Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Suddenly she threw herself into his arms and clung to him. The sunburn on his back was painful, and he tried to push her away, but she hung on. ‘Please, oh please don’t push me from you, hold me, hold me tight.’

The record stuck, but she didn’t seem to hear it. She hid her face in his shoulder and ran her hands up his arms, murmuring, moaning, ‘You have such a body, such a body, so firm, so young, make love to me, please, please make love to me.’

Primrose grabbed the decanter and pulled him by the hand towards the door. She was drunk and she knew it, but she wanted him, wanted him naked beside her.

Edward allowed himself to be dragged up the stairs, along the corridor and up to his nursery room, where she shut the door and pressed her back against it. She drank from the decanter itself, then swung it in her hand. Edward took off his jacket and hung it neatly on the small child’s chair.

He looked at her through the mirror, her face flushed, and in the dark he could make believe she was young, or youngish, but as she stepped out of her dress he had to turn away, disgusted. She was Charlie’s mother, for God’s sake.

She lay on the bed and held out her arms to him, begging him now, pleading, and it sickened him. He picked up the decanter and took a heavy swig, feeling the brandy hit the back of his throat, then he stood by the bed, looking down at her, and found her pitiful as she writhed in front of him.

‘I have no money, I need money, I don’t have a cent with me, not a penny, Lady Primrose.’

She stared at him, suddenly cold. She pulled the sheet around her naked body, ashamed, and turned her back on him. He slowly rubbed her shoulder, softly, gently.

‘How much do you want?’

‘God,’ she thought, ‘was that my voice, asking how much?’

Edward began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it out of his pants, and he smiled down at her, bent to kiss the side of her head.

‘Ten pounds, I want ten pounds.’

Primrose lay back in his arms and sighed. He had been worth every penny, and she kissed him. The fact that she was paying for it somehow heightened her enjoyment. He looked down into her face, patted her bottom and said that was all she was getting for a tenner. She laughed, searched around for her underwear, and as she gathered it up in her arms she bent over him, over the small bed, to kiss him goodnight. The childish, scrawled writing of her dead son confronted her, and she blushed with shame.

The next few weeks Edward rarely saw Charlie. He was always driving off to visit ‘friends’, seldom back until the early hours, sometimes not appearing at all. Edward spent his days working, walking and practising swimming. The evening began to take on a pattern; if Lady Primrose was home, she invariably came to his room, often the worse for drink, and always clutching her ten-pound note.

One night, Charlie arrived home unexpectedly. Edward and Lady Primrose were in the small child’s bed when they heard him calling. Lady Primrose hastily wrapped her dressing gown around her and was just reaching the door when Charlie burst in. ‘Oh, hello, darling, I just brought poor Edward an aspirin, he’s not feeling at all well...’

Edward lay on the bed, naked apart from a sheet draped over him. He had tanned to a dark brown from his sunbathing, and Charlie was quick to take in the situation. He lolled at the door. ‘Just thought you should know, Ma, I’ve sort of said we’ll throw a dance before I go back up...’

Lady Primrose covered her embarrassment fast, clapping her hands with delight and telling Charlie it was a wonderful idea. She then beat a hasty retreat. Charlie remained at the open bedroom door. ‘You got a cigarette, old chap?’

Edward sat up, reached for his trousers and tossed a packet of Craven ‘A’ cigarettes to Charlie.

‘What was she doing up here? Trying to grope you?’ Charlie lit the cigarette, tossing the match aside. He had a smirk on his face. Edward shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

‘Too much study, old fella, not enough play...’

‘Look, Charlie, you owe me, you know. I could have got a job — you said ten bob a week. I’m not one of your fancy friends, I need the cash.’

Charlie wandered about the room, puffing at the cigarette. ‘I’ll pay, for Chrissakes...’

‘You should have done some work, you know. Emmott’ll haul you over the coals next term.’

‘I think it should be fancy dress. We’ve got loads of costumes up in the attic, should be great fun... You could wrap a few sheets around you, come as Rudy Valentino... You okay? What’s up?’

Edward broke out in a sweat. He could see himself, sitting at the kitchen table with Alex, his mother, and the scrapbook. Freedom’s face, the programmes, the boxing pictures. He could hear his mother laughing, ‘They used to say your Dad was the image of the film star, Rudolph Valentino... see, look at this picture. Look, Eddie, here’s another. This was in Miami...’

‘Eddie, you all right?’ Charlie moved closer to the bed and Edward shrank back from him.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing, nothing, just... You mind leaving me alone?’

Charlie stubbed out his cigarette and wandered out. Edward opened the window. He was panting, nausea swept over him. He couldn’t get the picture of his father out of his mind. He began to pace up and down the room, feeling the walls closing in on him. He dressed, crept downstairs and out into the garden. It was a clear summer night and he slowly began to shake the panic inside him. He sat on a bench, leaned back and closed his eyes.

‘Hello... I saw you out here. Did Charlie suspect anything?’

The last person he wanted to see was Lady Primrose, wrapped in her floating pink negligee. He sighed, gritted his teeth. She put her arms around his neck.

Standing up at an unlit window, overlooking the gardens, was David Collins. He could see his wife fawning over some fellow who, to his mind, looked like a bloody gypsy. He sipped his medicine, his mind as clouded as his drink, then turned away from the window, missing the sight of Edward pushing Lady Primrose roughly away.

‘Oh, you brute, that’s what you are, a brute... let’s go inside, I want you, darling, I want you.’

Edward gripped her arms and pushed her away again, making her stumble backwards. She began to be afraid of him. ‘Eddie, is something wrong, Eddie darling?’

He wanted to slap her over-made-up face, felt his hands clenching and unclenching. If she tried to hold him one more time, he didn’t think he would be able to control himself. ‘I don’t like being called Eddie. My name is Edward, for Chrissakes, Edward.’

Lady Primrose, with all the confidence she could muster, told him that she knew who he was, there was no need to be cruel.

‘You don’t know me, none of you know me. If you must know, you disgust me, disgust me as much as my own pitiful circumstances do. Now leave me alone.’

She made the mistake of putting her arms around him as he walked away from her. He turned and slapped her so hard with one hand that she fell on to the gravel path. ‘Get off me, you old hag, for God’s sake get away from me.’

She started to cry, her make-up running, begging him not to call her old. He had said she was beautiful, said she was beautiful...

‘I’ll say anything if I’m paid for it, darlin’, now get lost, hear me, fuck off.’ The cockney accent, so carefully disguised, burst out of him, and he walked away cursing himself for letting it slip. He wasn’t worried that he had struck her, hurt her, only angry that he had let his accent slip.

The fancy-dress dance never materialized. The following morning Edward found Charlie sitting at the breakfast table. He looked up with a glum smile as Edward joined him. ‘Look, old chap, I think we should beat a hasty retreat, get the hell out of here... About this cash I owe you — I feel really rotten about it so if you agree, there’s a whole load of stuff up in the attic. You sort through it, take what you want, sort of payment in kind. Then we’ll be on the road...’