The Flyer by Stuart Harrison Page A

shouldn’t smoke with a cough like that,’ William warned.
    ‘I ‘spect you’re right,’ Reynolds agreed and tapped out the tobacco.
    ‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ William said. ‘My grandfather died.’ He told his father about his uncle’s visit, and that there would be no money for him to go to Oxford.
    ‘He were always a nasty bit of work, that one,’ Reynolds said. ‘Him and yer mam never saw eye to eye. What will you do if you can’t go to university, Will?’
    ‘I haven’t really thought yet. Perhaps I’ll get some sort of position in business.’
    He tried to sound optimistic, but the truth was that he was bitterly disappointed. Without a degree, and with no money to article himself in some sort of profession, the best he could hope for was a job as clerk in an office, where in time he might be able to work his way up.
    ‘You could always stay here, Will,’ his father suggested. ‘But I don’t ‘spose you’d want to learn to be a blacksmith now.’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind. Perhaps I will stay here.’
    But his father knew it wasn’t what Will wanted, and he shook his head sadly. ‘It don’t seem fair. I sent you off to that school because I was worried about your leg and you’ve done better’n anyone ever thought, but still you might end up stuck back here.’
    ‘It’s alright, dad,’ William said, though the irony of the situation hadn’t escaped him. He had been given a glimpse of a future that might be his, a future of possibilities that a boy with no money would never have, and it had been taken away from him.
    He thought of Emmaline. He hadn’t told her yet that he wouldn’t be going to Oxford. He hadn’t told her anything. What would she think of him now? Not only did he have no money, he had no prospects either. He was in love with her, and the thought of losing her made him sick with worry. He would have given anything to hear her say that none of it mattered, that she loved him for who he was. It struck him that his mother must have said something like those words once to his father. She had given up her family for him and come to Scaldwell to be the wife of a village blacksmith. He wondered if she had ever regretted her decision.
    He persuaded his father to go to bed early, concerned that he looked unwell, and in the morning William went to the doctor in the village and asked if he’d come. When the doctor arrived that afternoon he was driving a motor-car he’d recently bought, but as William admired it the doctor grumbled that there was something wrong with it.
    ‘I’ll have a look if you like while you’re in with my father,’ William offered.
    The doctor was surprised. ‘Do you know about motor mechanics?’
    ‘A little bit. One of the masters at school brought a Renault last term.’
    The master had started up a motoring club, which William had joined. He’d always known there was a practical side to his nature, which he thought must come from having spent his early childhood years around his father. It turned out he enjoyed taking the Renault to bits to see how it all worked, and when something went wrong he had a knack for getting it going again. By the time the doctor returned, William had cleaned the spark plugs and adjusted the carburettor, and the car was running smoothly again.
    ‘I say, well done,’ the doctor said, very pleased. ‘You know, you ought to teach your father about mechanics. There are several motors in the district now, and there are bound to be more of them around as time goes by, but the nearest garage is in Northampton. We could do with somewhere local that could do repairs and so on.’
    ‘I’ll mention it to him. How is he?’
    ‘Oh, he’ll be alright, just a touch of phlegm on the chest. He ought to stop smoking that pipe so much. Don’t forget what I said.’
    ‘I won’t,’ William assured him. He did mention it later, but his father said he was too old to be learning new tricks.
    ‘By the time there’s