“The teachers think I’m thick,” Dave said.

“I don’t believe that. You’re intelligent, but lazy.”

“I’m not lazy.”

“What are you, then?”

Dave did not have an answer. He was a slow reader, but worse than that he always forgot what he had read as soon as he turned the page. He was a poor writer, too: when he wanted to put “bread” his pen would write “beard” and he would not notice the difference. His spelling was atrocious. “I got top marks in oral French and German,” he said.

“Which only proves you can do it when you try.”

It did not prove any such thing, but Dave did not know how to explain that.

Lloyd said: “I’ve thought long and hard about what to do, and your mother and I have talked about it endlessly.”

This sounded ominous to Dave. What the hell was coming now?

“You’re too old to be spanked, and anyway we never had much faith in physical punishment.”

That was true. Most kids were smacked when they misbehaved, but Dave’s mother had not struck him for years; his father, never. What bothered Dave now, however, was the word punishment. Clearly he was in for it.

“The only thing I can think of, to force you to concentrate on your studies, is to withdraw your allowance.”

Dave could not believe what he was hearing. “What do you mean, withdraw?”

“I’m not giving you any more money until I see an improvement in your schoolwork.”

Dave had not seen this coming. “But how am I supposed to get around London?” And buy cigarettes, and get into the Jump Club, he thought in a panic.

“You walk to school anyway. If you want to go anywhere else, you’ll have to do better in your lessons.”

“I can’t live like that!”

“You get fed for nothing, and you have a wardrobe full of clothes, so you won’t lack for much. Just remember that if you don’t study, you’ll never have the money to get around.”

Dave was outraged. His plan for this evening was ruined. He felt helpless and infantile. “So that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m wasting my time here, then.”

“You’re listening to your father trying to guide you as best he can.”

“Same bloody thing,” Dave said, and he stamped out.

He took his leather jacket off the hook in the hall and left the house. It was a mild spring morning. What was he going to do? His plan for the day had been to meet some friends in Piccadilly Circus, stroll along Denmark Street looking at guitars, have a pint of beer in a pub, then come home and put on the shirt with the long collar points.

He had some change in his pocket—enough for half a pint of beer. How could he get the money for admission to the Jump Club? Perhaps he could work. Who would employ him at short notice? Some of his friends had jobs on Saturday or Sunday, working in shops and restaurants that needed extra people at the weekend. He considered walking into a café and offering to wash up in the kitchen. It was worth a try. He turned his steps toward the West End.