Jack’s eyes were still closed. ‘Oh, Dee,’ he said, laughing, his voice pitched higher than usual, ‘you’re just too hilarious for words.’
‘Oh, but I am, aren’t I? So,’ she said, turning to Chad and Jolyon, ‘can I count on your support?’
‘That’s one vote from me,’ said Jolyon.
‘And that’s a second from me,’ said Chad.
Jack laughed again. ‘Funny guys,’ he said. He opened his eyes, sat up and then showed them his palms for the very last time. ‘Such a fucking funny bunch of funny fucking fuckers.’ He got awkwardly to his feet and pointed up at the tower. ‘They keep that place locked up ever since Christina Balfour jumped. But I heard from Big Dave there’s another way up. Apparently if you go up the organ stairs in the chapel there’s a window. You can get along the roof of Great Hall and climb up from there. Big Dave said it was pretty easy, a bunch of them got stoned there one night. I don’t know why, Dee, but I just remembered I’ve been meaning to pass that information on to you for a long time.’ Jack looked at his watch and woodenly acted surprise at the hour. ‘Funny guys,’ he said, ‘funny, funny guys.’ And then Jack walked away, still laughing. Laughing and shaking his head.
LII(ix) The next day, half an hour after they had arranged, Jack had not arrived. While Shortest beamed periodically at his wristwatch, the three of them agreed they would give Jack five more minutes and would then consider his resignation officially tendered. ‘In absentia,’ said Jolyon. And five minutes later, unanimously, they accepted.
LIII
LIII Disappointingly, she plants her forehead kiss no more firmly than on previous occasions.
It is a brisker night than the last few and Dee wears a cardigan, large and grey, she has hooked her hands through the holes in its sleeves.
I think I remember this, I say, pulling at the cardigan as Dee sits down.
Oh yes, Dee says, inspecting herself. From the good old days. How many good old days did we have before the bad old days?
Hundreds, I say, more good days than bad.
But the score doesn’t matter, does it? Dee says.
I decide a diversion is called for. Gloom is not good for seduction. Do you still see anything of the others? I say.
Oh, yes, I see Jack and Emilia occasionally. I didn’t for the longest time but then I bumped into Jack quite by chance three years ago. And he was relatively easy to bump into – boy oh boy has Jackie-oh ballooned. So now we get together to cross tongues on occasion, the three of us have dinner sometimes . . .
The three of you?
Well, obviously Emilia’s there as well.
Obviously?
Oh, of course, Dee says, putting her hand to her mouth. You don’t even know that much, Jolyon, do you?
I shake my head urgently.
Sorry, Dee says. Well, they got married five years ago. Ms Emilia Jeffries has become Mrs Emilia Thomson, no P in Thomson.
But that’s great, I say, hoping I have not lost the ability to lie after so many years on my own. And what else can you tell me? What do they do?
Well, Jack spent most of his early twenties writing film scripts – and according to Emilia, several of them even nearly got made. Comedies, of course. Meanwhile he made just enough money to live writing snarky film reviews for underground magazines. Along came the Guardian and offered him the chance to go pseudo-underground. A few years later the phone rang, an ITV screen test was arranged and he landed the job of television presenter. So now he bounces round the screen being spiteful about artsy films and gushing for the mainstream. I’m really quite worried that soon there might be conferred upon our Jack the status of National Treasure.
I pause to take this all in. And then I laugh. Well, I think that’s great for Jack, I say, and I think I nearly half believe this. But how did he and Emilia end up together?
Emilia spent her twenties researching brain injuries, married to an enthralling Argentine. But that see-saw relationship ended in tears and she bumped into Jack at a Pitt reunion. So she never did get her vet named Giles. But maybe Jack became her safe choice. With his TV salary they moved into a big house in the country and Emilia was able to give up her research, which had been exhausting her. She became an interior designer, she specialises in something she calls Neo-Rural. I think that means a lot of wood and plastic, she’s very much in demand among the wealthier echelons of Hertfordshire. Jack’s determined she should follow him onto TV. Last thing I heard, she’s up for one of those home makeover shows. Well, Emilia always did have a face for TV. Secretly I think of them as the Chinese restaurant couple, sweet and sour.
I laugh at Dee’s joke. Any children? I ask.
Nooo, Dee says, and then she gives me a wink. And where would you like to cast your vote as to why this might be?
My vote goes to – they prefer childless tranquillity, I say.
Dee looks at me as if I have disappointed her hugely. Oh well, what do I know, Jolyon? she says. And Jack even seems to have found some strange Jack-twisted form of happiness. But you could at least have given me the small pleasure of a vote for impotence, Jolyon, she says.
I’m so sorry, I say, using my apology as a natural opportunity to touch Dee on the shoulder. And how about Chad? I ask. Do you see anything of him?
No, Dee says, and I don’t even have any idea what happened to him.
I try to think of a next line but suddenly I am stumped, all this talk of old friends and there is one name we’re missing, of course.
I can see that Dee knows what I’m thinking. Jolyon, please, she says, there’s one part of your story I have a problem with. This overwhelming sense of guilt. Look, I understand how you might blame yourself for what happened. But you’re wrong, Jolyon, you’re not to blame. If you’re a murderer then all of us are murderers. We all chose to play, Jolyon. What happened to Mark wasn’t in any way your fault.
And what am I supposed to say to this? Oh, Dee, you just wait. Keep on reading and you’ll get there. And then you’ll find out just how wrong you are. So instead I reach for Dee’s book of poems, there are three more I have marked for tonight. Would you like me to read for you again? I say.
Dee looks as if her heart is breaking for me. She nods and I open the book to one of the pages I’ve marked.
When I finish, the fireflies have begun threading the air with their lights. And soon our hour is up.
Maybe we could stay a little longer tonight, I say to Dee.
Oh, Jolyon, I’d like to spend more time with you too. But you need your rest, you have to finish your story. And then after that we have as much time as we like.
After that. After that. Those words sound so sweet and thrilling to me. And Dee is right, there remains so much more to tell.
Mark’s new abode. Emilia’s return. My fight with Chad.
LIV
LIV(i) And then there were three. Chad, Jolyon and Dee. And they were happy, they were in the mood to celebrate their success and this fine thing, this game they had whittled with their minds. They played and no one pushed excessively hard.
The final three. Gold, silver, bronze. Had Jolyon known that Jack would not arrive then perhaps he would have bought Pol Roger for champagne cocktails. A sugar cube in each glass dissolving, throwing up sparks like Roman candles. But instead a burst of warm weather had prompted the buying of rum and Coke and a bagful of limes. They dealt and tossed dice, they drank Cuba Libres as they bickered playfully over the cards.