At first William’s alarmed by the skid of the bed he lands on – his hands wheel and he thinks he’s going to fall backwards, but he recovers and propels himself from one bed to the next, light and fast. He hears the scrape and slide of each bed as Martin thumps down on them. His willy waving above the laughing faces, William is high on the thrill of thrilling others.

They slam into each other and fall onto Martin’s bed, chests pumping with laughter. Martin’s breath pours into William’s ears. The softness of Martin’s thigh presses into his. William is not aroused, but not repelled either. He’s got his friend back.

When silence fills the room like a thunder clap, William turns his head, although there’s no need to, because he already knows Matron is standing in the doorway.

30

William stands before the desk, breathing the thick scent of dust and polish, not knowing what to do with his hands.

‘It pains me to see you here under these circumstances, Lavery.’ The daffodils glow on the window ledge behind Mr Atkinson’s head, also burnished by the sun’s glare.

‘You’re a fine chorister. Mr Lewis says perhaps the best he’s ever had. But we cannot allow a boy who misbehaves in such a way the honour of the most prestigious of solos. You understand that, don’t you?’

‘No!’ His face burns as he steps closer to the desk. ‘I’ll do anything, sir.’ His voice sounds ridiculous, high-pitched. ‘Please, sir!’

‘You should have thought about the consequences before you joined in with Mussey’s perverted pranks.’

William’s head buzzes. He’ll be gone in June, and for the rest of his life, all he’ll remember is that he never got to sing the ‘Miserere’. Flu first time, and now Martin, with his stupid games. A wall of tears is building behind his eyes, and he wonders, what if he gave in to them? What if, for the first time in four years, he let his body have its say? What if he dropped to the threadbare rug, sobbing at Mr Atkinson’s feet?

Mr Atkinson stands up suddenly and pulls open the desk drawer. ‘The best you can do now, Lavery, is take your punishment like a man.’

It’s only then that William realises how very much he doesn’t want to be beaten. The sun has inched to the left and no longer illuminates the flowers, but instead the piece of birch that Mr Atkinson has slid smoothly from the drawer. So light and thin, it surely can’t hurt that much? Tucked into his underpants are two handkerchiefs, one for each buttock, which Martin pinched from the laundry cupboard.

‘Make sure you visibly flinch after the first one,’ he said, putting the handkerchiefs under William’s pillow after lunch, ‘or he’ll hit you harder the second time.’

‘You said you never flinch.’