Faithless (6 page)

"Of course. And that's why I should follow it up."

She said coldly. "I've told you my decision. You will not spend any more time on this."

John stood up. "And what's this about? You're prepared to leave a KGB agent in place b
ecause it's more important to you that you make me follow your orders?"

"Oh do sit down John. You're making an exhibition of yourself."

"I want to take this further. Your attitude is stupid and counter to what we're supposed to be doing."

"I think you'll f
ind Stephen is of the same mind as me. You behave as if you are in a bad spy movie. The basis of this work is the dull grind of routine. I sometimes wonder if you're in the right job."

"If this is the attitude of the management of this Service that the bur
eaucratic process is more important than  producing results, then I wonder too."

She sniffed. "When are you due for a posting John?"

"I've just arrived. I'm not going anywhere."

"Thankfully that's not your decision. I think perhaps the move should be sooner rather than later."

1968, The George Heriot School, Edinburgh:
When George Heriot made his bequest to set up his school in the 17th Century it is hard to know how much social engineering was on his mind. He was a very wealthy man - a goldsmith - from a family of wealthy men. By the 20th Century George Heriot's School was, by its own account, "distinguished". It educated the wealthy and privileged but there were also boys there enabled by the Foundation. Though attention was not drawn to them, all the boys knew who was who. John felt the difference from the start right through to the end. The glittering ones lived in different places, called their parents and even meals by different terms, played tennis, and went skiing to Austria and Switzerland in the Winter holidays. John learned to blend in - to de-emphasise the differences - to speak two languages - standard English at school - Embra Scots outside with his primary school friends. His social confidence developed as the years went by but he never forgot what he was. He mixed with other Foundation boys as the differences were less and they did not expect him to be able to go places and be things he could not, as the richer boys did, though thoughtlessly and without intended cruelty.

John  excelled at languages. His favourite teacher was Leonard Cole who taught German and Geography. Cole was the son of a Liberal Politician from the south of England who had gone to the liberal Be
dales School in Hampshire. The boys at George Heriot's called him a "lefty".

In one German lesson when he was 16, the subject of health had come up and Cole ventured to suggest patriotically that the German system was not as good as the British National H
ealth System, set up by the socialist government after the Second World War.

One boy, Gideon Graves,  said, "My father says the NHS is grossly inefficient and a waste of time. He says it's ideological tinkering with the natural order of things."  Graves s
aid it with a cross between a sneer and a smile on his face. Riling Cole was the point of the exercise. Cole, who was a very intelligent man and who, John thought, should have realised what was going on was instead propelled by his passion into a debate.

"
So your father would abolish the NHS?" he said.

"Of course," said Graves, "it would save the country a fortune and taxes could be then lowered allowing people to keep what they earn and encouraging hard work rather than idleness."

Cole was boiling up a bright pink. "And what would the poor do then when they became ill?"

"They'd do what they used to do," said Graves.

"Which was go without health care."

Graves shrugged. He was enjoying himself.

"You don't know Graves, and neither do you care. You think that what the poor do is none of your concern."

Graves shrugged again and looked around to the other boys - some egging him on with big grins on their faces, others less certain, not wanting to be on the wrong side of their German teacher.

Suddenly, John spoke up. "My mother told me that when she was wee, her brother tipped scalding water on her arm from a pan by mistake. They couldn't afford a doctor so they had to wrap it in brown paper. She still has scars."

Graves laughed out loud, looking incredulously at h
is supporters. John had made his point deliberately. He knew they would mock him. He had tolerated the arrogance and superiority of Graves and his friends for years. Now he'd made a public statement of his origins and he sat there defiantly.

"Exactly," sai
d Cole. "Now lets get back to "
denken, denke, dachte, gedacht."

At the end of the lesson Cole asked John to stay back. John stood there nervously while his friend Fraser went to the door and indicated by gesture that he would wait outside for him. Cole nod
ded for him to sit down. "I won't be long. There are just a couple of things I wanted to speak to you about."

John waited.

"The first is that, much as it pains me to say it, and much as I realise I rose to the bait to give Graves and his friends something to laugh about, there are established powers and vested interests in this world. You may choose to speak out of principle and from your heart, but if that goes against these interests they will cast you out. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Maybe, sir."

"You are at George Heriot's School. I presume that is because your parents..." He blushed. "Forgive me, your mother. Well, she must have made efforts to place you here so that you could enter into this privileged world. To have an easier life than she had. What I want to say is that if you defy Graves and his type, they will block you - and your mother's efforts will have been in vain."

"I see." He hesitated, appreciating Cole's concern.  " I realised this of course. But you have to say and do what's right
."

Cole put his hand on his shoulder. "I agree. And I did want to say that I respect anyone who does things that are not merely expedient. If you follow your heart, you will be the enemy of the boys who sit here with you. But you will have a clear conscience.
"

"In my paupery."

"Indeed." Cole laughed, "I do tend to go on, don't I?"

"Never sir. Everything you say is interesting."

Cole smiled again. "Now I am unsure whether your flattery is sincere or you are pulling my leg. Irony was never my strong suite."

"Is
that all sir? I have games next."

"Ah, no. I wanted to ask you whether you would like to take Russian. I studied Russian and German at Durham you know and the Headmaster was asking whether I would teach Russian to a select group of the linguistically gifte
d."

"And that includes me?" said John incredulously.

"Ah you feign modesty. You must be aware of your talent?"

"Well, I knew I was all right. I'm not sure if I'm especially gifted."

"I would like you to accept my word for it Gilroy. So, Russian?"

"I'm flat
tered. If you have faith in me, I'll give it a go."

"Good. Bear in mind what I said about crossing swords with Graves and his ilk. Hurry now, rugby awaits."

After rugby it was the end of the day and John and his friend Fraser were making their way from school. They had turned the corner into Heriot Place as they planned to go into town before going home. Heriot Place was narrow with houses to the west and the high stone wall that surrounded George Heriot's School to the east. Standing there waiting for them was Gideon Graves and his band of fop haired friends. Graves moved into the middle of the narrow road to block their path.

"Hello again, Gilroy. Sucking up to sir, were we? Listening to him droning on and pretending to be interested?"

John stood his ground. "If you say so. "

"We don't like suck-ups at this school. Particularly chippy little oiks who live in dirty little houses trying to get one up on their betters."

John felt cold run through him. He said, "Go on Graves, tell me more about my betters."

"George Heriot's School gives you people a chance to do something with your lives but instead you sit round with Cole sharing his Communist fantasies." Graves' face twisted with contempt.

John shrugged. "I don't think Cole's a Communist. Maybe a member of the Liberal Party."

"You're nothing. You come from nothing and you will amount to nothing."

"Like I said, if you say so."

Graves was carried away by his own rhetoric. "For God's sake, your being here at all is a lie. Your whole life is based on a lie."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My grandfather was Procurator Fiscal. I know about your father."

"What about my father?"

Graves laughed. "You don't know about your father? Your real father?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"He was that Fenian Commie dog who went into the docks at Leith on his motorbike." He turned to his friends. "At least he did the decent thing and topped himself: one less Mick, one less Red."

Some of the boys behind Graves sniggered. John felt a strange feeling begin in his heart; a pride in his unknown father, the Fenian Commie dog, and an iceberg grief, deep and unsuspected. He hated these people who called judgement on the dead man. His dad. He tilted his chin up, daring Graves to go on.

He went on." G
ood God, your mother wasn't even married to him. She's no better than a whore."

John struck him full in the face. Graves' nose exploded and he staggered back. John jumped on his chest. When Graves fell,  John knelt on him pummelling his face. He wanted to
kill the boy. He wouldn't have stopped. And then he felt Fraser and some of the other boys pull him off.

"Easy John," said Fraser. "Leave him. He's not worth it."

He stood up, adrenalin pumping. He spat down at Graves, "There ye are, ye posh wee shite. Stan' up again and I'll gie ye another."  He looked round fiercely at the ring of boys who stood quiet; two of them helped Graves up to his feet.

"And yous, any o' yous big men want some? "

No one replied.

"No, I didnae think sae."

Graves' friends took him away in the direction of Lauriston Place. John watched him go. When he was at the top of the alley, Graves took the bloody handkerchief from his nose and shouted back to John, "My father will make sure you never do anything with your life. You just wait and see."

John felt a jubilant elation at his victory. He smiled at Fraser and shouted back to Graves, "You and your father can go fuck yourselves. I'll not be ruled by such as ye."

John looked back at that day as somehow fateful. It was also the day he bumped into Karen at Bonnyrigg Co-op. It was just about to close. He had nipped in to buy Black Jacks and Fruit Salad sweets with what was left of the money his mother had given him for lunch. He felt a rush of anxiety as he turned the aisle and saw the back of her head. She was intent on looking at loaves of bread and didn't notice him at first. He stood there rooted on the spot - a victim of competing desires; to run out and never look back fighting against wanting to talk to her. In the end she resolved it by turning round and noticing him blocking her way, red faced, stammering, tie undone, skinned knuckles, scuffed shoes, mud on his knees.

"Oh, John," she said, "you look a mess."

His mouth opened like a fish's.

She said, "Did you memorise the kings of
Scotland?"

"Yes. Do you want to hear them?"

"Not here," she laughed. "Besides you don't have your football."

"I could go and get it."

"I can see a few problems with that." She looked round at the shelves and Mrs McGinnis who was glowering at them from behind the counter, wanting to shut up shop.

Karen stood there. He felt the conversation had come to its natural end, even though it had had no natural beginning. Still John didn't move. The urge to run grew to be almost overpowering.
              "Are you still going out with Big Dougie McLean?" he blurted.

She looked at him carefully. "No, that was over months ago. Dougie was a heid the ba'. I got tired of going out on dates in my best dress and ending up watching while he kicked some poor sod's face in."

"Ah good."

"Good that someone got their face kicked in?" She teased.

"No, no. Not that."

"Looking at your knuckles and knees, it looks like you've been emulating Dougie recently."

"Ach, that. No. Erm. It was just a thing. It doesn't happen all the time. Very rarely really."             

Mrs McGinnis shouted over. "Will you be buying that loaf, lassie? Just I'm about to shut up."

They made their way over to the counter. Karen paid. John had forgotten to get his sweets in his disorientation.