I feel a weight departing my body, the everyday strain of it, fourteen years of dark accumulation. And now the slate on the wall is scratched one last time, the tally complete, its final black line.
Chad tries to look brave. Well, I guess that’s it then, he says. Except for one thing, Jolyon. Please, will you grant me one favour? Hear me out, let me explain it all to you properly, the whole thing. Chad’s shoulders slump a little, and then he says, It was beautiful, it really was something to behold. And you know, I think that of all people, you will actually appreciate it more than anyone else. Honestly, Jolyon, I do.
I nod at Chad. I feel life in my veins, a lightness returning. And I settle back comfortably to listen to his tale.
LXXV(iii) One of the letters told me where to find you. There it was on an index card, your address written out neatly in green pen and clipped to a few of your pieces for the newspaper with some helpful annotations. Six months ago.
So, we arrived nearly a week before I phoned you. I rented an apartment across the street, hoping to spy on you, I hadn’t decided what I was going to do. But we couldn’t see into your place, Jolyon, you never once opened the curtains. You didn’t even go out. Correction, you left just once to go to that store on the corner. Early, of course, but I was jet-lagged and couldn’t sleep so I saw you. By the time I got dressed and ran down the stairs, you were already on your way back with a bag of rice, some tins of chilli.
That’s why I had to phone you, just to shake the tree a little, see what fell down. Then we waited.
And you opened the curtains. It wasn’t much but at least it was something. The next day I knew I’d hit the jackpot. Out you went for that first walk. The outside world is my medicine– one of yourlines, by the way. Well, I knew it was going to be easy after that, as soon as I started to read your story.
You again – I leave the apartment in something of a trance. Exactly right, Jolyon, the sort of trance that meant you didn’t lock your door. So Dee followed you while I went through your things. I didn’t have long. You saw that airplane, HELL ONE, and Dee phoned me to say you were running back home.
But that was long enough to take some files from your computer, your precious story. And also long enough for me to see all those objects arranged around the place, your strange little reminders. Well, of course I remembered what they were right away. So there I was in your apartment, you running back, I had some of your files, and suddenly on a whim I decided to take away one of your glasses from the floor. After I left, I thought I’d been stupid, you were bound to notice. But actually that was the spark for the next stage. You didn’t notice at all. That’s when I knew what to do, when I realised just how far we could go.
Back across the street, I read your story. And it was clear how to begin. I had to get into your apartment on a regular basis and I had to rearrange your life. When it came to the final round I wanted you vulnerable, drugged, traumatised . . . Well, I achieved my goal, everything and more. And in the end, even that wasn’t enough.
Remember you wrote how you wanted to go outside but your water glasses stopped you. And then on that second day you were brave enough to go out for a walk. Well, at that point I thought, right, this is perfect. From here on I can do whatever I like while he’s out – read his words, do whatever I want with his mnemonics. So I waited. But you didn’t leave. And day four you didn’t go out either. Well, this started to worry me.
But you gave me the idea for my next trick yourself, Jolyon. Remember inserting a note into your story? Note to self: Must remember to place some trinket on the breakfast plate to remind me to breakfast al fresco.
So I thought, how about if I augment his sense that regular walks would do him the power of good? And then I got really brave. I decided to insert my own note into your story. Note to self: Remember to place your shoes on the bed, post-lunchtime walks, and so on and so forth.
And what happened next? Within a couple of days you had those sneakers in place with a reminder scrawled on their toes. It worked, I mean, it worked literally like a charm. And that was going to give me a lot more time in your place.
Then came the snag. Your next walk, you locked your door. I mean, come on, Jolyon, how to ruin the best-laid plans . . . And maybe you’d have kept on remembering to lock your door, who knows, you were writing about how you were getting stronger all the time. The boxer, the fighter, blah blah blah. I decided it was time to give the tree another shake.
That was the night your buzzer sounded. You answered the call and there was a woman screaming through the intercom for help. And it was such a dilemma for you. Gallant Jolyon at the parapet, the maiden in distress down below. I have to say, I was very disappointed in you. What if it had really been a maiden in need of your help instead of Dee? But never mind, halfway down the stairs gave me just long enough. I was a neighbour fumbling for keys. You passed me on the way down and I ran upstairs with my fingers crossed. And bam, in your panic you’d left the door unlocked. All I needed was a few seconds to plant the pill in the appropriate hollow of the ice-cube tray. And we’re not talking here about one of the varieties of drug that can be found in your own collection, Jolyon. No, this particular pill came from another family of pharmaceuticals altogether, a family not unknown to certain unpleasant and predatory males.
So we waited a while for the pill to take full effect. And then Dee turned up at your door, knock knock knock. And off you plodded to ACE bar. ACE bar, Jolyon, the joke was so lost on you. Fourteen years and that’s where I sent you. Anyway, Dee kindly held on to your keys for you, dropped them at our prearranged spot, I got your keys copied and went up to your apartment.
Everything we’d done to you up to that point had worked. All we had to do was continue. It was like training a dog, Jolyon. Repetition repetition repetition. Once we had you walking regularly, we were free to do whatever we liked. We had a few hours in your apartment each day, left more notes, played with your mnemonics, increased your pills and whisky whenever we wanted . . . We even rewrote your book to our own ends, filled in some of the gaps. But I suppose you get the final say, Jolyon. History is written by the victors, isn’t that what they say? Oh, but it was so flawless, Jolyon, it was as if we had this zombie we could move around by remote control. It was easy, it was all just so perfect.
Another little shake and out of the tree falls Dee. Behold the old flame.
Anyway, I’m sure you can fill in the rest yourself.
It was all falling perfectly into place. It was beautiful, it truly was. And I’m sure you can see that. You understand how perfect it was, Jolyon. You know that now, right?
LXXV(iv) I am quiet for some time. Chad’s words whirl high in my head and I wait for them to trickle down, to offer me some essence of emotion. And then I surprise myself. I am not angry. And further back in my mind there is even a trace of admiration. The gallant winner should always make the effort to praise his opponent’s game.
Yes, Chad, I understand now, I say. You know, I think I got lucky, I add.
Chad smiles. Thank you, Jolyon, he says. Thanks, I appreciate that.
And now more emotions settle inside me, the small flutter of victory, a vast sense of relief. It feels as if my whole body can breathe for the first time in years. Even in the lighter moments of the last fourteen years I always felt a sense of unease. Clenched jaw, stiff chest, balled fist. A feeling that if my body wasn’t fighting to hold itself together, then I could simply fly apart, I could be scattered like ashes in the wind.
Chad has taken his phone from his pocket, is tapping out a message. His knees are parted and the phone is small between his legs. He looks up at me. Remember the green-pen letters I told you about? he says. Well, the last one provided me with a phone number to which I was instructed to send the result of our encounter. But screw them if they think I’m going to send them a play-by-play. Chad holds up the phone and presses send with a sarcastic flourish.
When Shortest finds out, he says, I guess he’s going to be very disappoin
ted. There is the twitch of a grin at the corner of Chad’s mouth. Look, Jolyon, he says, I might as well admit something else to you now. I already told you that Shortest was my backer. Oh and Dee was his other runner, by the way, just imagine his smug delight at the composition of the final three. Anyway, Shortest helped me, Jolyon. I could never have thought of all those things to do to you on my own. Like the soccer match stuff. What do I know about soccer? How could I ever have thought of that on my own? But we lost, both of us, so now it doesn’t matter. Back into the Game. I guess I’m going to be seeing a whole lot more of Shortest.
No, Chad, I say, I think whoever sent you those letters is a fantasist and a liar. There’s nothing left for you now. You don’t owe them anything.
Chad is pale, his arms limp slabs against the sides of the chair. I wish I could believe that, Jolyon, he says.
And do I believe it? I don’t know, maybe not. Because for the last fourteen years there has been something troubling me about Game Soc. If Shortest knew I was on the roof with Mark and decided not to tell anyone, then he must have been scared of something, right? Maybe he was just scared of becoming embroiled in the story of a death. What if I’d been arrested and told the police everything, right from the start? What if the newspapers got hold of the story? So maybe Shortest was only worried how Game Soc’s behaviour would reflect on him, affect his future. But what if it was more than that? What if Shortest was terrified that Tallest would find out about him being at Pitt that night? And if so, if such a trivial and simple piece of information was enough to keep Shortest quiet, there would have to be something larger at play, something worth being afraid of, wouldn’t there?
I don’t know. I can’t decide what Shortest’s silence means. But whatever it means, I can see Chad is afraid.
You know, I think it’s time for a cup of tea, I say.
Chad explodes with an enormous laugh. Fine then, let’s have tea, he says. Sure, let’s break out the best china, invite the vicar, the Queen.
Strong, no sugar, just a thimbleful of milk? I say.
Oh, perfect, Chad says. Christ, that’s perfect, Jolyon, just how you trained me to take my tea. Jolyon my guide, my mentor. Chad smiles as if he has just said something enormously droll.
LXXV(v) As well as carrying mugs into the living room, I bring something else with me, something that caught my eye among the wreckage spread across the kitchen floor. I have to put the mugs down at Chad’s feet. And then I unfold it, round and white, made of delicate lace. I spread the tablecloth over the square of green felt that lies on the coffee table and place our tea on top.
How very civilised, Chad says. We both stare at the tablecloth, then reach for our mugs at the same time. We blow at our drinks and take small noisy sips of the too-hot tea.
Chad, will you answer me one question? I ask.
Anything, he says. I mean, sure, you deserve that much at least.
Why did Dee go along with everything? I understand why you did it. But why Dee?
Chad stares at me, a trace of bitterness returns to his eyes. Go along with it? he says. Dee didn’t know half the stuff that was going on. I came up with everything. Dee even fell in love with your story, she wasn’t lying to you about that. But she’s my wife, Jolyon, she loves me. And I’ve done very well in life, verywell, and I’ve looked after her for years. When I told her I was coming here, when I explained it all to her, I suggested we might need some kind of an umpire. That if things got really bad between us, we would need someone else around, someone who understood what was going on. And she always felt guilty about what happened at Pitt between you and me. As if she should have stepped in earlier.
And then, when she still wasn’t sure, I told her I was scared. I said to her I was trying to protect us both, you and me. That you were in no fit state to survive if Game Soc got hold of you. I had it all worked out, I said. She trusted me. She’s mywife.
And then, once we got here, I didn’t even tell her half the stuff I was doing. She was busy sinking down comfortably into your words and I was moving around your apartment, thinking up what to do next. I didn’t tell her about your whisky and pills, how much I was increasing them. And she was even worried about you, she wanted us to find a way to make you stop, or cut down at least. She didn’t know, she didn’t see me washing your glasses, drawing new black lines that crept higher and higher every few days. And while the two of you were meeting in the park at night she had no idea what I was doing in here.
Chad looks briefly victorious again. But then his smile drops. He picks up his attaché case and places it on the coffee table. And Dee didn’t know about this, he says, snapping open the latches. I feel really bad about this, Jolyon. Chad reaches into his case and pulls out a large book as thick as a wedding album, red leatherette. He places it between us on the coffee table. He hangs his head low but then looks up at me. And then came my final assault on you, the five hundredth poem, he says. Dee did a great job, don’t you think? She didn’t want to write it, not at first. But I told her you needed some kind of a jolt to help you remember where you’d left her book. Everything went down preciselyas I planned it.
I pick up Dee’s book from the table and start to flick through its pages covered in red ink until I pass poem four hundred and ninety-nine. The rest of the pages are blank. Suddenly I realise something. I look up sharply at Chad. So Dee never finished reading my story? I say.
Me neither, Chad says. Well, you stopped going for your walks after you thought you’d lost Dee’s book. And I thought I’d done enough by then, it didn’t matter to me any more. Anyway, we all know how your story ends. Mark jumps and you leave Pitt, Chad says. And we’re all just as much to blame as each other.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and then takes a sip from his mug. Chad doesn’t see me looking up and breathing out hard, offering my silent prayer of thanks.
I slap my hands on my thighs. You know what I feel like right now? I say to Chad. I feel like going for a walk. Let’s blow off the cobwebs. Would you like to take a walk with me?
A walk? Chad says. You mean one of your medicinal strolls? Shouldn’t I stay here and rewrite your life for you? he says.
LXXV(vi) We turn left out of the building toward the park.
Chad’s hands are pushed deep in his pockets. So how much do you know about what happened with my father? Chad asks.
The cancer story, you mean? Your mother told me everything, I think.
Chad sighs. The one thing in the world I wouldn’t do, he says. Unbelievable.
Your mother wants to meet you, Chad, I say. Without your father there, you don’t have to see him. She said she’d come to the city, or anywhere you want. She’s waiting by the phone every day. Five past twelve, she said to call then and she’ll answer, your father won’t ever know.
Still feeding those damn pigs at noon every day, Chad says. I don’t know. She stayed married to him, didn’t she?
Going and seeing your mother doesn’t mean your father’s won, Chad, I say. Anyway, I promised her I’d pass on the message.
Thanks, Jolyon, Chad says.
We fall silent for a moment but I can sense there is something Chad wants to tell me. He pushes back his hair, begins to slow down. Jolyon, there’s something Middle said to me back at Pitt. I never told you, I never mentioned this to any of you. Just before he left Game Soc, he said to me it’s possible we would be told things. Not about Game Soc but something much larger. And he said he didn’t know if it was all just ghost stories but the only sensible way to behave would be to act as if it were true. He said, the longer you stay in the game, the more dangerous things become. I thought about what he said every time I opened one of those letters in green pen.
Our pace has slowed to a standstill. Chad turns and drops down onto a stoop, he sits with his legs wide apart.
Why didn’t you tell us? And why was Middle talking to you? I ask.
He told Emilia as well, Chad says. I suppose he assumed we’d pass on the message. Half an hour later
Emilia got hit by a truck and she only remembered the dare we had planned for her. So I had this whole can of worms to myself. Chad stares off to the side. Truthfully? he says. I think perhaps it gave me a secret thrill. It was as if the whole thing were an adventure. But then I grew up. And I’m happy with where I got to, Jolyon. I don’t want any more adventures.
Chad looks small now, hunched down on the steps.
I think Shortest is a sadist, Chad, I say. The only game still going on is the one inside his twisted little mind.
That’s easy for you to say, Jolyon, you won. There’s nothing left for you to be afraid of any more. Anyway, I always thought it was Tallest behind the whole thing. Why Shortest?
Come on, I say, pulling Chad to his feet. This was supposed to be a medicinal stroll, remember? Let’s not talk about the Game any more.
We walk on in silence until we reach the end of the block and cross the road.
Around the grassy knoll? Chad says.
It is gloomy beneath the trees at the entrance to the park. Clouds have gathered overhead, hot clouds, and the air is pushed low.
No, I say, let’s just keep going on Seventh.
So you married an American, Chad laughs.
Worse than that, I say, I’m a bone fide American citizen. Four years now, it came through just before my divorce.
Then you beat me to it, Chad says. I got my British citizenship three years ago. He bites his lip, makes a sucking sound. Man, look at us, he says. You an American, me now a Brit. It’s almost as if we swapped places.
We walk on and begin to talk about old times. The day we first met, my strangled hands. Named after a Third World fucking country. Country and western singer, suede tassels, big hooters. Hooh-durrs, I say, mimicking Chad.
A decade in this country and you still can’t do the accent, he jokes.
I feel a spot of rain hit my nose and a few seconds later the first great gush of the downpour lands all at once as if a large bucketful of water has been thrown from a tall building nearby. We look at each other and then toward the shelter of the trees in the park. We both start running in the direction of a grand old elm. It is not far but when we reach the tree’s cover already we are soaked to the skin. I lean back against the elm tree and we both begin laughing. We laugh together like we used to before some other kind of life came along.
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