Vince was unnerved by his new friend. Considering his argument for the equality of the classes, it was absurd to be in awe of someone like Sebastian, but he could not help himself. Perhaps this built-in respect for social order was a genetic thing. Looking at their surroundings, he felt embarrassed at the dirt and shabbiness, at the tattooed tribes folded up against walls, nursing their cans of lager.
'I wonder if you have any idea how unique this is,' said Sebastian, sipping his pint with a delicacy that suggested the experience was new to him. 'Nobody I know would ever do anything like it.'
'Then why are you?'
'You asked the same question when last we met, remember? Surely you've acted out of sheer curiosity before.'
'I do it all the time.'
'There you are, then. The "class divide information exchange" starts here. I'll ask you something, then you can ask me something, how about that.'
Vince dug around in his bag for a notebook and pencil. 'All right,' he agreed. 'You start.'
'Vincent. May I call you that? Were you named after Van Gogh?'
'Nah. My dad liked Don McLean.'
Sebastian searched the air. 'I'm not familiar…'
'The title of a song. My turn. Why are you willing to do this? Why talk to me? Be honest.'
'You're not going to let it go, are you?' Sebastian sighed. 'For the same reason as you, to learn. Besides, you asked me if I would do it. Nobody's ever done that before. You're clearly a man of some insight and intelligence. I would have refused if I'd found you not to be so. My view of the world is every bit as limited as yours, I can assure you. We all need to expand our horizons, don't you think?'
'Fair enough.' Vince made a note on his pad. 'First of all, let's find out what you don't know.'
'Fine. Ask me anything.'
'Here's an easy question to start with. Pulp, Oasis and Blur are all – what?'
This was not what Sebastian had been expecting. He pursed his lips and thought for a moment. 'Nouns?' he asked desperately.
'Wow.' Vince was amazed. 'They're bands.'
'Ah. Popular, I suppose?'
'Very popular.'
'I rarely listen to the wireless.'
'Remind me to send you a tape. Now it's your turn.'
'Okay. Our family motto is Ad Astra Per Aspera. Do you have one, and if so, what is it?'
It was Vince's turn to think. 'Don't Get Caught,' he said finally. 'And If You Do, Don't Lag On Your Mates. When Manchester United plays Liverpool, who usually wins?'
'I don't know anything about football.'
'I suppose you play rugby.'
'No, polo.'
'All right. If Robocop fought the Terminator, who would win?'
'Ah, now I know this,' said Sebastian confidently. 'The Terminator. He's a boxer, isn't he?'
'He's more of a liquid metal cyber-android,' Vince replied. 'Remind me to send you another tape.'
'Which after-school societies did you belong to?'
Vince laughed. 'You don't mean gangs, do you?'
'No, I don't.'
'We didn't have any. It was as much as the teachers could do to keep from getting stabbed during the day, without extending the risk into the twilight hours. What did you belong to?'
'Oh, the usual,' Sebastian said airily. 'Operatic, Scientific, Debating, Badminton, Christian Union, Stampfiends, Quo Vadis -'
'What was the last one?'
'Oh, you know, "Whither Goest Thou", meetings about one's future. Gilbert and Sullivan -'
'They had their own society?'
'Of course. Tennis, Numismatics, Bridge, Chess – and I was a moderately empassioned Lysander in A Midsummer Night's Dream.'
'I'm surprised you had any time left over for smoking and shagging behind the bike sheds.' Vince drained his glass. 'Although I suppose you went to a boys-only school.'
'It made no difference on that front, I can assure you. The pupils of public schools are every bit as rebellious as their counterparts. Whose turn is it?'
'Yours.'
'Okay. Why do so many working-class people look for handouts all the time? Why can't you organise yourselves properly?'
'Because if we did, you'd all be murdered in the streets. The French got rid of their toffs, and look at them now; a national railway that works, great grub, unspoilt countryside, gorgeous women.' Vince nodded at his empty glass. 'Your round.'
Over the next hour they argued the merits of popular foodstuffs, authors, football versus polo, films, architecture, art and music, although in the last category Sebastian proved to be woefully unaware of any post-Offenbach developments. Vince carefully steered the conversation clear of politics and religion; he was wary of damaging their relationship at such an early stage.
Sebastian seemed to especially enjoy telling Vince about his games, and launched into a series of complex abstractions about rule-making that were almost impossible to follow. Vince usually found it difficult making conversation with strangers. He lacked confidence, and yet a stubborn streak made him stick to his guns in arguments, even when he knew he was utterly, incontrovertibly wrong. This annoying character trait was an inheritance from his father, but with Sebastian it found no need to surface, because he made Vince feel that he was contributing something valuable to the conversation. Sebastian listened. Not even all of his own friends did that.
Even so, he made a conscious effort not to be charmed. It was important not to lose sight of his intentions. He was using his subject to garner material that might damn him. He could not afford to lose his objectivity.
When Vince finally announced that he had to go home, Sebastian offered to drive him in his Mercedes. The offer accepted, Vince made his chauffeur slow down as they arrived so that the bloke in the shop downstairs would see and be impressed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SEBASTIAN WAS three years older than Vince, an isolated, unfathomable man of twenty-eight who had strong opinions on all kinds of esoteric subjects, and no knowledge at all of more populist topics. He never watched television, and had missed out on all of the social phenomena associated with the medium. He had never been to a rock concert or a football match. Vince spent an amusing hour explaining the appeal of TV shows like The X Files and sorting out the scatalogical implications of various football fans' songs.
In return, Sebastian explained the structure of the House of Lords, the benefits and limitations of hereditary peerage and why Conservative MPs had to know about pigs and mooring rights in order to keep their constituents happy. His arguments convinced with a beguiling mixture of wisdom and naivety.
Three days after they had last met, Vince invited Sebastian over for something to eat while he conducted a more formal interview at the dingy first-floor flat he rented in one of the great damp Victorian houses behind Tufnell Park tube station.
He kept everything neat and freshly painted because he had briefly shared a flat with Louie, and their apartment had ended up looking like it was in the process of being searched by the SAS, as well as being decorated in a manner that showed influences of rave culture, A Rebours and colour blindness. While his host clattered in the kitchen, Sebastian wandered from room to room, appalled that people could actually live like this. Still, it was clean if nothing else, and the neat stack of books and videos on Vince's bedside table revealed a bewildering array of interests: Patrick Hamilton, Virginia Woolf, The Usual Suspects, Evelyn Waugh, Irvine Welsh, Pulp Fiction, Dickens, a Manga video, Mervyn Peake, Fortean Times and VIZ. A quick flick through a pile of battered street-style magazines revealed a world as mysterious and lost to him as the ancient wisdom of the Pharaohs.