Chatterton by Peter Ackroyd

Author:Peter Ackroyd [Ackroyd, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-05-22T00:59:58+00:00

9

CHARLES WYCHWOOD was trying to read a copy of Meyerstein’s Life of Chatterton but there was a patch of darkness on the left hand page, as if someone were standing over him and casting a shadow across the words. He closed the book and, fighting back his panic, called out, ‘Edward!’ There was no answer, only the sound of the television. ‘Edward the Unfriendly!’ He rose unsteadily to his feet and crept into the bedroom, where his son was at that moment trying to balance upon his head. ‘Don’t!’ Charles said. ‘Don’t do that!’ And with sudden anger he pushed him onto the floor. ‘You could kill yourself like that!’

Edward was astonished. ‘How?’

‘You could injure your brain.’ Charles pointed at his own head. ‘You could shake it out of place.’

‘But I like to see things upside down.’ He glanced sullenly at the television screen. ‘Everything looks better like that.’

‘But the world isn’t upside down, is it, Edward the Unrepentant?’

‘How would you know?’

Charles grabbed him and, to his son’s embarrassment, started rocking him on his knees. ‘Have you been to the toilet today?’

‘Yes.’

‘Big jobs?’

‘Oh, Dad.’ Over the last few days Charles had become obsessed with his son’s health, which had the effect only of irritating him.

‘And you do eat all your meals at school, don’t you?’

‘I suppose so.’ Edward turned away to make a secret grimace, but then his father leant across him and began picking over his hair as if he were looking for lice or fleas. ‘Leave me alone, Dad.’ Edward rolled away, and ended up on his stomach.

‘You know I worry about you.’

‘Your breath smells. You’re sick.’

‘I am not sick.’ Charles was enraged but he could think of nothing else to say. There isn’t anything the matter with me.’ He got up, with some difficulty, and left the room.

Edward muttered, ‘Well, I’m sick of you.’ But he was looking at his father anxiously.

Without thinking, Charles went over to the telephone and called Philip at the library; when his friend came to talk to him, however, he could not remember what it was he meant to say. ‘Hi, it’s me, Wychwood. Charles.’

A vagrant in the reference section was shouting, ‘It wouldn’t take more than a couple of puffs to blow you out of the water!’ and Philip could not hear what Charles was saying. ‘What was that?’

‘I said Chatterton’s going fine. And you know what, we ought to halibut. Celebrate. We ought to arrange a dinner.’

It sounded to Philip as if Charles had been drinking, so slurred and uncertain were his words. That’s good.’

‘Is that all you can say, that’s good!’ Then Charles realised he had raised his voice. ‘No. I’m sorry. Listen. I’ll invite Andrew Flint. I’ll invite Harriet. And then I’ll read them my bare face.’

‘What?’

‘Preface. I’ll read them my preface. It’s all in my head.’ Charles licked his lips, which had suddenly become very dry. ‘All I have to do is write it up. Down. Chatterton.’ Edward was standing in the doorway and noticed that, as his father talked, he was moving his head very slowly from side to side.

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