Black Chalk

He sat down. The eyes, the eyes. Jolyon stared out at the game as if he couldn’t sense the feeling of the crowd, the weight of their hatred.

He had until the twenty-minute mark to complete his next challenge, which was based around the fact that the United captain had the same name as a romantic poet.

And so in the nineteenth minute, Jolyon rose again. He felt faint as if he were caught in a cloud of gas. And then he began his second song, the tune taken from Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, his voice quavering over the rippling of the crowd. ‘We’ve got John Keats / And the best seats / He plays football potently / Like the ode / Composed to a bird / Keats is striking poetry.’

A stunned silence was followed by a torrent of vicious abuse. The crowd’s agitation was rising, their blood pulsing. ‘Look, he has the same name as a romantic poet,’ Jolyon pleaded. ‘And the ode to the bird is Ode to a Nightingale. And there’s a double meaning to striking poetry . . .’

And that’s when it happened, the opposition scored, the United fans threw their hands catastrophically to their heads. Part three now had to be performed. ‘Goal!’ Jolyon cheered. ‘Goooooal!’

Something struck him from behind, Jolyon felt an explosion of sparks behind his eyes. And next the sound of shattering as the bottle broke against the back of his head. He stumbled down onto one knee, palms hitting the backs of the men in front who were pushed forward with a jolt. Recovering, they turned and stood and one of them threw a punch. Jolyon felt the blow at the side of his head, the heat in his ear. And then there were more blows from behind. Fists and feet. Jolyon pulled himself into a ball on the ground, tried to protect his head with his hands. And now someone was stamping, a boot crushing his fingers, then more boots stamping his ankles, his knees.

Just as he thought he would pass out, the rain of blows began to slow and Jolyon was pulled to his feet. More punches were thrown but the worst was over. Someone was shouting at his assailants, ‘Enough. Stop. That’s enough now.’

It was Tallest dragging him to the aisle. And then Chad was there, Jolyon’s arms across two sets of shoulders. Up into darkness, down steps and cold corridors, out into the broken-glass light. They lowered him onto a bench.

Chad looked like he was about to be sick. ‘Jolyon, oh God, I’m . . . It wasn’t supposed to go like that.’

Jolyon felt his teeth grinding something hard and gritty like a small rock in his mouth. And then, prodding it with his tongue, Jolyon realised the small rock was a tooth. He spat it out into his hand along with his blood and phlegm. He stared at the tooth for some time, prodded it, turned the tooth over and over in his palm.

The others were making sounds, asking questions, but he didn’t hear them.

‘I know what this is,’ thought Jolyon, ‘the moment of tooth!’ And he started to laugh. He cleaned the tooth against his thigh and dropped it in his pocket. And then he looked up at them, three horrified faces, and started to laugh even harder. ‘Now you get it, right?’ said Jolyon, noticing that he could see through only one eye. ‘There’s no way you can beat me,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’ The blood was bubbling from his nose as he snorted with laughter. ‘Nothing at all.’

LVIII(iv) Chad pleaded with Jolyon but Jolyon stared into the distance as if unable to hear, his fingers feeling like they had been crushed in a car door.

‘Please, Jolyon. And not so I can win,’ said Chad. ‘but so we can stop. If you refuse to give in, it has to get worse. What other choice do we have?’

Jolyon looked up with his good eye. ‘Well, you could quit,’ he said.

‘You do understand I can’t do that, Jolyon,’ Chad scoffed. ‘Which means anything more that happens to you is as good as self-inflicted. Logically, you’re pretty much doing this to yourself. Come on, this isn’t the time to make your big stand in life. You’ve already had your way with Emilia and Dee, so I get it, you’re the big man. You won, Jolyon, OK? But you have to let me have just one thing. Because if you don’t . . . Jolyon, what just happened was terrible and I’m sorry, I swear I mean that. But from now on, no apologies, we’re not responsible. Please, for everyone’s sake. There’s nothing more you need to prove.’

Dee crouched down and laid her hands on his knees. ‘Please, Jolyon. Listen to Chad,’ she said, tears gathering in her eyes.