Black Chalk

It began three nights later in the bar, Jolyon ready to begin the show, Tallest sipping sparkling water from a green pear-shaped bottle and now only four glasses on their table. But before they could start, Tallest cleared his throat and said there were a couple of trifling matters that needed taking care of first. He reached inside his jacket and placed an envelope on the table. Emilia’s name was written on the front and you could see the outline of the stack of notes contained inside. Jolyon picked up the envelope but Dee snatched it away, suggesting it might be better coming from her. Jolyon nodded. And then Tallest continued with a statement. Middle would no longer be attending any sessions of the Game, he told them, and Game Soc would not be answering any questions on the topic. The matter was closed.

Chad acted as shocked as the rest of them while they peppered Tallest with questions he refused to answer. And then there fell over them a silence that started to gather weight, so Jolyon nodded to the table that, yes, it was indeed time to initiate Jack’s consequence. He finished his drink, wiped his mouth and stood up.

L(ii) David sat alone and on the same stool most evenings in Pitt’s bar. His homosexuality was something he wore awkwardly, the other gays at Pitt averse to his company, something starched and antiquated to his queerness. And the straight students preferred their gays cool and charismatic, David made them feel guilty.

He always had an old book for company in the bar, something by Wilde, a history of the Byzantine Empire, the Industrial Revolution. And nightly his eyes would hover the page, leaping up from time to time to survey the scene. Who was with whom tonight, where might he be wanted, with what sort of quip might he open?

Jolyon touched him on the shoulder to rouse him from his reading. ‘David, why don’t you join us for a drink?’ he said.

‘If you’re sure I’m not too gauche for such esteemèd company,’ said David.

‘Can I be honest with you, David?’ said Jolyon. ‘I think we’re all washed up tonight. Jack is resorting to fart gags and Chad has been telling us about his favourite episodes of The Cosby Show. Our conversation is in desperate need of an injection of genuine wit.’

David shut his book with a snap and followed Jolyon to the table. He had a large blond beard, its whiskers splayed out like the bristles of an overworked toothbrush. Jack’s other nickname for him was the Bearded Clam. Such sprouting around so young a face made David’s head appear shrunken and his eyes small among the wisps. He wore tortoiseshell glasses and often a cream fedora to match a cream linen jacket. He was wearing both that night over tight black jeans.

‘Well, I’m surprised that Pitt’s most guarded cabal has any time for little old me,’ said David, sliding cautiously into the chair. ‘I thought you were all quite strictly entre vous

these days.’

Jack swallowed. ‘You’re always more than welcome to join us, David,’ he said, playing his part without gusto.

David laughed. ‘And this from the man who likens my face to a vagina. Which is just about the most ugly analogy one could choose for a man of my . . . circumstance. Oh, no offence, Cassandra.’ Dee waved away David’s attempt at a look of concern. ‘And just how, exactly, am I welcome?’ David continued. ‘The whole band of you guard the spots at this table like les tricoteuses their front-row seats at the guillotine.’

Jack sniffed. ‘We’d love you to join us more often, David.’

‘Oh, I’m sure,’ said David. ‘But only until eleven, one assumes. At which hour Brigadier Jolyon leads the parade to his room each night. And by and large the exact same group.’

‘Well, you’re more than welcome to come with us tonight,’ said Jolyon.

‘And what, may I ask, is the cocktail de nuit?’ said David.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Jolyon, ‘we’re going to Jack’s room and I have no idea what he has planned for us.’

Jack shrugged.

‘Oh, Jack’s room tonight,’ said David, his voice vaguely suggestive. ‘A sanctum whose walls I have yet to penetrate,’ he added, archly.

Jack was not permitted to respond as he would have wished. Instead he forced an unconvincing laugh, but David didn’t detect any falsity and looked rather pleased with himself.

‘And am I to be let in on your secret?’

‘What secret is that?’ said Jolyon. ‘There’s no secret.’

‘Oh, come, come,’ said David. ‘Everyone at Pitt is intensely curious. You must know there’s a great deal of talk, you all seem to be behaving in peculiar ways since you became your own private sect.’ David paused and sipped but could see that his mischief was not yet sufficient to provoke a reaction. ‘Well, at least it gives the huddled masses something to chatter about at their jejune little gatherings for the rugby club or political discourse.’

Chad saw the danger and spoke quickly before Jolyon could say anything. ‘People can talk a lot of BS, David, you do realise that, don’t you?’