While Theo tried to remember what had come next on his mother’s list of suggestions – was is the weather? – Wilson walked towards him and raised his hockey stick, making as if to strike him at close range. Theo flinched and covered his eyes, awaiting the full force of the blow. His reaction sent Wilson into fits of laughter.
‘You, boy!’ The bellowed words echoed off the old walls.
Theo looked up to see Mr Porter pushing a wheelbarrow full of compost along the path.
‘You! Mr Wilson!’ Mr Porter barked, his finger extended in Wilson’s direction.
Theo’s blood ran cold as Wilson slowly turned on his heel and walked back to where Mr Porter stood in his plaid shirt and corduroy trousers held up by leather braces. His sleeves were rolled above the elbow, revealing his brawny arms.
‘Did I see you with a hockey stick in this area? Because that’s against the rules. It should have been put away at the end of the session and I would hate to have to recommend you for a detention.’
‘Then don’t,’ suggested Wilson calmly.
Theo didn’t recognise the voice Mr Porter used. If his usual voice was like warm, soft toffee, this one was like cold, sharp glass.
‘Here’s the thing, Mr Wilson. You need to be very careful that you respect everyone in your path, as you never know where they’ll pop up again. And, trust me, the path we walk is long and winding.’
Wilson smirked. ‘Got it – long and winding.’ He nodded and turned back to walk across the quad.
‘Did he hurt you?’
Theo shook his head.
‘Did you have a good exeat?’
Theo shook his head again.
‘Want a cup of cocoa?’
This time he nodded and fell in step beside Mr Porter.
Mr Porter heated some milk in the green enamel kettle that sat on the stove top and with mugs of hot cocoa in their hands they sat side by side on the bench, looking out over the cottage garden and the field beyond. Their breath sent plumes of vapour up into the air. Mr Porter liked to be outside in all weathers, as if he was most at home there, surrounded by nature.
‘What’s a homo? I think I know, but I’m not sure,’ Theo asked as he sipped the warm froth from his drink.
Mr Porter placed his mug on the table and twisted a little so he could look Theo in the eye. ‘It’s a horrible word, and like all horrible words, if used enough it will make the person who says it ugly on the outside as well as on the inside.’
Theo nodded.
‘What do you think it is?’ Mr Porter eventually asked.
Theo looked up at him, kicking his legs back and forth. ‘Um, I think it’s a boy who loves other boys.’ He scratched his nose.
‘Yep, that’ll do. And if a boy loves another boy, that’s just fine.’
‘They call you “homo”.’ This Theo offered in the spirit of their pact that they would never lie to each.
‘I know.’ Mr Porter picked up his cocoa and slurped it.
‘Are you a homo?’
‘No, I am not and if I were, as I said already, that would be absolutely fine. Let that be the last time you use that word.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Theo looked into his mug.
‘It’s okay, you weren’t to know, but now you do, do not say it again.’ This was said in the voice that was more sharp glass than soft toffee.
‘I won’t.’
There was a moment of quiet. Then Mr Porter said, ‘I love girls, if you must know. Well, one girl, to be exact.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Her name was Mrs Porter, or Merry to me, and she was merry and beautiful.’ Mr Porter twisted the worn gold band on his finger.
‘Did she die?’
Mr Porter coughed, nodded and pulled his white handkerchief from his top pocket. He blew his nose and dabbed at his eyes. ‘Something in that compost must have got to me.’
And there it was again, the quiet.
‘I told my mother about you and she asked me what your name was and I didn’t know. Apart from Mr Porter, I mean.’
‘My name is Cyrus.’
‘Cyrus,’ Theo repeated, trying it out. ‘Doesn’t it make you angry when they call you a name like the one I’m not allowed to say any more?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ Mr Porter rubbed at his stubbly chin.
‘Why not? It makes me angry when they call me names.’
‘It doesn’t make me angry. It makes me sad. Because, like you, they’re only children and they do that because they’re afraid and I don’t like the idea of anyone being afraid. In fact I fought a war so that no one would be afraid.’
Theo pictured his pen torch. ‘What are they afraid of?’
‘Who knows, Mr Montgomery? Not being heard, having their own secrets discovered... But it’s best to learn to rise above the things they say and the things they do, otherwise a man can spend his whole life fighting, and I reckon we’ve all had enough of fighting.’
Theo nodded to show that he understood, even if he didn’t.
‘Having said that, are you familiar with Gandhi? He was a fine man and he said something similar to this: “Where there is only a choice between cowardice and violence, I would advise violence.”’
Theo shook his head. ‘No, I haven’t heard of him.’
Mr Porter took a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m beginning to think it might be time you did.’
‘Why did Mrs Porter die?’
‘Oh, now there’s a question I ask myself every hour of every day.’
Theo and Mr Porter stared ahead and sipped their cocoa. That wasn’t even close to a satisfactory answer, but Theo could tell by the set of his friend’s face, and the silence, that it was the only one he was going to get.
3
Theo sat in the hundred-year-old library, where the smell of old books danced up his nose. Hunched over his geography textbook, he folded his slim, toned arms and became engrossed, keen to learn about how the earth’s crust, its shell, was divided into tectonic plates and how they’d shifted over the last two hundred and fifty million years to form continents and mountains. It was incredible, a reminder that his place in the world was as nothing by comparison.
‘Two hundred and fifty million years...’ he whispered.
He ran his finger over a map showing the edges of the shifting plates and realised it made sense that this was where there were more volcanoes.
A scream of laughter came from behind him, breaking the silence of the library. He looked round quickly to see Wilson, now in the fifth form, with his cronies Helmsley and Dinesh on either side, chatting to the fourth-form girls. It appeared to be the same interaction, as ever, Wilson leading the pack and the girls flicking their long hair over their shoulders and gently thumping him, a chance for contact. Theo hated the way Wilson had grown his fringe, trying to look like Simon Le Bon, he hated his cockiness, and he hated his friends; in fact he hated most things about him. This had been the case now for the last seven years, ever since Wilson had singled him out in his first weeks at Vaizey College. Theo had learnt to ignore him and continued doing his best to remain invisible, as instructed all that time ago by Mr Beckett, but it wasn’t always easy.
Mr Porter reminded him regularly that people who were mean like Wilson had something dark growing inside them and were to be pitied. Theo tried, he really did, but he couldn’t help wishing the dark thing growing inside Wilson would just get on with it and suffocate him, anything to get him out of his life and ease his torment. At the start of each new school year, Theo prayed that Wilson might back off, get bored or, shamefully, find a new victim. His bullying was relentless, and Theo had to be permanently on guard. It was exhausting and distracting.
At fourteen, Theo had lost his gangliness. He was tall, slim rather than skinny, and muscular thanks to his running and gym regimes. Everything about him was well proportioned, and with his square jaw and thick hair it was clear he was on the way to becoming a handsome young man. Not that he saw this. He avoided mirrors and kept himse
lf to himself, preferring a quiet life. He was a loner and could only see himself as the weedy boy with the nervous stutter and pallid complexion. Outside of studying, his sole preoccupation was to try and keep his weirdness at bay.
‘What are you looking at, Montgonorrhea?’ Wilson fired this latest moniker in Theo’s direction, before looking at his group to make sure his comment had been properly appreciated.
Theo hadn’t realised he was still looking in their direction. He redirected his gaze back to his book, his pulse racing. Closing his eyes, he offered up a silent prayer that they would leave him alone. This he did without conviction; if prayers were all it took, his torment would have abated long ago.
‘Quiet, please!’ The elderly librarian looked up from her desk and put down her mug commemorating the engagement of Prince Charles and Lady Diana.
‘Sorry, miss, it wasn’t us, it was Mr Homo here.’ Theo glanced up as Wilson stood and pointed in his direction. ‘He’s making a proper racket and we’re trying really hard to study.’
Theo felt the burn of several pairs of eyes fixed on him and a hot prickle spread across his skin.
The girls placed their hands over their mouths to stifle their giggles.
The librarian stood up. ‘Right, Mr Homo, gather your books and leave!’ She seemed oblivious to the snickers that rippled around the room. ‘I will not have disruption in my library. There are people trying to work. Off you go!’ She made a shooing sign towards the door.
Theo knew there was no point protesting and, besides, he wanted to be as far away from Wilson as possible. He gathered his books, as instructed, and made his way along the corridor, walking slowly down the wide stone stairs, trying to kill time, practising the art of hiding in plain sight. Even so, despite his best efforts at purposeful dawdling, he arrived at his English class ten minutes early.
He hovered in the classroom doorway and leant his palm on the frame, content to stand and stare. For sitting in the seat next to his was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She seemed to be whispering to herself as she ran her hands over her skirt. Her thick flame-red hair hung around her face and her peachy skin was dotted with adorable freckles. Her eyes were green and her nose was tiny and snub. He looked around the classroom to see if it was a set-up, another joke at his expense, but she was alone.
Theo walked slowly forward, mindful that he had only minutes before his classmates arrived and introduced him as the school weirdo.
He pulled out his chair and tried to order the jumble of words flying around inside his head. But before he’d had the chance to construct a comprehensible sentence, she spoke to him.
‘Hi there, I’m Kitty.’ She smiled warmly and waved at him, even though they were close enough to speak, and he liked it. It was the nicest welcome he’d received in a long time.
‘I’m Theo.’ He sat down and stared at her face.
‘Well, you’re going to have to help me out here, Theo. You know when a girl is a million miles from home and is smiling as though she has it all figured out but is actually just very scared, wondering how to fit in at a new school this late in the term?’ She dipped her eyes, her tone sincere, her Scottish lilt most attractive.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, I am that girl.’ She laughed softly and leant in closer, laying her fingers briefly on his arm, with the lightest of touches.
Theo’s limbs jumped and a jolt of pleasure fired through him. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find that her fingers had burnt right through his flesh.
Kitty continued, whispering now. ‘Actually, that’s not strictly true. I’m a warrior like my mum and that means I can get through just about anything.’ She sat back in the chair and rested her hand on the desktop. Theo had a strong desire to place his on top of it. Kitty the warrior carried on. ‘Mr Reeves told me to sit here and then left me all alone. He seemed a bit odd.’
‘I guess.’ Theo nodded. ‘And people fear people who are odd, weird. They think they’re toxic, contagious.’ He blinked.
‘I suppose we do.’ She gave a small laugh and it was abundantly clear that this beautiful, confident girl was not one of life’s weirdos. ‘I was going to give it five more minutes and then run and hide somewhere, but then you turned up. You just might be my knight in shining armour.’
He liked this idea very much. ‘I’m not usually this early. I was working in the library...’ He let this trail, not wanting to recount or even recall what had happened only minutes earlier. ‘It’s a coincidence, really. Out of all the people that might have turned up early... I’m a Montgomery, so you must be...?’
‘Oh! Oh, I see!’ She smiled when she caught his thread. ‘I’m a Montrose. So that explains the seating.’
Theo loved that she was smart.
‘I think I can get through this, Mr Montgomery, with you by my side. What was your first name again?’ She was so close now that tendrils of her thick hair were brushing his shoulder, vivid orange against the navy of his V-necked school jersey. It took all of his strength not to reach out and touch them.
‘My name’s Theodore, but everyone calls me Theo.’ Not that they call me anything really, as no one talks to me, but I don’t want you to know that and right now you don’t and I feel like someone else and that’s brilliant.
She twisted her head to look at him. ‘Theodore? Let me guess... after Mr Roosevelt? I must confess, I can’t think of any other Theodores right now!’
‘Actually, no.’ His face broke into a wry smile, but he made sure his lips covered his teeth, which he had neglected to clean that morning. ‘I was named after Theobald’s House. My father was a Theobald’s boy and my grandfather too, in fact all the men in our family came here, but I think my mother drew the line at Theobald and so Theodore was the compromise.’
‘That’s crazy!’ She put her hand to her cheek and he noticed a kink in her left forearm, a slight bend that meant her hand curved ever so slightly to the left. Imperfect and therefore, to him, perfect.
She continued, either unaware or uninterested in his scrutiny. ‘So your family are, like, Vaizey College through and through?’
‘I guess.’ He shrugged, pleased to have impressed her a little and sad that it was based on a lie. It might have been true that in the past the Montgomery men were Vaizey to the core, but his hatred of the place meant that line ended with him. It felt to Theo as if his awkwardness at the school was like a loose thread and that each time it got pulled it left another little hole in his father’s reputation as well as his own. It was a huge weight to carry. ‘I sometimes wish I was named after Roosevelt instead.’ This was as close as he could come to admitting how he felt about the school. ‘It would be easier and quicker to explain.’
‘And is that a Rudyard Kipling novel I see in your bag?’ she asked in her soft voice as she peered at the green cloth spine.
‘His poetry actually. For prep.’ Not that he’d started it yet. He was, in truth, dreading it. I mean... poetry? What’s the point?
‘We have a lot of it in the library at home, you must know some of it already?’ Her eyes blazed with enthusiasm.
He looked at her and in that moment wished beyond everything that instead of maths equations, tectonic plates and the properties of light, all the things that had held his attention over the last term, it had been the poetry of Mr Rudyard Kipling that he had studied. To have been able to recite just a single line from one of his poems would, he knew, have made the greatest impression on Miss Kitty Montrose. And he wanted to impress her. He wanted that very much. Instead, he hesitated and confessed with a flush of embarrassment to his cheeks. ‘I’m afraid not. I haven’t really read any yet.’
Her smile faded a little and her brows knitted. But she quickly regained her equanimity. ‘Well of course, why would you? My boyfriend is the same. He only reads comics, if you can believe that!’ She shook her head and reached for her textbook.
Theo felt his stomach bunch as if he’d been punched. This was the very worst news imaginable – not
that Kitty’s boyfriend only read comics, but that she had a boyfriend at all. A surge of something thick seemed to clog his veins, making his limbs feel leaden and his head light. He hated the boy, even if he had no idea who he was.
‘You have a boyfriend?’ he mumbled weakly.
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘My cousins are already here at Vaizey – Ruraigh and Hamish Montrose...’
Theo nodded. He knew them of course and with this information came a sickness in his gut. Her cousins would no doubt fill her in on all of his quirks, laughing, probably, as they did so. And, just like that, the crackle of confidence that had flickered into life when Kitty had considered him her knight in shining armour, was now extinguished. He watched her beautiful mouth move and half listened to the words that came out.
‘They always bring their friends home for the holidays, and he’s one of their gang, so we kind of met a while ago. He’s a fifth former,’ she said with pride. ‘Angus Thompson, do you know him?’
Theo could only nod as he pictured the confident, athletic Thompson, a full two years older than him, good-looking in a New Romantic kind of way, and captain of the 1st XI. His heart sank. He stared ahead, almost unable to look at Kitty. I wish I was Angus Thompson. I wish I was anyone other than Theodore Montgomery.
‘Are you sporty?’ she asked, as if she’d read his thoughts.
He shook his head. ‘Not really. Are you?’
‘Swimming, that’s my thing. I love to swim. My dad always says that one day I’m going to develop gills behind my ears!’
Theo watched, fascinated, as, at the mention of her dad, her eyes narrowed and for a split second there was a look of longing on her pretty face. Could it be that she too came from a home where she felt like a guest and with parents who made her feel like an encumbrance? Oh, to have someone to discuss this with – it would make things so much easier to bear.
‘I’m finding being here harder than I can say,’ she said.
Theo’s heart lifted. ‘I understand that.’ And he truly did.
Theo Page 4
