‘Nice work, Lavery,’ he says, already leafing through his music for the next piece, ‘nice work. That’ll do for tonight. Porter? Make sure he’s gowned up properly.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Porter tidies his music.
? ? ?
The oily liquid dotted with blobs of vegetable doesn’t deserve to be called soup, but William is so hungry he knows he will eat every drop. He heads for Martin who, after a day in sickbay, is now sitting in the corner of the dining room.
‘Hello.’ William puts his bowl down next to Martin and climbs over the bench seat from behind. ‘Are you better?’
‘Think so,’ Martin says, glancing up and swallowing. ‘Matron says I should wait till morning to eat, but stuff that. I haven’t eaten since breakfast! We’ll see what happens after this.’
‘Fingers crossed.’
‘So’ – Martin wipes his finger round the bowl, all his bread gone – ‘anything to tell me?’
William feels his cheeks flame. He concentrates on the greenish lump of something on his spoon. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better.’
‘Are you?’ Martin’s skin is even paler than usual; his freckles are livid, scampering over his nose. His spoon hovers above his empty bowl.
Something stirs in William, a resolve. If he can’t do this without cringing and apologising, his time here will be ruined.
‘I am pleased you’re feeling better, but I’m pleased I got to sing a solo too and that Phillip liked it. I’d be crackers if I wasn’t, wouldn’t I?’
Martin puts his spoon down and sits back. ‘Porter said you’ve got a strong solo voice.’ William meets his eye, hoping his scarlet cheeks are fading. ‘He says we’ll have to watch out.’
‘I’m only a probationer. You’re safe for a while.’ William tries to smile. ‘You’re the best soloist, Martin. Everyone knows that.’ William’s fingers are crossed under the table. He knows he is at least as good as Martin, if not better, but strictly speaking, he’s still not a chorister.
‘Good job I am.’ Martin grins and looks more himself. ‘It’s the only thing I can do.’
William decides not to write about his solo in his weekly letter to Evelyn; he wants to save it until he sees her in two weeks’ time. He’ll tell Uncle Robert though. There’s no danger he’ll spoil the surprise; his mum doesn’t even know that they correspond – another of those things his uncle worries might upset her.
17
EXEAT Name: Lavery from 12.30 to 4.45
Date 20th October Signed AG Atkinson
Since receiving his exeat on Wednesday, William has dreamt about Evelyn twice. In the first she was lolling on their settee at home, throwing warm biscuits to him in the next chair, relaxed and smiling as crumbs pattered onto the carpet. In the second, she appeared in his dorm, wearing her mac and a scarf on her head. She looked so pleased to see him, he woke with a start, full of embarrassment, because she was painfully out of place and about to make a big fuss of him.
All he had to do was go into the headmaster’s room and take the exeat from Mr Atkinson’s hand. Glancing round the wood-panelled study, at the vase of yellow roses on the table, he found it hard to believe this was where Martin had been given all those whacks. He couldn’t see a cane anywhere. Coming from such a gentle upbringing, there was a large part of him that couldn’t quite accept caning actually happened, that a piece of willow could be kept with the sole purpose of hitting a boy. But his encounter was polite and straightforward. The only challenge was to stop himself jumping up and down, because the little piece of paper in his hand allowed him a whole afternoon with his mother in four days’ time.
? ? ?
And now it’s Sunday and after the service he’s free to leave. With her! Lined up to process into the chapel, full of those parents who suddenly vanished from their lives six weeks ago, everything feels different. Charles, Edward and Anthony are so busy making each other laugh, they don’t seem to have noticed. But then William thinks maybe being silly together, fluttering and chirruping around, is their way of noticing. He doesn’t think Charles will cry today when he has to say goodbye; it’s as if he has become another boy altogether from the one who walked away from his parents in tears.
William loves the stone and wood smell of the ancient antechapel. Martin breathes in and puffs out heavily as he always does the second before they process. As the organ starts, the purple and white vestments sway and the boys move forward. The ceiling is so high he has to tip his chin as far as it will go to see it. The tiles are hard and beautiful beneath his feet. His favourite saint looks him in the eye, arms outstretched. And when this service is over, the flesh and blood arms of his mother will wrap around him.