Chapter 8

St. Clarence's school for boys, 1934

Bobby was sixteen when he understood what heartbreak felt like for the first time.

"Her name's Laila," Bill had said.

The truth was Bobby hadn't expected for it to hurt that badly, to hear a girl's name in Bill's mouth. Or to see the sheepish excitement painted on his face as he explained how he'd met her. Bobby didn't really listen to that part. His heart was thumping too loud in his ears, just as it did on the boxing ring when things got more intense.

And just like then, his fists clenched and he couldn't shake the feeling of being under attack. Only he didn't know exactly what he could hit, while still not making a fool of himself.

There was to be a fair, soon. Both boarding schools would get together – hosted by the boys' – for games and dances, chaperoned by teachers. Bobby didn't understand what was the point of keeping them apart all year only to throw them together for one evening and what? Hope they might get acquainted enough to make promises, get engaged at sixteen and bring babies into the world as soon as they were out of school?

They couldn't count on him for that. But Bill had thought he might invite Laila.

It was good. It was miles better than the angry, sad kid Bobby had met on that first day. Bruised and convinced he wasn't worth anything. His friend was out there asking girls out, hoping that maybe they'd think something of him.

So Bobby kept his silence and did his best to smile. He hated having to act around Bill, but he'd rather tear his own heart out than ruin the faint show of happiness he was finally getting to witness.

Bobby hadn't asked anyone anything. He didn't plan on dancing much, when the time came.

It came.

And with it, both of them standing in his bedroom, adolescent fuzz freshly shaven and getting ready, in their best black and white suits. They'd shined their shoes together and laughed when Bill somehow managed to get black marks on his chin.

Then, Bill had buttoned up his shirt and picked out a tie – a rich navy blue with paler stripes that matched his eyes – and set about making himself ready.

Bobby swallowed around the painful lump that had settled in his throat. When had it started, this thing? How long ago had he first looked at Bill, his friend, and felt that sharp pull right under his ribs? Got his breath stolen away by a smile?

He kept staring on dumbly for long seconds while Bill struggled in front of the mirror, undoing his tie time and time again. Never daring, or thinking he could ask Bobby for help, until Bobby himself snapped upright and shook his head free of the intrusive thoughts about his friend. He stepped closer to Bill and waved at his tie.

"Come on, let me help."

Bill turned and looked up at him, from the inch he still had to catch up on growing. Bobby made himself avert his eyes and focus on his hands as he adjusted the silk around Bill's neck.

"You want to start with one end lower than the rest," he explained through a tight throat as he demonstrated.

His hands were closer to Bill's chest than he would have liked, with that feeling in his belly. He kept his head down as he went through the motions, focusing to avoid messing up the mirrored gesture. Bill's eyes were trained on his fingers, and he felt soft puffs of air on them every time he exhaled.

He lost track of the sound of his own voice, and when he finally pulled the knot tighter around Bill's throat, he felt as if it was himself he was strangling.

"There you go," he croaked.

Bill finally stepped away from him to look at himself in the mirror.

"Wow. I don't know that I'd manage it this well myself."

Bobby shrugged. "Not on your first try, no, but you will with time."

He watched as Bill cocked his head and ran a hand through his hair, styling the waves over his forehead. Bobby could almost hear the silent question his friend was asking himself.

Do you think she'll like me? That she'll find me attractive and may want to kiss me by the end of the night?

That wouldn't pass, obviously. No adult would let the children out of their sight long enough for that to happen. But the fact that Bill might want it shattered something inside Bobby, that day.

And in a way, he knew what that meant. He'd known for a while that he would never have these kinds of wild hopes about girls. He'd never arrange his curls in order to get a glance from them, would never take one by the hand in the hope for a kiss.

He might pretend, though. He'd caught on pretty early that it would be the safe thing to do.

Pretending was turning out harder than he thought, however, with Bill turning around to smile at him, cheeks rosy with excitement.

"She'll find you dashing," Bobby said, because it was expected, and because it was better than admitting to thinking the same thing himself.

Bill lowered his head, smile turning coy. He ran nervous palms over his shirt and reached for a blazer, covering up the suspenders.

"I hope so."

"Come on, let's walk together," Bobby said, and offered his arm.

They crossed the courtyard holding onto each other. With all the boys pushing each other around, laughing and grabbing one another by the shoulder, their own display of affection was fairly inconspicuous.

It was cold outside, and they stepped briskly forward until they were standing at the open door of the dining hall. All the tables had been removed save for a few pushed against the walls. Teachers were already hovering in every corner of the space, stern gazes fixed on every child who dared to smile a little too wide.

Bobby let go of Bill's arm and stuck his hands in his pockets. In the back of the room, he spotted the group of girls, surrounded by their own teachers and chaperones.

Laila must be somewhere in there, waiting for Bill. He should move away, give his friend the space to go be himself without him.

They got intercepted by the headmaster, who inquired about their respective progress in the school year, and a little bit about boxing practice. Bobby didn't dare mention that he'd given it up for lack of time, not when Bill was doing so great at it and most likely so because the younger boy still looked up to Bobby"s example. He could carry on pretending to be practicing at times when Bill wasn't there to see.

It took a while for the evening to properly start, and turn into the awkward gathering of teenagers it was always going to be. It couldn't have been like a small town fair when it felt like their every move was under scrutiny of some menacing adult.

Bill hovered by Bobby's side, hand clenched tight together, and Bobby once again had to be the bigger man with himself. He laid a gentle palm over his friend's shoulder, making him startle and shushing him out of sheer habit.

"Can you see her?" he asked close to Bill's ear.

The girls appeared equally as nervous if not, for some of them, entirely unhappy to be here. And they couldn't be blamed: the hall was as unwelcoming as it could be and far too many boys were leering at them or at least snickering at idiotic jokes.

Bill held still under Bobby's touch until he felt him tense, and nod towards a short, lithe blonde. Her hair was pulled back into a neat braid, sharp brows highlighting eyes that could match Bill's. They'd have beautiful children, Bobby mused with a bitter taste in his mouth.

He was about to push Bill towards her across the room when the world slowed to make them witness a betrayal.

From a different corner of the room, another, older boy trotted, winning smile plastered across his face until he could stand in front of Laila, garnering a shy smile in the process. When he took her hand, though, she looked all but reluctant.

Time slammed back into them so Bobby felt Bill's heart shatter under his fingertips.

His friend was shocked still, eyes following the scene unfolding across the hall.

There went their chances for a fun evening. But as he guided Bill to face away, murmuring reassurances, Bobby couldn't help the satisfaction that at least they would spend it together.

"No no, keep your shoes on," Bobby instructed, laughing at Bill's confused frown.

He went to crouch in front of his bed, and pulled at the shoe box he kept hidden underneath, pulling a few dust bunnies with it when it slid into view. He removed the lid and placed it on the bed, feeling Bill step closer behind him, peering over his shoulder.

The radio had been a gift from his father. Something to listen to the news and maybe, a few channels from England as well. Remember where your family comes from.

Bobby couldn't give a damn about England where his dad had never bothered taking him before he decided to fuck off back to it on his own. But he still grinned as he unrolled the cord and went to plug it in under Bill's gob-smacked stare. He looked for a good station, and when he found one playing a nice and relaxing smooth jazz, got to his feet and extended his arm.

"A dance, my good Sir?"

He didn't miss Bill's little glance backwards towards the door, checking it was closed. But soon enough, there was a warm hand in his, and Bobby's heart skipped a beat.

He pulled Bill closer and slowly brought a palm to rest over his waist, giving him time to move back just in case. Instead, Bill looped his arms around Bobby's neck and smiled as they began to swing to the rhythm.

It could barely have been called a dance, really. More a lot of uncoordinated swaying about, grinning at each other and forgetting all about waltz and other nonsense. Who needed practiced steps when you could have the warmth of your friend's waist under your fingers, or bump into his shoes with yours?

He would never have more. So that night, Bobby stole all of Bill's laughs and smiles to put them back in the shoe box later, and hoped that they would keep safely in there, secretly stored under his bed for him to think about at night.