XLII(iv) Now he was standing very still, silently, before them. It was as if he were in a dream and unable to move. Thoughts were running through his head. Very secret thoughts and yet somehow in his dream everyone in the crowd knew what he was thinking. You could tell from the looks on their faces. The shock, the confusion. It was as if he were standing naked in a room full of mind-readers.
Chad sensed that in this dream he was standing in the Great Hall in order to talk about relationships. It then ran through his mind that he was entirely unqualified to talk about relationships, what with him being a virgin. The mind-readers all reacted with shock to this thought, as if he had spoken it aloud. This was a horrible dream.
The liaison officer got to his feet and began to gesticulate but Tallest slid quickly from his bench, placed a hand on the shoulder of the old man and whispered something. The liaison officer looked surprised and uneasy and then sat down again.
Chad wanted this nightmare to end. But as with all bad dreams he was powerless.
The main person Chad did want to sleep with was Emilia. Oh, Emilia. But Emilia was taken. Taken by his best friend. And now Chad secretly wanted his best friend, his only ever real friend, to go and screw the whole thing up.
The practice of mind-reading took an immense amount of effort. This much was clear to Chad from the way that many of the people in his dream, including Emilia, were now holding their heads and rubbing their faces.
Chad felt so guilty having such awful feelings. And another thing he felt guilty about was lying, letting everyone believe he was from New York City when really he grew up on a pig farm upstate. And on the topic of guilt, what he most felt guilty about in life was self-abuse, so guilty that he imposed a limit on himself, only once a month and even then only as a reward for good grades. Also, he had been terrified for years that it was masturbation that was causing his acne but the limit didn’t seem to help.
His thoughts continued to spin but Chad couldn’t hear them any more. Where was Mitzy? The hall was turning dark and people were moving toward him. Coming faster, then tilting, then slipping away.
XLII(v)‘You really don’t remember anything?’ said Emilia.
‘Spined blot. Something about a hat? But after that, nothing.’ Chad pushed the damp cloth harder against his head. ‘OK, Jack. You can tell me one thing. I get why my head feels like this but what about the pain all down my right arm?’
‘Oh, that was the grand finale,’ said Jack. ‘The blackout. It was like timber going down in a forest.’
‘Yeah, I guessed it was something like that. I just hoped it had happened away from the crowd.’
‘No, in front of everyone.’ said Jack. ‘And on camera. The money shot.’
‘And why didn’t anyone stop me?’
‘Tallest whispered to the old guy you were recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Smart move because then the old guy signalled to the tutors that everything was in hand and he’d explain later. They wanted to call an ambulance when you went down but Jolyon smoothed the whole thing over.’
‘Wait,’ said Chad, sitting up, looking unsettled, ‘how long have I been passed out?’
‘A good four hours,’ said Dee. ‘It’s six thirty now.’
‘Oh shoot,’ said Chad. He tried to get up quickly from the bed but the pain was too severe. ‘Jeez, I really have to go.’
‘Go where?’ said Dee.
‘I have a date at seven with Mitzy.’
Jack started to laugh but quickly covered his mouth. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I don’t mean to . . . Mitzy? You mean one of those Americans who came to offer you moral support? Blonde hair? California tan?’
‘What’s wrong?’ said Chad.
XLII(vi) It was a French bistro. The pain was a dark blot at the rearmost crook of Chad’s skull and the bruises showed when he rolled up a sleeve, so quickly he turned it down. He sat at his reserved table. He was certain Mitzy wouldn’t arrive but Chad knew he had to sit there anyway.
An hour alone at a table in a crowded restaurant, Friday night. But this was a punishment Chad felt he deserved. After the manager told him that regretfully he had to ask him to order or leave, Chad stood up and walked out through the whispers, past the eyebrows, beyond the over-shoulder glances.
He made it up to his room without seeing anyone. But just as he had known that sitting and waiting in the restaurant was the right thing to do, Chad was also certain what he had to do next.
He saw a light beneath her door and knocked lightly. Because perhaps if she were in, she might be listening to music and wouldn’t hear the lightest of knocks. And then he could return upstairs feeling that at least he had made the effort to do the right thing.
But she opened her door.
Chad dropped his head. ‘Mitzy, I’m so sorry,’ he said. She didn’t let him say anything more.
‘Just shut the hell up, Chad,’ Mitzy shouted. ‘You know, we just had a house meeting and everyone agreed that noooh one is going to talk to you.’ Chad hadn’t noticed until this moment how shapely Mitzy’s eyebrows were, neat arches made perfect by her rage. ‘Good enough for your first time? Who in the hell do you think you are? I’m awesome, Chad. I am waaay better than any of the skanks who’ll ever go near you with their filthy diseases. There’s a word for people like you, Chad. Tragic . . . virgin . . . loser. I was only nice to you because I felt sorry for you. Everyone agreed in the meeting, you come anywhere near me or try to talk to me ever again, the whole house will back me. We’ll all say whatever it takes to get you kicked out of college.’ She sniffed before delivering her final line. ‘So just go back to your room, Chad, do everyone a favour, and kill yourself.’ And then Mitzy slammed the door on him, just as he had imagined she would.
Chad climbed back up the stairs. And then in his room, leaning against his door, he had a terrible thought. If no one in the house were ever to talk to him again, then perhaps humiliating Mitzy had been a wonderful thing to do. No, he chided himself, that really was a terrible thought.
Chad curled up on his bed holding one of his pillows tight to his sick-feeling belly. A minute later the thought came to him again. Really, that’s hilarious, they call that a punishment?
XLIII
XLIII(i) When I awake I soon detect the symptoms of a hangover. Drink keeps the demons at bay in the night but invites them to breakfast next morning.
Almost noon and this is all I can manage. I don’t think I can walk today. I want only to lie in the park.
XLIII(ii) Oh, Jolyon, I’m so happy.
I won’t delay revealing what I wish to ask you. It’s something so silly really. My book of poems, I’ve reached four hundred and ninety-eight. Did I ever mean to kill myself if I reached five hundred? Maybe once, maybe some part of me believed what I told myself. But the whole thing does feel rather childish now.
However, I still keep my book close to me, my poems remain a part of me. Anyway, this is my favour – will you look after my book? Oh, I was going to make up some silly excuse – the lock on my apartment door is weak, the flat below was burgled last week – but I think I should tell you the truth. Coyness be damned, Dee, just come out and say it. Here goes:
I would like you to read my poems, Jolyon, that’s the truth of it. Writing and writing and failing. It would be nice to have one reader in the world. And I am greedily devouring your words, it seems like a fair trade.