The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (open ebook .txt) 📕

“Okay, well, take care then,” she says flatly, attempting a forced smile.

And then she turns away.

I walk for a few seconds along the towpath and then I stop and turn around. Sadly, I watch her back, bending and stretching as she works, and wonder how on earth I could have got it so wrong. And then I realise that I didn’t even get around to saying the most important thing of all, the thing I’ve always wanted to tell her, that I really want her to hear.

I never even managed to say I’m sorry.

Chapter 6

Sorry

I remember turning the corner and Addison saying in his smug, plummy voice: “Well, hello there, Hutton.” My heart sank. Did we really need to give this kid such grief every time we saw him? “And what are you doing loitering out here? Not skiving lessons again I hope.”

Hutton didn’t say anything, just sighed as if he was resigned to what was coming his way. His face – delicate and pale with dark, wary eyes – always wore the same tired expression. His narrow shoulders slumped and he put his head down, hoping to carry on past us through the alleyway that led from the old stone school buildings to the perfectly maintained sports pitches. He already knew he wasn’t going anywhere though.

“Er, Hutton?” said Addison, putting out a hand to stop him. “You were just asked a question.” He looked to us. “It’s not very polite of him not to answer, is it, boys?”

Watts and Smith shook their heads and sniggered. I shrugged non-committally and gave a half-hearted smile. What else was I meant to do? I felt bad for the boy, but over the last few weeks I’d managed to convince myself that he just needed to stick up for himself. This was all part of the private-school culture, wasn’t it? The way boys imposed hierarchy. Besides, whatever had been going on between them had started well before I joined the school.

“Are you going to give us a song, Hutton?” smirked Smith.

“Aaaveee Mariii-aa,” sang Watts, shrilly.

“Ah yes, our little choir boy,” sneered Addison. “You better watch out, Hutton, I think the Reverend Peterson has got his eye on more than that sweet, angelic voice of yours. A pretty boy like you…”

The others snorted with laughter.

“Come on, Madame Nedelec’s going to skin us,” I said, hitching my bag up on my shoulder, hoping we could just get going. But I knew that wasn’t likely. Hutton was just going to have to dig deep and find some balls.

It hadn’t been easy for me either, being accepted at this school. I’d been an outcast when I arrived at St John’s two months ago. No one had talked to me for weeks. For the first time ever I was alone and friendless, floundering in agonising isolation without Tom and Max by my side. They’d always been there, ever since I was five years old, my little gang. I’d felt lost without them, and I’d never been more miserable in my life.

I knew my parents wanted the best for me, but in the early weeks I’d felt angry at them for transferring me to St John’s. I wished I’d never started messing about at Allenbrook, wished I hadn’t drawn everyone’s attention to the fact that even in the top set I was bored out of my mind. I’d bought into my parents’ vision of a better future for myself, but now I felt conned. I didn’t fit in here. I was nothing like the other boys. I wasn’t rich. I didn’t even live in one of the nicer parts of Timpton, let alone one of the expensive surrounding villages a lot of the other kids came from. I couldn’t guess how my parents were finding the money for me to come here. I hadn’t come up through the prep school and didn’t have a clue about house colours and speech days. I was an outsider, and it showed.

It was only when I got out on the running track that anyone looked up and took notice of me. Sporting ability was currency at St John’s and thank God I had something to offer. I threw myself gratefully into the first group of boys who extended the hand of friendship. Smith, Addison and Watts were all sporty, clever and sharp. I didn’t feel totally comfortable with them yet, but what could I expect? I wasn’t going to find another Tom and Max. The kids were just different here, and as my mum kept pointing out to me, I had to make an effort to fit in with them, not expect it to work the other way around.

So what if my new friends could be a little patronising and arrogant? As my dad was always saying, we’re all just products of our upbringing. I could turn a blind eye to anything so long as I wasn’t an outsider anymore. Even this thing with Hutton. Maybe all the taunting and the teasing didn’t sit comfortably with me, but I reasoned that was the private-school way, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what toughened them up, made them leaders? I’d had to fight to fit in, why shouldn’t he? Besides, these rich kids had so many privileges, with their big houses, fancy holidays, prefect-looking families… A little hardship wasn’t going to dent Hutton’s golden-plated life.

These are the things I told myself when we hid Hutton’s PE kit and earned him a detention for not having the right equipment; when we stole his blazer after cross-country, leaving him shivering all afternoon in his thin school shirt; when we pulled his bag from his shoulder on the walk home and threw it between the four of us before chucking it over a garden wall. And when I say “we”, I don’t mean I ever instigated it, or that I ever really wanted to do it, but I was there and part of it, the silent accomplice. I didn’t join in when they