Black Chalk (30 page)

‘Oh, but I am, aren’t I? So,’ she said, turning to Chad and Jolyon, ‘can I count on your support?’

‘That’s one vote from me,’ said Jolyon.

‘And that’s a second from me,’ said Chad.

Jack laughed again. ‘Funny guys,’ he said. He opened his eyes, sat up and then showed them his palms for the very last time. ‘Such a fucking funny bunch of funny fucking fuckers.’ He got awkwardly to his feet and pointed up at the tower. ‘They keep that place locked up ever since Christina Balfour jumped. But I heard from Big Dave there’s another way up. Apparently if you go up the organ stairs in the chapel there’s a window. You can get along the roof of Great Hall and climb up from there. Big Dave said it was pretty easy, a bunch of them got stoned there one night. I don’t know why, Dee, but I just remembered I’ve been meaning to pass that information on to you for a long time.’ Jack looked at his watch and woodenly acted surprise at the hour. ‘Funny guys,’ he said, ‘funny, funny guys.’ And then Jack walked away, still laughing. Laughing and shaking his head.

*   *   *

LII(ix)
   The next day, half an hour after they had arranged, Jack had not arrived. While Shortest beamed periodically at his wristwatch, the three of them agreed they would give Jack five more minutes and would then consider his resignation officially tendered. ‘
In absentia
,’ said Jolyon. And five minutes later, unanimously, they accepted.

*   *   *

LIII
   
Disappointingly, she plants her forehead kiss no more firmly than on previous occasions
.

It is a brisker night than the last few and Dee wears a cardigan, large and grey, she has hooked her hands through the holes in its sleeves.

I think I remember this, I say, pulling at the cardigan as Dee sits down.

Oh yes, Dee says, inspecting herself. From the good old days. How many good old days did we have before the bad old days?

Hundreds, I say, more good days than bad.

But the score doesn’t matter, does it? Dee says.

I decide a diversion is called for.
Gloom is not good for seduction.
Do you still see anything of the others? I say.

Oh, yes, I see Jack and Emilia occasionally. I didn’t for the longest time but then I bumped into Jack quite by chance three years ago. And he was relatively easy to bump into – boy oh boy has Jackie-oh ballooned. So now we get together to cross tongues on occasion, the three of us have dinner sometimes …

The three of you?

Well, obviously Emilia’s there as well.

Obviously?

Oh, of course, Dee says, putting her hand to her mouth. You don’t even know that much, Jolyon, do you?

I shake my head urgently.

Sorry, Dee says. Well, they got married five years ago. Ms Emilia Jeffries has become Mrs Emilia Thomson, no P in Thomson.

But that’s great, I say,
hoping I have not lost the ability to lie after so many years on my own
. And what else can you tell me? What do they do?

Well, Jack spent most of his early twenties writing film scripts – and according to Emilia, several of them even nearly got made. Comedies, of course. Meanwhile he made just enough money to live writing snarky film reviews for underground magazines. Along came the
Guardian
and offered him the chance to go pseudo-underground. A few years later the phone rang, an ITV screen test was arranged and he landed the job of television presenter. So now he bounces round the screen being spiteful about artsy films and gushing for the mainstream. I’m really quite worried that soon there might be conferred upon our Jack the status of National Treasure.

I pause to take this all in. And then I laugh. Well, I think that’s great for Jack, I say,
and I think I nearly half believe this
. But how did he and Emilia end up together?

Emilia spent her twenties researching brain injuries, married to an enthralling Argentine. But that see-saw relationship ended in tears and she bumped into Jack at a Pitt reunion. So she never did get her vet named Giles. But maybe Jack became her safe choice. With his TV salary they moved into a big house in the country and Emilia was able to give up her research, which had been exhausting her. She became an interior designer, she specialises in something she calls Neo-Rural. I think that means a lot of wood and plastic, she’s very much in demand among the wealthier echelons of Hertfordshire. Jack’s determined she should follow him onto TV. Last thing I heard, she’s up for one of those home makeover shows. Well, Emilia always did have a face for TV. Secretly I think of them as the Chinese restaurant couple, sweet and sour.

I laugh at Dee’s joke. Any children? I ask.

Nooo
, Dee says, and then she gives me a wink. And where would you like to cast your vote as to why this might be?

My vote goes to – they prefer childless tranquillity, I say.

Dee looks at me as if I have disappointed her hugely. Oh well, what do I know, Jolyon? she says. And Jack even seems to have found some strange Jack-twisted form of happiness. But you could at least have given me the small pleasure of a vote for impotence, Jolyon, she says.

I’m so sorry, I say,
using my apology as a natural opportunity to touch Dee on the shoulder
. And how about Chad? I ask. Do you see anything of him?

No, Dee says, and I don’t even have any idea what happened to him.

I try to think of a next line but suddenly I am stumped, all this talk of old friends and there is one name we’re missing, of course.

I can see that Dee knows what I’m thinking. Jolyon, please, she says, there’s one part of your story I have a problem with. This overwhelming sense of guilt. Look, I understand how you might blame yourself for what happened. But you’re wrong, Jolyon, you’re not to blame. If you’re a murderer then all of us are murderers. We all chose to play, Jolyon. What happened to Mark wasn’t in any way your fault.

And what am I supposed to say to this? Oh, Dee, you just wait. Keep on reading and you’ll get there. And then you’ll find out just how wrong you are. So instead
I reach for Dee’s book of poems, there are three more I have marked for tonight. Would you like me to read for you again? I say.

Dee looks as if her heart is breaking for me. She nods and I open the book to one of the pages I’ve marked.

When I finish, the fireflies have begun threading the air with their lights. And soon our hour is up.

Maybe we could stay a little longer tonight, I say to Dee.

Oh, Jolyon, I’d like to spend more time with you too. But you need your rest, you have to finish your story. And then after that we have as much time as we like.

After that. After that. Those words sound so sweet and thrilling to me. And
Dee is right, there remains so much more to tell.

Mark’s new abode. Emilia’s return. My fight with Chad.

*   *   *

LIV(i)
   And then there were three. Chad, Jolyon and Dee. And they were happy, they were in the mood to celebrate their success and this fine thing, this game they had whittled with their minds. They played and no one pushed excessively hard.

The final three. Gold, silver, bronze. Had Jolyon known that Jack would not arrive then perhaps he would have bought Pol Roger for champagne cocktails. A sugar cube in each glass dissolving, throwing up sparks like Roman candles. But instead a burst of warm weather had prompted the buying of rum and Coke and a bagful of limes. They dealt and tossed dice, they drank Cuba Libres as they bickered playfully over the cards.

A bottle of rum between three and Dee fell asleep soon after they finished playing, soon after Shortest had left, taking with him his frenzied notes on Jack’s departure. Jolyon recounted the story, it was a shame that Jack wasn’t there to tell the tale himself.

Chad and Jolyon drank a little brandy and then when it seemed time to leave, Jolyon told Chad that perhaps he shouldn’t wake Dee. She looked so peaceful in her sleep. And this was true, so Chad left resignedly on his own.

The next day, it simply became known that Dee and Jolyon were together now. There was no need for any announcement because gradually the news became apparent, like a distant billboard being driven toward in a car. A suspicion on the horizon and then very quickly it’s there, looming large on a hillside, spelling out the truth in giant red letters.

*   *   *

LIV(ii)
   They performed a few trifling consequences over the next several days, during which time an envelope was pushed across a table by Tallest. Jack’s name was displayed on the front, scrawled across a brown paper plateau sustained from within by a bulge of twenty-pound notes.

Meanwhile there was a lull in the play, as if they were all saving their strength for the finale. Jolyon was grateful for this pause and grateful for Dee to hold, Dee to stroke, Dee to love.

Because despite having someone to soothe him at night once more, Jolyon’s days were entering one of their dark ages. The once placid pace of his routine was becoming a stumble. And the mnemonics that nudged his days down the right path were beginning to lead him astray. He had started to eat his breakfast cereal midway through the afternoon. He hadn’t showered in three days and when at last he did cleanse his body, it was not an object that reminded him but Dee, a gentle suggestion that he might wish to consider a shower. And he had abandoned writing his diary, he didn’t remember when, he must have tossed it deep in a drawer at some point. It had become a grind in any case, he liked to write his essays at night and the diary would cut into his work time.

These shifts in his life were making him feel increasingly uneasy. As a child Jolyon had noticed that while other children seemed perpetually sunny, he passed periodically through bouts of bleakness. During these black spells, he suffered from a sense as if entering a room only to forget why one is there. But for Jolyon this feeling could last for days at a time. Sometimes weeks.

Slowly he had learned that a structured life could help lighten his darker spells. At twelve, he had begun keeping the diary to record his days as a series of lists. Gradually his system of mnemonics developed and his diary was no longer needed. But writing it every night had become part of his routine, so he continued. Instead of a book of lists, Jolyon’s diary became a more traditional record of the days. Its conversations, his observations. Or somewhere to vent his opinions in secret, a way to cleanse himself of his darkest thoughts.

And so, while eating cereal at an unfamiliar hour would not be a concern for most people, for Jolyon it felt like a symptom. Or perhaps it was a cause. And then he realised that the sock was no longer hanging from its hook on the door. He thought about replacing it but perhaps he had removed it so that Dee could come into his room unannounced and surprise him at his desk with a kiss, could leave his room early in the morning to work for an hour before climbing back into his bed. Dee’s sleek dark hair on his chest, her limbs like the key to his lock.

*   *   *

LIV(iii)
   Chad had told them he had work to catch up on, so it was just the two of them that night, Jolyon and Dee. They crossed Hallowgood Court hand in hand and took the steps down into the swirling currents of the bar, the sounds and the smoke and the crowd. They saw Jack right away, telling one of his stories to a full table, Dorian and Rory and several more first years. Jolyon knew all their names and which subject each was studying but little more than that. He let go of Dee’s hand and waited awkwardly at the edge of the table while Jack finished speaking. Jack’s shoulders had become stiff and he didn’t turn once the tale was over. Everyone was laughing, slapping their thighs, the table.

Rory raised his glass to Jolyon. ‘What do you think, Jolyon, a star in the making?’ he said, shifting his glass in Jack’s direction.

‘Absolutely,’ said Jolyon, but the table could sense his uncertainty.

‘The major part Jack just landed,’ said Dorian. ‘Didn’t you hear? He’s going to play Vladimir in
Waiting for Godot
.’

‘You’re kidding me,’ said Jolyon. ‘Jack, that’s amazing. Well done.’

‘It’s just a little student production,’ said Jack.

‘Little?’ said Rory, incredulously. ‘It’s showing at the Guildhall.’

‘Wow,’ said Jolyon, ‘the first rung of many, Jack.’

‘Whoever would have guessed that you’re of the theatrical bent,’ said Dee, inserting her words with a wink. But Jack took a sip of his drink instead of looking up at her.

‘Let me buy you a pint to celebrate,’ said Jolyon.

‘No, I’m good,’ said Jack, his glass almost full.

‘Then come to the bar for a quick chat anyway,’ said Jolyon.

Jack stood up but without any enthusiasm. He shuffled past three sets of knees on the bench alongside him while Jolyon touched Dee on the arm and asked her to wait.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Jack,’ said Jolyon. ‘But I thought I should return this to you.’ He pulled the brown envelope from his pocket.

Jack took a stool at the bar and tore open the envelope discreetly between his legs. He removed the money and pushed it quickly down into his wallet.

‘Well done again,’ said Jolyon, ‘– the theatre thing, I mean. When did you start auditioning?’

Jack, not looking up, stared at his hands pressed together around his wallet. ‘I didn’t think I’d get it,’ he said.

‘Are you sure I can’t get you that drink?’ said Jolyon.

‘No thanks, Jolyon. Too much celebrating already,’ said Jack. He held his hand to his chest and winced.

Jolyon ordered two drinks then turned back to Jack. ‘Just one more thing then,’ he said. ‘Oh, by the way, we’re still friends, right?’

Jack nodded. But he was still looking down.

‘The thing is,’ said Jolyon, ‘we probably won’t see much of each other … but only for a short time. The three of us and the consequences, you know. It’s all meant to stay completely in house, right? So please don’t think we’re deliberately avoiding you. Anyway, I really can’t see it taking too much longer now.’

‘That’s fine with me,’ said Jack. He looked over to where he had just been sitting, the merry faces, Dee standing at the end of the table looking alone as the conversation circled beneath her. ‘And you know, Emilia was right. It wasn’t fun any more. We forgot we were friends. Sometimes it felt like we’d cut ourselves off completely from the rest of the world. And anyway, Jolyon, I’m going to be really busy with all this theatre stuff, you know?’