He was not off his dot. Colin led him back through the cupboard.
âFor no strategic purpose, Colin mused, you throw yourself at Spaulding. In the process you knock yourself out cold and bugger your arm so you canât play the rest of term.
âI can playâ
âAnd now, Colin continued, minutes after escaping Matronâs clutches, you come and cross-question me about Spaulding and what he thinks of you.
Colin snaked through the darkened form room; Morgan barked his shin on a desk.
âWhatever it is, Colin said, Iâd put it out of mind. Spauldingâs only got eyes for Rees.
âRees! Morgan spluttered.
âI know, completely absurd as well as impossible, but I have it from a reliable source.
âYour source is having you on!
âPossible, Colin admitted, but given that itâs Larkspur, unlikely.
The snags were overrunning any notion of a queue. If Spaulding fancied anyone, it could never be Rees. Rees wasnât even in the Sixth. He was in the Fifth, like Morgan. Furthermore, Rees was the most loathsome item in the form, if not the whole Upper School.
They were due to play Spaulding again next week. This time Spaulding would know who he was. Barlow could not drop him from the XV. End of story.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Morgan kicked open the study door and found Nathan tinkering with their wireless.
âHe lives!
âIâve just come from Barlow, Morgan announced.
Nathan grinned:
âUplifting?
At least Nathan was glad to see him, unlike Alex, whose every glance was a minefield. When Alex was younger, before his face had narrowed and lost most of its freckles, Morgan had thought the brothers looked nothing alike. He and Nathan used to pretend Alex was a foundling abandoned by gnomes. Now that Alex was almost fourteen, Morgan saw the same stab in each brotherâs glances, the same electricity in their grins. The only difference was that Nathan had no guile whereas Alex had nothing but.
Nathan cleared a space for him on the window seat and looked to him eagerly for news. Whatever snags might come, at least he still had thisâthis home in their study, Laurie and Nathan forever on his side, Nathanâs smile, open and frank, never thinking him off his dot. Morgan slumped down and propped his arm on a pillow. Everything seemed suddenly to hurt.
âNot only is Barlow out of his tiny mind, Morgan complained, but heâs dooming us to failure the rest of term.
Nathan commiserated: Their Captain of Games was a tyrant and a half-wit. Never had Games sunk to a more pitiful state. Indeed, without Morgan, Hazlehurstâs XV would have little chance of beating even Clementâs, let alone RENâs or Burton-Leeâs, but given Barlowâs mental and strategic defects as well as his obstinacy, more tragic even than Creonâs, Nathan concluded there was nothing to do but bow to cruel fate.
âWhat if the Head insisted?
âS-K wonât take sides in House rugger, Nathan said.
âBut if he leaned on Hazlehurst, he could take sides!
âYouâre funny. Whenâs the last time Twiggy lifted a finger for anything besides his bottle?
Morganâs zeal leaked away. There was no point discussing it since he and Nathan agreed perfectly: Their Housemaster put himself out for nothing and nobody. He left every detail to the prefectorial discretion of the Junior Common Room, which could most generously be described as incompetent and slothful.
Nathan resumed the wireless and finally picked up a signal, admitting a scratchy drama to their study. Morganâs head began to throb along with his shoulder. Nathan had taken out his camera and was now squinting at him through the viewfinder. The first summer Morgan had spent with the Pearls, Nathan had scrambled along the Annaside waterline, snapping his Brownie with the restless energy he applied to everything; if forced to sit immobile on the window seat as Nathan darted up and down the
âFor no strategic purpose, Colin mused, you throw yourself at Spaulding. In the process you knock yourself out cold and bugger your arm so you canât play the rest of term.
âI can playâ
âAnd now, Colin continued, minutes after escaping Matronâs clutches, you come and cross-question me about Spaulding and what he thinks of you.
Colin snaked through the darkened form room; Morgan barked his shin on a desk.
âWhatever it is, Colin said, Iâd put it out of mind. Spauldingâs only got eyes for Rees.
âRees! Morgan spluttered.
âI know, completely absurd as well as impossible, but I have it from a reliable source.
âYour source is having you on!
âPossible, Colin admitted, but given that itâs Larkspur, unlikely.
The snags were overrunning any notion of a queue. If Spaulding fancied anyone, it could never be Rees. Rees wasnât even in the Sixth. He was in the Fifth, like Morgan. Furthermore, Rees was the most loathsome item in the form, if not the whole Upper School.
They were due to play Spaulding again next week. This time Spaulding would know who he was. Barlow could not drop him from the XV. End of story.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Morgan kicked open the study door and found Nathan tinkering with their wireless.
âHe lives!
âIâve just come from Barlow, Morgan announced.
Nathan grinned:
âUplifting?
At least Nathan was glad to see him, unlike Alex, whose every glance was a minefield. When Alex was younger, before his face had narrowed and lost most of its freckles, Morgan had thought the brothers looked nothing alike. He and Nathan used to pretend Alex was a foundling abandoned by gnomes. Now that Alex was almost fourteen, Morgan saw the same stab in each brotherâs glances, the same electricity in their grins. The only difference was that Nathan had no guile whereas Alex had nothing but.
Nathan cleared a space for him on the window seat and looked to him eagerly for news. Whatever snags might come, at least he still had thisâthis home in their study, Laurie and Nathan forever on his side, Nathanâs smile, open and frank, never thinking him off his dot. Morgan slumped down and propped his arm on a pillow. Everything seemed suddenly to hurt.
âNot only is Barlow out of his tiny mind, Morgan complained, but heâs dooming us to failure the rest of term.
Nathan commiserated: Their Captain of Games was a tyrant and a half-wit. Never had Games sunk to a more pitiful state. Indeed, without Morgan, Hazlehurstâs XV would have little chance of beating even Clementâs, let alone RENâs or Burton-Leeâs, but given Barlowâs mental and strategic defects as well as his obstinacy, more tragic even than Creonâs, Nathan concluded there was nothing to do but bow to cruel fate.
âWhat if the Head insisted?
âS-K wonât take sides in House rugger, Nathan said.
âBut if he leaned on Hazlehurst, he could take sides!
âYouâre funny. Whenâs the last time Twiggy lifted a finger for anything besides his bottle?
Morganâs zeal leaked away. There was no point discussing it since he and Nathan agreed perfectly: Their Housemaster put himself out for nothing and nobody. He left every detail to the prefectorial discretion of the Junior Common Room, which could most generously be described as incompetent and slothful.
Nathan resumed the wireless and finally picked up a signal, admitting a scratchy drama to their study. Morganâs head began to throb along with his shoulder. Nathan had taken out his camera and was now squinting at him through the viewfinder. The first summer Morgan had spent with the Pearls, Nathan had scrambled along the Annaside waterline, snapping his Brownie with the restless energy he applied to everything; if forced to sit immobile on the window seat as Nathan darted up and down the
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