Black Chalk

Chad copied the procedure. He had no idea what bruschetta was. But the whole thing was delicious, it was perfect, and for a moment he chose to believe that twenty-seven seconds really was the secret. He could tell that Jolyon had meant it very much in earnest.

XV

XV(i) A sudden thought. The spring air feels so fresh I should enjoy my breakfast on the fire escape outside my window. I hope you can excuse the insertion of an aide-memoire at this point in the tale. I prefer physical mnemonics but if I do not somehow mark things the moment they occur to me, they tend to slip away through the cracks.

Note to self: Must remember to place some trinket on the breakfast plate to remind me to breakfast al fresco.

Yes, a very good idea.

XV(ii) My intercom buzzes. Delivery.

I let him into the building but open my front door suspiciously and only a crack – I don’t remember ordering anything. I sign his piece of paper and ask him to leave the box where it is in the corridor. When I am sure he is gone, I open the door wider and heave the large box into my kitchen.

A dozen bottles of whisky. I pull them out and line them up on my kitchen counter beneath the three bottles of whisky that stand on my shelf. Why did I order more whisky before I got down to my last bottle? And why so many?

I go to my computer to check. And there it is, my order confirmation from yesterday. Yes, I did indeed order twelve bottles of whisky.

I go back to the kitchen and shrug as I line up my bounty on the shelf. This is not exactly an unusual occurrence. I ordered more whisky than was strictly necessary – so what? Or perhaps some part of me yesterday was thinking more clearly than today. And when I think it through again the ordering of so much whisky makes more and more sense. Yes, there is much work to do writing my story. And then there is my recovery, my training. Long days of hard graft lie in front of me.

Twelve green bottles. Work work reward. A squirrel hoarding nuts for the pitiless winter ahead.

XVI

XVI(i) It was the usual night-time scene, young bodies strewn around Jolyon’s room, it was only ever the numbers that varied.

It was midnight and the bar had been closed for an hour. Jolyon, Jack and Chad, the three of them waiting, cherishing for now the secret of Game Soc. Emilia, Mark and Toby, sipping Tom Collinses as they chattered. The music from Jolyon’s radio cassette blew over them all. The Stone Roses, ‘I Wanna Be Adored’. An ascension of guitars and then breathy vocals like the cigarette smoke in the room, curling, climbing.

Toby reached for the ceiling and yawned. ‘Well, I think that just about does it for me. Thanks for the cocktails, Jolyon.’ But Jolyon seemed not to hear him, was scribbling something on a scrap of paper resting on his thigh. Toby shook his head briskly. ‘Tutorial at two tomorrow and I have only half an essay. Love to stay longer otherwise.’ He stood up and found his jacket. ‘See you later.’

They all replied except Jolyon, who continued to scribble.

Emilia waited until Toby could not possibly remain within earshot but she spoke in a half-whisper anyway. ‘What on earth have you got against Toby, Jolyon?’

Now Jolyon did look up. ‘The guy’s dad owns a racehorse,’ he said, ‘a thoroughbred.’ Emilia shrugged. ‘You know Toby went to Eton.’

‘What does that matter? It’s not Toby’s fault.’

‘I totally agree, Emilia. But it’s a fact that at places like Eton they train their pupils to get into this place. Show of hands, did anyone in this room receive any special intensive training for the entrance exam? The interview?’ No one moved. ‘A good friend of mine, the brightest guy at our neighbouring school, got turned down here. No training. He froze in the interview. I only scraped through because I think Professor Jacks, my law tutor, is some sort of undercover Marxist on his own mission to even up the score. So I got lucky. And my friend got unlucky. And Toby got trained, just like his father’s thoroughbred racehorse. Us here in this room, we’re just the old nags. So we all need to stick together, that’s massively important. Just like they do with their hereditary titles, their exclusive schools and old boys’ clubs. So anyway, there’s no way I was getting out the hash until Toby left. If he wants a smoke he can invite us to his room. And he can use some of his stabling expenses to buy the stuff.’

‘But Toby’s sweet enough,’ said Emilia, ‘he doesn’t rub it in your face.’

‘You’re right, Emilia, sorry. I have nothing against Toby himself. It’s just he’s not right for . . . I’ll explain later,’ said Jolyon, crossing something out on his piece of paper. ‘OK then, Jack, second drawer, you can roll tonight.’

‘Why can’t Chad roll? I rolled last night.’

‘Because last night was best-looking-guy-in-the-room night and tonight it’s funniest-guy-in-the-room night. The honour’s all yours again, Jack.’