* * *
* * *
The first thing he did was to call at a corner shop and change ten pounds, asking for five pounds worth of fifty-pence pieces. Then he found a telephone box, fished out the scrap of paper on which Richard had noted Graham’s address and telephone number. The police had missed it when he was searched, an irregularly torn-off fragment of grubby paper attracting no attention. He fed some of his coins into the meter and dialled carefully. When the familar voice came on the line he gasped with relief. “Oh, Graham”, he almost sobbed. “I’m so glad to get you.”
He gave Graham a quick summary of everything that had happened, and they had a few moments to exchange endearments before he had to put the last of his coins in. “I’ll call you again in a little while, darling”, he said, panicking in case the money ran out before he could get all he had to say out. “I’ve got to think how to work things at this end. I’ve got to make sure I can still stay at Richard’s, too. I’ll have to explain what’s happened. I’ll ring you later today, okay?”
Graham just had time to say “Okay. I’ll be here”, and then the line went dead.
He rang the bell at Richard’s house and waited, but there was no-one at home. He knew Richard was sitting an examination paper that morning, so he went round the house into the back garden. There he sat on a bench and went over in his mind all that had happened to him over the past two days. And then, without any warning or preamble, he started to cry, a bitter spring of hot, painful tears. They were the last tears he ever shed as a boy, perhaps the first he ever shed as a man.
* * *
“Well, yes, I agree, he has been pretty decent about it in general”, said Richard as they lay curled up together after the first joyous celebration of their reunion. “But he was completely in the wrong when he threatened to drop you both in the shit with the police. That makes him no better than that bastard Tyldesley. Jesus! He’s even willing to use Tyldesley’s photos to do it. But that’s beside the point. The point is, what are you going to do now? Have another go?”
“I don’t know”, confessed Stephen, arching his back and arousing Richard expertly with deft flicks of his tongue. “I don’t think I should risk trying to leave the country for a while yet. I’ll phone Graham, if it’s all right — when we’ve finished”, he went on as he felt Richard respond to his nuzzling. “He’ll know what to do. I’ll get there some time before too much longer, but I don’t want to take unnecessary risks.” He devoted his full concentration to what he was doing, and there was no more conversation for some time.
Afterwards he rang Graham. When he explained where he was Graham insisted on ringing off and calling him back to spare the Fitzjohns’ phone bill, and Stephen was at last able to give him a full account of what had happened. Graham agreed with Richard that Hill senior had been pretty generous in general, but had put himself deeply into the wrong by resorting to blackmail. “That’s what it amounts to”, he said. “Of course, he’s talking about something he knows very little. I should think it’s quite possible that there’s no extradition possible for the offence involved. Added to that there’s the fact that France is a civilized country. The age of consent here is fifteen, for us as well as for heteros. They think we’re fucking mad — not only about our imbecile hang-ups about sex, of course, but about them among other things certainly. So I should think it’s more than possible that the French would refuse to extradite for what they would regard as non-criminal activity. But I don’t know. Maybe I can find out. If I do I’ll let you know.
“Now, I don’t want you to take risks. We’ll be together in the not too distant future, of that I’m as sure as you are. And we’ve waited and tortured ourselves for so long recently that a few more weeks won’t be any great extra hardship. Much better to wait than for you to take a chance and stir up a hornets’ nest with your father.
“Let’s talk about other things. First of all, the news this end is good. I told you I thought there was a job for me in Strasbourg. Well, there was, and there is, and I’ve got it. I came here, rather than all the other nice places in this country, because there’s an old friend of mine — chap I was at Cambridge with — who runs a language school here. Well, I’ve talked to him, and he’s offered me a post teaching English, and some French as well. The pay’s lower than I was getting at the school, but the work’s a bloody sight less demanding — none of the out-of-hours chores I had at school. Cost of living’s a lot lower here than in England, too. I’ll actually be rather better off than before. Plenty of money to keep me and toy-boy in reasonable comfort.” He chuckled at Stephen’s snort of mock-affront.
“So we’re all fixed up on that front. Now, I wonder if you’ll do something for me, love.”
“I’ll do anything, you know that”, said Stephen earnestly.
“Right. Well, will you give old Bill a ring, then, and ask him to bung my name in the availability book for the weekend after next, please?”
“Yes, of course I…” It took a moment for what he had said to register on Stephen’s mind. When it did he almost dropped the telephone. “WHAT did you say?”
“I’m going to be around, sweetie. Just for a couple of days. The agent’s written to say he’s got a buyer for my flat, so I’ve got to come back to crate up all my things. And as it’s in the cricket season, and I’m missing the game desperately, I’d like to get a couple of games in. Tell him I’ll even play for Paddy Hayward’s bunch of cripples and lend ’em a bit of class, if there’s no room for me elsewhere.” He chuckled again, enjoying sharing his good news. As for Stephen, he was too delighted by the joyous surprise to be able to speak for a time. When he did he poured such a torrent of rapture and affection down the line that Graham’s mood sobered immediately. “You’re a good kid”, he said, and his voice sounded a little choky. He also, Stephen thought, sounded a lot younger than he had ever sounded in earlier days.
“Graham, will we…will we be able to…?” He said jerkily.
“Yes, I reckon we should be all right. We’ll have to be bloody careful, but I think I can work something. We’ll sort it out before the matches, or after them, whatever. I’ll be taking a trip to London while I’m over. Think about it in the meantime, and see if you can work things so you can come with me. I want to visit poor old Reggie again. I phoned him this morning after you rang, and he’s not doing so well. He’s had a bit of a relapse, and he’s pretty poorly. I’d like to see how he is.
“Anyway, that’s the news, and I think I’d better ring off now, or the profit on my flat’ll all go on the phone bill here. Take care of your sweet self, love, and think of me occasionally”, he added mischievously, chuckling once more at Stephen’s squeak of protestation.
“Seriously, love, I’d better get off. I’ve got things to do. Give my love to Richard, and tell him he’s invited to be our second long-stay visitor—second only to Reggie. Don’t forget I love you, and I’ll look forward to seeing you Saturday week. I aim to go straight to the club — be there about opening time. Okay? Right. Love you.” He made a loud kissing noise into the phone, and hung up, leaving Stephen hugging himself gleefully and feeling as if he was cocooned in a warm, golden mist.
When he had finished rejoicing he went and found Richard, who, with his customary delicate tact, had left him alone in the room with the telephone, and passed on Graham’s message. Richard was very pleased, though a little subdued by the realization that he was going to lose his beloved Stephen again for a while soon, and probably permanently in the fairly close future. But he cheered up quickly with his usual resilience, and when Stephen suggested going out for a drink he agreed readily. “I haven’t got much money, though”, he said dolefully after feeling in his pocket.
“Have it on me”, said Stephen cheerfully. “I’m a wealthy man all of a sudden, remember. Do you mind if we go to the cricket club? I’d like to put Graham in the book.” Richard grinned his agreement, and they set off.
Bill McKechnie’s large, bristling eyebrows bristled their w
ay up his forehead in surprise as he turned and saw who had arrived at the bar beside him. “Bloody hell”, he said, digging in his pocket and bringing a fistful of change out. “You back again, like a bad penny? What happened to gay Paree? Hallo”, he added, giving Richard a nod and a smile.
“It’s a long story”, grinned Stephen, “which I’ll be delighted to tell you, if you’ve got half an hour to spare.”
Bill bought them drinks and insisted on hearing the story of Stephen’s misadventures. “Hmm”, he grunted when Stephen finished. “I must say, I think your old man’s treated you pretty decently. I’d’ve put my boot up your arse, to the fourth lace-hole, if it’d been me. Christ!” he exclaimed as a thought struck him. “You never said anything about nicking half his fortune when you were telling me about burgling your own house, did you? It was only your passport you were going back for, wasn’t it, you crafty little monkey? I reckon you’re a danger to respectable people, young Steve. I’m not sure you’re safe for law-abiding citizens to be seen in company with.” But he winked at Richard as he said it, and slapped Stephen on the back, almost knocking him out of his chair. “You’d better have another drink”, he said, and pushed Stephen back into his seat when he proffered his wealth. “I’m not taking any of that”, he said, making a sign of the cross with his index fingers as if warding off a vampire. “Eleven policemen’d probably appear outa the woodwork an chuck me in the fuckin Lubianka for drinkin stolen property, or livin off immoral earnins or some such.” He galloped off to the bar leaving Stephen and Richard grinning.
“Can you do something for me, Bill?” said Stephen when he got back with the fresh drinks.
“No I bloody well can’t”, cried Bill in alarm. “You’re not safe to do things for. I don’t wanna be arrested.”
“It’s only to put a name in the availability book for someone” said Stephen, laughing. “He asked me to pass the message on to you.”
“Oh”, said Bill. “That sounds harmless enough. But things ain’t always as innocent as they seem, are they Stevie?” he went on suspiciously. “Who is it? Ronnie Biggs? Son of Sam? Boston Strangler? The Kray brothers maybe?” He blew his cheeks out aggrievedly when they laughed. “Well it’s bound to be some fuckin criminal, isn’t it? I don’t suppose you know anybody respectable except me.”
“It’s Graham Curtis”, said Stephen, laughing.
“What! Is he coming back as well?” wailed Bill. “As if one bad penny’s not bad enough you gotta bring your accomplice back as well. Stone me, if you can cause as much chaos and confusion as you do on your own, what the hell will the two of you do between you? Christ, we’ll be murdered in our beds.”
But he put Graham’s name down for the two games of the weekend after next. “Will you be speaking to him again, do you know?” he asked, giving Stephen a reassuring smile.
“I don’t know”, said Stephen, “but I should think it’s more than likely.”
“Well, tell him he’s playing for me, both days, if you do, would you? He’s too good to waste on Pat. That’s away at Teddington on Saturday and here against Enfield on Sunday, both eleven-thirty starts. Two tough ones.” He turned to Richard. “Why don’t you take an interest, son?” he suggested. “Put a bit a colour in your cheeks.”
“I’m no good at cricket”, said Richard. “I’ve never played it, except with the rabbits at school. Scoring’s about the only thing I’m any good at, but…”
“Christ!” squawked Bill. “You’re a scorer? Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Steve? You move among international terrorists, master criminals and drug addicts and all the time you know a scorer. Why didn’t you bring him along before?”
“I didn’t know”, protested Stephen.
“Well you should’ve known. Christ, we’ve been desperate for a scorer for three seasons. I’da paid cash money for a decent one, and all the time there’s been one on our doorstep. Cor!” He rounded on Richard. “Will you score for us? You get a free tea, lunch on all-day games and all the beer you can drink afterwards.” He got up and bounded to the bar before Richard could open his mouth, and returned with a thick scorebook in a dark-green leather loose-leaf binder. “Here, look at this. You could keep a neater book than this, couldn’t you?” he said, showing Richard the most recent sheet. “This is what happens when you haven’t got a scorer”, he went on. “This was cobbled together by half a dozen of our blokes while they were waiting to bat. Half of ’em can’t do joined-up writing yet, and the half who can are all fuckin doctors. Except Colin Preston, and I think he’s a Russian spy—he seems to write in code. An illiterate Russian spy, at that, I should think. And then when we field, the opposition batsmen do it, and by the looks of this they’re all Russian spies. Will you do it?”
“Well…”, said Richard.
“Great!” said Bill. “Have a drink. Now, who’ve we got this Saturday? Let me see.” He fished a fixture card out of his breast pocket. “Yeah, Bishop’s Stortford away on Saturday, eleven-thirty start. They’re a nice crowd. You’ll like em. Can you be here at ten sharp?”
“Er, well, yes, I suppose…”
“Great. Gimme your glass. You drive?”
“Well, I haven’t got a car of my own, but I might be able to borrow mother’s…”
“There’s always lifts available, anyway. You just turn up here at ten. We’ll fix you up. Your mate here’ll be playin, if Interpol haven’t picked him up by then.” He seized their glasses and went to the bar yet again.
Richard glanced a little quizzically at Stephen, looking a bit shell-shocked. “I think it’s known as ‘volunteering’”, grinned Stephen. “I want three volunteers — you, you and you.”
The rest of the evening went by happily and with startling rapidity. Bill eventually allowed Stephen to spend a little of his money. Then he introduced Richard to numerous other members, as proudly as if he had produced him personally like a rabbit from a top hat, and the boys went merrily and a little unsteadily home at eleven o’clock. Although Stephen had begun the day angry and dejected, he ended it happy and relaxed.
* * *
The days passed quickly. Richard was determined to extract the greatest possible amount of pleasure from Stephen’s company as he could, against the day he dreaded when his beloved friend would walk away and not return. They were almost literally inseparable, except for the occasional evening when Stephen went to spend some time with his parents, and the intervals between such visits grew longer as Stephen’s mother became less and less welcoming, more and more frigid and unsmiling. His father took him aside after the last visit before Graham was due to return. “I’m going to take her away for a weekend by the sea”, he confided to Stephen. “She’s taken this trouble of yours far more to heart than I ever suspected she would. I’m afraid it’s cut her up very badly. I think it might be a good idea if you were to stay away, just for a while, you know. Maybe we could meet for a drink now and then, for a while, do you think?” His expression as he said it was wistful and a little sad, and Stephen felt a sharp pang of love for his father, and also a stab of remorse for earlier misunderstandings, impatience and occasional deceit.
With his parents and the dangers they represented providentially out of the way, Graham’s return was a joyful reunion for them both. He made Richard’s acquaintance, and the two got on well, though both were a little guarded. As if to make up for lost time, or perhaps to give himself something to look back on in his cricketless future, Graham celebrated his brief return to the cricket club by scoring a handsome, quick-fire fifty against Teddington, and capped it by making his first century for the club, scoring fluently all round the wicket and not offering a ghost of a chance, against Enfield the following day. In that match Stephen, as if galvanized by the presence of his beloved, took five wickets for the first time, and ensured a fine victory against a very strong side.
During the after-match drink-up, Bill came over to where Graham, Stephen and Richard were sitting chatting, Graham and Stephen enjoying a break from doing the
rounds with the jugs they had had to buy. “Had an idea, Graham”, he said. “As you’re living on the Continent now, are you interested in the tour? We’re going to Holland this year. You’re nearer than any of us.”
They all took notice, Graham and Stephen having forgotten all about the tour amid all their other excitements recently. Graham’s face lit up briefly, only to fall a moment later when Bill read off the dates. “No”, he groaned, “I can’t make it. I’ve got to be in Strasbourg that whole week. It’s the week before I start my new job, and I’ve got all sorts of induction courses and so on to get through. Blast it. What a pity.”
“What about you, Biggsy?” asked Bill, turning to Stephen and using the nickname he had bestowed on him after the conversation in the pavilion. He only used it occasionally, and sportingly kept it to himself, to save Stephen from having to make difficult explanations.
“Biggsy?” queried Graham, and had to have it explained to him by Bill to an accompaniment of titters from the two boys.
Stephen looked at Richard. “Can you come?” he mouthed privately. Richard nodded quickly. He had taken to his new duties with keen enjoyment, despite his supposed and often-enunciated contempt for the game; and he had become instantly popular in the club for his choirboy looks, his friendly disposition and his quick, mischievous intelligence and wit. “Yeah, I’m in”, said Stephen. “Me too”, added Richard. “Good”, said Bill, ticking their names on his list with satisfaction. “Pity you can’t make it Graham. Still, there’ll be other tours.” He wandered off to ask the others.
* * *
The tour had been a resounding success, with two fine wins and two by no means discreditable defeats against very powerful Dutch sides and an excellent draw against Flamingoes, the strongest side of all. On the final night, in the Hague, the revels went on even later than the normal retiring hour of four in the morning. The Dutch players, including many from the other four sides they had played, accompanied them back to their hotel, stayed up to see them off in the morning and generally outdrank all but the hardest-headed few.
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