‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me,’ Ray says, once they’re in what used to be William’s room, alone for the first time.

‘What did you expect?’ he stage whispers, not wanting the Finches to hear. ‘Why didn’t you ask me first?’

‘I didn’t think you’d mind. I thought we were friends.’

‘What if I don’t want to share a room – with a friend or anyone? You should have asked me, Ray!’

‘And you’d have said no.’ He drops the pretence. ‘And I couldn’t stand being in that place any more. And, though it’s obviously not mutual, I like you, William.’

Ray snores. William lies on his side, feeling dark and coiled up inside. Ray is underhand and opportunistic. But once examined, his own feelings aren’t pleasant either. It is true he doesn’t want to share a room, but he hasn’t said all the other things that are true; that he finds Ray crude, his ignorance embarrassing, that he is threatened by him and jealous of the laughter he so easily drew from Gloria.

That night he dreams he’s back in Cambridge. He and Martin are waiting in the bathroom for Matron to give them the dips.

‘Martin, you’ve got boobs!’ William says, and Martin laughs, cupping his puppy flesh in his hands and pouting his lips. When he wakes, William is left with the light feeling their friendship gave him. What he wouldn’t give to have Martin lying in the other bed now.

39

The thick, yellow quality of the light tells him it’s later than it should be. Ray’s bed is empty, unmade as usual. William sits up, snatching his travel clock from the lace doily on his bedside table. Ten o’clock. Saturday. He puts it back and flops down again. Even though there’s no college today, he’d normally be out of the house by now.