Much to his surprise, Edward found himself putting an arm around the boy’s shaking shoulders. Charlie was easy to be with, and so unembarrassed by his sobs.
‘Have you been up before the conscription board?’
‘I’m on the waiting list along with everyone else. Frightful, isn’t it, putting me dreadfully behind with my study programme. Mind you, what’s the point if they’re going to tog you up in the old khaki, what?’
Edward realized that Charlie, even though he didn’t look it, must be a couple of years older than himself.
‘All my pals are on tenterhooks, absolute tenterhooks, I mean, they’re whisking them off willy-nilly, clutching their rifles, poor souls. I say, do you know Edgar Willard? Well, he went before the board four months ago, got such jolly good marks in everything that they told him to stand by for officer training. Anyway, the adjutant told him he could be called up but he was to take his exams, it’s not on... I say, you don’t know Henry Fullerton, do you? He’s waited so long that his plans have been changed goodness knows how many times now. He lives from day to day, lecture to lecture, very firm believer in kismet. Fabulous fellow, nothing worries him, he says he’s resigned to whatever happens, whether it’s Aldershot, the Tripos, the Maginot Line or, worst of all, his college bills.’
Edward listened, fascinated. He had never heard of any of Charlie’s friends, but Charlie seemed not in the slightest bit interested in whether he had or not, keeping up such a fast, steady flow of chatter that Edward’s brain reeled.
They walked along the river bank, but Edward had to go back to retrieve Charlie’s jacket from the bushes. He noticed it was of very fine quality, like the rest of Charlie’s clothes. Charlie chattered on and threw sticks into the water, and then he started to cry again because he suddenly remembered his brother, Clarence, and threw his arms around Edward.
‘Actually, that is only part of my troubles, one of many, dear chap. You see, I have been so preoccupied with all this war effort that my studies have taken a turn for the worse, and my tutor really hauled me over the coals last Monday. I’m not even going to take the exams, they don’t think I’m up to it. Father will have a fit, not that it would be anything new, he’s been having them since the day I was born. It’s Ma that’s my real trouble, she’ll throw such a tantrum... You see, she adored Clarence, and with him gone all her bloody-mindedness will be directed at me. God, what am I going to do?’
They had walked all the way back into town along the river bank, and Charlie had not stopped talking for one moment. As they passed people they all called out his name, everyone seemed to know him, and the gatekeeper laughed and made a joke as they entered the gate to the hall of residence.
‘You want to have some tea, Edgar, you’ve taken such good care of me? Do come along, I’m top floor, number eighteen, say about four-fifteen? Super... cheerio.’
Edward hadn’t liked to point out that Charlie had got his name wrong, and he was in no hurry to go up to number eighteen for tea. He went to the main hall for his tea instead, and then regretted it when he saw Walter Miller approaching him. The boy wore such thick glasses that he looked Chinese, and he suffered from appalling acne. He had latched on to Edward almost from their first lecture. Walter was extremely clever, working diligently all the time, and when he wasn’t studying he went to the pictures. He sat down and asked Edward if he had seen the new W. C. Fields comedy at the local picture house. In his broad Lancashire accent he told Edward all about the film. ‘It’s very funny, Eddie, he’s got such a bucolic humour he has you splittin’ yer sides, lot better than that ruddy Gunga Din at the Rex.’
Edward hated to be called Eddie, and loathed the way Walter latched on to him. Walter loaded jam on to his bread and made slurping noises as he ate. He talked about wanting to see The Return of the Scarlet Pimpernel, it was part of a double feature at the Cosmopolitan. Edward listened with only half an ear to Walter’s theory that Hitler had ordered Leslie Howard’s plane shot down because, in his portrayal of the Scarlet Pimpernel, there was a definite insult to the Third Reich. Walter squinted as Edward suddenly pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘You want to come, I’ll pay for you, Eddie, I don’t mind, really I don’t.’
Edward looked for a moment as if he would hit Walter, then he turned on his heel and strode out of the hall. He was angry because he had used Walter a few times, used him because he couldn’t afford to go to the pictures, and now he regretted it. Walter only hung around him all the more.
Edward made his way to number eighteen, even though he told himself he didn’t want to bother with fools like Charlie. The door was ajar, and music thudded out from a gramophone, but he thought he could hear Charlie’s high-pitched sobbing and gasping despite the music. When Edward pushed the door open it was his turn to gasp. Even though it was light outside, the blackout curtains had been drawn, not only across the windows but also from the ceiling, making the room look like a tent. There were candles on every available surface, and on a long monk’s refectory table were massive, dripping silver candlesticks holding huge, gothic monastery-type candles. The table top was a sea of wax.
Tears were running down Charlie’s cheeks, but he wasn’t crying, he was helpless with laughter and surrounded by a group of very pissed friends. He waved to Edward and shouted to everyone to welcome ‘Edgar’, then continued with his story, laughing so hard himself that it made everyone around him laugh, even though they didn’t know why.
Edward slipped into the room and sat to one side, picked up a silver goblet and poured himself some wine. He had never seen such an untidy room, there were clothes strewn everywhere, books and papers tumbled on the floor, all over the unmade bed. An old gentleman pottered around trying to empty ashtrays and wipe the debris of toasted teacakes, wine and jam from the table and every other flat surface. Charlie held everyone in rapt attention as he acted out his date the previous day with Gloria, from the local ladies’ lingerie shop, pulling hysterically funny faces as he did so.
‘When I asked for a pair of knickers she replied, “What size?” and I, looking her over very carefully of course, as you all know is my way, I said, “Your size will do, my darling,” and she wrapped them up and I made the grand gesture and said, “My dear, they are for you, on condition that we have a date.”’
Charlie went into such peals of laughter that he fell across the table. He took another gulp of wine, filled his goblet again and swung his arm, spraying everyone close to him with red drops. ‘No, wait for the punch line, chaps... Later that night, back at her flat — have I told you how well stacked she was? My dears, a good thirty-eight C cup if ever I’ve had my hands round... Anyway, when I stripped her she was wearing the damned things, still had the price on them, and I have to say that was the best fifteen-and-sixpence I have ever spent.’ He swung back in his chair as everyone hooted with laughter and thumped the table with glee.
Everyone wanted to get their stories in about who had done what to whom, and in the rowdy room no one noticed Edward beating a hasty retreat. As he left, Charlie was launching into a detailed description of how he was working his way through all the counters in Woolworth’s. He was now past the cosmetics and on the record section. ‘I aim, before the term is out, chaps, to have had every single woman in Woolies.’