was optional.
Father would have been appalled.
A senior boy came and spoke to Miss Walker. ‘Pike,’ she called from the front of the class. Everybody looked at me. ‘Mr Mulholland wants to see you … Now! Now! Off you go.’ Outside the classroom, wondering if I should follow the senior boy, I did. He led me to Murderous Mulholland’s office.
I must have been ‘in for it’ for having fainted on arrival.
Walking the long corridors on weak legs, I wondered how I should knock: two knocks or three, hard knocks or soft, fast or slow.
I didn’t have to knock at all; his door lay open.
The senior boy departed.
The headmaster, far from being eight feet tall, topped a few inches over five. Murderous? Based on first impressions, I thought not. His nickname, I discovered later, was Blinky because he blinked a lot. Gregory would end up in Hell. Father said that’s where liars went. Blinky Mulholland, standing at the visitor’s side of his desk, reading something on it, looked like someone stuck at one down on a crossword puzzle. Noticing me on the threshold from the corner of an eye, he swung round too jovially for a headmaster. Not that I knew much about headmasters, but surely they were supposed to be demonic. Not that I knew much about demons. Father had mentioned them, in the context of constipation, but not in detail.
‘Ah, Mr Pike. Come in. Come in.’
I crossed the threshold and reached up to shake the soft, moist and warm hand he offered. ‘Have a seat. Do you mind if I call you Edward? Hmm? Good. Good. Well, Edward. My first name is Maurice, but you have to call me Mr Mulholland, I’m afraid. It’s school rules, you see. If we all called each other by our first names we would get terribly confused. The place is coming down with Johns, Peters and Patricks.’ He consulted the sheet of paper he’d been reading. ‘You have an older brother here at Whitehead House, Gregory. I know about him. And, to be frank … We had a Frank once, come to think of it. Don’t get many, though. We do have a Freddy or two … Anyway, to be frank, Edward, I trust you will gain much more from your school career than your brother has gained from his.’
The headmaster smiled at me. It was horrible, but he meant well.
The display of such headmasterly pleasantness made punishment unlikely. I relaxed, but only fractionally. The chair’s legs were longer than my own. Most things with length were longer than my legs. Father said that, unless I sprouted, my arse would trail the ground. My feet and the floor had a sizeable gap between. Mr Mulholland retreated to the other side of his desk. I swung my legs nervously and wondered why he had summoned me there.
‘Edward. I want you to think of me as someone you can trust. Can you do that?’ I squeaked in reply. ‘Good. Good. Tell me, how are you finding things? You’ve been here, what, a week and a bit now?’ He waited. I didn’t know which things he meant. ‘Bed comfortable? Food okay? I know it’s not as good as your mother’s food, but we all have to make sacrifices. During the war we were on rations. Do you know about the war and rations? No? Well, that’s one of the many things you’ll learn about. What would you like to know about most? Go on, ask me anything you like and I’ll prove to you how splendid an education can be.’
I thought of a question straight away. ‘Do dogs go to Heaven?’
‘Mmm. Good question.’ He opened a drawer, took out a bag of boiled sweets, circumnavigated his desk and offered me one en route. It would have been rude to refuse. ‘Butter Balls,’ he said. ‘My favourites. Take another one and put it in your pocket for later.’ I did, while sucking on the first one. ‘Do dogs go to Heaven? That’s a tough one. Are you a dog lover? Have you lost a dog recently, Edward?’
‘No. I found one. It was dead.’
One of his eyebrows hopped – just once. ‘In that case, I can tell you, without fear of contradiction, that if there’s a
Father would have been appalled.
A senior boy came and spoke to Miss Walker. ‘Pike,’ she called from the front of the class. Everybody looked at me. ‘Mr Mulholland wants to see you … Now! Now! Off you go.’ Outside the classroom, wondering if I should follow the senior boy, I did. He led me to Murderous Mulholland’s office.
I must have been ‘in for it’ for having fainted on arrival.
Walking the long corridors on weak legs, I wondered how I should knock: two knocks or three, hard knocks or soft, fast or slow.
I didn’t have to knock at all; his door lay open.
The senior boy departed.
The headmaster, far from being eight feet tall, topped a few inches over five. Murderous? Based on first impressions, I thought not. His nickname, I discovered later, was Blinky because he blinked a lot. Gregory would end up in Hell. Father said that’s where liars went. Blinky Mulholland, standing at the visitor’s side of his desk, reading something on it, looked like someone stuck at one down on a crossword puzzle. Noticing me on the threshold from the corner of an eye, he swung round too jovially for a headmaster. Not that I knew much about headmasters, but surely they were supposed to be demonic. Not that I knew much about demons. Father had mentioned them, in the context of constipation, but not in detail.
‘Ah, Mr Pike. Come in. Come in.’
I crossed the threshold and reached up to shake the soft, moist and warm hand he offered. ‘Have a seat. Do you mind if I call you Edward? Hmm? Good. Good. Well, Edward. My first name is Maurice, but you have to call me Mr Mulholland, I’m afraid. It’s school rules, you see. If we all called each other by our first names we would get terribly confused. The place is coming down with Johns, Peters and Patricks.’ He consulted the sheet of paper he’d been reading. ‘You have an older brother here at Whitehead House, Gregory. I know about him. And, to be frank … We had a Frank once, come to think of it. Don’t get many, though. We do have a Freddy or two … Anyway, to be frank, Edward, I trust you will gain much more from your school career than your brother has gained from his.’
The headmaster smiled at me. It was horrible, but he meant well.
The display of such headmasterly pleasantness made punishment unlikely. I relaxed, but only fractionally. The chair’s legs were longer than my own. Most things with length were longer than my legs. Father said that, unless I sprouted, my arse would trail the ground. My feet and the floor had a sizeable gap between. Mr Mulholland retreated to the other side of his desk. I swung my legs nervously and wondered why he had summoned me there.
‘Edward. I want you to think of me as someone you can trust. Can you do that?’ I squeaked in reply. ‘Good. Good. Tell me, how are you finding things? You’ve been here, what, a week and a bit now?’ He waited. I didn’t know which things he meant. ‘Bed comfortable? Food okay? I know it’s not as good as your mother’s food, but we all have to make sacrifices. During the war we were on rations. Do you know about the war and rations? No? Well, that’s one of the many things you’ll learn about. What would you like to know about most? Go on, ask me anything you like and I’ll prove to you how splendid an education can be.’
I thought of a question straight away. ‘Do dogs go to Heaven?’
‘Mmm. Good question.’ He opened a drawer, took out a bag of boiled sweets, circumnavigated his desk and offered me one en route. It would have been rude to refuse. ‘Butter Balls,’ he said. ‘My favourites. Take another one and put it in your pocket for later.’ I did, while sucking on the first one. ‘Do dogs go to Heaven? That’s a tough one. Are you a dog lover? Have you lost a dog recently, Edward?’
‘No. I found one. It was dead.’
One of his eyebrows hopped – just once. ‘In that case, I can tell you, without fear of contradiction, that if there’s a
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