Breakfast in the Ruins

19 In The Roof Garden: 1971: Happy Day

KARL and his friends stood together by the railing, looking at the view over London. It was a beautiful, warm day. Karl breathed in the scents of the flowers, of the store below, of the traffic beyond. He felt contented.

His friend's pale, blue eyes were troubled. He looked thin and his silk suit hardly seemed to fit any longer. He had put on several rings and, when he tapped his fingers nervously on the rails, they seemed to be the only part of him that had any life.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Karl?" said his friend.

"I think so. Honestly, it would be for the best now. It couldn't last."

"I could do so much for you still. If you knew who I really was, you'd believe me."

"Oh, I've seen your pictures. I didn't want to put you out by mentioning it. I didn't recognize you at first, that was all."

"I offered you an empire, and you've chosen a cabbage patch."

Karl grinned. "It's more my style, boss."

"You can always change your mind."

"I know. Thank you."

Karl's friend was reluctant to say goodbye, but he was too miserable to attempt to summon any further strength and try to persuade Karl.

Karl adjusted the hat he had bought for himself on the way up. "I think I'll go down and buy a suit somewhere now," he said. "Adios!"

The white man nodded and turned away without saying goodbye.

"Look after yourself," said Karl. "Get some sleep." With a spring in his step, he walked through the Woodland Garden to the exit. The two middle-aged ladies were there as usual. A fat tourist came out of the lift and bumped into him. The tourist cursed him and then apologized almost at the same time. He was evidently embarrassed.

"Don't worry, boss," said Karl, flashing him a grin. "That's okay."

He took the lift down, changed as usual at the third floor, went down to the ground floor, bought himself a newspaper and studied the lists of runners for the day's races.

A middle-aged man in a check suit and wearing a smart bowler, with a white handle-bar moustache, smelling of tobacco, asked: "What are you planning to do?" He was genuinely interested. He had his own paper open at the racing page. "Any tips?"

"I'm feeling lucky today." Karl ran his slender brown finger down the lists. "What about Russian Roulette, two-thirty, Epsom."

"Right. And thank you very kindly."

"It's all right, man."

The punter laughed heartily and slapped Karl on the back. "I'll say that for you fellows, you know how to keep cheerful. Cheerio!"

Karl saluted and left the store, crossing the High Street and walking up Church Street, enjoying the morning. At Notting Hill he stopped and wondered if he should go straight back to Ladbroke Grove. The suit he wanted had just taken shape in his mind.

The End