Black Chalk

Emilia paused and the silence became awkward. Eventually, she broke it. ‘So how’s your silly game going?’ she said.

‘Silly? How can you say that after what Middle told us?’

‘Told us when?’ said Emilia.

‘Just before your . . . Never mind,’ said Chad. If the accident had caused her to forget then he was the only one who knew. And in that case . . . He pinched at the grass, ripped it up, tossed it over his shoulder. ‘Look, Em,’ said Chad, ‘you know I can’t talk about the Game.’

‘Yes you can. You can talk to me about it.’

‘I especially can’t talk to you.’

Emilia lowered her chin and lifted her eyes. Chad felt his resistance diluting. ‘OK, OK. Look, I can tell you this much but only this. Jack’s out of the Game,’ he said, and then leaning forward, ‘it’s down to the final three. Dee, Jolyon and me.’

Emilia put her hands together, fingers writhing, ecstatic snakes. ‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘how on earth did Jack go out?’ She screwed up her eyes speculatively. ‘Please, Chad,’ she said, ‘you have to tell me now. It wouldn’t be fair to tease me like that.’

‘No way, Em, you know I can’t tell you. But you can go and ask Jack, if you like. Come on, Emilia, whatever gets you in the end is a deeply personal thing.’

‘So you’re saying it was a deeply personal thing then?’ said Emilia, her eyes narrowing further. ‘How titillating. Oh please. I’ll keep it to myself, Chad, promise.’ Emilia moved her hand to her chest. ‘Cross my heart,’ she said.

Chad watched the X being drawn over Emilia’s breast. ‘I wish I could tell you,’ he said. His mouth was dry. ‘But it’s the rules,’ he said, ‘I can’t.’

‘Oh, but Chad, pleeease.’ Emilia ran her fingers up and down Chad’s bare arm. ‘Please, Chad. Please?’ Chad was shaking his head. And then Emilia said, ‘But Chad, I thought you loved me.’

Chad flinched. The snap of his body could have been Jolyon’s gesture, his eyes could have been Jolyon’s eyes. ‘Get the hell off me,’ he said, swatting Emilia’s hand from his arm. ‘Jeez, Emilia, love you? Don’t be dumb. Is there something the hell wrong with you? I was drunk when I said that, I was steaming drunk.’ Although Chad’s resistance was diluted, his rage was distilled. ‘Don’t you remember, Emilia? You were part of the crew pouring whisky down my neck. Love you?’ he snorted. ‘Emilia, I couldn’t love you. Because I don’t even respect you. And you want to know why?’ Chad licked his lips and pinched the bridge of his nose. The words were about to spill out of him just as before, words he had thought but denied. ‘I’ll tell you why I don’t respect you, Emilia. It’s because you’re blah. You’re not one thing or another. You’re so permanently on the fence, you’re just so . . .’ He tried to think of another word and couldn’t. ‘Blah, Emilia, blah blah blah.’

Emilia’s eyes began to fill with tears. She tried to get to her feet but the cast held her down.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Chad, ‘I’m going.’ He stood up and took a swig from his bottle. His words felt harsh now, yet the rush of release remained, a fresh wind that whipped all around.

LIV(vii) Jolyon left Mark leering in the pub, taunting him as he left. ‘One–nil. Fifteen–love. That’s a hundred points above the line, Joe.’

Jolyon longed to be alone in his room. When he got there he curled up on his bed and fell asleep.

He woke to a light knocking sound, turned and wondered if he had locked the door, or if he should have done. The door began to open.

In came Emilia, or the upper half of her body, her shoulders bare but for the lacy straps of her top. She was not crying but it seemed as if she might have been only minutes earlier. ‘Do you mind if I come in, Jolyon?’ she said.

Jolyon wondered briefly if Emilia had come to confront him about Dee. But no, she was blinking and confused. ‘Of course you can come in, Emilia,’ he said. And when she moved into the room on her crutches, he thought about the stairs. ‘My God, Emilia, how did you get up here?’

‘It took a while. But you get used to it,’ she said. ‘My shoulders are going to look amazing by the time the cast’s removed.’

The comment cast an uneasy silence between them. And then Emilia’s body shook with a sudden shiver.

‘What’s wrong? Are you cold?’ said Jolyon. ‘It must be almost seventy today.’

‘No,’ said Emilia. ‘Yes. I don’t know.’

Jolyon jumped off his bed. Emilia was shaking as if sheathed in wet clothes. He took her crutches and led her to his bed, peeled back the duvet and helped her climb in. She crossed her arms and another chill ran through her. ‘What’s wrong, Em?’ he said.

‘Nothing, Jolyon, nothing,’ said Emilia. ‘Probably just the painkillers.’

Jolyon held the back of his hand to Emilia’s forehead. ‘Em, I’m so sorry,’ he said. He felt his face bunching, tears squeezing to the surface. ‘Please, I’m so sorry, I should never . . .’ but the words were silenced as he started to cry.