The Talisman (7 page)

Unsure what to do with the boy, Edward hovered by the bushes.

‘I’ll be all right in a while, really, it’s just . . . Oh God! This is so embarrassing.’ He wiped his eyes and sniffed, but for all his apologizing he seemed quite unconcerned at being caught weeping, hidden in the bushes. ‘I say, do I know you? Think I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?’

Edward sat down beside him and introduced himself, and the boy held out a slender, delicate white hand and shook Edward’s big paw. ‘I’m Charles Collins, everyone calls me Charlie. You’re the frightfully keen chap, aren’t you? Where do you hide yourself, you never go to the clubs.’ He sighed again and stared into the river, picked up a stick and began ripping little twigs off it, throwing them into the water. ‘Just got the old telegram, my brother missing in action, they don’t hold out much hope of finding him, judging by Ma’s letter. Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m going to start again.’

Much to his surprise, Edward found himself putting an arm around the boy’s shaking shoulders. Charlie was easy to be with, and so unembarrassed by his sobs.

‘Have you been up before the conscription board?’

‘I’m on the waiting list along with everyone else. Frightful, isn’t it, putting me dreadfully behind with my study programme. Mind you, what’s the point if they’re going to tog you up in the old khaki, what?’

Edward realized that Charlie, even though he didn’t look it, must be a couple of years older than himself.

‘All my pals are on tenterhooks, absolute tenterhooks, I mean, they’re whisking them off willy-nilly, clutching their rifles, poor souls. I say, do you know Edgar Willard? Well, he went before the board four months ago, got such jolly good marks in everything that they told him to stand by for officer training. Anyway, the adjutant told him he could be called up but he was to take his exams, it’s not on . . . I say, you don’t know Henry Fullerton, do you? He’s waited so long that his plans have been changed goodness knows how many times now. He lives from day to day, lecture to lecture, very firm believer in kismet. Fabulous fellow, nothing worries him, he says he’s resigned to whatever happens, whether it’s Aldershot, the Tripos, the Maginot Line or, worst of all, his college bills.’

Edward listened, fascinated. He had never heard of any of Charlie’s friends, but Charlie seemed not in the slightest bit interested in whether he had or not, keeping up such a fast, steady flow of chatter that Edward’s brain reeled.

They walked along the river bank, but Edward had to go back to retrieve Charlie’s jacket from the bushes. He noticed it was of very fine quality, like the rest of Charlie’s clothes. Charlie chattered on and threw sticks into the water, and then he started to cry again because he suddenly remembered his brother, Clarence, and threw his arms around Edward.

‘Actually, that is only part of my troubles, one of many, dear chap. You see, I have been so preoccupied with all this war effort that my studies have taken a turn for the worse, and my tutor really hauled me over the coals last Monday. I’m not even going to take the exams, they don’t think I’m up to it. Father will have a fit, not that it would be anything new, he’s been having them since the day I was born. It’s Ma that’s my real trouble, she’ll throw such a tantrum . . . You see, she adored Clarence, and with him gone all her bloody-mindedness will be directed at me. God, what am I going to do?’

They had walked all the way back into town along the river bank, and Charlie had not stopped talking for one moment. As they passed people they all called out his name, everyone seemed to know him, and the gatekeeper laughed and made a joke as they entered the gate to the hall of residence.

‘You want to have some tea, Edgar, you’ve taken such good care of me? Do come along, I’m top floor, number eighteen, say about four-fifteen? Super . . . cheerio.’

Edward hadn’t liked to point out that Charlie had got his name wrong, and he was in no hurry to go up to number eighteen for tea. He went to the main hall for his tea instead, and then regretted it when he saw Walter Miller approaching him. The boy wore such thick glasses that he looked Chinese, and he suffered from appalling acne. He had latched on to Edward almost from their first lecture. Walter was extremely clever, working diligently all the time, and when he wasn’t studying he went to the pictures. He sat down and asked Edward if he had seen the new W. C. Fields comedy at the local picture house. In his broad Lancashire accent he told Edward all about the film. ‘It’s very funny, Eddie, he’s got such a bucolic humour he has you splittin’ yer sides, lot better than that ruddy Gunga Din at the Rex.’

Edward hated to be called Eddie, and loathed the way Walter latched on to him. Walter loaded jam on to his bread and made slurping noises as he ate. He talked about wanting to see
The Return of the Scarlet Pimpernel
, it was part of a double feature at the Cosmopolitan. Edward listened with only half an ear to Walter’s theory that Hitler had ordered Leslie Howard’s plane shot down because, in his portrayal of the Scarlet Pimpernel, there was a definite insult to the Third Reich. Walter squinted as Edward suddenly pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘You want to come, I’ll pay for you, Eddie, I don’t mind, really I don’t.’

Edward looked for a moment as if he would hit Walter, then he turned on his heel and strode out of the hall. He was angry because he had used Walter a few times, used him because he couldn’t afford to go to the pictures, and now he regretted it. Walter only hung around him all the more.

Edward made his way to number eighteen, even though he told himself he didn’t want to bother with fools like Charlie. The door was ajar, and music thudded out from a gramophone, but he thought he could hear Charlie’s high-pitched sobbing and gasping despite the music. When Edward pushed the door open it was his turn to gasp. Even though it was light outside, the blackout curtains had been drawn, not only across the windows but also from the ceiling, making the room look like a tent. There were candles on every available surface, and on a long monk’s refectory table were massive, dripping silver candlesticks holding huge, gothic monastery-type candles. The table top was a sea of wax.

Tears were running down Charlie’s cheeks, but he wasn’t crying, he was helpless with laughter and surrounded by a group of very pissed friends. He waved to Edward and shouted to everyone to welcome ‘Edgar’, then continued with his story, laughing so hard himself that it made everyone around him laugh, even though they didn’t know why.

Edward slipped into the room and sat to one side, picked up a silver goblet and poured himself some wine. He had never seen such an untidy room, there were clothes strewn everywhere, books and papers tumbled on the floor, all over the unmade bed. An old gentleman pottered around trying to empty ashtrays and wipe the debris of toasted teacakes, wine and jam from the table and every other flat surface. Charlie held everyone in rapt attention as he acted out his date the previous day with Gloria, from the local ladies’ lingerie shop, pulling hysterically funny faces as he did so.

‘When I asked for a pair of knickers she replied, “What size?” and I, looking her over very carefully of course, as you all know is my way, I said, “Your size will do, my darling,” and she wrapped them up and I made the grand gesture and said, “My dear, they are for you, on condition that we have a date.”’

Charlie went into such peals of laughter that he fell across the table. He took another gulp of wine, filled his goblet again and swung his arm, spraying everyone close to him with red drops. ‘No, wait for the punch line, chaps . . . Later that night, back at her flat – have I told you how well stacked she was? My dears, a good thirty-eight C cup if ever I’ve had my hands round . . . Anyway, when I stripped her she was wearing the damned things, still had the price on them, and I have to say that was the best fifteen-and-sixpence I have ever spent.’ He swung back in his chair as everyone hooted with laughter and thumped the table with glee.

Everyone wanted to get their stories in about who had done what to whom, and in the rowdy room no one noticed Edward beating a hasty retreat. As he left, Charlie was launching into a detailed description of how he was working his way through all the counters in Woolworth’s. He was now past the cosmetics and on the record section. ‘I aim, before the term is out, chaps, to have had every single woman in Woolies.’

Edward returned to his rooms and lay on the bed. He found their tales of sexual prowess faintly ridiculous. He had not seen one woman in Cambridge he would bother to speak to, let alone have sex with. Not that he had been inundated with offers – far from it.

He awoke to hear shouting from below in the courtyard and looked out of the window to see Charlie, so drunk he could hardly stand up without help. He was attempting to climb up the side of the building, holding what looked like a rag doll. The place was in darkness because of the blackout, and Edward had to squint to see what was going on. Charlie was standing on Freddy’s shoulders, clinging on to a window-ledge. Edward swore at his foolishness, grabbed his dressing gown and made his way down the inky-black staircase to the courtyard. Charlie was now up to the second window-ledge and stood, weaving, one hand holding on to the window and the other still clutching the rag doll.

‘Get him to come down, the idiot, he’ll hurt himself.’

Freddy smirked and waved his arms for Edward to follow Charlie up if he was so clever. From the main gate voices echoed, a torch flickered, and Charlie’s friends all ran like hell, knowing they would be in for it if they were caught.

Edward climbed up and grabbed Charlie’s legs, hauled him down, and they both crashed to the ground. The torchlight moved closer. Edward heaved Charlie over his shoulder and moved back into the shadows.

‘This is very decent of you, old boy, but if you don’t put me down I’ll vomit all over your dressing gown.’

Edward put his hand across Charlie’s mouth as the two porters searched the courtyard. ‘Bloody war on, you’d think these lads would have better things to do than play silly buggers.’

The porters departed with the rag doll and Edward released his hold on Charlie’s mouth. The next moment Charlie had passed out in his arms. Edward carried him back to his quarters, all the way up the stairs, opened the door and dumped the drunken boy on the bed.

‘Thanks awfully.’ Charlie fell immediately into a deep, drunken sleep, and Edward stripped him and put him to bed. The room was a shambles, the remains of tea still all over the table. Edward stared around the room, at the closet full of clothes, rows of shoes, every drawer half open. He crossed the room to blow out a guttering candle.

He couldn’t help but see the stacks of papers stuffed into a desk drawer, and he carefully inched one out. There were shoals of bills – unpaid bills – from tailors, bakers, wine merchants, clubs and restaurants. Edward left his sleeping friend and closed the door silently behind him.

The following morning Charlie did not appear at the lecture, which was not unusual, but this time Edward was looking out for him, had even kept a space for him.

After lunch Edward went to see Professor Emmott to ask his permission to move out of the hall of residence into lodgings. He tapped on the study door and a high-pitched voice bade him enter. Emmott was sitting at his desk, elbow-deep in papers. He was a strange-looking man in his late forties, and his thick black hair had receded to the halfway point, making his domed forehead look even larger above his thick, round, black-rimmed glasses. He also had an unfortunate humped back that forced him to bend almost double to walk. Sitting down, however, he was a chilling spectacle, and he looked over the top of his glasses with strange, clear eyes.

‘Ah, Stubbs, come in, come in, wanted to have a chat with you. Take a seat. I have been looking over your half-term’s work, excellent, excellent. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?’

Edward tried not to sound desperate, he just said that he felt it would be more convenient if he moved into lodgings.

‘Finding it a tight squeeze, are you, old chap? You do know that there are certain extra scholarships, exhibitions, sizarships, sub-sizarships and what have you, grants for those in special need? Those eligible for, shall we say, “poor student grants” are usually restricted to divinity students, a lot of conditions, of course, City companies and so forth, but if you would like me to put forward an application . . .?’

Edward flushed. It was the ‘poor student’ line that really got to him, and he assured Emmott that it would not be necessary. In truth he hated the mere mention of ‘poor’, and wouldn’t even stay to listen to the pros and cons of applying to a company to supplement the scholarship he had already won.

‘I’ll be able to manage quite well, sir, you see, I can save a little by taking lodgings instead of remaining in residence.’

‘As you will, as you will. Got your notes here, good work in the laboratories, Stubbs. Like your essay on petrology, good identification, chemical analysis faultless . . . got a few books of my own, maybe you’d like to take them away with you?’

Edward smiled his thanks. He wanted to leave the hot, stuffy study, the fumes from the gas fire were drying his mouth.

‘All work and no play, not always a good thing, you know, Stubbs. I notice you do not take part in any form of sport, any reason? Good to socialize a bit – not too much, I grant you – but from what I have seen you are working harder than any other student I have this term. Takes me all my time to keep up with you.’

Edward heard a weird, high-pitched cackle and realized it was a laugh, the strange little man was laughing. ‘Remind me of myself when I was your age, but then, well, I’d say it was slightly different with me! Thought of joining any debating societies? Good to come out of yourself, you know, get up on the platform and spout a few illogical things, always good for the future. You a member of any of the societies?’

There were two reasons why Edward did not belong to any of the clubs. One was financial and the other was embarrassment at not being sure exactly what to do.

‘Fine chap like you should perhaps try for the boating crew, you are fit, I presume? Fit, yes?’