“What, my boy?” says his father, gazing into the fire and stroking Noah’s curls.
Tai drops his chew and rests his head on my knee. Tigger looks disgusted and clambers up to sleep on the back of a chair.
Noah swallows. “Does that mean I can change schools?”
A frown casts a shadow over Lord B’s face. “But you’re doing so well at St David’s? Aren’t you? Friends and that sort of thing.”
Noah shakes his father’s hands out of his hair. “No, Dad, I’m not. I don’t.” He looks at his feet. “Actually, Dad, I don’t really have any friends.”
“Oh, Noah, that can’t be true.” Lord B strokes him, like he’s a dog. “You must have lots of friends. What about that tall boy, MP’s son, was it? Didn’t you go to his party?”
Noah nods his head. “I did. And they ended up burying me in leaves, if you remember – he and the rest of the rugby team.”
Lord B frowns. “How about that chap from Germany, what was his name? Hans? Helmut? Father ran a bank or something.”
“He was called Harald and he left after a week. He hated the place.”
“But St David’s is such a good school. I went there, Peregrine went there – and your grandfather. It’s … a tradition. And people go to such good universities. Everyone’s so clever.”
Noah sighs. “Dad, could I just change schools?” he says. “Go somewhere like – Herschel High?”
Lord B looks shocked. Mum drops her glasses on the floor.
“But that’s my school,” I say slowly. “You want to go to my school? It’s not like St David’s – not at all.”
“Exactly,” says Noah. “Please, Dad? I just want friends – ordinary friends. People who do ordinary things. No one does ordinary things at St David’s. All their parents are members of parliament or live in South America. No one just … hangs out, like Viv does with her friends.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” says Lord B, looking across at Mum as if she might know the answer. “No Belcombe has ever been to school anywhere else.”
Mum prods me.
I glance up at her.
She whispers, “Come on, Viv.”
For a second I feel doubtful. Noah? Herschel High? Then I think of all the people that go there – every kind of person. Then I realise that the idea of seeing more of Noah actually makes me smile and then I say, “Do you want to come to the Christmas market with me and the gang?” It comes out of my mouth before I’ve even properly thought about it.
Noah’s face lights up. “Really?”
I nod. “Really, yes.” I examine my feelings. “Although, you have to promise that you won’t be Viscount whatnot, that you’ll just be Noah.”
He glares at me.
“That’s very kind of you,” he says, all formally. “And I’d like to take you up on your offer, but you must promise that you won’t call me inbred, or a tadpole, or a school dinner, or anything like that.”
Lord B raises an eyebrow. Mum goes red.
I probably go red too.
“Deal – if you promise not to be a complete tadpole.”
Noah’s smile broadens. His face cracks with the glow. “God, Viv – I’d like that – I’d like that more than anything.”
And I look up at his dad and my mum and I see that their smiles are as large as his and I feel, deep inside, a door opening to a giant smile of my own.
Copyright
First published in the UK in 2018 by Nosy Crow Ltd
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Text © Fleur Hitchcock, 2018
Cover illustration © Robert Ball, 2018
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