'Well, it won't be the end of the world.
The doctor, a young man of about thirty, provided by the college authorities as a sort of father figure to advise on work problems, per sonal problems and (as the satirical alter ego took pleasure in pointing out) on clash-of-cukure problems, glanced once at the pamphlet and handed it back. He had written it. As, of course, Charlie had known. 'When are your examinations? he asked.
'It's been coming on gradually.
'I'd like some sleep pills, all the same.
'Have you got a girl?
'Two.
The doctor paid out an allowance of man-of-the-world sympathy, then shut off his smile and said: 'Perhaps you'd be better with one?
'I could arrange for you to have some talks with a psychiatrist — well, not if you don't want, he said hastily, for the alter ego had exploded through Charlie's lips in a horselaugh and: What can the trick cyclist tell me I don't know? He roared with laughter, flinging his legs up; and an ashtray went circling around the room on its rim. Charlie laughed, watched the ashtray, and thought: There, I knew all the time it was a poltergeist sitting there behind my shoulder. I swear I never touched that damned ashtray.
The doctor waited until it circled near him, stopped it with his foot, picked it up, laid it back on the desk. 'It's no point your going to him if you feel like that.
'Well now, let's see, have you been to see your family recently?
'Last Christmas. No doctor, it's not because I don't want to, it's because I can't work there.
'If I were you, I'd go home for a few days. Don't try to work at all. Go to the pictures. Sleep and eat and let them fuss over you. Get this prescription made up and come and see me when you get back.
'Thanks, doc, I will.
'You ambidextrous?
'Yes, always was.
The Irishman watched the boy's frowning, teeth-clenched concentration for a while, then removed the untouched beer and poured him a double whisky. 'You drink that and get on the train and sleep. 'Thanks, Mike. Thanks.
'That was a nice girl you had with you last time. 'I've quarrelled with her. Or rather, she's given me the boot. And quite right too.
After the visit to the doctor Charlie had gone straight to Jenny. He had guyed the interview while she sat, gravely listening. Then he had given her his favourite lecture on the crass and unalterable insensibility of anybody anywhere bom middle-class. No one but Jenny ever heard this lecture. She said at last: 'You
'Who to, me?
'No, me. What's the use of shouting at me all the time? You should be saying these things to him.
What she was really saying was: 'You should be making love to me, not lecturing me. Charlie did not really like making love to Jenny. He forced himself when her increasingly tart and accusing manner reminded him that he ought to. He had another girl, whom he disliked, a tall crisp middle-class girl called Sally. She called him, mocking: Charlie boy. When he had slammed out of Jenny's room, he had gone to Sally and fought his way into her bed. Every act of sex with Sally was a slow, cold subjugation of her by him. That night he had said, when she lay at last, submissive, beneath him: 'Horny-handed son of toil wins by his unquenched virility beautiful daughter of the moneyed classes. And doesn't she love it.
'Oh yes I do, Charlie boy.
'I'm nothing but a bloody sex symbol.
'Well, she murmured, already self-possessed, freeing herself, 'that's all I am to you. She added defiantly, showing that she did care, and that it was Charlie's fault: And I couldn't care less.
'Dear Sally, what I like about you is your beautiful honesty.
'Is that what you like about me? I thought it was the thrill of beating me down.
Charlie said to the Irishman: 'I've quarrelled with everyone I know in the last weeks.
'Quarrelled with your family too?
'Liar. You say whatever you think, from Cromwell to the Black and Tans and Casement. You never let up. But it's not hurting yourself to say it.
'Yourself, is it?
Yes. But it's all insane. Do you realize how insane it all is, Mike? There's my father. Pillar of the working class. Labour Party, trade union, the lot. But I've been watching my tongue not to say I spent last term campaigning about — he takes it for granted even
'You're a great nation, said the Irishman. 'But it's not your personal fault, so drink up and have another.
Charlie drank his first Scotch, and drew the second glass towards him. 'Don't you see what I mean? he said, his voice rising excitedly. 'Don't you see that it's all insane? There's my mother, her sister is ill and it looks as if she'll die. There are two kids, and my mother'll take them both. They're nippers, three and four, it's like starting a family all over again. She thinks nothing of it. If someone's in trouble, she's the mug, every time. But there she sits and says: "Those juvenile offenders ought to be flogged until they are senseless." She read it in the papers and so she says it. She said it to me and I kept my mouth shut. And they're all alike.
'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
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:
He must keep them all apart.
He caught her eyes and signalled an invitation, but it was an aggressive invitation, to make it as hard for her as he could. After a bit, she smiled at him. Then he roughened his speech to the point of unintelligibility and said: " Appen you'd like t'window up? What wi' train and t'wind and all.
'What? she said sharply, her face lengthening into such a comical frankness of shock that he laughed out, and afterwards inquired impeccably: Actually it is rather cold, isn't it? Wouldn't you like to have the window up? She picked up a magazine and shut him out, while he watched, grinning, the blood creep up from under her neat collar to her hairline.
The door slid back; two people came in. They were a man and his wife, both small, crumpled in face and flesh, and dressed in their best for London. There was a fuss and a heaving of suitcases and murmured apologies because of the two superior young people. Then the woman, having settled herself in a corner, looked steadily at Charlie, while he thought: Deep calls to deep,
Charlie put up the window, not looking at the girl, who was hiding behind the magazine. Now the woman smiled, and the man smiled too, because of her ease with the youth.
'You comfortable like that, father? she asked.
'Fair enough, said the husband on the stoical note of the confirmed grumbler.
'Put your feet up beside me, any road.
'But I'm all right, lass, he said bravely. Then, making a favour of it, he loosened his laces, eased his feet inside too-new shoes, and set them on the seat beside his wife.
She, for her part, was removing her hat. It was of shapeless grey felt, with a pink rose at the front. Charlie's mother owned just such a badge of respectability, renewed every year or so at the sales. Hers was always bluish felt, with a bit of ribbon or coarse net, and she would rather be seen dead than without it in public.
The woman sat fingering her hair, which was thin and greying. For some reason, the sight of her clean pinkish scalp shining through the grey wisps made Charlie wild with anger. He was taken by surprise, and again summoned himself to himself, making the didactic voice lecture: 'The working woman of these islands enjoys a position in the family superior to that of the middle-class woman, etc., etc., etc' This was an article he had read recently, and he continued to recite from it, until he realized the voice had become an open sneer, and was saying: 'Not only is she the emotional bulwark of the family, but she is frequently the breadwinner as well, such as wrapping sweets at night, sweated labour for pleasure, anything to get out of the happy home for a few hours.
The fusion of the two voices, the nagging inside voice, and the jeer from the dangerous force outside, terrified Charlie, and he told himself hastily: 'You're drunk, that's all, now keep your mouth shut, for God's sake.
The woman was asking him: Are you feeling all right?
'Yes, I'm all right, he said carefully.
'Going all the way to London?
'Yes, I'm going all the way to London.
'It's a long drag.
'Yes, it's a long drag.
At this echoing dialogue, the girl lowered her magazine to give him a sharp contemptuous look, up and down. Her face was now smoothly pink, and her small pink mouth was judging.
'You have a mouth like a rosebud, said Charlie, listening horrified to these words emerging from him.
The girl jerked up the magazine. The man looked sharply at Char lie, to see if he had heard aright, and then at his wife, for guidance. The wife looked doubtfully at Charlie, who offered her a slow desperate wink. She accepted it, and nodded at her husband: boys will be boys. They both glanced warily at the shining face of the magazine.
'We're on our way to London too, said the woman.
'So you're on your way to London.
Stop it, he told himself. He felt a foolish slack grin on his face, and his tongue was thickening in his mouth. He shut his eyes, trying to summon Charlie to his aid, but his stomach was rolling, warm and sick. He lit a cigarette for support, watching his hands at work. 'Lily-handed son of learning wants a manicure badly, commented a soft voice in his ear; and he saw the cigarette poised in a parody of a cad's gesture between displayed nicotined fingers. Charlie, smoking with poise, sat preserving a polite, sarcastic smile.
He was in the grip of terror. He was afraid he might slide off the seat. He could no longer help himself.
'London's a big place, for strangers, said the woman.
'But it makes a nice change, said Charlie, trying hard.
The woman, delighted that a real conversation was at last under way, settled her shabby old head against a leather bulge, and said: 'Yes, it does make a nice change. The shine on the leather confused Charlie's eyes; he glanced over at the magazine, but its glitter, too, seemed to invade his pupils. He looked at the dirty floor, and said: 'It's good for people to get a change now and then.