14 
'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.
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, she knows who I am all right, she's not foxed by the trimmings. He was right, because soon she said familiarly: Would you put the window up for me, lad? It's a rare cold night and no mistake.
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.
14 
