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?’
Edward was quite obviously fit. He stood six feet two and a half inches tall, but his body was slender, not yet filled out. He was deeply embarrassed by Emmott’s enquiries and looked down at his shoes. Eventually Emmott got round to his reason for wanting to speak to Edward; his name would be going before the board, and he could quite easily be called up to the army.
‘You’ll have to go before them in a few months’ time. If you are fit, which you obviously are, you will stand in line like the majority of students this term. I have already made my feelings felt on this matter. You are one of my best students and I would be loath to lose you, very loath, but there is a war on, and . . . you see all right, do you? No problem with your eyesight? Not deaf either? In certain cases the medical is pretty rigorous, there again, occasionally not, flat feet is a certain let-out . . . I just wondered, as you have not joined any of the sports societies, if perhaps you are flat-footed . . .’ Edward was still slightly unsure of what Professor Emmott had been hinting at, but he thought that if he had read the old boy right he was tipping Edward off before he went for his medical. The last thing Edward wanted was to be conscripted, having got this far, and if he joined up it could be years before he came back to college, if ever.
As Edward left the study Emmott was already sitting back at his paper-strewn desk and, without looking up, he suggested that if Edward wanted to make a few bob, the radio factory just out of town was looking for people to do shift work, perhaps he should look into it.
Edward smiled his thanks, and Emmott gave him a direct look, then returned to his studies. He believed Edward to be academically brilliant, with a great future ahead of him. It was rare to find a student who was so diligent, but Emmott’s uppermost thought was that Edward was the first student he had ever come across who touched on his own obsessive interests. Emmott’s life centred on study, stretching his mind inside that domed forehead. Edward had the same yearning, Emmott recognized his hunger for knowledge and would have liked to express it in words. He didn’t, however; not many virile young men wanted to be told they were akin to a bent cripple.
Edward went to the radio factory, where they offered him three shillings a night on the late shift. He had to sort and examine plastic washers, a boring, tedious job, but he needed the extra money for the sports jacket he was saving for.
He had to get permission from the college to work, but of course Emmott gave it, so Edward had a special pass for the three nights a week. His good looks made him very popular with all the
factory women, and some of them hovered around his table with cups of tea and home-made biscuits. They were all after him, but he found them coarse and he hated the way they giggled behind their dirty hands. They wore headscarves knotted at the front, and it made them all seem unattractive, but most of them came from the farms around Cambridge where they could lay their hands on butter, eggs and milk, and so he charmed them and played them along.
The digs were the pits, but he bore with them because they saved him money. One night he was working in his room when he heard the ‘toot-toot’ of Charlie’s car horn below. He burst into Edward’s room, then stopped and sniffed. ‘Good Lord, place stinks of cabbage, or cat’s piss. Listen, old chap, you fancy coming for a spin? Not seen you about.’
Edward refused, saying he wanted to finish an essay.
‘Why not show your face at the rugger match, Sat’day, should be a good game . . . won’t change your mind, eh? Few jars at the Duck and Feather?’
Edward shook his head and Charlie bounded out. Edward looked out of his window as Charlie hopped into his MG. There he was with a strapping blonde sitting beside him. He waved to Edward and careered off. Edward sighed, Charlie never seemed to worry about anything, least of all finances, and although petrol was rationed Charlie was never short. Edward had heard he got all the boys’ petrol rations in exchange for alcohol.
When Edward went to collect his mail from residence, he found a letter from his mother. He hated her letters, they always depressed him. There was little mention of Alex, only a paragraph to say his brother had got into trouble, but there were no details. Whenever Edward saw his brother’s name in his mother’s writing he felt a certain amount of guilt, but he always assured himself that he was doing what they had both wanted, therefore it was all right. Evelyne mentioned that she had not been feeling too well, but she hoped he was fit, and working hard. She would write again soon. There was no mention of the extra money he had written to ask her for and, angry, he ripped the letter into shreds. He was sick and tired of working at the radio factory with those stupid bitches tittering and nudging each other every time he inadvertently touched them. He had now taken on another part-time job, one school-kids usually did, sitting watching for incendiary bombs for three shillings a night. He would sit by the sandbags with a torch hidden under a blanket and do his reading.
Edward hated being poor, and began to resent the sight of Charlie and his crowd as they steamed around town, in and out of the dance clubs, their days seemingly revolving round a desperate search for pleasure. They all suffered from hangovers, and several times Edward had seen Charlie staggering across the quad, wearing his pyjamas under his cords and jacket, on his way to the Dot to join his ever-increasing circle of friends. They danced and drank, their eyes always open for new girls, and then they would go on to Leo’s where they would down Pimm’s or whisky. They were known to be in a permanent alcoholic haze, always hunting out the women in Woolworth’s or Boots, wheeling around the town laughing too loudly and propping each other up as they made their way unsteadily back to college during the blackouts.
Edward worked all the hours that God gave him, and yet was never late for a single lecture. Charlie, on the other hand, played hard all night and caught up on his sleep during lectures. Edward presumed that Charlie spent most of his days sleeping off the booze, until one afternoon he passed the rugby pitch. He stared in amazement at the game, which he couldn’t begin to understand. The boys, covered in mud, hurled an odd-shaped ball backwards and forwards, while rows of men stood on the touchline, waving bottles of beer. He had been impressed by Charlie, however. Small as he was he was a little demon on the pitch, zigzagging through the larger men like an eel. He was so obviously popular that it needled Edward, and he stayed to watch. He started to laugh when he saw Charlie in the centre of the scrum, and joined the cheering when it seemed that Charlie’s team was ahead. He watched Charlie fighting at the side of the pitch, yelling and striking out at the linesman, which was greeted with cheers and shouts from those on the touchline.
When the match was over Edward followed the crowd into the local pub, and there was Charlie with his hair plastered down after his shower, ordering beer all around, and as always the centre of attention. ‘Eddie, my boy, come over and meet the team; everyone, this is Big Eddie, we should rope him in, look at his shoulders . . . come on Eddie, have a beer.’
Although it upset him to be called ‘Eddie’, Edward accepted the beer, and afterwards it seemed only natural to go with them all to the restaurant for a booze-up. The food kept on coming, even though rationing was in force, and it was good. The proprietor obviously knew Charlie and was bowing and scraping and allowing them to sing at the tops of their voices.
Edward began to get a little uneasy as the drinking got heavier, the coffee had been and gone and he wondered how the bill was to be paid. He was in a very difficult situation. He had to admit he was enjoying himself, but he kept one eye on the waiters as they began adding up the cost of the food and the drinks. ‘Okay, everyone, it’s twenty-five bob a head, and I think that’s jolly reasonable, so let’s have a cheer for Angelo! All together now – For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow . . .’
Charlie was prone on the floor, and his pal Freddy took out a wad of notes and shouted that he’d take care of Charlie’s share. Two other players passed their hats round the table. Edward was tight-lipped, angry because he had allowed himself to be drawn into the binge. Now he had to pay for it, and pay for it dearly. This meant that he would have no cash for the rest of the week.
He made it look as if twenty-five shillings was nothing, but considering he could get a three-course meal for three shillings and sixpence it was an outrageous amount of money. He dropped his share into the cap, picked up his coat and walked out. That would be the end of his mixing with Charlie and his pals.
Edward worked late at the radio factory, doing double time and hating every minute of it. By the time he got home it was after twelve. The landlady warned him that she would have to report him, he was supposed to be in by ten-thirty. He wanted to hit her, but he controlled his temper and smiled, and told her there had been a bomb scare at the factory, so he had had to stay later than normal.
Charlie breezed into the lecture the following afternoon and squeezed in beside Edward. He pressed up close and whispered, but Edward couldn’t hear. ‘Can you help me out, I’ve got nothing done, not had the time, just fill in a few pages for me?’
Edward obliged, and the lecture continued with Edward writing down the notes for Charlie that were to be handed in the following day. Charlie was very grateful, and waited for Edward as he came out of the lecture. Slinging his arm around Edward’s shoulders, he walked with him to the hall for lunch. They were coming up to the end of term, and Charlie, with his mouth full, asked Edward what his plans were. Edward shrugged and said he would be going back to London, and Charlie asked if perhaps Edward would like to spend the long vacation with him. ‘There’s a bit of a catch, see. If Ma finds out the condition I’m in this term all hell will break loose, know what I mean, old thing? On the other hand, if you were to stay for the summer vac, as a house guest, she wouldn’t go out and grab Emmott or some other cripple to get me working all summer. You and I could do a bit of swotting, help me along, what d’you say?’
Edward wanted to say yes, but he thought of money as always. Charlie grinned, as if reading his friend’s mind, and said it would cost his Ma about ten shillings an hour to pay a tutor and he, Charlie, would hand it over to Edward instead, then he would have his full board and lodgings plus a hell of a good time.
Edward wrote to his mother to say he would not be able to return home for the summer, as he was taking a special course in Wales. She did not have to worry about money as he would have all his costs paid. He would write to her when he got there. He wrote the note on a picture postcard of Cambridge town centre, knowing she would like to show it to her friends.
Edward packed his case into the ba
ck of Charlie’s MG, and was amazed at how much luggage Charlie had – two trunks and three cases. Edward’s small, cheap case looked embarrassing.
‘You travel light, don’t you? Well, come on, hop in, we’ve got a long drive. You ever been to Wales? We’ve got a pile of rubble there we use for hols.’
They drove fast, and Edward was again astonished that Charlie never seemed concerned about petrol, just as he seemed unconcerned about everything in his life.
They headed for Cardiff, and Edward looked around the countryside. It was so different from bombed, scarred London – as if war were far removed from this part of Britain. The sun shone, they passed farms where cattle grazed, it was idyllic and Edward started to relax. He had worked hard all term, and he looked forward to days with nothing to do. As usual, Charlie talked incessantly throughout the journey, gossiped about his pals, who they had been out with, the abortion they had fixed up for the redhead from the cosmetic counter at Woolies, the barmaid with the big tits from the Old Boar.
They drove through Cardiff town centre, shooting through red lights while Charlie yelled to Edward that he should look at this or that sight. As he never stopped, Edward was forced constantly to swivel round in his seat. The town disappeared behind them and they drove along twisting country lanes.
Charlie stopped and went behind a hedge to pee. He shouted to Edward that they were nearly there. When he got back in the car his mood had changed, suddenly he was quiet and he drove more slowly, and he spoke more calmly. ‘Look, there might be a bit of an atmosphere at home, with Clarence getting it. Ma might be a bit down. But she’ll be all right, there’s lots of friends coming up, so we won’t get too bored.’
They travelled on in silence, and Edward looking sidelong at Charlie who was chewing his lips and seemed edgy. They went on for another ten miles before Charlie spoke again. ‘You’ll find my old man a bit strange. Just ignore him, something happened to him in the war so he’s a little daffy.’
The Talisman Page 6
