I go back to the kitchen and shrug as I line up my bounty on the shelf. This is not exactly an unusual occurrence. I ordered more whisky than was strictly necessary – so what? Or perhaps some part of me yesterday was thinking more clearly than today. And when I think it through again the ordering of so much whisky makes more and more sense. Yes, there is much work to do writing my story. And then there is my recovery, my training. Long days of hard graft lie in front of me.
Twelve green bottles. Work work reward. A squirrel hoarding nuts for the pitiless winter ahead.
XVI
XVI(i) It was the usual night-time scene, young bodies strewn around Jolyon’s room, it was only ever the numbers that varied.
It was midnight and the bar had been closed for an hour. Jolyon, Jack and Chad, the three of them waiting, cherishing for now the secret of Game Soc. Emilia, Mark and Toby, sipping Tom Collinses as they chattered. The music from Jolyon’s radio cassette blew over them all. The Stone Roses, ‘I Wanna Be Adored’. An ascension of guitars and then breathy vocals like the cigarette smoke in the room, curling, climbing.
Toby reached for the ceiling and yawned. ‘Well, I think that just about does it for me. Thanks for the cocktails, Jolyon.’ But Jolyon seemed not to hear him, was scribbling something on a scrap of paper resting on his thigh. Toby shook his head briskly. ‘Tutorial at two tomorrow and I have only half an essay. Love to stay longer otherwise.’ He stood up and found his jacket. ‘See you later.’
They all replied except Jolyon, who continued to scribble.
Emilia waited until Toby could not possibly remain within earshot but she spoke in a half-whisper anyway. ‘What on earth have you got against Toby, Jolyon?’
Now Jolyon did look up. ‘The guy’s dad owns a racehorse,’ he said, ‘a thoroughbred.’ Emilia shrugged. ‘You know Toby went to Eton.’
‘What does that matter? It’s not Toby’s fault.’
‘I totally agree, Emilia. But it’s a fact that at places like Eton they train their pupils to get into this place. Show of hands, did anyone in this room receive any special intensive training for the entrance exam? The interview?’ No one moved. ‘A good friend of mine, the brightest guy at our neighbouring school, got turned down here. No training. He froze in the interview. I only scraped through because I think Professor Jacks, my law tutor, is some sort of undercover Marxist on his own mission to even up the score. So I got lucky. And my friend got unlucky. And Toby got trained, just like his father’s thoroughbred racehorse. Us here in this room, we’re just the old nags. So we all need to stick together, that’s massively important. Just like they do with their hereditary titles, their exclusive schools and old boys’ clubs. So anyway, there’s no way I was getting out the hash until Toby left. If he wants a smoke he can invite us to his room. And he can use some of his stabling expenses to buy the stuff.’
‘But Toby’s sweet enough,’ said Emilia, ‘he doesn’t rub it in your face.’
‘You’re right, Emilia, sorry. I have nothing against Toby himself. It’s just he’s not right for . . . I’ll explain later,’ said Jolyon, crossing something out on his piece of paper. ‘OK then, Jack, second drawer, you can roll tonight.’
‘Why can’t Chad roll? I rolled last night.’
‘Because last night was best-looking-guy-in-the-room night and tonight it’s funniest-guy-in-the-room night. The honour’s all yours again, Jack.’
Emilia looked over at Chad and he glanced down quickly. He had watched Jolyon roll a joint and memorised the procedure. But his own fingers had never heated and crumbled resin or curled cardboard into a roach. The licking and sealing and packing seemed like a process for practised hands.
‘Jack’s sister has a pony and you seem to like him,’ said Mark, not opening his eyes. He was lying on the floor, his Tom Collins resting on his chest in the V of his T-shirt. To manoeuvre the drink from there to his lips was a model of efficiency.
‘But I never had a fucking pony,’ said Jack. ‘Don’t go labelling me some kind of pony owner. You know the quality of present I received when I was my sister’s age? When Stars Wars was massive and everyone had a lightsaber and battalions of stormtroopers, I got a Star Wars jumper for Christmas.’
‘That doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Emilia.
‘Really? Well, for one, my mother knitted it herself. And then, two, she can’t even fucking knit. The thing ended up looking like it read Straw Arse.’ Jack rubbed the back of his neck. ‘If I shaved off my hair you’d see thousands of scars left by hundreds of pairs of Doc Martens on my scalp.’ He pretended to choke back tears, pestling the socket of his eye with his fist for effect. ‘I had it tough. I know about tough.’ He swatted his hand toward Jolyon, who was sitting on the bed. ‘Tougher than Little Lord Fauntleroy up there on his throne.’
‘It’s my room,’ said Jolyon. ‘And anyway, you’re welcome to sit here if you like.’
‘No, I’m good in the cheap seats here,’ said Jack. He bounced on the desk chair to make the thing squeak. ‘My parents might not be schoolteachers but they taught me to know my place.’
‘Do you have any idea how little a teacher in this country gets paid? Your dad is some kind of manager. You tell everyone he works for the Post Office so they’ll imagine him plodding the streets with a sack slung over his shoulder. Meanwhile he’s in his London office making scores of workers redundant every day.’
‘He earns less than two teachers.’
‘No he doesn’t – he just bought a pony.’
‘Fine, fine. We’ll just call it a draw then.’ Jack peeled a skin from its orange packet. He licked and split a cigarette, then started to burn the corner of a thumb-long piece of resin, chasing its snakelets of smoke with his mouth, nothing wasted.
Mark’s eyes had been closed since his goodbye to Toby but he opened them now. He drained his drink and rolled onto his side, ‘Have any of you been summoned to one of the warden’s meet-and-greets yet?’ he said.
‘Yes, I’m due up this Sunday,’ said Jack. ‘You too, Emilia, right?’
Chad looked over at Jack and tried not to feel bitter toward him. The Americans were slated to meet the warden together as a group in three weeks’ time.
‘I’m subpoenaed next weekend,’ said Jolyon.
‘Well, one thing that makes it worthwhile, at least the wine’s good,’ said Mark. ‘But the trouble is, the only topic of conversation the warden has any interest in is what your father does for a living.’
Emilia shook her head resentfully.
‘So I was talking to that posh girl Elizabeth,’ said Mark, ‘when up he sidles in his weekend woollens and leatherette slippers. Hellay, he says, I’m Rafe Wiseman, Warden of Peett. How jew doo, and how jew doo too. And jew are, and jew are? Tell me now, what is it that your father does? So I told him my father works in a bookshop and my mother . . . Before I could say anything else, he’d already spun away, a blur of old bones. And then he says to Elizabeth, and high abite your father?’ Mark looked around the room, their eyes all upon him. ‘Well, it turns out the lovely Elizabeth’s father is a judge at the Court of Appeal. Old Ralphy promptly led her away by the elbow. I don’t think he said another word to anyone else at all.’ Mark rolled onto his back and closed his eyes again.