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ineffectual. As he was dragged by an open cubicle he glimpsed Carmichael inside, sitting on the floor crying. His hair was soaking wet and he was naked, his thin, pale body smeared with shit.
    When they reached the next cubicle William redoubled his efforts to escape, or at least to inflict injury on one of his tormentors. Yardley put a meaty arm around his neck and squeezed tightly, bending him towards the toilet bowl where a large turd floated in the water.
    ‘I saved this for you especially, Reynolds,’ Yardley said.
    He and the other boys thrust William’s head into the bowl. William screwed his eyes shut and held his breath. His heart pounded and he heard the rush of blood in his ears. Just when he thought he would suffocate, they pulled him out gasping for air.
    ‘Yum yum, eh Reynolds,’ Yardley gloated. ‘I expect that reminds you of having your dinner at home doesn’t it?’
    They went off laughing among themselves, while William wiped the shit from his face. He threw up every morsel in his stomach, retching until his stomach ached and his throat was raw. Eventually he cleaned himself up, and when he went back into the dorm he went straight to Yardley’s cubicle. When Thompson nudged him, Yardley turned around and was surprised when he saw William.
    ‘What do you want, Reynolds? I say, chaps, perhaps he’s come for his pudding.’
    They all laughed, but then William bunched his fist and hit Yardley on his chin with every ounce of strength he could muster. The force of the blow snapped Yardley’s head back and knocked him onto the floor. For an instant there was stunned silence, and then with a bellow of pained rage Yardley leapt to his feet and threw himself at William with a flurry of fists and feet. The fight was over quickly, and Yardley’s size and weight combined with William’s lack of agility meant William didn’t stand a chance. Nevertheless, he managed to land one or two decent punches and at the end of it they both had bloody noses.
    After that Yardley and the other boys contented themselves with snide insults where William was concerned.
     

CHAPTER 4
     
    1908  
     
    At five o’clock in the morning the course of the river could only be discerned by the trees along its banks. They stood gaunt and grey above the mist veiling the water meadows below the town.
    Pausing to lift his gaze to the lightening sky, William watched a hobby, one of a pair that nested nearby each year. He remembered a painting Mister Watson had done of one of them, though it has been three years since Watson left the school. The little falcon rose with rapid wing beats, searching for an unwary blackbird or thrush and was lost from sight.
    William began to run down the hill. At seventeen he was tall and lean. To begin with he favoured his left leg very slightly, but as he settled into a familiar rhythm this became less obvious, so that a casual observer would not even register it. Nowadays, it is only in the winter when there is a particularly cold spell that he feels an ache deep in his thigh that will cause him to limp, and very occasionally he has to use a cane for support.
    He climbed a stile to the path that led across a field to the river. There was nobody else about. Sometimes he would see a figure herding cows to the milking shed, or later in the year when there was hay to be cut or crops to harvest he would see people working in the fields, but they are only distant glimpses. He had followed this route every morning since his first term at the school all those years ago now, though of course he could barely walk then. It was the solitude he liked more than anything.
    As William descended to the meadow the mist cloaked him from the world. The grass was wet with dew. An animal dashed in front of him, a blur of brown fur, perhaps a hare or even a fox. When he reached the river the mist was thick between the reeds along the bank. His breath clouded before him. A pair of stately swans appeared gliding silently on the