Dialogues of the Dead

“They were accepted rather than belonged,” said Wingate judiciously. “They never let the rest of us forget how we’d once treated them. They started a magazine called The Skulker, only two copies of each edition, one for themselves, one they rented out. It was real samizdat stuff, so outrageously subversive that everyone wanted to read it, even though it was us as much as the staff who were being subverted.”

Pascoe recalled his visit to Penn’s flat and said, “‘Lonesome’s loblance,’ that mean anything to you?”

Wingate looked at him curiously and said, “You have been doing your research. Lonesome was Mr. Pine, Head of Dacre House. Everyone hated him.”

“Dacre House …known as Dog House?” guessed Pascoe. “And loblance? Let me guess. One of Dee’s names for the male organ?”

“Don’t recall it precisely, but it sounds likely.”

“Simpson? Bland?”

“Head Prefect of Dacre and his second-in-command. Dee and Penn’s greatest enemies. They had a running battle with them.”

“Who won?”

“It was no contest by the time they got to the Fifths. Dee and Penn were in pretty well total control. From time to time they would even call each other Kraut and Whoreson very publicly, though no one else dared, of course. It was like they were saying, Just because we condescend to coexist with you lot doesn’t mean we’ve really got anything in common. We’re still different, and different means better. Anyone care to argue?”

“And did anyone?”

“Occasionally. But by the time Dee had sorted them out verbally and Penn physically, they realized the error of their ways.”

“And little Johnny Oakeshott, did he stay part of the team?” asked Pascoe.

“Johnny? Sorry, didn’t I say? He died.”

“Died? Just like that? Christ, I know they’re all stiff upper lip, these places, but I’d have thought they took notice of dead kids!” said Dalziel.

“How did he die?” asked Pascoe.

“Drowned. Don’t ask me how. There were all kinds of stories but all that ever came out officially was that he’d been found early one morning in the school swimming pool. Midnight bathing was a favourite rule-breaking sport. It was assumed he’d gone in by himself, or joined some group and got left behind. We don’t know. Penn and Dee went ballistic. They brought out a special edition of The Skulker. Front page was all black with J’ACCUSE scrawled across it in white.”

“Who did they accuse?”

Wingate shrugged.

“Everyone. The system. Life. They claimed to have got in touch with Johnny through a Ouija board and promised that all would be revealed in the next edition.”

“And was it?”

“No. Someone told the Head and he came down hard. Told them what they’d written already was enough to get them expelled. Anything more and they’d be finishing their education in a pair of crummy comprehensives, miles apart. That was a clincher. Together they could survive, even prosper. Apart …who knows?”

“So they caved in and conformed?”

“Caved in? Perhaps. Conformed? No way. From that time on, the pair of them refused to have anything at all to do with the formal structures of the school. They never became prefects, refused to accept prizes, had nothing to do with organized sports or any other extramural activities. And as far as I know they’ve never attended any Old Boys’ get-together or responded to any Appeal. They went through the sixth form, got university places, did their exams, walked out after the last one, and were never seen at Unthank again.”

“Did they go to the same university?”

“No. They went their separate ways, which surprised a lot of people. Dee went up to John’s, Oxford, to read English and Penn went off to Warwick to do modern languages. I meet them both occasionally through my job. We get on fine. But if I ever refer to our schooldays, they look at me blankly. It’s as if they’ve wiped that part of the slate clean. You won’t even find any mention of it in Penn’s publicity material.”

Now Wingate fell silent as if his memories had stirred up stuff he’d sooner have forgotten.

After a while Pascoe asked, “Anything else you can tell us, John?”

“No, that’s it.”

“You sure?” said Dalziel. “Not holding owt back, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” retorted Wingate angrily.

“If you say so,” said Dalziel. “But I can’t think why you made such a fuss about talking in the first place if that’s all you had to say.”