The Talisman

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘You got nuffink I want.’

  Edward gripped the other side of the table, half rose, and the floor moved under him, too . . . ‘Your floor’s uneven.’

  ‘Nuffink wrong wiv my fucking floor.’

  Edward stood and swayed on his feet and Alex stood opposite him and swayed. ‘We’re drunk.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yesh you are.’

  ‘I bet you any money I can walk dat edge of de carpet.’

  Edward turned his back and walked to the carpet edge. Alex slid open the kitchen drawer and took out a knife. He had found it in a drawer at the club. It had belonged to Johnny Mask, and was razor sharp, an old stiletto, a gyppo’s cut-throat razor.

  Alex watched as Edward moved very carefully to the edge of the carpet and balanced on the fringe, his arms out like a trapeze artist.

  ‘One million I can make it from here to there . . . you on?’

  Alex swayed, nodded his head . . . he glared as Edward began his balancing act . . . midway along he wobbled, one foot edged off the fringe of the carpet.

  ‘Well, thassit, I owe you, one million . . .’

  He slapped his chequebook on the table, fumbled for his pen, scrawled out the cheque . . .

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Not a joke, Alex, cash it, you’ll see.’

  Alex moved like lightning and held the knife at Edward’s throat. This was it, the moment he had dreamed of, lain awake planning. Now it was here – he could kill Edward. But the face that stared back at him wasn’t Edward’s, it was his father’s, with the same dark eyes. Alex froze, unable to use the knife, then in a fury he hurled it across the room. Edward let out a hiss of breath, put his hand to his throat as the knife hit the cupboard door and sliced into the wood. ‘Jesus Christ.’

  Edward tried to rise to his feet but Alex, having missed his long-awaited chance of revenge, felt his rage unleashed, like water bursting from a dam. He grabbed Edward by the hair and yanked his head back so hard he heard a crack. ‘You take yer fucking cheque, you cunt, and stuff it up yer arse, eat it, eat it!’

  Alex began to stuff the cheque into Edward’s mouth, and Edward kicked him in the groin. Alex buckled up and backed away – then he straightened and began to roll up his sleeves. Edward slipped his tie off, broke the gold cufflinks as he too began to roll up his cuffs. Alex gestured with his hands, snarling. ‘Come on, come on then . . . come on, pay me, pay me for the years, Eddie, pay me.’

  The two brothers fought like boxers to begin with, throwing punches at each other, punches that found their mark and hurt. They were one and the same, they were out in the back yard but this time there was no Freedom to yell instructions, no mother standing at the back door shouting for them to stop. They boxed, sparring, jabbing at each other until Alex smashed his fist into Edward’s face and his nose began to bleed . . . Alex then fought dirty, kicking, lunging, throwing any article of furniture close to hand. The chair crashed down on Edward’s head, and Edward hurled his body at Alex and they fell on the table, smashing it in two beneath their weight . . . They rolled on the floor, biting, slapping, kicking, shouting and screaming abuse at each other. They made so much noise that the old woman from the flat above began banging on the ceiling with her cane for them to shut their racket, but it went on and on . . . A chair was hurled through the window, smashing on to the street. Edward ran at Alex and caught his arm on the jagged glass, blood sprayed over the wall, and like a mad bull Alex charged, head down, butting Edward against the door . . . It splintered, and Edward hammered blows into Alex’s stomach . . . Alex brought his two hands, clasped together, up under Edward’s jaw and sent him reeling, sprawling backwards.

  Alex threw himself on top of him, holding him up by the hair with his left hand, his right fist crashing again and again into Edward’s face. Edward’s head jerked from side to side as he caught blow after blow, and neither of them even heard the police siren, the screaming neighbours shouting that someone was being murdered.

  The banging on the door as the police pounded against it, tried to force it, brought Alex to his senses, and he hauled his brother to his feet. Edward’s face was covered in blood, his shirt drenched with it, his eyes puffy and already swelling. The door burst open and the police officer gaped at the two bloody men. ‘Iss all right . . . is all right, officer . . . we’re brothers.’

  Alex had to hold Edward up on his feet, hands beneath his armpits. The police officer looked around at the wrecked room, the broken windows, gave them a lecture about disturbing the peace and told them to clear up the mess in the road.

  Left alone, Alex let Edward slither to the floor, ran water in the sink and splashed his face. The blood streamed from his nose and mouth and he was heaving for breath as he leaned against the wall. Edward staggered to his feet and fell down again. Alex took him a wet cloth. ‘’Ere, wipe yer face.’

  Edward held the cool cloth to his bleeding face.

  ‘Get out, Eddie, we’re quits.’

  ‘I’m going nowhere without you.’

  ‘It’s too late, Eddie, you’re too late, go away.’

  ‘I’m rich, don’t you understand? I’m rich!’

  Alex dunked his head in the water and stood up, shaking the drops around him. ‘So am I . . . I don’t need you, I don’t need yer money, I don’t need nuffink, nobody.’

  ‘You married?’

  ‘Noooo! Fuck off!’

  Edward picked up the remaining chair, set it down carefully and sat on it, folding his arms. ‘Will you just hear me out before you throw me out?’

  Alex sighed, and at that moment the chair collapsed beneath Edward and he landed in a heap at Alex’s feet. Alex swore and hauled him to his feet yet again, and they caught sight of themselves in the mirror and started to laugh. Alex left his arm around his brother’s shoulders and they laughed, laughed at each other . . . and their roaring laughs turned into sobbing tears. They clung to each other like lovers, holding each other, afraid to let go. With tears streaming down his face, Edward held his brother’s broken and bloody face between his hands, kissed him, and Alex buried his head in his big brother’s neck.

  ‘We’re brothers, Alex, remember, and we’re going to be them again, I promise you, I swear to you.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The brothers’ reunion did not unite them immediately. Alex was not that easily won over; he could not rid himself of the bitterness he felt towards Edward. All that he had been so proud of acquiring appeared small and shabby when reviewed by Edward. He felt self-conscious under his brother’s scrutiny; Edward’s ever-present sophistication threatened him. Alex balked at changing his name; in fact, he turned against everything Edward suggested. He had been his own boss and, in his own way, happy with his accomplishments. To have them derided, almost sneered at, made him react violently.

  Edward knew he had to take his time, yet he was impatient for Alex to match him, to be able to stand alongside him. As things were, he was an embarrassment. Edward made sure they were never seen together in public, and he always made the approach when he wanted to see Alex.

  He had been waiting for Alex for over two hours, sitting in his car parked outside Alex’s squalid flat. He watched the Jaguar draw up, watched his brother carefully wipe the fingermarks off the bonnet. Alex looked like a crook, like a cheap con man, and Edward decided it was now or never.

  Alex looked up as he approached, then turned back to inspect his motor.

  ‘Can I come up? Got a minute?’

  Alex nodded, and walked into the building. As he waited for Edward to catch him up he could smell his cologne.

  ‘You smell like a whore’s bedroom.’

  ‘Fifty quid a bottle makes her high class, you got that kinda bird working for you? Business must be looking up.’

  Alex tossed his coat over a chair and snapped, ‘Yeah, go on, Eddie, any chance you can to get a dig in. What d’you want? Get off me back, will yer?’

  Edward looked around the bare room then down at his p
olished, manicured nails. He noticed that the chair they had broken in the fight had already been replaced.

  ‘I’m going to give it one last try, Alex, then, if that’s the way you want it, I’ll walk.’

  ‘You do that! What’s wiv this Barkley crap, eh? Who d’yer think yer kiddin’, poncin’ about? You should watch out fer yer motor, kids round ’ere don’t know yer, you’ll ’ave no wing mirrors . . .’

  ‘Oh yeah? They leave the crooks’ cars alone, do they?’

  ‘I’m no fuckin’ crook, but I’m known around here, all right?’

  Edward began to unbutton his coat, shaking his head. They always had to go through this banter, it was beginning to get on his nerves.

  ‘Okay, Alex, I’ll give it to you straight. I’ll buy you out for any price you want, and I’ll put one million aside for you on top.’

  ‘Look, I heard you the first time, I’m not interested.’

  Edward stared at him, his face set, then he sprang forward and gripped his brother by the neck, pushing him towards the mirror.

  ‘Take a good look at yourself, Alex, a real good look. The cheap suits, the face . . . what do you see? How far do you think you can go, Stubbs? You’ve got a record, and it’s stamped right across your forehead – ex-con!’

  Alex swung round, shrugging his brother away. ‘I am what you made me, Eddie.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that? You think I come here grovelling out of anything but guilt? I’m rich, I want to help you. I want to put things right, and you won’t let me. So tell me, what will you let me do?’

  ‘Nothin’ . . . I don’t want nothin’ from you. Stew in yer guilt, Eddie-boy, fuckin’ stew in it.’

  ‘Okay, so you won’t do it for me – how about doing it for Ma, for her? You know all she ever wanted was . . .’

  Alex could feel the tears welling up inside him. He jabbed the air with his hand. ‘You got no right to even mention her name, you bastard! You got no right to come into my life an’ make everythin’ like a piece of shit. I worked for everythin’ I got, an’ I’m proud of what I done. I don’t need yer, I don’t want you around. You keep pushin’ me an’ I swear I’ll fuckin’ kill you. This time I won’t chuck the knife away, you’ll get it just like you gave it to Dad, hear me? You hear me?’

  Alex was spoiling for another fight, as if it was the only way he could communicate with Edward. There had been too many years lost between them. Edward chose his words carefully, knowing he was on dangerous ground, clinically talking his brother down, determined to win him round. He began with flattery, telling Alex just how impressed he was with his business, saying that if he had given the impression he was not, he wanted to rectify it.

  ‘You think if I wasn’t impressed by you I’d be here now? I thought I was sharp, but you, Alex . . . Come on, I’m not putting you down in any way. All I can see is how much further you could go, and I want to give you a hand up.’

  ‘I need you, huh? That’s what you’re sayin’? You’re full of bullshit, you always was.’

  ‘I need you, it’s me that needs you. I want to be big, Alex, but I can’t do it on my own, and all I’m offering you is a partnership. But we’ve got to be clever, you know? People know who you are. What if they didn’t know you, eh? Didn’t know anything about you? Look in the mirror, your face, Alex . . . what do you see? Broken nose, cheek smashed in, and your ears look as if you’ve been in the ring for years.’

  ‘Yeah? So what? It’s my face, I can live wiv it.’

  ‘You don’t have to. You were a hell of a good-looking kid. Get the nose straightened, cheek fixed . . .’

  Alex stared at his reflection, then at the handsome features of his brother. He could feel Edward’s hands on him, and he turned away. Edward held him gently, made him look at himself again.

  ‘You want to go through the rest of your life like this? Don’t give me your answer now, think about it. Here are some brochures of clinics in Switzerland . . . We’ll take it stage by stage, see it through together.’

  Alex took the brochures and flicked through them. He chewed his lips, looked at Edward and back at the glossy pamphlets. ‘What about me business? You leave it more ’n a few weeks an’ all hell breaks loose. I can’t just piss off, I run the show.’

  ‘I’ll take care of it, all of it, and I’ll give you the best price. You want it back after, then you’ll have it. I reckon we can really go places together, just so long as it’s together.’

  Alex felt at a loss, pulled so many ways, wanting everything that Edward dangled before him but at the same time distrusting him. Edward was relentless, swinging the carrot, knowing he was at long last winning Alex over.

  ‘Plus a million on top – You’ve got to let me give you my guilt money, I won’t take no for an answer. It’ll be in a Geneva account in both our names. I’ll keep the club running, what’s-his-name will show me the ropes. You can’t lose, Alex.’

  ‘Arnie, ’is name’s Arnie. He’s a good pal ter me.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll take care of him, no problem. What do you say you sleep on it? It’s a new start for both of us, I need you with me, I want you with me. You’re my brother, we’re brothers.’

  Alex sat on his single, neatly made bed. His expression was so childishly confused that Edward put his arms around him, kissing the top of his head.

  ‘I love you, Alex. Let me do this for you. Then it’s you and me going right to the top. I’ve got contacts; I’m already branching out, trying for big building projects. That’s where the money is, property, and I’ve got the finances to buy now while the time’s right.’

  Alex remained sitting, staring blank-eyed at the clinic brochures. He knew Edward had won him round, just as he had always done when he was a kid. He turned slowly to stare at his reflection . . . the mirror blurred . . .

  The nurses whispered together, checking his pulse, his drip. ‘How are you feeling, Mr Barkley? Your brother’s waiting to see you. Feel like a visitor? Yes?’

  Alex was in such pain he could do nothing. His bandaged head throbbed, and he felt as though a truck had run over his face. He could smell the familiar cologne, the heavy, sweet, musky smell, and knew his brother was in the room.

  ‘Hey, you still using that whore’s perfume spray?’

  Edward laughed and held Alex’s hand. ‘That’s my brother talking! How are you feeling?’

  ‘Terrible, bleedin’ terrible. Me ’ead feels like someone kicked it in.’

  Edward remained at the bedside until Alex slept. He came every day, and even spent two weeks with Alex at a rest home in the Alps. It had really only just begun, there would be more plastic surgery, involving a series of operations.

  Alex’s nose was remodelled, his cheeks built up with bone taken from his hips. His ears were reshaped, his jaw rebuilt, and his teeth capped and straightened so he no longer had to wear a false plate. His face was black and swollen for many months, and he grew depressed and irritable, as if he would never be free of the bandages or the pain.

  Edward discussed his brother’s progress with the doctors, and worried about his fits of depression. Alex had been away from London, from the world he knew, for almost a year, and had grown so dependent on Edward he no longer even asked about his club. The surgery had given him a complex; he didn’t want to go out, aware of the tell-tale scars, and said he felt everyone was looking at him. Instead of giving him confidence in himself, the operations had done the reverse. He had never lived in such luxury or been so well taken care of, and he was at a loss how to accept it and deal with it. He was not ready to go home, yet Edward knew he must start preparing him for his eventual return. He planned a short holiday, driving through the south of France.

  Alex sat sullenly at his side, wearing dark glasses, hunched in his seat.

  ‘I got you some records, for speech therapy . . . you listening, Alex?’

  ‘Yeah, you gonna make me a friggin’ film-star next, are yer? Feel a right git, all these bleedin’ operations and fer what? I look like a
bleedin’ patchwork quilt.’

  ‘They’ll heal. You should stay in France, learn the lingo.’

  ‘Yeah, I hear you. Who’ve I got to bleedin’ talk to, meself?’

  The trip was a disaster. They argued and bickered their way through village after village until eventually Edward’s patience snapped. He was almost ready to throw in the towel when he discovered Alex in his hotel room, staring at his new face in the dressing-table mirror. The swelling and bruising had indeed gone, and there was the ghost of the old Alex, the handsome face nearly healed.

  Alex turned to Edward and smiled. ‘Hey, not bad fer an ex-con, what you think?’

  Edward knew then that Alex was on the mend. The following morning he had arranged a special trip, refusing to tell Alex where they were going, saying it was to be a surprise. They tried out their schoolboy French as they headed towards Cannes.

  Later that afternoon Edward showed off his surprise – the Château La Fontaine, his gift to Alex. A twofold gift, because he was more than aware that Alex needed even more time to adjust to his new image. Edward wanted him to start losing his East End accent, wanting him to adapt at his own pace to his newfound wealth. He calculated, not in weeks or months, but in years, so he set up a project, yet another carrot that would also keep Alex occupied, and would free Edward from his nursemaid duties. He knew he had made the right decision as they drove through the château gates.

  ‘Imagine, Alex,’ Edward told him, ‘imagine what you could do with this place! You have carte blanche, as much cash as you need. Go ahead, take it back to basics and build yourself a palace.’

  The Château La Fontaine, buried in the hills only an hour from Cannes, was originally built in 1769. During the occupation, the Germans had taken over the property and let it run to ruin. The once-splendid gardens and orchards were overgrown and tangled, but somehow the château, even though crumbling at its very core, retained a magnificent power.

  Alex began to work on it with trepidation, then slowly the excitement of the massive undertaking took hold. He set the wheels in motion to completely reconstruct and refurbish the château.