The Talisman by Lynda La Plante Read Free Book Online Page B

as if he had never existed.
    Edward walked out of the local Post Office in Cambridge and paused, frowning. He had miscalculated and was running very low on funds, lower than he had anticipated. He sighed as he put his Post Office book away, wondering if he could touch his mother for a few more shillings a week. He was on such a tight budget he hardly ever had so much as a spare penny in his pocket. Evelyne had calculated the costs of his gown, his books, all his accessories, down to the last penny, and he could see no way round the situation. He shifted his weighty books on to his other hip and worked it out in his mind. If he left the hall of residence, moved into digs, it would be cheaper. Then he could get a bike so he could ride to college and that would save his bus fares.
    The sun was shining, it was a beautiful clear day, and here in Cambridge there was little sign of the continuing war, apart from the odd pile of sandbags propped around the doorways of the colleges. Edward walked to the river bank and sat down, going over his money once again. His mother had certainly got him living on a shoestring, and it annoyed him. He had his meals in hall, which was cheaper than eating out, but it meant his social life was a void. He couldn’t really join the crowd in the pubs in case he got stuck for a round, that could wipe him out for a whole week. No one else was really aware of Edward’s financial situation, no one really cared, they put him down to being a bit of a loner. His thick cockney accent amused some of them, but it set him apart from the jet-setters.
    He had tried hard to be part of the crowd, even rubbing his new grey trousers so that they looked worn, scuffing his shoes and rolling his gown in the road so it didn’t look so shiny and new. Most of the students wore baggy cord trousers with white cricketing sweaters, their shirt collars undone and ties hanging loose on their chests, ready to be tightened up fast if they saw their tutors. Edward only had an old, grey sweater Freda had knitted for him, and he wanted a white Cambridge one and dark green cord trousers, wanted them so much and was so frustrated – he couldn’t even afford an extra pint of beer after classes.
    The first months had been the hardest, as he had had to adjust to his new life. He found his background such a hindrance that he quickly covered it up as much as possible. All his books had been second-hand, and those he couldn’t afford he borrowed from the university library, like all the students who couldn’t buy their own. Edward was well aware that many students were in a similar financial position, but they were not of the same class. There were very few working-class boys, most of them were middle or upper class, and he was therefore an oddity, knew it and hated it.
    During his first few days he had overheard one of the students talking outside his window. ‘Thing is, according to my old man, never make friends in the first term, means you are stuck with them for the rest of your time here. You can get some frightful bores, you know, dreadful fellows, but first-termers are so nervous and desperate for pals that they latch on to quite the wrong sort of chap. I never spoke to anyone in my first term, jolly glad too.’
    Edward said ‘jolly glad too’ to himself, using a high-pitched, plummy voice. He took what the idiot had said to heart, and during his first term he watched, listened, and worked like hell. He was reading geology, and his tutors were helpful. He was learning fast, and he didn’t want to appear vulnerable to the other students.
    His tutor, Professor Huston, detected Edward’s discomfort with his own background from the word go. He tried to assure Edward that, contrary to being ashamed of his roots, he should be proud. However, his advice fell on deaf ears, and he watched with interest as Edward kept himself to himself. He could not help but notice that the boy was gradually losing his accent.
    The process was by no