Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Sid’s excitement kept the pair of them going, and Alex was thankful that he’d made up his mind to leave.

They threaded their way through the bombed-out buildings to a boarded-up house that had been severely shelled. No one occupied it now. Sid pulled back the corrugated iron door and led Alex down into the dark basement. His friends were not around, but there were mattresses scattered about and a pile of tinned food. The place stank to high heaven as the drains were open, and they crawled along the filthy hallway into a back room.

‘This’ll be fine when we do it up, Alex. It’s dry, and it’s not too cold. No one’ll find us here.’

Sid fetched blankets from the other room and dragged in one of the dirty mattresses. They huddled together and made elaborate plans for what they would do the following day with their new-found freedom.

Later, Sid slept like a baby, but Alex lay staring into the darkness, seeing his mother’s face when she learned what he had done. He didn’t cry, he couldn’t, and he knew he wouldn’t go back to the school, not ever.

In the morning they were woken by the sound of the corrugated iron being dragged back. They listened as voices echoed around the empty house.

Johnny Mask looked into the room and snorted, called to his mates that there was no panic, just a couple of kids.

‘It’s me, Johnny, it’s Sid, we just come over the wall — the pair of us — last night. I said it’d be all right to doss down here for a few days until the heat dies down.’

Johnny laughed, and handed the boys the greasy remains of his fish and chips to finish. His two friends came through the doorway behind him. They were much older, and looked pretty tough.

‘It’s young Sid, lads, remember we used him as lookout on the dairy job? Well, well, who’s your mate then, Sid?’

Alex, wolfing the chips, introduced himself.

‘Johnny, it’s okay for us to doss down ‘ere, ain’t it?’

On closer inspection, Johnny was much better dressed than his mates. His tell-tale coal-black hair, greased and swept back from his face, and his dark eyes, gave away his origins. Johnny Mask was a gypsy.

Freedom’s path had already begun to cross his son’s. It would pass unseen, unfelt and unknown. If discovered, it could be said that it was just a coincidence. But for Alex it had begun with Johnny Mask, because he was linked to Freedom. Not just because he was a gypsy but because he was the illegitimate son of an old friend, Jesse Evans. It was Jesse who had stood by the champion’s grave and warned Evelyne to give him the talisman. A life-long friend, Jesse had been a member of Freedom’s clan. He had fathered many illegitimate children, but Johnny had been his first. And young Johnny had been given the name ‘Mask’ because no matter how many times he had been beaten for thieving, he always smiled. No one ever really knew what he was thinking.

His white teeth gleamed, his one gold cap sparkled — he seemed to find the boys amusing. In some ways they reminded him of himself; he had absconded from more juvenile homes than he could count. He had not the slightest inkling that Alex, the big, raw-boned kid, had any Romany blood in him, let alone that of a royal prince. But the curse had begun.

Sid sidled up to his hero, asking, ‘You know of any jobs we could get in on, Johnny? Just that me an’ me mate are short of the readies.’

Johnny took out a nail file and began to clean his nails. He gave Alex the once-over and asked him why they’d run. Alex couldn’t meet Johnny’s eyes, black eyes with thick, long lashes. He stammered a few words about trouble with his housemaster, but Sid interrupted. ‘Bastard was a faggot, Johnny, after ‘is arse. He’d done it to all the kids in Oakwood. Alex gave him one hell of a thrashin’, so we done a runner.’

Alex flushed with embarrassment, half-expecting Johnny to laugh, but instead he yelled to his mates to go out and get some coffee. He still lounged in the broken-down doorway, filing his nails. ‘What you say your name was?’

Again Sid interrupted before Alex could speak, and Johnny clipped Sid round the ear. ‘Shut up, I’m not talkin’ to you... Come here, Alex, an’ you, blabbermouth, get into the other room and clean it up.’

Left alone with Johnny, Alex stood with his head bowed. Johnny moved closer, and Alex could smell his cologne, a heavy, sweet smell. When he spoke his voice was soft and gentle. ‘You do him in good, did ya? Eh, look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.’ He took Alex’s chin and turned his face to the light, then ruffled his hair, leaving his hand resting on Alex’s neck. He was shorter than Alex and had to look up into his face. ‘Those shits always go for the lookers. I know, believe me, I know... You forget it, I’ll find you and Sid a little money earner, all right? Big lad like you would be useful. Now go and give the little squirt a hand, wanna get the place cleaned up.’

Johnny watched Alex leave the room as one of his mates came in. He looked at Alex’s retreating back. ‘What you want those kids hangin’ around for, Johnny?’

Johnny shrugged and didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t really know what he could do with them. But there had been something in the big blond boy’s face, his pained eyes. Johnny knew exactly what Alex was feeling; he hadn’t been home since the age of ten himself. Maybe it was the scars of his own rape that had made him reach out and touch Alex. But whatever it was, Johnny had felt an immediate bond between himself and the tall, skinny boy. He laughed, then took out a greasy comb and ran it through his thick black hair. ‘Nice-lookin’ kid, may be useful, an’ we’ve got a lot to do before we get this place workin’. I got the beds comin’ in and all the girls standing by. Get ‘em white-washin’ the walls.’

Evelyne sat in Mrs Harris’ house, worried half to death. Her oldest friend, Mrs Harris, had helped deliver Edward. She was a big, motherly woman, very overweight, and had in many ways been a surrogate mother to Evelyne when she had arrived in London.

Although many years younger than her friend, Evelyne now seemed just as old and worn out, and her constant fiddling with her handbag strap was getting on Mrs Harris’ nerves. The change in Evelyne could not be missed; but they didn’t discuss it, just as Evelyne’s real feelings, deep down, were not expressed. Sometimes her eyes were so vacant, her expression so distant, that Mrs Harris feared for her sanity, but then she would come round and talk about her problems with Alex. Then she would be the old Evie again, but those dream-like lapses were unnerving, and her constant fiddling drove Mrs Harris spare.

‘Did I tell you the police were round again today? Yes, they came again today.’

Mrs Harris nodded. Evelyne had told her this piece of news three times, and everyone in the street knew the police were looking for Alex since he had run away from the reform school.

Evelyne lifted the cracked tea cup to her lips, but did not drink. She sat staring into space.

‘Oh, God help me, she’s going off again,’ thought Mrs Harris. She coughed. ‘Evie? Evie love, can you hear me?’

Evelyne turned, surprised, and gave a beautiful smile, just like her old self. ‘What are you shouting for? You’re the one that’s gone deaf, not me.’

‘Well, you get so far away sometimes... What I was going to say was, it fair surprised me about your Alex. He was always the quiet one, and you said he was getting on so well.’

‘It just doesn’t make sense, I know, but then there’s always two sides to a story. Maybe something happened.’

Mrs Harris nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. But then, he and Edward was always together, like peas in a pod. They was always side by side.’