Gentlemen And Players Part 18

That shocked me. 'She wasn't.' I thought of Francesca; her long hair; her languid limbs. I thought of Leon and of everything I had sacrificed for him; for romance; for the anguish and exhilaration of sharing his pa.s.sion. 'You know she wasn't. And don't call me Queenie.'

'Or what?' Now he sat up, eyes shining.

'Come on, Leon. Don't muck about.'

'You thought she was the first, didn't you?' He grinned. 'Oh, Pinchbeck. Grow up. You're starting to sound just like her, you know. I mean, look at you, getting all worked up about it, trying to cure me of my broken heart, as if I could ever care that much about a girl--'

'But you said--'

'I was winding you up, moron. Couldn't you tell?'

Blankly, I shook my head.

Leon punched my arm, not without affection. 'Queenie. You're such a romantic. And she was sort of sweet, even if she was only a girl. But she wasn't the first. Not even the best I've had, to be honest. And definitely - definitely - not the last.'

'I don't believe you,' I said.

'You don't? Listen, kid.' Laughing, full of energy now, the fine hairs on his arms bleached-blackened silver in the moonlight. 'Did I ever tell you why I got chucked out of my last school?'

'No. Why?'

'I s.h.a.gged a master, Queenie. Mr Weeks, metalwork. In the shop, after hours. No end of a fuss--'

'No!' Now 1 began to laugh with him in sheer outrage.

'Said he loved me. Stupid b.u.g.g.e.r. Wrote me letters.'

'No.' Eyes wide. 'No!'

'No one blamed me. Corruption, they said. Susceptible lad, dangerous pervert. Ident.i.ty undisclosed to protect the innocent. It was all over the papers at the time.'

'Wow.' There was no doubt in my mind he was telling the truth. It explained so much; his indifference; his s.e.xual precocity; his daring. G.o.d, his daring. 'What happened?'

Leon shrugged. 'Pactum factum. b.u.g.g.e.r went down. Seven years. Felt a bit sorry for him, really.' He smiled indulgently. 'He was all right, Mr Weeks. Used to take me to clubs and everything. Ugly, though. Big fat gut on him. And old - I mean, thirty--'

'G.o.d, Leon!'

'Yeah, well. You don't have to look. And he gave me stuff - money, CDs, this watch that cost like five hundred quid--'

'No!'

'Anyway, my mum went spare. I had to have counselling, and everything. Might have scarred me, Mother says. I might never recover.'

'And what was it--' My head was reeling with the night and with his revelations. I swallowed, dry-throated. 'What was it--'

'Like?' He turned to me, grinning, and pulled me towards him. 'You mean, you want to know what it was like?

Time lurched. An adventure-story enthusiast, I had read a great deal about time stopping still; as in: 'for an instant time stopped still as the cannibals crept closer to the helpless boys.' In this case, however, I distinctly felt it lurch, like a goods train in a hurry pulling out of a station. Once more I was disconnected; my hands like birds swooping and flutterir Leon's mouth on mine, his hands on mine, pulling at mf clothes with delicious intent.

He was still laughing; a boy of light and darkness; a ghc and beneath me I could feel the rough boy'Warmth the roof slates, the delightful friction of skin against fabric. I felt close to oblivion; thrilled and terrified; revolted? and delirious with irrational joy. My sense of danger had; evaporated; I was nothing but skin; every inch a million; points of helpless sensation. Random thoughts flitted across I my mind like fireflies.

He had never loved her.

Love was ba.n.a.l.

He could never care that much for a girl.

Oh, Leon. Leon.

He shed his shirt; struggled with my fly; all the time I was laughing and crying and he was talking and laughing; words I could barely hear above the seismic pounding of my heart.

Then it stopped.

Just like that. Freeze-frame on our naked, half-naked selves; I in the pillar of shadow that ran alongside the tall chimney-stack; he in the moonlight, a statue of ice. Yin and yang; my face illuminated; his darkening in surprise; shock; anger.

'Leon--'

'Jesus.'

'Leon, I'm sorry, I should have--'

']esus!' He recoiled; his hands held out now as if to ward me off. 'Jesus, Pinchbeck--'

Time. Time lurched. His face, scarred with hate and disgust. His hands, pushing me away into the dark.

Words struggled in me like tadpoles in a too-small jar. Nothing came out. Losing balance, I fell back against the chimney-stack, not speaking, not crying, not even angry. That came later.

'You little pervert!' Leon's voice, wavering, incredulous. 'You f.u.c.king - little pervert!'

The contempt, the hatred in that voice told me everything I needed to know. I wailed aloud; a long, desperate wail of bitterness and loss, and then I ran, my sneakers fast and quiet on the mossy slates, over the parapet and along the walkway.

Leon followed me, swearing, heavy with rage. But he didn't know the rooftops. I heard him, far behind, stumbling, crashing heedlessly across the tiles in pursuit. Slates fell in his wake, exploding like mortars into the courtyard below. Crossing over from the Chapel side he skidded and fell; a chimney broke his fall; the impact seemed to shudder through every gutter, every brick and pipe. I grabbed hold of an elder tree, spindly branches poking out of a long-blocked drainage grate, and hoisted myself further up. Behind me, Leon scrabbled higher, grunting obscenities.

I ran on instinct; there was no point in trying to reason with him now. My father's rages were just the same; and in my mind I was nine again, ducking the deadly arc of his fist. Later, perhaps, I could explain to Leon. Later, when he had had time to think. For the moment all 1 wanted was to get away.

I did not waste time trying to get back to the library window. The Bell Tower was closer, with its little balconies; half-rotten with lichen and pigeon droppings. The Bell; Tower was another St Oswald's conceit; a little arched boxlike structure, which, to my knowledge, had never! housed a bell. Down one side ran a steep-slanting lead gutter, leading to an overflow pipe that shot rainwater out into a deep and pigeon-stinking well between the buildings. On the other side the drop was sheer; a narrow ledge was all that stood between the trespa.s.ser and the North Quad, some two hundred feet below.

Carefully, I looked down.

I knew from my travels across the roofscape that Straitley's room was just below me, and that the window that gave on to its crumbling balcony was loose. I teetered on the walkway, trying to gauge the distance from where I was standing, then jumped lightly on to the parapet, then down into the shelter of the small balcony.

The window, as I'd hoped, was easy to force open. I scrambled through, heedless of the broken catch that gouged my back, and at once the burglar alarm sounded, a high, unbearable squealing that deafened and disoriented me.

Panicked, I wriggled back the way I had come. In the Quad below, the security lights popped on, and I ducked down to escape the harsh illumination, cursing helplessly.

Everything was wrong. I had disabled the alarm in the library wing; but in my panic and confusion I had forgotten that the Bell Tower's alarm was still on; and now the siren was screaming, screaming like the golden bird in 'Jack and the Beanstalk', there was no way my father could miss it, and Leon was still up here with me somewhere, Leon was trapped-- I stood on the balcony and jumped across on to the walkway, looking down as I did into the illuminated Quad. Two figures stood there, looking up, their giant shadows fanning around them like a hand of cards. I ducked into the shelter of the Bell Tower, crawled forward to the edge of the roof and glanced down once again.

Pat Bishop was watching me from the courtyard, my father at his side.

'there, up there.' radio voices across a far distance. I'd ducked back, of course, but Bishop had seen the movement, the round dark head against the luminous sky. 'Boys on the roof.'

Boys. Of course, he'd a.s.sumed that.

'How many boys?' That was Bishop; younger then, tense and fit and only slightly red-faced.

'Don't know, sir. I'd say at least two.'

Once more I dared a glance below. My father was still watching, his white face upturned and blind. Bishop was already moving fast. He was heavy, all muscle. My father followed him at a slower pace, his huge shadow doubled and trebled by the lights. I did not bother to watch them any more. I knew already where they were heading.

My father had turned off the burglar alarm. The megaphone was Bishop's idea; he used it on Sports Days and fire drills, and it made his voice impossibly nasal and penetrating.

'You boys!' he began. 'Stay where you are! Do not attempt to climb down! Help is on the way!'

That's how Bishop spoke in a crisis; like a character from some American action movie. I could tell he was enjoying his role; the newly appointed Second Master; man of action; troubleshooter; counsellor to the world.

In fifteen years he has hardly changed - that particular brand of righteous arrogance se ldom does. Even then he thought he could put things right with nothing but a megaphone and a few glib words.

It was one thirty; the moon had set; the sky, never quite dark at that time of year, had taken on a sheer translucent glow. Above me, somewhere on the Chapel roof, Leon was waiting; cool, collected; sitting it out. Someone had called the fire brigade; already 1 could hear sirens in the distance, Dopplering towards us. Soon, we would be overrun.

'Indicate your position!' Bishop again, wielding his megaphone with a flourish. 'Repeat, indicate your position!'

Still nothing from Leon. I wondered whether he had managed to find the library window on his own; whether he was trapped or running silently down the corridors, looking for a way out.

Somewhere above me a slate rattled. There came a slithering sound - his trainers against the lead gutter. And now I could see him too - just a glimpse of his head above the Chapel parapet. As I watched he began to move -- so slowly that it was almost imperceptible - on to the narrow walkway that led towards the Bell Tower.

It made sense, I thought. He must have known that the library-window option was impossible now; that low, slanting roof ran right alongside the Chapel building, and he would be in plain sight if he tried. The Bell Tower was higher, but more secure; up there he would be able to hide. I was on the other side, however; if I joined him from where I was standing, I would be instantly visible from below. I resolved to go around, to take the long way across the Observatory roof and join him in the shadows where we could hide.

'Boys! Listen!' It was Bishop's voice, so highly amplified that I clapped my hands over my ears. 'You're not in any trouble!' I turned away to hide a nervous grin; he was so convincing that he almost convinced himself. 'Just stay where you are! Repeat! Stay where you are!'

Leon, of course, was not fooled. The system, we knew, was run on such plat.i.tudes.

'You're not in any trouble!' I imagined Leon's grin at that perennial lie, and felt a sudden pain in my heart that I was not there with him to share his amus.e.m.e.nt. It would have been so fine, I thought; Butch and Sundance trapped on the roof, two rebels defying the combined forces of St Oswald's and the law.

But now ... It struck me then that I had more than one reason for not wanting Leon caught. My own position was far from secure; a word, a single glimpse of me and my cover was blown for ever. There was no getting round it - after this, Pinchbeck would have to disappear. Of course, he could, quite easily. Only Leon had any inkling that he was anything more than a ghost; a fake; a thing of rags and stuffing.

At the time, however, I felt little fear on my own account. I knew the roof better than anyone, and as long as I kept hidden, I might still escape discovery. But if Leon spoke to my father - if either of them made the connection It wasn't the imposture that would provoke the outrage. It was the challenge. To St Oswald's; to the system; to everything. I could see it now; the inquiry; the evening papers; the squib in the national press.

I could have lived with punishment - I was thirteen, for G.o.d's sake, what could they do to me? - but it was the ridicule I feared. That, and the contempt; and the knowledge that in spite of everything, St Oswald's had won.

I could just see my father standing, shoulders hunched, looking up at the roof. I sensed his dismay; not just at the attack on St Oswald's, but at the duty that now awaited him. John Snyde was never quick; but he was thorough, in his way, and there was no doubt in his mind as to what he should do.

'I'll have to go after them.' His voice, faint but clearly audible, reached me from the Quad below.

'What's that?' Bishop, in his eagerness to play the man of action, had completely overlooked the simplest solution. The fire brigade had not yet arrived; the police, always overworked, had not even looked in.

'I'll have to go up there. It's my job.' His voice was stronger - a St Oswald's Porter has to be strong. I remembered that from Bishop's lectures: We count on you, John. St Oswald's counts on you to Do Your Duty.

At a glance, Bishop measured the distance. I could see him working it out; clocking the angles. Boys on the roof; man on the ground; Head Porter in between. He wanted to go up himself -- of course he did - but if he left his post, who would wield the megaphone? Who would deal with the emergency team? Who would take control?

'Don't spook them. Don't get too close. Take care - all right? Cover the fire escape. Get on the roof. I'll talk them down.'

Talk them down. There's another Bishop phrase, with its action-man overtones. He, who would have liked nothing better than to climb up on to the Chapel roof - possibly abseiling down again with an unconscious boy in his arms -- could have had no inkling of the effort - the astonishing effort - it took for my father to agree.

I'd never actually used the fire escape. I preferred my less conventional routes; the library window; the Bell Tower; the skylight in the gla.s.s'fronted art studio, which gave access on to a slim metal joist that ran from the art block to the Observatory.

John Snyde knew nothing of these, nor would he have used them if he had. Small for my age, I was already getting too heavy to balance on gla.s.s, or to scramble through ivy on to the narrowest of ledges. I knew that in all his years as a St Oswald's Porter, he had never ventured as far as the fire escape on the Middle Corridor, let alone the precarious complex of gutters and pavements beyond. I was willing to gamble he would not do so now; or that if he did, he wouldn't go far.

I looked across the roofscape in the direction of the Middle Corridor. There it was, the fire escape; a dinosaur skeleton strung out across the drop. It was in poor shape bubbles of rust bursting through the thick paint - but it looked strong enough to take a man's weight. Would he dare? I asked myself. And if he did, what would I do?

I considered climbing back towards the library window, but it was too risky, too visible from the ground. Instead 1 used another run, teetering on a long joist between two large art-room skylights before climbing across the Observatory roof and up through the main gully back towards the Chapel. I knew a dozen possible means of escape. I had my keys, and I knew every cupboard, every pa.s.sage and back stair. Leon and I need never be caught. In spite of myself I was excited; I could almost see our friendship renewed, the silly quarrel forgotten in the face of this greater adventure-- By now the fire escape was safely out of range; however for a minute or two I knew I would be in full sight of the Quad. The risk was small, however. Silhouetted against the moonless sky, there was little chance of my being recognized by anyone from the courtyard below.

I ran for it then, my sneakers holding firm to the mossy slope. Below me, I could hear Bishop with his megaphone Sta^i where you are! Help is on its way! - but I knew he hadn't seen me. Now I reached the dinosaur's spine, the ridge that dominated the main building, and stopped, straddling it. There was no sign of Leon. I guessed him to be hiding on the far side of the Bell Tower, where there was the most cover, and where, if he kept his head down, he would not be visible from the ground.

Quickly, on all fours, I monkeyed along the ridge. As I pa.s.sed into the shade of the Bell Tower I looked back, but there was no sign of my father, either on the fire escape or on the walkway. Nor was there yet any sign of Leon. Now I reached the Bell Tower, jumped the familiar well between it and the Chapel roof, then from the comforting flag of shadow surveyed my rooftop empire. I risked a low call. 'Leon!'

No reply. My pale voice ribboned out in the misty night.

'Leon!'

Then I saw him, flattened against the parapet twenty feet ahead of me, head craning like a gargoyle's to the scene below.

'Leon.'

He'd heard me, I knew it; but he did not move. I began to climb towards him, keeping low. It could still work; I could show him the window; lead him to where he could hide and then bring him out, unseen and unsuspected, when the coast was clear. I wanted to tell him that, but I wondered, too, whether he would listen.

I crept closer; below, the deafening yawn of the megaphone. Then, sudden lights harrowed the rooftop in red and blue; for a second I saw Leon's shadow shoot over the roof, then he was down flat again, swearing. The fire engines had arrived.

'Leon.'

Still nothing. Leon seemed mortared to the parapet. The voice from the megaphone was a giant blur of vowels that rolled over us like boulders.

'You there! Don't move! Stay where you are!'

I ducked my head over the parapet, visible, I knew, only as a dark protrusion among so many others. From my eyrie I could see the squat form of Pat Bishop, the long neon gleam of the fire engine, the dark b.u.t.terfly-shadowed figures of the men surrounding it.

Leon's face was expressionless, a mushroom in shadow. 'You little s.h.i.t.'

'Come on, man,' I said. 'There's still time.'

'Time for what7. A quick s.h.a.g?'

'Leon, please. It's not what you think.'

'No, really?' He began to laugh.

'Please, Leon. I know a way out. But we've got to hurry. My dad's on his way--'

A silence, long as the grave.