September

He sounded as upset and as puzzled as Edmund himself. Edmund said, 'Yes. Yes, I see.'

The Headmaster hesitated, and then he asked, 'Will you send him back to us?'

'Why do you say that?'

'I just wondered if you wanted him to return.'

'Is there any reason why he shouldn't?'

'From my point of view, absolutely no reason at all. He's a very nice boy, and I know I could make something of him. I, personally, would like to welcome him back at any time, but…'He paused, and Edmund got the impression that he was choosing his words with the utmost tact. '… but, you know, Edmund, every now and then a boy comes to Templehall who really shouldn't be away from home in the first place. I haven't had Henry long enough to be perfectly certain, but I think he is one of those children. It isn't just that he's young for his age; it's that he is not ready for the demands of boarding-school life.'

'Yes. Yes, I see.'

'Why don't you take a day or two to think it over? Keep Henry there till you've made up your mind. Remember, I really want him back. I'm not trying to shed my responsibilities, nor renege on my commitments, but I would seriously suggest that you reconsider the situation.'

'And do what?'

'Return him to his local primary. It's obviously a good school, and he's been well-grounded. By the time he's twelve you can think again.'

'You're saying exactly what my wife has been telling me for the past year.'

'I am sorry. But with hindsight, I think she is right. And I think that you and I are to blame and that we have both been mistaken…'

They talked a little more, agreed to be in touch in a couple of days, and finally rang off.

He is one of those children. He is not ready for the demands of boarding-school life. We have both been mistaken.

Mistaken. That was the word that hammered home, like a nail driven into a block of wood. Your wife is right, and you are mistaken. It took a bit of time to accept the word, to accept the implications. He sat at his desk, slowly coming to terms with the fact that he had been almost disastrously wrong. It was not an exercise that he was accustomed to, and it took a little time.

But after a bit, he got to his feet. The fire had, he saw, died. He crossed the room and fed it with logs, as he had already done earlier in the evening. When the dry wood had caught and the comforting flames were once more leaping, he left the library and returned to the kitchen.

Here, he found things more or less back to normal. Once more, they were all sitting around the table, Henry on his mother's knee. Edie had made a pot of tea, and cocoa for Henry. Virginia still wore her fur coat. As he came in, they all looked towards him, and he saw Henry's tears had dried and a little colour had come back into his cheeks.

Edmund put a cheerful expression on his face.

'That's done then…' He tousled his son's hair and pulled out a chair. 'Is there a cup of tea for me?'

'What have you been doing?' Henry asked.

'Speaking to Mr. Henderson.'

'Was he very cross?'

'No, not cross. Just a bit worried.'

Henry said, 'I'm very sorry.'

'Are you going to tell us about it?'

'Yes. I suppose so.'

'How did you get home?'

Henry took another mouthful of the steaming, sweet cocoa, and then laid his mug on the table. He said, 'I caught a bus.'

'But how did you get out of school?'

Henry explained. He made it all sound ridiculously simple. At bedtime, he'd dressed under the bedclothes, and then put his dress-ing-gown on. And then when the lights went out, he'd pretended he wanted to go to the lavatory. In the bathroom there was a large airing cupboard, and at the back of this he had hidden his overcoat. He'd swapped his dressing-gown for his overcoat and then climbed out of the window onto the fire escape. After that, he'd made his way down the back drive, and so onto the main road where the buses ran.

'But how long did you have to wait for a bus?' Virginia asked him.

'Only a little bit. I knew there was one coming.'

'How did you know?'

'I had a bus timetable.' He looked at Edie. '1 took it out of your bag one day. I kept it.'

'I wondered what had happened to my wee timetable.'

'1 took it. I looked up the bus to Relkirk, and I knew it would come. And it did.'

'But didn't anybody ask you what you were doing all on your own?'

'No. I had on my Balaclava helmet and it was my disguise and only my eyes showed. I didn't look like a schoolboy because I didn't wear my school cap.'

'How did you pay the fare?' Edmund asked.

'Vi had given me two pounds when she said goodbye to me. I didn't hand it in. I kept it in the inside pocket of my overcoat. I put the timetable there too, so that nobody would find it.'

'And then you got to Relkirk?'

'Yes. I got to the bus station. And it was getting dark, and I had to find the other bus, the one that goes past Caple Bridge. There was a Strathcroy bus too, but I didn't want to catch that one in case somebody saw me, somebody who knew me. And it was quite difficult to find that bus because there were lots of buses and I had to read the names on all the fronts of them. But 1 did find it, but we had to wait for quite a long time before it started.'

'Where did you get off that bus?'

'I told you. Caple Bridge. And then I walked.'

'You walked from Caple Bridge?' Virginia looked at her small son in wonder. 'But, Henry, that's five miles…'

'I didn't walk the whole of the way,' he admitted. 'I know I'm not allowed to get lifts, but I did get one at the very end from a very nice man in a sheep-float. And he took me to Strathcroy. And then…' His voice, which had sounded so clear and confident, began to shake again. 'And then…' His eyes turned to Edie.

Edie took over. 'Don't cry, pet. We won't talk about it if you don't want to…'

'I want you to tell them.'

So Edie did, in her most practical and down-to-earth fashion, but even this did not assuage the horror of Henry's terrible experience. At mention of Lottie, the colour seeped from Virginia's cheeks, and she drew Henry close and pressed her face to the top of his head and laid her hands across his eyes, as though she could shut out for ever the sight of Lottie Carstairs coming across Edie's bedroom floor to find out who stood beyond the window.

'Oh, Henry.' She rocked him like a baby. 'I can't bear it… What a thing to happen. What a thing to happen to you.'

Edmund, equally shaken, kept his voice calm.

'So what did you do, Henry?'

His father's level tones restored, a little, Henry's courage. He emerged, ruffled, from Virginia's embrace. He said, 'I went to Mrs. Ishak. Her shop was still open and she was sweeping the floor. And she was very kind. And Mrs. Ishak telephoned the police, and they came with the sirens going and a blue light flashing. We saw it from the shop. And then, when it had gone again, back to Relkirk, Mrs. Ishak put on her coat, and she and me walked here. And she rang the bell because the door was locked, and then the dogs barked, and Edie came.' He reached for his cocoa and drained the mug, and then set the empty mug down on the table. He said, 'I thought she was murdered! Lottie had put on her lilac cardigan and her mouth was all red, and I thought that she had killed Edie…'

His face crumpled. It was all too much for him. He wept again, and they let him cry, and Edmund did not tell him to be a man but simply sat there, regarding his small and sobbing son with a growing admiration and pride. For