The Bone Clocks

I go in after her and mouth, “Jonny Penhaligon?” and Mum nods and leaves, closing the door behind her. The dark front room is lit by the fairy lights on the Christmas tree, pulsing on and off. The receiver lies on the wicker chair; I hold it against my ear, taking in the sound of Penhaligon’s nervous breathing, and the trancey Twin Peakstheme wafting from another room in Tredavoe House. I count from ten to zero, slowly … “Jonny! What a surprise! So sorry to keep you.”

“Hugo, hi, yeah, it’s Jonny. Hi. How are things?”

“Great. All revved up for Christmas. Yourself?”

“Not so great, to be brutally honest, Hugo.”

“Sorry to hear that. Anything I can help with?”

“Um … I don’t know. It’s a bit … awkward.”

“O -kay. Speak.”

“You know the other night, at Toad’s? You remember I was four thousand up when you called it a night?”

“Do I remember? Cleaned out in the first hour, I was. Not so the Pirate of Penzance, eh?”

“Yeah, it was … one of those charmed runs.”

“ ‘Charmed’? Four thousand quid is more than the basic student grant.”

“Well, yeah. It went to my head a bit, a lot, that and the mulled wine, and I thought how fantastic it’d be not to go groveling to Mum for funds every time the account goes low … So, anyway, you’d left, Eusebio was dealing, and I got a flush, spades, jack high. I played it flawlessly—acted like I was bluffing over a pot of crap—till over two thousand quid was on the table.”

“Shitting hell, Jonny. That’s quite a bucketful.”

“I know. We’d agreed to scrap the pot limit, and there were three of us bidding up and up, and nobody was backing down. Rinty only had two pairs, and Bryce Clegg looked at my flush and said, ‘Shafted by the Pirate again,’ but as I scooped up the pot he added, ‘Unless I’ve got—oh, what is this? A full house.’ And he had. Three queens, two aces. I should have gone then, wish to ChristI had. I was still two grand up. But I’d lost two grand and I thought it was just a blip, that if I kept my nerve I’d win it all back. Fortune favors the brave, I thought. One more hand, it’ll turn around … Toad asked me if I wanted to drop out a couple of times, but … by then I was … I was …” Penhaligon’s voice wobbles, “… ten thousand down.”

“Wow, Jonny. Them’s grown-up numbers.”

“So, yeah, we carried on, and my losses piled up, and I didn’t know why the King’s College bells were ringing in the middle of the night, but Toad opened up the curtains and it was daylight. Toad said his casino was closing for the holidays. He offered to scramble eggs for us, but I wasn’t hungry …”

“You win a few,” I console him, “you lose a few. That’s poker.”

“No, Hugo, you don’t get it. Eusebio took a hammering, but I took a … a pulverizing, and when Toad wrote down what I owe, it’s”—a strangled whisper—“ fifteen thousand, two hundred. Toad said he’ll round it down to fifteen in the interest of nice round numbers, but …”

“Your sense of honor brings out the best in Toad,” I assure him, peering through the blue velvet curtain. It’s a cold, dark indigo, streetlight-amber night out. “He knows he’s not dealing with an underclass scuzzball with a can’t-pay-won’t-pay attitude.”

Penhaligon sighs. “That’s the awkward thing, you see.”

I act puzzled. “To be honest, I don’t quite see, no.”

“Fifteen thousand pounds is … is quite a lot. A shit of a lot.”

“For a financial mortal like myself, sure—but not for old Cornish aristocracy, surely?”

“I don’t actually have that much in … my main account.”

“Oh. Right. Right! Look, I’ve known Toad since I got to Cambridge and, I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Penhaligon croaks a hope-tortured “Really?”

“Toad’s cool. Tell him that, with the banks closed over Christmas, you can’t transfer what you owe until the New Year. He knows that a Penhaligon’s word is his bond.”

Here it comes: “But I don’t have fifteen thousand pounds.”

Take a dramatic pause, add a dollop of confusion and a pinch of disbelief. “You mean … you don’t have the money …  anywhere?”

“Well … no. Not at present. If I could, I would, but—”

“Jonny. Stop. Jonny, these are your debts. Ivouched for you. To Toad. I said, ‘He’s a Penhaligon,’ and that was that. Enough said.”

“Just because your ancestors were admirals and you live in a listed building, that doesn’t make you a billionaire! Courtard’s Bank owns Trevadoe House, not us!”

“Okay, okay. Just ask your mother to write you out a check.”

“For a poker debt? Are you mad? She’d refuse point-blank. Look, what could Toad actually doif, y’know … that fifteen thousand …”

“No no no no no. Toad’s a friendly chap but he’s a businessman, and business trumps friendly chap–ness. Please. Pay.”

“But it’s only a poker game. It’s not like … a legal contract.”