Black Chalk

Warren, having just about contained his laughter behind ballooning cheeks, then continued their pitch. ‘Naturally you do receive certain guarantees as a member of Sock Soc,’ he said, trying hard to appear serious now.

‘Yes, we promise never to give anyone the sack,’ said William.

Warren concluded with a smirk, ‘No, we just give them the sock!’ he said, producing from nowhere a pink-and-blue argyle to illustrate his point. Now they were both smiling and they held the pose together for several seconds while looking immensely proud of themselves. The scene reminded Jolyon of a holiday photograph, a humorous tableau snapped on a seaside pier.

For the first time since they had entered the Freshers’ Fair, Jack had been rendered speechless. He stared in shock at the pink-and-blue argyle and turned very slowly around.

Chad, whose attention had been focused elsewhere for some time, sensed the movement and his mind snapped back to his friends. He looked toward Jack, who was walking away gingerly, and became concerned. Perhaps something was wrong.

When he had tiptoed the length of a tennis court away from Sock Soc, Jack finally allowed himself to laugh, an explosive outburst, his body creasing and tears squeezing from his eyes. ‘Sometimes I wonder why the fuck I came to this place,’ he said. ‘You know, there are normal universities in this country, places full of normal people. I could have gone to one of those.’

Chad wondered what he had missed. Sock Soc had seemed such an innocent proposition. But he soon lost the thread of his friends’ conversation.

Jolyon shook his head solemnly. ‘Learning is about more than just books, Jack. And I think we’ve all learned an important lesson today.’

Jack nodded. ‘The abortion procedure remains very much undervalued by the interbreeding classes.’

‘Thank God I met you, Jack. I could have ended up with friends who consider garment-based puns the highest form of wit.’ Jolyon clapped Jack on the shoulder and looked profoundly grateful. ‘Just what in the hell do you think is going on with those two?’ he said.

‘I think it’s pretty obvious,’ said Jack. ‘Tweedledee won’t admit to himself he’s gay. Not until he’s fifty-five, been married for thirty years and is the Member of Parliament for Sutton and Cheam. Meanwhile Tweedledum will be dead in ten years’ time after a tragic accident involving an adventurous bout of autoerotic asphyxiation. His latest beard will find him cock-out and lifeless in a cheap hotel room with a dog-eared copy of Bodybuilders Monthly and a sock stuffed with satsumas inserted most of the way into his mouth. Probably the pink-and-blue argyle.’

‘I don’t know if I can really laugh at people like that,’ said Jolyon.

‘I can,’ said Jack. ‘It gets me through the dark self-loathing hours. Well, that and alcohol. On the subject of which, anyone for a pint?’

VIII(iii) The reason Chad had not followed Jack’s encounter with Sock Soc was because he had become distracted. Instead of witnessing William and Warren’s duologue, Chad’s attention had been snagged by the next stall along. Its sign was much smaller than most. ‘Game Soc’, it read, the words handwritten on a piece of paper no larger than a golfer’s scorecard.

Game Soc’s stall was not manned by grinning sophomores. Instead, behind its counter there stood three older students, postgrads perhaps. And not a single one of them was wearing a name tag.

Earlier Chad had watched from a distance as two boys had approached Game Soc. The encounter hadn’t lasted long. Although Chad hadn’t heard the conversation, he had seen Game Soc’s reaction – the tallest of the three, his eyes distant and uninterested, shook his head three times and mouthed the words no no no.

Now two girls were approaching, the sort of girls whose appearance Chad imagined might soften the hearts of Game Soc’s stony representatives. He moved a little closer to hear.

‘Hello,’ said one of the girls. ‘We saw your stall, and we were wondering what sort of games you play at Game Soc.’

‘What sort of game did you have in mind?’ said the tallest. He said this with no trace of suggestion, not even a hint of innuendo in his voice.

‘Well, I like party games like Twister,’ said the second girl.

‘No,’ replied the tallest, looking away.

‘Any party games at all?’

‘No.’

‘Board games then?’

‘No.’

‘Well, what sort of games do you play?’

It was the second tallest member of Game Soc who spoke next. ‘I don’t think you’re quite Game Soc material,’ he said to the girls.

‘But you don’t know anything about us.’

Game Soc’s two shorter representatives exchanged glances. They seemed to communicate something wry, or perhaps something condemnatory, it was hard to tell.

Finally the shortest member of Game Soc spoke. ‘Let’s none of us waste any more time now,’ he said.

‘Well, I think you’re all tremendously rude,’ said the second girl. ‘There are all sorts of societies who showed a great deal of interest in us.’ She waved a stack of handouts to prove her point.