I was delighted to see Geoffrey, sure that he had long got tired of my disquieting presence and shifty ways. But I was less pleased to see Tom, Geoffrey’s analogue of my own Sebastian : sixteen, wealthy in pustules, randy-dog smells, sebum-moist hairline, and other adolescentiana. I looked at him, yawning cluelessly as Norman explained about priles and ack-a-boos.
‘How’re you, Tom?’ I asked.
‘I’m cool.’
‘Sure, kid.’
Tom (apprentice hippie, second class) fidgeted with the ludicrous bundle of scarves, bandanas and lockets swathed about his boily neck to indicate the sympathetic nature of his views on sex, drugs, Cuba, the fact that he was a hippie, despite the contrary evidence of his as yet short hair and unfaded jeans, his conventional though tolerably sweat-stained shirt.
But Tom wasn’t paying attention. ‘Look,’ said Norman, ‘if you get a black two it’s … Farkin hell.’
Tom looked at his elder brother. ‘I can’t make this,’ he complained.
Norman was drunk enough to be manageable, yet he was also old enough to be wary of and hostile to undiluted youth, inclined to think that there was something inherently scurrilous about it and to feel wet and queer in its company. I became diplomatic, flashing partisan looks at each of them: these-fucking-beatniks for Norman, these-fucking-greymen for Tom, and something rather more natural for Geoffrey. I went up and leaned on Norman’s shoulder and helped him clarify the rules, winking at the other two. I shoved round the whisky bottle. Within minutes, Geoffrey started to make an effort, Tom was saying ‘yeah’ and ‘I dig’, and Norman was interspersing the lesson with dirty jokes. Then I slipped away.
‘Of course, it’s your birthday tomorrow. Quite appropriate. How does it feel, about to be twenty?’
‘No different to being eighteen or nineteen.’
‘But you won’t be a teenager any more.’
‘So? That doesn’t matter.’
‘Don’t you think ? I’m sure it’ll make a tremendous difference to me.’
‘Why?’
‘Beginning of the end. No. Beginning of responsibility. Have to start taking yourself seriously.’
‘Well, I don’t mind.’
‘Christ. I haven’t got you anything yet. D’you mind?’
‘Of course I don’t mind.’
‘Is everything okay with your mother?’
‘Think so.’
‘Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow. About six?’
‘Okay. I love you.’
‘And I love you.’
Norman was sitting alone when I returned to the breakfast-room. I asked where the others were. Tom was being sick in the upstairs bathroom. Geoffrey, in bold contrast, was being sick in the downstairs bathroom.
‘What for?’ I asked.
The whisky,’ said Norman with a judicious air. That little sod was bolting it down.’
‘Couldn’t be only that. Must be sleeping-pills, too.’
Norman shrugged. ‘You haven’t half got poncy mates. You going to see if they’re all right?’
‘No. Fuck them. Can’t be bothered. They’ll be okay, won’t they?’
‘Yur. Your deal.’
We played in silence. I let Norman win three hands running, then said: ‘Rachel’s probably coming to stay tomorrow. Her parents are going to … Cornwall for a couple of weeks.’
‘Yeah ? Why’s she not going ?’
‘She doesn’t want to. I don’t want her to.’
‘Bloody mad.’ Norman poured out more whisky. ‘Who was that tart you had round here before?’
‘Gloria?’
‘Yeah. Tell you what, she’s got a right pair on her.’
‘Yeah, but she’s just a bunk-up. Feel different about Rachel. First love and all that.’
Norman raised his non-existent eyebrows. ‘Oh, fuck off,’ he said.
Then there was the sound of light footsteps. Jenny’s head appeared through the sliding doors.
‘Has anyone been using the telephone in my bedroom?’
‘Me,’ I said.
•Well, you left it off the hook.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ But she was gone.
‘See what I mean?’ said Norman. ‘Bitch bitch bitch.’
‘I know. But you’ve got to do it in the end. You have to end up with somebody.’
‘Woy?’
‘Because otherwise,’ I found myself saying, ‘you go mad, or you start worrying about going mad, which is even worse. You can’t go on sleeping alone … Sorry, I’m pissed.’
‘Are you now.’ He looked at me curiously.
‘Anyway, I asked Jenny if it was okay.’
‘What she say?’
‘Oh, fine.’ I folded on a straight. ‘Fuck these cards.’ I put a fresh ten-pence piece on the table. ‘No, it’s just that Jennifer seems pretty depressed nowadays. She was always moody, mind. Used to be worse than she is now, in fact. Likes brooding. No, I just wondered whether there was anything in particular she was worrying about. Although, knowing her …’