Well, come to think of it, those are both excellent reasons for mistrust. St. Oswald’s is an old ship, requiring careful handling. One does not put an old ship in the hands of the cabin boy. Besides, although I have no doubt as to Harrington’s competence in the field of public relations, a real Headmaster comes from the ranks; he serves his time at the chalk-face; he learns from ugly experience; he gets blisters on his hands. This new generation of Headmaster is a different class: computer literate; personable; politically correct; and in touch with the new methodologies—but unless he has taught, how can he expect to understand what we do here? How can he understand the boys? How can he understand the staff?

“I don’t know about that,” Kitty said. “Everything’s moving so fast now. We need someone to take control, to help us compete in a changing market. I think he’ll be good for all of us, Roy. St. Oswald’s needs a human face.”

A human face? Johnny Harrington? Gods, am I the only one he hasn’t managed to seduce?

I noticed Kitty was wearing a suit for the first time since I’ve known her. That’s what promotion does, I suppose. I shouldn’t hold it against her. Kitty, at thirty-five, is still young, with a promising future. Chances are she knows nothing of what happened here twenty-four years ago. Dr. Devine is different. I expected more of him. And Eric—he was there from the first, much as he would like to forget, and those who will not remember the past must be condemned to repeat it.

But maybe I shouldn’t be too harsh on my colleagues, or on myself. None of us saw the crisis approaching, back in that autumn of ’81. None of us guessed how everything would spring from that first, improbable seed, like a chain of paper flowers pulled from a circus master’s hat and blooming gaudily over the years to flower again on a dead man’s grave . . .

Chapter 7

7

Michaelmas Term, 1981

Dear Mousey,

It wasn’t always like this, you know. I didn’t always have to pretend. My dad wasn’t always this pompous, and sometimes my mother used to smile. But then we had Tribulation. That’s what they call it, Mousey, with the capital letter. Tribulation is what God sends when He thinks you’re not paying attention. It can be cancer; or locusts; or boils. It can be an accident. Or He can take something away. A precious possession; the use of a limb; even, in some cases, a life.

What God took was my brother.