Tired and sad at the memory, as he knew he would be, William pulls back his sheets and gets out of bed. He finds her watching television, with only the weak twinkle of the Christmas tree lights, and sits next to her on the settee.

‘Hello, William.’ She lifts her arm and he snuggles into her.

‘Hello, Mum.’

She kisses the top of his head and they watch Billy Cotton and Vera Lynn’s Boxing Day Party.

‘I love you most, Mum,’ he says at some point. She tightens her arm for a second around his shoulder and kisses the top of his head.

23

Even with the stocky cast iron radiators on full, the assembly hall is hard and heavy with cold. Mr Atkinson’s shoulders seem rigid beneath his gown, and he isn’t looking at any of them as they sing ‘When a Knight Won His Spurs’.

Once they are seated and the headmaster starts to speak, William suddenly needs the toilet.

‘It pains me to have to start the term with a disciplinary matter.’ Mr Atkinson hasn’t even said welcome back, or Happy New Year. Martin nods at William’s bouncing left leg and frowns. William tries to sit still. ‘But I have received what can only be described as ridiculous letters purporting to be from parents requesting idiotic schoolboy favours. I am not a fool and will not be treated as one by foolish boys who should know better. All those involved – you know who you are – will come to my office straight after assembly.’

Mark Nettles, sitting along the row from William, twitches his head to the right slightly, but doesn’t look at him. He can’t see the younger boys, Charles and Anthony, from where he is. A pulse beats in the ball of his sweaty right foot. He remembers Charles whimpering through the night in William’s wet pyjamas back in September, and imagines how frightened he must be now. Martin’s face is innocent and calm as ever, singing the hymns as if he means it, closing his eyes for prayers, listening to the notices. William struggles to stay on his seat. The dark green tweed of Mr Atkinson’s trousers and the shine of his brogues, once admired by William, are now filled with menace.

‘Those boys coming to see me, wait outside my room,’ he says after the last hymn, gathering his papers from the podium, ‘I’ll be along shortly.’

‘I’m going to be sick,’ William says, as he and Martin walk along the corridor. Mark, Charles and Anthony are still in the body of boys funnelling through the hall door.

‘They should have thought of better requests,’ says Martin as they climb the broad stairs. ‘It’s their fault, not ours.’

‘Shoe lace liquorice?’ William says.