Mark’s mother rests her hands on mine. Yes, she says, it’s all so much clearer to her now. And she will always be so very, very grateful that Mark was lucky enough to meet such a good friend as me.
Such a good friend as me. Such a friend. Such a.
LXIX(ii) And there you have it, my entire confession. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I cannot change the past but I can write it down, I can tell the world. And now, whatever happens to me, I am prepared.
Ready to face the consequences.
LXX
LXX(i) Jolyon rang the brass bell. It was Sir Ralph Wiseman himself who opened the door. It was almost summer and the warden had abandoned the pullover beneath his tweeds. ‘Jolyon, isn’t it?’ said Wiseman. Jolyon nodded. ‘Good good, do come een.’
And so Jolyon’s time at Pitt ended officially in the warden’s parlour. The flowers in the garden were brushing brightly against the leaded windows. The two of them sat in meadow-patterned chairs sipping whisky dispensed from a crystal decanter. This is delightful, thought Jolyon, all in the very best of British tradition. The charm, the fellowship, the hospitality. It was almost as if he was not quitting Pitt but requesting reassignment elsewhere in the empire. Pastures new. Less blood, more sun.
Wiseman’s words were stiff but he was well meaning. He told Jolyon that while he understood entirely his decision to leave, it really wouldn’t be sensible to make everything too final. There would be no requirements for his re-entry, just say the word, take a year to think things through.
Jolyon wanted to say to him, ‘But you don’t understand, Warden. I’m not leaving because I can’t handle Mark’s death. And I’m not even leaving only because it was all my fault. I’m leaving because I can handle his death, I have handled his death. So I’m leaving because I deserve to be punished, I deserve no advantages or special treatment. I deserve nothing at all from the rest of my life.’
LXX(ii) When he reached the top of staircase six, he found that Shortest and Chad were there already, waiting outside his door. The time had come for Jolyon’s second resignation of the day.
‘Happy birthday, Jolyon,’ said Chad.
LXX(iii)‘You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?’
‘Did you bring me a present?’ asked Jolyon.
‘The gift of good company,’ said Chad, indicating Shortest with a broad sweep of his arm.
And then Jolyon laughed, he surrendered himself to gallows humour, there was nothing else left. Shortest was finding everything amusing as well. He swung himself into the armchair and dangled his legs over its side.
‘Where’s Tallest?’ said Jolyon.
‘Other plans,’ Shortest replied. ‘Sends heartfelt regrets.’
Jolyon took his customary spot on the bed and Chad the desk chair with wheels, rolling it back and forth while he looked at Jolyon. At least he had the decency not to smile.
‘OK then,’ said Jolyon, ‘I have an announcement to make. I’m leaving Pitt,’ he said, ‘and also –’
Shortest interrupted with an exaggerated cough. ‘Please do excuse me,’ he said, ‘but just one little thing. If you remember, Game Soc did reserve the right to insert into your game a single consequence, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten. And before you say anything else, Jolyon, you should probably hear me out.
‘The time has come, you see.’ Shortest gestured regretfully toward Jolyon and Chad as they exchanged panicked glances. ‘Our consequence is simple. It will be earned by whichever of you loses, obviously. And incidentally, we shall pursue our right to enforce performance with some considerable vigour, should the need arise. We have both the means and method for enforcement.’ Shortest waved his hand in apology. ‘But you are both honourable men in any case,’ he said. ‘Our consequence is as follows.’ Shortest paused, taking an immense pleasure in the slow release of his words. ‘The losing player will participate in another game,’ he said. ‘And that’s really all I can state for now.’
Shortest shrugged gleefully. ‘It was most important for us to find a very strong player,’ he said. ‘Shame we can’t ultimately take the winner. Although that would hardly be fair. Anyway, once your game is complete, the loser will be provided with the necessary information. A welcome pack to Game Soc, if you like.’ Shortest crossed his stubby legs in the armchair, removed the pillow from behind him and held it in his lap. ‘OK then, Jolyon,’ he said, smiling salaciously, ‘why don’t you tell us what it is you wanted to say?’
Jolyon blinked as his mind shrank rapidly around the truth – Game Soc had trapped them both.
Suddenly his bed felt very precarious as if it were a narrow ledge up high on a mountain. Jolyon had never been scared of heights but now he knew how it felt, his stomach rehearsing the fall, his head rushing wildly and beginning to spin. He was scared of Game Soc, he knew that now. And something else. The Game had not been fun for some time, that much was obvious. But now it was no longer even a game. Now it was simply a part of his life. And there were some things in life at which you couldn’t afford to lose. There wasn’t even such a thing as choice. Jolyon felt his lips peeling slowly apart as he opened his mouth to speak. One word, it seemed to take an age to heave it up from his chest. ‘No,’ said Jolyon, And then he felt a sickness in his belly, he was a plaything squeezed between the jaws of Game Soc. ‘No,’ he said, ‘there was nothing else at all I wanted to say.’
Silence. Shortest leaned forward in his chair as he turned to look at Chad. And then Chad hammered his fist on the desk. ‘No! You told me you’d quit,’ he shouted. ‘No, Jolyon, you’ve lost. You admitted I’ve won. You told me, you . . .’
Jolyon, somewhere far beneath his queasiness, felt a bitter sense of pleasure as he stared absently at Chad. ‘I recall no such conversation ever taking place between us,’ he said. The words felt automatic as if he had been programmed to say them by his helplessness.