Harry had always liked Mr Frobisher, who was one of the few masters who treated him as an equal. He also didn’t appear to have any favourites, while some of the other beaks left him in no doubt that a docker’s son should never have been allowed to enter the hallowed portals of St Bede’s however good his voice was.
When the bell rang at the end of prep, Harry put down his pen and walked across the corridor to Mr Frobisher’s study. He had no idea why his housemaster wanted to see him, and hadn’t given the matter a great deal of thought.
Harry knocked on the study door.
‘Come,’ said the voice of a man who never wasted words. Harry opened the door and was surprised not to be greeted with the usual Frob smile.
Mr Frobisher stared up at Harry as he came to a halt in front of his desk. ‘It has been brought to my attention, Clifton, that you have been stealing from the tuck shop.’ Harry’s mind went blank as he tried to think of a response that wouldn’t condemn Giles. ‘You were seen by a prefect, removing goods from the shelves,’ continued Frobisher in the same uncompromising tone, ‘and then slipping out of the shop before you reached the front of the queue.’
Harry wanted to say, ‘Not removing, sir, returning,’ but all he managed was, ‘I have never taken anything from the tuck shop, sir.’ Despite the fact that he was telling the truth, he could still feel his cheeks reddening.
‘Then how do you explain your twice weekly visits to the Emporium, when there isn’t a single entry against your name in Mr Swivals’s ledger?’
Mr Frobisher waited patiently, but Harry knew if he told the truth, Giles would surely be expelled.
‘And this bar of chocolate and packet of Liquorice Allsorts were found in the top drawer of your desk, not long after the tuck shop had closed.’
Harry looked down at the sweets, but still said nothing.
‘I’m waiting for an explanation, Clifton,’ said Mr Frobisher. After another long pause, he added, ‘I am of course aware that you have far less pocket money than any other boy in your class, but that is no excuse for stealing.’
‘I have never stolen anything in my life,’ said Harry.
It was Mr Frobisher’s turn to look dismayed. He rose from behind his desk. ‘If that is the case, Clifton – and I want to believe you – you will report back to me after choir practice with a full explanation of how you came to be in possession of tuck you clearly didn’t pay for. Should you fail to satisfy me, we will both be paying a visit to the headmaster, and I have no doubt what his recommendation will be.’
Harry left the room. The moment he closed the door behind him, he felt sick. He made his way back to his study, hoping Giles wouldn’t be there. When he opened the door, the first thing he saw was another bar of chocolate on his desk.
Giles looked up. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ he asked when he saw Harry’s flushed face. Harry didn’t reply. He placed the bar of chocolate in a drawer and left for choir practice without saying a word to either of his friends. Giles’s eyes never left him, and once the door was closed, he turned to Deakins and asked casually, ‘What’s his problem?’ Deakins went on writing as if he hadn’t heard the question. ‘Didn’t you hear me, cloth ears?’ said Giles. ‘Why’s Harry in a sulk?’
‘All I know is that he had an appointment to see the Frob.’
‘Why?’ asked Giles, sounding more interested.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Deakins, who didn’t stop writing.
Giles stood up and strolled across the room to Deakins’s side. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’ he demanded, grabbing him by the ear.
Deakins dropped his pen, nervously touched the bridge of his glasses and pushed them further up his nose, before he eventually squeaked, ‘He’s in some sort of trouble.’
‘What sort of trouble?’ asked Giles, twisting the ear.
‘I think he might even be expelled,’ whimpered Deakins.
Giles let go of his ear and burst out laughing. ‘Harry, expelled?’ he scoffed. ‘The Pope’s more likely to be defrocked.’ He would have returned to his desk if he hadn’t noticed beads of sweat appearing on Deakins’s forehead. ‘What for?’ he asked more quietly.
‘The Frob thinks he’s been stealing from the tuck shop,’ said Deakins.
If Deakins had looked up, he would have seen that Giles had turned ashen white. A moment later, he heard the door close. He picked up his pen and tried to concentrate, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t finish his prep.
When Harry came out of choir practice an hour later, he spotted Fisher leaning on the wall, unable to mask a smile. That was when he realized who must have reported him. He ignored Fisher and strolled back to his house as if he didn’t have a care in the world, whereas in fact he felt like a man mounting the gallows, knowing that unless he ditched his closest friend, a stay of execution would not be possible. He hesitated before knocking on his housemaster’s door.
The ‘Come’ was far gentler than it had been earlier that afternoon, but when Harry entered the room he was greeted with the same uncompromising stare. He bowed his head.
‘I owe you a sincere apology, Clifton,’ said Frobisher, rising from behind his desk. ‘I now realize that you were not the culprit.’
Harry’s heart was still beating fast, but his anxiety was now for Giles. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, his head still bowed. He had so many questions he would have liked to ask the Frob, but he knew none of them would be answered.
Mr Frobisher stepped out from behind his desk and shook hands with Harry, something he’d never done before. ‘You’d better hurry, Clifton, if you hope to get any supper.’
When Harry came out of the Frob’s study, he walked slowly towards the dining room. Fisher was standing by the door, a surprised look on his face. Harry walked straight past him and took his place on the end of the bench next to Deakins. The seat opposite him was empty.
8
GILES DIDN’T SHOW UP for supper, and his bed wasn’t slept in that night. If St Bede’s hadn’t lost their annual fixture against Avonhurst by thirty-one runs, Harry suspected that not many boys or even masters would have noticed he was missing.
But, unfortunately for Giles, it was a home match, so everyone had an opinion on why the school’s opening batsman had not taken his guard at the crease, not least Fisher, who was telling anyone who cared to listen that the wrong man had been rusticated.
Harry hadn’t been looking forward to the holidays; not just because he wondered if he’d ever see Giles again, but also because it meant returning to No. 27 Still House Lane and once again having to share a room with his uncle Stan, who more often than not returned home drunk.
After spending the evening going over old exam papers, Harry would climb into bed around ten. He quickly fell asleep, only to be woken sometime after midnight by his uncle, who was often so drunk he couldn’t find his own bed. The sound of Stan trying to pee into a chamberpot, and not always hitting the target, was something that would remain etched in Harry’s mind for the rest of his life.
Once Stan had collapsed on to his bed – he rarely bothered to get undressed – Harry would try to fall asleep a second time, often to be woken a few minutes later by loud drunken snores. He longed to be back at St Bede’s, sharing a dormitory with twenty-nine other boys.
Harry still hoped that in an unguarded moment Stan might let slip some more details about his father’s death, but most of the time he was too incoherent to answer even the simplest question. On one of the rare occasions when he was sober enough to speak, he told Harry to bugger off and warned him that if he raised the subject again, he’d thrash him.
The only good thing about sharing a room with Stan was that there was never any chance of his being late for his paper round.
