Appearances

by Kit

When the tall, muscular boy entered the office, the headmaster was sitting at his desk and pretending to read some papers. Having been to see him many times, Duncan knew that it was only a pretence and that Bartlett was just trying to make him feel small and unimportant by ignoring him. That might have worked a couple of years ago, when Duncan was indeed small, but not any more. The man looked up, and his pale blue eyes narrowed.

"You're here again, Carter," he said, seeming to find the situation as tedious as Duncan did. He sighed and added, "And in the first week of term."

Bartlett continued to stare at him in silence, and Duncan assumed he was waiting for a response.

"Yes, Mr Bartlett." He refused to call him 'sir' but realised that it would be a good idea to pretend to have some respect for the man.

Wishing to show that he wasn't intimidated, the boy stepped closer to the desk and looked down at the middle-aged man's receding, grey-streaked, ginger hair. This scrutiny from above made the headmaster feel uncomfortable, so he frowned and stood up. After all, it was hardly the sort of situation in which he could ask Duncan to sit down. Now the man, who was only a little taller than the boy, looked directly into Duncan's eyes.

Perhaps he intended the silent stare to unnerve the boy, but Duncan held his gaze until it was the adult who shifted his eyes to look at the small scar on the boy's forehead. Tactically, the boy's behaviour probably wasn't a good idea, but he couldn't help it. The headmaster again made eye contact, sighed, and spoke with a tone of tired disapproval.

"Do you enjoy winding up Mr Grimley so much that you think it's worth the consequences?" Bartlett asked.

Taking it to be a rhetorical question, Duncan didn't reply, which was probably fortunate because he would have pointed out that Grimley was the one who had started and maintained the conflict. In fact, the boy had tried to avoid the teacher by not taking History that year. It was Duncan's misfortune that Grimley had been the substitute in the English class while Mr Daley was away.

"He informed me that you were insubordinate, pushed a desk over, and walked out of class this morning," the headmaster continued. "That sort of behaviour is inexcusable, and I expect a more mature attitude from a boy of almost fifteen."

"I didn't push it over. It fell over when I accidentally bumped into it," Duncan responded, refraining from pointing out that it was surely illogical to expect a 'boy' to be mature' and that in any case he was one of the youngest in his class, so it would be almost eight months before he was fifteen.

"But you don't deny being insolent and walking out of class." The man's voice held a hint of satisfaction, almost as if he'd won a debating point.

The boy remained silent, knowing that whatever he said would only make matters worse. However, in his mind, he ran through what he would have liked to have said. He might have pointed out that, not for the first time, Grimley had sarcastically commented that it was a pity that Duncan didn't have more brain and less brawn. He might have told Bartlett that the teacher was a bully and that walking out of the class was surely better than the alternative of punching the teacher on his sweaty, fat face.

"At lunchtime, I sent one of the prefects to find you, but he couldn't," Bartlett said. Then, frowning his suspicions, he added, "Did you leave the school grounds?"

"No, Mr Bartlett," Duncan replied, trying to give the impression of injured innocence.

"Do you think you can get away with this sort of thing because of your position on the school rugby team?" the man asked, sounding frustrated and clearly not convinced that the boy was telling the truth.

That question might also have been rhetorical, but Duncan wasn't sure and so decided to reply, "No, Mr Bartlett. Of course not."

"You've been given lines and essays, you've been given detentions, and on more than one occasion, I've even had to ask your grandmother to come to see me. Yet you still seem unable to respect your teachers and the school rules." Bartlett paused and sighed before continuing, "I'd hoped that over the summer break you would have seen the error of your ways and returned to being the good student you were in your first two years here."

Duncan decided to remain silent because the only response he could think of would certainly make matters worse. He thought that Bartlett was being either dishonest or stupid if he didn't know the reason for the change in his attitude and behaviour.

"As you give me no choice," the man said, "I'm suspending you from school for three days."

Duncan kept his expression blank, wanting to disappoint the man if he'd been expecting some reaction. Apart from playing rugby, Duncan had lost interest in school, so he didn't really care about being suspended. A three-day suspension would mean he'd miss a House game on Wednesday, but it wasn't an important match.

"And when you return, you will apologise to Mr Grimley," Bartlett added in a vexed tone, having interpreted the boy's lack of response as insolence.

"No, I won't," Duncan thought, but then realised that he'd made the mistake of vocalising it.

"You'd better reconsider that before you come back to school," Bartlett growled. "Otherwise, I'll add another two days to the suspension."

At first the boy wasn't concerned by the threat of the extra days, but then he realised that it would prevent him from playing for the school team on Saturday. Unsure of what to do, he remained silent and began sucking on his lower lip.

"Now get your things and leave the school immediately. I've already phoned your grandmother and told her to expect you," Bartlett said sternly.

He sat back down and began to shuffle through the papers on his desk, ignoring Duncan and thereby emphasising his dismissal.

Although Duncan didn't care about being sent home from school, the fact that it would upset his grandmother made him feel guilty. With just her small pension and some social security benefits, she'd cared for him ever since he was a little boy. She'd provided his food and clothing and made sure their tiny, two-bedroom flat was always clean and tidy, so he had a lot to be grateful for.

Of course, she wasn't happy when he got home in the middle of the afternoon, but she was more sad than annoyed. When he'd started getting into trouble at school, she was angry, but after the first few times, she could no longer summon up the emotional energy. Also, she was disarmed by the way he responded to being scolded. He wouldn't argue but just waited in silence until she'd finished. Then he'd give her a hug, tell her he loved her, and go on to behave as if there had been no rebuke.

Bearing in mind what he'd gone through as a child, she also found it difficult to punish her grandson. She remembered that, as a small boy, he'd been very well behaved and that she'd often thought of him as her little angel. Then, when he was still very young, there was a year of tragedy that left both of them changed.

When the suspension ended, in order to be able to play for the school team, he had to force himself, speaking through clenched teeth, to apologise to Grimley. Then on Saturday afternoon, the game went so well that he felt the humiliation of the apology had been worth it. Unfortunately, with the game almost over, he was tackled and hit the ground hard, injuring his wrist. However, he was consoled by the fact that the game had already been won by then.

Mr Morrison, a geography teacher who was also the team coach, insisted on calling Duncan's grandmother and taking him to the hospital. Fortunately, the injury turned out to be only a mild sprain, and he was told that if he took care, it was likely to be healed in a couple of weeks. The boy was very unhappy when he realised that he was going to miss an important House match on Wednesday, and on Saturday he was going to miss the first big away game of the season.

The following Wednesday morning, Mr Morrison saw Duncan coming out of class and went over to speak with him.

"How's the wrist?" he asked.

Duncan raised his left hand to eye level, showing the now grubby grey wrist brace. It began just below his fingers and disappeared into the slightly frayed sleeve of his dark blue school blazer.

"Still sore, but much better now. I'm sure I'll be able to play on the team next week."

"You can watch the game this afternoon, and there'll be room on the bus on Saturday if you want to come along," Mr Morrison said sympathetically.

"I'd rather do something more energetic today. At least that way I can keep fit," Duncan replied, not relishing the idea of watching his teammates play that afternoon without him. "I brought my sports kit."

"You can't play any sports," the man replied firmly. "If you fall on that wrist again, you could be out of action for more than just a couple of weeks."

"I'll go on the cross-country run, then."

Rugby was the main winter sport at the school, but football and cross-country running were regarded as respectable alternatives.

"You could trip over a stone or a tree root. I don't want you out of the team for the rest of the season."

"Well, I've got to do something," Duncan replied, allowing his frustration to show. "I won't be much use to the team if I'm not fit."

"You could go running around the perimeter of the playing fields. It's pretty flat and smooth, so if you're careful, you won't risk falling," Mr Morrison suggested thoughtfully and a little tentatively.

Aghast, Duncan just stared at the man until he found himself able to speak calmly.

"Join the Joggers?" he said incredulously.

When a student didn't have his sports kit or didn't have a good excuse for not taking part in one of the sanctioned school sports, he had to run around the school playing fields. The purported objective was to ensure that he got at least a little exercise. Intentionally or not, it was also a form of punishment, because not only did it force physical activity on those who didn't like it, but they also had to do it in full view of those who were participating in sports. The boys running around the playing fields were disparagingly referred to as 'Joggers' and were mostly considered to be shirkers by the sporty boys.

"Everyone will know why you're there," Mr Morrison said soothingly, "and you can make it a proper run. If you put effort into it, an hour or so of running will certainly help to keep you fit."

That afternoon, as Duncan arrived for his run around the playing fields, he saw about a half dozen Joggers dawdling along. He could tell which of them had come to school without sports kit because they wore a mismatched selection of old shorts and shirts that had been issued to them for the occasion. Most of the Joggers were not in his year, and although he recognised their faces, he couldn't recall their names.

There were two boys who were not Joggers but who were wearing their school uniforms and sitting on a bench. That indicated that they had genuine excuses for not taking part in any sports. One of the boys was Simon, with whom he'd been friends during their first two years at the school, but they'd drifted apart after Duncan started playing rugby seriously. Simon was a little camp and his blond hair was almost too long to comply with school rules, and Duncan occasionally wondered whether the boy might be gay.

They were still on friendly terms and shared most of their classes, so when they saw each other across the playing field that afternoon, they exchanged smiles and greeted each other with a raised hand. Duncan envied Simon, who had two loving parents and lived in a nice house that was large enough to enable him and his eight-year-old brother to have separate bedrooms.

The other boy on the bench was Tom, whose mousey brown hair and mid-brown eyes contributed to a generally unexceptional appearance that enabled him to blend into the background in any group. Duncan thought that the boy was rather timid and that maybe he deliberately avoided attracting attention. He was in many of Duncan's classes and was always very pleasant in an unassuming way. Tom, who appeared to be reasonably physically fit, usually did cross-country running.

A third boy, whose clothing made it obvious that he was a Jogger who hadn't brought his sports kit, was standing next to the bench. He was about the same height as Duncan but quite thin, with black hair and hazel eyes. Duncan couldn't put a name to his face, but he knew he was in the year above his.

When Duncan ran past the bench on his second circuit, the skinny Jogger was still loitering there. He grinned and said something to Simon, and then proceeded to run after Duncan, soon overtaking him. As he passed, he looked over his shoulder and gave a cheeky grin before speeding off. Until then, Duncan had been running for fitness and to build stamina rather than speed, but taking the boy's actions and expression to be a challenge, he sped up and chased after him.

It didn't take long for him to catch up, but then the boy accelerated away again. Because Duncan believed himself to have greater endurance, he decided to continue running at his own steady pace, expecting the other boy to tire and drop back. That expectation turned out to be accurate, and the defeated boy went to join Simon and Tom.

When the Joggers saw that one of the football games had ended, they headed towards the changing rooms at a faster pace than they'd been going around the perimeter. Duncan, thinking that it might be a good idea to get changed before most of the boys came in from the playing fields, followed the example of the Joggers.

"If that gives you problems, you should ask a mate to give you a hand," the thin boy said as Duncan passed by him.

"What are you going on about?" Duncan replied irritably.

The boy grinned, pointed at Duncan's bandaged wrist, made a wanking motion, then continued on towards the changing rooms. Surprised by this personal remark from someone who was almost a stranger, it took him a couple of seconds to respond.

"But I'm right-handed!" he eventually shouted out, immediately realising how inadequate that was.

Later, as he was approaching the school gate, he saw Tom, who was limping slightly.

"Who was the skinny kid who tried to race me?" Duncan asked. "What got into him?"

"His name's Colin, and I think he was trying to impress Simon," Tom replied, smiling sheepishly.

"Why should he want to impress Simon?"

Tom looked at him in a way that Duncan couldn't interpret, then he smiled and said goodbye, apparently eager to go home.

The following day, in the hallway outside his classroom, Duncan got into trouble again. He pushed an older boy who'd made disparaging comments about his injured wrist, and although there was no real force involved, the other boy lost his balance. He bumped into a third boy, Tom, who in turn fell forward, banging his arm on the corner of the row of lockers.

Tom yelped in pain and surprise, attracting the attention of a passing teacher, who inspected the arm and decided that there was no damage done. However, as he'd expected, Duncan was sent to the headmaster's office.

"You must realise, Carter, that this is the last straw," Bartlett said ominously. "I knew that someone would be hurt someday, and now it looks like exclusion may be the only option. Of course, that also means you won't play on any school team again."

"B-but," Duncan began, unable to contemplate the possibility of not playing rugby. "But Tom wasn't really hurt, and he knows it was an accident."

"An accident that was caused by you," the man said. "Gardner, the boy you pushed, may be a year older than you, but you're bigger and stronger. You should know better."

Duncan contemplated telling Bartlett that the older boy had called him a cripple, as well as other unsavoury names, but decided that wouldn't improve the current situation.

"Look, your grandmother told me that things were tough for you when you were very young," the man continued less harshly, "so I've been trying to give you a little leeway, especially bearing in mind that in your first years here you did well academically and you behaved yourself."

Feeling a little betrayed by his grandmother telling Bartlett about his childhood, Duncan was about to protest that he'd never tried to offer any excuses for what he did. However, the headmaster quickly spoke again.

"You've not cooperated with our pastoral care system, and now I wonder if the school can do anything more for you. Whatever your problems, I must consider what's best for the whole school, so if your behaviour doesn't improve, you can't remain here," the man said. Then, less sternly, he added, "However, I haven't completely given up hope and believe you can change if you accept help."

"Help? What sort of help?"

"In my opinion, you need professional help, but the school budget doesn't allow us to pay for therapy, and I doubt that your grandmother could afford it. However, I've given the matter some thought, and I know someone who's prepared to help without charge. He's not a professional therapist, but he's had a lot of experience helping troubled people."

"Who is it?" the boy asked with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"It's my old parish priest. He helped me a great deal when I was a young man. He's retired now, so he has time to give you some counselling."

"A priest!" Duncan protested. "But…"

"Before you say anything else," Bartlett said firmly, "you should know that this is your last chance to stay at the school. If you accept this counselling, we'll suspend the exclusion proceedings. And if there's no more bad behaviour between now and the end of term, then the proceedings can be terminated."

Realising that Bartlett was determined, Duncan knew that he had no real choice. Within just a couple of days, with the agreement of his grandmother, it was arranged for Duncan to visit the priest after school.

When Duncan arrived outside the large old house and rang the doorbell, he felt a little intimidated, but he was determined not to show any sign of weakness and put on a brave face. The matronly, middle-aged woman who answered the door appeared to be a little flustered and mildly irritated, which made him feel even more defensive.

"You must be the boy who's here to see Father Parker," she said peremptorily.

Duncan nodded and was immediately ushered inside and led through a large, wood-panelled hallway. They passed a stairway and reached a solid-looking wooden door that appeared to be as ancient as the house. She banged on the door and waited for an invitation to enter before opening it and leading the boy inside.

"Father," she said, "this is the boy you mentioned that you're expecting."

"Ah, yes, thank you, Mrs T," the priest replied in a strong voice that contrasted with his relatively frail appearance.

The old man sat in an overstuffed armchair on one side of a small living room, which had many full bookshelves and a small, old TV set. Opposite and at an angle to the armchair was a matching sofa, and on the pale green painted walls were some religious pictures and a crucifix. Duncan felt very uncomfortable and out of place.

The priest was dressed in black but had no clerical collar or other signs of his profession on his person. In fact, apart from the colour, his clothing, and especially the well-worn knitted cardigan, could be typical of any pensioner. The thin man seemed to be very old, and the thin white hair that covered his head added to his ancient appearance. However, in contrast to all that, his bright and piercing blue eyes could have belonged to a much younger person.

"Forgive me for not standing, but my arthritis is playing up, especially in my knees," the man said, and then, with a self-deprecating smile, he added, "Probably all the time I've spent kneeling."

When Duncan declined the man's offer of tea and biscuits, the woman left the room, and the boy accepted the invitation to sit on the sofa. He sat in silence, perched nervously on the edge of the seat, as if ready to make a quick exit. Meanwhile, the old man leaned back into his chair and observed the boy for a few seconds.

"Patrick," the man said eventually. Then he quickly added, "I mean, Mr Bartlett, your headmaster, thought it might be helpful if we had a chat. So what should we chat about?"

"Didn't he tell you?" Duncan asked, surprised.

"Apart from giving me your name, all he said was that a boy at his school might benefit from talking things through with an old priest like me."

"I suppose that then you'll report back to Bartlett."

"Absolutely not. Anything said in this room remains secret," the man said firmly, then, with a smile, he added, "Of course, this isn't a confessional, but I guarantee the same confidentiality."

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"Anything you like, but it might help to start by telling me a little about yourself. Actually, I don't even know how old you are. Fifteen? Maybe sixteen?"

"Fourteen," Duncan said. Then, in a defensive tone, he added, "And I don't believe in any religion."

"That's okay. Just think of me as an old man who's interested in helping however he can. In any case, regardless of what you decide to tell me or not to tell me, the important thing if you have any problems is that you're honest with yourself."

"Like I said, I don't believe in religions," Duncan said, being deliberately confrontational, "and I wonder if anyone really does, because most people, especially adults, are liars."

"Well, I believe in my religion, at least most of the time," the old man said with a wry smile. "And almost all people, adults and children, occasionally tell lies, but that doesn't mean that all people are liars."

"Adults tell kids that Santa Claus exists. Do they think kids are stupid?" Duncan said, surprising himself with his own anger. "They soon work out that he doesn't exist, and even if he did, the idea that he only brings stuff to good kids is stupid. Rich kids will always get more stuff. Does that mean rich kids are more good than poor kids?"

"I see that you've given a lot of thought to that sort of thing. That's good. However, I'm not sure it's good when those thoughts make you so angry. But maybe we can talk about that at another time. For now, why not tell me a little about yourself and your life? Family, hobbies, favourite school subjects, things like that."

The visit lasted for almost an hour before the housekeeper came to find out if the old man wanted anything and to check that he wasn't getting too tired. During that time, Duncan carefully restricted himself to talking about mundane, non-emotional topics. Regardless of the subject matter, the man was always interested and never showed any sign of boredom or disapproval.

They discovered that they shared an interest in rugby, with the old man pointing out with a wry smile that it had been a long time since he'd played. The exchange of information wasn't totally one-way; for example, Duncan found out that the house contained apartments for four retired priests. However, the man never mentioned his own personal background.

By the end of the visit, Duncan had become more relaxed and comfortable. In fact, he discovered that he enjoyed being able to talk about anything he felt like and having someone who was obviously interested in listening. So he was content to arrange subsequent meetings, during which he observed that the old man took many things seriously, especially his religion, but the one thing he never took seriously was himself.

"Perhaps next time you can tell me why you came to see me," the man said at the end of the second visit. "Of course, I very much enjoy the company, but at the moment I don't feel that I'm actually helping you."

"The headmaster still hasn't told you?"

"No, and I don't want him to. Unless you volunteer the information and really want to talk about it, then I can't be much help. In fact, just talking about the things that hurt you may be all the help you need."

"What makes you think that anything's hurt me?" Duncan asked defensively.

The old priest sighed sadly and said, "I've seen and experienced enough hurt in my life to recognise it when I see it."

By the time of the third visit, Duncan had decided that it might not be too terrible if he confided in the priest. However, before doing so, he asked for more reassurance that everything they talked about would remain private and confidential.

"When I was five years old," the boy said, "I had a little brother. I called him Baby Malcolm. Anyway, one day they took him to hospital, and he never came back, and Mum told me he'd gone to heaven. Then Malcolm's dad left us. Gran said he wasn't my dad, but the guy had already made sure that I knew that. Anyway, Mum never married him, so he wasn't even my stepdad.

"I asked Gran about my real dad, but she said that she didn't know anything because she'd never met him and my mum never talked about him. When I got older, I checked my birth certificate and found the father part was blank. Maybe I'm the result of a casual fling, but if that's the case, Gran would never admit it, so she'd probably lie."

The boy frowned in thought for a few seconds, then continued, "As a little kid, I believed what Mum and Gran said. I believed that heaven was as real as other places, like Africa, but then I found out that the heaven stuff was lies."

Apart from slightly raising an eyebrow, the priest didn't respond to what was obviously intended to be a challenge. Duncan carried on to say that he and his mum went to live with her mother, but his mum spent most of the day in bed, usually crying. Sometimes she was in bed when he went to school and was still there when he got home.

A few months after they moved in with her, his grandmother brought the six year old Duncan home from school and sent him into the bedroom to see his mum. He couldn't wake her up and called his gran, who discovered that her daughter was unconscious and barely breathing. By the time the ambulance arrived, his mother was dead. Relatively recently, Duncan had discovered she'd taken an overdose of prescription drugs.

At the time his mother died, the little boy had no idea what was going on and didn't really understand death, but of course he was extremely upset. Later, his grandmother told him that his mother had gone to join Baby Malcolm in heaven. That made little Duncan feel even worse because his mum had gone to be with Malcolm rather than stay with him.

Duncan went on to describe other lies and deceptions perpetrated on him by various adults. At times, he expressed himself with such fervour that he became barely coherent. Apart from an occasional word of encouragement, the old priest remained silent. When he stopped talking, the boy was surprised, not only by the fact that he'd so openly vented his feelings but also by the relief he felt after doing so.

At the beginning of the next visit, Father Parker asked how Duncan felt about everything he'd told the priest during their previous meeting. The boy replied that he felt fine and that it was good to have someone who would actually listen without judging.

"What you told me about so far happened a long time ago," the man commented, "and I'm sure that the hurt will last for a long time yet, but I don't really see why Patrick wanted you to come and talk with me now. Whatever the problem is, it must be something more recent."

"I guess in the past few months, I've been, erm, sort of a problem for the headmaster," Duncan replied. "He said I don't respect teachers and break school rules."

"Is that true?"

"Sometimes, but I usually don't break rules, and I respect the teachers who deserve it. Anyway, he said if my behaviour didn't improve, he'd exclude me from school. And he thought that talking with you might help me."

"That sounds very serious, and of course, I'd like to be able to help," the priest said with genuine sympathy. "You mentioned the past few months. Did something happen recently?"

"I'm pretty sure that Bartlett already knows," the boy said bitterly.

"If he does, then he hasn't told me. In any case, I'm more interested in what you think than in what your headmaster might know or not know. Would you like to tell me?"

Duncan thought for a few seconds, wondering if the man would believe his side of the story. Eventually, he decided that it didn't really matter, because at least he'd get it off his chest.

"There's this teacher, Grimley," he began. "He's always had it in for me, but ever since he found out I was good at sport, he got worse. Last year, he went too far."

"How, exactly?"

"As part of our course work, we had to write an essay on someone from English history and say what we admired most about them. I did loads of work and research, and I was sure that I'd get a good grade. But I got zero! Grimley said I must have copied it from somewhere, and it wasn't my work. He said I couldn't possibly be clever enough to write the essay myself.

"When I argued with him, he gave me detention, so I made a fuss and got sent to Bartlett. I told him that if Grimley said I copied it from somewhere, he should show where it was from. He said that Grimley knew his subject and that he had to believe him."

"I can understand that you must've been very upset after that."

"Obviously!" Duncan retorted. "And then I knew that there was no point trying at school anymore. The only thing worth going to school for is to play rugby. Adults, especially teachers, just stick together. No matter what you do, if they don't like you, they'll find a way to screw you over."

With eyes narrowed in thought, Father Parker studied Duncan for a couple of seconds, then he spoke in a carefully neutral tone.

"Correct me if I've misunderstood you, but I think you're saying that you've given up on school because someone did something nasty to you."

"Erm, yeah, I s'pose," the boy replied slowly and hesitantly, having never previously considered the situation in those terms.

"That means giving up on your education and your future in order to hurt, well, whom? It certainly won't hurt Mr Grimley, and in fact, it will just confirm his opinion. Doesn't what you're doing make you think of the old saying about cutting off your nose to spite your face?"

Duncan thought about that for several seconds and grudgingly realised that the priest was correct. However, his pride and embarrassment prevented him from acknowledging that fact.

"What would you do if an opponent knocked you to the ground with an illegal tackle?" the man asked. "Would you storm off the pitch and maybe vow not to play again?"

"Of course not!" the boy retorted, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Then, with a sly smile, he added, "I'd look for a chance to do the same to him."

"Well, it would be a bad idea to try to get revenge on Mr Grimley. But you can go back to taking school seriously, just as you'd go back to playing the game after the dirty tackle. And if you think about it, wouldn't proving that he's wrong about you be a sort of revenge?"

"Maybe," Duncan reluctantly agreed, "but he's not the only one. Bartlett took his side against me. I was innocent. Innocent until proven guilty, and Grimley had no proof."

"Of course, we've no idea what your headmaster was thinking, but maybe you can try to imagine yourself in his situation and consider what you'd have done. One thing that seems clear to me, though, is that he's not as anti-Duncan as you seem to believe."

"Really? You could've fooled me!"

"If he was really against you, he could have just excluded you," the priest pointed out gently. "That would be far easier for him than trying to find a way to help you and arranging for you to see me."

That meeting with the priest gave Duncan a lot of food for thought, and over the following couple of days, the hardest thing for him to accept was the self-destructive nature of his own response. Even then, it took awhile before he got over his pride and acknowledged to himself that he'd been foolish. Eventually, he was prepared to admit it to the old man.

"Okay, I'm going to try taking school work more seriously, and I'll even obey rules," he said as soon as he sat down in the priest's living room. "Now, can you tell the headmaster that he shouldn't exclude me?"

"I can't tell him what to do, but your behaviour will enable him to reach his own decisions."

"So maybe he'll still exclude me?" the disappointed boy asked.

"As I see it, so far he's done everything possible to avoid excluding you. If he sees that your behaviour's improved, you'll give him the excuse he needs to keep you at the school."

Reassured by that, Duncan relaxed and leaned back on the sofa.

"Of course it would be great for you to become a good student again," Father Parker said, "but have you asked yourself if your reaction to the situation with Mr Grimley might be a sign of a deeper problem?"

"What do you mean by deeper problem?" Duncan asked sceptically.

"I'm probably being selfish because I enjoy your company," the old man said with a little smile, "but maybe if you came for more visits, we could work that out."

"I enjoy the visits, too," Duncan admitted, and then, with a cheeky grin, he added, "especially when you have chocolate biscuits."

After that, Duncan tried hard at school, though it was difficult to catch up with all the work that he'd previously neglected. He knew that he needed help but was reluctant to approach any of his teachers because he didn't want them to realise how far behind he'd fallen. Fortunately, Simon noticed that he was floundering in some subjects and offered to help.

Duncan continued his visits with Father Parker, who had the ability to advise the boy without making it too obvious. Instead of giving advice directly, he'd often subtly move the conversation in a direction that allowed Duncan to reach his own conclusions. Sometimes the priest would bring up a topic or ask a question that appeared to be unrelated to whatever they'd been talking about at the time.

"Isn't there anyone you really trust?" the priest asked after Duncan had mentioned that it was foolish to rely on people.

"Not completely," the boy replied honestly, having become comfortable sharing his thoughts with the old man.

"Is there anyone you trust almost completely?"

"Maybe. I mean, I can usually trust Gran to want what's best for me, but sometimes she gets it wrong. And I can usually trust most of the lads on my rugby team to have my back, at least during a game."

"What about your friends? Aren't there any you trust?"

"I don't have friends like that," Duncan said, shrugging his shoulders as if it were a matter of no consequence. "Actually, I don't have any real friends."

"Why's that, do you think?"

The boy remained silent for several seconds as he considered that question. He'd never really cared much about not having close friends, so he'd never bothered to think about it before. The answer he eventually came up with didn't make complete sense, even to him.

"I'd have to trust someone before they could be my real friend."

"Do you think that perhaps learning to trust and become friends might go hand in hand, rather than one happening after the other?"

"Maybe," Duncan said uncertainly, "I'll think about that."

"Another thing. You know that people aren't perfect, and most of us are very far from perfect, but do you really understand the consequences of that?"

"Like what?"

"Sometimes people, even the best of friends, will let you down and maybe breach your trust, but it may not be because they're bad or that they want to betray you. They may just be weak or may make mistakes, even with the best intentions."

"So I was right," the boy said with a hint of triumph. "It's better not to trust anyone."

Father Parker sighed deeply before replying with a hint of resignation, "That's not really what I meant. I was actually thinking that sometimes you need to forgive people. Anyway, maybe you can just take time to think about how trust and friendship are related, or at least how you might want them to be related."

"Okay," Duncan agreed, mainly just to please the old man. Then, with real sincerity, he blushed a little and added, "Actually, I should have said that I trust you almost as much as I trust my gran."

The priest smiled with pleasure but otherwise didn't respond immediately, and they both sat for a few seconds in silent contemplation.

"There must be people you're friendly with who aren't teammates," Father Parker said eventually. "Perhaps some of your other schoolmates could be potential friends."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Duncan replied, frowning.

"Well, surely there are people you like and who are friendly, even if you don't think of them as real friends now. You could talk with them and, more importantly, listen to them. Hopefully, you'll find some of them have similar interests aside from rugby. Try to look at things from their point of view, and when possible, try to be helpful."

"That sounds like a lot of effort," the boy said doubtfully.

"It's worth the effort if you can develop real friendship and trust."

Later, when he was thinking about what the old man had said, he remembered how Simon had offered to help him with his studies, even though Duncan hadn't asked. As far as he could remember, he'd never spoken with Simon about anything really personal or important, even during the first years at school when they were relatively close companions. However, it occurred to him that trying Father Parker's friendship suggestion with Simon would be easier and certainly less risky than trying with anyone else.

Duncan was still looking for an opportunity for a private chat with Simon when he witnessed a puzzling scene in the hallway near his locker. He was putting his books away before going to lunch when he saw Colin approach Simon. They were both too far away to hear, but something about their body language made him observe them closely.

The interaction appeared to begin in a reasonably friendly manner, with the taller, thin boy smiling and speaking first. Simon responded with a slightly strained smile, shook his head, and then said something. Colin frowned, and the exchange became antagonistic, apparently inducing Simon to turn away, and then the bigger boy roughly grabbed his shoulder. At that point, Tom, whom Duncan hadn't noticed until then, put himself between the two boys. Colin said something angrily to Tom, then stormed off.

There was a lot about that scene that seemed odd to Duncan, and when Tom and Simon went off together, he remained where he was, thinking about what he'd just witnessed.

Until the day he'd encountered Colin as a Jogger, he'd never observed him interacting with Simon, who usually avoided confrontations or unpleasant situations. However, in this case, Simon appeared to be the one who first became hostile. Most surprising of all was the fact that the timid-looking Tom had put himself in the midst of a situation that was becoming aggressive.

Duncan hadn't arranged to visit the old priest that day, so after the last afternoon class, he took the opportunity to speak to Simon.

"Do you want to borrow more class notes?" Simon asked with a smile when Duncan approached him.

"Yes, please, but also, I wondered if you had time for a chat."

"Yeah, okay," the blond boy said in mild surprise, "I don't need to rush home."

As the two of them were now alone in the classroom, Duncan decided that was as good a place as any to talk.

"Erm," he began hesitantly, "I saw you at lunchtime with Colin, and, well, I wondered if you were okay."

"Yeah, I think everything's going to be fine," Simon replied. Then, in a teasing tone, he continued, "Anyway, I didn't think you noticed much about what other people were doing, at least if it wasn't related to rugby."

"I'm trying to change."

"Again? The last time you changed, it didn't turn out so well," Simon said a little tentatively, hoping that his jocular mild criticism wouldn't anger the bigger boy. "Will you be going back to how you were or something completely different?"

"How I was, but hopefully better," Duncan replied, deciding to try to be as open and honest as possible.

The blond boy took a small step backward and looked up and down at Duncan. He appeared to be both puzzled and amused, but there was also a hint of suspicion.

"You're really serious? Is this because you nearly got excluded?"

"Yes, at least I'm serious about trying. I guess it's partly about nearly getting kicked out, but that just started things off. I got to meet someone who made me think about things."

"A girlfriend?"

That suggestion initially startled Duncan, then he started laughing. The other boy observed this as if he were studying some strange creature or weird natural phenomenon.

"Definitely not a girlfriend," Duncan said. "In fact, as opposite to a girlfriend as you could possibly imagine."

"You mean a boyfriend?" Simon asked doubtfully.

"Not that, either. He's an old man, even older than Gran. A retired priest."

"I didn't know you were religious."

"I'm not. Definitely not. But he's just someone who's easy to talk to and who can be trusted to keep everything in confidence."

"You could talk to me," Simon suggested, giving the impression that he was a little hurt that he hadn't been trusted. "I can keep secrets."

"This guy did it for a living, so you could say he's a professional listener."

"Okay," the blond boy said, slightly mollified. "Anyway, I'm glad you want to go back to being, erm, nicer."

There was a brief silence while both boys considered what had been said.

"Do you have a phone now?" Simon asked, taking his phone from his pocket. "If we're going to be friends again, maybe we should swap numbers."

"Not a proper one," Duncan replied, trying to hide his embarrassment, "just Gran's old dumb phone. And I can't afford to use it much. It's just for emergencies."

"We'll just have to do it the old-fashioned way and type them in," the blond said, then, with a cheeky grin, he continued, "just in case there's an emergency."

"Thanks again for helping me catch up with classes and lending me your notes and stuff," the bigger boy said after they'd exchanged phone numbers. "If there's anything I can ever help you with, just let me know."

"I might just do that," Simon replied enigmatically.

Over the next few weeks, Simon and Duncan became closer, and the visits with Father Parker continued, though a little less frequently. Both the man and the boy enjoyed their time together, and even when they just had general chats without discussing anything of consequence, Duncan always came out of the meetings feeling better and more relaxed.

"I'm glad to hear that you socialise with Simon outside of school," the old priest said. "It's good that he's becoming a real friend and not just a friendly schoolmate."

"How will I know? I mean, if he becomes a friend that I can trust?"

"I've no idea," Father Parker said, laughing gently. "You shouldn't think that I know everything or that I have all the answers. Most of the time, I'm just as lost as you are, but sometimes, because I've lived longer, I can see a little farther into the distance. As regards trusting friends, every friendship is different and grows at its own pace."

"Oh, okay," the boy said, a little disappointed.

"You shouldn't put all your eggs in one basket, though," the priest said. "Remember, no one's perfect, so it's always good to have more than one friend you can rely on."

"Suppose you have a friend who's, erm, gay." Duncan said hesitantly, after a long pause.

"Over the years, I've had several gay friends, so I'm not sure what you mean. You don't seem the sort of person who thinks having a gay friend would be a problem."

"No, it wouldn't be a problem for me," Duncan protested, then he continued more quietly, "But I thought, well, it might be a problem for a religious person."

"You mean a religious person like me?" the man said, smiling and raising an eyebrow. "Of course, I'm sure you know that officially, my church says being gay is fine as long as they don't act on their physical desires."

"So you think that if someone is gay, they shouldn't do gay sex?" the boy asked

"I think that I'm a priest and have to obey the rules of my church, even though I'm retired. But the advantage of being retired is that I no longer have to tell others what they should and shouldn't do."

"That means you're avoiding my question," Duncan accused.

"Yes," the old man said cryptically.

Duncan began spending more time with Simon, though he didn't allow that to interfere with his rugby-related activities. The blond boy had several friends, most of whom seemed to be wary of Duncan, so he never felt part of their social group. In any case, he much preferred being with Simon outside of school. Quite often, Tom was with them, but despite numerous attempts to involve him in their conversations and activities, he mostly hovered at the periphery.

One Sunday afternoon, a couple of weeks before the end of term, Duncan was in Simon's bedroom. They'd been doing some homework together and were watching his TV, which was twice as big as the one in Gran's flat. Tom wasn't there, and Simon seemed less at ease than usual, making Duncan wonder if something might be amiss.

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Well, maybe," Simon replied, as if he'd been dragged out of some deep contemplation.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe just talking about it will make you feel better."

"Okay, well, we're friends again now, right?" the blond boy said hesitantly, "So everything I say is in confidence, and you'll keep it secret?"

"Of course!"

"Remember that thing in the hallway with Colin?" Simon asked after a brief pause.

"Yeah, I wondered about that, but I got the feeling you didn't want to talk about it."

"I didn't. Well, not then, but I think I can trust you now."

"That's good. Thanks."

"What you saw was one of the times Colin asked me to go somewhere with him. That particular time, he wanted me to go to a movie. I told him no and that he should stop asking me out and leave me alone. Then he grabbed me, and Tom came to my rescue."

"Yeah, that took me by surprise. I always thought he was really timid."

"That's not how I'd describe him," the blond boy said, frowning in disapproval. "He just likes to stay in the background and not make a fuss. He'll avoid trouble, but he'll do anything to protect a friend. That's brave, not timid."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Duncan soothed. "I didn't mean to insult him. And now that I know, I really respect him."

Simon accepted the apology and turned his gaze to the TV, though he didn't pay any attention to what was on the screen. Duncan, thinking the other boy didn't want to continue the conversation, also looked at the TV.

"You just make assumptions based on appearances," the blond boy accused suddenly, with a hint of bitterness.

Duncan felt a sinking in his stomach and wondered if their newly revived friendship was about to crash and burn. He didn't know what had brought this about, and so he had no idea what he could say to fix things.

"You think Tom's timid just because he's not pushy," Simon continued, turning to look directly at Duncan, "and I bet you think I'm gay, but I'm not. I'm just the way I am. The way I look doesn't tell you anything important about me. I don't assume you're a scary, dumb jock just because you're a big, muscular rugby player."

"I'm sorry. I never meant to assume anything. Maybe I wondered if you might be gay, but it didn't matter, and I don't really care."

"I wondered if you stopped being friends because you thought I was gay," Simon said sadly.

"No, of course not!"

Simon studied the other boy in silence, as if he were trying to decide whether to believe him. Meanwhile, Duncan was trying to decide what to say or do. Regardless of how they'd been in the past, the most important thing was that they were friends now, and he didn't want to lose that.

"As far as I'm concerned," he said with certainty, "the only thing that matters is that you're the only boy in the school who's a real friend and tried to help me. I've never cared whether or not you were gay. Maybe the real reason we drifted apart was just because I got obsessed with rugby."

"And you grew big and scary!" the blond boy joked.

"Now who's judging by appearances?" Duncan teased.

"Actually, if I really was gay, I'd be okay with it," Simon said after a brief pause, "but I'm not, and it's irritating when people assume that I am."

"You mean people like Colin?"

"He didn't believe me and kept asking me out, like on dates. Then, that time you saw us, I got really pissed off and told him that even if I was gay, I wouldn't be interested in him."

"Good for you!" Duncan said approvingly.

"Ya know, I used to get a bit paranoid, wondering which of the people I knew thought I was gay." Simon said quietly, keeping his head turned away in order to hide his blushes. "Sometimes, maybe I got a bit crazy. Like, when we were still friends, I wondered if you fancied me and hung around with me because you thought I was gay. But you're straight, so I was just being stupid."

"It sounds like you were thinking two opposite things at the same time," Duncan said as he tried to understand what his friend had told him.

"Not at exactly the same time, but I felt confused a lot of the time then."

Duncan thought about what the priest had said about friendship and what the old man might say about this situation. The words 'honesty', 'trust', and 'risk' kept going around in his head. Honesty might put their friendship at risk, but Simon had trusted him and he'd been honest, so surely he deserved the same from Duncan.

"Actually, you're right about one thing and wrong about another," he said nervously. "You're right that I don't fancy you, but you're wrong about me being straight. At least not totally straight. I'm bi."

"Wow!"

"What does that mean?" Duncan asked a little irritably.

"It means I'm very surprised."

"Did you make assumptions based on appearances?" the bigger boy asked in a bantering tone.

"No!" Simon protested before admitting, "Well, maybe a little."

"So we're okay now? Still friends?"

"Yes, absolutely!" the blond boy reassured him. "Better than ever."

"Great! I don't want to stop being friends again."

Both boys were silent for a few seconds while they processed their exchange of confidences.

"I'm just curious, and I hope you don't mind me asking," Simon said tentatively, "but do you like boys or girls more?"

"I don't know. I've never been with either. Maybe I ought to try a few of each before I decide."

Both of them laughed at that, though Duncan wasn't entirely sure that it was just a joke. The laughter was more than the small witticism merited, mainly because it was driven by nervous energy and the release of the earlier tension.

"The tale of Colin, Simon, and Tom is not yet complete," Simon said theatrically, and then in a more normal tone, he continued, "and I was wondering if you can help."

"Of course, I'll help."

"When Tom jumped in to save me that day, Colin got more angry with him than he was with me. At first, we just ignored his threats, but in the past few days, he's started bullying Tom."

"Hasn't he reported it? The school's pretty strict about that."

"I told him he should report it, but he won't, and Colin's too clever to do it while there are witnesses. He sometimes does it away from school."

As anger began to build inside Duncan, he took deep breaths and tried to calm himself.

"I'll deal with it tomorrow," he said determinedly.

"You're not going to do anything, erm, violent, are you?" his friend asked anxiously. "I don't want you to get into trouble and be kicked out of school."

"Don't worry. I'll be careful, and I won't take any risks just because of that prick, Colin."

At lunch the next day, Duncan asked Simon and Tom to make sure they were at the school gates as soon as the last class of the day had finished. The three of them managed to get there before Colin, who sneered at them as he passed by. Although he almost certainly knew he was being followed, he showed no sign that he cared. When he reached a side street that was quiet but not deserted, Duncan called out to him, and he turned to face the trio.

"What do you want?" he asked Duncan, completely ignoring the other two boys.

"I'm just here to give you some important safety information. These two are my good friends, and you should stay away from them. If you really can't stay away, then you should just be nice to them."

"Or else?" Colin challenged.

"Or else you might have a nasty and painful accident," he said in a low, menacing voice. Taking a step closer, he added, "And if anything unpleasant happens to either of my friends, you'll get worse, whether it's your fault or not."

"I'm not scared of you," Colin sneered. "You daren't do anything or you'll get kicked out of school, and then you won't be around to look after your little friends."

"Maybe you'll have an accident outside of school with no witnesses. And I'll have lots of people for an alibi. Not just these two, but the rugby team. And actually, maybe some of the team will want a little fun with you, too."

"Someone will see you, and Bartlett will believe me, not your friends. You wouldn't risk that," Colin said with a bravado that wasn't totally convincing.

"You know my reputation," Duncan snarled. "Do you think I'm afraid of risks? Do you really think I care about being excluded? The real question is, are you prepared to take the risk that I won't beat you to a pulp? And would that risk be worth whatever fun you might get from being nasty to my friends?"

Having said that, he turned his back on Colin, put his arms around his friends' shoulders, and ushered them back in the general direction of the school.

"Do you think that'll work?" Simon asked when he was sure they were out of earshot. "Maybe he'll call your bluff."

"What made you think I was bluffing?"

"It would work on me!" Tom said, shivering slightly.

"Anyway," Duncan said, "just let me know if he bothers you again."

As it turned out, Colin stopped bothering Tom and Simon, so they never got to find out if Duncan had been bluffing.

One evening, a couple of days after that incident with Colin, Duncan was in Simon's room getting help with homework when the blonde boy suddenly stopped what he was doing.

"You know," he said tentatively, "there was another reason I was surprised when you said you're bi. It wasn't just the appearances thing but also because it seemed to be a big coincidence. You see, not long before you told me that, someone told me that he's had a crush on you for ages. I told him he had no chance and he should forget it, but maybe I was wrong."

"Who is it?" Duncan asked, very curious.

"I can't tell you that, just like I can't tell him about you. My friends can trust me to keep their secrets."

Simon gave him a speculative look, and Duncan immediately understood what his friend was hinting.

"Do you trust him with secrets?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Simon replied without hesitation.

"Okay, you can tell him about me, but make sure he knows it's secret. Then maybe he'll give you permission to tell me who he is."

"I'm sure he'll keep it secret, but I can't promise that he'll let me tell you anything," the blond boy said seriously. "Would you be okay with that?"

Duncan thought about that for a few seconds before making a decision.

"Yeah, okay, go ahead," he said.

At the start of the last week of term, Simon invited Duncan to go around to his house after school to sample his mum's mince pies. After eating a couple of the delicious treats and complimenting the cook, Simon quietly ushered him up to his room.

"What's up?" Duncan asked, wondering why his friend was being furtive.

"Just to make absolutely sure no one gets hurt," Simon began mysteriously, "you're really attracted to boys as well as girls?"

"Not all boys and not all girls!" Duncan joked.

"Obviously!" Simon replied and gave a little snorting laugh, then he became more serious. "Remember the boy I mentioned a few days ago, the one who has a crush on you?"

"Of course I remember. It's the sort of thing that sticks in the mind."

"Well, at first he thought I was winding him up, but then he realised I'd never do anything like that. Anyway, he said he'd really like to get to know you better."

"Okay, so who is he?" Duncan asked impatiently, now very intrigued by the idea of having a secret admirer.

"I still can't tell you who he is because he's very shy and in the closet. He wanted to know if you might possibly be interested before letting you know who he is."

"Isn't that a bit silly? How do I know if I'm interested if I don't know who it is? Why not just arrange for us to meet?"

"I promise you that he's a really nice guy, and if I was into boys, I'd definitely fancy him. But like I told you, he's shy, and because he really likes you, he's also really scared of how you might react if he tells you how he feels."

"In that case, I don't see how it's possible to meet up."

"I've already worked out how we can make this happen."

"Why am I not surprised?" Duncan commented wryly.

"Right, so on the last day of term, school breaks up at lunchtime. I told him to stand next to your locker, and when most people have gone, you'll go there and see who it is. If you don't fancy him, then you can just pretend not to see him, but if you do like him, then say something nice to him."

"This is all very complicated," Duncan complained, "and won't he feel rejected if I ignore him?"

"Actually, it was partly his idea. He didn't want to put you in a difficult position or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn't like him. He wanted a way to make it as easy as possible for you to pretend you didn't know he fancies you. Anyway, he's prepared to take the risk, but we chose the end of term, so he has all the holidays to recover from the embarrassment."

Although it all seemed overly complex to Duncan, he was eager to find out who this secret admirer might be, so he agreed to his friend's plan. For the next three days and nights, his head was filled with speculation about the boy's identity. He was also concerned about how he could soften the blow of rejection if it turned out that he didn't fancy him. He decided that even if he didn't find him attractive, he'd still speak to him and at least say he was flattered by the interest. On the other hand, if the boy was attractive, he'd suggest going on a date.

When the bell rang to signal the end of term, Simon held Duncan back, making sure that the classroom had been empty for a couple of minutes before allowing him to leave. There were still a few people in the hallways, but they were busy talking with schoolmates or hurrying to start the Christmas holidays and didn't pay any attention to the two friends. Simon hung back a little, staying a few metres behind Duncan, who wasted no time going to his locker.

There he saw the boy, with hands stuffed in trouser pockets, looking down and apparently studying his shoes. Detecting that someone was approaching, the smaller boy looked up, showing a brave determination in his mid-brown eyes. Duncan realised that this was not the look of a timid person.

"I'm glad it's you," he said, gently reaching out to touch the other boy's sleeve with his fingertips. "Do you want to go somewhere for lunch with me?"

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