LITMIR.BIZ

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at the sunset. It’s the best place to see it from.’

      ‘You gave me a jump when I first saw you. You were very near the edge.’ That was as close as Colin felt he could get to the subject.

      ‘I was just trying to get a view without a sense of the Island. You know, just the sun, the sea and me. It’s quite a rush.’

      Duncan’s articulacy was no surprise. He was one of Colin’s star pupils, an eloquent and sensible boy, the youngest of three brothers. Both of his siblings had excelled in the classroom and on the sporting field, both had been head boy, both had secured places at Oxford. Duncan was matching them in the first two, and was expected to follow them in the others.

      ‘Why are you here, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?’ he asked.

      ‘Same as you. The sun sinking into the Atlantic. It’s an incredible sight. I was hurrying, hence my heavy landing. Don’t tell anyone about that, by the way. If I end up limping round the school tomorrow I’m going to say I hurt myself kicking down the door of a burning house to save some baby pandas.’

      The boy smiled. That was a relief. Colin was closer in age to his pupils than most of the other staff and shared more of a rapport with them. He was open and approachable, and the sound that rang out from his lessons was rare in other classrooms: laughter. But, in the present circumstance, mannered reticence flooded back. ‘Do you live nearby?’ he asked.

      ‘Not really. St Martin’s.’

      ‘You cycled halfway across the Island? You must really have wanted to see the sunset.’

      ‘It’s only half an hour or so. I’ve gone right round it in under three.’

      ‘Still … everything all right?’ As soon as he’d said it, it felt too pointed. Colin retreated. ‘I mean, workwise. You do history as well as English, don’t you? Not having an essay overload or anything?’ He was gabbling now.

      ‘Yes, thanks.’

      ‘’Cause you know my policy?’

      Duncan nodded. Everyone knew Colin’s policy – ‘If you really can’t do it, tell me and I’ll give you an extension, everybody has off-moments.’ It was frowned on by his colleagues and envied by the pupils not under his tutelage.

      ‘Are you okay now? We should get back up,’ Duncan said. Was this concern about Colin’s knee, or an attempt to change the subject?

      ‘Yes, I’m fine. Do you want to lead the way?’

      They picked their way up the steep path in silence under the ghostly grey light. Duncan went first, turning regularly to check on Colin and to show him where best to put his hands and feet. When they reached the top, they turned to look at the moon on the water, a cool balm after the searing sun.

      ‘Why don’t I give you a lift?’ said Colin. ‘I’m sure if I put the seat down we can fit your bike in the back of my car.’

      ‘I quite like the exercise.’

      ‘I’d feel better, if you don’t mind. It’s getting late, and you should be back home. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone in the dark on the wrong side of the Island.’

      The boy conceded and they collected his bike, then used the light to pick a way past the potholes and loose rocks to Colin’s car. After they had silently wrestled it into the boot, Colin felt an unease that built as they settled into their seats. He had a mild panic over what music to play. One of his most popular lessons was when he told the boys to bring in their favourite songs to discuss the lyrics. Now he felt as if his own taste was on the spot. He ran through the options, hesitating over Springsteen’s Born in the USA and The River. Some people, wrongly in Colin’s opinion, labelled Springsteen as a sickeningly bombastic American flag-waver, so he dismissed him as too controversial and polarising. He discarded Dire Straits’s Brothers in Arms as too ubiquitous and too obvious, something a teacher would play to appear cool while clearly having no idea what that constituted. He decided Erasure were too camp – he wanted to avoid a potentially unshakeable nickname – then became dismayed at the ludicrousness of worrying how his musical taste would be perceived when twenty minutes earlier he’d thought the boy was about to hurl himself to his death. He started the engine and pulled off the track that led from the headland on to a main road. Eventually, to mask the silence, he slid in the cassette tape of Paul Simon’s Graceland, which was both mainstream and off-beat enough hopefully to score a multitude of points.

      ‘I don’t understand that lyric,’ said Duncan, out of nowhere. ‘The one about “lasers in the jungle”?’

      ‘I think he’s talking about the double-edged sword of technological expansion. How it affects every area of life, often with a detrimental effect. How we might gain in science, but lose in nature.’

      ‘I like “a distant constellation, that’s dying in the corner of the sky”.’

      ‘Yes, it’s beautiful.’

      ‘Makes you feel dwarfed by the futility of it all.’

      ‘Well, I suppose it has a poignancy, but that’s quite a bleak way of looking at it …’ Colin glanced across as he was speaking and thought he could see tears glistening on Duncan’s cheeks in the staccato glare of the street lights as they headed to the centre of the Island. He was about to stop the car and comfort him, when out of the corner of his eye he saw him wipe his face. The boy began talking, the moment had passed.

      ‘Tom saw him at the Albert Hall in April. Said it was amazing.’

      ‘How’s your brother doing?’

      ‘Really well. He’s got a job at the Telegraph. Sports desk.’

      ‘He did English?’

      ‘History.’

      ‘That’s it, and Nigel’s doing English?’

      ‘Yes. Finishes next year.’

      ‘Any idea what you might like to do?’

      ‘English, but I don’t want to copy Nige.’

      ‘You wouldn’t be copying him. Lots of people do English.’

      ‘I just want to get on to the mainland. I don’t really mind what I do.’

      ‘Do you mind where you go? Are you thinking of Oxford?’

      ‘Mum and Dad are pushing that. But, you know …’

      ‘Your brothers went there, so you’d like to find somewhere new?’

      ‘Kind of.’

      ‘What about Cambridge?’

      ‘Dad and Grandpa went to Oxford, so it wouldn’t go down too well.’

      ‘I’m sure they’d be proud. As a Cambridge man, I can tell you it’s every bit as good as Oxford. Although there are other options. Oxbridge is obviously fantastic, but some people can find it quite a lot of pressure. Doesn’t suit everyone.’

      ‘Did you enjoy it?’

      ‘Bits of it. Most of it.’

      ‘Why did you come here?’

      ‘The Island? I met my wife. And it’s a beautiful place.’

      ‘I suppose so, it’s easy to forget that.’

      ‘We’ve just gone from golden cliffs and roaring seas through autumn copses and winding valleys. And look at those stars. Won’t see many of those in a big town on the mainland. Whereabouts are you?’

      They were approaching St Martin’s village.

      ‘It’s a left after the church, then the second right.’

      Silence descended again after the flurry of rapport. The mention of his wife had led Colin to wonder whether Paul Simon was singing

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