“Bit early for that, don’t you think?” I said.

Eric shrugged. “Happy birthday,” he said. “I thought maybe we could celebrate.”

Of course, he must have heard the news of what happened on Friday night. The grapevine must be ripe with it now; and from his slightly awkward look, and the way he didn’t quite meet my eye, I knew that he was wondering just what I knew about Spikely.

I nodded. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

“Any word of Spikely?”

“Not yet.”

“He always was a little toad. Making up lies about members of staff. Trying to take advantage.”

“There’s a change of direction,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could. “I thought you said Harry deserved what he got.”

Eric looked sheepish. “I was upset. I said lots of things I didn’t mean. I hope you didn’t think I was—”

“No, Eric. I didn’t,” I said.

Eric gave a long sigh and sat on one of the pupils’ desks. I thought that he looked very old, but I suppose both of us do. I tried to recall what else he had said, but all I could remember was that moment on Friday morning, when he had told me his mother had died. Everything that has happened since then—my search for the letter; Harrington; the scene on the canal bridge—all of that seems like a fantasy now, a story from the Boy’s Own Paper.

“That’s what happens when you get old,” said Eric. “You fuck everything up.”

I opened the window and lit a Gauloise. With luck, the smoke would be gone before the boys began to arrive. Once more, his use of profanity—Eric Scoones, who never swears—made me feel uncomfortable. I suddenly thought of my mother, who, in the later stages of her dementia, had broken a lifetime of taboo, and started to swear like a sailor.

“You spoke about leaving St. Oswald’s,” I said.

Eric nodded. “I’m tired, Straits. A nice little flat in Paris, perhaps; the Tuileries and the Folies-Bergère. I’ve waited for this all my life. I don’t want it to be too late.”

Too late? Perhaps it is, I thought. Too late to give Harry what he deserves. Too late for him; too late for me. Too late to save St. Oswald’s.

“You could come and visit,” he said. “Maybe over the holidays.”