‘I’m coming to get you again tonight,’ said Jolyon. ‘You’re not missing dinner again, not on my watch.’
‘Thanks, Jolyon,’ said Mark. ‘Forgive me if I put up a fight again,’ he said. ‘I’m a terrible riser.’ Mark left the room, stretching his limbs and scratching his head as everyone said their goodbyes.
Chad wondered if, when he left and headed home, he might find Mark curled in a quiet corner somewhere like the dormouse from Alice in Wonderland. Or like Alice herself, dreaming of extraordinary worlds beyond the ends of rabbit holes.
XII(iv) The three of them remained to discuss Game Soc.
They agreed they would sleep on the question of who the other players should be. But Mark would definitely be invited to fill one of the six spots. And Jolyon had no doubt Mark would accept. ‘You heard him. He’s desperate for something interesting to do.’
‘And how about Emilia?’ said Jack.
‘Oh, she’s great,’ said Chad.
‘She is, isn’t she?’ said Jolyon.
‘That’s five then,’ said Jack. ‘Why did we tell them six players?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Chad. ‘Six just felt right. Something to do with dice?’
‘We need one more then,’ said Jack and they all stopped to think.
But instead of thinking about a sixth player, Chad began thinking of Emilia, allowing longed-for scenes to loop and spool slowly through his favourite daydream.
XII(v) They had met Emilia while waiting in line for the cursory medical exam they all underwent before term started.
Jolyon and Chad and Jack stood together in the line. Mark came from the nurse’s room and as he passed by they asked him what the procedure entailed.
‘It’s pretty basic,’ said Mark. ‘An eye test, a stethoscope, one of those cuffs for measuring blood pressure.’
‘You mean a sphygmomanometer,’ said Jack.
Emilia turned slowly from her spot ahead of them in the line. Her look fell piteously on Jack.
‘What?’ Jack complained. ‘That’s just what you call it.’
‘And just what do you call someone like you?’ said Emilia.
‘Oh, so now I’m the arsehole for having access to a vocabulary, am I?’
Emilia responded with a single blink of her big green eyes.
Jolyon laughed. ‘I’m Jolyon,’ he said, ‘and this is Chad. And that one’s called Jack and I absolutely promise you he’s way better company than first impressions suggest. And you are?’
‘Emilia,’ said Emilia.
‘And what are you studying?’
‘Psychology,’ she said.
‘Psychology’s an amazing subject,’ said Jolyon. ‘I just finished reading some Fromm. I couldn’t believe how political he is. The guy’s a genius.’
‘So you’re studying psychology? I thought I’d met all the first-year psychology students.’
‘No, I’m studying law,’ said Jolyon. ‘I was just interested in Fromm.’
Emilia’s eyes narrowed and she cocked her head. And then she said, ‘You know, you’re one of the few people who, when I mentioned studying psychology, didn’t say, oh, so tell me what I’m thinking right now.’ Jolyon peered hard at Emilia. ‘Is something up?’ she said.
‘Oh, nothing. No, it’s just . . . you remind me of someone I knew for a short while.’
‘Someone good, I hope,’ said Emilia.
Jolyon seemed to slip away for a moment and an awkward silence fell over them.
Chad jumped in. ‘What made you choose psychology, Emilia?’ he said.
‘That’s a very good question, Chad.’ Chad felt the familiar heat washing over his cheeks. ‘I don’t know,’ said Emilia. ‘Perhaps that’s one of the things I’m hoping to find out before leaving here.’
XII(vi) While Jack drummed his fingers against his cheek, thinking through possible candidates for the sixth spot, and while Chad thought about Emilia and lingered in his daydreams, Jolyon was thinking of little else but Emilia as well. Or at least his thoughts began with Emilia. Because soon he began to think about his month in Vietnam, the American girl with the same white-sand hair, the same sea-green eyes. The similarity was striking. They could have been sisters. The same coral lips.
XIII
XIII Games have awoken in me unpleasant memories of my divorce. Those boxes represent the only shared belongings I held on to when I left Blair four years ago. I even took the childish games we bought for the visits of her nieces and nephews. My ex-wife chose not to contest the ownership of Chutes & Ladders. Games had always been one of the sore points in our relationship, I couldn’t bear to lose even the friendliest of contests. And Blair deserved better, she only ever wanted to fix me. Poor Blair.
But never mind yesterday, yesterday was merely a blip. I have bagged up the games with the garbage, there will be no more frivolous pursuits. And today has felt better. My resolve remains undiminished and my story progresses. My evening routine is complete. The evening is a season unto itself, Keats’s autumn, all mists and mellow fruitfulness.
Chilli and rice. Check. Small nip of whisky. Check. Glass of water. Check.
Disrobe, brush teeth, take meds. One pink pill, one yellow, one blue.
And a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.
Life is a game of balances. Work, play. Wake, sleep. Stimulant, narcotic.
My snug skin, my cosy mind, the gentle hum of me. Check.
XIV
XIV Chad knocked on the door. He could hear the faint sound of creaks from within, the groaning of floorboards as Jolyon moved closer. Chad sense a tightness in his chest. Was he nervous? That would be foolish, he wasn’t here for any particular reason, only to hang out with Jolyon. At lunchtime perhaps they would go to the Churchill Arms. Maybe they would buy second-hand books beforehand or just sit and drink coffee and talk about the Game. So perhaps the feeling in Chad’s chest wasn’t nerves but a thrill.
When Jolyon opened his door, he smiled. He didn’t say anything, he only turned around and moved toward his bed where a newspaper was spread out, every inch of the blanket covered but for a small spot to which Jolyon returned.
‘I bumped into Prost at the bottom of the stairs,’ said Chad, ‘and he asked me to give this back to you.’ He waved several sheets of paper covered in handwriting.
‘Thanks,’ said Jolyon, ‘just leave it on the desk.’
‘What’s Prost doing with an essay on Roman law written by you?’
Jolyon looked confused for a moment. He picked up a page of newspaper and prodded it. ‘There’s a great story in here,’ he said. ‘Mikhail Gorbachev is being hotly tipped to win the Nobel Peace Prize next week.’
‘Jolyon, I thought you said – and let me get the words just right – that Prost is a one hundred per cent, grade A, total frickin cock.’
Jolyon sighed. ‘Look, when I finished my essay yesterday, I found him slumped over his desk in the library. It was midnight, he had nothing but a few torn-up attempts. His tutorial’s today, the guy was panicking. So I lent him mine.’
‘Even though he’s a total frickin cock?’
‘It seemed like the right thing to do,’ said Jolyon.
‘You mean you felt bad for him?’ said Chad.
Jolyon looked even more confused than before. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ he said.