Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles 1)

This silenced Stan for a moment, but after another spoonful of porridge, he declared, 'Depends on what you mean by clever. After all, there's clever and then there's clever.' He took another spoonful, but added nothing more to this profound observation.

Harry would cut his slice of toast into four pieces as he listened to his uncle play the same record again and again every morning. He never spoke up for himself, as clearly Stan had already made up his mind on the subject of Harry's future and nothing was going to budge him. What Stan didn't realize was that his constant jibes only inspired Harry to work even harder.

'Can't hang around here all day,' would be Stan's final comment, especially if he felt he was losing the argument. 'Some of us have a job to do,' he added as he rose from the table. No one bothered to argue. 'And another thing,' he said as he opened the kitchen door. 'None of you've noticed the boy's gone soft. He doesn't even lick my porridge bowl no longer. God knows what they've been teachin' him at that school.' The door slammed behind him.

'Take no notice of your uncle,' said Harry's mother. 'He's just jealous. He doesn't like the fact that we're all so proud of you. And even he'll have to change his tune when you win that scholarship, just like your friend Deakins.'

'But that's the problem, Mum,' said Harry. 'I'm not like Deakins, and I'm beginning to wonder if it's all worth it.'

The rest of the family stared at Harry in silent disbelief, until Grandpa piped up for the first time in days. 'I wish I'd been given the chance to go to Bristol Grammar School.'

'Why's that, Grandpa?' shouted Harry.

'Because if I had, we wouldn't have had to live with your uncle Stan all these years.'

Harry enjoyed his morning paper round, and not just because it got him out of the house. As the weeks went by, he came to know several of Mr Deakins's regulars, some of whom had heard him sing at St Mary's and would wave when he delivered their paper, while others offered him a cup of tea, even an apple. Mr Deakins had warned him that there were two dogs he should avoid on the round; within a fortnight, both of them were wagging their tails when he got off his bicycle.

Harry was delighted to discover that Mr Holcombe was one of Mr Deakins's regular customers, and they often had a word when he dropped off his copy of The Times each morning. His first teacher left Harry in no doubt that he didn't want to see him back at Merrywood, and added that if he needed any extra tuition, he was free most evenings.

When Harry returned to the newsagent's after his round, Mr Deakins would always slip a penny bar of Fry's chocolate into his satchel before sending him on his way. It reminded him of Giles. He often wondered what had become of his friend. Neither he nor Deakins had heard from Giles since the day Mr Frobisher had asked to see Harry after prep. Then, before he left the shop to go home, he always paused in front of the display cabinet to admire a watch he knew he'd never be able to afford. He didn't even bother to ask Mr Deakins how much it cost.

There were only two regular breaks in Harry's weekly routine. He would always try to spend Saturday morning with Old Jack, taking with him copies of all the previous week's Times, and on Sunday evenings, once he'd fulfilled his duties at St Mary's, he would rush across the city so he could be at Holy Nativity in time for Evensong.

A frail Miss Monday would beam with pride during the treble solo. She only hoped she would live long enough to see Harry go up to Cambridge. She had plans to tell him about the choir at King's College, but not until he'd won a place at Bristol Grammar.

'Is Mr Frobisher going to make you a prefect?' asked Old Jack, even before Harry had sunk into his usual seat on the opposite side of the carriage.

'I've no idea,' replied Harry. 'Mind you, the Frob always says,' he added, tugging his lapels, 'Clifton, in life you get what you deserve, no more and certainly no less.'

Old Jack chuckled, and just stopped himself saying, 'Not a bad imitation of the Frob.' He satisfied himself with, 'Then my bet is you're about to become a prefect.'

'I'd rather win a scholarship to BGS,' said Harry, suddenly sounding older than his years.

'And what about your friends, Barrington and Deakins?' Old Jack asked, trying to lighten the mood. 'Are they also destined for higher things?'

'They'll never make Deakins a prefect,' said Harry. 'He can't even take care of himself, let alone anyone else. In any case, he's hoping to be the library monitor, and as no one else wants the job, Mr Frobisher shouldn't lose too much sleep over that appointment.'

'And Barrington?'

'I'm not sure he'll be coming back next term,' said Harry wistfully. 'Even if he does, I'm fairly certain they won't make him a prefect.'

'Don't underestimate his father,' said Old Jack. 'That man will undoubtedly have found a way to ensure that his son returns on the first day of term. And I wouldn't put money on his not being a prefect.'

'Let's hope you're right,' said Harry.

'And if I am, I presume he will then follow his father to Eton?'

'Not if he has any say in it. Giles would prefer to go to BGS with Deakins and me.'

'If he doesn't get into Eton, they're unlikely to offer him a place at the grammar school. Their entrance exam is one of the hardest in the country.'

'He told me he's got a plan.'

'It had better be a good one, if he hopes to fool his father as well as the examiners.'

Harry didn't comment.

'How's your mother?' asked Old Jack, changing the subject, as it was clear that the boy didn't want to go any further down that path.

'She's just been promoted. She's now in charge of all the waitresses in the Palm Court room, and reports directly to Mr Frampton, the hotel manager.'

'You must be very proud of her,' said Old Jack.

'Yes, I am, sir, and what's more, I'm going to prove it.'

'What do you have in mind?'

Harry let him in to his secret. The old man listened attentively, and nodded his approval from time to time. He could see one small problem, but it wasn't insurmountable.

When Harry returned to the shop having completed his last paper round before going back to school, Mr Deakins gave him a shilling bonus. 'You're the best paper boy I've ever had,' he said.

'Thank you, sir,' said Harry, pocketing the money. 'Mr Deakins, can I ask you a question?'

'Yes, of course, Harry.'

Harry walked over to the cabinet, where two watches were displayed side by side on the top shelf. 'How much is that one?' he asked, pointing to the Ingersoll.

Mr Deakins smiled. He'd been waiting for Harry to ask that question for some weeks, and had his answer well prepared. 'Six shillings,' he said.

Harry couldn't believe it. He'd been sure that such a magnificent object would cost more than double that. But despite his having put aside half his earnings each week, even with Mr Deakins's bonus, he was still a shilling short.

'You do realize, Harry, that it's a lady's watch?' said Mr Deakins.

'Yes, I do, sir,' said Harry. 'I was hoping to give it to my mother.'