Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘You’ll be lucky, all the lines are down, didn’t you hear the blast last night? Do you want to come? Have to get a move on, film starts in five minutes.’

In the small, dark picture house, Edward sat with his eyes closed. The letter felt as though it was burning in his pocket. He took it out and then leant forward and stuffed it in the ashtray. On the screen Greta Garbo portrayed the dying Camille. She held her arms out to her lover, saying over and over in her deep, throaty voice, ‘I love you, I love you, I knew you would come to see me, my love.’

Walter sighed, his thick glasses had steamed up. He was about to dig Edward in the ribs to see if he wanted a choc-ice in the interval when he realized that he was staring at the screen, tears streaming down his cheeks. Walter was surprised, he’d never seen Edward show any emotion at the pictures before. He looked up at the screen; Greta was dead, lying on a bed covered with gardenias, one clasped to her bosom.

It was a month later that the Governor got the word that Alex’s mother was indeed seriously ill. She had already been operated on for cancer, but had been released from hospital. Alex was called and told the news. He was shattered, and had to be helped into a chair.

‘I’ve put in for a special visit, Alex, but the Home Office have to agree — so get back to your cell and as soon as we have news I’ll let you know.’

Alex was in such a black mood when he returned to his cell that the lads were half-afraid to speak to him. Tom climbed up into Alex’s bunk as soon as the lights went out, and held him close. He knew Alex was worrying about his mother. Alex smiled at his pal, and tried to explain what his mother was like — how she was such a fighter, how she had fought all her life to better herself and her sons, even her husband. ‘She always said that you can only climb out of the shit by yer brains, Tom, not yer fists. Always was a stickler for books an’ reading. Since I can remember she was always at the kitchen table wiv a book ready and waitin’, and the way she’d read to us when we were kids...’

Tom had never heard Alex speak of his brother, and he was puzzled for a moment. ‘Eh, you didn’t tell me — you got sisters an’ all, Alex?’

Alex shook his head, his voice so quiet Tom had to lean close to hear him. ‘I just got a brother, just one, his name’s Edward.’

Tom knew for a fact that Alex had never received a letter from a brother, and he was surprised. The fact that Alex never spoke about him made it even stranger. ‘Don’t you two get on, then? I mean, you don’t ever talk about him? What’s he up to, doin’ time, is he? Where is ‘e, then?’ Tom laughed and Alex cuffed him, then stared blankly at the wall. After a while he told Tom that Edward was at Cambridge. Tom giggled, nudged Alex and said there was a good open prison near Cambridge. Alex didn’t laugh, he got down from his bunk. ‘He’s not in prison, he’s at university.’

Still Tom laughed, letting his head loll over the edge of the bunk. ‘Go on, yer ‘avin’ us on — you ain’t got no bruvver, do us a favour.’ Tom could have bitten his tongue out, his hero seemed so helpless, so vulnerable, and he wanted to reach out and hug him. Whatever emotion Tom saw disappeared in the fraction of a second, and Alex laughed, tugging Tom’s hair good-naturedly. ‘You’re right, mate, I ain’t got no friggin’ brother... I was just ‘aving you on. Yer think the likes of me would have a nob at Cambridge? You lot’d believe anything I say.’

They all laughed and Alex swung himself up into his bunk. He flicked open a well-thumbed American movie magazine, pretending to read. None of them heard a murmur, they all went back to their comics. Alex had to grit his teeth so hard, staring at Carole Lombard’s glossy red lips, her gold lame swimsuit and all the time hearing Eddie’s voice — the voice he hadn’t heard for so long — yelling at the kids in the street, ‘We are brothers — take ‘im on, yer take me...’

Alex wouldn’t release the tears. He ground his teeth and flipped the page over. It was true, he had no brother, not any more, and if he did see him, after all this time, he would knock his teeth down his throat.

He slipped his hand under his pillow to the two small, leather-bound books. Holding them brought his mother closer. He tried to remember the poem she loved so much, the one she could recite from memory, ‘Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land...’

He closed his eyes, holding the book close to his chest. He wanted his dream so badly — the mountain, the horseman, the clean, sweet air... ‘freedom’.

Mrs Harris shuffled down the hospital corridor stopping constantly to catch her breath. She asked a passing nurse the way to Keats Ward, and was directed to a lift. It was on the third floor.

She looked down the long row of beds and noted that they had moved Evelyne again. She was even further along than she had been on the last visit. She was watching out for Mrs Harris, her face pale, and she waved. It broke Mrs Harris’ heart. Evelyne’s arm was so thin and she looked so fragile. Mrs Harris put on a brave smile.

‘Well, ducks, nice to see you looking perkier today. My God, the bus was stopped five times — more rubble in the streets — and as fast as they get it away another attack comes, poor Mrs Smith blown right off her feet she was, an’ her two kids with her — it was a sight to be seen, so I was told, legs up in the air an’ her bloomers showing for all the world.’ She kept up a steady flow of chatter as she took a washbag out of the cabinet, wiped Evelyne’s face and then unbraided her long hair and brushed it slowly. She knew it soothed Evelyne, and that she liked to look neat and tidy.

‘My God, what a length it is, what a length, you could make a few shillings on this, you know. I tell you about Mrs Walter’s youngest, well she was sitting on the bus on the way home from school, and you know she had hair right down to the back of her knees... Well, she didn’t even feel a thing, didn’t even hear anything, but my God, Evie! She got off the bus with a bob! No kiddin’, some bugger had cut off her hair, somebody sitting behind her, her mother had a fit!’

Evelyne closed her eyes. She liked Mrs Harris’ chatter, and the gentle strokes of the hairbrush soothed her. ‘I wrote to Edward, and the lawyers, but I’ve not heard back.’

Mrs Harris told her, pursing her lips. She tutted and had to apologize for giving Evelyne’s hair a tug.

‘I know I said I’d keep my mouth shut, but don’t you think he should have written by now, I mean, you’ve been in here right the way over Christmas with not even a card, just that one with the Cambridge school on it, I think he should get a rap over the knuckles, that lad, I do, he should have been home and here with you, looking after you. I dunno, one lad gallivantin’ all round and the other behind bars, it’s a dreadful thing, Evie, it really is.’

Mrs Harris wished she had kept quiet when she saw Evelyne close her eyes, and she began to braid the hair, saying that she would write to them both and give them a piece of her mind, that’s what she would do.

‘No, no, don’t, best not... will you pass me my bag, it’s on the side there?’

Mrs Harris handed Evelyne her old brown leather handbag, and had to help her into a sitting position. As she spoke, she put her arms around Evelyne and felt her thin, frail body. She couldn’t help herself — she burst into tears. Evelyne raised her hands in a futile gesture, ‘Now you just stop that — you know you’ll have me in tears if you carry on like this. Now then, look in my handbag there. Take out that leather case — I want you to take it away with you. There’s so much coming and going in here, I don’t think it’s safe to be left. You never know who might take it in the night. They give me pills to make me sleep and I’m out for the count by nine. Here, now you keep it safe until I come home.’