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7.
"We are rich! Filthy, snobby, disgustingly rich!"
Bradbury tilted his glasses and stuck his chin in the air, a thick grin the
size of a slice of melon straining his lips. "A toast to smutty richness,
my friends! And a cheer for William, our purse- snatching champion of the
National Gallery! The King of the Finger-smiths! Hip-Hip-Hip!"
"HOORAY!" Boomed out of the vocal cords of the three men.
"Bloody well done, Will!" Added Pete.
I ruffled the boy's hair till he looked like a recently awakened porcupine.
"Don't be daft! You've done your part as well as I did mine."
"Are we going to toast or what?" Asked Higgins between a burp and
hiccup.
We were back in the doss-house, living the life of the young and dangerous with
the small coal-burner lit to a blaze in our tiny wood beamed room, consuming masses
of alcohol and giving way to loud farts as our splendid dinner of cooked goose
and roasted potatoes started their rampant way through our digestive systems.
"We better watch out or we're going to blow off the soddin roof." I
said, taking another swig of Sancerre, clean out of the bottle. The perplexed
patron in Fleet Street who sold us the wine advised us to serve it chilled, so
I had bound all six bottles in Higgins's pillowcase and had hung them out of
the window. The cold took care of the rest. After we popped bottle number
three, I agreed that the snobby wanker was right. It did taste better when it
was chilled, like there was a little cherub pissing on my soddin tongue.
"Look Will, I know I've been a bit harsh with you this morning."
Bradbury slurred. His glasses were sliding half way down his red-red nose and
his fuming breath could kill a professional drunk from ten feet away, but there
was sincerity in his voice that I couldn't ignore. " I had just wanted to
tell you, warn you as I may, what this dark and glum world is all about."
He placed a hand on my shoulder before slumping over. "I didn't want to
upset you like that, I really didn't! You're the only decent bloke I've ever
met in this God forsaken place and I absolutely love you, my boy! I love you!
You're a treasure!"
"Thanks." I smiled, sheepishly. God, I knew Bradbury was a bit of a
faggot, but it was even worse when he's drunk. I hoped he wasn't trying to get
into my knickers. The notion alone of shagging Brad's overripe craggy physic makes
one tremble with fear.
"So it's all forgiven, then? All of my old foolishness and hurtful words
crossed out of our mutual memories?"
"Yeah, I guess we're fine. Besides, never had much of a proper working
memory, I'm afraid."
He clammed my cheeks between two sweaty fingers, making my lips stick out like
a bloody blowfish.
"Oh you! You fine youth with such a wonderful, fine soul! I could just
kiss you!"
"You know Brad, you old dog, maybe you should lay down the booze for a
while. You're getting pissed."
"Nonsense William! I barely started! This old chap is still fit as a
fiddle!"
"Right-o."
Bradbury heaved and barfed all over my shoes.
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