Matty Doolin by Catherine Cookson Page A

you.’
    The expression on Matty’s face told her what he thought about black marks, and it aroused his father to shout, ‘Now look here, me lad. Saturday’s over and done with, and the quicker you forget it the better it’ll be for you, because you’re not going to upset the house and all in it on account of a dog.’
    But Mr Doolin found he couldn’t keep upbraiding someone who didn’t answer.
    On Tuesday, Matty went to school and at nine-thirty, accompanied by Mr Borley, he stood before the headmaster, who first of all went into the incident of Friday night; then he said he understood that Matty had played truant yesterday and openly admitted it this morning. What had he to say about all this?
    Matty’s answer was, ‘Nothing, sir.’
    The headmaster then dismissed Mr Borley from the study, much to that gentleman’s annoyance, and endeavoured to get beneath the façade of the big, reticent boy. But after twenty minutes of his precious time, the headmaster realised, as he had done so many times before, that the breaking down of walls with which boys at times surrounded themselves demanded more than minutes of time to accomplish. He also realised, as he had done before, that men like Mr Borley were an obstacle to progress when dealing with the Matty Doolins of this world.
    When the headmaster dismissed Matty it was with a strong reprimand, and without caning.
    It was during the last week at school that Matty experienced another form of hurt. This was caused by the blatant desertion of Joe and Willie. This desertion was so obvious that it brought jibes from Bill Cooper, such as: ‘So darling Joe has walked out on you.’ And, ‘Willie Styles doesn’t want to go about with a bigger nitwit than himself.’
    It further troubled Matty at this stage that he didn’t want to pounce on Bill Cooper, and he was surprised when he said to himself, ‘Let him talk. He keeps acting like a bairn.’ Following this thought Matty had felt a kind of superior feeling, as if he were years older than Bill Cooper. But whereas he could dismiss what Bill Cooper said, he could not dismiss the feeling created by the desertion of his pals. They were both, he knew, excited about going into the docks and the Technical School. Yet, he reasoned, this shouldn’t make them avoid him; they had never done such a thing before. Joe, in particular, had trailed him every free hour of the day right back as far as he could remember.
    The memory of Nelson too had been with him every moment of the past week. For the first few days he had imagined, at odd times, that he saw the dog bounding around him. Then an odd thing began to happen. When he tried to visualise Nelson he couldn’t get him into shape, not to look like Nelson. He’d see a little dog, or a sausagey dog, or a dog as big as a Great Dane. He would see all kinds of dogs, but not Nelson.
    It was on the Wednesday night as he walked home alone from school that he thought: It’s as me dad says, you can never trust anybody, not even yourself.
    And it was in this frame of mind that Matty entered the house. As usual he came in through the scullery and into the familiar kitchen. But now it was no longer familiar.
    Matty stood gaping at the sight before him, for the whole kitchen was covered with camp equipment. There, taking up the space before the fire, stood a four-foot-high ridge tent. Between the sideboard and the table was stretched a sleeping bag, on top of which were neatly stacked three blankets, and an old eiderdown. This had evidently been sewn to form a bag. On the table was arrayed an enamel plate and mug, a knife, fork and spoon, an all-purpose billy, and a miniature Primus stove.
    Matty just gaped from one thing to the other, and he wondered for a moment if he had come into the wrong house.
    Then a suppressed giggle coming from the passage brought his head sharply round towards the partly open door, and the next moment it was thrust wide and Joe bounced into the kitchen, followed more