A Terrible Kindness(17)

Not trusting himself to speak, he sits on his bed in the hope one of them will tell him where they are, but it’s as if he’s invisible. He goes to the bathroom wearing his vest and trousers to clean his teeth, praying that when he returns his pyjamas will have appeared on his pillow. If so, he’ll smile, maybe even laugh, if he can manage it. As he looks in the mirror something catches his eye. He spins round. Dangling over the lip of the toilet bowl is one leg of his pyjamas; the other is submerged. The water is unmistakably yellow. He gags then blinks repeatedly to try and stop the tears. Unable to bring himself to touch the pyjamas, or even look at them any longer, he runs out of the bathroom and bumps into Martin.

‘What’s up?’

William doesn’t want to cry; he points to the toilet and heads back to the dorm, eyes on the floor, where he takes off his trousers and gets into bed in vest and pants.

‘Goodnight,’ he says with a normal voice. He turns away from them and tries to listen to his own breathing instead of the muffled whispers and giggles. If only his ability to conjure his mother’s voice was dependable. Tonight he can magic no comfort from her at all. He hears the spring and bounce of Martin getting into bed, but doesn’t open his eyes. When Matron comes to check on them, he pulls the blanket up high over his chin.

A gentle tap on his hand a few minutes later makes him jump. Martin is kneeling at his bedside, looking intently at him.

‘Give it ten minutes,’ he mouths, holding up his two hands, all digits splayed and white in the dark. William stares back, as Martin returns to his bed and lies still under the covers.

He counts groups of sixty, but he must have drifted off because he’s pulled back to himself by a tap on his arm. Martin is at his side again, white-striped pyjamas glowing. Carefully he is folding his blanket into a long thin column.

‘Bed crawl revenge,’ he whispers.

Like a surfer paddling out into the sea, Martin propels himself forward, under William’s bed, his big body positioned neatly along the length of the blanket, not making a sound. William hangs over the bed and watches Martin glide under and out and under and out of the beds to his left, surprisingly graceful. William can no longer see him, so he lies back down and waits in the thick quiet of communal sleep.

A series of sudden, sharp raps make William start, followed by the squeak and groan of bedsprings. Then a creepy, twisted moan: ‘Charles. Charles.’

‘Who is it? Pack it in.’ Charles’s voice is high-pitched with false bravery.

‘Get William’s pyjamas.’ Martin’s distorted voice is louder now.

‘I can’t!’ Charles snaps. ‘We widdled on them.’

‘Get them. Put them on.’

‘No!’

There’s a sudden movement and a cry of pain. ‘Ouch! I’ll tell Matron.’

‘If you’re not back in bed wearing William’s pyjamas in thirty seconds, I’ll tell Matron what you did.’ Martin has given up on the voice.

‘I can’t! It’s disgusting.’

There’s another soft thud followed by a yelp. ‘Imagine being expelled for pissing on someone’s pyjamas. You’d go down in school history. Go! Now!’

Appalled, William lies rigid. Charles jumps up and runs the length of the dorm. The bathroom light pings on; a quiet slap, drips, the rasp of wet fabric pulling against skin, muffled grunting. The room hums with the silence of waiting, listening boys. When Charles scurries past, tiny and scrawny in oversized, drenched pyjamas, William fights the urge to apologise.

‘And if you tell anyone about this,’ Martin says, emerging easily from under the next bed to William, ‘I’ll come tomorrow night. And the next.’

William counts to thirty and then whispers to Martin, ‘Tell him he can take them off now. Don’t make him wear them all night.’

‘He’s got to learn his lesson,’ Martin whispers softly. ‘You don’t want to have to put up with this for the next four years, do you?’

‘But what will Matron say in the morning? It’ll look like he’s wet himself.’

‘Trust me, William, he’ll leave you alone now.’

As Martin’s breathing quickly deepens, William is horribly aware of Charles’s restless shivering six beds away. It is a long time before sleep relieves his mind of the puzzle of how his new friend can be both so kind and so cruel.





16




Dear William,

Thank you for your letter – even though it made me hopping mad. I’m sorry to hear how unkind one of the boys has been, and can’t help but be pleased about how thoroughly your friend taught him a lesson, even though it was a tough one. Martin sounds quite a character – I think I’m glad you’ve got him looking out for you.

You were quite right not to tell your mother. And I’m happy to be the one you turn to when things aren’t so good. We all know that after your dear father died, your mother needed you all to herself for a while. We understand, but we’ve missed you. We might pop up to Cambridge for evensong every now and then, though I’m not sure how your mum would feel about that.

Anyway, I’ve been racking my brains for a way to make you feel better. I decided to hunt down something of your father’s – a good thing about still living in the house we grew up in! I found the shrivelled old conker he beat mine with in 1933 but it doesn’t look very impressive nowadays. You came dangerously close to getting a cracked old soap on a rope he once gave me for Christmas. Then I remembered you saying that apart from clothes, a blanket was about the only possession you were allowed. Bingo! Your father’s old blanket was ready and waiting in the bottom of the ottoman in his old bedroom. It’s stood the test of time better than the conker and soap, that’s for sure.