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Chapters (93)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. Chapter 1
  5. Part One
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Part Two
  17. Chapter 1
  18. Chapter 2
  19. Chapter 3
  20. Chapter 4
  21. Chapter 5
  22. Chapter 6
  23. Chapter 7
  24. Chapter 8
  25. Chapter 9
  26. Chapter 10
  27. Chapter 11
  28. Chapter 12
  29. Part Three
  30. Chapter 1
  31. Chapter 2
  32. Chapter 3
  33. Chapter 4
  34. Chapter 5
  35. Chapter 6
  36. Chapter 7
  37. Part Four
  38. Chapter 1
  39. Chapter 2
  40. Chapter 3
  41. Chapter 4
  42. Chapter 5
  43. Chapter 6
  44. Chapter 7
  45. Chapter 8
  46. Chapter 9
  47. Part Five
  48. Chapter 1
  49. Chapter 2
  50. Chapter 3
  51. Chapter 4
  52. Chapter 5
  53. Chapter 6
  54. Chapter 7
  55. Chapter 8
  56. Chapter 9
  57. Chapter 10
  58. Chapter 11
  59. Part Six
  60. Chapter 1
  61. Chapter 2
  62. Chapter 3
  63. Chapter 4
  64. Chapter 5
  65. Chapter 6
  66. Chapter 7
  67. Part Seven
  68. Chapter 1
  69. Chapter 2
  70. Chapter 3
  71. Chapter 4
  72. Chapter 5
  73. Chapter 6
  74. Chapter 7
  75. Chapter 8
  76. Chapter 9
  77. Chapter 10
  78. Chapter 11
  79. Part Eight
  80. Chapter 1
  81. Chapter 2
  82. Chapter 3
  83. Chapter 4
  84. Chapter 5
  85. Chapter 6
  86. Chapter 7
  87. Chapter 8
  88. Chapter 9
  89. Epilogue
  90. Acknowledgments
  91. Reading Group Guide
  92. About the Author
  93. Copyright

“I was always good at remembering lines.”

• • •

I walked home through the park again. Bonfire Night is approaching fast. Stacks of wooden pallets, boxes of papers, old clothes, and loosely bundled firewood are already piling up in the allocated spot. Soon there will be children, making effigies of teachers, dancing around the pyre and singing old songs and nursery rhymes, and playing games that the likes of Devine and Bob Strange consider offensive and obsolete—and yet, how these things endure. Bonfires lit against the dark; the yearly sacrifice to the gods.

There were three boys by the bonfire. Sunnybankers, by their clothes. I remembered those boys from the other night, smoking by the swing set. How those boys had looked at me. How easily and confidently they had called me pervert. How easily these things slip away—regard, respect, authority—in the face of that talismanic word.

These were not the same boys. I could see their faces now; rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. One of them raised a hand and waved as he saw me hurry past. This time, however, I did not respond.

Chapter 7

7

October 28, 2005

Arriving home, I poured a drink and started to make a shepherd’s pie. I often eat when I am upset, and Ms. Buckfast’s words had upset me. Not least because of Winter, in whom, I now realize, I have placed an unreasonable amount of trust.

Why should he have wanted to help? Why had I been so sure of him? Because he’d once reminded me of one of my pupils from long ago? Looking back at my actions, I see that I should have known he was hiding something. His secretive manner, his awkwardness; his inability to meet my eye. All signs of the man’s guilt—signs that I had failed to see. Now La Buckfast and Harrington have me over a barrel; their ultimatum is very clear. Leave, or face the consequences. Consequences which will affect both me and, more importantly, my boys. What a fool I’ve been, I thought. What a sentimental fool.

I turned on the radio, found the news. The broadcaster was talking about the death of Ronnie Barker. Another light blown out, I thought. Another dead Centurion. A bottle of stout stood close to hand, from which I added a generous splash to the mincemeat and onions in the pan. The rest served to sustain the cook. I opened another bottle. I was about to dispose of the evidence when the phone rang. It was Kitty Teague.