Hangover Square by Patrick Hamilton

Author:Patrick Hamilton [Hamilton, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781933372068
Publisher: Europa Editions
Published: 1941-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

Cooler and happier. That was his thought as he woke, and saw from his watch that it was nearly ten o’clock in the morning and that he had almost slept the clock round. He had been cooler and happier last night, and he was cooler and happier now. In other words, he had gone to bed sober and had a grand night.

He heard the busy traffic in Castle Square outside and felt he could face it. He felt he could face life, enjoy it even. He had a quick bath, dressed quickly, and was down in time to get some breakfast.

He couldn’t remember eating such a breakfast for years. When he came out the porter said there was a wire for him. It was from Netta.

‘BONE LITTLE CASTLE HOTEL ARRIVING 7.5 NOT 6.5 NETTA.’

So she was coming! He could hardly control himself in front of the porter, as he went out and talked with the excellent man on the steps of the hotel, and watched the sunny people in the sunny street. She was coming! He was sober last night; he was cool, well, and happy, and she was coming! She – Netta – the holy and terrible one – had taken the trouble to wire him!

How was he to spend the delicious day? The porter left him and he looked at some notices on the board. Visitors were requested, etc. etc…. Then, ‘Ringdean Golf Course, 2S. 6d. perround’. The porter came out again and he asked him about it.

The porter told him you could get there easily by tram from Castle Square, and a heavenly ‘Why not?’ sprang up in his soul. Why not borrow some clubs from the pro and mess about? He would! He got his hat and was on the tram in five minutes.

Golf! How long was it? Not since the Bob Barton days – he had simply forgotten about it. And they used to make such a fuss of him – Bob and all of them – even the nasty ones – it was the one thing he was any good at. That was the one decent thing at school – the nine-hole golf course they were allowed on a mile or so away. ‘Well, Bone,’ old Thorne once said in his pompous way, ‘with a drive and iron play such as yours I think you may be said to have lived not wholly for nothing.’ And he could play, too, if it came to that. He was down to two when he left school, and everyone said that if he could only keep it up he could be a crack. But of course he hadn’t kept it up and he hadn’t thought about it for years.

The pro was a nice man, and let him have quite a decent bag, and explained the lie of the course, which began high up at the back of the town and led over the Downs. It was half past eleven when he started, so there was no one about.

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