by Tim Jeal
‘What is it?’ said Andrew gently. ‘You’ll probably feel better if you tell somebody.
David shook his head.
‘I can’t, really I can’t.’
But five minutes later he did. He forgot the waitress and the hatch in the wall, he forgot to try and stop his tears. He told him about the rabbits, about last Christmas, about his mother’s drinking, about Dr. Everett, about Sally.
*
Three-quarters of an hour later the waitress came in again.
‘I’m shutting up now, so if you don’t mind …’ she nodded in the direction of the door.
Andrew desperately wanted to put his arm round him as they walked towards the door. As David stepped out into the empty street he heard the cuckoo clock mocking him, ‘Cuckoo … cuckoo … cuckoo …’ Six times, Andrew looked at his watch. Had they really been there for two hours.
As they walked towards the car, David didn’t dare look at Andrew, he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or ashamed. He had been so understanding and sympathetic and yet hadn’t burdened him with easy consolation or cheap words of comfort.
If only I could have said something, Andrew was thinking, as he opened the driving-seat door. But there was nothing he could say. He felt helpless, if only he had suffered as a child. The only way he could hope to show his sympathy was through physical contact and that was out of the question … out of the question, out of the question.
*
It was now completely dark. After a few miles Andrew realised that he had taken a wrong turning. They would have to stop and look at a map. In the darkness Andrew groped along the shelf under the dashboard. As he leant over to David’s side of the car he slipped and felt his hand fall on David’s knee. He started to withdraw it but suddenly felt it clasped.
What happened next Andrew found it hard to reconstruct a couple of seconds afterwards. He had been supporting his weight with his left arm resting on the back of David’s seat when he leant over. Had he meant that arm to slip? Or had he really lost his balance? As his arm had left the back of the seat and lighted on David’s shoulder, Andrew’s cheek touched his. David instantly snatched away his hand and recoiled against the door.
‘Oh my God, my God,’ moaned Andrew.
The motor was still throbbing, otherwise there was no sound. Andrew could sense David’s tenseness almost physically. What could he do, pretend it hadn’t happened? After all, couldn’t a momentary mistake be wiped out by refusing to acknowledge it?
‘Funny, I could have sworn there was a map in here. But I suppose we can ask the way at the next house.’ There was no reply. Andrew went on, ‘anyway, we’d better be pressing on or we’ll be late for supper.’
The engine sounded louder to Andrew than it had ever done, as he let out the clutch. Ten minutes later they came to a signpost which showed them the right road. David had still not spoken. Andrew was beginning to panic. Suppose he went straight up to Crofts and said that he had been assaulted. In his present state of mind he might do anything. Andrew tried again.
‘Stupid that these cars don’t have interior lighting. If they did, there’d be no need for groping about in the dark looking for things.’
‘I’d rather you drove a bit slower,’ was the only reply he got. Andrew bit his lip. Of course he’d deny it if any allegations were made. The whole thing had been a misunderstanding, anybody presented with the facts would see that. Or would they? If there was any chance of Crofts getting to know about it, oughtn’t he to get there before David? Or would that look like self-confessed guilt?
When David finally spoke he was no longer angry.
‘I trusted you. After all I told you, then you go and do … that,’ he brought out after a pause. ‘I feel such a fool. I really thought that I’d found somebody, but I ought to have known better. I can’t touch anything without making it go wrong.’
Andrew was afraid that he was going to cry again, but he need not have worried. After another lengthy silence they were nearly at the school gates. Andrew was now in no doubt as to how David had interpreted what had happened. If he was to get any promises of silence out of him, he would have to admit that something had really taken place.
They were getting out of the car. David turned to Andrew,
‘I won’t tell anybody.’
Andrew fought for words to defend himself with but none came. In the end he merely nodded his head and walked away in the direction of the Common Room. How the hell would he be able to go on teaching him after this? Even if he didn’t go to Crofts, mightn’t it get to him through rumours? Perhaps he would have to forestall any chances of this. Stupid boy, he was leaving him little choice.
*
David decided to miss supper, instead he went up to his study, where he was certain of being alone for the next half-hour. He slumped down into the best arm-chair and put his head in his hands. Strangely enough he did not feel too downcast. If this business had been humiliating and disgusting, it had shown him the way to deal with his other problem: the same way, by saying nothing. Both George and Andrew were to be spared.
*
Nevertheless at that moment Matthews was making his way towards the housemaster’s study.
NINE
STEVEN hurried on through the fog. What had the man said? Was it second on the right or third? Must be clean out of my mind going to a party on a night like this. It could wait till tomorrow, but Christ it was three weeks since he’d gone to London and still no word. How could it have failed? And yet there had been no word from home either. Steven felt the most terrible need to speak to Robert and speak to him as soon as possible.
He stopped for a moment, swore, and then started to retrace his steps. This must be the one. He turned and began looking at the numbers. Why did street-numbering always have to be done by lunatics? After a few more yards he noticed a number of parked cars and heard the mushy sound of dance music rising weakly from a basement.
He reached the gate and looked at a group of people in front of the door. Badly dressed men clutching badly dressed girls, moths flocking to the nearest evening candle. Turn on a gramophone and see them come slavering for bad drink and bad music. Steven arrogantly pushed his way to the front of the group to find his way barred by the man giving the party. A couple of bottle-bearing thugs were being turned away. Steven watched them shambling off.
‘I don’t care if you’ve got bishop’s urine in those bottles,’ the host said magnanimously to another uninvited guest. Then turning to Steven:
‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure …’
‘Nor do I. Robert told me you wouldn’t mind my coming.’
‘Well, if Robert told you perhaps …’
But Steven had already pushed inside. Most of the party seemed to be sitting on the stairs. He could see no sign of Robert there, so started to pick his way down the stairs. Leaving a rustle of resentful murmuring in his wake, he finally emerged in the basement. Just one room and packed with sweating heaving bodies, Steven groaned, as he leant against the door-frame. Why couldn’t Robert go to slightly more civilised parties? The drinks table was fortunately just to the left. One of the dancing masses had been good enough to leave a bottle of whisky there until he returned. A half-bottle: it fitted into Steven’s pocket tidily. Steven felt better tempered as he fought his way across the room towards a sofa in front of the window. Short of hanging from the ceiling, staying in one place seemed the best and least energetic way of finding Robert. When he arrived at the sofa he was amazed to find it untenanted. He found a glass on the floor and poured himself a large one. After several more drinks a red-faced young man and his girl plumped down next to him. The girl had somehow forced her arms into a tight pair of elbow-length gloves. Steven noticed the pallid roll of flesh at the top of each glove. Still, not a bad face. He looked at her more closely as he refilled his glass: china-blue eyes and long fair hair.
‘Hello, Mr. Lonely,’ she slurred, looking at Steven. Then added sympathetically, ‘Don’t you like
dancing?’
‘I’m a homosexual actually,’ Steven smiled charmingly.
The red-faced man cut in. ‘I can’t place your face.’
‘Can’t face yours,’ said Steven, still smiling.
‘I hope you’re not trying to take the piss.’
‘Do have some of mine,’ Steven held out the whisky bottle in red-face’s direction.
‘Where did you get that bottle?’
‘You don’t have to shout. I bought it in a wine merchants.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Red-face was on his feet. Steven wondered whether he was going to hit him. Probably not; didn’t look the sort.
‘If you think I got hold of it here, I suggest that nobody would be stupid enough to leave such precious …’
‘Who invited you?’
But the girl with the china-blue eyes lost patience before Steven did.
‘Charles, go and get me a drink, please. Be a dear.’
Steven watched him unwillingly pushing through the dancers. Then he turned to his next-door neighbour.
‘Thank you, deliverer mine,’ he said.
‘Not at all. Anything for peace and quiet.’
‘So you come to parties for it?’
‘You’re here too.’
Steven looked at her more appreciatively. Absently he reached for his bottle and this time didn’t bother with the glass. Robert seemed infinitely remote. Probably hadn’t come anyway. What the hell. Now that he was here might as well try and enjoy himself. None of Sarah’s friends were likely to be there. Red-face would be back soon. Better do something.
‘How about a dance before your friend comes back?’
‘He bought me dinner.’
‘A unique achievement. I expect I could do the same when you feel a few empty spaces.’ Steven held out his hand. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Mary.’
‘Come on then, Mary.’
Feebly resisting, she allowed him to pull her up from the sofa. Over his shoulder he could see red-face, drink in hand. None too soon. Deftly he steered her towards the middle of the room. The music seemed unaccountably louder there. Just as well really, no need to talk now. Lazily Steven rested his cheek against hers. She rubbed her face against his. Slowly their mouths moved towards each other. A big gooey sweet for a good boy, thought Steven contentedly. Just at that moment through several strands of flaxen hair he caught sight of Robert. He groaned inwardly. There would almost certainly be a moral lecture tomorrow.
‘Friends make me sick,’ said Steven confidentially.
‘Me too,’ replied Mary and then, ‘Give us another kiss.’
*
At two o’clock, Steven and Mary were walking arm in arm towards the centre of town.
‘Aren’t you a friend of Sarah Twiss?’ Mary said unexpectedly.
Steven had been watching the uncertain homeward ditherings of a drunk on the other side of the street.
‘Yes,’ he said absently. ‘Actually I’m her fiancé. Didn’t you notice the little flap on my lapel. Written with my own hands: “ENGAGED”, reserved for betrothed couples and public lavatories.’
‘If I wasn’t drunk I’d call you a bastard.’
‘A privilege I’m not likely to enjoy,’ said Steven, abruptly turning left in the direction of his college.
*
‘Yes, I know I behaved disgustingly,’ said Steven shutting the door of Robert’s room behind him.
Robert returned no answer from the window-seat.
‘Got any cornflakes?’ went on Steven, walking over to the cupboard.
‘The milk’s off.’
‘No bread either, I suppose, and only revolting instant coffee.’
‘How did you guess?’
Steven fastened his dressing-gown girdle more securely round him. Then sitting on the arm of a chair:
‘Come on then, let’s be having you.’
‘One day they’ll take you away for crimes committed against yourself,’ said Robert thoughtfully.
‘I’ll plead diminished responsibility and force of circumstances. You didn’t honestly expect me to just sit there and get drunk all on my sweet little own? Solitary drinkers are pathetic you know.’
‘And if Sarah hears about it?’
‘Stop being so bloody naïve. Anyway she won’t. I had come to ask your advice but I don’t think I’ll be needing it after all.’
‘Give me a handkerchief. I think I’m going to wet myself with grief.’
‘Who’s been giving you lessons in repartee?’
‘I have talked to you in the past.’
Steven got up and walked over to the fire. Flicking through Robert’s invitations on the mantelpiece he said:
‘I’ve decided to go home next Saturday and I think I’ll take Sarah too.’
‘Think the change of air will do her good?’
‘No, just a bit of elementary blackmail. “Stand and deliver, here’s my fiancée, we’re very much in love.” Also little brother is home for his half-term, so I feel that a word in his ear would not come amiss.’
‘It’ll be rather unfortunate if you can’t get him to spill the beans.’
‘That’s a risk I’m afraid I shall have to take.’
‘You might find yourself marrying her out of pique if you can’t get what you want.’
Steven frowned.
‘Well, there’ll be a certain self-righteous pleasure in that.’
‘One that might diminish with the years.’
‘Haven’t I told you I’m fond of her? I’ve been going out with her for the last four months. She doesn’t annoy me. She doesn’t moralise and what’s more she’s good in bed.’
Robert had turned his back and was looking out of the window. After a pause he said softly:
‘The only thing is that you don’t love her.’
‘You’ve been seeing too many films recently. Talk to an Arab about love. If they hadn’t had so much free time on their hands in medieval France …’
‘Nevertheless, scientists have decided that we are what we are because of our conditioning.’
‘Two undergraduates talk about the important problems in life. He felt the warm blood flowing from the wound and knew that this was life, that the throbbing pulsing reality …’
‘Do shut up. Now that I’ve restored your self-confidence I’ll be going to a lecture. That is if you don’t mind. If you like I’ll sport the oak so that nobody disturbs your conversation.’
‘Thanks.’
When Robert had left the room, Steven went over to the bookcase and picked out a small book: The Collins English Gem Dictionary. Slowly he read out loud:
‘“love, (noun) warm affection; sexual passion; sweetheart; score of nothing; (verb transitive) delight in.”’ His eye passed further down the definition, ‘“love-bird … loving-cup … love-in-a-mist …”’
*
He was not laughing though when he sat down on the window-seat and looked out across the quad.
‘Oxford 1960, Oxford 1960,’ he muttered to himself.
TEN
THE tic under his right eye seemed worse this evening. Mary Crofts looked at her husband anxiously. It really was too bad that this new man should have got into trouble so soon. Lifting the coffee-pot off the table by her chair she poured herself a cup. Crofts looked up from the essay he was reading.
‘Can I have a cup?’
‘You told me you couldn’t sleep yesterday, so I don’t know whether you oughtn’t to have some hot chocolate.’
‘I hate the stuff. You know quite well why I didn’t sleep.’
‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’
‘There are various alternatives. I could just leave well alone. After all the boy hasn’t said anything about it yet.’
His wife shook her head violently. Her small eyes looked more piercing than usual behind her pink-rimmed spectacles.
‘And what happens if it comes to light? If the man tries it on somebody else?
’ she said scornfully.
‘I’ll just look rather stupid for believing his story.’
Mary looked at him sadly.
‘It won’t be the first time. You weren’t exactly Edgecombe’s blue-eyed boy when Bagshaw collapsed in prayers.’ She stirred her coffee angrily at the memory of it. Part of it had been bad luck, but Alfred just could not judge when it came to choosing a house tutor. ‘To stray neither to the right hand nor the left,’ then he’d just fallen down, drunk as a newt. ‘We don’t want a repetition of that fiasco,’ she added.
‘We could ask Matthews to leave.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Alfred. What would that look like in the middle of term?’
‘I could announce that he’d had to go home to look after his mother.’
‘I suppose none of the boys would put two and two together? Besides, he might well appeal to the Head and then it would only be the boy’s word against his. You’ll have to get more on him than that. Anyway, Lifton hasn’t said anything yet and the man is, as you never stopped telling me, a well-qualified master.’
‘I could talk to Lifton and ask him why he accused the man.’
‘That seems a better idea. Then you’d at least have the allegation. Why that young fool Matthews had to come to you in the first place, I can’t imagine.’
Crofts got up and went over to the table in the window alcove. Picking up a packet of cigarettes he said:
‘Inexperience I suppose. Didn’t know that boys never let out that sort of thing. Went to a day-school himself.’
‘What exactly did he think you were going to do about what he told you?’
‘He just said that he thought I ought to know the real story before anybody else tried to tell me otherwise. What could I say when he said that I would know what should be done?’
‘Asked him what he would do in your place. Still it’s a bit late for that now. And once you’ve got that allegation, what then?’
Crofts lit his cigarette and rolled it back and forth nervously between finger and thumb.
‘Tell him that Mr. Matthews had warned me against this malice and say that I didn’t believe him. I should also say that if false accusations of this sort were made in the future I should know their source. And would act with suitable severity.’