Читать книгу Golden Boy - Paula Astridge - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

Albert’s only redeeming feature, in his parents’ eyes, was that he continued to distinguish himself at school. His most recent accolade was that he had won the prestigious National Mathematics Competition.

It was an outstanding achievement for one so young, which not only elevated Albert’s own scholastic status but also that of his school, rocketing it up into the ranks of those more select educational institutions which had the credentials to demand exorbitant fees and the respect of those wealthy enough to pay them.

The Speers’ blissful few months of boasting about their son was almost enough to make them feel a certain warmth for him. And would have, had Albert not destroyed his homefield advantage with his peculiar penchant for mingling with Mannheim’s lower classes. It was a quirk in his nature that his parents were convinced he embraced out of spite as another of his stubborn attempts to hinder their happiness. By constantly dredging up friends from the pits of the city’s population, Albert was creating a major stumbling block for his family’s footing in high society.

‘How dare you embarrass us by bringing the butcher’s son home for tea!’ his mother remonstrated with her perfectly manicured fingernails dug deep into Albert’s arm and her voice at a volume loud enough for the poor boy in question to overhear.

Needless to say, that friendship came to a swift end, as did all others of which his mother did not approve. Which left Albert back where he always seemed to be: alone, both at home and at school. Unlike his popular, athletic brother, Hermann, who had just been voted class captain and his younger brother, Ernst, whose audacious charm made him the centre of attention, Albert had nowhere else to turn but to the thing he did best.

That was, concentrating full-time with that astonishing IQ of his, on reading, writing and arithmetic. For the third, he had a passion and proficiency, which was to set his direction in life. For reading and writing — a yearning destined to help him battle his way through it. In fact, if school had only required his skill behind a desk he would have sailed through, but his obligatory lunchtime excursions into the ‘killing fields’, commonly known as the school playground, put paid to that.

Within its harsh, asphalt confines he was beaten up on a daily basis, the regularity of the attacks to his person and pride making him think more charitably towards his brothers who were gracious enough to do it on a slightly less frequent basis. Yet, as accustomed as Albert was to sporting a black eye and split lip, he never overcame the fear of facing up to an adversary who was fit to kill with fists at the ready. He always wondered what exactly it was about him that goaded them to do it.

The bullies would have happily explained if they actually understood it themselves — if they were able to put their finger on that intangible trigger that fired them up. Perhaps it was Albert’s ingrained air of superiority that got under their skin. One that despite Albert’s every effort of camouflage, stood out like a beacon and forever issued the challenge: ‘I’m better than you. Keep your distance.’

Like a red rag to a bull, it spurred his classmates into a headlong charge: ‘Yeah? Well come over here and prove it!’

Whereas Albert never lacked the courage to raise his own fists in defence, he knew it was inevitable that it would be he who would go down for the count. He was not made of the stuff to win fights. His strength was his brain, not his brawn, and although he was aware that this power of mind over matter was a fine thing, he only wished it packed the same punch.

Time and time again he would writhe on the ground in excruciating pain with the set of five or six boys who had set upon him taking it in turns to kick him in the groin. He would fall with a lead-like thud to the ground, burying in the dirt a face that was red with raw pain and embarrassment.

‘Get up, you coward, and fight,’ they would demand.

He would have if he were able to move. As it was, his only course of action was to lie mute, cede defeat and then rally the dignity to get to his feet and dust himself off. He did it as casually as possible, as if he didn’t care. But as the proud, private person he was, he did care, very much indeed.

Particularly about his brother Hermann, who seemed unperturbed by these continual assaults on his younger sibling. As the undisputed champion of the schoolyard, Hermann could have easily put a stop to them, but chose not to muscle his way into the argument. Instead, he actively backed away from playing the role of ‘big brother’, which was a dereliction of duty, odd in the extreme, when little was required of him to put the pit bulls back on their chain.

That help never came, which puzzled Albert until the mystery finally unravelled and he realised that Hermann had not only left him in danger, but, from behind the scenes, had been responsible for putting him in it; his conspicuous absence from the battlefield being all the more reprehensible for having left his gentler brother to stand and fight alone.

However, when Albert reached High School everything changed, raising not only his scholastic aspirations, but those in regard to his height. At the age of 12, he had a growth spurt which shot him up close to his projected adult height of six foot two. Suddenly he towered over his sparring partners, all of whom obligingly backed off to give him space to grow peacefully into his potential.

This God-given reprieve kept him free from bullies and brawls until his fine aquiline features and tall, gangly body had time to fill out and live up to their promise. Sculpting what had been his plain, angular face into the strikingly handsome one it was to be in adulthood, an outstanding face to match an outstanding mind. Both of which were to catch the attention and undying love of the one person who mattered.