The House Martin

by William Parker

  Perhaps he was already filing the meeting with me into his portfolio of anecdotes.

  ‘Guess what happened to me last night? Bumped into—and recognised, would you believe—someone I was at prep school with nearly forty years ago. Forty years ago! Knew him instantly!’ And how would the description go on from there?

  ‘He was a real nutcase, was Ben Teasdale. Totally, absolutely flipped out one summer term… Bit of a broken down sort of a character now. Quite obviously over-fond of a drink. Couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I felt really rather sorry for him. Think he’s probably led a lonely and rather unfulfilled sort of a life.’

  Q

  My new suit’s ruined, and I don’t have a mobile any longer. My knee’s bleeding, I’ve twisted my ankle, and I must have bashed my head as well because it’s pounding like fuck. There’s a bit of a gooey mess somewhere near the crown; I can’t quite see it but something’s oozing down onto my shirt.

  I’m not ‘monumentally’ drunk—typical bit of Teasdale exaggeration there. I’m no more than a bit tiddly, actually. I might have had about five glasses, I suppose, but these days, that’s just the very start of an evening. If I hadn’t crashed down that flight of stairs, I’d already be another two glasses down the line by now.

  This is bad, though. It’s not alright, this crazy drinking alone behaviour. I’m just a bit short of fifty years old and I’m going on nightly benders, drinking like a student at his twenty-first. But this is how it is now. This is what I do, with terrible hangovers in the mornings as though I’ve been out to some fantastic party, when in fact I’m opening bottle after bottle at home, alone, and falling asleep on the sofa with my clothes on and waking up to bright eyed people being interviewed on the telly that’s been on all night.

  I don’t know how it’s happened; it’s just sort of crept up on me. Perhaps it’s a family thing. Perhaps it’s because I’m like my poor old mum. But this is really frightening now, and it’s going to get worse if I don’t do something about it. Game’s up with this drinking malarkey, Ben. Game’s got to be up.

  And I’ve let something precious slip through my hands this evening, too. I could have stayed to ask Val to tell me everything he remembered about what happened that night in the dormitory. He could have filled in some of the gaps. He was there, right there, and I’ve passed it all up just because for some mad reason I need even more white wine than I’ve already had. I must be fucking mad.

  II.

  Courtlands School, May, 1968

  I’m waiting for her.

  I hate waiting more than anything. Even if she was going to be here on time I wouldn’t like the waiting, but with Mummy you just never know. She could be early or late. It’s even possible that she won’t come at all. And then if she does come, I don’t know how she’ll be. It might be one of her bad days. I don’t know why she’s coming. She’s never been by herself before. Anyway, I’m sitting here all ready to go. I’m wearing my blazer and my boater’s on my lap.

  Mr. Burston—that’s the Headmaster—came into history class just as we sat down and took me into the corridor. It must have looked to the others as if I’d done something wrong, or something terrible had happened, like when Granddad died.

  ‘Teasdale, your mother has phoned and asked if she might take you out to lunch, and just this once, as a special concession, I’m going to allow it.’ It’s a special concession because I don’t see my mum and dad as often as the other boys. We live near London, and it’s just too far away for them to come and collect me and take me home for the weekend and then bring me back. It’s one hundred and ten miles from our front door to the school front door. My dad measured it in the car once. Some of the other boys from London go home at half term, but my dad’s a very busy man. He often travels abroad and can’t spare the time to come and get me. I could go home by train, but it’s an expensive business and my dad would still have to take me across London on the tube, though actually I think I’m old enough to do that by myself.

  She said she was coming between twelve o’clock and one o’clock. That’s what she said, but she must be coming by train to Chepstow, and then she’ll have to get a taxi all the way to Saxham, and sometimes it’s very difficult to find one at that station. I know that because once Mummy got the dates wrong and sent me back to school a whole day late, and I had to get a taxi from the station. It took ages for it to come, and in the end I didn’t get to school till after high tea was finished.

  If I’m still sitting here by the end of lunch hour, perhaps Mr. Burston will change his mind about the special concession and tell me to go back into class. Perhaps he’ll have another phone call in a minute, and Mummy will say she’s missed the train. But she can’t do that because she must be on the train at the moment, and if she’d missed it she would have phoned by now to say she wasn’t coming.Unless she’s very bad today.

  It’s not free time, though, because I’m learning my dates while I’m sitting here waiting. Mrs. Marston came out of the class to give me my copybook. ‘Don’t think you’re getting away with just sitting there doing nothing when you’ve got work to catch up on,’ she said. I’m doing all the dates from the Battle of Hastings to the Battle of Bosworth Field. History’s my very best and favourite subject, but it’s not sinking in at the moment because nothing sinks in while I’m waiting.

  I’m sitting in the big leather chair in the entrance hall. It’s really huge, with sides that go up and then out at the top like an elephant’s ears. I think it was to stop your head getting into a draught in the olden days. I saw a picture of King James I sitting in one just like this when he came down from Edinburgh to be the King of England as well as being the King of Scotland. It’s not that I’m small for my age—I’m going to be eleven next birthday—but it’s so big that my feet only just touch the ground, even with my bottom right on the edge of it. It’s a horrid slippery chair and there’s horse hair coming out of tears in the arm and the seat. It’s more like wire than hair. It’s scratching my elbow and the back of my legs. It wouldn’t do that if I was wearing long trousers. I’ve told my dad that I’m just about the oldest boy wearing short trousers, but he hasn’t bought me long ones yet. He says they’re too expensive, but he’d change his mind if he knew how upset I get about the teasing.

  I’ve just pulled out a whole clump of the horse hair by accident. I try to stuff it back in but I can’t, so I’ve pushed it down the back to hide what I’ve done, but they’ll know it was me on account of the fact that I was the last one to sit here. That’s another thing to worry about.

  We’re not usually allowed in the entrance hall. It’s strictly for the staff and when we’re arriving and leaving with our parents. The floor’s very shiny because Mrs. Morgan, the cleaner, polishes it every day and is very proud of it. Worgan’s mother slipped on it once and fell over with a bang when she was bringing him back from a weekend exeat—that’s what they call the day when we’re allowed out with our parents. It’s Latin for ‘go out’, I think. Anyway, Heath, who’s one of the prefects, giggled about Mrs. Worgan being flat out on the floor that day and was straightaway given a detention and nearly demoted, but after that they put an old Persian carpet down which is just as bad because it moves around if you’re in a hurry on it. It’s very dangerous if you ask me.

  It feels funny to sit on this big old chair, because no one ever does, but Mr. Burston told me to while I’m waiting. But actually, the really good thing is that when everyone passes by on the way to lunch, if I’m still here, I’ll be invisible. I don’t want anybody to see me waiting. They’d be able to if I was right underneath the grandfather clock which is where we usually are if we’re ever in the hall. We have to stand underneath it when we’re waiting to go into the Headmaster’s study for the slipper or even worse, the cane. I’ve never been slippered or caned.

  I’m sitting so close to the clock that I can actually see the big hand moving round, and the tick-tock i
s really loud. There’s another sound that comes out when you’re this close to it. A sort of swooshing. It must be the pediment swinging back and forward inside.

  This hall’s the smartest part of the school. There are mezzotints on the walls—so many they’re nearly touching each other. Mezzotints are prints that were made on copper plates hundreds of years ago. They show all the kings and princes and generals who beat Napoleon. I counted them once, and there are thirty-two altogether. They’ve been here since before the school was a school. In the olden days it was a big house built by twin brothers who liked each other so much they lived together for the whole of their lives. They had two of everything put in—two sitting rooms with big windows overlooking the river, two studies, two bathrooms, two lawns and four huge bedrooms each for their friends who came to visit. But there’s only one front door and hall, one kitchen and one dining room because they liked to have their dinner together. It’s funny that they forgot to take their mezzotints with them when they left. Perhaps they moved out in a hurry.

  I’m very worried about Mummy coming. It might be that my dad doesn’t know she’s on the train. Perhaps he’s gone away for a bit and she’s very bad at the moment. Perhaps she’s got in a muddle and that’s why she’s coming.

  I don’t want anyone to know about Mummy. I worry that people at school might start talking about it, especially the matrons and the teachers, though I know, in fact, that they do talk about her. I don’t want them to feel sorry for me, but mostly I don’t want anybody at all to say nasty things about her.

  It’s my number one secret. Nobody must know about it, and if I think they’re beginning to know, I have to show them that they’ve got it all wrong. But it’s getting more and more difficult, because Mummy’s actually getting worse and worse, and one day the whole secret’s going to come tumbling out, and I won’t be able to do anything about it.

  It’s not the only secret that I’ve got. There are two more. One’s a brand new secret from last term that I’ve got to keep for someone else forever and ever, and that person doesn’t even know that I know about it. And the third secret is the oldest one of all and especially bad because if the other boys find out about it they’ll bully me forever, and probably all the boys in the next school I go to—if I pass my common entrance exam—will know about it too, and perhaps even at university.

  I hope Mummy doesn’t get here while everyone’s going past into lunch. I don’t want anyone to see her, even if she isn’t very bad. When she came to the Carol Concert at Christmas, Redmond asked me if she was a gypsy. I don’t even think he was teasing me. Mummy doesn’t look like the other mothers really. She has very long dark red hair and wears big earrings and lots of jangly bracelets and she used to wear fishnet stockings, though now she’s become a hippie, which is even more embarrassing. My dad said that they might be coming to Sports Day at the end of term. I was thinking of writing a letter to say please don’t wear the earrings from Christmas, but anyway, now she’s coming today, and all I can do is wait.

  I hate waiting so much. It feels as though something dreadful is going to happen.

  Q

  The term starts off with me waiting—sitting on the sofa in the drawing room at home waiting for the taxi. This last time I’d been waiting for such a long time, I think longer than usual. You’d think that I’d be getting more used to it by now, but I’m just not. The funny thing is that I really wanted the taxi to come, and I really didn’t all at the same time. I hate to go away from home at the beginning of term more than anything, but I really didn’t want to miss the train either. It’s just the sort of thing to get me worried.

  Then I thought I heard a car, so I stood up and looked through the window at that gap in the hedge where a bit of it has died and saw the lights go on when the man put the brakes on. I’d told Mummy it should come for us at half past ten if the train was at eleven, but it was only quarter past ten. I expected him to turn the engine off and wait for a bit, but he tooted the horn straightaway and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as though we were late rather than him being early.

  I pretended not to notice him. I didn’t want to leave yet, and Mummy wasn’t ready anyway. She was in the kitchen listening to the radio like she normally does in the mornings. I could just about hear that song about going to San Francisco with flowers in your hair, which is one of Mummy’s absolute favourites. She was singing along quite loudly. The radio was making a funny noise though, because ever since it stopped being the Light Service and became Radio 1, she’s often not been able to tune it in properly, even though I’ve explained to her about FM and medium wave a hundred times. She turns it up really loud as if that’s going to make it clearer. Now when I hear it sounding as though the hoover’s been left on, I know it’s going to be a bad day.

  Even though the taxi driver couldn’t see my face, I put on a bored expression to show that there was more waiting to do before I was ready to go. For all he knew I might have had my own radio on too loud to hear him. It wasn’t my fault that he was early. I picked up the little glass of sherry that Mummy had given me—she always gives me one on the day I go back to school—and took a big swig. Sometimes it makes me feel less worried, but it wasn’t working that day. It was the only thing I’d had to eat or drink all morning because on the day that I go back to school my mouth always goes very dry, and my throat feels as though it’s too small to let anything at all go down, even something slippery like a banana.

  My blue bag was all packed and zipped up, and my boater was on top of it. It was how it usually is when I’m waiting for the taxi at the beginning of every term. I sit on the sofa with the bag by my feet, and I wait and wait and wait. I’d got my blazer on for the first time since the last day of summer term last year, and it smelt of the downstairs cupboard where it had been hanging for a whole year long. I’ve had to have three new white shirts for this term, and there’s a whole lot of the sleeve showing because now the blazer is far too small. My shoulders feel all tight inside. Perhaps if I keep tugging the sleeves down every now and then it will stretch as time goes along. So now I have a small blazer and I’m still in short trousers. It’s another thing to worry about.

  I was hoping I’d remembered to pack everything. It had taken me ages the night before, and even after I’d turned off my little light by the side of my bed, I suddenly remembered I wanted the tee shirt that Granny gave me last summer. That’s really silly, I know, because I can’t wear it at school, but I just wanted it with me for remembrance sake. Anyway, I had to put the light back on and get out of bed to put it in the bag. It’s not such a big bag, and I can’t take everything I want with me. All night I was worried I’d left something essential out, and there’s always something missing when I get back to school. It’s an unavoidable mistake, really.

  At the bottom was my stamp collection, and straight on top of it I put Jollo, who’s going to have to stay at the very bottom all term long. He’s my furry lion that I’ve had since I was a baby, and I’ve never been anywhere without him. None of the boys know about him because he never ever comes out of the blue bag. I’m not the only boy who takes a teddy bear back to school, but I just don’t want the others to know about him. Both his ears have gone missing, he’s only got one eye, and the fur is all prickly since I gave him a bath when I was small. I think he smells of wee a bit too, though I have sprinkled him with talcum powder and given him a spray of Mummy’s perfume. I’d really hate for the others to see him and make fun of him. The blue bag stays under my bed in the dorm, and sometimes if I’m feeling bad I put my hand into it and hold Jollo’s paw for a bit. He’s quite happy living there as long as I’m close by.

  I’d packed my fountain pen—which I only use for special occasions—that Godmother Lynne gave me at Christmas and the lemon drops that Mrs. Hamilton from next door gave me ‘for the journey.’ I had my wash bag with the new toothbrush and toothpaste and flannel and shampoo, and my alarm clock that was bought wi
th my pocket money at Rome airport years and years ago when we were first going to live in Beirut. I’d folded it in tissue paper and put it in between Jollo’s front paws before wrapping them both in an old towel I found in the garage that Mummy had put in the bag for when the charity collecting people come. I love my clock. I think it’s Jollo’s best friend, and it never comes out of the bag either. I wind it up and set the right time before I pack it, and then I try to make sure that it never stops ticking for a single second during the term. Then I can say to myself that its ticking started in my bedroom, and it’s a little sound of home that has come away with me. I’d taken one of Mummy’s silk scarves from her wardrobe, too. It smells of her. I don’t think she’ll miss it because she’s got lots of them. I’d put my little transistor radio in as well. We’re not meant to have radios in our bags—and it would be confiscated if it was found—but sometimes when I can’t sleep I take the risk and listen to Radio Luxembourg under the blankets. Lastly, right at the top so I could get it easily if I had to, I’d put in my Ventolin inhaler because now and again I get a bit of asthma, especially if I’m worried.

  When I woke up that morning, just for a second I’d forgotten that I was going back to school. I thought I was going to be sick, but I lay very still till the sweat on my forehead went cool and I felt a bit better. I don’t really enjoy my holidays because all I do is dread the beginning of term—right from the moment I get back home on the first day. So perhaps there isn’t any point in having a holiday at all.

  It was still quite dark outside, so I knew it was too early to get dressed even though I couldn’t see my clock because I’d packed it away. I think it was the middle of the night. I got up anyway and went downstairs and cut a piece of the honey spice cake that Mummy had made the day before because it was one of her good days. I wrapped it in some silver foil from the second drawer down and put it in a brown paper bag with two bananas and pushed it carefully down the side of the bag trying not to squash it all too much. I usually like to have some food from home with me, though mostly I forget that I’ve got it and have to throw it all away after a few days when it begins to smell, though once, at the very end of term when I was packing to go home, I found a hard black shrunk thing at the bottom, and guess what? It was a very old banana!