The Talisman Read online

  ‘Mum! Mama! I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry!’

  The warder had to prise Alex away from the door. He was as gentle as possible; the boy seemed so young, so distraught.

  ‘Your Ma’s gone now, lad. Now quieten down, don’t go making a fuss.’

  Alex flung himself down on his bunk and cried his heart out. He cried for his father, he wept for his beloved dog, and he sobbed for his mother until he lay, face down, head buried in the pillow, exhausted. Then he whispered over and over, ‘Eddie . . . Eddie? Why did you do it, Eddie? Why?’

  At weekends the boys had more recreation time. They could play football games in the yard, and billiards in the main hall. Parents arrived to visit their sons in shifts, as they could not all be accommodated at once. They were led into the dining hall, which doubled as the visiting room. The boys sat on one side of the long row of tables, parents on the other.

  ‘Alex Stubbs to the dining hall!’

  Alex ran from the yard into the hall. He had to search almost the entire row of parents before he found his mother near the far end. She wore her best brown coat and hat, and sat erect with her usual handbag and a paper carrier bag on her lap.

  ‘Hello, Ma, everything all right, is it?’

  She held out her hand and gripped his tight, lifted it to her lips and kissed it. Alex looked covertly around, not wanting the other lads to see.

  ‘You’re eating all right, are you? I’ve brought a bag of fruit and nuts for you.’ She passed him the bag in which she’d also put a chocolate bar and a few shillings in case he needed them. She sighed and told him that Mrs Harris’ youngest, Dora, was giving her a terrible time, getting up to all sorts of tricks. ‘She’s out all hours in high heels and little else, according to her mother. She’s been nothing but trouble, that one.’

  Alex enjoyed her gossip, not wanting to talk about anything serious.

  ‘I’ll be here next weekend. You behave yourself and there’ll be no reform school – that’s what the social worker said – so be a good boy. They’re just assessing you in here, that’s all, then they’ll let you come home!’

  Alex murmured that he always behaved himself, and had no intention of doing anything else. The bell rang for the end of the visit, and Alex asked quickly if Evelyne had heard from Edward. She flushed and pulled at her hat. He knew she was trying not to let him see the tears in her eyes.

  ‘Edward’s just fine, thanks to you, and he knows he’s got to make this up to you, he knows.’

  Alex wanted to ask her if he could write to his brother, but the warders were already ordering the boys out of the hall. He stood up and gave Evelyne a wink, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled out, head high. He kept it up right to the door, then turned; she could see the tears on his cheeks before he hurried out.

  Evelyne tried to stand, but had to sit down again. It had been so hard, so hard not to wrap him in her arms. He had looked so tall, so thin, and his knees were red raw. He had just got into long trousers at grammar school, and now they had put him back into shorts. If he was suffering, he made no mention of it, only in his beautiful blue eyes could she see her son’s fear. She almost decided to go to the police and tell the truth, but then if it wasn’t Alex behind bars it would be Edward. At least for Alex it wouldn’t be long, she told herself.

  Later that night, Alex was sitting in a corner of the games room reading a book. A snooker match was in progress, and a group of rowdy lads was arguing about whose turn it was. Kenny Baker, a big sixteen-year-old and the self-appointed ‘guv’nor’ of Rochester House, sauntered in. As he passed the snooker table he picked up one of the balls ‘the Shrimp’ was just about to take a shot at. He tossed the ball in the air, caught it, and held it just out of Wally’s reach. He turned to Alex. ‘Hey, you, skinny Jim, wanna game of snooker wiv me?’

  ‘You give us the ball back, Kenny, or I’ll stick this cue up your arse. Way I hears it, that’s just what yer like.’ With three boys grouped around him, Wally was full of bravado, but he shrank as they moved quickly to avoid trouble.

  ‘Well, ain’t yer got a big gob on yer fer a shrimp? Wanna say that again, eh? You wanna say it again?’

  Wally sprang around the table, and tried to wheedle his way out of it. ‘I were just jokin’, Kenny, honest!’

  Whack! The cue came down across Wally’s shoulders. Next minute Kenny had him lying across the table, and was pushing him down, trying to stuff a billiard ball into Wally’s mouth. None of the other boys did anything to help. Alex watched for a moment, then went back to reading his book. The screams and scuffles got louder as Wally struggled.

  ‘Leave him alone.’

  Kenny turned round and gave Alex a nasty, sickly smile. ‘Well, well, the beanpole can talk! Well I never, yer got yerself a champion, Wally . . .’

  Wally slunk away from the table and closer to Alex. Kenny leered at the boys behind him, keeping a watch on the doors. ‘You fink yer boss around ’ere, do yer, Stubbs?’

  The printed page blurred before Alex’s eyes, but he refused to look up, pretending to continue reading. The next moment the billiard cue cracked down on his knee. Slowly, he closed his book and stood up, as Wally danced around, his little fists up. ‘Come on, Alex, we can take ’im. He finks ’e’s so bleedin’ tough, we all know he’s only in ’ere fer nickin’ shillings from ’is granny’s gas meter . . .’

  Alex stepped behind Wally, heading for the door. The boys on guard promptly shut it and stood in his way, arms folded. Pushing Wally aside, Kenny faced Alex, grabbing him by the arm. ‘Least I didn’t knife me old man,’ Kenny sneered. ‘That’s what you done, ain’t it, Stubbs? We all taken a beatin’ from our Dads, ain’t we, lads, but knockin’ off yer old man . . .’

  Alex could feel the fury building inside him, and he spoke through clenched teeth, ‘Will you get away from the doors?’

  He felt a blow on the back of his neck, and saw stars. He knew he couldn’t take Kenny on, he was so much bigger, so he had to get out. He tried to reach for the door handle, and one of the boys on guard pushed him. He sprawled backwards on the floor. Kenny kicked him hard in the ribs, so hard his breath caught and he coughed and spluttered.

  Laughing, Kenny picked up Alex’s book and tossed it aside, then saw the brown paper bag. He tore it open and held the chocolate bar aloft. ‘Gor blimey, what else yer got in ’ere, Stubbs?’

  Alex picked up the pool cue and brought it crashing down on Kenny’s head, then held it crosswise and hit him in the throat. He was caught red-handed with the cue by the warders as they burst into the games room and saw Kenny screaming and clutching his throat.

  ‘Right, who started this? I want the truth, which boy started this?’

  Kenny, Wally and the other witnesses remained silent. The Major rose to his feet behind his desk. He was a massive man, with a vast barrel chest and a waxed, grey moustache. His left arm was stiff, pressed to his side, and a brown leather glove covered his false steel hand. ‘Put them in the detention block . . . all of them. You’ll be a damned sight sorrier in there. Go on, get out of my sight.’

  The warder ushered the boys out and returned to the office. The Major was standing at his desk, holding Alex’s report file. He flipped it open. ‘Keep your eye on Stubbs – not like the rest of ’em, he’s a grammar-school boy, and cocky with it. When his mother comes next visit, ask her to see me, would you?’

  The warden nodded and took out his notebook. He asked what Stubbs was in for, and the Major pursed his lips, then handed the file over. ‘As I said, he’s different. Stubbs knifed his own father. Dear God, what is the world coming to . . .’

  Evelyne was dumbfounded when she was led to the Major’s office, and even more shocked when she was told of Alex’s behaviour. She told the Major over and over that it was very unlike Alex, he was always quiet, and when he showed her Alex’s school reports she was stunned. They were bad; although he wasn’t at the bottom of the class he was still well below his average at grammar school.

  Although
he felt sorry for Mrs Stubbs, the Major told her that as Alex had been causing trouble in the detention centre, he was denied future visiting privileges.

  The next time Evelyne saw Alex was when he was led before the judge to hear what his fate would be.

  ‘Well, Stubbs,’ said the Beak, ‘you don’t appear to have learned your lesson. On three occasions you were warned to behave yourself. I therefore have no alternative but to send you to reform school for two years.’

  Alex stood in the dock, white-faced, and could not bear to look at his mother. He could not believe his ears. Evelyne wept and hung her head, wiping her face with her handkerchief.

  Letting herself into the empty house, Evelyne set her gas mask on the kitchen table and, too tired to build the fire, sat alone, sipping a cup of strong, sweet tea. The broken windows had been boarded up, and a large tarpaulin covered the bomb-damaged roof. She had always been a fighter, but now she was giving in. Overwhelmed with tiredness, she sat in the chair. She couldn’t bear to think of Edward, and now Alex had failed her, too.

  The train thundered through the black tunnel, and Alex sat opposite Major Kelly, his haversack on his knee. The Major snored, his steel hand hanging limply at his side. Eventually the train pulled into Brighton.

  Oakwood Hall was a gothic monster set in large grounds a few miles outside Brighton. Alex half-expected the place to be surrounded with barbed wire, but the manor house looked more like a grand hotel. As the taxi entered the gates, he stared around at the grassy fields and woods.

  The hall was oak-beamed, Tudor style, with highly polished oak floors. They waited in the hall as a plump woman, wearing a starched white apron, came down the wide staircase. Alex was ushered in to meet his housemaster, Mr Taylor. He had a thick thatch of straw-coloured hair with a reddish tinge. His eyes were blue, piercing and icy, framed by round wire glasses. Alex could see that he was actually rather a handsome man, with full, red lips and wide cheekbones, very fresh-faced. When he rose from behind the desk he stood at least five foot eleven, well built with broad shoulders. He wore a crumpled tweed jacket and the fashionable, baggy grey flannels. They were held at the waist by a tie, which Alex was later informed was from Eton, where Mr Taylor had been educated.

  Taylor gave Alex a quick, sharp lecture, a stamped envelope for his weekly letter home, and, just as Alex reached the office door, he snapped, ‘I run a tight ship, Stubbs. Just do as you’re told and we’ll get along. I’ll have a chat with you at a later date, run along.’

  Lounging outside Mr Taylor’s office was Sidney Green. Dapper in his uniform, his hair slicked back with grease, he possessed a natural sharpness. ‘Well, that was short an’ sweet, must be yer lucky day. Name’s Sid, just follow me, I’m ter show yer the ropes . . . got all yer kit? Let’s get this over wiv, got a game of football. You play footer, do yer?’

  Alex trailed behind Sid down endless corridors, until they came to a long dormitory. Sid barely paused for breath, keeping up a steady flow of chatter. He pointed out a small bed, a locker, and then sat swinging his legs impatiently while Alex unpacked. ‘Take yer gear, stick us in this ruddy uniform, makes yer sick. I got meself a nice suit just before they copped me – nice double-breasted with a crease in the pants yer could cut yer ’and on, very tasty – got one of them new skinny-rib ties what’s all the fashion . . .’

  Sid continued to talk all through the tour of Oakwood Hall, making rude remarks about every room, every teacher, until his black humour had Alex smiling. ‘Yer fink I’m jokin’, mate, but wait, just wait. You’ll see all I’m talkin’ is God’s truth. This place comes wiv the ark, no kiddin’.’

  Alex never really chose Sid as his friend, Sid simply latched on. He was very glad in the end as Sid was so popular, forever joking, always ready with the hottest rumours. Oakwood Hall was a far cry from Rochester House, and Alex settled in fast. Lessons were treated seriously, though not by Sid. The only thing he really worked at was his football. On the pitch he could dribble the ball so fast he was at the far end and back again with no one to touch him. They became even more inseparable when Sid saw how fast Alex could run. ‘Hey, you an’ me, yer know, we could make it on the professional circuit – did I tell yer me Dad’s a professional? Yeah, he’s one hell of a football player. Soon’s I’m out, an’ the war’s over, I’m gonna try out fer Fulham.’

  Evelyne’s weekend visits left Alex increasingly anxious about her. She seemed thinner and unnaturally quiet, but she always brought him a bagful of fruit and a chocolate bar. She gave him a half-crown to slip in his pocket and told him it might be difficult for her to come every week as it was such a long way from home. ‘You look well, son, it must be the sea air. Do you get out on to the beach at all?’

  Alex told her they went for long walks every other day, and one of the masters took them on country rambles. He did look well, and he was filling out. He was taller, and his long trousers made him look very grown-up. To Alex, his mother seemed vacant, and her big, worn hands fiddled nervously with her handbag strap all the time.

  ‘You heard from our Eddie, then, Ma?’

  Evelyne frowned slightly and said he’d written, but he was very probably busy with his studies. ‘I asked Mr Taylor and he said you were doing well here. So stay that way and I’ll have you home soon. That will be nice, just the two of us.’

  Alex gave her a soft, shy smile, and she reached over and gently touched his face. She noticed his quick, embarrassed glance to see if any of the other lads were watching.

  ‘You’ve not been getting into any fights, the way you did at Rochester House?’

  ‘No, it’s not bad here, and I’m working well. They tell you I was top in maths? And then there’s the sports. I play a lot of football.’

  She smiled, pleased, and he slid his hand across the table to hold hers. ‘I love you, Ma . . . love you with all my heart, I do.’

  ‘I know, son, I know . . . I never told you much about your grandfather, but, well, you’ve got more of a look of him than ever. It’s the dimple in your chin.’

  Alex had rarely, if ever, heard her mention his grandfather. He couldn’t know that Evelyne had her reasons, deep, hidden reasons, and there was also the fact that there had never been a legal form of marriage between herself and Freedom.

  The wardens began to open the doors, at any moment the bell would ring. ‘I’ll write to you, Mum.’

  Evelyne appeared to be miles away, staring into space.

  ‘Mum, I know it’s hard for you to come and see me, so don’t put yourself out too much.’

  Alex always had so much more to say when the bell rang. There was that emotional surge when he first saw her that made him go dumb. Then, just as he relaxed, it was time for her to go.

  The wardens called ‘Time up’, and the boys had to file out before their parents left. Evelyne noticed that Alex had a manly swagger to him now. He was growing away from her and it tore her heart. When he turned and gave her that smile of his at the door, she fought to put on a brave face, giving him a little wave of her hand. Today more than ever she saw Hugh, her father, in her son – his curly hair, his blue eyes – then the pain swept over her and she could see Edward’s face, Edward her first-born, Freedom’s mirror, and by the time she boarded the train home she was drained, a terrible empty feeling inside her. She felt cut off, and desperately alone, the confusion of faces dead and gone haunting her . . .

  Like all the boys at Oakwood, Alex felt deeply depressed after these visits. He jogged out to the football field in search of Sid, who appeared never to receive either letters or visitors. Seeing two younger boys kicking a ball around, he asked after Sid.

  ‘Matron took ’im up to the sickroom, he’s had one of his turns.’

  It was not until they were getting ready for bed that Alex saw Sid again. The matron brought him in, looking pale and drawn, and she had to help him into bed. The young lad next to Alex whispered, ‘They give ’im somefink ter quiet ’im down, drug ’im . . .’

  ‘Why does his Dad nev
er visit?’

  The boy sniggered, ‘You don’t believe ’is stories, do yer? He ain’t got no Dad, that’s why they keep bringin’ ’im back ’ere – he got no place else.’

  Alex lay back. He couldn’t believe it – why had Sid lied to him about his father? He looked over at the still figure of his usually buoyant friend and was angry at Sid for making such a fool of him.

  At breakfast next morning Sid was as lively as ever, fooling around and spilling sugar on the floor. Eventually Mr Taylor yelled at him.

  ‘Hey, Alex, want a quick game at break? Alex . . .? Whassamatter wiv yer?’

  ‘You should have told me, Sid, why’d you lie? What you lie to me for?’

  Sid sniffed and shrugged, looked down at his shoes. ‘Why don’t yer mind yer own friggin’ business . . . you want ter play or not?’

  ‘No, I gotta see Taylor . . .’

  Sid stuffed his hands in his pockets, gave Alex a peculiar smile. ‘Taylor asked to see yer, ’as he? I wondered ’ow long he’d take to get round yer . . . Well sod ya, I’ll play on me own.’

  Sid went to move away and Alex caught him by the arm. ‘Sid, is it true yer don’t ’ave a Dad?’

  ‘Look, I ain’t got nobody, so I make ’em up in me ’ead – is that such a terrible fing? I don’t hurt nobody . . . But you try it sometimes, everybody comin’ in wiv fings what they been given. I don’t even get a friggin’ letter.’

  Alex put an arm around him, pulled him towards the lockers. ‘All right then, from now on what I get, we halve . . . here you go, fruit, chocolate . . .’

  Sid slipped an arm around Alex’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear, then he glanced at the door and whispered, ‘Watch out for Taylor, he’s a bastard – know what I mean?’

  Alex shook his head.

  ‘Gawd ’elp us, you are green, yer know that . . . Look, this is what yer say when he asks . . .’

  Before Sid could elaborate, Alex was called by a junior to get a move on, as Taylor was waiting for him.