Of course, from the moment one returned at dawn from Lois’s bed, and woke that fatal noon, one lost just about every single penny at the races over such ensuing days. And spent the rest of one’s zero remaining pounds running up vast accounts with the help of Rashers, all over town. And still came the daily insistent hammering on one’s hotel door. Rashers striding in. Racing journals under arm. Radiantly outfitted in morning suit. A carnation in his buttonhole. And my awaking spirits already squashed by the previous days’ totally dismal losses. Rashers always somehow managing to come back to town a winner. Giving a good luck pound to any tinker lady at the course near enough to hand us a flower through the Daimler limousine door. And even unbelievably, albeit piecemeal, making restitution of my previous loan to him. But not ever again explaining the whereabouts of the real pawn ticket.
‘Now dear boy. Here you are. Another fiver owed you. And I shall the moment the moment is ripe, dump at your feet, polished and gleaming and straight from Dublin’s best silversmiths, every item of your temporarily borrowed silver.’
‘Rashers, does that mean in future, that should one have you as a guest again, my spoons upon your departure shall have to be counted.’
‘O dear. Deserve I do. But that is rather below the belt this crucial time of the morning you know. Especially as my emotive perception must devote itself entirely to estimating form for the day’s racing. Have you no heart dear boy. Do remember it was not my fingers but those light ones of the poet who actually purloined or rather took a loan of your valuable utensils. I am crushed that you should take that attitude. And here I am with my humble little offering. A bottle of the best gents’ toilet water to be found in London. To give you.’
‘Thank you Rashers. Nice of you to think of me. And my apologies. But the moment is overripe for the return of my silver. I am in deep financial difficulties.’
‘The status quo dear boy, merely the status quo.’
‘Well my personal state of things Rashers, is not being improved by this hotel bill mounting precipitously by the hour. And the haberdashery you persuaded me to purchase. And the fact that I lie here, temporarily at least, beholden to you.’
‘Nae. O friend. Speak not so.’
‘Rashers, I bloody well speak so.’
‘Dear boy, you just haven’t fancied my choice of nags. Now. I’ll give you the following tips for today.’
‘Rashers I did take, if you remember, one or two of your tips and lost a packet.’
‘O dear. But such condition of which you speak so disconsolately merely requires to bring off a coup dear boy. A master stroke. Which shall even eventually lead to one of an international dimension. I mean, for a local start, there is our friendly little stock exchange just a hop skip and jump away over there on Anglesea Street. Indeed seven six eight four one is the telephone number. Buy up barley. Rubber. Tin.’
‘There is Rashers, also Stubb’s Gazette in which I have just prominently been published.’
‘Dear boy, my name is there for all to see each week of the year. Admittedly one does appear frequently under pseudonyms. Take no notice of such small and infinitely trifling matters. The grand coup is what you must put your mind to. For which right now you must make yourself ready. Keeping your options open as it were.’
‘Was borrowing my silver one of your coups and masterstrokes.’
‘Darcy, please. Haven’t we now been through so much together. At least I am happy to know you recognize that I have merely borrowed. A much better frame shall be upon you once you have breakfasted dear boy and taken your bath. Now you just relax.’
A black uniformed smiling maid assisted by two impressively self important page boys quick about their business wheeling in one’s table. Sausages still sizzling on a hot plate. Egg yolks glistening in their shiny fat. Rashers downing the rinds I cut from one’s bacon. Even having half my coffee. Munching down three pieces of soda bread toast and honey. And without interlude switching to the champagne next wheeled in the door.
‘Darcy. Now listen. We must corner the market in some desperately needed commodity.’
‘I suppose something like Guinness stout for instance.’
‘Darcy there is no need to be funny about such a deadly serious matter. Now what about becoming a major shareholder in our little casino. Now that the matter of the gent who was stabbed under our roulette table has blown over. Gala reopening soon. The Royal Rat will of course still preside as front man. Of course having had to return the bed he tried to pawn with his mother still in it, he then unfastened the stove and took that with the poor lady’s potatoes still boiling on it. Now I don’t want you to think we do not have pots to piss in. How about a modest investment.’
‘No.’
‘Ah pity. Well then. What about a small dance hall we might open. Or can we interest you in say some choice little restaurant operation. O dear. Well then some shares. Gilt edge. Also know a chap anxious to vend his tea plantations in Ceylon.’
‘Rashers, you are flogging a dead horse. I haven’t even got enough seed potatoes for spring. No grass. And hardly enough hay even to last till next week. An agent suing me. Trees being cut and stolen. My entire staff as I lie here are fattening themselves upon their gargantuan lunch. The only reason this hotel isn’t demanding payment is because I settled an even larger bill previously.’
‘Darcy. Never take that appalling attitude. Positiveness, belief in the future. No doubting. Somewhere, somehow, there is always a profit flowering for someone. Let there be no bewilderment. No nonplus or quandary. Never allow the self to dwell in the regions of nae hope.’
Breakfasting with Rashers did undeniably cheer one up. Just as quickly as his meal and champagne being listed on my bill, did then depress me. Each morning warmed in the bath one did lie deeply thinking. And remembering all too vividly my departure that dawn from Lois. One of the most harrowing events of my entire life. As she crawled on hands and knees across her studio floor after me, oblivious to the smears of paint or lurking rat. Clutching at my garments as I attempted to put them on. Wailing and sobbing for me not to go and leave her. Without a husband in the future. Long divorced as she was. Without her cats. Her nipples shrunken hard by the cold. Her breasts wagging nakedly on her chest. Her face looking up beseeching. She did with the tears streaming down her face suddenly look like an ancient crone. Don’t leave me. I beg of you don’t leave me. And I left. Saying I must. I must. Lois following me step by step down her stairs. And as I ran away down her alley. I could hear her fists behind me pounding feebly inside her front door. But what she did not know. Was that I had fallen asleep into a dream. Of Leila on a rack. In a damp dungeon room. Being drawn and quartered. A blade cutting into her. Her stomach lying open. Entrails reddened as she squealed in pain. A white coffin carrying her body on tinker men’s shoulders through the evening mist and smoke of a bitter Dublin slum street. And I could hardly catch my breath as I woke, shaking in the coldest of sweats. And I could not stay. Could not comfort. For all I could see ahead in my life was an endless lonely tundra icy cold, a wind chasing me. A name calling. Leila.
‘Darcy, a promising nag or two I perceive here this morning. Yes. Deserving of at least a fiver. On Sweet Sixteen in the first race should start matters off nicely enough. Little lady had a notable run recently. Only beaten by a neck.’