But you give me hope and now you take it away,
You took my love and now you celebrate.
When the morning comes, no I don't believe
In my God, oh my God how could you take her from me?
Magdalene ~ Bear's Den
"Boys!" the teacher barked. I pulled my chin up and shifted my shoulders back slightly as my new classmates looked up from their Latin and scrutinised me.
"Boys, this is Beckett," the teacher informed them. He looked like every stereotype of a teacher personified; the bushy moustache, the stomach straining at his waistcoat beneath his robes, the ruddy complexion of a man too intimate with his whisky bottle.
The class before us was Lower Sixth C; my family for the next two years until we all left and went on our merry way into the wide world. None of them particularly looked like idiots, unfortunately. This was Hendon House, one of the best secondary schools in the city of London, and attendance required both a pass mark in the lengthy entrance exam and a hefty cheque from Mummy and Daddy.
I had sat the exam two days ago in the school's library and yesterday Mother had received the telephone call to say that I had passed. The fees were really more than they could afford but it was considered worth it since I was the "problem child" and I needed the extra guidance. I was, as Mother was always telling her friends, such an intelligent and charismatic boy that if only I applied myself then there was no reason why I could not one day see myself as leader of this great nation.
I could not think of anything worse.
"This is Mr Beckett's first English classroom ever, on account of his family being on the missions in India for most of his childhood. I trust you lot will welcome him back to his mother country with open arms," the teacher was saying. "Now, Beckett, tell us, how was India?"
I had been dreading this. This first chance for me to speak was crucial for cultivating an easy road through this school and I still had not worked out exactly what I was going to say. Either I tell some pompous story of dining with a rajah that would no doubt impress my teacher but alienate my classmates, or I make some jibe that would likely get me in trouble.
However, I was still tired and adjusting to the British climate, so I chose the latter.
"Hot, sir."
Sniggers broke out amongst the rows of boys as the teacher sighed wearily. I grinned and looked out at the classroom, happy with my decision. I caught the eye of one particular dark-haired boy sitting by himself at the back of the class. He had a good seat, next to a window, and he was leant back on his chair in an almost nonchalant manner. He had not sniggered at my little joke but his mouth was half-curved into a smirk.
"Honestly, ask them for a mile and they give an inch," the teacher muttered under his breath. "Here's a workbook, now go and take that seat at the back next to Pevensie."
I accepted the offered jotter and made my way to the indicated seat beside Pevensie. He was the smirking boy next to the windows and he shot me a friendly smile as I slid into the seat beside him.
"Welcome home," he said, holding out his hand. I grasped it firmly.
"Edmund," he said as the teacher turned and continued with the lesson.
"Theodore," I replied.
Latin was followed by Mathematics and then a brief visit to French. My French skills were so pitiful that the French Master merely sighed and said I required extra study to bring my speaking skills up to speed with the rest of the class – or at least I think that was what he said. My cheeks had burned as I returned to my seat. I could read and write French just as well as any of them but who on earth was I supposed to have practiced with in India?! Neither of my parents spoke French. It was a wonder at all that Mother had thought to include it in the education she gave to myself and my brother.
I spoke Punjabi almost fluently and was moderately proficient in Hindi but those languages had no use in the West. My mother's family came from the island of Harris so I had grown up speaking Scottish Gaelic with her but that also apparently didn't matter now. No, despite having a fair grasp of four different languages, I was now the idiot because I apparently did not know my rentrer from my retourner.
Afterwards we were allowed a break for lunch. It was what I expected; the usual post-war rationed mess that was on offer everywhere. When our plates were cleared, Edmund and I stood outside and smoked a cigarette apiece in the lazy autumn afternoon.
There was something strange about my new friend that I could not quite put my finger on. I had put him down as a quiet loner in our first few lessons together but as soon as we entered the lunch break he transformed; suddenly he was all quick wit and chitchat. Yet the other boys kept their distance from us, almost as if they too sensed his unusualness.
A wolf whistle broke through the low buzz of conversation of the courtyard and a number of the boys moved across to gaze at something out of our sight.
"What are they looking at?" I asked Edmund.
"I imagine the ladies of St Finbar's are out for a walk," he said, stubbing out his cigarette. As he walked across to the wall to join our classmates, I too stubbed out my cigarette and made to follow him.
I knew St Finbar's was the girls' school affiliated with Hendon House. The two schools sat opposite each other on either side of the road. Hendon House was the more expansive of the two, being the elder institution, and so the girls made use of its swimming pool and playing fields. It appeared that the young ladies that had so captured my schoolmates' attentions were returning from the latter.
They were led by their games teacher in neat, little pairs save for the one girl walking alone at the rear of the troop. The most attractive of them smirked and shot my classmates flirtatious glances as the boys whistled at them.
I however only had eyes for the girl at the end of the group. She was not the most beautiful girl I had ever set eyes upon or even the most beautiful amongst her peers but there was something about her that was unlike anything I had ever seen. Her face glowed with some loveliness and she seemed completely alone and in her own little world. Her golden hair was falling from her ponytail, one of her socks was falling down, and her face and legs were smeared with mud, presumably because of her hockey game if the sticks in the bag slung over her shoulder were anything to go by yet none of this detracted from her charm.
My father had often preached about angels – the messengers and servants of God. I had recently found his sermons to be more and more tedious, no doubt adding to reasons why my parents found me "difficult", but for the first time I honestly believed that the girl in front of me was an angel. There could be no other explanation for someone so unbelievable.
"Hey Pevensie, your sister is looking fine," one of our classmates sniggered. "Any chance you could introduce us?"
"Why? Lucy prefers men of her own species," Edmund said coolly, not taking his eyes off the girls as they continued back towards St Finbar's.
"That's mild," I noted. "If that was my sister I would be more protective."
"Lu can take care of herself," he said dismissively. "If any of these apes ever tried anything then that would be a different matter but I trust my sister."
The bell went for the return to lessons and Edmund led me off to our final class of the day – History. Typically we would have another class after that but lessons always finished early on Fridays. Then, we were left with the expanse of the weekend stretching before us.
Hendon House was a boarding school but both it and St Finbar's allowed its pupils who lived in London to return home for the weekend if they so wished. And, since I had been informed upon my arrival for my half-day induction that my room would not be available until Monday, I planned to do exactly that.
When I told Edmund this, he nodded his head and said that he and his sister Lucy intended to do exactly the same since it was their mother's birthday on Sunday. I waited for him by the door to the Sixth Form residence as he gathered a few things to take home.
"Where have your family settled?" he asked when he rejoined me.
"Finchley. My father is a vicar and there was an opening in a church there," I said, a little stiffly. I disliked the vicarage and the church that came with it. How could it compare to our bungalows in India? The grey drizzle of British rain and the park next to the church, although admittedly vibrant with its current autumnal coat, could never compare to the warm monsoon rains and the rich smell of the earth afterwards that even now still haunt my dreams.
My new friend cracked another one of his strange smiles.
"How splendid! That would be St Paul's, right? The church next to Victoria Park?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, my brow furrowing. He laughed at my confusion.
"'Tis a small world," he chuckled. "We are from Finchley too."
I laughed with him and offered him another cigarette.
"Oh gosh, Ed, you aren't smoking again?" a voice said from behind us. He glanced over my shoulder but still lit the cigarette and handed me back my lighter.
"Yes, I am," was all he said. "Theodore, this is my sister, Lucy."
I turned to greet her but stopped dead.
In front of me was my angel. She was no longer dressed in her hockey kit but the red and grey uniform of St Finbar's. However, wisps of blonde hair still escaped from her ponytail and one of her socks was still falling down. She hoisted her bag further onto her shoulder and quickly smiled at me, causing my cheeks to slightly flush, before turning back to her brother.
"Why do you smoke the rotten things?" she asked.
"Susan smokes," he said defensively.
"Susan smokes because Charles Black smokes and she's trying to impress him," she shot back.
"Well, Theodore here offered me a cigarette and maybe I am trying to impress him," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"They bloody stink," she muttered, walking away from us.
"Hey, does Mum let you use that language?" he laughed as he danced after her, making sure to exhale a mouthful of smoke directly at her.
She snapped, playfully tackling him and swinging her bag at his side in an attempt to wind him long enough for her to grab the offensive cigarette. I watched them with a detached amusement as they grappled, their faces lit up with laughter. For a moment, they could have been any age. The strangeness that shrouded them had lifted and they looked like two small children fighting over a toy.
I had never had such a relationship with my older brother, Christopher. He was - in my mind - taller, more intelligent and far better looking than I ever could hope to have been. Although I had more of a flair for languages than he did, it seemed that he was intent to beat me in every other aspect of life. He had even gone to the University of Glasgow to read Theology with the intent of entering the faith like our father.
In the odd few weeks between arriving in Britain and starting school, while my parents ran around London attending interviews and sorting out our new home, I had journeyed up to Glasgow to see him. It was a peculiar experience. He had left India about a year before us so he could attend university and he was very different from the brother I remembered.
I was introduced to his circle of friends and snuck into the men's union where we consumed countless pints and smoked countless cigarettes whilst pretending to be far more worldly wise and philosophical than we actually were. It amused me to watch him and the careful persona he had constructed around them. He was not Christopher, my elder brother who had wrestled with me in the gardens of our compounds and always sought to best in me in our eternal struggle for our parents' affections. He was now 'Kit', popular and handsome, and he had his whole life ahead of him.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world for me to shatter his carefully contrived image. But I did not. I am still unsure as to why.
Watching Edmund and Lucy play-fight in the street awoke something inside my heart and I found myself longing for what they had. Their relationship seemed so much more natural than the forced sham that existed between myself and Christopher.
And I wanted a relationship like that. I found myself stubbing out my cigarette beneath my shoe and running after them with a bark of laughter.
As the tussle came to an end, Edmund furthered my introduction to his sister by telling her about my recent repatriation from India. Her eyes lit up at that revelation and she turned to me excitedly, question after eager question tumbling from her lips. I gladly answered all of them, revelling in her attention. Our conversation even continued down onto the platform of the Tube station and only halted momentarily as the train arrived and we scrambled for seats.
Lucy sat opposite me and Edmund. Her body was turned to one side, her ankles neatly crossed and her hands on her lap, and her eyes were shut. Some draught created by the Tube hurtling through the tunnels was playing with her loose tendrils of hair.
"Still, must be good to be back home," Edmund said from beside me. I started, hoping he had not caught me staring in rapture at his younger sister, but I thought he had not noticed.
I shrugged. "I was three when we left for India and I have not been back since," I said. "Britain has never really felt like home to me."
Lucy's eyes opened and she gave me another one of her beautiful smiles.
"So you are a stranger in your own country?" she said.
"I suppose," I said, nodding.
She smiled again and exchanged a look with her brother.
"Then you are in good company," she said. "We know that feeling exceptionally well, don't we, Ed?"
This is purposefully being left open-ended as there is more to Theo's story which I simply haven't written yet. I wrote this initial chapter after a particularly bad heartbreak; realising about halfway through that Theo was mirroring the boy who did not want to be with me. Since I now find myself on the brink of a similar situation, I've found the courage to post this and I may return to finish it one day.
To anyone waiting for the next chapter of Forging a Nation, I promise it has not been forgotten.
Thank you for reading.