Eh voilà! Non, voici.

Chapter XIV

At last I was kitted out but still I didn’t climb on a plane. It wasn’t a lack of mobility. I was able to move, though like an old man. I mean really old, not just in the upper end of the sixties. It was fear. I wanted to go quote home unquote—oh how I wanted! But I was afraid of England and the spring. I could imagine myself crying like a girl which would be a bore. It was weakness and I reckoned the best thing would be to get rid of my mail which would take me some days. But when I’d read a letter or two it all seemed too much. So I supervised the destruction of the rest in the hotel incinerator and felt much lighter. Whenever I asked any of the staff if they thought it would be helpful now to lay off the booze altogether they always said yes it would be helpful. I don’t know if they knew what they meant by helpful, just be a good thing I suppose. But then, if put to it, everyone thinks that giving up drinking alcohol would be a good thing except people who can’t give it up and have to make excuses. In my case I can give it up when I like though it tends to come back at irregular intervals, temporary setbacks as it were in the grand plan of giving up for good. It is a good plan and I’ve stuck to it for more than a quarter of a century.

However—this time! Yes, I did give up again for good and life became dull. I got sober and happy and being happy proved to be dull after a bit but one mustn’t complain of bread-and-butter, but eat it up, expecting cake later. There was so much time! It stretched away towards the night and each day got longer because I would lie awake for hours then wake up early. I didn’t dream.

There’s nothing to say about the trip home. The only thing to record is that when I landed at Heathrow I was afraid to go straight home and decided to inspect my clubs. I walked into the Athenaeum and straight out again. It reminded me of that place in the island somehow, though of course the Athenaeum has plenty of windows. I went straight from there to the Random which was OK more or less. In the way things work out the first person I walked into was Johnny. He was looking very smart and wearing his toupée. He cried out.

“Wilf! There must have been a light in the window!”

“Ha et cetera. Good God, you’ve gone all prosperous!”

“What about you? May I?”

He fingered the lapel of my suit.

“Oh, my dear. It’s enough to make one swoon. How much?”

“I don’t know. Leave off, Johnny. The barmaid’s looking.”

“Yes, I will have a drink, Wilf. Yes, I know the rule book says we mustn’t treat each other. Two camparis, please.”