LITMIR.BIZ

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the place. He had seen bits of it, briefly, from the Arlberg Express.

      ‘Oh, the painter. No, I haven’t.’

      Aunt Maud cleared away the syllabub and brought the coffee. The whole garden smelt of warmth, all the individual scents of flowers and crops were gathered under the wings of the sun, and reissued smelling of warmth.

      They moved from the upright canvas chairs to the deck chairs. He moved his chair into the sun. Aunt Maud poured out the coffee.

      ‘Titmus seems to be handling his bowlers quite well,’ she said.

      ‘Yes. It’s the batting that’s letting Middlesex down.’

      ‘Have you been to Lord’s this year?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘It’s all underground films, these days, I suppose. Four hundred Japanese bottoms. It sounds rather monotonous to me, but I daresay it’s more amusing if you see it with friends.’

      Aunt Maud cleared away the coffee. He didn’t help, because giving pleasure was her hobby. He lay back and closed his eyes, the lids red and transparent against the sun. By dozing he paid Aunt Maud a compliment. Then he opened one eye and peered at the sky. There must surely be something there, a spirit, an emanation of good intention? Surely there must?

      The joy that Robert was feeling was pure love. He loved Aunt Maud, and Aunt Maud loved him. And neither would ever express that love, for fear that it would go away.

      Hartingsford Magna was the only place in England where he didn’t need to make jokes. As he entered the village he thought: Caution. You are entering a joke-free area, and that was the last resemblance to a joke he needed to make until Fangham’s taxi drove him out again to Foxington Station, and he thought: Caution. You are leaving a joke-free area.

      When Aunt Maud returned after doing the washing up, they came nearer than usual to expressing their love.

      ‘Thank you. That was a lovely lunch, as always,’ he said.

      ‘Good to have someone to appreciate it, as always,’ said Aunt Maud.

      Chapter 7

       Sorrows

      October, 1946. Robert was a day boy and others of the boys were boarders. Boarders were people who were better than day boys who were people whose noses ran. Boarders knew more than day boys because when the day boys went home the boarders went upstairs and had sin upstairs, whatever that was. You didn’t know everything when you were young.

      Robert wanted to be good and serve his God. Sometimes he would fool around and all the boys laughed but this was not what life was for. Life was for fighting against sin upstairs but it would be foolish to admit this to the boarders. Robert was quite a strange boy because he had led a sheltered life, but he thought that people jolly well ought to lead sheltered lives.

      One day Big Joan was cleaning the corridor with her mops and brushes. Not only was Big Joan a bit of a tease but she was something to do with sin upstairs. Robert walked past Big Joan and she said: ‘Hey, don’t I get a kiss?’ and he went along the corridor which smelt of rissoles and carrots, and he went through a swing door, which led to the cloakroom where the day-bugs left their coats. There was dark green paint everywhere. His childhood was inextricably bound up with dark green paint.

      In the cloakroom were Stevens Major and Sewell and Waller. They were boarders.

      Sewell said: ‘Do you love Big Joan, Bellamy?’

      Robert said: ‘No,’ and turned red.

      ‘Don’t you like girls?’ said Stevens Major.

      ‘No,’ said Robert.

      They laughed. They were enemies. Perkins and Thomas and Willoughby were friends and he wished that Bernard Howes was a friend, but these were enemies.

      Waller came at him and grabbed his arm. Robert wasn’t afraid of people in ones but there were three of these. There always were.

      Sewell grabbed his other arm. He was ashamed of not liking girls, and besides it wasn’t true.

      ‘I like some girls,’ he said.

      He was angry with himself for saying this. He lashed out, but there were three of them and they pinned him against the wall. Sewell smelt of sick and Waller smelt of feet.

      ‘Which girls do you like?’ said Stevens Major.

      He didn’t answer. They twisted his arm. Stevens Major kicked him.

      ‘Which girls?’ said Sewell, twisting his arm some more. He wasn’t going to tell them, but they kicked him and twisted his arm until he thought it was going to break, and his eyes were full of tears, and eventually he told them.

      ‘Cerise,’ he said.

      They let go. The door opened and Big Joan came in. If he had hung on a bit longer they would never have known.

      Big Joan looked at them suspiciously, and smiled at Robert. Her smile turned him to jelly.

      The three boarders ran off down the corridor, shouting: ‘Bellamy loves Cerise. Bellamy loves Cerise,’ and behind them the door went boing-boing-boing.

      September, 1948. Bernard Howes had come to his new school and now a year later Robert followed him. He wished he could be friends with Bernard Howes, who was superior without being snotty.

      After three days of term they met. Bernard was in a different house, and a year senior, but it was all right to talk to him because they had been at the same prep school.

      ‘Hullo, Howes,’ he said.

      ‘Hullo, Bellamy,’ said Bernard.

      ‘I say,’ said Robert hurriedly, before Bernard moved on and was lost. ‘Could we meet some time so that you could show me round. It’d be a terrific help.’

      ‘I’ll see you this afternoon, after early grind,’ said Bernard.

      ‘After what?’

      ‘Early grind.’

      A master passed by. They said: ‘Hullo, sir.’

      ‘That’s Stinky R,’ said Bernard. ‘See you on the corner of Lower Broad half an hour after early grind.’

      ‘Where’s Lower Broad?’

      ‘Go down the little lagger-bagger behind the ogglers’ tonkhouse, turn right at Pot Harry’s, and you can’t miss it’.

      Another master passed by and they said: ‘Hullo, sir.’

      ‘That was Toady J,’ said Bernard. ‘O.K., see you this afternoon, Bellamy. Bring your iron and we’ll go for a hum.’

      Robert didn’t find Bernard. He didn’t take his iron and they didn’t go for a hum, because by the time he had found out what all the school slang meant it was two hours after early grind.

      He walked away from the school, anger mingling with depression, the depression urging him to run away, the anger telling him to return and fight it out. He nodded to Clammy L, barely seeing him. Take me away from this horrible place, God, he said.

      He walked up the lane towards the heath. I’ll never return. Never never never, he thought. I’ll die of exposure. Then they’ll be sorry.

      Twenty minutes later he turned round and went back to school. He got there just in time for late grind.

      October, 1948. It was Sunday, he was thirteen years of age, and school wasn’t quite so bad now. He had managed to find Bernard Howes again and this time Bernard had been decent and had given him some useful tips from his Olympian heights. Lessons were quite good and chapel was the best thing of all, although of course you had to pretend that it was absolutely awful.

      He went for a walk up the lane again. School wasn’t so good yet that you didn’t need

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