William has never seen a naked body apart from his own and can’t quite believe that anyone would do such a thing.

‘I got more whacks than anyone last year.’ Martin leads the way to a serving hatch. A wide woman with a blue apron taut across her massive bosom is lifting a ladle from a tin pot and dropping porridge into green bowls. Martin takes one without speaking to her. ‘If I didn’t sing well I’d be out on my ear.’

A milky smell stirs a trace of hunger William didn’t know he had as he waits for the woman to ladle a lumpy grey spoonful into his bowl. She glances briefly at him. The edge of the ladle clips the bowl and a spot of porridge lands on the counter.

‘Thank you very much,’ he says.

She says nothing, but nods her head at him and a coil of dark hair bobs up and down.

William follows Martin to an empty table where he screeches a chair back on the parquet floor. There’s an energy to Martin’s speech and movement that lifts William’s spirit and makes him feel braver. Since his father died two years ago, William has had to tighten up his insides and work hard to cheer his mother up. She does seem to wake up lighter again, and be playful like she used to be, but he feels a relief as Martin’s carefree manner slides comfortably over his shoulders.

‘Not for me, thank you, Matron,’ Martin says, in what William supposes is meant to be a Midlands accent. But the brief weight of Martin’s hand on his shoulder, soft and heavy, stops his feelings from being hurt.

‘My mum calls me his Lordship’ – William swirls his spoon through his gloopy breakfast that smells of salt – ‘but it sounds different when she says it.’

Martin’s laugh is a gurgle deep in his chest. ‘Lavery, you’re a gem.’

As William takes in the dining hall, its scrubbed, woody smell, high windows and plain tables, he is relieved that it seems all he needs to do to be liked by Martin is to be himself.

14

When the boys gather in the vestibule after breakfast, bending double to put on outdoor shoes, William is excited for the first time since he arrived, busy putting his shoes on, bracing himself against the knocks and nudges of everyone doing the same. He’s not great at tying his laces, so he’s had to concentrate hard. It’s only when he straightens up that he notices boys putting on black gowns and funny square hats. He doesn’t have either of those. He and the unfriendly seven-year-olds, Charles, Edward and Anthony, stand in their blazers and feel the difference.