FORTY-FOUR

On such a warm and windless afternoon, somnolence and quietude might normally be expected to prevail at Haywards Heath railway station. But this is no ordinary afternoon. It is the eve of the new academic year at Ardingly College, which stands in stolidly red-bricked readiness to receive new and returning pupils at its hilltop location a few miles north of the town. A sizeable number of those pupils are currently assembled in a baggage-clogged mass on the platform where the Horsted Keynes train, first stop Ardingly, is shortly expected. And they are neither somnolent nor quiet.

The fourteen-year-old Eldritch Swan has removed himself from the worst of the ruck and is sitting on his large, leather-strapped, steamer-stickered suitcase at the thinly populated far end of the platform. Though happy to give and take in the general spirit of schoolboyish squabbling, he finds most of his peers depressingly immature and prefers his own company during outbreaks of over-excitement such as this.

His aloofness from the fray confers upon him, despite his college uniform of Harris tweed jacket, stud-collared shirt, striped tie, grey trousers and black shoes, a distinct air of the adult in waiting. Yet he is in no sense a model pupil. The masters find him intelligent but lazy, adroit in argument but deficient in application, while his fellow pupils regard him with faint suspicion. He has no close friends. He is in no particular set. He cannot be readily classified as either a good egg or a bad sort. Even at fourteen, Eldritch Swan is something of an enigma.

A degree of order was brought to the jostling throng by the arrival of a group of prefects, who had just emerged from the station tea-room. A few sharp words and cuffed ears imposed their will to good effect, ensuring no words of complaint would reach the headmaster concerning the boys’ behaviour. Haywards Heath railway station was suddenly a calmer place.

One of the prefects who moved through the chaos of boys and bags like a breeze through a field of wheat was the highly respected senior, Miles Linley. Though shorter than several other prefects, he had a superior bearing and self-assured manner, not to mention a glittering academic record (that had him being groomed for Oxford) and a well-earned place in the cricket first XI and rugby first XV. He was generally expected to be named as head boy for the coming year. Unlike Eldritch Swan, he was the very embodiment of Ardingly’s esprit de corps.

Linley acknowledged a few fawning remarks as he strode along the platform, but did not pause for longer exchanges. He appeared to have some pressing purpose in mind, and, oddly, that purpose took him to where Swan was sitting on his suitcase, twiddling his thumbs and staring into space.

‘Swan, isn’t it?’ said Linley.

Swan looked up in some astonishment. He had no idea Linley even knew his name. He had certainly never spoken to him before. ‘Yes,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘That’s me.’

‘You’ll be in the remove this year.’

‘Yes. I will.’

‘I’ve had my eye on you.’

‘Have you?’ This sounded bad. Swan did not crave the attention of Linley or any other prefect.

‘I’ll be needing a fag. And I thought of you.’

This sounded better – much better. A second year of general fagging duties, at the beck and call of any senior, was an irksome prospect. Only selection as a prefect’s personal fag could earn Swan exemption, but he had not been prepared to do any of the sucking up which might have secured such a position. It was therefore a surprise, to say the least, that Linley should have considered him for the role.

‘What do you say?’

‘Gosh. Well, thanks, Linley. I’d, er … be honoured.’

‘Splendid. We’ll regard that as settled, then. Any questions?’

‘I, er …’ Swan hesitated.

‘Why? That’s what you’re wondering, isn’t it? Why in the world should I select you of all people to fag for me?’

Swan was indeed wondering that. But he did not deem it politic to say so. ‘You must … think I’ll make a good job of it.’

‘You better had. But there are dozens of boys who’d do it just as well. No, no, young Swan. Or Cygnet, as I think I shall call you. I haven’t chosen you because of your zeal and energy, in both of which departments you’re reliably reported to be lacking. I’ve chosen you because you’re a good deal cleverer than the other candidates and I don’t care to have fools about me, even when all I require is the running of errands and the cleaning of my boots and shoes to a mirror-like finish. Who knows? There may be occasions, if you demonstrate your suitability, when I set you more demanding and indeed rewarding tasks. We shall see. As it is, I’ll expect you to be at my disposal from tomorrow.’

‘Very good, Linley. And … thanks very much.’

As Linley ambled back to the more densely populated middle of the platform, he was buttonholed by one of the other prefects, a tall and angular youth named Melrose.

‘Was that Swan you were talking to?’ he asked.

‘It was, yes,’ Linley replied, smiling superciliously.

‘What did you want with him?’

‘I’ve recruited him as my fag.’

‘Swan? A rum choice, old man.’

‘You think so?’

‘The boy’s a slacker. And too clever by half. You’ll have trouble with him, mark my words.’

‘You would have trouble with him, Melrose. I don’t doubt that for a moment. I, on the other hand, won’t. I shall enjoy managing young Swan. It’ll add a little zest to life at the old place. Besides, if he doesn’t come up to the mark, I’ll simply get rid of him. I’m sure I shan’t find that very difficult. If it proves necessary.’

Swan had watched Linley walk away and was still studying him as he chatted to Melrose. He had a shrewd and indeed accurate idea what Melrose, a prefect he had fallen foul of the previous year, might be saying. Yet he did not think Linley was likely to change his mind. His decision to choose Swan to fag for him seemed to have been carefully weighed.

Swan was sure he should feel flattered by this. Certainly there were others who would envy him. It was, in every respect, a stroke of good fortune. Yet something troubled him. Some sense he could not have put a name to told him that the advent of Miles Linley in his life was not necessarily to be welcomed.

The clunk of a signal being raised heralds the arrival of the train, shortly afterwards confirmed by the sound of the engine and the sighting of its plume of smoke in the middle distance. The boys of Ardingly begin to gather themselves and their belongings together. This interlude in the September sunshine will soon be over. No one present has any reason to suppose it will have consequences that will require many decades to reveal themselves. That is merely one of time’s many invisible tricks, which it plays even as it passes.