'Tankards, I think,' says Henry. 'No, I'm fine. I just had a bit of an accident.' Behind Chlöe is a large mirror; in the mirror are etched, for the solace of contemporary man, the firm, delicate lines of Paxton's building for the Crystal Palace Exhibition of 1851, upon which is imposed the reflection of the plushy room. 'It looks quite a lot of an accident to me,' says Chlöe, pulling the handle, and beaming at Howard; 'lucky you've got a friend here to look after you.'
'Oh, this is Mr Kirk,' says Henry, 'yes, he's looking after me.'
'There we are, then,' says Chlöe, 'two pints, anything else?'
'I think we might have a packet of cheese and onion crisps,' says Henry. 'I wonder, Howard, would you be good enough to reach into my left-hand trouser pocket and get out my money? I've put it on the wrong side of me, for some reason.'
'You be careful,' says Chlöe, 'you'll get your friend arrested.'
'Never mind, I'll get it,' says Howard. 'I protest,' says Henry, 'I invited you here as my guest.'
'You get the next one,' says Howard. 'Shall we sit down?' asks Henry, attempting to lift up the two pint tankards from the bar in his single hand, and spilling a considerable quantity of the beer down his trousers. 'Let me,' says Howard. 'Do you want the evening paper tonight, Mr Beamish?' asks Chlöe, as they move away from the bar. 'I always read the paper here,' says Henry to Howard. 'Not tonight, I think, Chlöe. I've some important business to discuss.'
'I see they went and hijacked another,' says Chlöe, 'I don't know what it's all coming to.'
'Ah, the world, the world,' says Henry vaguely, putting the packet of crisps between his teeth, 'if only people could learn to live together.'
'That's right, Mr Beamish,' says Chlöe, 'not what it was, is it? Except for the sex. That's improved, definitely.'
'And the surgery,' says Henry, through clenched teeth, starting to move unsteadily across the room with his glass, 'there are real advances in surgery.'
'Well,' says Chlöe with a laugh, 'I'm afraid you look as though you need them, Mr Beamish, tonight.'
'Grand girl, Chlöe,' says Henry, as they sit down in a lush plush booth across the room, overhung with an aspidistra, 'they know me here, you see.'
'Yes,' says Howard. 'Nice place,' says Henry, 'the landlord's an old military man. I suppose it's not your sort of thing really.'
'Not exactly,' says Howard, 'what did you want to talk to me about?'
'Oh,' says Henry, 'yes. Well, Howard, I wanted to have a little word with you about last night.'
'The party,' says Howard. 'Yes,' says Henry, 'the party. I wonder, Howard, would you mind, I can't open this packet of crisps.'
'There we are,' says Howard. 'Rather a chapter of accidents for me, I'm afraid,' says Henry, 'I got there late, then I got bitten, and then I broke your window. I'm extremely sorry.'
'You needn't worry,' says Howard, 'things break at parties.'
'I'm afraid Myra was rather drunk too,' says Henry, 'not our evening, all round.'
'People drink at parties, too,' says Howard, 'but was there something wrong last night?'
'I wouldn't say wrong,' says Henry, 'but it's not like us, is it?'
'I suppose not, Henry,' says Howard. 'Anyway,' says Henry, 'the main thing I wanted to ask you is this. Would you let me pay for that window to be mended?'
'Yes,' says Howard. 'Good,' says Henry, looking brighter, 'well, that's settled, then. The lavatories are through that door over there, if you want them.'
'Henry,' says Howard, 'what happened to you last night?'
'I had twenty-seven stitches,' says Henry, 'very nice Indian doctor. Quite good English.'
'But how did it happen that you cut yourself like that?'
'Aha,' says Henry, 'now there's a question. I've been thinking about that a lot. I slipped, you see, and put out my arm to save myself, and shoved it through your window. But it can't have been as simple as that.'
'No,' says Howard. 'No,' says Henry, 'I think there was a piece of ice. I think someone must have had ice in his drink, and dropped it on the floor, and I stepped on it. I don't mean dropped it deliberately. I mean, I was to blame, of course. Of course I was a bit unsteady, after the dogbite.'
'You didn't mean to fall through the window?' Henry stares at Howard; he says, 'No, heavens, no. Why should I do that?'
'You do have a lot of accidents,' says Howard, 'doesn't it worry you?'
'I'm a very clumsy person, Howard. I'm big and a bit top-heavy. I blame it on not playing games at school. They wouldn't let me, you know, after the beri-beri.'
'You had beri-beri?'
'Haven't I told you?' asks Henry, 'Oh, yes. A nasty attack.'
'Where was this?' asks Howard. ' Huddersfield,' says Henry. 'But, look, as a professional social psychologist, haven't you ever wondered how you got into this accident pattern?'
'Well, it's not my line, really, is it?' says Henry, 'I'm more a social control and delinquency man. I admit there's an inexplicable statistical frequency.'
'Two last night,' says Howard. 'Yes,' says Henry, 'it makes you think. I suppose you're asking me if I'm drinking too much, or on drugs. The answer's no. I didn't touch drugs last night, I don't get on with them. And I didn't get much to drink, either. If you remember I got to the party very late. When I walked home from the university to drive Myra back to the party, I found she'd already gone in the car. So of course I had to walk back all the way into town again, took me more than an hour. Then the dog bit me as soon as I got there, and I was ages in the bathroom, soaking my leg in antiseptic. And then I can't have had more than two glasses of wine at the most, Howard, before I went into the guest bedroom, to change my socks, and I thought I'd open the window, and I put my arm through it. So it's not that. Have a crisp?'
'No, thank you,' says Howard.
'It doesn't give way to analysis, does it?' asks Henry. 'It was funny. It didn't hurt at first, but then I realized you could die from a cut like that, so I thought I'd better yell for help. And then Flora turned up; wasn't she marvellous? Well, I suppose things like that happen at parties, as you say. We like to read something into it, that's our line, but nothing stands up. It really was just a bit of an accident.'
'Henry, you weren't upset last night?' asks Howard, looking at Henry's bland face. 'I was shaken by the dogbite,' says Henry, 'but not especially.'
'I think I'm more worried about you than you are by yourself,' says Howard. 'Well, that's very nice of you, Howard,' says Henry, 'but I shouldn't bother.'
'Well, that could have been fatal,' says Howard. 'You've got plenty going on yourself to worry about,' says Henry, 'from all I hear.'
'I have known you for a long time,' says Howard, 'I remember when I first met you.'
'My God, yes,' says Henry, 'yes. Some boys had just knocked me down with a football. I'd told them to get off the university playing fields, because they were private property, and they flung a football at me. You picked me up.'
'You had accidents even then,' says Howard. 'Look,' says Henry, 'I don't like you being so worried about me. Do you think I did it on purpose?'
'What's purpose?' asks Howard. 'I think you might have had good reason to be distressed.'
'What reason?' asks Henry. 'Wasn't there a reason, last night?' asks Howard. 'Look,' says Henry, 'I want to know just what you're getting at.'
'You don't know what I'm getting at?'
'No,' says Henry, 'stop being so bloody mysterious.'
'Well,' says Howard, 'when you went home, and Myra wasn't there, did you know where she'd gone?'
'Of course,' says Henry, 'she left me a note, she always leaves me a note. On the mantelpiece. She'd gone to you.'
'Do you know why?'
'Yes,' says Henry, 'it said in the note. To give Barbara a hand. She worries about how much Barbara has on her plate. We both do. Didn't she come?'
