A Terrible Kindness(41)
William finally drops onto the soft mattress shortly after midnight for his last night before returning to school. Martin only just walloped down on his seconds ago, but his breathing already seems to be deepening.
‘Martin?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I’ve had a great time.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Thanks for inviting me.’
‘You’re welcome – Bella.’
William is asleep within seconds.
He can’t breathe. The huge, sinewy mermaid is writhing on top of him. He struggles to free himself from her strong, wet tail which is coiling round his waist. Her mouth is all over his, salty, sea-swilled. He gasps and recoils and doesn’t understand why he should have an erection when he is so revolted by the fish woman on top of him.
Wait. He really can’t breathe. The mermaid has vanished. He is awake, but his mouth is still covered; a body weighs down on his. In a panic, he shoves it away, is finally able to breathe in, ready to shout out, but a big fleshy hand stifles it.
‘Shhh, it’s only me.’ Martin’s whisper is quieter than breath. His face eclipses the room.
‘What are you doing?’ William’s heart is flinging itself against the cage of his ribs.
‘I thought you wanted it.’ William feels Martin’s erection against his stomach. He pushes him away again, twisting his face from Martin’s.
‘Well, I don’t.’ His throat strains with the force of such whispering. ‘Get off!’
Martin looks at William, a crease at the top of his nose, then pulls away suddenly, drops back against the pillow. William glances at him. His eyes are silvery from the moonlight glancing in through the naked window.
‘Bloody hell, Martin,’ William whispers. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘I didn’t either. I just wanted to kiss you.’
‘I’m sorry.’ William talks to the ceiling. ‘I don’t.’
Martin returns to his own bed, his pyjamas bright in the moonlight.
28
Evelyn’s burgundy tweed dress is tight at her small waist. A cardigan the same colour is draped round her shoulders. Ash Wednesday is two weeks away, and as Martin had predicted, the ‘Miserere’ is William’s. In his pocket, folded up with his exeat, is a letter from Uncle Robert. He doesn’t know when he’s going to get it out, but he knows at some point he’ll have to.
Last night, having refolded the crumpled letter and put it in his trouser pocket ready for the next day, William calculated that he and his mother must have had twelve lunches at the Copper Kettle over the last three and a half years. There are other cafes, but they have always sat and gazed out on King’s Parade, at the lace-like stonework, the glassless windows and slender pillars tipped with crosses. Evelyn, always luminous at seeing him, has brought funny stories and baked treats in a box. She’s always dug for details of his chorister life; lessons, Martin’s misdemeanours, what nice things Phillip has said during choir practice. There have been times, of course, when hiccoughs of irritation interrupted their chatter, but on the whole, they’ve enjoyed their lunches and he’s looked forward to seeing her.
‘So, how’s that scallywag Martin?’ Evelyn pulls the cardigan round her shoulders before resting her forearms on the table and leaning towards him. ‘Any tales to tell?’
The pebble of pain plummets his body again. It’s been a month since he stayed at the Musseys’. He and Martin still sit together in choir and still sleep in adjacent beds. Outwardly everything is the same. But really, everything is different. Martin can’t look him in the face. Bold, badly behaved, unabashed Martin can’t meet his eye. William has tried to talk about it, wants to say it’s OK, he’s sorry he’s not, but it’s OK. Martin, though, has become skilled at avoidance and it’s rare they talk about much at all.
‘Not really.’ William shrugs. ‘He’s calmed down a bit this term.’
‘I bet that’s a relief to his parents. So’ – Evelyn nudges his knee under the table – ‘how are you feeling about your big day?’
Over his mother’s shoulder, William sees the approaching waitress. ‘Fine, but can we talk about Uncle Rob—’
She closes her eyes and holds both palms towards him. ‘Before we get into that, I’ve got some big news.’ Her eyes open wide, and her sudden smile and taut, petite body tell him that whatever it is, it’s going to affect him too. William is suddenly nervous.
The waitress stands at the table, notebook poised. ‘Ham, egg and chips twice, please,’ Evelyn tells her, ‘and two glasses of water.’
She watches her walk away then breathes in sharply. ‘I’ve been thinking. You’ll be leaving here in four months. We need to find you a good school and make sure you keep your music going.’
A wriggle of excitement moves in him. He’s been trying not to think about what’s next. Most of his friends, including Martin, will head off to other boarding schools, with reputable music departments and, more often than not, older siblings already there. He’s assumed he’ll be going to the local school back in Sutton where his old primary friends will have been for the last three years. It worries him that going back, he’ll become ordinary again.