Just Another Knife: Opening Pages

1. Prologue

‘Ho-o-o-old, and rest. That’s better! Very good. That really conveyed the feelings behind the music.’ Dr Piers Claughton, tutorial fellow, organist and choir master at Holy Cross College, bent over this pupil and rested his left hand gently on his shoulder for a few moments in a gesture of approval. ‘I think we’ll call it a day now. Carry on practising the fingering on the piano, and I’ll see you again next week at the usual time.’

‘Yes, Dr Claughton. Thank you.’ Gabriel leaned forward to gather up the pages of sheet music from which he had been playing. He stowed them carefully in the music case that he had been given for his thirteenth birthday three months earlier, before swinging his legs over the organ bench and getting to his feet. He enjoyed his weekly lessons with the middle-aged don, who had a knack of giving just the right balance of encouragement and criticism to spur him on to greater efforts without implying that his playing was inadequate; however, the knowledge that his mother would be getting a report on his progress when she took her morning coffee in the Senior Common Room the next day gave them an element of risk that sometimes made him uncomfortable. Casting his mind back over the last two hours, he was confident that, on this occasion, there was nothing that she could interpret as indicating a lack of diligence or aptitude on his part.

He got up and Dr Claughton took his place in front of the manuals, placing a new sheaf of music on the stand and pulling and pushing stops in readiness for beginning his own practice. Christmas always came early in Oxford, because of the need for carol services and other celebrations to take place before the undergraduates left for home during the first week in December. He had a concert of seasonal music looming and his performance needed to be perfect.

As Gabriel made his way down the steep steps from the organ loft, a familiar melody from Handel’s Messiah reverberated through the chapel. Without thinking, he joined in with the soprano line, ‘For unto us a Child is born …’

He reached the foot of the stairs and stepped out into the passageway that divided the chapel from the Hall, with its kitchens and store rooms. This was the rear entrance of the college, a narrow tunnel running through the building from Al Qahtani Quad (previously more prosaically known as the Back Quad, but recently renamed following refurbishments funded by a generous benefactor) to Goose Lane.

‘And the government shall be upon his shou-ou-ou-ou-oulder. And the gov-’

He broke off as, turning to the left to make his way out, he saw a cluster of people in a uniform of white tunics and black trousers. The white hats and striped aprons indicated that they were some of the kitchen staff, taking a break from preparing dinner for the students and fellows of the college. Gabriel approached them in silence. They were standing across the door to the outside world, blocking his exit. As he grew nearer, one of them glanced his way and then turned back and continued chatting with his colleagues.

‘Excuse me,’ Gabriel said politely. ‘May I go through?’

Instantly, they all turned and stared at him. There were three of them: two men and a woman, all dressed alike and all with cigarettes in their hands.

‘Excuse me!’ mimicked a youngish man with a shaved head in an exaggeratedly posh, rather camp, accent, ‘May I come through?’ Then, dropping the mocking voice, he continued, ‘and what’re you doing here then, anyway?’