SAYING GOODBYE

The cleaners waxed the floors during term as well, but they were always best the first day back after the holidays. Hawthorne’s slide took him almost to the dorm, his feet slightly angled in a well-practiced style. He walked the last few paces, put his holdall down in the doorway and glanced round. It looked like he was the first back, he couldn’t see any tell-tale trunks or jackets lying around. There were ten beds, two rows of five on each side of the room. Each with its white starched sheet folded back the same distance over the thin grey blankets. Each identically finished off with neat hospital corners.

The towels were the only splash of colour, and the only indication that the beds were allocated. Hawthorne saw his straightaway, big orange and white stripes, on the second bed from the door. The worst place in the dorm. The first bed to be seen when the door was opened, sleeping there, he’d get caned every night. He’d have to change it, and quickly too. Before anyone else got back, ‘cause no-one ‘d swop to that position.

In the first year dorm they hung a little namecard at the foot of each bed, but after that they didn’t bother. It was for the master’s benefit, not the boys. Instead, Hawthorne worked his way from bed to bed, finding the nametape sewn on each pillowcase. The first bed, next to the door, was Wood’s. That decided it, he’d have to move. No-way was he sleeping next to Wood. The other side was Ballard, well, Balls wasn’t so bad, but all the same. Then Lloyd, and then Sinclair next to the window. Across the gangway, back from window to door, were Davey, Black, King, Winter and Morris. He couldn’t see any obvious reasoning, they obviously weren’t in alphabetical order.

He stuck his head out into the corridor. At the far end down by the washrooms there were a couple of second-formers sitting on the radiators, but no-one else was in sight. He chucked his holdall onto Wood’s bed, and shut the door, then went over to the window and pulled Sinclair’s bed out into the space in the middle. It grated on the floor, making a terrible noise, but he couldn’t help that. He left it there and pulled his out into the gangway, and then steered it along like a Tesco’s trolley, past the other one, and into the empty space. He smiled to himself as he pushed Sinclair’s bed into his old place, imagining Sinclair’s face when he saw his position and who he was next to. But he couldn’t find out, Hawthorne wouldn’t tell anyone, except maybe Lloyd, and he wouldn’t tell.

He glanced out into the corridor for a final check, there was still no-one important around. Things were looking up, it’d been worth getting back early, he reckoned now he’d got the best place in the dorm. Imagine spending the term, maybe the whole year, next to Wood, near the door. He took his holdall along and put it on top of his locker, then pushed the window up and looked out. There were a few cars parked down near the chapel and what looked like a Jag under the plane tree, but he couldn’t see anyone. He’d have to find someone to give him a hand with his trunk, before it got boxed in under the stairs where he and his aunt had put it. He wished Lloyd would get back, Tottenham had thrashed Arsenal the week before and he couldn’t wait to gloat. At Highbury as well. Best friends they might be, but they supported rival teams. He pulled the window down again, and emptied a few things out of his holdall onto the bed to make it look established in its new position, then headed off downstairs.

The long corridor leading up to Central Hall was the best in the school. If you got enough speed up early on, you could start skidding at the first library door and get well past the second, even into the Hall itself. It depended on your shoes of course. Hawthorne’s soles were as smooth as glass, and he was already committed to the slide when he heard Payne’s voice. The familiar sound of an old adversary. But there was no stopping, and he reached the Hall just as the master opened the door.
“Hawthorne”, Payne said.
“Yes sir”, he replied, but he’d seen Payne had company, two adults and a boy, so he chanced his luck, before Payne could speak. “Did you have a good holiday, sir?” There was indecision in the master’s face before he settled for compromise.
“Yes, thank you, Hawthorne”. He pointed at the boy, “This is Newby, he’s joining us this term. I’d like you to show him around. Show him his dormitory, your dormitory that is.”
“But there isn’t a bed for him sir”.
“Just show him Hawthorne, Matron will sort it out”. Payne smiled condescendingly at Newby’s parents. “I’m sure he’ll fit in very well. Hawthorne will show him round now”. Hawthorne understood the significance of his words before any of the Newby family, realized that this abrupt moment was the time for parting. He felt faintly embarrassed to be present, but also a little concerned in case the adults departure gave Payne a chance for retribution.

“Er, is your trunk in yet”? The boy nodded. “Right, we’ll take it up later, and you can help me with mine”. The parents stood, still watching their boy. “Er, it’s this way”, Hawthorne edged a few paces, then hesitated. “Um, did you want to say goodbye”? Only then did the Newby family fully realize. Mr Newby thrust his hand out confidently to his young son.
“Make sure you behave yourself, old chap”. The boy did not speak. Then his mother bent down and kissed his instantly reddening face. She muttered something in his ear that Hawthorne couldn’t make out. Newby merely nodded. Then Payne was motioning to Hawthorne to leave, and Newby to follow him. As the boys passed out of the Hall, they heard the master begin another series of smooth reassurances before they were out of earshot.

“Newby, new boy, eh”, said Hawthorne. “Best of luck with a name like that. I don’t know where you’re going to sleep, there ain’t a bed for you, I’ve checked them all”. Newby glanced back as they turned the corner, hoping for one last glimpse of his parents before finally entering this estranged new world. But they were out of sight. “We have to use these stairs”, Hawthorne told him. “Those other ones, where the trunks are, they’re masters only. Incidentally,” Hawthorne proudly used his newly learnt word as they climbed the stairs. “Incidentally, that was Payne, we call him ‘Nipple’. Though Payne suits him just as well”. The new boy smiled weakly and Hawthorne knew he was about to cry. He was tempted to tease him, but overcame the urge, magnanimous in his superiority, his obvious familiarity with these stairs and corridors. Instead he asked him where he lived and who he supported. “Don’t worry”, he said, when they reached the dorm. “You can have Wood’s bed, he’s a silly pratt”. Newby looked uncertain, but Hawthorne was adamant. “Just stick your suitcase on it, tell him you were told it was yours. I’ll back you up”. He walked over to the window. “Hey, your parents are leaving if you want to see them”. He watched Mr and Mrs Newby open the doors of the Jag, as Newby walked, trying not to appear hurried, to the window.
“Nice car”
“Yeah, it goes a hundred, if Daddy’s”, the boys face turned crimson. “If my Dad’s driving”.
“Yeah”, Hawthorne allowed him the slip. The two boys watched the Jag slowly reverse round next to the chapel, and then Hawthorne caught sight of a familiar figure entering the door down below him. “Oh, great. There’s Lloyd, you wait till I see him”. He ran across the room, then turned back to Newby. “Don’t worry about your parents. This place ain’t so bad, you’ll forget about them”. He had meant it kindly, but as he left, he heard the first gulping sob escape from the boy. Hawthorne started sliding before the washrooms, got right past the noticeboard to the top of the stairs.

As he started down he saw Lloyd at the bottom. “Three nil, three nil”, he chanted, as he ran round and down the cold stone steps. It was only when he got to the bottom that he saw Lloyd’s parents were with him. “Oh, hullo”, he said to them, and then he couldn’t resist telling his friend, though he lowered his voice a bit. “I’m next to you, I moved the beds. Swopped mine with Sinclair’s”.
Lloyd looked uncomfortable, didn’t look quite at him. His parents didn’t speak, Hawthorne wondered if he should have admitted it.
“I’m not coming back”, said Lloyd.
“What?”
“We’re emigrating”, Lloyd continued.
“To Australia”, his father added.
“Oh”. Hawthorne looked at them each in turn, never letting his gaze settle.
“Hywel wanted to come back to say goodbye”, Lloyd’s mother said. “And collect a few things, that he’d left”.
“Oh. Oh, well, goodbye then”. Under the guilty gaze of Lloyd’s parents, the two boys awkwardly stuck out their hands for their first and last handshake.
“Um, I’ll write to you”, said Lloyd.
“Yeah. Yeah, write and tell us all about Australia. What football they have, and so on”. Then he could think of nothing more to say.
“We have to go”, said Lloyd’s father.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll have to go as well. The adult’s planned explanation about his job dried up before it ever got going, cut short by Hawthorne. “I’m looking after a new boy, you see. Called Newby. Got to show him around, and so on”. His words began to peter out. “Take our trunks up, and so on”. He looked back at Lloyd. “I’ll see you”. The Lloyd family turned away, as Hawthorne started back up the stairs. Then he remembered the bed. “Lloyd,” he shouted, and they all turned round. “Upstairs, in the dorm, incidentally, there’s your towel and pillowcase. And sheets”. Lloyd looked anxiously up at his mother, they had forgotten about them, but his mother just smiled and waved.
“Thank you, John, but I think we’ll leave them behind. We don’t have much room you see. Thank you anyway”. Hawthorne shrugged, more surprised at hearing his name than their leaving the bedding. “OK, I just remembered”. This time they turned first to leave, and he watched them to the library corner, ready to wave should Lloyd look back. But the family was engrossed. Hawthorne walked slowly up the worn steps, and then along past the washroom and the other dorms. He did not slide at all.

When he got to the dorm, Newby hadn’t moved from the window. He still stood there, showing only outside the sight of his face. Hawthorne bit his lip, uncertain whether to trust himself to speak. “Change of plan”. He picked the suitcase up off Wood’s bed, and carried it over to the bed next to his. He put it down. “This is yours, apparently”, and then walked to his own, and sat down facing the window. He glanced across at Newby, then looked back round the room. “Just look at this place”, he said. “What a bloody dump”.