Twentysix (8 page)

I knew that, compared to the scrapes he’d regularly found himself in and the dangerous situations he’d placed himself in, a London bobby was child’s play, but I still felt sick from the whole experience. I tried to keep a stern face but he carried on laughing and eventually I found myself succumbing to a smile and then I myself began to laugh. In some curious way I felt the experience had brought us closer, though God alone knows how or why. I was very cross with him, and he knew it, I could tell. I can’t help feeling a little unsettled by the whole affair. Especially the police having my details. I imagine that they have a huge ledger in which they record the details of every homosexual they’ve ever unearthed, and I keep picturing the policeman who interviewed me scratching my name in it and blotting it dry with a grin of triumph. I thought of Montagu, Wildeblood and Pitt-Rivers in their cells. There but for the grace of God go I, I thought, even though I’m an atheist.

We were both in need of some sleep, so Gore took the couch and I took to my bed. Though I left my door open, he didn’t take the hint. Just as well, for we were woken in the early morning by an almighty banging on the front door.