When I was sitting on the tube with my dad, he started to talk about my schoolwork, like he always does on that journey. It’s something for him to talk about, at least.
‘Now I want you to think very hard about what I was saying to you before the weekend, Ben. Remember—hard play after hard work and not before. We’ve really got to see a marked improvement in your next exams because we just cannot have a repeat of the sort of results you turned in last term…’
It was the same old lecture that I always get a few days before the end of the holidays in the study at home, but he wasn’t being quite so cross with me because I was after all going back to school. In the study he always sounds angry and on the tube he always sounds nicer, but his voice is still doing disappointment.
‘…and if you don’t understand the first time, then don’t be frightened to ask again. The great thing to remember is that geometry and algebra both follow the elementary rules of mathematics that you’ve been learning for years now.’ I looked at him now and again as he carried on, nodding my head as though I’d never heard the lecture before, and thinking that this term I really would try and work harder so he’d be more pleased, and there would be no need for the shouting in the study at the end of the summer holidays.
‘…and the thing is to learn all the kings’ dates so you’ve got a context—a frame—in which to put the events, starting with the Conqueror in 1066…’
I was staring at a piece of bright pink bubble gum stuck in the wooden floor of the carriage while my dad went on and on. It had probably been spat out after the flavour had been chewed out of it by a boy on his way to his school that morning. I started to think about him, although I was making a face for my dad as though I was listening. Probably he was going to go home on this very same tube train to have tea with his Mum and then watch the telly till his dad came in from work. Then he would do a reasonable amount of homework like they do in most ordinary schools, not like the hours we do every single day, except Sundays. After that he was going to watch a bit more telly, including ‘Top of the Pops’ which everyone at prep school misses.
‘…and then pass the ball—don’t hold onto it if someone farther back has a better chance of scoring a try than you. What I’m saying is don’t be selfish with your possession of the ball…’ My dad was talking about rugby, and I hate that game. It’s typical of him to be talking about it when we don’t even have rugby in the summer term; we play cricket which is even more boring. Sometimes it seems as though he doesn’t know anything. I didn’t say, though, because he was at least talking in a quite nice voice. He knows I don’t like games, and I know he’s sad about it. But it’s better than when he’s talking about my maths.
He was staring straight ahead as though he was talking to another boy altogether and not to me, right by his side. His mouth was moving very slowly like when he talked to Suzette, the French au pair, who only stayed for two weeks. His hands were flying up and down which only happens when he’s trying to make a point. I know he thinks I’m not very clever; perhaps he thinks if he moves them around there might be more of a chance I’ll understand.
Then he went quiet for a bit because there wasn’t anything more for him to say.
‘Good looking beggar, your father.’ That’s what Netty, one of Mummy’s new drinking friends, but quite nice, said about him when she picked up the wedding photo on the sideboard in the dining room.
‘That’s a very old photograph,’ I said to her, ‘from when they just got married.’
‘Not so long ago, Ben, and he’s still a very handsome man.’
He’s got blond hair which is combed back flat against his head, a high forehead, light blue eyes and cheekbones that make me think of a picture of some warriors I once saw in a book about Genghis Khan. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad told me he was descended from some of those people.
Last week in one of Mummy’s magazines, I read a letter from a lady who was worried that her little boy didn’t look like her husband. The doctor said that very often boys look like their mothers first, and then begin to grow more like their fathers just as their voices begin to break. But then after my bath, when I wiped the steam away from the mirror to look at myself, even with my wet hair flat against my head, I could see I don’t look like my dad, and I’m sure I never will. I look like Mummy, with dark red hair and brown eyes.
My dad was walking toward the ticket office at Paddington, and I had to remind him that I’d bought the ticket already with the money he’d left for me in Mummy’s purse. He slapped his big black leather wallet shut and put it back in his jacket.
‘…of course, of course. I left it with Mama, didn’t I? Now, which platform is it we want?’
It was platform four; I’d seen it up on the board already. It was funny that he’d forgotten about the money for the ticket because he’s always saying how careful we have to be, but it was probably because he was in the middle of a work day, and his mind was wandering a bit.
Now I started worrying because when you see the first people from school, it’s like the term is beginning and there is no turning back. We walked along the side of the train past a trolley selling sandwiches and chocolate, passing by the first class carriages where some women were still sweeping inside to get it ready for the passengers. The buffet carriage had smart tablecloths and silver knives and forks and red curtains at the windows and a waiter with a white jacket and gold buttons.
One day, when I can do what I like because I’m not at school anymore, I’ll travel to Scotland all by myself in a train like that, and go to the dining car as it gets dark. The train will slow down for the soup course so as not to spill it, which is a thing that I know that they do. After I’ve finished my dinner, I’ll have a cigarette and some coffee, and then I’ll go to bed in my own compartment and wake up in Edinburgh. Then I’ll go to a business meeting which will be part of my job. When my meeting’s finished, I’ll have a lunch and then some brandy and another cigarette and after, I’ll go and see the room in Holyroodhouse Palace where Mary Queen of Scots’ boyfriend was stabbed and the floorboards are still stained with his blood.
The other boys were standing in the distance along the platform. I knew it was them by the colour of their blazers. They were at the far end by the engine, and the sun was shining on them. There were three of them. We’re called ‘the London Boys’ by the teachers, because nearly all the other boys come from Wales and around Glouces-
ter and the Forest of Dean. It’s not always the same amount of boys at Paddington because sometimes their dads drive them back.
When I was walking along the platform it was like I was getting deeper and deeper into how I am at school, and by the time I reached the others, the term had started except that my dad was still there.
I’m not the same person when I’m at school. You have to learn to be different from how you are at home. The most important thing when you get to about ten years old is not to show that you’re missing your mum and dad. It’s alright for some of the very young ones, like Spencer and Perrington who are only six, but you are expected to be less and less homesick as you get older. It’s best to try never to look sad or worried, although I think it’s okay to look angry about upsetting things. When Granny was coming to take me out for Sunday exeat a few weeks ago, she crashed her car backing out of her driveway and phoned the school to say she wouldn’t be coming. I got really worried and upset about it. I cried for a bit in secret when I came out of Mr. Burston’s study, but afterwards I pretended to be just really angry about it by saying ‘typical, typical’ over and over again with a fed up expression on my face.
Nick Gower was the first boy to see me, and he put out his hand for me to shake. He’s funny like that. Sometimes he shakes your hand in the middle of term for no reason at all except for it’s a new day!
‘Hi, Ben—nice hols?’ he said. He’s very tall and he has a lump of hair that hangs over his forehead. I do
n’t know how it is that the school barber doesn’t cut it off, but he never does. He’s got goofy teeth which you would think that he would be teased about, but no one teases Nick. I don’t know why, but they just don’t. I don’t think he does homesickness, either, though he doesn’t see his mum and dad much more than I do. Usually boys like us who don’t have any brothers and sisters seem to be more homesick.
‘Hello, Nick,’ I said, ‘how was your skiing holiday?’
‘Not enough snow. Next time we’re going to go at Christmas. It’s really boring there when there’s no snow. We went on long walks instead.’
There are just one or two boys in the school I call by their first names, and Nick is one of them. That’s because I’ve seen him outside of school where it’s silly to use surnames. His dad has sometimes given me a lift at the end of term. He came to get us for the Christmas holidays when the train wasn’t running because of a strike that day. He was in his grey Jaguar which was all splattered with mud because he’d been clay pigeon shooting in the country on the way. I was already worried about being sick and wanting a wee during the journey. The inside of his car smelt of leather and cigars, which I knew would make things worse. He drives really fast, especially round corners, and when it started to get dark and I couldn’t see out, I felt very woozy. Then, of course, I did want a wee, which is a certain thing to happen when I’m at all worried, but I was determined not to ask to stop because Major Gower likes to be on time or a little bit early. It was such a long way to Heathrow Airport where we were meeting my dad, but I did manage to hold on. When we got to the pub which was the rendezvous point, Nick and I both jumped out of the car and dashed to the loo. He was as desperate as me and hadn’t wanted to say anything either! We didn’t talk about it, but while we were peeing he looked at me, and we had a giggle about it.
Steven Latymer gets the train at Paddington, and he’s always the first one to arrive. He had a new pair of glasses that made his eyes look even bigger and more watery than they did before. His mother was bending down and whispering in his ear and stroking the back of his head, and his dad was smoking a pipe and looking up the platform as though he had just seen someone who was a friend. I think Latymer had been crying. It was strange to see him with his mum and dad because usually his aunty brings him to the station. It was really weird that he was upset, because at school he never seems to be bothered about anything, even when he’s a bit bullied. He’s not a main person for bullying, but sometimes they pick on him because of his funny eyes. He’s called ‘Fisheye’. He usually keeps to himself, and actually I’d never thought about him with a mum and a dad. He’s just someone who’s always reading or revising for exams and coming top of the class. Seeing him so upset changes things, though. It’s like I’ve got a secret with him, and I like that. I pretended that I hadn’t seen him and made up my mind not to speak to him until we were safely on our way and he’d started to cheer up. Not that I’d have much to say to him actually, because once he was on the train he’d be busy reading.
My dad was talking to Major Gower and calling him ‘old chap’, which means that he couldn’t remember his name, and he was looking around to see who else was there to talk to. He doesn’t like Nick’s dad very much. Whenever he talks about him at home he says the word ‘Major’ louder than the word ‘Gower’, and once I heard him say to Mummy he was a ‘Golf club bore and about as much of a bloody major as I am.’
‘Good morning, Benjamin. How are you?’ Miss Newman, who is our under-matron, was standing in the doorway of the carriage with an extremely elegant lady who I’d never seen before. In front of them was a very small boy with big blue eyes and blond curly hair. For a second, I didn’t recognise Miss Newman. She used my Christian name because my dad was there, and she wasn’t wearing her white matron’s coat. Also, she’d never come to London to meet us before.
‘Hello, Miss Newman—isn’t Mr. England here today?’
‘No, he’s meeting us at Chepstow. I was in London visiting my sister for the weekend, so we decided it would be a good idea for me to guide you all back this time.’ Mr. England is our Latin, Scripture and English teacher, and he usually comes to get us. Once or twice Mr. Burston the Headmaster has come, which no one likes because everyone’s a bit frightened of him, and we don’t know what we’re meant to say to him.
‘Has your trunk been sent on alright?’
‘Yes, Miss Newman. It went on Friday.’ I blushed a bit, because last term Mummy forgot to send my trunk in time. For three days I didn’t have all my things with me. When I was lying in bed in the dorm on the first night, with Mr. Burston about to switch off the lights, Miss Carson, the matron, and Miss Newman came in to find out what had happened. They looked at each other and then at the Headmaster without saying anything. This term, not only had I made sure that Mummy phoned the station people to order the Passenger’s Luggage in Advance collection, but I’d helped her pack my trunk too, just to make sure nothing was left behind. Just as well I did, otherwise she would have forgotten my white cricket trousers that we had to wash in a hurry to get last year’s grass smudges out.
‘Benjamin, this is Giles Webster, our new boy. He’ll need a little bit of guidance for a few days, and I thought that you might like to show him the ropes.’
‘Yes, Miss Newman. Hello, Webster.’ I shook the hand of the little boy, though I couldn’t see it at first because his blazer was so huge that his hand was nearly completely hidden by the sleeve. That was the first thing he was going to be teased about. In his other hand he was holding a massive cricket bat, all new and white. It was so big and he was so small that the handle nearly came up to his chin. That was going to be the second thing he was going to be teased about. Then I noticed the knot of his tie was as big as a fat juicy orange. That was going to be the third thing they would tease him about, because everyone at school tries to make the knot as small as they possibly can. He’s going to be the only ‘nip’ this term—that’s what we call the new boys. He’s lucky though, because he’ll only be a nip for this one term. Being a nip is horrid because everyone’s allowed to boss you around, and the prefects make sure you’re given lots of jobs to do that no one else does—like cleaning the outside lavatories and checking that there’s toilet paper in there.
‘Hello, Benjamin, I’m Angela Webster, Giles’s mother,’ the beautiful lady said. ‘Miss Newman’s told me all about you. She says you’ll keep an eye on my young man for me. I’d be ever so grateful.’
She put a white hand out to me which felt cool and soft when I shook it, and she had red nail varnish that was the same colour as her lipstick. She smelt of lovely perfume that reminded me of the air hostesses that looked after me when we flew on long journeys before my dad started to work in London. I’m pretty sure that Webster’s mother must be an air hostess, or a model, or something like that. She wore a hat with a little bit of a blue veil on it that covered the top half of her face and made her eyes look a bit misty and far away. I could tell by looking at them that she was worried about leaving her son.
‘I’ll look after him, of course. Everything will be alright, Mrs. Webster. Don’t worry about him.’ She looked at me, and I could see her eyes changing. Then she put her hand gently on my cheek for a bit and smiled at me. She was the most beautiful lady I’d ever seen and I will do my best to look after her little boy and stick up for him even if he turns out to be a bit of a weed and everyone teases him, which I think they will.
‘Right, my old chum,’ my dad said then, ‘I’m going to leave you in Miss Morley’s capable hands and shoot off back to work.’
‘Miss Newman, Dad…’
‘Oh, silly me! I do beg your pardon—Miss Newman, of course.’ He smiled at her and she looked at the ground as she smiled back. Then he leaned towards me, and I thought he was going to forget and kiss me, which is quite ridiculous because he never ever kisses me. I moved away from him a bit, and then he put his hand out and ruffled my hair which
he does sometimes. It’s not so bad as him kissing me, but I wish he wouldn’t do that.
‘Now chin up, and we’ll be seeing you for the summer holidays.’ He did a funny little wave to everybody and then some backward steps. I wish he wouldn’t do that either. I don’t think anybody noticed very much, but it’s the sort of thing that worries me a bit. He walked away down the platform so quickly I knew that he was glad to get away. Perhaps it’s because Major Gower was talking to him. I watched him going in and out of the crowd when he got to the main bit of the station. It was easy to follow him because his hair’s so blond, and I know what he looks like when he’s in a hurry. With one hand he was holding the front of his jacket, and when he got to the entrance of the tube, I saw his other hand come out and his legs begin to move down the steps as though he was doing a tap dance like Fred Astaire in one of those films you see on the telly on Sunday afternoons.
I’m sure he was happy that he was going back to his office. I have a picture of it in my mind. It’s right in the middle of the city of London. I think he spends hours and hours on the phone to people in places like Beirut, Athens and Geneva, arranging for things to be sent everywhere on ships and airplanes. He takes his jacket off when he arrives and hangs it on the back of his chair; then he puts his feet up on the big desk in front of him with his hands behind his head and his secretary comes in to tidy up. When she’s finished, she sits down with her back all straight and does some shorthand on a chair with no arms on it, and after that she brings him coffee and chocolate digestive biscuits, and she probably thinks he’s very handsome like everybody else does.
The House Martin Page 4
