“Of course I would”, cried Stephen, passionately. “Just give me the chance!”
“Well, I can think of less disruptive ways of demonstrating your loyalty”, Graham said, laughing. “But I know what you mean, and I love you for it.” Stephen’s heart performed minor gymnastic feats. “Assuming your story corroborated mine, and was believed — that would be the biggest hurdle, being believed, for both of us — then I’d planned to say to him, ‘look, you don’t want a scandal for the school. I don’t want more trouble than I’m in already’ — police trouble, I’d mean, of course — ‘and there’s no real harm been done.’ Then I’d ask him to accept my resignation and leave it at that, which I’m pretty sure he would — no headmaster wants it all over the tabloids that he can’t control his school. And then, assuming he agreed, I’d simply get out of the country as fast as I could, just in case the bastard decided I hadn’t had enough punishment and went to the papers anyway.”
“Where would you go?”
“France”, said Graham without hesitation. “It’s a civilized country, including about this sort of thing. And of course, I’m very familiar with it, and speak the language as well as most Frenchmen, so I’d be able to get work over there easily enough.”
They talked easily and happily throughout the journey. By the end of it they had become so relaxed that they had unconsciously slipped back into the habit of using endearments; so it was something of a shock, and a sad one, to have to slip right back out of it again the moment they got out of the car, stretching and flexing stiff limbs, at the ground.
The weather had been bright, with a drying wind, for some time before the match, so the conditions were ideal for cricket. There was nothing in the wicket for the seam bowlers, and the heavy going was very hard on their legs, so Stephen was called into the attack unusually early, and though it wasn’t turning a lot he was able to make it bite, and the wind aided his flight. He had to bowl his first over to the opposition’s minor-county opener, who usually took a lot of runs off them. This time he got nicely set early on and was coasting through the forties, looking ominously assured, by the time Stephen was brought on.
Stephen got him with the third ball he bowled him. Tossed high and beautifully flighted, it pitched just short of a length, a foot outside off stump. But he contrived to make it dip late in the flight and turn the perfect amount from the off. It beat the batsman’s forward defensive stroke, screwed itself between his inside edge and his front pad and took a coat of varnish off the outer edge of the off stump, just tipping the bail. The wicketkeeper was already yelping “Beauty, Stevie!” and beginning his war-dance of triumph as he gathered this peach of a ball in his right hand and the bail in his left as it fell.
After this he took no more wickets, but he bowled inventively and economically to finish with the outstanding figures of one for thirty-seven off twenty-one overs, and he frustrated the batsmen to such an extent that they took risks with the toiling seamers at the other end, and were all out for an uncharacteristically meagre score of 134.
Don Parker was absent, so Graham was promoted opener for the day, and scored a brisk twenty-seven, scampering the lot in singles and twos, and laying a sound basis for a seven-wicket win. Everyone was jubilant in the pavilion afterwards, since this was a fixture that had had only two kinds of result in the last thirty years — defeat for Elderton Park or no play because of the usual April monsoons. After a fairly quick drink Graham and Stephen set off in high spirits, delighted to have started the season with a completed match, even more delighted to have started it in such fine style, but, mostly, simply delighted to have started it at all, and to have been together as they did so.
* * *
The new phase of their relationship continued over the next few weeks. The weather, though not especially pleasant, was at least merciful enough to take them through April and into the school holidays without a single match affected by rain, and they both made impressive starts to the season. Stephen quickly established himself as a genuine all-rounder, and Graham was widely toasted for his foresight in capturing him for the club. Graham himself went off at a great rate, with three scores in the fifties, a seventy and a ninety-eight not out when he ran out of partners. Graham drove Stephen to the matches and usually gave him a lift home as well, and they remained relaxed and free from tension together. When they were alone in the car they were able to be as affectionate as the circumstances made possible.
Meanwhile Stephen slept with Richard almost every night. They kept up a pretence, for the form of the thing, that he occupied the spare bed which Richard had installed in his room, and it was ritually made up every week. They put a hollow in it of the appropriate shape each night, for public relations purposes, by the simple expedient of making love in that bed once a night before migrating to Richard’s — he had a double, the spare was a single. As the days passed more and more of Stephen’s possessions found their way to Richard’s house. When he offered to pay something towards the cost of being treated as more or less a member of the Fitzjohn family (“sort of a son-in-law, really, aren’t you?” as Richard put it) Richard’s father laughed and refused to discuss it.
Occasionally he felt twinges of guilt about his own parents, but the tension between him and them was constantly becoming more and more electric whenever they spent a great deal of time in each other’s company, and his move to virtually living at Richard’s home was received with almost undisguised relief by his parents, as well as by Stephen himself. And, once the new arrangement had been established, almost by default, he was agreeably surprised to find by subtle hints and questions that, having once satisfied themselves that he was still carrying on a normal existence and not neglecting his schoolwork, they were rather revelling in their own unexpected freedom, and seemed to have got accustomed very quickly to being able to devote themselves to their own interests without the necessity of taking him into consideration; so it was a very satisfactory arrangement on all sides. He never mentioned Richard to Graham, and Graham asked no questions.
A few days into the Easter vacation Richard’s parents told him, to the delight of both boys, that they were planning to go for a break on the Continent. They invited both boys to accompany them; but, without being indecent about it, they contrived to give the strong impression that they would not be brokenhearted if the offer were to be declined. They discussed it that night, bouncing up and down in each other’s arms, and the desired answer was conveyed at breakfast, giving satisfaction all round.
Then, on the last Saturday of the blissful vacation, Stephen went back to his own home to wait for Graham to pick him up and take him to the match. It was an away match against one of the most distant opponents in the fixture list, on the south coast near Brighton.
It was a thoroughly enjoyable day. They took the usual pleasure in being alone together in the cocoon of the car, and the day was bright but cool and fresh, perfect for cricket. The ground was beautiful, with the sea murmuring at the foot of a low cliff thirty yards beyond the longest boundary. The outfield was like a bowling green, the wicket more like a billiard table.
In the end the match itself was the only minor let-down. The opposition batted first and deplorably to be dismissed for a miserable 162, nowhere near enough on their beautiful batting shirtfront. The quick men ran through them so effectively that Stephen didn’t get a bowl, though he made up for it to a limited extent by taking a blinder in the gulley. And since Don Parker was back in the side and on the top of his form, which was somewhere on the bright side of County standard, Graham failed to get to the crease. The openers made 165 in less than even time, Don getting, magnificently, no fewer than 114 of them. As they came off Stephen saw something he had never seen before in a club match, when the entire fielding side rushed Don and carried him off. There was serious drinking in the bar, and several of the team made an impromptu, but very wise, decision to spend the night in the pavilion, leaving their cars in the club car park and driving straight to the Sunday fixture earl
y the following morning. Graham and Stephen, though, after a private conference, decided to drive home that evening.
They had reason to bless the early finish of the game before they had travelled twenty of the seventy-five miles home. The car hiccupped and spluttered asthmatically a few times, and finally died on them as they entered the outskirts of one of the myriads of little picture-postcard towns dotting the Sussex Downs. Graham got it restarted with considerable difficulty, and they limped into the middle, where he got it under an ivy-covered archway and into the car park of an ancient coaching inn.
“Shouldn’t’ve fancied trying to find anywhere to get it off the road in the dark”, he muttered as they got out and craned ineffectually under the bonnet. “Not much good me peering under here and trying to look knowledgeable”, said Graham. “It’s too near dark to try and do anything with it now. Have to look at it in the morning.”
“What’ll we do?” asked Stephen, trembling as he guessed.
“Have to take a room somewhere”, Graham said. “Here looks as if it might do.”
He led the way through a side door, pausing to look at a menu in a brass surround. “Hmm. They’re not cheap”, he grunted. “Still, I’ve got my cards, and a fair amount of cash.” He marched up to the reception desk.
* * *
There was only one room available, fortunately a double, which neatly avoided any awkwardness. Graham booked it and signed in, then they set off for a tour of inspection of the little town. They wandered into several pubs, looking round and enjoying the change of scenery over halves of lager, and Graham bought them a pleasant, unpretentious dinner at the last of them.
Stephen managed to slip off on the pretext of using the lavatory for long enough to telephone Richard to explain the predicament Richard chattered for a minute or two, and wished him an affectionate good-night, accompanied by a series of lurid sexual penalties he proposed to exact from Stephen the following night to make up for his missing a night. Then he blew kisses at Stephen down the line before breaking the connection. Stephen noticed that he carefully omitted to ask if it was with Graham that he was stranded — he had tactfully said simply that “the” car had broken down. But he made it clear that he knew the score, in a small but typical piece of Richardish kindness. It was characteristic of him in that its generosity was matched only by its delicacy. After blowing the kisses, he murmured, very softly, “Enjoy tonight, sweet; and come back to me tomorrow.” Then he hung up.
The castaways were both thinking about what was to happen later, and it was still early when they returned to their inn and, after a last drink in the bar, they were in their room before ten. There the unusual lack of tension of the day made them gay and abandoned. All the frustration, jealousy and loneliness of recent months erupted and escaped like pus from a lanced boil.
Afterwards Graham slept, his head cradled on Stephen’s forearm. Stephen lay propped on one elbow looking down at him. He looked peaceful, relaxed and, he thought, very beautiful. The moonlight coming through the open window lit up half his face in silver, so bright that Stephen could see the small movements of his eyes under their lids. I wonder what he’s dreaming about, he thought, feeling that he could have made a good guess. Soon he slid down beside Graham and, taking care not to disturb him, slid an arm round him. Graham moved slightly in his sleep, making some small murmuring noise, and Stephen felt an arm slip round his neck. Soon he too was asleep.
They awoke early. They were stiff and cramped from huddling together in a bed made for one, but in the pleasure of each other’s nearness they hardly noticed it.
“God, it’s fine to wake up and see you beside me”, said Graham, stretching luxuriously and smiling beatifically at Stephen. “I wonder how many ways I could bring a smile of pleasure to your pretty face”, he said, rolling over and grabbing him.
More than an hour later they showered and dressed, grimacing comically as they put on yesterday’s clothes. “Hmph! They’ll do, I suppose”, grunted Graham, sniffing his socks tentatively. “They’ll have to, for now. D’you want me to drop you at yours? I could lend you some socks and underwear if you like. We’ve got a match today, don’t forget. If we wear these in the dressing room they’ll be giving us forced baths. Remember what happened to poor Hoody that time he came wearing yesterday’s feet?” Stephen shivered and grinned. “I’ll borrow some of yours, if it’s all right”, he said.
When they were ready to go down to breakfast Graham put his hands on Stephen’s shoulders. “This can’t make much difference to anything, you know”, he said. “You do understand that, don’t you?”
Stephen nodded, the sparkle fading from his eyes as he thought ahead. “Still”, he said, trying to recover the brightness of a minute before, “there’s not long to wait now, is there?”
“Not long”, Graham assented. “Just as long as you realize — it’s got to go back to the old regime again. You do understand, don’t you? That it’s for the best?” Stephen held him tightly. “I understand”, he murmured. “I don’t like it, but I can put up with it, just as long as I know you’ll give me that chance in July.”
“Don’t worry”, said Graham, freeing himself reluctantly. He kept his own doubts to himself.
They left the room quietly and went along the corridor to the stairs. Neither of them noticed the open window onto the fire escape at the end of the corridor, from which they had come. Outside, the man perched uncomfortably on the iron fire escape platform pricked up his ears as he heard the sound of their door opening. He hunkered down until he could just see over the sill of the window, checking that his pocket-sized Minolta was ready. He secured a good shot of the two of them emerging from the room and a better one as Graham briefly ruffled Stephen’s hair, while they were still almost halfway inside the room; but his real coup came when the two paused in the corridor for a quick kiss. With that momentary but damning embrace safely on film he ducked quickly out of sight in case the tiny sound of the shutter had been heard.
When their voices had faded he clambered nimbly through the window and cat-footed to the door of their room. As he had expected, they had left it unlocked for the chambermaid. He peeked round the door, snapped off a couple of wide-angle shots of the room, and scribbled rapidly in a notebook. Less than thirty seconds after slipping in through the window he was leaping swiftly down the fire escape, making no sound in his rubber-soled shoes. He dived into his car, shot under the ivy-covered arch and was swallowed up in the morning traffic.
* * *
It had been an exhausting weekend for Graham. After the long drive and the emotional lightshow of Saturday they had had a nerve-racking hunt on Sunday morning for a garage mechanic to see to the car. Starting at the inn when Graham paid their bill, they were sent from one person who might help to another. None of the possibly-helpful people could actually do anything for them, but they all knew someone else who might, with the result that they spent two hours chasing a series of wild geese all over the little town before finding a surly and taciturn mechanic who spent ninety seconds making a microscopic adjustment and then demanded twenty pounds for it. All this time they were getting more and more frantic at the prospect of missing that day’s match, so when the car started up without trouble Graham was so relieved that he paid the outrageous charge without protest, almost throwing the notes at the man as he put the car in gear and shot away.
However, the car performed perfectly, and once they realized that they still had plenty of time to get home and change their slightly sticky clothes comfortably in time for the match, their nerves settled down.
It was a lively game, culminating in a maniacal and wicket-peppered run-chase. It ended with the Elderton no. 11 making a titanic slog at the last ball at ten to eight and scuttling through for a bye in near-darkness for a desperate triumph, with the other nine batsmen pacing up and down and biting their nails in the enclosure, unable to see anything and many, in any case, unable to watch.
After all these excitements, Graham woke late on Monday
. With the summer term starting on Wednesday he had preparations to make at school. He left in a hurry, still slipping his jacket on and swallowing a last mouthful of toast. The mail was on the mat. He scooped it up on his way out, thrust it into his briefcase and promptly forgot about it until he found time to snatch a quick break in mid-afternoon.
He flicked through it as he sipped his coffee in his empty form-room, dropping circulars into the overflowing waste-paper basket and swearing over a couple of bills. He was left with a large board-backed manila envelope with his name and address printed in heavy black felt-tipped capitals, and the name of a motor-cycle courier company in red. He slit it open carefully, wondering what it could be, and tipped it up over his desk. Three ten-by-eight-inch photographs slithered out and lay face-down on the desk-top.
He turned them over curiously, and was promptly engulfed by a wave of dizzying nausea which made him gag. He had to swallow desperately to prevent himself from vomiting up his breakfast right then. His eyes bulged from his head as he gazed at the three glossy black-and-white photographs, and he had to grip the sides of the desk-top hard to steady himself as another sickening shock-wave of giddiness hit him, leaving him feeling sick and faint.
The first picture that met his horrified gaze was of himself and Stephen in an anonymous-looking corridor. They were half-turned towards each other, smiling into each other’s eyes, and their lips were touching in a passionless but palpably affectionate kiss. The photograph had obviously been taken by a highly competent photographer: the resolution was brilliant; the features unmistakable. He stared at it for a minute or more, picking out finer details: his right hand was resting on Stephen’s left shoulder-blade, in a gesture that could not have suggested with greater clarity an easy, casual familiarity. Stephen’s left arm was curled round his hip, the hand resting lightly on his own buttock. He could even see the crease in the fabric of his light slacks where Stephen’s fingertips were curled into the soft part of his buttock, so perfect was the definition of the shot.
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