Sorry, just wondering, are you guys in the army?’
The man sneered at him. ‘Are we fuck, mate. Bollocks to that.’
Jules nodded and said, again innocuous, ‘Oh. Sorry. Just wondering, that’s all. My mistake.’
The man, puzzled, went inside the pub to join his friends, and Tom looked at Jules quizzically. ‘What was that all about?’
Jules smiled. ‘Nothing really. Just wanted to stir some trouble, gauge what those blokes were like. And there you have it: most people in this country, most blokes anyway, think we’re mugs. He said it himself.’
Tom left Jules, went to the house party and was let in by a horsey-looking girl wearing a hairband. Tom hadn’t seen anyone with a hairband since he was eight. Someone thrust a thimbleful of lukewarm wine into his hand. He mumbled his thanks, realizing that he was by quite some distance the drunkest in the room. He talked to a few people. Everyone seemed to work in banking or for hedge funds.
For fuck’s sake
, Tom thought,
can everyone just stop working for hedge funds?
He’d now asked about twenty people what they were, and even he, a relatively sentient being, hadn’t been able to understand the explanations.
At least, he thought he was the drunkest until Will came staggering in, having just been sick. The raw and beaming smile that tore over Will’s face was glorious, and he ran forward, and he and Tom hugged each other. Tom could smell the vomit on his breath, but he still clung to his friend with fingers driven into his back. He couldn’t believe how much he had missed him. The rest of the room looked on nervously. Tom quickly felt self-conscious, and he and Will went out to the garden to smoke and escape the oppressive sitting room.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Will as he lit a cigarette. The small flame threw a glow over his dopey eyes. ‘
Why the hell has Will dragged me along to a party that makes chess club look like Ibiza?
’ He grinned.
‘No, mate, not at all … ’
‘Don’t worry, they’re all right.’ He flicked ash into a plant pot. ‘They’re some maniacs I went on a cookery course with in my gap year. They always have this annual reunion. They were dull then and they’re duller now, and normally I fuck it off, but the thing is there are these two absolute babes who are meant to turn up later on, and I’m just thinking that if civvies lap up Afghan as much as they say they do, with this Help for Heroes malarkey and everyone wearing some kind of military wristband, then I can’t fail to slay. What do you reckon?’
‘What about the others?’
‘You kidding? Did you look at any of them? I wouldn’t touch them with a telescopic barge pole. Not even Afghan makes you that desperate.’
They both laughed – callous, self-righteous, arrogant.
‘All right, mate,’ Will continued, ‘before we get stuck in I’ve got to give it to you on Afghan.’
His mask dropped, his tone changed, he lost the sparkle in his eyes and he fixed Tom with them. He started to speak as though he was talking not to his friend but to one of his soldiers. He was quite violent in his manner, and he had small tears in his eyes. He unloaded on Tom, telling him for almost twenty minutes what had happened to him, smoking cigarette after cigarette, taking long, urgent gasps. When he had to light another, if he couldn’t work the lighter at the first or second attempt, he clicked his teeth and swore under his breath. It was horrible. The letters had merely been the start of it. Tom listened as he went on, horrified. Then, hearing the hubbub from the sitting room start to move through to the kitchen and threaten to come out and disturb them, Willwound up his diatribe almost as quickly as he had begun it, hurrying out his words.
‘Mate, I can’t tell you how bad it is. It’s minging out there. Just make sure your lads are as prepped as possible before they get out. If your drills aren’t 100 per cent up to scratch, lads will die. They have to
The man sneered at him. ‘Are we fuck, mate. Bollocks to that.’
Jules nodded and said, again innocuous, ‘Oh. Sorry. Just wondering, that’s all. My mistake.’
The man, puzzled, went inside the pub to join his friends, and Tom looked at Jules quizzically. ‘What was that all about?’
Jules smiled. ‘Nothing really. Just wanted to stir some trouble, gauge what those blokes were like. And there you have it: most people in this country, most blokes anyway, think we’re mugs. He said it himself.’
Tom left Jules, went to the house party and was let in by a horsey-looking girl wearing a hairband. Tom hadn’t seen anyone with a hairband since he was eight. Someone thrust a thimbleful of lukewarm wine into his hand. He mumbled his thanks, realizing that he was by quite some distance the drunkest in the room. He talked to a few people. Everyone seemed to work in banking or for hedge funds.
For fuck’s sake
, Tom thought,
can everyone just stop working for hedge funds?
He’d now asked about twenty people what they were, and even he, a relatively sentient being, hadn’t been able to understand the explanations.
At least, he thought he was the drunkest until Will came staggering in, having just been sick. The raw and beaming smile that tore over Will’s face was glorious, and he ran forward, and he and Tom hugged each other. Tom could smell the vomit on his breath, but he still clung to his friend with fingers driven into his back. He couldn’t believe how much he had missed him. The rest of the room looked on nervously. Tom quickly felt self-conscious, and he and Will went out to the garden to smoke and escape the oppressive sitting room.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Will as he lit a cigarette. The small flame threw a glow over his dopey eyes. ‘
Why the hell has Will dragged me along to a party that makes chess club look like Ibiza?
’ He grinned.
‘No, mate, not at all … ’
‘Don’t worry, they’re all right.’ He flicked ash into a plant pot. ‘They’re some maniacs I went on a cookery course with in my gap year. They always have this annual reunion. They were dull then and they’re duller now, and normally I fuck it off, but the thing is there are these two absolute babes who are meant to turn up later on, and I’m just thinking that if civvies lap up Afghan as much as they say they do, with this Help for Heroes malarkey and everyone wearing some kind of military wristband, then I can’t fail to slay. What do you reckon?’
‘What about the others?’
‘You kidding? Did you look at any of them? I wouldn’t touch them with a telescopic barge pole. Not even Afghan makes you that desperate.’
They both laughed – callous, self-righteous, arrogant.
‘All right, mate,’ Will continued, ‘before we get stuck in I’ve got to give it to you on Afghan.’
His mask dropped, his tone changed, he lost the sparkle in his eyes and he fixed Tom with them. He started to speak as though he was talking not to his friend but to one of his soldiers. He was quite violent in his manner, and he had small tears in his eyes. He unloaded on Tom, telling him for almost twenty minutes what had happened to him, smoking cigarette after cigarette, taking long, urgent gasps. When he had to light another, if he couldn’t work the lighter at the first or second attempt, he clicked his teeth and swore under his breath. It was horrible. The letters had merely been the start of it. Tom listened as he went on, horrified. Then, hearing the hubbub from the sitting room start to move through to the kitchen and threaten to come out and disturb them, Willwound up his diatribe almost as quickly as he had begun it, hurrying out his words.
‘Mate, I can’t tell you how bad it is. It’s minging out there. Just make sure your lads are as prepped as possible before they get out. If your drills aren’t 100 per cent up to scratch, lads will die. They have to
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