The Talisman

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘Well, you can’t have it. It belongs to her sons.’

  Dora put the earrings on and admired herself. ‘Yeah? Well, they don’t deserve nothing, them two, and what they don’t know you got they won’t miss.’

  ‘Dora, you put that back now. It’s unlucky, don’t wear it, you can’t have it.’

  ‘Why not? You think about all the years she stayed with you, the way you was the only one to see her at the end. You’ve got a right to it, so I’m keeping it. Besides, who’s paying the rent and feeding you? You gotta let me keep it, Mum . . .’

  Mrs Harris shrugged. She knew it was pointless to argue with Dora when she wanted something.

  Mrs Harris took a long time to decide exactly what to write. Dora had promised to copy it out neatly for her, as her eyesight was none too good, let alone her spelling. Dora would do anything for her mother right now, since the pearl and gold necklace and matching earrings had been given to her.

  Mrs Harris had found Edward’s last letter to his mother with her other things at the hospital, and she was so furious at his request for money from the poor, sick woman that she crumpled it up and threw it in the fire. Dora had told her off, because now they didn’t have Edward’s address so how could they tell him about the funeral? In the end they had written to Edward care of Cambridge University, hoping it would reach him, and in the meantime Mrs Harris had gone to the funeral directors and found that Evelyne had organized every last detail. She had forgotten nothing; the casket had been chosen, the cross and the exact wording for Evelyne and her husband. And everything had been paid for.

  Edward stared at the strange, scrawled writing on the cheap pink envelope. He hadn’t the slightest idea who it was from. He opened it and read the badly spelt letter as he walked across the quad.

  ‘. . . I am sorry to inform you that your mother died last Wednesday and was buried Friday. We had tried to contact you and hope you will understand why everything went ahead as your mother had arranged everything. Please call on us when you come to London as we would like to tell you about everything then, also that the lawyers have the keys to your house as your mother instructed us to leave them there. I am writing this on behalf of my mother as she cannot see too good, and is still very upset as she loved your mother very much as did everyone else in these parts. Yours sincerely, Dora Harris.’

  In the privacy of his room, Edward read and reread the letter. He was ashamed that he couldn’t cry, could feel nothing. He tore the letter into shreds and burnt it, then lay on his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling. His body felt light, alien to him, and he tried to feel some kind of emotion, tried to recall his mother’s face.

  Walter found him still lying there, fully dressed, the next morning, staring into space. He offered to call a doctor, thinking he was ill. ‘There’s a big bash tonight, Teddy Kingly’s departing for the army, it’s over at King’s, you going?’

  Edward stared vacantly at Walter and asked him to get his dinner jacket out, it would need cleaning.

  Walter did as Edward asked, then turned and asked again if he was all right.

  ‘I’m fine. Look, can you do me a favour? I need a weekend leave, I used mine up going to that party at Cynthia’s. You don’t need yours, do you?’

  Walter hesitated. ‘Nothing wrong, is there?’

  ‘No, old chap, I just got an invite to a dinner party in London. Can you fix it for me?’

  Although he had been thinking of going to see his parents, Walter gave in to Edward as usual. The next weekend Edward returned to the East End for the first time since he had left for college.

  He walked among the bomb sites, turned into the old street and stood at the top of the road, stunned. Hardly a house was left standing, and he could see that number twelve was no more than a piece of waste ground. He walked slowly to the site of his old home and stood where the doorstep had been. He felt nothing, just as he had been unable to feel anything when he learned of Evelyne’s death.

  Side-stepping puddles and piles of rubble he walked on, trying to remember where Mrs Harris used to live. As he turned into a narrow alley the sirens started screaming overhead. A warden ran along the alley towards him and yelled for him to take cover as they were coming this way. Edward asked for the nearest shelter and ran for the railway sidings.

  He had forgotten the voices, the accents, and he stood huddled against the wall, remembering, as more and more people crowded under the railway arches. The planes passed overhead and as they heard the bombs dropping they were all looking skywards.

  ‘Bleedin’ bastard Jerries, sons of bitches, go on ya buggers, get out of it.’

  The all clear sounded, and they made their way out, carrying their gas-mask cases. Edward asked a couple of people if they knew a Mrs Harris, and he was eventually directed to a rundown block of flats. The smell of cabbage and the stench of urine swamped him as he went up the stone steps – obviously many people used the stairs to live on – and he shuddered. Most of the windows were boarded up, and the flats had evidently been hit more than once, as there were holes in the roofs.

  ‘All right, I’m comin’, for Chrissake ’ang on, no need to ring on an’ on.’ Dora Harris opened the door and stepped back, surprised. She didn’t recognize Edward, saw only a well-dressed gent who, when he spoke, sounded posh, upper crust.

  ‘Mrs Harris?’

  Dora tried to close the door, thinking he might be the law, but Edward put his foot between door and post.

  ‘What you want ’er for? She’s busy right now, if it’s the rent then you’ll have to come back, but you ain’t the usual rent man, is you?’

  Mrs Harris shuffled out of the kitchen and asked what all the racket was about. She squinted past her daughter and stared.

  ‘Are you Mrs Harris? It’s Edward, Edward Stubbs.’

  She stared at him then after a moment nodded to Dora to let him in. Dora went towards the lounge, but Mrs Harris moved back into the kitchen. Dora wore only a thin wraparound and fluffy slippers, her hair in curlers. She watched the smart gent as he passed by her into the stuffy, smelly kitchen.

  ‘I’ll be gettin’ changed, Ma, won’t be a tick.’

  Mrs Harris lowered her bulk into the easy chair and looked into the fire. She was sweating with the effort, and her heart thudded in her chest. ‘So you’ve come. You took your time – well, sit down, lad, sit down.’

  Uneasy, Edward sat down and wished he hadn’t bothered, the place reminded him of his old home and he felt sick.

  ‘You look all done up like a dog’s dinner, what you up to, then?’

  Edward explained that he had not received her letter until too late, and thanked her for taking care of his mother.

  ‘I never did nothing, boy, she took care of herself, that one, even arranged her own funeral down to the cross, have you seen the grave? No, didn’t think you would have done. What about your brother, been to see him, have you? Our Dora used to go, but they moved ’im, did you know that? You want a cup of something?’

  Edward shook his head and stood up, he had nothing to say, he should never have come. Mrs Harris looked at him in his smart clothes. ‘She was ill, you know, cancer, but she never let on, not to me even. Yer brother took it hard, is he all right?’

  Before Edward could answer, Dora swung into the kitchen, wearing a cheap perfume that filled the room, and bright red, high-heeled shoes. Her breasts were pushed up into a new type of bra, and her flowered blouse was open at the neck to display her cleavage. Her blonde hair was fluffed out into the latest fashion, and she was wearing the full war paint.

  ‘You off, are you? Don’t suppose you’re going up west are you, only I could do with a lift?’

  Edward buttoned his coat, eager to be gone, and shook his head. Dora kissed her mother’s balding head and then opened a drawer in the untidy sideboard. ‘So you’re Eddie. Well I never, you grown up a real dandy, that’s for sure. Looks ever so nice, don’t he, Ma? Hang on, I’ll walk wiv ya. I’m almost ready.’

  Edward watc
hed her open a leather box, take out his mother’s gold and pearl necklace and clasp it around her neck, looking into the mirror above the fire. While she fixed the earrings she caught him looking at her, and she flicked her tongue over her painted lips, smiled at him with a coy, sexy pout. ‘You recognize this, do you? It was yer mother’s, she left it to me in her will, didn’t she Ma? I never have it off, do I? It’s just lovely.’

  Edward’s stomach churned. Emotions he had thought himself incapable of feeling were beginning to surface and he had to get out. But Dora wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily – she caught his arm and teetered on her heels, clip-clopping beside him down the concrete stairs. ‘Stinks here, don’t it? Terrible, I’m only here ’cause of Ma, otherwise I’d be in my own place, I got enough put by for a nice flat, but until she pops off I have to stay. Only fair really, all the others are married now, with kids, and they got their own problems . . . You got a girl, have you, Eddie? I bet you have, nice-looking boy like you, and yer ever so tall, taller than yer brother by a couple of inches. Oh, he’s been ever so hard done by, did me mum tell you? Poor bugger, just one of those types, isn’t he? Walks into trouble.’

  Having nothing better to do, Edward went all the way into the West End with Dora. She kept up a steady flow of chatter, and as they neared Mayfair she asked Edward if he would like to have a drink at the club where she worked. ‘It’s ever so nice, and very exclusive, lots of Yanks in there, but they are really nice blokes, you know, not just servicemen but officers.’

  Edward found himself sitting at a small, seedy bar in a drinking club close to Berkeley Square. The club had only one main room, fitted out with tiny, two-seater tables and a couple of booths. There was a dance floor the size of a postage stamp, and crammed into a corner was a three-piece band. Dora seemed to be the ‘head girl’, all the other ‘hostesses’ were younger by a few years. Edward watched her circulating among the tables, chatting with everyone and ordering champagne. He could see the girls were hookers, but he reckoned they were reasonably expensive ones, since they were all well dressed. Dora herself had changed into a slinky evening gown which was cut very low at the neck, and it showed off his mother’s necklace very well. She constantly checked her lipstick in the wall-to-wall mirrors.

  After a couple of drinks Edward decided to call it a night. He was bored and the music annoyed him. He was just about to leave when Dora sat down with a glass of what looked like champagne. She leaned over and whispered that she was drinking ginger beer, although nobody knew it, but she had to keep sober for the clients. A swarthy gent in a flash tuxedo with red cummerbund joined them, and Dora introduced him as her manager.

  Johnny Mask took a good look at Edward and smiled his flashy smile, showing two gold-capped teeth. Edward seemed familiar to Mask and he asked if they had met before, but the upper-class twang to Edward’s voice confused him.

  Edward wanted to get out now, the seedy little club was beginning to grate unbearably on his nerves, and he was wary of the sly-faced Johnny Mask. Dora walked him to the exit and clung to his arm, her sickly-sweet perfume becoming even more cloying. ‘Why don’t you come back later, Eddie, place doesn’t liven up until two or three in the morning. These are just a few regulars, we get all sorts later on – types you’d more’n likely mix with these days – you know, high-class . . . An’ out at the back, through the mirrored doors just by the bar, there’s a private card game goes on. You come back, lovey, you’ll like it, I could show you a nice time.’

  Edward had to unwrap her fingers from his arm. She disgusted him, and yet he couldn’t help but find her attractive. She had a beautiful figure, and even though she was no longer a young girl she was still very pretty in a common way.

  He buttoned his coat and asked her how much she charged, saw the hurt look on her face and smiled. But she tossed back her head and said that if he was a real nice gent she might give him one for nothing. He may look posh, but he shouldn’t forget that she knew where he came from, and more’n likely he couldn’t afford her anyway.

  Edward cocked his head to one side, then pulled her close and whispered, ‘Nothing is free, sweetheart. Get your coat.’

  Dora wanted him, not like a ‘punter’ – she wanted him, so she went over to Johnny Mask and took him aside. ‘Listen, this toff, he could be useful – you know, bring in his friends? You want me to make him a happy boy?’

  Johnny looked over at Edward and gave Dora’s arse a slap. ‘Go to it – tell him he’ll get a special membership price if he helps with the cash flow down here . . .’

  Johnny Mask’s flat was a monument to bad taste – full of glass and Formica, the new rage. The furniture was Art Deco – there were dreadful satin drapes and bowls of wax fruit everywhere, a grubby white carpet and a huge radio.

  Dora danced over and switched the radio on. She smiled at Edward. ‘You like jazz, Eddie? I like the soft, quiet kind, not all those bleedin’ trumpets. Come on through, it’s fantastic, isn’t it?’

  The bedroom was even worse, with purple drapes around the bed, which was flanked by statues, and behind the drapes a mirror. Dora lay back on the bed and pulled a cord. ‘See, isn’t it something? And guess what – you gotta promise me that you won’t let on I told you – the mirror, well, it’s two-way glass. He gets people here, huddled behind it, watching the sessions.’

  Edward walked around the room, its seediness and decadence exciting him. Dora giggled and began doing a striptease in time to music, throwing each item across the room as she removed it. Naked, she lay back and stretched, then sat up and leant on her elbows, her face sweet and childlike. ‘Well, come on, if you’re coming . . . I’ve not got all night, and Johnny don’t like me doin’ too much “voluntary work”. I just said you was an old friend, that you’d bring us a lot of business. Johnny wants new customers, you know, with class and cash. They’re always easy for us. Only trouble is the bleedin’ poor ones, they always cause problems.’

  Edward folded his clothes neatly on the satin-covered chair and leaned, naked, against the bed.

  ‘Oh, I knew you were lovely but not this good, yer got a body on yer that’s just perfect, just beautiful. Come here, I’m going to enjoy this one.’

  Slowly, he lay against her soft, pink body, and had reached for her before he realized that she was still wearing his mother’s necklace. He shut his eyes, clenched his teeth, feeling sick, and his head throbbed.

  ‘What’s the matter, lovey? What’s the matter, darlin’ – you’re not gonna pass out on me, are yer? Come here, come an’ let me hold you, just don’t be sick, not on this nice bed.’

  Instead of Dora he could see his mother, hear her, the way she would hold him and rock him in her arms. He didn’t know what to do, he could feel it all churning up inside, and he wanted her to shut up. But she kept talking, talking . . . He grabbed the necklace and tore it from her neck, rolling off the bed. ‘You don’t deserve to wear this, you cheap tart, you slut – give me the earrings, give me . . . Give!’

  She wriggled away, cramming herself against the headboard, hands to her ears. ‘Ah, no! What you doin’, what you doin’? It’s mine, I was give it, yer mother give it us, it’s the truth, Eddie – I swear it, yer mother give it to me!’

  He crawled up the bed and grabbed her, close to him, snatched off one earring then the other.

  ‘You bastard, they’re mine, I’ll have you for this – I will, I’ll bleedin’ have you, you bastard!’ She slid off the bed, grabbed one of her high-heeled shoes and went for him. He slapped her so hard she fell across the room. Her mouth bleeding, she was up like a little tigress, screaming at the top of her voice. He caught her and slapped her face, first one way, then the other, until she was crying, begging for him to stop. Weeping as he punched her, he banged her head against the headboard until she nearly blacked out. She was convinced he was going to kill her, and she held her hands over her face to protect it, but the next moment he gathered her gently in his arms and was kissing her, lovingly, and she stopped cryin
g. ‘Don’t hurt me, Eddie, please don’t, please don’t, I’ll make it right for you, you’ll see, you’ll see.’

  He made love to her and she played along, pretending, kissing his shoulders, his neck, his ears . . . Suddenly she wasn’t acting, it was for real, and she could feel it. To be excited was, for her, something new. She could turn any man on, do any amount of tricks, but she had learned to block it out of her mind. But she lost that with Edward, for the first time in years, years of being screwed by so many men she couldn’t even remember how many, let alone their names. This boy made her feel clean, unused and fresh, and she lay in his arms crying her heart out.

  Exhausted, they curled around each other, and he rested his head on her belly.

  ‘Eddie, you believe me if I tell you that was special, honest it was. I got so used to doin’ it, it’s like makin’ a cup of tea, I got so I don’t feel nothin’, but you’ve just changed all that. Will you kiss me? On the lips, like you was my boyfriend?’

  He held her head in both hands and kissed her lips, looking into her eyes, and she reached for him, pulled his head down and kissed him over and over again. ‘I don’t kiss, ever, I never let ’em kiss me, that sound weird? They don’t mind, yer know. I say, “You can kiss me fanny, me arse, but me lips are me own” . . . you want that necklace, them earrings? Take ’em, it was worth it.’

  He was up and out of the bed, dragging his trousers on, and as he looked at her his eyes were so blank and unemotional he frightened her all over again.

  ‘You angry? What’s the matter with yer?’

  Edward pulled his shirt on, grabbed his jacket, and at the same time he shoved his bare feet into his shoes, put his socks into his pocket. He had been paid by Lady Primrose and now a tart was paying him – he hated it, and he had to get out before he really hurt her.

  ‘What did I say? You want your mother’s necklace, don’t you? Eddie? Eddie, why don’t you say something to me?’