The Talisman (13 page)

‘Fine by me – what’s up, the wedding off?’

Charlie shrugged, poured himself more coffee. ‘Not much point, really . . . I’ll explain when we’re on the road. Just think we should make preparations to leave.’

Edward didn’t argue, and was left eating alone. He wondered if Charlie knew about Lady Primrose and himself. Something was up, that was for sure. He finished his breakfast and went upstairs to his room to pack.

Charlie popped his head round the door. ‘Look, I’ve got my gear in the motor. You go upstairs to the attic and take what you want. I’ll be outside waiting. Really, just take anything that takes your fancy . . .’

‘Charlie? Charlie, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’

‘Tell you later. Get a move on, I’ll have to go and see Ma.’

Edward searched the musty, dust-filled attic of the castle. He found three oil paintings, two embroidered velvet curtains, vases and candlesticks. He would have taken more but he felt there wouldn’t be enough room in the car. He carried everything downstairs and piled the boot high with his luggage first – all his new clothes, courtesy of the dead Clarence. Somehow he managed to fit all his pieces of furniture in. As he was coming down the stairs on his final trip, the drawing-room door was open. Lady Primrose sat on the sofa, weeping, with Charlie next to her, holding her hand. Edward stood outside by the car, unsure whether or not he should disturb them. At long last Charlie came out.

‘Don’t you think I should say goodbye to your mother, Charlie?’

Charlie hopped into the driving seat, searched his key-ring for the car key and said nonchalantly, ‘No . . . Besides, I have a feeling your goodbye would take longer than a peck on the powdered cheek.’

Edward flushed at the insinuation. So Charlie had known about himself and Lady Primrose. Charlie laughed, ‘Write her a note. She’s a bit upset . . . come on, let’s get cracking. Good God, it looks like a removal van.’

Edward went even redder. ‘Well, you told me to choose . . .’

‘I was joking. I suspect you’ve earned every stick of it. Now get in and stop rabbiting. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest, more than likely it gave the old boiler a new lease of life.’ He revved the MG and slammed it into gear. They shot off down the gravel path as Lady Primrose opened the door, just in time to see the bright red car career out of sight. She leaned on the door and sobbed.

From his bedroom window, David Collins looked out. It was a beautiful, sunny day. He presumed they were off on a picnic. ‘Pity,’ he thought. ‘They should have asked me along. Nice day for a picnic.’

Charlie drove fast, bumping over cattle-grids, and Edward had to reach over the back to secure one of his paintings. The car skidded around a narrow bend and they almost ended up in a hedge.

‘For Christ’s sake, Charlie, there’s no need to kill us both.’

Charlie brought the car screeching to a halt, and rested his head on the driving wheel. ‘Oh, shit, shit, shit . . .’ When he looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears. ‘Got the old papers, bloody awful . . . You know, I wanted to go so badly, but now I am, well, it’s just so ruddy inconvenient.’

Edward was not sure what Charlie was talking about.

‘I’ll be in uniform, old bean, off to fight the ruddy Germans. I’m joining my regiment as soon as I report back to college. Ask me, it’s bloody Emmott’s fault. He couldn’t wait to get rid of me.’

Edward was stunned, but Charlie shrugged it off in his usual manner. ‘Will you do me a favour, sort of keep in touch with Ma? She’s taken it awfully badly – Clarence, you know. The old man’s no use to her, he’s completely whacko. She liked you, so drop her a note.’

Edward slipped his arm around Charlie and gave him a hug.

‘You’re an odd chap, Eddie. Underneath all your brooding, you’re all right. Tell you what, why don’t you take over my old rooms? I dare say a lot of my stuff I won’t need where I’m going.’

Edward smiled his thanks, and they started the drive back to Cambridge. Charlie began to whistle, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Edward took over Charlie’s rooms, and now he had his own bathroom, study and bedroom, plus a small area for cooking if he wished. Additionally, he had the services of a bedmaker and cleaner, and, with all his acquisitions from the castle, he made the rooms look very classy. He sat and surveyed his handiwork, well pleased. He had his own castle now, and a wardrobe that was more than suitable. Even better, he had cash in his pocket.

Edward hung the oil paintings and threw all Charlie’s outrageous black sheets into a corner. He preferred the room more austere and, with the heavy curtains he had taken from the attic of the castle, he didn’t need the sheets as blackouts. Pleased with himself, he lay in his bed, surveying the room. Sleep was hard to come by, and when he eventually dozed off it was only to wake again, sweating. He looked at the alarm clock Charlie had left behind and saw that it was only two o’clock. He tossed and turned, and couldn’t tell if he was awake or dreaming. He saw boats, hundreds and hundreds of boats of all shapes and sizes, landing on a long beach. Men were running, screaming . . . a small group of soldiers was rushing to the water’s edge, carrying a soldier in their arms . . . Edward sat bolt upright. The boy was Charlie, bleeding, his head blown away on one side . . . ‘Charlieeee . . .!’

Edward ran to the gates. They were locked and bolted, and the night porter came to the door asking what the hell Edward thought he was doing. If he was drunk, he would be reported; if not, he should go back to his rooms immediately. Edward climbed the stone steps and returned to his rooms, telling himself he was just being stupid, he was crazy . . . It was just a dream, a nightmare. Old Charlie would be all right.

Edward’s premonition of Charlie Collins’ death became a reality. He died in action six months later in the arms of two young officers as they carried him towards a waiting ambulance. Shrapnel was embedded in the left side of Charlie’s skull and his face was horribly disfigured. When Lady Primrose received the news, she arranged for her husband to be committed to a nursing home. She returned to the castle and dressed herself in a full-length, floating, pink evening gown. At the inquest, her butler said he had heard the gramophone playing in her room, so he had not disturbed her. The following morning her body was found in the swimming pool. The remains of a note were found. It was addressed simply to ‘Edward’. She had begun the letter and been unable to send it as she could not remember his surname. The torn fragments were pieced together from the waste-paper basket. It contained no reason for her suicide.

David Collins lived contentedly in the nursing home, in a world of his own, until he died alone, ten years later.

A
lex Stubbs became prisoner number 4566. He occupied a cell with four bunks in the juvenile section of Wormwood Scrubs. They were separated from the prisoners in the main block, the old lags. But the boys in the juvenile section were hardened offenders, most having had one or two stays in the more lenient borstals. The Scrubs differed greatly from the borstals and remand homes, as it was run on similar lines to the main prison.

Alex was quite pleased that he was allocated a cell with a friendly faced cockney boy. Some of the men he had seen looked like real criminals, at least Dick was around his own age. As they prepared their beds two more inmates appeared. They were tough-looking, and already on friendly terms. Tom Donaldson had red hair and a freckled face, and he chucked his sheet on to the top bunk opposite Alex. ‘You take the lower deck, Joe.’

Joe, a fat boy with hair so short it stuck up on end, complained about always getting the bottom bunk, and Tom flicked his towel at him. ‘I don’t want that arse comin’ down on me at night, so you git the bottom whether you like it or not, okay, fat man?’

Alex checked the washing facilities. There were four enamel bowls and jugs on three scrubbed corner tables, some nail brushes and four plastic mugs. On the floor were four chamber pots.

Tom swung himself up on to the top bunk and dangled his legs, looking down at Dick and Alex. Dick grinned and said he was in for armed robbery, and Tom smiled and shook his hand, saying he was in for ‘aggravated burglary’. ‘Bleedin’ aggravated, all right. They copped me, that’s all I know. Joe down there’s in for shoplifting, what yer say you were in for, Alex? Alex, is it?’

They all looked questioningly at Alex, who busied himself clearing a space on the corner table. ‘Murder . . . Okay, that’s my place.’

The effect was just as he’d hoped, just as it had been on Sid, even Johnny. He could see their reactions and it amused him, suddenly he was the big shot.

Tom, impressed, jumped down to stand by Alex, and picked up his chamber pot. He asked if Alex had done time before, knowing he hadn’t by the way Alex examined everything in the cell. ‘Right, then, lemme give you a piece of advice. It’s kid’s stuff in ’ere, but yer gotta remember the golden rule. Make sure you have a shit before you’re banged up for the night, otherwise it’s terrible sleeping wiv yer own stink, even worse wiv someone else’s . . . If yer caught short in the night, then chuck it out the winder, wrap it in paper an’ chuck it. I mean it, yer think it’s funny but you take a look outta any nick’s windows and yer see the bombs chucked out in the night.’

The spyhole in the door was moved aside, and they turned to see an eye staring in at them. ‘Lights out!’

The lights went off and the small, claustrophobic cell went quiet. Joe let rip with a fart and laughed. Tom belted him one, but was laughing too. They settled down for the night.

They lined up for their breakfast, grabbing trays and moving along as the food was served. The enamel trays were just large enough for a bowl, a cup, and a knife and fork. They had ‘skilly’, a very thin porridge, an egg and a couple of slices of bread. Weak tea was poured from a vast pot at the end of the line. They carried it all the way back to their cages and ate hurriedly, because when the next bell rang they had to clean up the cell. The bunks had to be stripped and the sheets and blankets folded box-style. The washing bowls had to be cleaned and the clothes and towels folded, everything neat and orderly, ready for the screws to inspect.

The first morning was to be like every other. There were no classes here as there had been in the reform schools. They waited to hear where they would be put to work – some would be assigned to cleaning, some to sewing mail sacks, others to the radio repair shop. They worked from eight-thirty in the morning until twelve-thirty. Alex was pleased to be taken to the radio shop, it was considered a good job. But he soon found out that it was very boring, mundane work. He had to take old radios apart for scrap metal, and it took no brains whatsoever, a child could have done it.

The exercise periods were heavily patrolled by screws, as this was when fights usually broke out or attempts were made at escaping. Although the borstal boys were separated from the older prisoners, they would occasionally see a ‘trusty’ with a blue armband circulating the library trolley, or washing down the corridors. After exercise came tea, and then they were locked in their cells until the recreation period at six o’clock. It was a rowdy time and they played table tennis, draughts and chess.

Sid was the first person Alex saw, laughing loudly as he knocked a table-tennis ball back and forth. Alex walked slowly around the table, pushed Sid’s opponent away and took up the bat. Sid’s jaw dropped, he turned around, scared, and Alex bounced the ball up and down. ‘My serve . . . All right, Sid?’

‘Sure, Alex, ready when you are.’

Alex looked at his cell-mates, nodded to the recreation-room doors for them to keep watch. All the boys knew something was about to happen, and the room went silent.

Alex moved fast around the table and the bat crashed down on Sid’s head. Alex gripped him tightly. ‘What you tell the law on me for, Sid? Why’d you rat on me?’

Sid tried to wriggle free, but Alex was far bigger and stronger. ‘You know what you done to me? My mum hadda come an’ sit in the court, you know what that done to her, do you? Do you?’

Suddenly, Alex went crazy, hammering Sid over the head with the table-tennis bat. Tom yelled from the door that the screws were on the way running down the corridor. They burst into the games room. ‘Right, you – Stubbs . . . Come on, let him go . . . Stubbs!’

Alex threw the bat at one of the screws, and the next moment he was down on the ground and they were kicking the daylights out of him.

When he woke up in the hospital, Alex’s face was puffy from the beating. He had lost a front tooth, and one ear had been stitched badly, making the lobe lumpy and extremely unattractive. Alex was examined and given the all clear and two weeks’ solitary confinement on bread and water.

A naked light bulb was kept on in the cell at all times. The only way Alex could sleep was face downwards.

During the second week, the diet of bread and water making him feel shaky, he didn’t even get up from his bunk. He lay and stared at the light bulb, and stared . . . he began to hallucinate, shadows on the walls took on weird shapes. Suddenly it started again, the dream, the mountain, the green grass, the fragrant smell of fresh, clean air. Alex began to breathe deeply, filling his lungs, willing himself to hear once more the horse’s hooves galloping . . . Now he was running, running, wanting to see the man he knew was his father. The pounding became more and more insistent, he couldn’t tell whether he was awake or dreaming . . . He was awake, the screws were unlocking his cell to take him back to the prison. He didn’t want to go, he wanted to stay by himself, alone. The screws thought he was being difficult and dragged him out, shouting that if he didn’t behave he’d be back in solitary.

When he returned to his cell he was greeted as a hero. There were three letters waiting for him from his mother. The lads backed off, letter-reading was private, and they picked up their magazines as Alex slowly opened his letters, one by one, savouring the contact with the outside world.

Evelyne’s letters always managed to upset him. He knew she was trying to sound cheerful, but it only made things worse.