The Talisman

by Lynda La Plante

‘Tell me later . . . We’ll have a game after tea, okay?’

  Sid watched Alex hurry off. He snapped the bar of chocolate in two and ate a square. Alex grinned from the door, and Sid gave him the thumbs-up sign. No older than Alex, Sid was streetwise. Alex was such a good-looking boy, skinny maybe, but a real looker. ‘Well, son, you’re gonna learn the ’ard way, that’s fer sure.’

  Mr Taylor was sitting at his desk marking exercise books, his pebble glasses stuck on the end of his nose. He looked up, smiled at Alex and told him to sit down, he would be with him in a moment.

  Mr Taylor continued to work, ignoring Alex, who sat and looked around the comfortable office. The bookcases were crammed, in fact the whole room seemed to bulge at the seams with books on every available surface. There was an old couch close to the window which overlooked the playground. On the mantel a big, white-faced wooden clock ticked loudly. The scratching of Taylor’s pen continued as the minutes ticked on and on. Alex shuffled his feet and looked at the thick crop of hair bent over the books. Taylor finished his work, carefully replaced the cap on his pen, and stood up. He yawned and stretched, took off his glasses and set them down. Then he walked to the office door and locked it. Leaning against the door he smiled again, and rubbed his hands through his hair.

  ‘Going to ask a few questions, Stubbs, and I want you to answer them clearly and truthfully, understood?’

  Alex nodded his head, and watched as Taylor returned to his desk and picked up a steel-edged ruler. He wondered why Mr Taylor had locked the door, but he straightened up and tightened his tie.

  ‘Right then, tell me if you have had any sexual relations to date?’

  Alex gasped, he didn’t know what to say, and he blinked at his housemaster, who moved closer. Alex shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘What kind of an answer is that?’

  Alex felt the stinging blow of the flat end of the ruler on the top of his head. Taylor repeated his question, and Alex ducked another blow.

  ‘I haven’t had any, sir.’

  Taylor gave a weird, high-pitched laugh, and he stood in front of Alex, smirking into his face. ‘Don’t joke with me, sonny, it won’t wash. I want every detail and you’d better tell me – big boy like you, never had a woman, that right? That what you are trying to tell me?’

  Alex looked nervously towards the door, and his head was jerked back by the hair as Taylor leered down at him. Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Taylor went on about how he knew Alex was having an affair with Miss Walters, how he had seen Alex looking at her. He knew Alex fancied her and suspected that Alex had put his hand up Miss Walters’ skirt.

  ‘No sir, I swear, sir, I never.’

  Taylor patted Alex’s cheek so hard that it hurt, patted it with the flat of the ruler. He pushed his face close, until Alex could smell his breath, then he hauled Alex to his feet by the back of his shirt collar. ‘So it’s not Miss Walters, all right then, which boy, come on, you’d better tell me, which boy have you been with?’

  Alex tried to squirm away from Taylor’s grip, but Taylor kneed him from behind and he fell to the floor. He tried to crawl under the desk, but Taylor yanked him back and kicked hard so he curled up with a howl of pain.

  ‘What experiences have you had with men, Stubbs?’

  Alex looked up from the floor and he could see the bulge in Taylor’s trousers as he stood with the ruler in one hand, the other buried deep in his trouser pocket. ‘Get up on your feet and sit over there, come on, get up, up.’

  Alex huddled on the sofa, hugging his knees. He said he had had no sexual experience with men, but he had hardly finished the sentence when Taylor struck him again and sent him sprawling back on to the sofa. ‘You lying little bastard, if you don’t tell me the truth I’ll beat it out of you, so help me I will.’

  This time Alex retaliated, putting his fists up to block the next punch, which seemed to infuriate Taylor even more. He lashed out at Alex again, knocking him to the floor. Alex felt his nose snap, and blood gushed on to the carpet, but try as he might he could not get up. Taylor sat astride him as though he were riding a horse.

  ‘You want to fight, do you, sonny lad? Well, fuck you, I’ll teach you not to answer me back, I’ll teach you.’

  He rained blow after blow on Alex’s head until Alex thought he would pass out. He began to plead for Taylor to stop. Taylor was rubbing his bulging crotch up and down Alex’s back, his hands everywhere, his voice thick and hoarse. ‘Tell me, tell me what happened, I want to know what happened, what did he do to you?’

  Alex was crying, and he blurted out that once, when he and his brother had been in bed together, they had played with each other. That was all, there had never been anyone else. Taylor rode him maniacally, demanding that Alex give him a full description of his brother and what they did together. Alex, his face pressed against the carpet, breathing in the dust and his own blood, was helpless. ‘I’ve never had any other experiences, sir, I swear it on my life . . . just with Eddie, my brother Eddie, that’s all, honest, sir.’

  Taylor got off Alex’s back and bent to help him to his feet, took out a handkerchief and dipped it in a bowl of water, wiped Alex’s bloody nose. ‘Come on lad, stop crying, wipe your face, come along now.’

  Alex was utterly confused about who was right and who was wrong. He believed he was in the wrong, he shouldn’t have fondled his brother and was being punished for it. Taylor led him to the couch and began to undo his shirt, gradually stripping him naked. Alex shivered from the cold and lay, terrified, doing nothing to stop Taylor, not knowing what to do.

  ‘Just have to examine you now, this is all part of the interview, now turn over, there’s a good boy.’

  Alex could feel the hands caressing him, saw Taylor’s clothes dropping to the floor. Then Taylor lay on top of him, his hands everywhere, kissing and sucking Alex’s ears, his neck. Alex bit his lips to stop himself crying out. Taylor masturbated him, rolled him over and kissed his body, pushing his legs apart, kissing and sucking his penis. Alex wept, the tears running down his face, even when Taylor forced his own penis into the boy’s mouth.

  Taylor leaned back, moaning with satisfaction, and suddenly Alex went crazy. Grabbing Taylor’s erect member, he wrenched with all his strength. Taylor screamed, and Alex brought his fist crashing down into the open mouth. He felt Taylor’s teeth cutting into his knuckles, but he brought his fist down time and time again, until he saw that his hands were covered with blood. He pushed Taylor’s unconscious body from him and watched as he crashed to the floor. Then he collected his clothes and dressed as fast as he could. He didn’t know if Taylor was alive or dead, and didn’t care. He quickly wiped his face and unlocked the door, locked it again behind him, threw the key away and ran to the dormitory.

  He stuffed his few possessions into his haversack. A couple of other boys had seen him come in, but they turned away and went back to their game of draughts. As he ran to the door he collided with Sid, and shoved him against the wall, calling him a shit. He must have known what would happen. Sid laughed, but his face straightened when he saw the haversack.

  ‘I tried, Alex, but you wasn’t listenin’ . . . Hey, where you goin’? You doin’ a bunk, are yer? Well, wait fer me.’

  It was so easy. They simply walked out of the main gate, crossed the gardens, hopped over a wall and thumbed a lift into town. By this time Alex had told Sid that he might have killed Mr Taylor, Sid might be better off going back. But Sid wouldn’t hear of it, and flung an arm around his mate. He admired Alex. Like all the other boys at Oakwood, he had at one time endured an ‘examination’ at Mr Taylor’s hands. No one had dared say anything about it, they suffered in silence. But Sid was happy, at long last the pervert had got what he asked for.

  They took the train to London, and from there a bus to Hackney, where Sid had friends. ‘You’d best not show yer face near ’ome, Alex, or they’ll pick yer up. That’ll be the first place they look. We’ll stay under cover for a couple o’ weeks un
til the heat dies down, then we’ll travel the world.’

  Sid’s excitement kept the pair of them going, and Alex was thankful that he’d made up his mind to leave.

  They threaded their way through the bombed-out buildings to a boarded-up house that had been severely shelled. No one occupied it now. Sid pulled back the corrugated iron door and led Alex down into the dark basement. His friends were not around, but there were mattresses scattered about and a pile of tinned food. The place stank to high heaven as the drains were open, and they crawled along the filthy hallway into a back room.

  ‘This’ll be fine when we do it up, Alex. It’s dry, and it’s not too cold. No one’ll find us here.’

  Sid fetched blankets from the other room and dragged in one of the dirty mattresses. They huddled together and made elaborate plans for what they would do the following day with their new-found freedom.

  Later, Sid slept like a baby, but Alex lay staring into the darkness, seeing his mother’s face when she learned what he had done. He didn’t cry, he couldn’t, and he knew he wouldn’t go back to the school, not ever.

  In the morning they were woken by the sound of the corrugated iron being dragged back. They listened as voices echoed around the empty house.

  Johnny Mask looked into the room and snorted, called to his mates that there was no panic, just a couple of kids.

  ‘It’s me, Johnny, it’s Sid, we just come over the wall – the pair of us – last night. I said it’d be all right to doss down here for a few days until the heat dies down.’

  Johnny laughed, and handed the boys the greasy remains of his fish and chips to finish. His two friends came through the doorway behind him. They were much older, and looked pretty tough.

  ‘It’s young Sid, lads, remember we used him as lookout on the dairy job? Well, well, who’s your mate then, Sid?’

  Alex, wolfing the chips, introduced himself.

  ‘Johnny, it’s okay for us to doss down ’ere, ain’t it?’

  On closer inspection, Johnny was much better dressed than his mates. His tell-tale coal-black hair, greased and swept back from his face, and his dark eyes, gave away his origins. Johnny Mask was a gypsy.

  Freedom’s path had already begun to cross his son’s. It would pass unseen, unfelt and unknown. If discovered, it could be said that it was just a coincidence. But for Alex it had begun with Johnny Mask, because he was linked to Freedom. Not just because he was a gypsy but because he was the illegitimate son of an old friend, Jesse Evans. It was Jesse who had stood by the champion’s grave and warned Evelyne to give him the talisman. A life-long friend, Jesse had been a member of Freedom’s clan. He had fathered many illegitimate children, but Johnny had been his first. And young Johnny had been given the name ‘Mask’ because no matter how many times he had been beaten for thieving, he always smiled. No one ever really knew what he was thinking.

  His white teeth gleamed, his one gold cap sparkled – he seemed to find the boys amusing. In some ways they reminded him of himself; he had absconded from more juvenile homes than he could count. He had not the slightest inkling that Alex, the big, raw-boned kid, had any Romany blood in him, let alone that of a royal prince. But the curse had begun.

  Sid sidled up to his hero, asking, ‘You know of any jobs we could get in on, Johnny? Just that me an’ me mate are short of the readies.’

  Johnny took out a nail file and began to clean his nails. He gave Alex the once-over and asked him why they’d run. Alex couldn’t meet Johnny’s eyes, black eyes with thick, long lashes. He stammered a few words about trouble with his housemaster, but Sid interrupted. ‘Bastard was a faggot, Johnny, after ’is arse. He’d done it to all the kids in Oakwood. Alex gave him one hell of a thrashin’, so we done a runner.’

  Alex flushed with embarrassment, half-expecting Johnny to laugh, but instead he yelled to his mates to go out and get some coffee. He still lounged in the broken-down doorway, filing his nails. ‘What you say your name was?’

  Again Sid interrupted before Alex could speak, and Johnny clipped Sid round the ear. ‘Shut up, I’m not talkin’ to you . . . Come here, Alex, an’ you, blabbermouth, get into the other room and clean it up.’

  Left alone with Johnny, Alex stood with his head bowed. Johnny moved closer, and Alex could smell his cologne, a heavy, sweet smell. When he spoke his voice was soft and gentle. ‘You do him in good, did ya? Eh, look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.’ He took Alex’s chin and turned his face to the light, then ruffled his hair, leaving his hand resting on Alex’s neck. He was shorter than Alex and had to look up into his face. ‘Those shits always go for the lookers. I know, believe me, I know . . . You forget it, I’ll find you and Sid a little money earner, all right? Big lad like you would be useful. Now go and give the little squirt a hand, wanna get the place cleaned up.’

  Johnny watched Alex leave the room as one of his mates came in. He looked at Alex’s retreating back. ‘What you want those kids hangin’ around for, Johnny?’

  Johnny shrugged and didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t really know what he could do with them. But there had been something in the big blond boy’s face, his pained eyes. Johnny knew exactly what Alex was feeling; he hadn’t been home since the age of ten himself. Maybe it was the scars of his own rape that had made him reach out and touch Alex. But whatever it was, Johnny had felt an immediate bond between himself and the tall, skinny boy. He laughed, then took out a greasy comb and ran it through his thick black hair. ‘Nice-lookin’ kid, may be useful, an’ we’ve got a lot to do before we get this place workin’. I got the beds comin’ in and all the girls standing by. Get ’em white-washin’ the walls.’

  Evelyne sat in Mrs Harris’ house, worried half to death. Her oldest friend, Mrs Harris, had helped deliver Edward. She was a big, motherly woman, very overweight, and had in many ways been a surrogate mother to Evelyne when she had arrived in London.

  Although many years younger than her friend, Evelyne now seemed just as old and worn out, and her constant fiddling with her handbag strap was getting on Mrs Harris’ nerves. The change in Evelyne could not be missed; but they didn’t discuss it, just as Evelyne’s real feelings, deep down, were not expressed. Sometimes her eyes were so vacant, her expression so distant, that Mrs Harris feared for her sanity, but then she would come round and talk about her problems with Alex. Then she would be the old Evie again, but those dream-like lapses were unnerving, and her constant fiddling drove Mrs Harris spare.

  ‘Did I tell you the police were round again today? Yes, they came again today.’

  Mrs Harris nodded. Evelyne had told her this piece of news three times, and everyone in the street knew the police were looking for Alex since he had run away from the reform school.

  Evelyne lifted the cracked tea cup to her lips, but did not drink. She sat staring into space.

  ‘Oh, God help me, she’s going off again,’ thought Mrs Harris. She coughed. ‘Evie? Evie love, can you hear me?’

  Evelyne turned, surprised, and gave a beautiful smile, just like her old self. ‘What are you shouting for? You’re the one that’s gone deaf, not me.’

  ‘Well, you get so far away sometimes . . . What I was going to say was, it fair surprised me about your Alex. He was always the quiet one, and you said he was getting on so well.’

  ‘It just doesn’t make sense, I know, but then there’s always two sides to a story. Maybe something happened.’

  Mrs Harris nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. But then, he and Edward was always together, like peas in a pod. They was always side by side.’

  Evelyne’s whole being tensed at the mention of Edward’s name. Her foot began to tap. Suddenly she said, quite loudly, ‘You know, if I had my time over again I’d not have children. If I had my time again I’d be with him. Wherever he wanted me to go I’d go, because when all the learning’s over, when all the education’s done, it can’t warm you when you’re cold, it can’t hold you when you need to be held, and it can’t kiss you awake in the morning.’

&
nbsp; Mrs Harris could not quite follow her, particularly as Evelyne had always gone to such lengths to educate her boys. ‘You sayin’, ducks, that you wish you’d not educated the lads so much? You think that’s where it went wrong?’

  Evelyne laughed. It was strange, because it sounded so alien, even to herself. She shook her head. ‘No, I think what I’m trying to say is – I didn’t know until he’d gone what it was to have such a gentle soul love me. I miss him with every breath I take, I look for him down every street. Sometimes I think I hear his voice and my heart lifts, because I can remember now what it was like to run into his arms, run to him and have him sweep me off my feet . . . I can remember so much I had forgotten while he was alive, and it’s all that keeps me going. I’m scared, though, scared of when I run out of these memories, so scared . . .’

  ‘Well, love, that’s when the grieving’s over . . .’

  ‘Ah, that will be when I die, then.’

  Mrs Harris sighed. Nothing really made sense to her any more. She was sorry for Evelyne, but everyone had their problems and she was sure the boy would turn up.

  ‘He almost killed his teacher, the man’s in hospital. Why he would do a thing like that I just don’t understand.’

  Mrs Harris couldn’t provide any answers, she just nodded and made soothing noises. Alex sounded like a bad lot to her and she was afraid her friend would have nothing but trouble. It seemed so unfair to have one son at Cambridge, doing well, and the other on the run from the law, but that was life.

  Dora, Mrs Harris’ youngest, swept in with her bleached blonde hair and scarlet-painted nails, teetering in heels so high that Mrs Harris didn’t know how she could walk. She was wearing a new dress, and was in high spirits as usual. She had brought a huge bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates. ‘’Ello, Mum, these are for you . . . Hello, Mrs Stubbs, how you doin’, all right, are you? I’d love a cuppa, Mum.’

  Both the older women knew what Dora was up to, you could tell with one look. She even carried her gas mask in a special embroidered bag. She tucked a bundle of pound notes under the tin on the mantel and gave Evelyne a wink.