Black Chalk

XLVII(ii) Dee gushes gratefully over my gifts. It feels good to remember how to perform an act of kindness. Every day I feel closer to my goal, the whole man.

Dee chatters about her recent weeks. The bumpy flight over, the sights she has seen, how much she is enjoying my story.

I listen patiently and then ask her, So can we meet every day? Why don’t you come to my apartment? And then I correct myself. I mean, why don’t you come to my apartment while I’m actually inside it? I say.

Dee laughs. Why don’t we carry on meeting here? Six o’clock, every evening, and we’ll meet for an hour. Perhaps everything else should stay the same, for now. You leave your apartment at twelve, return no earlier than two. We stick to our framework, right?

If that’s how you want it.

It won’t be for long, I promise. You have to finish writing your story, Jolyon. No distractions. The same routine. It’s very important.

You’re right, I say, the same routine.

Maybe I could become your trainer, Dee says, prepare you for your comeback.

I grin eagerly. Yes, I say, that’s perfect.

And when does Chad arrive, how long have we got?

I don’t know, I say, feeling a sudden panic. Soon, I say, but I don’t remember. I must have written it down, yes, he told me on the phone. It was some time before . . . I stop and close my eyes, squeeze them tight and start to rock.

Jolyon, keep calm, Dee says, patting me gently. We’ll start tomorrow, however long we have I’m sure you’ll be fine.

I open my eyes and stop rocking.

What do you need training in? Dee says.

Sanity, I say, making Dee laugh. Well, maybe normal conversation would be a good start, I say, wanting to add – and after that, the intimacy of women.

I look up and notice the light beginning to drain from the sky. And then something comes back to me, a memory from years ago, just before I shut myself away. Already in Dee’s presence my mind is beginning to open. I have another surprise for you, I say to her, but we have to wait a few minutes. And we have to keep our fingers crossed.

Dee sits tall and crosses the fingers of both hands.

And then it starts to happen. Slowly at first, a blink here, a flash there. But yes, the fireflies are emerging. There they are, bright strings, orange threads in the air. One by one the fireflies wake up and slide into the dusk.

Dee gasps, her head darts around. A blink here, a flash there. With her wrists together Dee claps, her fingers pattering with delight.

And soon the fireflies are aswarm. Gliding, unfolding. Their hearth lights puncturing every cupful of air.

I turn Dee around to point something out to her. Look, I say, spreading my arms. And for my next trick, I say, I have turned on the Christmas-tree lights.

The fireflies flash between the branches.

It’s beautiful, Dee says, it’s really beautiful.

XLVIII

XLVIII(i) They were shooed away when they arrived on bikes twenty minutes after the ambulance. The nurse told them to come back tomorrow.

The next day they took a bus to the hospital. They brought her music and books and Polaroids of the people who knew her at Pitt, everyone waving, blowing kisses or holding up ‘Get Well Soon’ signs.

‘Sorry, don’t know why she won’t see you. Headstrong that one,’ said Emilia’s father. The nurse behind the desk shuffled some papers, pretended not to be listening.

‘We had a fight,’ said Jolyon. ‘She didn’t tell you?’

‘Says she doesn’t remember much.’

‘And they’re sure it’s nothing more than the broken leg?’ said Dee.

‘That’s what they reckon,’ said Emilia’s father. ‘Other than that just bruises, scrapes, concussion. Say they’ll hold on to her, run tests, keep their eye on her. Reckon if nothing more shows up she’s fine to carry on for rest of term.’

‘Tell her we’re sorry,’ said Chad. ‘Sorry about the fight.’

‘Whatever the fight were, don’t worry, she was never one to hold grudges.’

‘And tell her we love her,’ said Jack, swallowing hard.

‘Will do,’ said Emilia’s dad. And then he peered harder at Jack. ‘Hang on, are you Jolyon, the boyfriend? She’s been non-stop about you every time she rings.’

‘No, I’m Jolyon,’ said Jolyon.

‘Oh, right,’ said Emilia’s father. ‘Well, pleased to meet you, lad. Hopefully next time’ll be different circumstances and we’ll go for a pint.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Jolyon. ‘Next time. Let’s hope so.’

XLVIII(ii) Mark was waiting for Jolyon outside his room, sitting down with his back against the door and reading a newspaper. When he saw Jolyon on the stairs, Mark folded the newspaper, placed it under his arm and got to his feet.

Jolyon made an extravagant show of examining his watch. ‘What happened to all that sleep you need so badly?’ he said.

Mark shrugged. ‘I now have a purpose in life,’ he replied.

‘To haunt me?’

‘Haunt you?’ Mark sneered. ‘I’m not your ghost, Jolyon, I’m your mirror.’

‘Come in,’ said Jolyon, waving his door key, ‘you might as well.’