The Flyer (6 page)

‘I understand that your first year was very difficult. Your headmaster told me the other boys gave you something of a bad time because of your background and so on.’

‘I suppose some of them made fun of me for a while,’ William admitted at which his uncle gave a thin smile.

‘I expect it was a little more than that. Your headmaster holds you in quite high regard you know. He considers you to be intelligent and exceptionally determined. On the other hand he says you have never made friends here. That you are a solitary type. I went to a boarding school myself, William. Even at the best schools young boys are savages beneath it all. They gang together against the weak. Especially those they perceive as being different in some way. Would you say you’ve really fitted in here, William? I know you’ve done well with your studies, but I mean in other respects.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘School isn’t only about getting an education. It’s about forming bonds… friendships, with people of one’s own type. The sort of network that can help you in later life, both socially and with one’s career. Without those bonds one has to wonder if it was really a good idea to send you here. I may as well tell you I was against it. My father felt obliged to do something for you because you were my sister’s child, but I believe that she made her choice when she turned her back on the family. He agreed I think, but he always had a soft spot where my sister was concerned. A blind spot, perhaps I should say.’

Gardner’s tone was resentful, and William wondered if his uncle had been jealous of his sister. He didn’t say anything, knowing that he wasn’t expected to.

‘You should know that before my father died he made provision in his will for your education to continue here until you leave at the end of next term, so you needn’t worry about that,’ Gardner continued. ‘However, there was no mention of an allowance to enable you to attend university. Perhaps he had decided against it. Possibly he wondered if you would fit in any better at Oxford than you have here.’

William knew his grandfather had not changed his mind, though if his intentions hadn’t been made clear in his will, William also knew he couldn’t prove it. He could feel his place at Oxford slipping from his grasp, and with it, any hope of a future profession.

‘However,’ his uncle said. ‘Now that I’ve met you for myself I shall give the matter some thought. I’ll let you know my decision by the start of your last term. There’s still plenty of time to apply for a place.’

He looked at his watch and said that he had to go or else he would miss his train.

‘There’s no need to show me out.’

He didn’t offer to shake William’s hand before he left, and as William watched him leave he knew his uncle’s decision had already been made, and that he wouldn’t be going up to Oxford.

*****

When William went home for the Easter holidays he thought his father looked ill, and asked him if he was feeling alright.

‘I had a bit of a cold in the winter, that’s all,’ Reynolds said. ‘I get a bit tired still.’

They finished supper, and while William cleared up his father lit his pipe. He began a deep hacking cough from deep in his lungs that left him breathless and red in the face.

‘You shouldn’t smoke with a cough like that,’ William warned.

‘I ‘spect you’re right,’ Reynolds agreed and tapped out the tobacco.

‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ William said. ‘My grandfather died.’ He told his father about his uncle’s visit, and that there would be no money for him to go to Oxford.

‘He were always a nasty bit of work, that one,’ Reynolds said. ‘Him and yer mam never saw eye to eye. What will you do if you can’t go to university, Will?’

‘I haven’t really thought yet. Perhaps I’ll get some sort of position in business.’

He tried to sound optimistic, but the truth was that he was bitterly disappointed. Without a degree, and with no money to article himself in some sort of profession, the best he could hope for was a job as clerk in an office, where in time he might be able to work his way up.

‘You could always stay here, Will,’ his father suggested. ‘But I don’t ‘spose you’d want to learn to be a blacksmith now.’

‘I wouldn’t mind. Perhaps I will stay here.’

But his father knew it wasn’t what Will wanted, and he shook his head sadly. ‘It don’t seem fair. I sent you off to that school because I was worried about your leg and you’ve done better’n anyone ever thought, but still you might end up stuck back here.’

‘It’s alright, dad,’ William said, though the irony of the situation hadn’t escaped him. He had been given a glimpse of a future that might be his, a future of possibilities that a boy with no money would never have, and it had been taken away from him.

He thought of Emmaline. He hadn’t told her yet that he wouldn’t be going to Oxford. He hadn’t told her anything. What would she think of him now? Not only did he have no money, he had no prospects either. He was in love with her, and the thought of losing her made him sick with worry. He would have given anything to hear her say that none of it mattered, that she loved him for who he was. It struck him that his mother must have said something like those words once to his father. She had given up her family for him and come to Scaldwell to be the wife of a village blacksmith. He wondered if she had ever regretted her decision.

He persuaded his father to go to bed early, concerned that he looked unwell, and in the morning William went to the doctor in the village and asked if he’d come. When the doctor arrived that afternoon he was driving a motor-car he’d recently bought, but as William admired it the doctor grumbled that there was something wrong with it.

‘I’ll have a look if you like while you’re in with my father,’ William offered.

The doctor was surprised. ‘Do you know about motor mechanics?’

‘A little bit. One of the masters at school brought a Renault last term.’

The master had started up a motoring club, which William had joined. He’d always known there was a practical side to his nature, which he thought must come from having spent his early childhood years around his father. It turned out he enjoyed taking the Renault to bits to see how it all worked, and when something went wrong he had a knack for getting it going again. By the time the doctor returned, William had cleaned the spark plugs and adjusted the carburettor, and the car was running smoothly again.

‘I say, well done,’ the doctor said, very pleased. ‘You know, you ought to teach your father about mechanics. There are several motors in the district now, and there are bound to be more of them around as time goes by, but the nearest garage is in Northampton. We could do with somewhere local that could do repairs and so on.’

‘I’ll mention it to him. How is he?’

‘Oh, he’ll be alright, just a touch of phlegm on the chest. He ought to stop smoking that pipe so much. Don’t forget what I said.’

‘I won’t,’ William assured him. He did mention it later, but his father said he was too old to be learning new tricks.

‘By the time there’s enough of them motors to make it worth my while, I’ll be dead,’ he joked.

Over the following week Reynolds’ cough improved, and when it was time for William to return to Oundle his father was feeling much better. As they drove to the station they talked about what William would do at the end of term now that he wasn’t going to Oxford. William tried to reassure him that everything would be alright, and that he would think of something.

‘You just look after yourself,’ William said.

They shook hands on the platform, and when the train pulled away from the station William leaned out of the window and waved until his father was out of sight. Alone in the carriage, he gazed out of the window at the passing fields. Part of him was looking forward to going back so that he could see Emmaline again, but during the past few days he’d become increasingly anxious. It had been terrible being unable to write to her, and after three weeks he was convinced that she would have forgotten him, or even worse - that she had somehow discovered the truth about him before he could tell her himself, and now she despised him.

When the train arrived at Oundle station he looked eagerly out of the window to see if Emmaline might be waiting for him on the platform. He was disappointed that she wasn’t there, as he’d told her before he left which day he would be returning. He was sure it was a sign that she was lost to him, and as he walked into the town he felt miserable. A black mood descended over him. He wished he’d never seen Oundle. The constant loneliness he’d endured over the years he’d been there seemed pointless now. As did everything he’d learnt. Without money none of it meant anything.

He was close to the square when he saw Emmaline walking towards him. His spirits soared for a moment, and then plummeted again when she faltered as soon as she saw him. There was no happiness in her expression, only a kind of trepidation at having to face him. There wasn’t much else he could do but continue and so he tried to put on a brave smile.

‘Hello,’ he said when they met.

Her eyes darted from his. ‘Hello.’

‘How are you?’

‘I’m very well, thank you. Did you enjoy your holiday?’

Her manner was polite, but no more than that and he saw at once what would happen. They would exchange bland pleasantries and go their separate ways, and he would never know what had changed her mind about him. He shook his head.

‘Not really. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

To his surprise, Emmaline suddenly smiled. ‘Did you really? I thought you would have forgotten about me.’

‘I could never do that.’

‘I’ve been worrying continuously. I thought you’d meet some girl at home who’s far cleverer and prettier than me.’

‘I’ve never met anybody even half as pretty as you,’ he told her. He was deliriously happy, and it struck him that the misery he’d endured while he was away was almost worth it just to feel like this. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

‘To the station. I’ve been looking for you on every train from Brixworth.’

‘Shall I walk you home?’

‘Yes. But let’s go by the river where it’s quiet.’

As soon as they were within the shelter of the trees they fell against one another and kissed.

‘I could kiss you all day,’ Emmaline said when they parted.

He kissed her again and decided that he would tell her about Oxford tomorrow.

Several weeks of the summer term passed. They met as often as they could, but time was always short and William never felt it was the right moment to tell Emmaline the truth. As time went by she talked increasingly about introducing him to her father, but William always found a reason to put the occasion off. One day she told him her birthday was approaching and she’d asked her father if she could invite a friend for lunch.

‘Do you mean me?’ he asked her, alarmed.

‘Yes, of course. I’ve already told my aunt that I’ve met a young man from the school and we’ve become friends. She promised not to say anything until after she’s met you herself. Actually she’s been wonderful about it. My father needn’t ever know that we’ve been meeting like this.’

They were lying in the grass together in a field near the river. William didn’t say anything.

‘What is it William? Don’t you want to meet my father?’ Emmaline asked.

‘It isn’t that.’

‘Then what is it? Every time I mention it you find some excuse not to. You’re not afraid of him are you? He’s quite alright really, and I know he’ll like you.’

William sat up. ‘It isn’t that. The thing is, there’s something I have to talk to you about. I should have said something before, but I didn’t know how to. I suppose I wasn’t sure what you’d think.’

‘What is it?’ Emmaline said sounding worried.

‘It’s just that I’m worried your father won’t approve of me.’

‘Of course he will. He’ll love you as much as I do. Well perhaps not that much.’ She kissed him, glad that his concern was nothing serious. He was nervous, that was all.

‘I love you too, Emma. More than I can tell you. And I know none of this will matter to you, but I’m not sure about your father. Perhaps if I was still going up to Oxford it wouldn’t matter so much.’

‘What do you mean - if you were still going up to Oxford?’

‘The fact is I can’t go. I can’t afford it. The only reason I’m at Oundle is because my fees were paid by my benefactor, but he’s dead now and there’s no more money.’

Emmaline stared uncomprehendingly. ‘But you have a scholarship…’

‘It doesn’t cover my living expenses.’

‘Surely your family will give you an allowance.’

‘My family don’t have any money, Emmaline. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.’ He told her how his mother and father had met, and how they had loved one another despite their different backgrounds. It struck William that the similarities between his parent’s situation and his and Emmaline’s was somehow a good portent.

‘Your father is a blacksmith?’ Emmaline repeated.

He saw at once that she was taken aback, but he didn’t blame her for that. It must be difficult for her to absorb it all at once. He should have told her before. He wondered if she was thinking about his parents too, trying to picture herself married to a blacksmith, and William wanted to explain that their own situation was different. His father hadn’t been educated at a public school. He’d never had William’s advantages.

Emmaline was very quiet when they walked back towards the town. They separated before they came in sight of the first houses. William kissed her, but when she turned her face up to him he was sure she hesitated, and when they parted she seemed less reluctant than usual.

‘I’ll look for you in the morning,’ he said.

‘Yes. I’d better go or I’ll be late.’

He kissed her quickly again, though she was less responsive than usual. As she left he wanted to call out that he loved her, but he managed to stop himself. When she was gone he thought his heart would break from the feeling of loneliness that broke over him like a wave.

In the morning, when he ran to Fotheringhay, he felt anxious the entire time. He didn’t linger at the ruin as he normally did. He couldn’t think of anything but getting back to the town, hoping desperately that Emmaline would be at her window as usual. He even prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in. When he reached the place where he always stopped, he bent down to pretend to tie his lace. He couldn’t look at first. He told himself she would be there, and then everything would be alright. His heart was racing and his hands shook. Finally he looked up at the house, to the rows of symmetrically placed windows, among them Emmaline’s; as empty as he’d known it would be.