Читать «Англия и Англия» онлайн - страница 24

'Yes, but you're not going to change it, Charlie, so drink up.

A man standing a few feet down the bar had a paper sticking out of his pocket. Mike said to him: 'Mind if I borrow your paper for the winners, sir?

'Help yourself.

Mike turned the paper over to the back page. 'I had five quid on today, he said. 'Lost it. Lovely bit of horseflesh, but I lost it.

'Wait, said Charlie excitedly, straightening the paper so he could see the front page. WARDROBE MURDERER GETS SECOND CHANCE it said. 'See that? said Charlie. 'The Home Secretary says he can have another chance, they can review the case, he says.

'The Irishman read, cold-faced. So he does, he said.

'Well, I mean to say, there's some decency left, then. I mean if the case can be reviewed it shows they do care about something at least.

'I don't see it your way at all. It's England versus England, that's all. Fair play all round, but they'll hang the poor sod on the day appointed as usual. He turned the newspaper and studied the race news.

Charlie waited, for his eyes to clear, held himself steady with one hand flat on the counter, and drank his second double. He pushed over a pound note, remembering it had to last three days, and that now he had quarrelled with Jenny there was no place for him to stay in London.

'No, it's on me, said Mike. 'I asked you. It's been a pleasure seeing you, Charlie. And don't take the sins of the world on your personal shoulders, lad, because that doesn't do anyone any good, does it, now?

'See you at Christmas, Mike, and thanks.

He walked carefully out into the rain. There was no solitude to be had on the train that night, so he chose a compartment with one person in it, and settled himself in a corner before looking to see who it was he had with him. It was a girl. He saw then that she was pretty, and then that she was upper-class. Another Sally, he thought, sensing danger, seeing the cool, self-sufficient little face. Hey, there, Charlie, he said to himself, keep yourself in order, or you've had it. He carefully located himself: be, Charlie, was now a warm, whisky — comforted belly, already a little sick. Close above it, like a silent loudspeaker, was the source of the hectoring voice. Behind his shoulder waited his grinning familiar. He must keep them all apart. He tested the didactic voice: It's not her fault, poor bitch, victim of the class system, she can't help she sees everyone under her like dirt… But the alcohol was working strongly and meanwhile his familiar was calculating: She's had a good look, but can't make me out. My clothes are right, my haircut's on the line, but there's something that makes her wonder. She's waiting for me to speak, then shell make up her mind. Well, first I'll get her, and then I'll speak.