Black Chalk

VI(ii) The bar’s steps brought them out by the fine bulbous rear of the Hallowgood Music Room. They walked around back quad, moonlight shrouding the tallest of Pitt’s towers, its proud flagpole stripped for the night. Some of the students referred to the tower as Loser’s Leap because, as Jolyon had recounted to Chad, five years ago a girl had thrown herself from its battlements having failed an exam. Since then the tower had remained locked and chained. Chad couldn’t help himself from peering down at the gravel whenever he passed by, as if he might spot a bloodstained stone underfoot.

As they made their way toward staircase six, Jolyon shared with Chad entertaining facts about the crowd they had just been drinking with. ‘That attractive girl, Tamsin, with all the fake fur – she has a phobia about the sound of other people vomiting. She had to move from her room near the Churchill Arms in case she might hear the customers throwing up as they left. Jamie and Nick, meanwhile, they like to masturbate in adjacent stalls in the toilet while they talk about sports. And all of this is why you should always feel proud rather than embarrassed you don’t come from a wealthy family, Chad. The evidence is overwhelmingly stacked up round here.’

‘How do you know all this stuff? I was at the same table, I didn’t get any of this.’

‘People just tell me things,’ said Jolyon.

They reached the door marked VI and Chad savoured the kiss of cold stone on his palm as they climbed to the top of the narrow staircase. Inside the room, Jolyon reached for the cocktail bible they had bought from the creaky used bookstore on Martyr Street, near the Oxonian Theatre whose name was another of the university’s peculiarities, Chad learned – the Oxonian ‘Theatre’ was used for ceremonies, music, lectures . . . but never for plays. Jolyon turned the book’s pages with reverence and great care, the brown-taped thing nearly thirty years old. They had bought it after their first night in Pitt’s crowded bar, Jolyon having felt quickly crushed and unable to hear Chad though the din.

First they had made Manhattans in honour of Chad’s heritage and decided they liked them on the sweet side of perfect. The next night came rusty nails, Drambuie with whisky, which tasted of heather and honey. Chad and Jolyon would spend the rest of term turning their gins pink or into gimlets and Gibsons, making concoctions for the delight of their names. Monkey glands, weep no mores, corpse revivers.

The liquor collection was clustered on Jolyon’s desk. He had spent hundreds of pounds from his student grant to acquire what their book called ‘the basics’ and refused any offer of money from Chad. ‘What goes around comes around,’ Jolyon had said.

On the coffee table stood an unopened bottle of framboise. ‘Ah, that reminds me,’ said Jolyon, ‘I bought this so we could try Floradoras tonight.’

‘Twist my arm,’ said Chad.

VI(iii) Jolyon’s room looked best in the lamplight at night when the stark walls glowed and the ceiling beams cast dramatic shadows. The towers and domes of the city became obscured by the windows’ inward reflection but there was time enough to enjoy towers and domes in the daylight.

As they sipped their Floradoras they returned to their favourite topic, an idea for a new kind of game that had been amusing them for several days already. When Chad finished the last of his cocktail he turned in the armchair to hang his legs over its side. He let out a long sigh, his inner bliss now drifting around him like smoke.

Jolyon seemed to have been asleep for the last minute but then he opened his eyes. ‘I think those girls really liked you, Chad. Tamsin and Elizabeth. I could tell.’

Chad blushed, hoping Jolyon wouldn’t notice. He had always wondered if behind his teenage mask there was someone worth looking at. ‘Liked me?’ said Chad. ‘It was you they spent the whole night talking to.’

‘Talking’s easy. You could program a computer to say the right things to make people feel special. If I had your looks, Chad, your softness. That’s real charm.’

Chad would cherish the warmth of this compliment for the rest of his life. Better even than his adventure made him feel. Lighter yet than the cocktails.

‘I’m starving,’ said Jolyon. ‘How about we order some pizza?’

‘No, let’s go out. Hey, we should go back to that kebab van. What was it you made me get? A doner and cheese with the works and extra chilli sauce. Man.’

Jolyon was lying on his bed, limbs spread and belly up, a starfish gazing absently at the plasterwork and timbers. ‘I have no legs,’ he said. ‘Really, not even jelly, just a complete nothingness.’ Jolyon wallowed in the pleasure of his total immobility. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘they’ll deliver pizza to the lodge and I’ll pay if you’ll pick the thing up.’

‘I don’t even like pizza,’ said Chad.

Jolyon lifted his head and looked quizzically at his friend. ‘Who on earth doesn’t like pizza?’ he said. ‘No one doesn’t like pizza.’

‘I don’t like pizza. I just don’t.’

‘Is it the tomatoes?’