Black Chalk

So we waited a while for the pill to take full effect. And then Dee turned up at your door, knock knock knock. And off you plodded to ACE bar. ACE bar, Jolyon, the joke was so lost on you. Fourteen years and that’s where I sent you. Anyway, Dee kindly held on to your keys for you, dropped them at our prearranged spot, I got your keys copied and went up to your apartment.

Everything we’d done to you up to that point had worked. All we had to do was continue. It was like training a dog, Jolyon. Repetition repetition repetition. Once we had you walking regularly, we were free to do whatever we liked. We had a few hours in your apartment each day, left more notes, played with your mnemonics, increased your pills and whisky whenever we wanted . . . We even rewrote your book to our own ends, filled in some of the gaps. But I suppose you get the final say, Jolyon. History is written by the victors, isn’t that what they say? Oh, but it was so flawless, Jolyon, it was as if we had this zombie we could move around by remote control. It was easy, it was all just so perfect.

Another little shake and out of the tree falls Dee. Behold the old flame.

Anyway, I’m sure you can fill in the rest yourself.

It was all falling perfectly into place. It was beautiful, it truly was. And I’m sure you can see that. You understand how perfect it was, Jolyon. You know that now, right?

LXXV(iv) I am quiet for some time. Chad’s words whirl high in my head and I wait for them to trickle down, to offer me some essence of emotion. And then I surprise myself. I am not angry. And further back in my mind there is even a trace of admiration. The gallant winner should always make the effort to praise his opponent’s game.

Yes, Chad, I understand now, I say. You know, I think I got lucky, I add.

Chad smiles. Thank you, Jolyon, he says. Thanks, I appreciate that.

And now more emotions settle inside me, the small flutter of victory, a vast sense of relief. It feels as if my whole body can breathe for the first time in years. Even in the lighter moments of the last fourteen years I always felt a sense of unease. Clenched jaw, stiff chest, balled fist. A feeling that if my body wasn’t fighting to hold itself together, then I could simply fly apart, I could be scattered like ashes in the wind.

Chad has taken his phone from his pocket, is tapping out a message. His knees are parted and the phone is small between his legs. He looks up at me. Remember the green-pen letters I told you about? he says. Well, the last one provided me with a phone number to which I was instructed to send the result of our encounter. But screw them if they think I’m going to send them a play-by-play. Chad holds up the phone and presses send with a sarcastic flourish.

When Shortest finds out, he says, I guess he’s going to be very disappointed. There is the twitch of a grin at the corner of Chad’s mouth. Look, Jolyon, he says, I might as well admit something else to you now. I already told you that Shortest was my backer. Oh and Dee was his other runner, by the way, just imagine his smug delight at the composition of the final three. Anyway, Shortest helped me, Jolyon. I could never have thought of all those things to do to you on my own. Like the soccer match stuff. What do I know about soccer? How could I ever have thought of that on my own? But we lost, both of us, so now it doesn’t matter. Back into the Game. I guess I’m going to be seeing a whole lot more of Shortest.

No, Chad, I say, I think whoever sent you those letters is a fantasist and a liar. There’s nothing left for you now. You don’t owe them anything.

Chad is pale, his arms limp slabs against the sides of the chair. I wish I could believe that, Jolyon, he says.

And do I believe it? I don’t know, maybe not. Because for the last fourteen years there has been something troubling me about Game Soc. If Shortest knew I was on the roof with Mark and decided not to tell anyone, then he must have been scared of something, right? Maybe he was just scared of becoming embroiled in the story of a death. What if I’d been arrested and told the police everything, right from the start? What if the newspapers got hold of the story? So maybe Shortest was only worried how Game Soc’s behaviour would reflect on him, affect his future. But what if it was more than that? What if Shortest was terrified that Tallest would find out about him being at Pitt that night? And if so, if such a trivial and simple piece of information was enough to keep Shortest quiet, there would have to be something larger at play, something worth being afraid of, wouldn’t there?

I don’t know. I can’t decide what Shortest’s silence means. But whatever it means, I can see Chad is afraid.

You know, I think it’s time for a cup of tea, I say.

Chad explodes with an enormous laugh. Fine then, let’s have tea, he says. Sure, let’s break out the best china, invite the vicar, the Queen.

Strong, no sugar, just a thimbleful of milk? I say.