been there.
Theo raced back to the front door and barged it with his shoulder until it shifted and opened. He raced from room to room, ending up in the kitchen, where a green enamel kettle had once whistled on the stove and the radio had burbled with the gentle sound of the cricket.
As realisation dawned, Theo felt a physical pain in his chest. The knowledge that Mr Porter had gone was a sharp thing that now lodged itself in his skin. Sinking to his knees, his fists balled against his thighs, he howled a loud guttural cry that came from deep within.
‘My friend! What am I supposed to do now?’ he screamed as hot tears streamed down his face. ‘My friend! I’m sorry! I should have said more. I should have told them to leave you alone! I’m sorry!’ He yelled loud enough that the words might travel high and far, to be heard by his friend, who might or might not be sitting on the brow of a hill, letting his eyes sweep the broad fields of the Dorset countryside, where full hedgerows formed the boundaries and deer frolicked on the lower slopes in the pink haze of the evening sun.
6
With no Mr Porter to turn to, Theo’s last four years at Vaizey College passed slowly and miserably. As he was driven out through the school gates for the final time, he swore he would never return. No way was he going to be one of those Old Vaizey Boys like his father who met up every year for reunion socials and came back for sports days and fundraisers. It would have been different if things with Kitty had been rosier. But she was still with Angus Thompson, they were still the school’s golden couple, and Theo had found out to his cost that it was far better for his mental health to simply keep out of her way. On his last day at Vaizey he hadn’t said goodbye to her or anyone else.
Now, though, he was determined to try and start afresh. He’d got a place at University College London, and he and his parents had just arrived at his hall of residence, not far from the British Museum. They’d helped him carry his suitcase and stereo up to his room and had been there all of five minutes when Theo noticed his father pulling his jacket sleeve up over his watch and surreptitiously checking the time. He felt the familiar flush of unease at the realisation that his parents wanted to be elsewhere. He actually wanted them to stay, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t left him many times before, throughout his school years, but this felt different. University was a big step.
From the corridor outside his room came the sound of two blokes yelling obscenities at each other. Theo cringed and glanced at his parents. It wasn’t that the swearing bothered him per se – he’d heard far worse at school, often directed at himself – but watching his parents flash their fake smiles and speak a little louder, making out they hadn’t heard, caused his anxiety levels to rise. They behaved the same way on the mornings after their own rows, acting as if nothing had happened. They were so proper most of the time, but when they were drunk they dropped all their airs and graces and swore like troopers, ignoring all the rules of acceptable behaviour that they’d drummed into him his whole life. The nasty, bitter arguments he’d witnessed at La Grande Belle had recurred with depressing frequency during subsequent exeats and holidays, but no one ever mentioned them and it was clear he was expected to carry on as if everything was fine. Theo had hoped that the three of them would get closer as he got older, that he’d be treated more as an equal and would no longer feel so nervous or unwelcome in their company. But it had been many years now since he’d felt comfortable running to his mother for a hug or speaking plainly about his emotions, and here he was at eighteen feeling increasingly ill at ease in their company.
His mother squeezed past the desk in her royal blue Laura Ashley frock and stared down at the street below. ‘Good job you’ve got this double-glazing.’ She tapped a slender knuckle on the window. ‘Of course it looks absolutely ghastly, but it’ll keep out some of the noise.’
‘Yes.’
‘Quite a nice spot though, really. Handy.’ She smiled.
Handy for what, Theo wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway.
His mother looked back at him as if at a loss for what to say. She sighed and clasped her hands in front of her.
‘We are going to be late, Stella.’ His father widened his eyes, as if this were code. ‘Besides, Theo probably wants to dive into his books or whatever it is students do all day.’
Theo clenched his jaw. His dad would not let it rest. A year ago, when he’d been filling out the application form at the kitchen table, his father had stopped en route to the fridge. ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering, Theodore,’ he’d boomed. ‘We’ll have you behind a desk in Villiers House in no time, and you don’t need a fancy degree to do that, not when it’s the Montgomery name above the door.’ He’d huffed. ‘A Vaizey education has always been perfectly sufficient, as your grandfather and your great-grandfather and myself have all demonstrated.’
Theo’s insides had churned. ‘Actually, Dad, I have thought about it and I would really like to go to university.’
‘Anything to delay a hard day’s graft, is that it?’
‘No. I just like the idea of getting really good at something, becoming an expert.’ He was determined not to work with his dad or for the family business and he knew that the only way to ensure that was to do a degree and then follow his own path.
His dad had stopped rummaging for the bottle of tonic and looked in his direction. ‘An expert, eh? Oh good God! Don’t tell me your bloody mother has finally managed to bend your ear about the law or, God forbid, medicine! Ghastly profession, full of egos and long shifts. Don’t listen to her, she’s as thick as mince, doesn’t understand the business at all!’
Theo sat up straight. ‘It’s nothing to do with Mum.’ He felt his cheeks colour, hating his inability to stand up for his mum in the face of his
dad’s relentless jibes. ‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while.’ He took a deep breath and then blurted it out. ‘I want to study social science and social policy.’
His father laughed. ‘You want to study what?’
‘Social policy. It’s about looking at social movements and ways to address social problems, help society. A lot of people that study it go on to be policy makers all over the world.’ He grew quieter as his confidence ebbed.
His dad pivoted and placed his hands on his waist. His chin jutted sideways, which was a sure sign he was angry. ‘Social problems, eh?’ He gave a cold, hollow laugh. ‘And tell me, Theo, what social problems have you ever encountered?’
‘I... I...’
‘I can hear it now.’ His father guffawed and adopted a falsetto voice that made Theo’s stomach bunch. ‘I want to change the world! Even though I have only ever known the bloody best education, an education offered to the top ten per cent!’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘They’ll laugh you out of town, boy!’
Theo’s mind was racing. It was precisely because he’d seen the ten per cent in action that he wanted to do something that might help the other ninety per cent, but he kept this to himself.
His father returned his attention to the fridge. ‘Just remember who pays for your education, boy. Social policy, over my dead body! I want to hear no more about it.’ He grabbed the bottle of tonic, slammed the door and whistled as he made his way back to the drawing room.
This encounter had been followed by a tense week during which his parents weren’t speaking to each other and neither appeared to be speaking to him. The impasse had ended when his mother had called to him casually from her bedroom. He stood at the door, inhaling the cigarette smoke that encircled her in a pungent cloud, her aqua silk housecoat spread around her on the bed like a pond. She narrowed her eyes at him and placed the novel she was reading face down on the bed. ‘I’ve had a word with your father, darling. You can go to university if you want, but you’ll have to study engineering, not social work or whatever it is you were on about. That’s Daddy’s condition, otherwise he won’t pay. He says at least engineering might be of some use to the company.’
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