"A BOTTLE OF the best bubbly," Lessing said. I bought it on my way to the court as a gesture of confidence." He put it down on Alison's Georgian table, pushing aside her display of antique paperweights.
She was blooming again, he noticed, like a half-dead flower plunged into fresh water. The verdict had been tonic enough without the champagne. The champagne was a bonus.
Brannigan, he knew, would deem it indecent to celebrate too openly. Here, up at the school house, within an hour of the verdict, they could be as indecent as they chose.
Alison, smiling, went to fetch the glasses.
Brannigan would have preferred Scotch, but drank the champagne to please her. On the drive back to the school she had lavished him with praise. He had given his evidence perfectly. He couldn't have done better. He was the rock on which the school stood. Saint Peter, he had told her dryly, had had his moment of denial, too – in fact three of them – he wondered if he had felt three times as bad.
She had looked at him, quite patently at a loss. "What do you mean?"
It seemed unkind to turn off the glow. "Nothing. The verdict was fair, I suppose."
"You suppose? You should be jumping over the moon. Today the school had justice done to it. It's a good school and you know it – the whole town knows it. No harm has been done."
He refrained from stating the obvious. He had seen Fleming's expression as he had stood outside the court. Even Jenny had got nowhere with him He had walked off through the crowd as if he walked a desert Lessing drank two glasses of champagne before taking his leave. He wondered if he would see the Crayshaw woman again. Fleming's bird had beautiful plumage. She had fluttered at the inquest without much effect Had she flown in less alien country she might have achieved a different verdict – but he doubted it Her inside knowledge was nil. His own suspicions were another matter, but they would keep for another day Let Alison have her moment of glory. Later, some neat and discreet patchwork over the cracks should restore the fabric of the school. Today's verdict had given the old alma mater a future. He had noticed two of the governors at the inquest – Colonel Goldthorpe and Mrs. Telford Afterwards they had gone to have a word with the coroner No graft, of course Breddon couldn't be bought. They were buddies up at the links Mrs. Telford was lady captain this year and Mrs Breddon was vice-captain. It didn't signify anything, but it all helped. If the school had crashed there would have been one hell of a financial loss. Alison walked to the door with him and waved him off the premises. Normally she didn't like him. Today she did. When she returned to the sitting room she saw that Malcolm had gone to sit with his back to the open window. There was a small breeze now though the day was still very sultry. It ruffled through his thinning hair and she went over and smoothed it " You're sitting in a draught You'll get a chill." It was the first time she had touched him m days and he smiled at her with a degree of affection The wine had taken the edge off his disquiet and allowed optimism to creep through. He was glad he had done what he did – not only for her sake but for the sake of the whole school There was the sound of boys' voices in the air. Cricket on a summer's day. The academic results hadn't been bad this year, considering the smallness of the sixth form. There had been some Oxbridge successes. Next year the potential was even better. He liked teaching. If he could get more help on the administrative side he might be able to have more time in the classroom. He needed to adopt a more positive approach. As from now he would try to see things with fresh eyes. It didn't do to dwell on failure. He wished he could get Fleming's face out of his mind Corley senior arrived at the school at twenty minutes to five. He had intended arriving in time for the inquest, but a natural reticence had kept his foot from pressing too hard on the accelerator Rage coupled with anxiety had made all things seem possible when he had set out on the journey, but as time had gone by he knew he couldn't do it He hadn't been called as a witness A dramatic denouement from the back of a crowded courtroom might be possible in the mind, but couldn't be done in fact. He knew nothing at all about courtroom procedure. He had never attended an inquest in his life. To make a statement out of turn might result m being charged with contempt of court Neville, distressed and tearful, was safe. Dramatic gestures, desirable as they might be, were for the extroverts of this world, not for mild-mannered bank managers.
He paused m the town long enough to buy a packet of cigarettes and find out what the verdict had been. Not surprised by it, he drove straight up to the school The games period was coming to an end now and the boys were strolling over to the mam building. He stood and watched them for a moment, and then he went up the cracked steps to the door of the school house and rang the bell. His anger was cocooned inside him.
Alison, opening to him, saw a corpulent middle-aged man wearing a well-cut grey suit. She had met him once before, but he was one of the parents who rapidly became faceless m retrospect. His wife, loud, lean and enthusiastic, she would have remembered quite clearly, but this man she remembered not at all. She thought he might be the first of the reporters – they always took longer to arrive in time of good news – and she had a speech prepared Her smile was welcoming. "Yes?"
He remembered her. "I should like a word with your husband, Mrs Brannigan."
She knew Malcolm wouldn't handle the interview half as well as she would The Press would sniff out his doubt and pounce on it "He's rather busy at the moment -won't I do?"
"I hardly think so. You don't remember me, do you? I'm Neville Corley's father "
Her smile became tight and frozen before her lips closed. She stood aside and indicated that he should come in.
Brannigan. he noticed, wasn't busy at all He was slumped in his chair looking half asleep. There was a bottle of champagne on the table.
He said quietly, "Celebrating'7"
Brannigan got to his feet Not poised as high as Alison, there was no euphoria to quench A sudden pain of apprehension came and went He held out his hand "Mr Corley, I'm glad you've come."
Corley ignored it. "May I sit down?"
"Please do "
Alison, her voice unnaturally high, asked how Neville was. He answered dryly, "Alive "
Brannigan, aware of animosity deliberately overt and not to be ignored, became tense. "The police told us he was safely home We were extremely worried I tried contacting you several times by phone."
"I left the receiver off. The lad had a great deal to tell me."
"You brought him back? Where is he now – out in the car?"
"No " Corley picked up an empty champagne glass, studied it and put it down. "Accidental death, wasn't it? A cause for celebration "
Brannigan didn't answer. Alison, who had been standing by the door, felt she could stand no longer. She went and sat on a small upright chair near the china cabinet To sit at ease in this man's presence would be like trying to sit near a time-bomb A foreboding of catastrophe filled her like a dark cloud Brannigan waited for what was to come.
Corley said, "It was the wrong verdict "
Brannigan asked him to explain.
Corley took his time about it, and the words were clipped with controlled anger. "My son and young David Fleming were friends. They were in different Houses, but they met m class They both got keen on learning semaphore – it arose through the maritime project By coincidence Neville's assignment was on the poop deck of the sister ship to the one that David was on They were close enough to see each other. Instead of getting on with their task they played at signalling each other. Your resident psychopath – Durrant – left his post for some reason best known to himself. If young Fleming had needed to be punished for not getting on with the job then it wasn't up to a twisted adolescent to do it He hauled the boy down to the deck where the open hatch was – he tied his hands and blindfolded him. It might have ended there but David goaded him with accusations about a homosexual relationship with Innis, the sportsmaster – nicknamed Bruin 'Woolly Bear on Durrant's bed' Durrant gave him a back-hander – and then another that took him over the edge of the hatch and into the hold Durrant went down after him. When he came up again he was carrying the tie that had been around his wrists. Presumably he would have taken off the blindfold had there been time – there wasn't. The verdict today should have been murder "
Brannigan felt no surprise He felt battered and ill, but not surprised The possibility had been in his mind for days.
He said stiffly, " 'Woolly Bear on D's bed' – not Durrani's bed. Your lad got that bit wrong."
"D's – Durrant's – the implication's the same."
"It may seem so, but it isn't." It must have seemed so to Durrant, he thought, for him to have reacted so violently. "I find it difficult to believe that Innis…" It trailed off. Innis, nicknamed Bruin. Bruin – Woolly Bear. It all tied in.
Alison exploded out of her silence. "It's the most appalling lies. Jesus Christ – you're not going to sit there and take it!"
Brannigan and Corley looked at her and then at each other. Corley said stiffly, "There's more – not lies, very ugly truth, I'm afraid. Perhaps Mrs. Brannigan should leave us."
She answered for herself before Brannigan could. "No! You'll not get me out. Someone has to be here to…" She didn't finish it.
Brannigan finished it in his mind. "… defend the honour of the school". He had a momentary vision of her father declaiming in the Elysian fields on the sins of mortal flesh, prior to castrating Innis and kicking Durrant into the depths of hell.
Poor Alison, he thought. She looked stripped to the bone. He felt very sorry for her.
Corley went on. "My lad as witness to murder was next in line himself." He misinterpreted Brannigan's expression. "No, I'm not dramatising. I'm 'giving you facts. Durrant tried to get out of him how much he had seen. There was a session down in your copse interrupted by someone – a fat bloke with a plummy voice was how Neville described him. Neville had been sick after being almost suffocated when he ran into him."
Lessing, Brannigan thought.
"The night my son made off home, Durrant cornered him in the locker room. His language was filthy – how much my son understood I wouldn't care to guess. There might have been violence if the locker room had been more remote. Durrant didn't touch him. He threatened him. The threats were enough. It took Neville a night and most of the next day to get home. He's got the beginnings of bronchitis, but he's tucked up in a safe bed. I don't know how scarred he is emotionally. When I told him that he must tell you exactly what he told me. that what I tell you is hearsay, he looked as if I had shown him a deaths-head. He's frightened out of his mind, but he'll tell you – and anyone else who needs to be told."
Brannigan rallied a little. It was hearsay. His instinct was to believe it, but nothing had been said that couldn't have been made up. And then he remembered the sketch again. David after drawing it had immediately given it to Jenny. Woolly Bear. Symptom of distress. Innis alias Bruin. Young Corley hadn't a devious mind. He wouldn't have made that up. Lessing had said that he was scared out of his wits.
Corley broke through his thoughts. "I came to you before going to the police. It's up to you now to report it to the police. I advise you to report it without delay."
"The lad is fifteen."
Corley shrugged. "He's a psychopath."
"Then he needs medical help."
"Which your local G.P. can't give him. The rest of the lads here are your responsibility. How many more lads are you planning to put at risk before you do something about it?"
Brannigan felt very old, very tired. He walked slowly over to the door. "You're right, of course. None. But he deserves a hearing. I'll see him in my study over in the main building. You'd better come along."
Alison made one last effort. "If what you say is true -• and I can't believe it is – then let Durrant be put away quietly. Send for his parents. Let them see to it. It isn't our affair."
"Oh, but it is," Brannigan said gently, "very much our affair." He added, "I'm sorry."
He didn't know what he was apologising for. For insisting on doing his duty now when it was too late. For running the school remotely and comfortably instead of being in the thick of it. For being kind to the incompetent. For not suspecting Innis. For being weak.
Durrant, summoned to the Headmaster's study, went with a quick and buoyant step. He was still jubilant after the inquest. His role had been more brief than he would have liked. There had been no real pitting of wits. The coroner, as spineless as a jellyfish, had oozed concern over the proceedings. The only rock had been Fleming himself and he hadn't uttered. To pit his wits against Fleming would have been a joy.
"Yes, Headmaster?"
He noticed Corley sitting over in the leather chair – the same chair that he had sat in himself when he had spoken to his mother on the telephone. The association caused a blending of shock and remembered pain. He winced.
Brannigan noticed. "Come in, Durrant, and close the door behind you." He wondered how Durrant had recognised Corley. He went on to make the introductions as if he hadn't noticed. "This is Mr. Corley – Neville's father."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"They were together on sports day."
And neither of your parents were there, Brannigan thought. At all school functions you roamed alone. It was all very well to try to stamp out pity when the lad wasn't there. He was there now. Not the Durrant of the courtroom brazening it like a Nazi recruit, but the gangling awkward boy shrugging off his height, trying to diminish himself into obscurity.
"Do you know why Mr. Corley is here?"
"Yes." In lucid moments he had known that this meeting now was inevitable. Ever since Neville Corley had gone he knew that there could be only one outcome. When his mind played the games he wanted it to play anxiety was programmed out. Corley wouldn't arrive home. He would arrive home and say nothing.
Now, briefly lucid, he accepted the situation for what it was.
Brannigan said with a degree of gentleness. "Tell us." He stood up and pulled out a chair. "Don't be frightened – just tell us."
The gentleness was puzzling. Durrant declined to sit. He held the back of the chair. If you tried to trap a tiger you laid a bait of meat, you didn't make pussy-cat noises at it. What did the old fool think he was – a backyard moggie? Now that the shock was receding, he was beginning to feel better again. He examined Corley senior with some intent-ness. He hadn't done anything about the warts on the back of his left hand. On sports day he had been showing his son how to hold the bat and the warts had been obvious. Innis couldn't have liked that very much. Showing the boy how to hold the bat was his business. Innis. Bruin. He had never called him Bruin to his face. Last night it had been Sir. The conversation dribbled back into his mind. 'Durrant, you're a sadistic brute – what the hell were you trying to do to that poor little brat?' 'Nothing.' 'Nothing, sir… You're sick. Durrant, do you know that?' 'Then make me well sir, you know how, sir, there's time, sir, before the bell, sir,'… 'Get out!'
He turned back to Brannigan. "David Fleming walked in his sleep."
"And so- •›"
"He woke up twice – by my bedroom "
"Go on "
"He saw Bruin Bruin didn't see him I didn't tell Bruin "'
"Bruin – Mr Innis0"
"Yes I thought Fleming was still asleep when he walked into my room He walked in very quietly and he walked out very quietly On the Mariana he called Bruin Woolly Bear On D's bed My bed I killed him "
A perfectly good reason, Durrant thought He looked at the two men and wondered why they should look at him as they did He had never intended shopping Innis Innis had been his sole comfort for a long time Last night, after leaving Innis, he had gone down to the hollow at the bottom of the copse and lain on his stomach and cried The tears had been shed for his mother, too It was hard to cut adrift from people At the inquest he had felt liberated He had stood alone and been powerful He didn't feel powerful now A great longing for Innis surged over him The rejection last night had seemed final It couldn't be final Not his mother and Innis in one day There was a metallic thumping in his skull He pressed his fingers against his temples trying to stop it The engine was running again but running too fast He said very politely, "Excuse me, Headmaster I think I'm going to be sick "
He left the room before they could stop him and ran across the main hall The quickest way to the gym was through the kitchen garden He vaulted rows of cabbages and left a trail of leaves With a sudden burst of amusement he kicked at an upstanding onion and sent it spinning across the soil The awful school food The awful school garden The awful school He was half-laughing, half-crying, when he reached the gym Six little boys were lined up to vault the wooden horse Innis, hairy in shorts and sweat shirt, was leaning against the wall bars watching them Durrant said, "It's over You're for the chop" He couldn't look at Innis as he said it A little boy with tight ginger curls was shaping up for the jump Durrant took him by his hair and the seat of his pants "Whoops – up and over!" The boy screamed m protest as Durrant flung him over and on to the mat He fell heavily, sobbing Innis went to help him He stood him up and got him to walk and then he turned to the others "Out – all of you – out " His face was grey The children, frightened like sheep with a wolf amongst them, herded together in a frozen mass Innis headed the child who had fallen in the direction of the door "Line up behind Sibley Quick – one, two – one, two March back to the changing room and stay there Now!"
The line straggled out of the gym and then once through the door broke up They ran in silence Durrant, breathing fast, was leaning against the horse. "I didn't mean to shop you You could always say it wasn't true "
"What wasn't true?" Innis's pallor was stabbed with brown freckles "That you and I…"
"That you and I – what?"
"David Fleming knew about us – he saw us – that's why I killed him. I killed him for you "
The supreme gesture, he thought, what more could I do for you? He taunted you – Woolly Bear – and I closed his sodding mouth for ever Be kind to me, Bruin Be pleased He wondered why Innis was taking such a long time to answer Innis spoke at last – very softly "You stupid little bastard You goddamned stupid little bastard You're off your bloody head." There was a sour taste on his tongue and the words were forced out of him sour with shock The boy was mad He had guessed for some time that he was unbalanced And he, himself, had been mad to let things get as far as they had He had started by feeling sorry for him. There had been something doglike about Durrant in the early days of the relationship A pat. A word of praise. Or, rather, a reversal of the sequence A word of praise A pat. A caress And then all of it He wondered how much Brannigan would believe. The word of a boy gone crazy as opposed to his?
Durrant said in a very normal voice, "I love you "
"Crap!"
"Please. " Durrant took a couple of steps towards him.
"Get the hell away from me." He put his hand out to stop Durrant getting any closer. His fingers touched Durrani's forehead and he withdrew them as if the contact had made him unclean.
The gesture was as final and as wounding as it could be.
Durrant said, "All right. I'll get the hell away from you As far as anyone can get away from anyone " His stomach felt like a coil of scorpions and his extremities were leaden. He doubted if he could move.
There was sufficient rapport between them for Innis to be aware of the depth of his pain. He was past caring The fact that Durrant had done murder was of less importance than the reason for it. Durrant could kill both his reputation and his career. That mattered. He said, "They'll put you away for years." It came out viciously.
"And you, Bruin Boy – you." Gobbets of blood, Durrant thought We spit them at each other There's nothing more.
He found he could walk now, his thighs were cold and heavy, but they could move.
Appalled, Innis watched him as he went over to the wall bars under the east window and began climbing. Near the top rung he held on with one hand and leaned over to grab the climbing rope which was suspended from the ceiling. Carefully holding it, he climbed up on to the window-sill. Squatting there he made a noose with the rope and slipped it around his neck. His eyes were diamond bright and his face was flushed Innis thought, God – no! – but the words stayed in his mind Brannigan pushing open the swing doors behind him caught him a glancing blow on his shoulder, but was unaware of it He shouted out the protest that Innis couldn't voice.
That Durrant would come for refuge to the gym hadn't taken much working out He and Corley had come through the main building and they had come as fast as they could – but not fast enough Corley, at his side, spoke quietly. "Easy, and gently, don't raise your voice "
Brannigan, about to rush across to the bars, stopped just inside the room "Durrant – Neville-" He realised that m his panic he had the wrong Christian name. "Steven…"
Durrant laughed "You're not very good at it, are you?"
The laughter, high and sweet and insane, sent an icy sweat down Brannigan's spine. "At what?"
"At being human."
"What do you mean, Steven?" Calm him, he thought. Make him talk If there's to be an impulse jump, it will happen now "That's right – you've got it right, this time. What's Lambert's name?"
"Which Lambert?" All the boys' names had gone out of his mind. He wasn't even aware he had a Lambert.
"There's only one. In Sherborne's House. Mr. Innis remembers it – don't you Mr. Innis?"
Innis found it difficult to speak at all. He got it out eventually. "Michael."
"That's right. Mr. Innis is human. Sometimes. He used to use my Christian name, too, sometimes. He doesn't use it any more."
Brannigan said, "He will if you want him to." He took a couple of steps across the room and Durrant immediately hunched up on the window sill, his neck thrust forward. "I'll jump if you come any nearer."
Brannigan stood still. "I'll do anything you want me to. And nothing you don't want me to. Just take that rope off your neck and come down."
Durrant said conversationally, "It's Rampton, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"The place where they send criminal lunatics." He looked at Innis. "Those who are off their bloody heads."
Brannigan soothed, "You're a sick child. If you'll come down nothing awful will happen to you. You'll be taken to a hospital and made well." x "Pussy-cat noises."
"What?"
"Try meat?"
"What?"
"You're either deaf or incredibly stupid."
Brannigan said humbly, "Just tell me what to do."
Durrant thought, I've got you. While I sit here with this rope around my neck, I've got you. The old power-machine in his mind, after one or two initial lurches in the wrong direction, was humming away beautifully. Power, like strong drink, was a river in his veins.
"Take your jacket off."
"My jacket?"
"You heard me."
Brannigan unbuttoned his grey jacket, got out of it, and held it in his left hand.
"Put it on the floor."
Brannigan let it drop.
"Now stand on it."
Brannigan stood on it."
"You wear braces."
"Yes."
"That's very old-fashioned of you. Bruin wears a belt."
"Bruin is – with it."
"Don't try bridging the generation gap, old man. Use your own vocabulary."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Be your age. You're past it, you know. You should have retired long ago."
Brannigan whispered a heart-felt amen to that. He half-turned his head and saw that Corley had gone – presumably to raise the alarm. He hoped he would raise it with caution. Innis was still there.
"Now take your trousers off." '
Brannigan hesitated. Durrant fingered the rope around his neck and moved nearer the edge of the sill.
Brannigan removed his trousers. The June day was still very hot, but he stood and shivered in his underpants and vest. He hoped Durrant wouldn't make him strip to the nude.
Durrant looked at him critically. "As I said – old. Drop your trousers on top of your jacket and stand on them."
Brannigan did so.
"Now sing to me."
"Sing what to you?"
"No, don't sing what to me -just sing. Sing the school song."
Brannigan racked his brains. The school song? They hadn't a school song. In Assembly they sang whichever hymns Laxby chose from the hymn book. He tried humming a few bars from the Doxology.
Durrant began to laugh. "You are a fool – an almighty fool." This time his laughter was normal.
Brannigan felt his anger rise. The boy was having him on. He wasn't off his head. He was sadistically sane. "Now look here…" He moved forward.
Durrant's face contorted. His voice came out as a roar. "Standstill!"
Brannigan stood.
"That's better. You don't want to kill me, do you?" It was plaintive.
"I'm asking you to come down."
"Ask away, sonny, ask away. Do you know my mother's a whore?"
Brannigan didn't know how to answer that one. It seemed polite to deny it – so he did so.
"And my father's an idiot."
He said no to that, too.
"Don't keep contradicting me. I know them. You don't. Give me one good reason for going on living."
Brannigan thought for a couple of minutes. "Your individuality. You are you – not your parents."
"What's so good about being me?"
"There's good in everyone."
"What's my special good?"
It seemed a brainwave. "Your capacity to love."
Durrant began to cry. He cried open-eyed and silently.
Brannigan said gently, "Steven…"
"The one good reason not to live." It came out raggedly. He fingered the rope again.
"Steven…"
"And don't Steven me – the name's Durrant. You're soft. You're all soft here." He said after a silence of several minutes, "I'm- bored with you. I'm bored with all of you. Fetch Fleming."
"Fleming?"
"F-l-e-m-i-n-g. David's father. I want him."
The words were out before Brannigan could stop them.
"But you killed his son."
"That's right," Durrant said laconically. "Let Bruin fetch him – and you stay here. Tell him he's got to come."