‘The bastard had switched our papers while I was out. I felt furious, absolutely furious. He’d betrayed me. It meant I couldn’t go to university.’
Once he was out of the exam hall, Rod had stormed round the school, searching for Frank. When he found him, he’d hit him, really thumped him, but Frank didn’t fight back, he crumpled to the ground.
‘You bastard! You bloody bastard!’ Rod had cried. ‘I’ll get even with you, I will, if it takes me fifty years.’
Mary looked up. That was it: fifty years.
‘Can you remember the exact date of that exam?’ she asked.
‘The date? No, of course not. May, I suppose. Why?’
But as he spoke, Rod made the connection.
‘What about the time?’ asked Mary.
Rod thought for a moment. ‘It was a morning one—an early morning one. It would’ve begun at nine—’
‘—and ended at eleven.’
‘Fifty years ago,’ said Rod.
‘Exactly.’