Chapter 6

St. Clarence's school for boys, March 1932

Two months had gone by and not one day of those had Bobby gone through without thinking about Bill. It was tough not to, when he was the first thing he saw upon waking, and the last before he closed his eyes in the evenings. But it followed him all day, too.

In English class, he wondered how Bill was faring with the previous year's reading, and what he would think of the book Bobby was studying now. In math, he scribbled notes in the margins of what he thought would be a good way to help his friend with when the time came.

But most of all, Bill was at the forefront of his mind during boxing sessions. Every Thursday evening, after dinner, the boys parted ways and Bobby crossed the courtyard to head to the gymnasium. He never changed there, never dared to leave his things unattended with the stares haunting his shoulders and burning his nape.

They had no qualms coming for him once the gloves were on. And the good thing was, Bobby was encouraged to retaliate. It always left him drained, sweating and out of breath but with the comforting feeling that he was limber and more agile as time went by. Armed. Empowered.

And that was when Bill came into play. He could just see him. Getting buffer and learning how to defend himself other than by ‘just taking it'. So one evening, in the impersonal vastness of the dining hall, at the far end of a table where Bobby had grown used to sitting alone and was now graced by the company of Bill, he asked without preamble:

"Hey, want to learn how to box?"

Once more pulled from his very clever thoughts, Bill blinked a few times and finished chewing his piece of bread before answering.

"What for?"

It had seemed pretty obvious to Bobby then, but he wasn't sure Bill wouldn't get offended if he told him that, small as he was, and a newcomer, he was an easy target for the bullies, as they'd already established. That, and he never wanted to find him so defeated as he had after Bobby had chased his attackers away.

"Well, it's always good to exercise a bit," Bobby stammered, "besides, that way if another dog has a go at you again, you can just –" he mimicked an uppercut "– knock'im out."

The little twitch in Bill's eyebrow meant they both knew they weren't talking about dogs, there. Still, Bobby was insanely pleased when Bill didn't dismiss the idea right away. For a moment, he'd been worried that his offer would be perceived as ‘help', and Bill had made it clear enough how he felt about that, that Bobby knew he needed to be sneaky enough in offering it.

"I don't know," Bill began, and Bobby's stomach swooped a little with disappointment.

"You don't have to, it's just…" Bobby scrambled for a new idea, a change of strategy. "It would be nice to have some company, you know. I don't have any friends at practice, they're all those huge, sporty types who only do it to impress their dads."

Bobby winced internally at his clumsy mention of fathers, but little did he know, it might just have been what cut it. Suddenly, that spark was there again in Bill's eye, warm and fiery in the cold space of their dining hall, and he sat a little straighter on the hard wooden bench.

It took some long seconds, which Bobby waited out patiently, pouring water into both their glasses and feigning interest at the contents of his plate.

Then finally, Bill opened his mouth again:

"When is practice already?"

Bill had too much energy in him, was their teacher's verdict. Not that it was exactly a problem, the issue was that he had nowhere to direct to. Or hadn't had one, before today.

Bobby watched from the sidelines, breath held when Bill's lithe body hopped onto their makeshift ring, already bouncing on his toes. Nobody had wanted to pair with the new kid except for Bobby, and the teacher had dismissed him to show Bill the ropes himself.

Bill was too eager. In a hurry to fight. Bobby held his tongue while he saw his friend become frustrated and angry, when he didn't get it right the first time and had to try again. When every attempt of Mr Connors to show him the stance and how to properly cover his face was met with a barely hidden huff from the boy.

Only when he was sent to punch at the bag to get most of his energy out, did Bill truly seem to find himself. After nearly twenty minutes, he had to be bodily interrupted, lest he punch his fists raw.

They were sitting on Bobby's bed now, Bobby fussing over Bill's red knuckles.

"I'll be fine," Bill was sighing, for the fifth time perhaps, while Bobby was still trying to convince him to go to the infirmary, despite knowing, deep down, that there was not much Miss Elliot could have done about it.

"You'll be in a hell of a lot of pain tomorrow, you idiot," Bobby mumbled, finally letting go of Bill's wrists.

"Look, I can always go and plunge my hands into the snow tomorrow if it hurts too much," Bill smiled, and nodded towards the window.

They hadn't closed the curtains yet and Bobby looked, gawping when he found tiny little flecks of white floating down past the window. He shot off the bed and went to press his nose against the glass, Bill following soon after.

They stood in silence for a minute, watching in wonder as the ground of the inner courtyard gradually turned to an immaculate white. Bobby would have opened the window, if he didn't already know the biting cold that would seep into the bedroom if he did.

It was already frosty enough inside, their beds warmed by hot water bottles at night when the headmaster relented – which was usually after delicate webs of ice formed on the windows of the rooms.

"Is it very cold to the touch?" Bill asked, a whisper as soft as the gentle patter of snowfall.

Bobby cocked his head and studied his friend's face. There was never much childlike excitement on his features, and most of the time his face was schooled into something neutral, at most the same intense focus that he got every time he was learning something interesting.

Now, however, despite the stillness of his mouth, Bobby spotted the way Bill's eyes were open more widely than usual, his long lashes fluttering at the view.

"You've never seen it before, have you?" he asked, and was met by the other boy shaking his head.

"Oh," Bobby muttered to himself.

He knew tomorrow would bring the usual chaos of an all boys' school whenever something a little exciting came to disturb their painfully regular routine. Snowball fights, most likely filled with gravel, or slipped down the neckline of their uniforms. It wasn't what he wanted for Bill's first snow day.

In the back of his mind, a plan began to form. He wasn't sure how much trouble his friend would get in for playing hooky; Bobby himself knew that despite living overseas, his father's money granted him a form of immunity that was reinforced by his usually impeccable behavior.

But one wrong turn could still get them expelled. His breath fogging the window, he began to think.

As soon as they stepped outside the large doors, Bobby knew he'd made the right choice. Bill's face as he stomped harder onto the sidewalk, only to hear the snow crunching under his feet, was akin to that of a kitten making a new discovery.

Bobby's mother strove to visit him for the biggest holidays, traveling the previous day with his baby sister and waiting for him to rush over before nightfall and spend some time at the hotel together, celebrating how they could. It had been a long time since his father had bothered getting on a plane from England to show his face, but that was another story.

During those short and far spaced visits, they would often end their time together with a walk in the nearest patch of nature. Today, Bobby was doing his best to remember the way to the little field and lake where they'd fed some ducks, and he had taught Hannah to play skipping stones.

In the end, Bobby had come up with the excuse to need to buy new equipment for Bill and him – boxing was a good enough reason and their gym teacher wouldn't be there for two more days to invalidate it. By then, Bobby dearly hoped that the headmaster would have forgotten all about it.

It was cold enough that the only people outside were the ones who absolutely needed to be. And two boys, on their way to the top of the hill, toes slowly freezing but not caring one bit. The slippery sheen of ice layering the grass almost sent them tumbling down a couple of times, Bobby grabbing Bill's elbow on instinct even though that would have sent them both rolling downhill.

The landscape was as barren as the whole area felt at the best of times. These were strange times, when all the adults around them turned to the future with grimness and very little hope. Strange times to grow up in.

The trees around them looked as dead as the ground felt beneath their feet. Under the snow, which was why they'd come here in the first place. Bobby crouched and laid his palms on the white, cushiony layer, feeling the shock of temperature shoot up to his wrist.

"You wanted to know if it's really cold?" he asked, smirking up at Bill who was studying him with a curious frown, ears and cheeks frozen pink and the tip of his nose getting there, too.

Bobby didn't wait for an answer and dug his fingers into the snow, gathering enough to make a small ball that he compacted between his palms, then handed to Bill.

The other boy stepped closer and crouched too, accepting Bobby's offering with a small gasp: "It's freezing."

"Well, it's literally frozen water," Bobby teased, but didn't get an answer from Bill who was rolling the snowball from one hand to another, apparently unbothered that his fingers were slowly turning red.

Bobby set about making another, and began rolling it around his feet to make it grow.

"Ever made a snowman?" he asked Bill.

When his friend's eyes widened even more, his lashes covered in condensation droplets, Bobby's smile grew to a giddy grin. He showed Bill how to roll his snow until it was the size of a soccer ball, and they argued which one to keep making bigger for the body.

By the time they had a snowball as high at their hips, Bobby couldn't feel his fingers anymore. He was keeping a countdown in the back of his mind, of the time they could still spend out there before it turned dangerous for their extremities. Right now, Bill's carmine nose and cheeks, his marveling gaze at the ever falling snowflakes, was too enjoyable to consider heading back.

They went looking for sticks for the arms, and found acorns that they used to give their snowman eyes and a nose. It wasn't quite as tall as Bill when they finished, but it was a near thing.

Both boys stood admiring their handiwork from a few feet away, Bobby sniffling to fight against his runny nose. It took a good minute for him to notice the weird clacking sound, and to realize it wasn't coming from the nature around them.

Bill's teeth were chattering, and when Bobby stepped in front of him and caught him by the shoulders to examine him, his lips were a worrying shade of violet, slowly turning to blue.

"Shit, why didn't you say you were that cold?"

Bill shrugged, although Bobby wasn't sure the movement was intentional.

"I didn't notice."

Bobby frowned, opened his mouth to ask a question but decided in the end that now wasn't the time to inquire about this. The legs of their trousers were soaked from kneeling in the snow, and he was only now grasping how foolish this whole thing might have been.

"We need to get you warm, and quickly," he muttered, more to himself than to Bill who didn't seem quite distressed enough about the situation.

He took his friend by the arm and led him down the hill again, following the faint traces of their earlier footsteps, already dimmed by a fresh layer of snow. The last houses they'd passed were in the street at the foot of the hill, and Bobby desperately hoped someone there would be home, who would take pity on two stupid boys who'd thought their ability to have fun would overcome the harsh weather, somehow.

The first house there was a brick one fronted by a wooden porch, and Bobby nearly ran up the steps to knock on the door, holding his breath. Behind him, Bill was now shaking with every muscle, and looking paler than any white person should ever be. Panic was now steadily rising inside Bobby, and shame at his own stupidity. If anything happened to Bill, he wouldn't ever forgive himself.

Thankfully, the sound of shuffling footsteps came from inside, and the door opened soon after, revealing a middle-aged lady with a head full of red curls, slightly hunched over.

"Hello, Ma'am, so sorry to bother you, you see me and my friend got stuck outside and he's too cold now, we um…"

He couldn't think exactly how to ask for help, but the lady took one look over Bobby's shoulder, noticed Bill's state and let out a whistle.

"Oh, Lord. Come inside, quick."

They were ushered into a small living room that was furnished with only a small table, a single armchair and, thank god, a cast-iron stove. It wasn't extremely warm inside, but already Bobby felt some blood returning to his fingertips as the lady pushed them nearer to the stove.

"Go on, get close to the heat, darlings, I'll go and get you something warm to drink. Completely unconscious boys, being outside in such a cold, wearing next to nothing."

She disappeared off to what Bobby assumed was the kitchen, shaking her head and mumbling some more. Bill was still silent except for the constant clacking of teeth, so Bobby grabbed his shoulders and pushed him until he was standing only a couple of inches from the door of the stove where a fire was roaring.

Only when the feeling started returning to his toes as well as a pounding pain, did Bobby notice how completely wet his socks were, and surely that couldn't be good. He promptly toed his shoes off and peeled his socks away, finding his feet a ghastly shade of lavender. Bill was still not reacting, hugging his own chest and shaking, so Bobby crouched in front of him and urged him to lift one leg, then the other to get his feet naked and, hopefully, dry soon.

The lady returned to find them wiggling their bare toes at the stove. She was holding a tray and two steaming cups of milk.

"I didn't have much in my cupboards, but hopefully this will bring some heat back in you boys," she said, holding the tray out to them.

"Thank you so much, Ma'am."

"Are you from St Clarence?" the lady asked, cocking her head and frowning as she took in their shirts and ties.

Bobby lowered his head in shame.

"Um, yes Ma'am."

She huffed out a short laugh. "Got stuck outside, my bottom. I hope you get grounded for your troubles."

Bobby's guilt was too large for him to add much more. At least, by his side, Bill was slowly sipping his milk, and color gradually returned to his face and fingers. Their host bent down to pick up their sodden shoes and put them over the stove to dry.

"What the heck were you doing out there anyway?" the lady asked once their glasses were empty.

And that's when Bill chose to speak again.

"He was teaching me how to make a snowman!" he nearly shouted, pure excitement painted all over his face.

Bobby had yet to understand his friend's behavior, sometimes – how he would switch from nearly mute moods to vibrating with energy within seconds. It still endeared him to no end.

The lady tutted disapprovingly.

"Well next time, maybe do that in your school's courtyard!"

"Yes Ma'am," Bobby replied, discretely nudging Bill with his toes.

The contact sent a jolt of heat zapping through his foot, warming him up faster than the fire had so far.

It was a good hour before their host, Mrs Johnson, as she introduced herself, allowed them outside again with a stern instruction to make it back to school without any detours.

They sneaked back in just as the sun was beginning to set, and made a run for their room. They collapsed against the closed door, laughing and panting.

"We almost died," Bill giggled, making Bobby's head snap to his right too fast.

"Don't joke about that. We didn't. I wouldn't have let you," he spluttered, shocked to his core by his friend's suggestion.

Bill pushed himself off the door and went to his side of the room, taking off his cold and still damp clothes to change into warmer ones.

"Well, thanks for teaching me about snow," he said with his back turned to Bobby, who promptly looked away and decided he too ought to get into dry pants.

"I don't think I was a very good teacher," he mumbled into the little wardrobe that held their uniforms and change of pajamas.

There were a few seconds of quiet, only populated by the quiet rustle of fabric being dropped on the floor, then a whisper:

"Nobody's ever shown me stuff like that before."

A new form of cold squeezed around Bobby's heart. A knowledge that this was too much to deal with for barely teenage boys, that his shoulders probably couldn't hold the weight of what Bill was implying. Still, he turned around as soon as he'd slipped a woolen sweater on, and forced a smile.

"Well, get used to it. I'm gonna show you so much stuff you'll be tired of me soon enough."

Bill flopped on his back onto his bed, grinning excitedly at the ceiling.

"I doubt it. Today was amazing."

Bobby took a few tentative steps and when Bill didn't react or shove him away, sat on the edge of his friend's mattress. Bill still wasn't looking at him, which made it slightly easier for Bobby's eyes to drift along the lines of his friend's face, detail the curve of his nose and delight that his cheeks were now back to a lively shade of light pink.

"Yeah, it was."