Page 10 of Corridors of the Night (William Monk 20)

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Scuff began. ‘I kind of got ter like school. Some of it I don’t care about, but most of it’s good.’ How could he say the next bit? That was what Monk might really mind . . . a lot.

‘Good,’ Monk said with some surprise. ‘When did this happen?’

Now was Scuff’s chance to tell him. He drew in his breath, and then his words deserted him. He shrugged.

‘I s’pose when I didn’t have to work so hard to read. It sort of began to make sense. I looked at the counting and I could see it without thinking.’

‘That’s how it should be. Reading can be fun.’

‘Yeah,’ Scuff agreed. He knew this was going to be difficult, but now he was in the middle of it, it was terrible. How would he get over it if Monk was angry, or worse, upset?

They walked in silence for another fifty yards. Below them the tide was rising in the river, covering steps, filling in hollows in the mud and swirling upstream, carrying flotsam and debris with it. A string of barges went by, lightermen balanced with angular grace in the stern, always watching.

‘Why are you mentioning it now?’ Monk asked him finally.

There was no help for it; Scuff clenched his teeth, drew a deep breath, and said it.

‘I want to be in medicine, like Hester. Be a doctor or a nurse, or som

ething.’ He gulped. ‘I’m sorry, but I do. It’s what I want.’

There was a moment’s silence except for the crying of the gulls wheeling and diving above them.

‘Are you sure?’ Monk said at last. ‘It’s not easy.’ He sounded worried. Scuff could hear it in his voice. He wished he had never spoken, but he couldn’t take it back.

‘Yeah!’

‘Have you told Hester?’ Monk asked.

Scuff was caught completely by surprise. Did Monk really think he would tell Hester before saying something to him?

‘No!’ he said fiercely. ‘’Course I didn’t!’

‘Would you like me to?’ Monk suggested.

Scuff stopped on the path and turned to stare at him.

‘You would?’ he said a little breathlessly.

‘If you tell me why,’ Monk replied.

‘Why?’

‘Yes. Why do you want to be a doctor?’

Scuff was embarrassed. He was aiming too high.

‘I don’t think I can be a doctor. I in’t the right sort of person for that.’

‘Crow’s a doctor.’ Monk mentioned the doctor for the poor that they both knew. He was not formally qualified, but his skill was high and his dedication total.

‘But Crow is . . .’ Scuff began, then did not know how to finish. He should never have started this. He was being ridiculous, reaching far too high.

‘Crow’s a lot like you,’ Monk finished for him. ‘Perhaps working for Crow would be a good way to start . . . that is, if you really want to, and he’ll have you?’

Scuff looked at Monk, then away again. ‘D’yer think he would?’ Then he wished he had not asked. He really did not want to hear the answer. It hurt when you wanted something really badly.

‘Why do you want to be a doctor?’ Monk repeated.