Chapter 2

Peace. At last it really felt like peace. Johnny was riding on Wilde’s shoulders, madly waving his arms in the air as they galloped along Grantchester Meadow. Johnny was laughing himself silly and so was his father.

It had been a very special day. He had shown the boy his rooms in college, introduced him to the porters and Bobby the gyp – his college servant – and then he had taken him to the boxing gym in the south of the town. Johnny had put on a tattered pair of boy’s gloves – the smallest available, but still far too big for a five-year-old – and together they had spent half an hour giving the punchbag a good hammering.

‘The lad’ll be beating you soon, Prof,’ the trainer had said, grinning broadly.

‘Don’t I know it, Joe. He’s a tough one.’ Pride surged through Wilde’s heart. This was every man’s dream, a son who could protect himself in an unkind world.

‘Not a bad size for his age. I wager he’ll be a middleweight like you.’

Wilde and his son had been Joe Spinks’s only two customers. The trainer had told them it had been reasonably busy in the gym during the last two years of the war when the area was packed with servicemen, many of them American, but now everyone seemed to have other matters on their mind. Men were being demobbed, people were restarting careers or education, life was returning to normal with a rush.

‘I’ll tell my new undergraduates about the place, Joe. Bound to be one or two of them who fancy a bit of sparring. You’ll soon build up again.’

‘And you’ll bring your boy here regular? Can’t start them too young, you know.’

‘That might not be the way Mrs Wilde sees it, I’m afraid. I’ll talk to her.’ He knew what her answer would be, of course. Wait until he’s a bit older, Tom. Let him choose for himself. He’s too young.

‘What about yourself, Prof?’

‘Oh, I’ll come along, but I may not be in great condition.’

‘You look lean enough to me.’ Joe ranged his eyes over Wilde’s six-foot frame. ‘Barely eleven stone. You’re verging on beanpole.’

Wilde knew it was true. His trousers were, indeed, a little on the loose side, but he wasn’t alone in that after six years of wartime rationing. Still, he felt strong enough. He appraised Spinks, a former champion. ‘You look as if you’ve lost a couple of pounds yourself, Joe.’

After the gym, Wilde and his son had walked hand in hand towards the river. Cambridge was slowly regaining its mellow, peaceful pre-war character. There were still bombsites, of course – houses turned to rubble, roads badly damaged – and it would almost certainly be like that for years to come, but at least the sandbags around public buildings had been removed.

They ambled along beside the Cam to Grantchester for a glass of lemonade, cheese sandwiches and a slice of cake, all of which Lydia had packed for them. It was a warm day, but few people were out enjoying the meadow. At the village of Grantchester, they played catch with an old, threadbare tennis ball, then lazed by the river, looking for frogs and fish, and tossing a bit of crust to the ducks. Best of all was a dazzling multicoloured light that flashed before their eyes under the overhanging trees.