Black Chalk (25 page)

Emilia was a natural leader of expeditions, every half-mile or so she would coast, standing tall on her pedals and glancing back at the others while shielding her eyes from the sun. It looked as though she were saluting the stragglers, proud of her brave troops. While she and Chad waited, she would busily consult a map for which there appeared to be designed in her rucksack a specific map pocket. When finally the cursing peloton arrived she would exhort them to continue with lines like ‘Come on now, the wine won’t stay chilled forever’ or ‘Last one there gets the funny-shaped strawberries’.

Seven or eight miles beyond the city they reached a large ornamental gate, the entrance to a grand old palace. And then after the cigarettes were lit, Jack found something further to bemoan. A sign listing entrance fees.

‘I’m not paying to support the upkeep of a fetid symbol of the fucking aristocracy.’

‘Jack, it’s one of the most beautiful houses in Britain,’ said Emilia.

‘Not to me it’s not. A tower block full of working-class families, that’s beautiful. Not this overwrought wedding cake.’

Emilia looked to Jolyon for some help, the sway he had over Jack, but Jolyon only shrugged.

‘I don’t mind paying,’ said Chad. ‘I’ll pay for you, Jack.’

‘Of course the American doesn’t mind,’ said Jack. ‘It’s not your utter corruption of a democracy, is it? No, Americans are always pleased to swan over here then pour their dollars into this kind of shit. The quaint symbols of an institution they themselves rejected more than two centuries ago.’

Emilia became businesslike. ‘Middle is meeting us here,’ she said. ‘Up by the house.’ She consulted her watch. ‘And we’re late because … well, we’re late and he’ll be there already.’

‘I signed up for a field and some wine, that’s all,’ said Jack. ‘Not to spit on the graves of the working class. Look at this village.’ He pointed to the cottages and inns and terraces behind them. ‘Now look at the grounds of this fucking monstrosity. It must be ten times the size of the entire village. All for one family. And I bet they only built the village to house the staff they needed to run that place.’

‘Come on, Jack,’ said Dee. ‘You’re right, but come on. Look,’ she pointed to the admission sign, ‘it costs less to go into the grounds only, we don’t have to do the whole house tour thing. Chad can pay for your ticket and you can buy him a pint later on.’

Jolyon lay his arm across Jack’s shoulder and led him slowly toward the gate. ‘It’s a good compromise, Jack,’ he said. ‘And we can piss in their lake when we’re done.’

As they walked toward the entrance, Emilia in front and Chad nearby, the peloton formed again. The brooding young turks, their smoke around them like dust.

Chad handed over his money, two for grounds only, and waited for Jack. He would have liked to have gone into the house. Chad had never been inside a palace before.

*   *   *

XLVI(ii)
   Emilia and Chad crossed an arched stone bridge over a lake that Jack had chosen as his line in the sand. He and Jolyon and Dee lay on the picnic blanket by the water’s edge, into the wine already.

Emilia told Chad some of the history of the place as they walked, the rush of her voice outpacing any awkwardness there might have been. A rapid history repeating. Dukes and scandals and heroes, scandals and heroes and dukes.

Atop a gentle rise sat the vast palace, an ornamented pile unsure if it was castle or palace or Roman temple. Gilded and pillared and with towers and balustrades.

Emilia’s tale was hovering on the brink of the twentieth century, a loveless marriage, the fortune returned to the bankrupt family. And it was then that she began to cry. Chad turned and she snuffled back tears, wiped her cheeks and apologised.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about,’ said Chad.

‘I just wanted us to do something fun together,’ said Emilia. ‘We used to have fun, didn’t we?’

‘We still do.’

‘You might be in love with this game, Chad, but I’m not. I hate it.’

‘Then why don’t you just leave?’

‘And when would I see everyone? We’ve lost Mark already. You’d all be off in secret, no visitors allowed.’

‘You mean when would you see Jolyon,’ said Chad.

‘No, Chad, I don’t mean just Jolyon. I mean all of you. Even Jack. Though I could quite happily punch him in the bloody face today.’

They could see Middle now, he was sitting on a bench staring vaguely toward them. Emilia waved but Middle didn’t respond.

‘Don’t tell the others I cried,’ said Emilia. ‘Specially not Jack.’

‘Of course not,’ said Chad.

They continued in silence. Middle seemed not to notice them until they were close enough to startle him and his stare dissolved upon them with a twitch. ‘Right then,’ he said, ‘well, I only came along because there’s something very important I need to say to you.’ Middle stood up and straightened his jacket, as if Emilia and Chad were a large crowd and he had to give a speech. ‘Here’s the thing then,’ he said. ‘I’m quitting, so, yes, I’m leaving right now.’ Middle closed his eyes as if he might be imagining palm trees and the purest blue skies. ‘I’ll let them know myself, Tallest and Shortest, don’t worry. Long-distance phone call,’ he smiled. ‘They can try to do whatever they like with me. But that’s it as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Right,’ said Chad, looking at Emilia uncertainly.

‘I wanted to tell you in person,’ said Middle, and then he snorted. ‘Well, actually, I always wanted to take a tour of the house,’ he said. ‘It has quite the history, you know.’

‘Emilia was just telling me the same thing,’ said Chad.

Middle beamed generously at Emilia. ‘Well, this is goodbye then,’ he said. He started to head toward the house but then, hesitating, turned back to face them. ‘Actually, there was something else I came here to say.’ He looked around suspiciously. ‘I know you wonder who we are – Game Soc, I mean. But that’s really missing the point. The point, the thing that actually matters, is what we represent. And I don’t have an answer for that.’

‘Very enlightening,’ said Chad, ‘thanks for the riddle.’

Middle’s head twitched like a bird of prey. ‘All right then,’ he said, ‘so it’s possible that you might be told certain things. And I don’t mean things about Game Soc but something larger than that. Much larger. But I don’t know if it’s all just ghost stories. So what am I supposed to do? Perhaps it’s just meant to scare me into carrying on.’

Middle swallowed hard and looked off to the side. ‘It’s a little like Pascal’s Wager, I think. Blaise Pascal suggested that, when it comes to the existence of God, the only rational way to behave is to believe in His existence. He said we are all playing a game, a coin is being thrown and will land heads or tails, existence or non-existence of God, and we have no choice but to play. We must place a wager because we’re engaged in the game whether we like it or not. And the rational choice has to be belief. Because if you win, you win everything. Heaven, eternal life, infinite happiness. And if you lose, you lose nothing, you are the same quality of dead as the atheist.’ Middle began to look tired, as if this speech were an essay he had been writing all night. ‘And the thing is, you could frame the argument just the same way for belief in Hell of course.’

Middle put his hands in his pockets and hugged his elbows to his side. ‘If one of them comes to you,’ he said, ‘if one of them tells you certain things, you might decide the only rational behaviour is to believe them. Because to act any other way is too great a risk.’ And then he became almost enthusiastic. ‘But here’s my take on Pascal’s Wager.’ Yes, it’s a wager. But the thing with wagers is that the true gambler, the purest player of the game, isn’t playing to win. The true gambler plays for the thrill, the sheer ecstasy of taking part. And the purest thrill comes not from the idea of winning but from the fear of defeat, from there being something real and valuable on the line. If there’s nothing to lose, then where’s the thrill? The true gambler does the opposite.’ Middle was gesturing with his fingers, letting them flutter here and there. ‘Yes, the purest lover of the game bets the other way, he goes entirely against the grain. Doesn’t he, Chad?’

Chad gave Emilia a confused look. ‘OK, well, that was fascinating, Middle,’ he said, turning. ‘I’m now feeling highly educated. And we’re both so pleased you came.’ He tried to sound sarcastic but felt as if he were caught suddenly in a spotlight.

Middle looked thrilled now. ‘Chad, you understand every word I just said. But Emilia … oh, Emilia, you’re too good for this game. Listen, the only one of you who is safe right now is Mark because he’s out. Get out clean, get out early, because the longer you stay in the more dangerous things become. Run away just as soon as you can. Unless you’re a true gambler that is, unless you actually thrill for the rough stuff.’

‘So what about you?’ said Chad. ‘Are you getting out early enough?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Middle. ‘Like I say, it depends where the truth lies. Maybe not. But I just don’t have the stomach for this any more. Good luck,’ he said. And then Middle turned and started to make his way toward the house. He looked to Chad very much like an old man from behind. The abundance of wool in his jacket and pants, the hunching of his shoulders, heavy press of the years.

Chad looked at Emilia, the sweet confusion on her face, a look that was not so very far from fear. And that’s when Chad realised he had been right. And Middle was right. Emilia didn’t belong in this game. And now it was time for Chad to perform his act of kindness.

*   *   *

XLVI(iii)
   ‘What was that all about, Chad? Did you really understand what he was saying?’

‘The guy’s a freak, Emilia, I honestly have no idea.’

‘Do you think we should tell the others?’

‘Tell them what? The riddle of the sphinx? I say we just ignore the whole thing.’

Chad turned and Emilia followed. They started to make their way back toward the bridge. ‘Let’s just talk about something else,’ said Chad.

‘Like what?’ said Emilia.

‘I don’t know. Riddles. More things the American just doesn’t
get
?’

‘Shouldn’t we slow down then, Chad? We’ve only got a couple of minutes before we make it back to the lake.’

‘That’s funny, Emilia. No, honestly, you’re a seriously hilarious person.’

‘Oh my God, Chad, you’ve learned sarcasm from Jack. It’s the beginning of the end. Come on then, hit me, something you don’t understand. Although why you’d ask me rather than Jolyon…’

Chad’s hands were in his pockets, his shoulders angling forward like a nervous teenager about to ask a girl on a date. But Emilia didn’t notice, she moved breezily as they walked together toward the lake.

‘Actually, Emilia, there’s something about
you
I don’t understand,’ said Chad. ‘The thing with your dad. The whole miners’ strike thing, why it gets you so angry. I don’t understand it at all.’

‘Why should you, Chad? I doubt it made very big news in the States. Most people in this country have already forgotten.’

‘So tell me what happened.’

Emilia sucked her lips. ‘I don’t think I can give you an especially balanced account,’ she said.

‘But I don’t want a balanced account,’ Chad said. ‘I want your version, Em.’

‘OK then, Chad.’ Emilia suddenly had a severe look to her but there was nothing she could do that didn’t spur the pounding of Chad’s chest. ‘Well, first of all,’ she said, ‘you need to understand that in this country the mining industry was nationalised. And it was subsidised as well, it wasn’t profitable. So plenty of people would argue something had to be done about it and maybe that’s even true. But what makes me angry is how they went about it, how Thatcher and her Tories wanted blood. Because they had this plan of theirs, to crush the unions, right from the very start. They engineered the whole thing.

‘The miners’ strike began in 1984. But ten years earlier, 1974, another miners’ strike had taken down the Tory government. So they cooked up a report right away, how they’d defeat them next time round, get their revenge. It’s all out there, meant to be secret but the whole thing got leaked, their plan of attack. You take a look and you’ll find they stuck to it pretty well.

‘First step, they secretly built up their coal reserves at the power stations so any strike would be ineffective. Next they announce they’re closing down twenty pits, with twenty thousand job losses, and they know the unions have got to respond, no choice. So it starts out like most strikes. Only this one was different for the Tories, this was how they were going to stamp out the unions, make their mark on the country. And they weren’t going to fight fair. So they used MI5, our own secret services, against us, they knew every move the unions would make. And then Thatcher gave a speech comparing the miners to Argentine soldiers in the Falklands War, the Argentines were the enemy without, she said, and now she was telling the country the miners were the enemy within. Because that’s what she wanted, another war.

‘Half the working men in my village were miners. And the next village and the one after that. Unemployment was sky-high and they were all lucky to have jobs as it was. How do you do that, take away their livelihoods, the livelihoods of their sons, their daughters’ husbands, and expect them to do nothing? So the miners went on strike, formed pickets, and the government brought in police from other parts of the country because they were worried a local police force wouldn’t have the stomach to attack its own. Because that’s what they had planned, an attack, a fight. Police horses and baton charges, kicking picketers to the ground, beating men in the back of the head with truncheons as they ran away.

‘It was winter and they made sure no one could get any benefits, not the strikers, not even their families. Two brothers, teenage boys in a village near mine, died scavenging coal from a waste heap. The embankment collapsed and buried them alive. Those boys died trying to keep their family warm when their dad had no money to pay the bills.

‘Our own government, Chad. Spied on us, vilified us, attacked us and finally starved us until we had to surrender. Just as they planned it all along, ten years in the making, their revenge. Thatcher won, Chad, she gave us a bloody good kicking and she enjoyed every minute.’