5.        The Morning After

Dad was reading the Times and eating his breakfast when I got down to the kitchen in the morning.  I was not usually a morning person.  I tended to read late into the night after

doing my homework so this morning I must have looked bright and also cheerful.

     "Food's all around," said Dad, waving the paper at the Welsh dresser where there was

an array of cereal boxes.  "Your Mum's gone next‑door for some unknown reason and left

me in charge.  Boil yourself an egg if you want and pop a bit more bread in the toaster for

me."

     That exchange over he looked up at me and pushed his glasses down his nose.

     "You'll be OK today as far as your playing is concerned.  Jeremy said your

musicianship is pretty high in his estimation." Jeremy was one of the organ tutors at the

Royal College where I'd been going on Saturday mornings.  He smiled.  "Just be yourself.

It's the best way.  You've got judgement."

     Odd thing to say.  I thought back suddenly to last night.  Yes, I had judgement.  I had

made the right decision.

     "Your playing last week in church showed that," Dad continued, "And you've shown

it, too, in choosing Tris."  He smiled.  "You and he make a fine pair and long may you be

together."  He laughed.  "And so ends the sermon for today.  Breakfast!!"

     I busied myself and was soon munching hot buttered toast dipped into a good lightly

boiled egg and then more toast with lashings of marmalade.  I then realised Frankie had

mentioned an envelope and books.  Yes, there they were, half‑hidden by a packet of Golden

Grahams.  I looked at the books first.  Goody, goody.  Uncle Nick and I were both avid

detective novel readers.  In fact, he'd introduced me to the joys of armchair sleuthing at the

age of nine when he'd given me a pile of Father Brown stories interspersed with Agatha

Christie and Dorothy L Sayers classics.  I was hooked from the word go and poor Tris was

often told in the early days to listen while I expounded on the clues I thought I'd spotted

before coming frequently to the wrong conclusion.  But, I had improved and often now cried

'Eureka' correctly having unravelled an Ellery Queen or Ngaio Marsh mystery.  But Uncle

Nick was now into two Roman investigators, Didius Falco and Gordianus the finder.  He had

given Frankie one of each of Lindsey Davis's and Stephen Saylor's latest offerings to carry

home for me.  Dad laughed as I held them up.

     "They'll be added to the Foster Library of Forensic and Investigatory Science, eh?"

      I was as pleased as Punch and laughed, too.  I had several shelves in my room with a

comprehensive collection of paperbacks and hardbacks collected over the years, many from

family or friends who'd stayed, or from colleagues of Dad's who read during lengthy rests in

the large‑scale operas or when not needed between the overture and the symphony finishing a

concert.  Mainly, however, I found my treasures in the charity shops, or outside a couple of

bookshops in the High Street, where the unwanted debris of people's collections were

displayed.  In my expeditions I'd found a first edition of a Wilkie Collins and several

Sherlock Holmes volumes with aristocratic bookplates in them and was always on the

lookout for more.  The others often laughed at my little obsession and asked me frequently if

I was going to be a detective when I grew up.  As Tris had said that with the exact words just

a few weeks ago I showed him I was grown up quite sufficiently to upend him and

investigate where my new boxers had gone.  Yes.  Mystery solved.  The sly beast had

snitched them off my dressing table and was proudly wearing them.  Punishment was to

lower them and subject him to the torture of being licked and sucked very slowly until he

was crying out for relief.  I was the proud  investigator, judge, jury and executioner all in

one!

     "And what's in the envelope?" he asked.

     I slit it open with an unused butter knife.  The letter inside was short and sweet.

      ''To one of my favourite 'nephews' a little present to ease his purse.

     Use wisely to feed self, my precious son and those most  cherished Thugs who curse.

     The Arundel so famed has been forewarned

     That dinners four should be pre‑warmed

     For hungry youths upon each night

     Though cellar doors should be shut tight.

     In final cadences I will say

     I hope your stay

     In Cambridge bright

     Will bear the fruit which is your right.

     Tell not my wife I do these couplets pen

     As no doubt her ire will rise

     And this short note would then

     Be snatched and burned before thy eyes.

          Uncle Nicholas McGonagall Price‑Williams   Poet."

     An enclosed card was attached with his authorisation for all accounts to be sent to

him!  Wow!

     I passed the letter to Dad who laughed as he read it through.  It was a standing joke.

Auntie  Di had published quite a few poems in very respected and widely read magazines and

collections and was a member of an avant‑garde poetry group.  Uncle Nick delighted in

pulling her leg and often recited an 'odd ode', as he called them, just before his wife's poetry

circle came for one of their meetings.  'Stupid boy' was her usual good‑natured response.

     This was not one of his better efforts but pin‑pointed one aspect of Ivo and Adam

which was very evident.  They often forgot the company they were in and I think Tris tried to

emulate them in the choiceness of their adjectives and expletives.  They had even taught

Aldo a few words he'd never heard before and Mum had told them to watch out in front of

Francis.

     Frankie's ears flapped in all directions when the Thugs were around and there was

little he missed.  'Radar‑lugs' was one of the epithets accorded him by Ivo who averred he

could probably hear a foreskin being withdrawn under forty fathoms of water.  Frankie

overheard that and had to be shut up as he was about to repeat it in front of an Italian great‑

aunt who was visiting just for the day at the villa.  The fifteen‑year‑old grandson she had with

her had the floppiest foreskin we'd ever seen as Ivo, Adam, Tris and I surrounded him in the

bedroom when we changed for swimming.  With his enthusiastic consent, withdrawing that

rapidly, caused a slapping sound and much merriment as Ivo suggested we might try out his

conjecture in the six foot deep end of the pool.  The lad thought he was being serious and

was rather agitated in case his grandmother would witness him wanking under water.  Ivo

was not at all disconcerted when he learned that he was a testa de cazzo, a dickhead, for

leading young Ernesto up the garden path, as he said it sounded so mellifluous.  We certainly

learned that afternoon that Italian lads were just as fervent masturbators as all English boys.

Once before and once after the swim!

     Dad chuckled and then passed over four twenty pound notes as 'beer money'.  I said I

would see that the cellar door was opened so that we could have wine with our meal.  Make

sure you and Tris get your fair share was his laconic comment.  The Thugs were also well‑

known for their liking for alcoholic refreshments and had been severely reprimanded at least

once at school for over‑indulgence after an away Rugby match.

       After that we were just discussing the relative merits of the investigators in the two

series of  Roman tales when Francis appeared ready for his breakfast.  I wondered what sort

of mood he would be in but he was all smiles and wanted to know what Uncle Nick had

given me.  He wrinkled his nose at the poem and said he hoped he would get some spending

money.  "When you go to college," was Dad's reply.  The nose was wrinkled again.

     "Not fair," he began, "But anything for you, brother dear."  He had turned to me.

     Was he being sarky?  No, he smiled and winked.  I think something had happened last

night.

     Dad said he had an interesting rehearsal that afternoon.  He was an enthusiast for

baroque music and loved playing old music in a small ensemble which was often on Radio 3.

Old violins and cellos with gut strings, wooden flutes and ancient oboes.  Mellow and very

pleasing to the ear.  He warned Frankie he didn't want any noise in the garden during the

morning as he was playing over the pieces in 'The Shed'.  This was a sound‑proof studio at

the end of the garden and was where I practised on the upright piano when there were people

in the house.  As it had a small lav at the back I often had a much needed, relaxing wank in

there when a knotty passage wouldn't run easily under my fingers.  A favourite place!

     Frankie said he wouldn't mind  listening as long as Dad didn't keep playing the same

bit time and time again and then he'd go round to Jack's as they were skateboarding  against

some mob from another gang.  Gang!  No, all very friendly we were informed.  All this while

munching through the stack of toast I was preparing for him.

     "Thanks," he said as he buttered the last piece liberally and I was reading about the

so‑called Millennium Dome in a bit of the Times.  "Nice to know there are still servants

around."

     Little bro was going to get his arse tanned, but I kept my cool and he'd averted his

eyes anyway.

     "You are not to practice today," Dad said....

     "...Twos against threes...." whispered the Toad through a mouth full of toast and

Auntie Di's homemade marmalade.

     I shot him a look but he was airily studying the back of the cornflakes packet.

     ..."Relax and think of England," Dad said with a grin.

     I did relax.  But when Frankie tried to scamper past me as we left the kitchen I

grabbed his arm.

     "I heard the comment," I said, putting my other hand in my trouser pocket and letting

him go.  "Little brothers don't deserve kindnesses."  I drew out a five‑pound note.  "You'll

need something to help entertain Laurent...."  I didn't finish as he put his arms around my

waist.

     "Thanks for last night," he whispered, "You did right.  I couldn't upset you or Tris."

He looked at the money I was still holding.  "Please do well tomorrow.  I'll think of you."

He took the note as I held it out.  "I'll think of you even more when I'm spending this!"

     He scooted off up the stairs but not before I landed a brotherly slap on his nicely

shaped butt.