‘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.’
‘Steady on, that kind of behaviour could land you in a lot of trouble!’
‘Take the mickey all you want!’ William can’t help but laugh. ‘I like talking to her and I like drinking cocoa.’
‘If you do want to step things up, and you need any advice, I’m your man. Let’s just say I’ve packed an orifice or two in my time.’
William winces, can’t help it.
Ray’s confidence visibly falters. ‘I know you think I’m a loser, but you could at least try and hide it.’
‘I don’t think that,’ he half lies, feeling guilty, ‘sorry.’
Ray softens at the apology. ‘Who’d have guessed there were boys in this world who spent Saturday mornings putting make-up on stiffs?’ Ray warms to his theme. ‘Not me, that’s for sure.’
‘Not every Saturday.’ William laughs. ‘And not until I was fourteen.’
‘Why fourteen?’ Ray frowns. ‘Is that the age of initiation?’
‘It’s when I moved in with my uncle.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘I might not know where a carotid artery flows from and to, but I’m sure I can follow your living arrangements.’
William is relieved to see the time on his watch. He gulps down the rest of his drink and picks up his coat. ‘Right, I’m off.’
Ray looks at the clock on the wall. ‘We’ve got ten minutes yet.’
‘I haven’t. I’m going out with Arthur.’
‘Where?’
‘Home visit, council bigwig. His wife wants him embalmed at home.’
‘I see,’ Ray says, his face closed down, smile gone. ‘Golden Boy to the rescue.’
Arthur has never invited Ray to a home embalming, and this is the third time William has been asked. But the flicker of sympathy William feels is extinguished by a sudden and strong feeling of superiority.
‘Talking of advice, I’ve got some for you.’
‘What’s that then?’ Ray stands and puts his coat on.
‘Get a haircut. Even if your marks improve, you won’t get asked on any home visits looking like that.’
William’s afternoon goes well. Arthur praises his work and professional, solicitous manner with the councillor’s widow. But the whole thing is sullied for him because of the fiery colour that rose on Ray’s face before he had time to laugh it away.
? ? ?
If his mother had come to get him sooner, before the summer holidays, William would have gone. But after the gazumping, the new house wouldn’t be ready until the end of October, and the unexpected promotion she got when her boss had a heart attack meant she was incredibly busy, so it was agreed he’d see the half-term out in Sutton. Before Ash Wednesday, the thought of moving to Wales had some appeal, but after he’d gone cold turkey on choral music and promised himself never to sing in public again, the last thing he wanted was Evelyn pushing him to join a male voice choir. And anyway, by then, William was certain about his future. He kept telling Uncle Robert and Howard he wanted to stay with them, but neither seemed to hear him.