showed off perpetually. Jonathan, on the other hand, was silent for long periods, and was the only child at Freddie’s who had no audition piece. He could no more be tempted into a display than a hibernating animal. Then, when he emerged, apparently knowing his own times and seasons, he would become something quite other, doing a speech or two, or dividing himself in order to turn into (for example) two elderly men he had seen through an office window, one short, one tall, getting ready to go home, and helping each other on with their coats. They dusted each other off, the short one stretched, the tall one discreetly bent down. All this was not so hard to imitate, but Jonathan suggested also their tenderness for each other’s infirmities and a certain anxiety, about which he could have known nothing. After a bit the scene disappeared as he subsided, sticking his chewing gum back into his circular cheek.
As an actor, he needed an audience, but did not mind who it was or what they said. This drove Mattie into a fury of activity. Indifference is an unfair defence, and amiable indifference – because the little boy liked him and was always glad to see him – is the most unfair of all. He could not be satisfied until Jonathan had got into some sort of trouble. Then would be the moment to rush luxuriously to his assistance. But there were so few opportunities, one must be continually on the watch. Prompting, for instance, was never needed. If Jonathan didn’t know his lines (and he was not a quick study) he smiled, and read them from the book. If he had no dinner money, the girls gave him Fruity Snacks. Once or twice, however, he complained of a stomach ache, although in a detached way, as though the pain was the responsibility of someone else. Then Mattie was in his glory. Lay him down near the radiator, Miss, and keep him warm, I know just what he has to have, I’ll go down to Miss Blewett for the Bisodol, you want to be careful, he might get a lot worse quite suddenly, we had to get a stomach pump to one of the cast on Saturday. – He was thanked of course, but it was never enough. He could not master the half-sleepy mysterious gum-chewing little rat of a Jonathan, or exact the word of approval he wanted. Later he rolled him over on the washroom floor and banged his round head on the concrete as though cracking a nut. ‘Has that cured your bellyache?’ – Jonathan considered, and said he would tell him later. Mattie was outraged. And yet his dissatisfaction showed that he was not quite lost. It was the tribute of a human being to the changeling, or talent to genius.
All this was indoors. In the street, it became nothing. Mattie, at twelve, could not associate there with a nine-year-old. The illusion, which was the most genuine thing in his life, vanished. His glittering bike carried him away, while Jonathan was left kicking a can along the gutter.
Freddie was also obliged to court Jonathan, whose round gaze met hers with unblinking politeness, but no more than that. When distinguished visitors arrived at the school (and this happened quite often, opening up yet further the mystery of Freddie’s past, for all these people came because they had once known her well, and therefore couldn’t say no to her now) the children were usually called upon for a display. Jonathan was never anxious to be produced. He brought neither his joys nor his sorrows to Freddie. More woundingly still, he took them to the Bluebell. Only she could soothe his anxiety over the matter of growing tall and starting work. They would sit together and play a gambling game with liquorice allsorts. Miss Blewett handled the lurid sweeties with a certain air, having worked, she said, in younger days at a casino at Knocke-le-Zoute. When the game had got quietly under way, she would make kindly suggestions. Perhaps Jonathan might be auditioned for this year’s Peter Pan. Christmas threatened, the Peter Pan season would start soon. Mattie and Gianni had both got started as Lost Boys.
Peter Pan himself, of course, was obliged never to grow up, so that he could always have fun. The problem at a stage school is not to grow up, in order to earn money. Jonathan was well aware of the threatening years ahead. Between the ages of twelve and sixteen it is very hard to find work in the profession.
‘But you ought to talk to Miss Wentworth more,’ Miss Blewett told him. ‘After all, we expect great things of you, and it’s great things that she’s always stood out for. You ought to be with her now, really.’
‘You wouldn’t like it if he was,’ said Mattie, hovering.
One late afternoon, however, when Freddie was approaching the rehearsal room, Jonathan stood in front of her, faintly troubled, and said: ‘I don’t think you ought to go in there, Miss Wentworth.’
‘For what reason?’
He only repeated, ‘I would rather you didn’t go in there. On the whole, I think you’d better not go in there.’
‘Did you ever know me to change my mind, Jonathan?’
He tugged at her shapeless sleeve.
The door opened and seemed to cast forth Mattie, feverishly excited, surrounded by admirers. He was in drag. The grey wig and spectacles and drooping cardigan were a hateful miniature of Freddie; she was faced by her shrunken self.
‘Shakespeare would have been pleased, dear,’ shouted Mattie, wound up to his highest pitch.
The light gleamed on large brooches and semi-precious stones, pinned to his padded breasts. He saw her look at them and his coarse confidence ebbed.
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