Chapter 2

St. Clarence's school for boys, November 1931

Bobby would blame himself for a long time for not having heard the fighting noises sooner. He was just passing by, going back to his dorm quickly after the end of the boxing lesson. He and the few other boys who'd taken it up were trusted to cross the yard after the general curfew that applied to the rest of the school, mostly because the lot of them had good grades and were in the teachers' good graces.

The bullies probably hadn't expected anyone to be out after nightfall – they certainly weren't supposed to be. But then, neither was the huddled form they were kicking at.

As soon as Bobby understood what was taking place on the steps that led to the kitchen service entrance, the remainder adrenaline from the lesson got him running and he shouted.

The four figures, much larger than the smaller one that was recoiling under their blows, lifted their heads and seemed to evaluate the situation for a second before judging it wasn't worth the trouble. They ran away laughing.

Bobby nearly fell to his knees next to the boy still folded up in a fetal position.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bobby asked, breathless and his hands hovering above the boy.

He was answered with a grunt that wasn't so reassuring. Quickly, Bobby went about palming the other boy's arms and legs, checking for a cut. There was no blood seeping through his clothes at least, and Bobby's heart settled a little. Still, the boy wasn't responding, and remembering what he'd been taught about KOs just a few weeks before, Bobby slipped a hand through the boy's left one and said:

"If you can hear me, squeeze my hand, okay?"

He felt the squeeze at the same time as the boy mumbled:

"I'm not dead, relax."

Bobby scoffed at the cheek of him, lying all beaten up and telling him to relax.

"You should see yourself," he replied, letting go of the boy's hand and helping him sit up when he made to move.

Finally, he saw a face. A tiny bit younger than Bobby was, fine features and clear blue eyes that were full of too much determination for someone who'd just gotten the shit kicked out of him.

"What's your name?"

"Bill," the boy answered, wiping at his face.

There was some blood running from his nose and his brow, but it didn't look as bad as Bobby had feared.

"I'm Bobby. We need to get you to the infirmary."

Bill shook his head, then winced.

"Not at this hour, they'll ask what I was doing outside."

"And what were you doing outside?"

Bill shot him a dark look. Okay, so he was a feisty little one, Bobby mused.

"None of your business."

"It is if they ask me what happened when I take you to the infirmary."

Bill frowned and pulled himself upright, smoothing down his uniform. Bobby couldn't remember seeing him before tonight, which confirmed that the boy was probably in the class below his.

"Fine. They dragged me out, because one of them wasn't happy I got assigned their dorm. Apparently they'd had a free bed for a while and when I got here they just threw me with them, and they didn't appreciate that I'd come to disturb their peace."

Bobby felt his shoulders sag. Why in hell would the school have put a eleven or so year-old boy with the seventeen-year-olds? It was never going to go well.

"Why didn"t you call for help?" Bobby asked, still holding back from fretting over the bruises already forming on the other boy's face.

In the state he was in, it was a miracle he wouldn't need any stitches. Bill frowned at him as if he was stupid for even asking the question.

"Men don't ask for help," he said, deadpan as if it was as absolute as the laws of physics.

It took Bobby aback so strongly that he couldn't hold in his next comment:

"That"s a very stupid thing to say."

Luckily, Bill didn't seem in a mood for any more fights and instead of replying with more violence, he only pouted and mumbled:

"How?"

Bobby finally relented against his own instincts and grabbed Bill's wrist, gently pressing all around it to check for wounds or fractures. While Bill hissed under his attentions, he asked:

"If you get sick, what do you do?"

Again, Bill reacted as if Bobby was the village idiot just come to ask him the same thing again for the thirtieth time:

"Well, call a doctor."

"And if your car breaks down?" Bobby pressed on.

"I don't know, seek out a mechanic?" the boy raised his voice, patience clearly thinning.

But he'd given Bobby what he needed. Satisfied that Bill didn't seem to have broken anything, he hopped off the steps and stuck his hands in his pockets, grinning.

"See? Nobody gets around without help."

Bill scrunched his nose at him.

"You should mind your own business."

Bobby smiled at the feral little cat he'd apparently gotten himself, amazed that he still had so much fight in him after taking such a beating.

"I don't think that would have ended very well for you."

Bill shrugged, apparently lacking a comeback.

"We need to get you out of their dorm. Knowing the guys, they're never going to stop picking on you and you're too scrawny to fight back," Bobby sighed, already formulating a plan to talk to the headmaster in the morning.

Bill gave him a scrutinizing once over then declared:

"You're scrawny too. What made you think you could take them?"

Bobby got up too, then, and took a fighting stance.

"That's cause I got moves, my dear," he said, mimicking an uppercut.

That finally got a smile out of the other boy, though he immediately pressed a hand to his lip where it was threatening to split. Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder with a sigh.

"Come on, we need to go wake up Miss Elliot. I won't sleep well if we don't make sure you won't get a concussion."

He started dragging Bill without waiting for his assent, but the boy seemed swayed at last and followed without protesting any more.

"You box?" Bill asked as they finished crossing the yard that was now empty.

Bobby pushed the heavy door closed behind them and checked over his shoulder that the warden wasn't around to see him come in a few minutes late, and with company.

"Yes, started last month," he nodded, and guided Bill up the stairs to where he knew the nurse's room was.

"Do you like it? I mean…" Bill lowered his head and looked away as if he was ashamed of asking questions.

"I love it," Bobby admitted, leaning in for a conspiratorial whisper.

Bill's eyes grew wider with wonder. Then Bobby saw it, the way the boy had kept his jaw clenched tight ever since he saw him, probably had to while he was getting punched and laughed at. But there must have been a lot of pent up anger and frustration in the little man, and Bobby let himself imagine him in the ring for a second. He would hit hard, uncoordinated at first, but surely learning how to fight couldn't do him any wrong if he was already a target in the school.

"I haven't seen you before, did you get here recently?" Bobby asked.

They were walking down a narrow corridor, in almost darkness save from the moonlight that came from the few windows. It didn't take much lighting to see Bill's shoulders creeping up to his ears again, his whole posture closing off. Yes, he would have no trouble learning about guards and keeping his face covered, Bobby mused.

"Yes," Bill admitted, both of them talking in hushed voices now to avoid getting noticed. "My dad dropped me off last week."

Bobby kept silent. It was unusual for boys to enroll after the beginning of the school year, especially with boarding when parents had to put money on the table on day one and the headmaster was so strict on who got in or not.

He felt the unease settle between them, the darkness of the corridor weighing heavier until they reached Miss Elliot's bedroom door. It was right next to the infirmary, for emergencies, but Bobby was aware it was still extremely inappropriate for him to be knocking on a lady's door at night.

He did anyway, keeping Bill in his field of vision while they waited for an answer. Bill had leaned against the wall, hugging himself in a pose that struck Bobby as that of someone who'd never had anyone to defend them. He swallowed and pushed aside the sadness growing inside him at the idea.

Miss Elliot opened after barely ten seconds, wearing a nightcap and frowning.

"What is… oh," she exhaled, noticing Bill and the dried blood on his cheek.

She opened the door wider and reached out without asking, gestures practiced and medical as she grabbed Bill by the chin and tilted his head this way and that.

"Whatever happened to you?" she asked, and there was reproach in her voice.

Bobby chimed in: "He's new, and the boys in his dorm had a go at him. I saw them."

Miss Elliot tutted and drew Bill in closer with a hand on his shoulder.

"Alright, I'll deal with this. You go to bed immediately, young man," she nodded at Bobby who gaped in outrage.

"But…"

"No buts! Neither of you should be out at this hour."

"Will he be okay?" Bobby asked, throwing a desperate look at the shadows on Bill's face.

"Yes, now shoo!"

The door shut in his face and he stood there, stunned into silence, for a few seconds before he turned away and started walking, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the now lonely corridor.

Getting into the school hadn't been as hard for him as it would have been for other Jews. For two very simple reasons: Bobby's father wasn't one, and though he hadn't given his son a lot, a very English-sounding name was the one legacy that came in handy at the time. It meant Bobby got about half the trouble. The second reason was that Edward Bachelor had money, and when one had money, one had influence. Which meant Bobby could enroll into regular schools, but sleep in a separate area. And he dearly hoped, now, that his old man wouldn't mind satisfying his son's need for affection with a simple favor that could possibly change two boys' lives.

The next day, he called his father briefly, then went to the headmaster. By the end of the next week, Bill had moved into Bobby's twin bed room.