Sometimes, as he finished up on the H and started on the C and found he instinctively knew what colour eyeshadow to put on, how much or how little blusher, what nail varnish, William wondered if he was a poofter after all – that’s what they were called at his new school. Sometimes he wished he was. He could be like his uncle and Howard. He could get Martin back – he need never have lost him.
But it was girls he liked. When the bus stopped at Sutton Coldfield Grammar School for Girls and they streamed on, it was their faces, legs, and the imagined shape of their breasts under their uniforms that William thought about. Sometimes, when he couldn’t summon the will not to, he’d think of Imogen Mussey and those intense few days at their home. He always regretted that indulgence though, because it inevitably led to Martin. It seemed every good thought in his head had to lead to something bad. The thrill of the bed hop to the humiliation of a beating. The kindness of Martin to the cowardice of William’s betrayal of him. The beauty of the ‘Miserere’ to the shock of his mother’s spite.
Stop it. Forget it. All of it.
? ? ?
‘So, first is Pack,’ William states now, looking briefly at Arthur and Ray before pincering a sizeable chunk of cotton wool with large metal tongs. ‘For pack the orifices.’ Lifting the man’s thin legs and bending them back towards his stomach, as if he’s a giant baby, William inserts the wad up his backside.
37
‘I’ve got a proposition for you, William.’
They’re walking to the pub at lunchtime, beneath a late November sky of vivid uninterrupted blue. Their breath hangs briefly in little clouds as they walk along the narrow pavement, hands deep in pockets, elbows bumping. There are as many leaves on the ground now as on the trees. Those still on the branches wave in the wind, their outlines defined without overlapping foliage. William feels an urge to reach up and pluck the lower ones off, to bring them to their inevitable end more quickly.
‘What’s that, then?’ he says without enthusiasm.
‘I’ll pay you in beer to be my private tutor.’ Ray smiles. ‘I need to qualify, William,’ he says, more seriously. ‘You can help me, you’re bloody brilliant.’ He looks ahead for a few paces then back at William. ‘What do you think?’
‘Pity I don’t like beer,’ William replies. Ray went some way to redeem himself that morning by being an attentive helper throughout the completion process. He made no quips, asked questions, and congratulated William at the end in Arthur’s hearing.
‘No problem,’ Ray bats back. ‘There’s plenty of water, hot or cold, your choice.’ They laugh, slowing down as they arrive at the pub. ‘So, what do you think?’ Ray pushes the door and holds it open for William as the stale smoke blends with the fresh air.
‘We can give it a go’ – William rests his hands on the bar – ‘but after two weeks, either of us can decide to stop. And I don’t care what you say, I won’t miss my evening meal, so it’ll have to be straight after class and it can’t be for longer than an hour.’
‘Couldn’t we do it later on?’ Ray looks happy. ‘After you’ve eaten?’
‘No. That’s when I do my homework.’ And talk to Gloria in the kitchen, he thinks.
‘Deal!’ Ray’s face is transformed, and William thinks not for the first time that if Ray took any trouble with his appearance, he could be handsome. Ray reaches into his pocket as the barman nods his head at them.
‘A pint of bitter, and for you, William? This one’s on me.’
‘Half a pint of cider, please,’ William says to the barman, who nods again and walks away to the pumps.
‘How about, in return,’ Ray says, ‘I give you a bit of advice, man to man. My guess is you’re not the most experienced when it comes to the ladies, and I’ve got the feeling you’re soft on this Gloria.’
William shrugs, looks down at the bar and bends back a corner of a beermat.
‘Pretty, is she?’
‘Very.’ William can’t help grinning.
Their drinks arrive and Ray pours a pile of change into the barman’s hand, who counts it then gives him some back. They head towards what has become their spot in the corner by the window. William takes his first gulp of cider. It flows down his throat easily.
‘Have you made a move?’ Ray says.
‘I’m not sure what that means, but we talk a lot,’ William says. ‘She makes me cocoa every night.’