I waited for him in the (temporarily bratless) main hall, with the three others. There was Brenda, the uglier girl; Elvin, fat, cow-eyed, generally hopeless but affable enough; and Derek. Derek was true borstal-bait. At seventeen, he had already faced a variety of charges – including, it was said, GBH and petty larceny. The guile of expensive lawyers had secured his acquittal. As I sat at the table, brooding, trying not to think about the weekend, it occurred to me that there was something uniquely unpleasant about his face. Cherubic features moulded into a satanic complexion – a desert of flaked, crumbling skin relieved only by oases of dermatitic pimplery : like the scummy death-mask of Troy Donahue, Peter McEnery, or some other noted pretty-boy. Just the eyes, glinting perfect blue, emerged intact.
Anyway, there we were. It took place about two o’clock. I happened to be retching – fairly quietly, I thought – into a handkerchief, Derek looked up from an O-Level text.
‘Someone shut him up, will you.’ He made hawking noises. ‘It’s enough to make you sick. Go somewhere else, do.’
I blew my nose unhurriedly. ‘What did you say?’
‘U-word. You, fucking, heard. I said it’s enough to make you puke.’
‘Oh really?’ I said. ‘And what do you think people feel when they look at your face? What, would you say, was running through their minds?’
Brenda laughed, so I continued. ‘Look at that huge … archipelago of blackheads on your conk. Christ, why don’t you try washing every now and then?’
‘Shut up,’ said Derek, with a robotic smile.
I could tell this was excellent advice. But I looked at Elvin, who grinned, and, besides, it made me feel so young. ‘Yes. Why don’t you give washing a whirl one of these days? It can’t be much fun walking around with all that crap, all that greaze, all over your face. But – got to keep the spots fed, I suppose. Tell me, Mr Sebum, tell me. Monsieur Têtes-noires, how does it go down with the girls ? I bet they —’
I was wearing a double-breasted jacket with modishly wide lapels. Derek grabbed these, hoisted me to my feet, and drew his right fist back at shoulder height.
‘No, please,’ I shrieked, ‘for Christ’s sake!’
At that moment the double-doors at the end of the hall swung open and Mr Greenchurch strolled grandly in.
‘Churls!’
He wasn’t reproaching us, merely calling out my name in his senile yodel.
Derek instinctively relaxed his grip.
‘Coming,’ I said. I stood up, slapped Derek’s hand away with my own, and followed the Feet to his pungent little room.
What extraordinary behaviour. Patently, I was in a state about something. Not so much about Rachel – for I was cock-free until the end of next week, so nothing dramatic could happen. Perhaps it was the idea of having some sort of showdown with my father. During the lesson, under the pretence of making notes, I planned the weekend – anecdotes about the village, nature speeches – and outlined a brief coda to the (by now) 2,000-word Speech to My Father.
Ten five: the spinney
Less than two hours to go and more than two months to come. But things get simpler as I get older.
Now I open the window that looks on to the woods. It’s December, and very cold, so I close it again soon.
On the train to Oxford, Rachel took up the subject of her father – apparently, he had written her a ‘stinking’ letter that morning. She developed the real-bastard theme and filled in some early history. Her last brush with ‘Jean-Paul d’Erlanger’ (Rachel used her mother’s maiden name; don’t ask me why) had been earlier that summer, when DeForest himself had taken her to Paris for a couple of weeks. Apart from some unpleasant incidents, a ‘marvellous time’ was had by all. I bucked up slightly when Rachel made it clear that these unpleasant incidents had consisted of M. d’Erlanger hinting at and then articulating his immense hatred and contempt for DeForest, who had in fact got one of his ears further cauli-flowered by the passionate Frenchman. Rachel invited me to see this as a testament to her father’s boorishness. DeForest, I learned, was most understanding about it all and had never mentioned the matter since.