The Talisman by Lynda La Plante

means easy. Night after night Edward sat in front of his mirror, practising the vowels over and over again, gradually interspersing his conversation with ‘Oh, I say’, ‘Jolly good man’ and ‘Whizz-o’. He had no idea that his attempts at aping the upper classes were mimicked and ridiculed by the rest of the students in his tutorials. He was the source of many a night’s entertainment as they copied his broad cockney voice and followed it with ‘Oh, holly hood, old bean.’
    Edward had walked all the way across Cambridge to look at his new lodgings. He was very dispirited that they were in a large, Victorian house where the rest of the rooms were let to travelling salesmen, chefs and domestics from the colleges.
    All students ‘living in’ bought any furnishings and fittings left by the previous tenant. Edward’s room contained nothing but a small bed, a chair and a desk. The previous occupant did not even bother to ask for payment. Edward brought nothing other than his books to his room. He hung no posters on the walls, it was as bare as the day he moved in. He reckoned that even with his scholarship he needed at least forty-five pounds a term, and that was cutting it fine. He hadn’t joined any clubs or organizations, he didn’t take part in any of the sporting events. He had never played rugby at his school, only football, and he had never been keen on cricket so he didn’t bother with sports at all. He made careful notes in his book, initial expenses, university fees, college fees, board and lodging, personal expenses, and a few possible additions. His mother had bought his cap and gown, had it made up by a Jewish tailor in the East End, and had also bought him two shirts and two pairs of trousers. He hated everything he wore. He wanted a sports jacket in brown, the fashionable colour that year, but all he had was an old black jacket of his father’s and a raincoat.
    He lay back on the river bank and closed his eyes. He was free for the afternoon, he had no lectures until the following morning. The sound of someone sobbing made him sit up and look around. He couldn’t see anyone, but the sound continued and he got to his feet and searched around, eventually finding a pair of green cord trousers sticking out from beneath some bushes.
    ‘You okay? Hello . . . you okay?’
    The trousers wriggled and the bushes parted, and he recognized the chap from lectures, but realized he had no idea of his name. He was small-boned, with delicate features and big, china-blue eyes, red-rimmed from weeping. The boy blushed at being caught. ‘Oh God, I didn’t think anyone would be around here.’ He spoke with a very refined, upper-class accent, and took a small, crumpled linen handkerchief out of his pocket to blow his nose. This seemed only to start his crying all over again, and he flopped back into the bushes. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’ve had dreadful news, I can’t cope at all.’
    Unsure what to do with the boy, Edward hovered by the bushes.
    ‘I’ll be all right in a while, really, it’s just . . . Oh God! This is so embarrassing.’ He wiped his eyes and sniffed, but for all his apologizing he seemed quite unconcerned at being caught weeping, hidden in the bushes. ‘I say, do I know you? Think I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?’
    Edward sat down beside him and introduced himself, and the boy held out a slender, delicate white hand and shook Edward’s big paw. ‘I’m Charles Collins, everyone calls me Charlie. You’re the frightfully keen chap, aren’t you? Where do you hide yourself, you never go to the clubs.’ He sighed again and stared into the river, picked up a stick and began ripping little twigs off it, throwing them into the water. ‘Just got the old telegram, my brother missing in action, they don’t hold out much hope of finding him, judging by Ma’s letter. Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m going to start again.’
    Much to his surprise, Edward found himself putting an arm around the