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‘Minor repair required,’ he responded, when Jolyon questioned him about it.

‘Or maybe you don’t want us to know your initials,’ said Jolyon, to which Tallest replied with a respectful nod.

‘Since the topic has been raised,’ said Tallest, ‘please allow me to suggest that none of you try surreptitiously to find out anything about us, about Game Soc. We’ve already laid down the rules, so maybe it’s too late to insist, but perhaps you could consider this friendly advice. Let’s just say it’s a matter of etiquette. You’re all intelligent and inquisitive people. But curiosity and cats and so on.’ Tallest shrugged as if to say that none of this really needed saying. ‘Anyway, let’s move swiftly on to the important stuff, the real reason we’re here,’ he continued, patting his briefcase. ‘Money.’

‘But first we want some assurances,’ said Chad. ‘How do we know this isn’t some kind of scam? What if you disappear with our cash?’

‘I can give no such assurances,’ said Tallest. ‘It’s a matter of take it or leave it, I’m afraid. All I can offer you is this . . .’ He opened the briefcase, lifted it head high and then flipped it quickly upside down. Down onto the floorboards there fell ten bundles of money tied up with red ribbon. ‘I opted for five-pound notes,’ said Tallest. ‘I thought it might drive home the point rather better.’

No one said anything, they only stared at the money.

‘Your turn now,’ said Tallest, holding out his hand.

Jack started to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. ‘You hold him down, Chad, and I’ll do him in with the ashtray.’

‘Yes, but then you’d all have to share,’ said Tallest. ‘And that wouldn’t be half as much fun.’ He bent down and threw one of the bundles to each of them in turn. ‘Just so you can ascertain whether it’s real or not,’ he said.

They each held the money for a moment as if it were something fragile. Jack riffled his bundle and whistled. And then quickly, but Jolyon first of all, they dropped the money limply into their laps as if it held no particular interest to them.

Jolyon lit a cigarette, everyone seemed to be waiting for him. And then he tossed the money nonchalantly back, reached into his pocket and removed an envelope. Crossing the room, he handed it to Tallest who, without opening or inspecting it, dropped the envelope into his briefcase. ‘Good. One down, five to go,’ he said.

One by one they approached him, each returning Tallest’s money and then handing him their own thousand pounds. Jack had folded his money tightly into an empty cigarette pack. ‘Careful, this stuff will kill you,’ he said.

‘Most amusing,’ said Tallest. ‘You know, all of my favourite tragedies feature the character of a good fool.’ He removed the roll of twenties and sniffed at it disapprovingly before dropping it into his briefcase.

Dee’s stack of notes was tied with black ribbon. ‘Oh dear, we had the same idea,’ she said to Tallest, pretending to be mortified.

‘But your choice of colour was so much more apt, Cassandra,’ he replied.

When he had received everyone’s deposit and gathered up the money from the floor, Tallest snapped shut the briefcase and held it to his chest. He made the sign of the cross against the leather but paused as he finished. ‘Please do excuse my dark sense of humour,’ he said, his mouth squeezing out a sarcastic pout. ‘Tragedies, ominous ribbons, blessings? Really, I’m just trying to have some fun with you all, no need to look so serious. Don’t worry, I promise you, it’ll be fun.’ Tallest turned and started to leave, lightly swinging his briefcase as he went. ‘See you next term then,’ he said, pulling the door closed behind him.

And then Chad imagined Tallest lingering outside the door for a moment to listen in on what he had left behind. And had he done so, what he would have heard would have pleased Tallest very much. Nothing but silence. Ten seconds, twenty.

Chad pictured him turning and bounding down the stairs two at a time.

XXII(iv) It was an epochal period for Chad, those first months at Pitt. One term, eight weeks, the very best days of his life. And his resentment toward Emilia for her delay of the Game quickly subsided because it was true there was much to see in and around the city. And although the Game was the next adventure Chad had in mind, Emilia’s adventures were not without their charms. For one or two days each week she became the group’s ringleader, insisting on trips to quaint Oxfordshire villages or arranging walks through the meadows, an afternoon in the Botanic Garden. The others sometimes made sour faces at the idea of watching rugby in the University Parks or enjoying an autumnal stroll through the woods. But Emilia knew how to sell her ideas to them. It wasn’t so much about the rugby as standing on the sidelines sharing hot toddies from a Thermos. The woods were next to a seventeenth-century riverside pub. And although Chad made his face sour as well, inside he was thrilled every time Emilia pulled them away from Pitt on another expedition.

They attended lectures in the mornings and convened as a group at some point every afternoon or evening. There were no formal arrangements for such gatherings. They would flock one by one at certain likely spots. Jolyon’s room, the college bar, dinner in the refectory. A patch of grass by the ancient tree in the gardens where Dee would sit and read until winter swept in hard toward the end of Michaelmas. At night they went everywhere together, a troupe of travelling actors enlivening every scene they slipped themselves into. The parties, the bars and concerts. The strange college discos that were referred to, in the university vernacular, as ‘bops’.

It was a term full of rapturous pleasures. And Chad believed he had stumbled by chance upon the very best people in the world. They all did. They were all so young.

XXII(v) ‘So what are you doing for Christmas, Chad?’ said Jolyon, clearing their plates away, pouring more tea. Jolyon made eggs for the two of them every Saturday morning. And then they would browse through the newspapers until lunchtime, reading out their favourite stories to one another.

‘I’m supposed to be going home,’ said Chad, picking up a newspaper, feigning an air of nonchalance as he opened it in his lap. ‘But with the deposit for the Game, I don’t think I can afford to. The other Americans are all flying back, so at least I’ll have the house to myself.’ He sipped the strong tea. It was becoming almost palatable. ‘Mom’ll be upset though. It’s bad enough I won’t be home for Thanksgiving this week.’

‘Why don’t you come home with me?’ said Jolyon. ‘If your house is empty we can hang out in the city a while. We only have to stay a week with my mother for Christmas, or longer if you want. I’ll show you how we do it over here.’

Chad loosened his grip on the newspaper, he could feel it almost beginning to tear. ‘I don’t want to impose, Jolyon,’ he said. ‘What would your mom think about this?’

‘I’ve asked her already,’ said Jolyon. ‘She can’t wait to meet you.’

XXII(vi) The eighth and final week of term became a time of celebration. The horse-chestnut leaves had fallen and Christmas was coming. They lived in a world of friendships and foggy mornings. Their days were cool and reeled along slowly. Nights buzzed by fast, warm with companionship and the air full of laughter.

Margaret Thatcher had resigned as prime minister midway through seventh week and Chad delighted his friends by pointing out that it was the day of Thanksgiving. He skipped the turkey meal with his housemates and they all partied in the bar, proclaiming a new age and toasting a thousand toasts. Most of Pitt had turned out for the occasion and there was even champagne, or something that sparkled at least. At the end of the night, Chad stood on a stool and shouted, ‘Happy Thanksgiving, happy Thanksgiving, everybody.’ Someone put Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’ on the jukebox and they hoisted Chad onto their shoulders. Everyone sang and everyone lifted their glasses to him as he was paraded around, kicking his legs to the beat.