Out of Bounds

by Mike Seabrook

  “I’ll only be borrowing it”, conceded Stephen, who had been wondering even as he said it whether he liked the idea of theft as one of his last actions before going into exile, as he saw it. “Soon as I get myself some sort of a job in France, I’ll send it back to them. But I need as much as I can get for the time being.” And having thus, with the easy casuistry of youth, satisfied the halfhearted protests of his conscience, he dismissed the matter from his mind for the moment.

  They walked together as far as they dared, then split up, Richard to return to his own home to await Stephen’s summons that night, and to field Graham’s call if it came, and warn him to remain where he was. “And don’t forget to get a phone number”, Stephen reminded him, already breaking into a trot as he headed for Graham’s flat. “I won’t forget”, called Richard. “And you keep your eyes open. Have a scout round before you go in.” Stephen waved a hand in acknowledgement, and disappeared into the afternoon shoppers.

  He approached Graham’s flat cautiously, ready to take to his heels at the first sight of a police car or anyone who looked as though they might be watching. There was nothing at the front of the flat to alarm him, but he nosed suspiciously round the back, poised for instant flight, and satisfied himself that the flat was not being watched. “Probably never thought I’d have a key”, he muttered, letting himself in. The flat was deserted, and he relaxed. He made himself a mug of tea in the kitchen, then curled up on the sofa with a book to wait for six o’clock.

  * * *

  “Mrs McKechnie? Hallo. Is Bill in, please? Oh, good. Could I have a word with him, please? It’s Steve. Steve Hill. From the cricket club. Thank you very much”, he said politely.

  After a short wait Bill’s Derbyshire accent came on the line. “Hi, Steve. What’s up?”

  “Bill, I’m in trouble, and you were the only person I could think of to talk to”, he said.

  Bill was instantly concerned. “What’s the trouble?”

  “I can’t talk about it on the phone, Bill. Can you meet me somewhere, please?”

  “Course I can”, said Bill without hesitation. “Where?”

  “Do you know a pub called the Golden Harp? It’s just off…”

  “I know it”, said Bill. “Surprised to hear you do, though, I must admit. Bit of a rough-house, as far as I know. But yes, I’ll see you there. When? Soon as possible? Oh, well, I can be there in half an hour. That all right?”

  Stephen blew his cheeks out in relief, glad the waiting was over. He padded through the flat, sparing a moment here and there to look fondly at something that reminded him especially poignantly of Graham, and peering cautiously out of all the windows looking for anything that did not seem to fit the locality. Satisfied, he slipped out and trotted rapidly through the streets, glancing about and tensing himself ready to break into a sprint at the first sign of pursuit. He soon lost himself in a maze of small residential streets, and relaxed into a walk. He reached the pub in a quarter of an hour. Ten minutes later, Bill walked in, spotted him, and came straight over. He saw that Stephen’s glass was almost empty, picked it up and shoved it at him. “Knock that back”, he said, and took it with him to the bar.

  “Now then, what’s the problem?” he said, seating himself across the table from Stephen and looking very curious. Stephen took a deep breath. “You know Graham Curtis?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “Well, you know he’s… gay?”

  “Yes, I know that. He told me about it that time that idiot Colin was talking out of turn. What about it?”

  “Well, you remember those rumours Colin was spreading, about Graham and me having something going between us?”

  “I certainly do. I bollocked Colin up hill and down dale over it.”

  “Well, they’re true.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Yes, it was true then, and still is. But we couldn’t say anything at the time, because we’d have both got into trouble. We had to keep it very quiet, but we’ve been going together for over a year”, said Stephen.

  “Well I’m buggered!” ejaculated Bill, staring at him. He thought about it for a minute, and the initial astonishment ebbed out of his face. “Hmmm. I suppose there were signs, if we’d known how to read ’em”, he said. He directed a shrewd glance at Stephen, and saw that he was watching him anxiously. “Well, you’re both old enough to know what you’re doing, I imagine”, he said. “Anyway, what’s this trouble you’re in?” Stephen breathed a sigh of relief, and relaxed. He suppressed a momentary qualm of doubt about taking yet another person into his confidence, and started at the beginning.

  “…so you see, Bill, I’ve got no choice”, he concluded. “I’ve got to run for it the moment Graham phones to say where he is. But until he does I don’t know where to go, so I’ve got to hide out somewhere. Richard’s house is no good, they know I’ve been living there for months. I thought about Graham’s flat—I’ve got a key. But Richard doesn’t think I’d be safe there. There was no-one there today, but they’ll think of it in the end. I thought about the club, you know, sleeping in the dressing room. But of course, that’s one of the first places they’d think of. I can’t think of anywhere else, so I thought of you. I didn’t want to drag you into this, and I expect Graham’ll be a bit… well, I don’t suppose he’ll like it much, but I really couldn’t think what else to do.” He stopped speaking and waited, in an agony of suspense, to see what Bill said.

  “Let me get this straight”, said Bill, struggling to make sense of the confused narrative. “Your parents are trying to lock you up, with this priest of theirs egging them on. You’re going to break in and nick your passport tonight, then you want somewhere to lie low until Graham phones from France to tell you he’s on his way home. Then you, or somebody working for you, tells Graham to stay where he is. Whoever it is gets his address and phone number off Graham, passes it to you, and you do a moonlight flit in what you stand up in, and shack up with Graham somewhere in la belle France… Have I got it right so far?”

  “Yes, that’s it”, agreed Stephen, nodding eamestly.

  “Well, I must say, I’ve heard of some hare-brained ideas in my time”, said Bill, “but I reckon this one wins the trophy.” He looked at Stephen’s tense, anxious face and realized that it was not the moment to do what he felt a powerful urge to do, which was to laugh long and hard. He had enough intuition to see that the absurd state of affairs could very easily and swiftly turn into tragedy. He sat for a while, looking curiously at Stephen, and thinking quickly.

  “You are over eighteen, aren’t you?” he said. Stephen nodded.

  “Hmm. Well, as far as I know there’s no law against going abroad if you’re of age; but somehow I can’t help thinking the best I’m likely to get out of this is the worst of it. You’re not supposed to be sleeping with Graham, are you? Aren’t you too young?”

  “I’m not supposed to do it until I’m twenty-one”, assented Stephen. “But then, I’m not sleeping with him, am I, Bill? They can’t do anything to you about that, when he’s in France and I’m in England, that stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

  “Huh”, Bill snorted. “Be the bloody day when anything to do with the law ever had any connection with reason. Bloody hell, Steve, I wish you’d asked someone else. I don’t know whether I’d be breaking any laws or not, but I wouldn’t mind betting they’ll bloody soon find one if they find I’ve helped you out, and it probably carries thirty years in the fucking Tower, or castration, or beheading or something.”

  Stephen tried to say something, but Bill shut him up. “This business just smells bad. And if it smells bad to me, you can bet your life it’ll smell a damn sight worse to the goddam police, or the Church Commissioners, or the Committee for Public fucking Morals, or whichever crackpot medieval body I end up being tried”, he said. “Christ! Everybody knows if you cross a mean, vicious bastard with a psychopath you end up with a religious maniac who’ll string you up by your bollocks for thinking for yourself, and thoroughly enjoy watc
hing you twitch while he claims it was a sad but necessary measure required to save your soul from yourself.

  “That’s it”, he went on lugubriously. “It’ll be the stake for me. That’s what’ll happen to me, you can bet. You really wanna see poor old Bill burnt to the fucking ground?” Stephen shook his head, smothering a giggle despite his anxiety. Bill scratched his head, trying to decide what he should do. “Honestly, Steve, I don’t know. I’d like to help you out of a hole. I can sympathize with how you feel and all that, but…” He lit a cigarette and drew on it heavily, sat back and watched the smoke he blew out curling slowly up towards the ceiling. Then he caught sight of Stephen’s face. He looked very young and vulnerable, desperately anxious — and yet there was a sort of dignity there, as well. Bill sighed faintly under his breath and made up his mind.

  “Okay”, he said. “As far as I can see, the only thing I know I’ll be doing wrong is aiding and abetting Graham in breaking the law about sleeping with you. Well, I shan’t lose much sleep over that. Strikes me as a pretty half-arsed law in the first place. You’re old enough to know what you want, or how you’re made, or whatever it is that makes you the way you are. And your parents seem to be going off at half-cock in the most extraordinary fashion. Never heard anything like it. I’ll do what I can.”

  He had his reward in the look on Stephen’s face, and the heartfelt gratitude in his voice. “Thanks, Bill”, he breathed. “I really am grateful, honestly. I’ll never forget it. Thanks.”

  Bill smiled across at him, wondering if he was doing the right thing, but feeling glad he had agreed to help. “Don’t worry”, he said. “Can’t see an off-spinner in trouble and not try and help him out of it. I must say, though, I’d have thought Graham Curtis had more sense than to get himself embroiled in something like this. Christ, he’s a schoolmaster, he ought to have seen from the outset that having an affair with one of his own kids was gonna end in tears. Anyway, that’s not my problem. I don’t want to see you in bother, kid, so I’ll do my bit. I’m probably only helping you to make a silly young ass of yourself, but that ain’t my problem, either. When you see Graham — if you ever get that far, which I should think is pretty bloody iffy — you can tell him from me that I think he’s a pain in the arse, and ought to have been old enough to know better.”

  “It was my fault”, confessed Stephen, miserably. “I pushed and pushed, and wouldn’t let him go when he tried to stop it. He kept away from me for two whole terms, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer. And then it was just bad luck — well, circumstances. We got put in a situation, and he let his guard slip. If anyone seduced anyone, it was me, Bill. Please don’t blame him.”

  “Hmph! I don’t think it’s for me to blame anyone”, retorted Bill, getting up to go to the bar. “The thing I mind is, I’m about to lose two good batsmen — one of them very good indeed — and my regular off-spinner. Why couldn’t you have waited till the end of the season, at least, before going off on this ridiculous adventure?” Stephen stared at his kind, ugly face with its bristly red hair and its big Zapata moustache, and dissolved into an uncontrollable attack of giggles, and then into a series of choking gusts of laughter that made his ribs ache. Bill watched him in surprise for a moment, and then the laugh that he had been trying to bottle up became too insistent to be resisted, and he cracked up over the table.

  When they had calmed down Bill bought drinks and sat down again. “Look here, young Steve”, he said, trying to keep his laughter from breaking out afresh. “I’ll do as you ask, that and no more. I don’t want my wife and kids exposed to all kinds of aggravation from the law, let alone bloody parsons. And I don’t want your parents coming round with a hatchet claiming I’ve aided and abetted you in fleeing the country. But I don’t like seeing anyone persecuted for their private morals. They’re your own affair and no-one else’s if you ask me. Yes, all right, you can kip down in our spare room. Not for very long, mind —just a day or so, till Graham rings up and takes you off my hands. Okay?”

  Stephen was so moved that he could hardly stammer out his thanks. Bill waved them down in any case. “Now you’ve got to go and liberate your passport tonight, you say? And some clothes? So you’ll be up in the middle of the night, right? Okay, well, I’ll leave the back door of my house unlocked, and prime Christine so she doesn’t have a fit if she hears you coming in with the milk in the morning, or yell the house down thinking it’s burglars — though that sounds like just what it is, by the sound of it, young Steve. That good enough?” Stephen nodded, too grateful to speak. “Okay, then. You know how to find us? You do? Good. Right, well, I’ll finish this, and then I’ll have to be getting back. Pity about this. I’ll have to scratch your name for this weekend, I suppose.”

  A few minutes later he left Stephen in the pub and went home, wondering how to tell his wife the news.

  Stephen immediately telephoned Richard from the payphone in the bar. “Oh, good”, said Richard when he heard Stephen’s i voice. “There’s been no word from Graham, but your people have been round, with that sky pilot in tow. They asked my people all sorts of questions, including some about me, which Dad had enough spirit to tell them to mind their own business about, bless him. Fancy, though. As if it wasn’t bloody cheek enough to try and dictate to you about your sexuality, they even think they’ve got some sort of right to poke their noses into mine. It’ll be a pleasure doing this burglary tonight, Stevie, sweet.”

  Stephen told him where he had secured a billet for himself, and gave him Bill’s number to pass on to Graham if he should ring, and they agreed to meet in an alleyway at a point between their houses at two that morning. “They’re bound to be in bed by then”, said Stephen. “See you then”, promised Richard, and he blew him a kiss and rang off.

  * * *

  Fortune was, for once, on their side. “Graham’s rung”, said Richard excitedly as soon as Stephen loomed up in the intense darkness of the alleyway. They fell into each other’s arms and wasted five minutes on a passionate kiss, as if they had been a continent apart for a year. Then Stephen became businesslike. “What did he say?” he asked, breathlessly.

  “He’s found a job and a place to live”, said Richard. “I’ve got the address written down, and the number. I told him you were at Bill’s, and what had happened — I couldn’t go into detail, it would have taken too long, but I got the main things in. And I told him not to come back on any account. He sounded a bit puzzled, but he said he was going to wait there until he got a phone call from you. I said I thought you’d be able to ring him tomorrow, and he’ll be expecting a call any time. He said he’d stay in and wait by the phone.”

  “Great!” said Stephen, vastly relieved. “You did marvellously, Richard.” He hugged him, and kissed him with great tenderness. “Now, we’d better get this bit over with”, he said, breaking the hold reluctantly. They padded through the streets, making no sound in their trainers.

  To their great surprise, the burglary went off without a hitch. Stephen slid his key into the lock, hardly daring to believe that there would be no-one up waiting for him, but the house was silent and in darkness. After a few moments he could just hear a faint rumble of his father’s snore from above. He gave himself a few moments to accustom himself to the darkness and get his bearings, knowing that his first sound would signal the end of the mission. Then, taking immense care and moving at a snail’s pace, he crept up the stairs, keeping his feet to the outside edges of the treads and lowering them with infinite caution.

  He reached his bedroom without mishap, while Richard stood in the garden, straining his ears for the first sound, and conscious of his heart, racing so hard that he felt that it must be audible.

  Stephen was so certain that his passport was the first thing his parents would have confiscated that his relief as he found it in its usual place in his dresser came with the force of a physical blow. He slipped it into the back pocket of his trousers. Knowing that he had the only thing that was absolutely vital, he began the riskiest part
of the exercise, groping in his drawers and wardrobe for the clothes he regarded as essential. He found jeans, T-shirts, a few more formal clothes, and a lot of socks and underwear. There was more of the same at Richard’s house, which he could get at his leisure, but he took as much as he could cram into a big holdall that he got from the top compartment of the wardrobe, his heart coming into his mouth as it scraped and jammed against something. He had to fetch a chair, quivering from tension, and ease it past the obstruction, but he managed it without making a noise.

  He crept downstairs, taking even longer than on the way up because of the bulky, clumsy form of the holdall. Once down, he crept across the hall and put the holdall down outside the door. Richard saw, and came over immediately, grabbed the holdall and, following their detailed battle plan, ran silently out into the road and away back towards the alleyway with it. Stephen crept back into the house and, in even greater stealth, went round every place he could think of where he had ever known cash to be left. Once again his luck was good. To his immeasurable elation, he found a thick pile of banknotes in his father’s bureau, where he sometimes stowed money if he had more than he felt comfortable carrying about with him. Stephen almost crowed in triumph, and immediately almost died from the realization of what he had almost done.

  He carefully scooped up the money and slid it as far down into his trousers pocket as it would go. Then, resisting an almost irresistible urge to cut and run while his incredible luck held, he made himself go round all the other likely places. He was rewarded with a small additional amount of cash. At last he was satisfied that he had cleaned the house out of all the money there was. He made his stealthy way back to the door, slipped out, and took great pains over closing it, using the key to ease the tongue silently into its socket. Then, unable to restrain himself a moment longer, he gave vent to his feelings in a great, joyous bound of triumph down the path, skipped jubilantly into the street, and ran, capering in his triumph, all the way back to the alleyway where Richard was waiting.