Dodger Page 0,93

does the believing for both of us, depend upon it! I reckon he tells the Almighty what to do. But don’t worry, I heard that Jesus walked on water, so he might know a little bit about toshing, but I ain’t seen him down there. I mean no offence; mind you, in the dark you don’t see everybody.’

He noticed Angela’s smile become a little strained before coming back to normal, whereupon she said, ‘Well, Mister Dodger, it would appear that an unbeliever might put some believers to shame.’ He assumed from this that once again he had got away with it, even though he wasn’t quite sure what the ‘it’ was.

Now, at last, Dodger was able to pay attention to the food in front of him: a rather good bowl of vegetable soup, even better than the stuff that Solomon made, and he said so as soon as he finished it, noticing as he did so that no one else had dived into the soup with the same alacrity.

‘It’s called julienne,’ said Angela. ‘I really don’t know why that is so. I envy you your appetite!’

Cheered up by this, Dodger said, ‘Can I have some more?’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Charlie wearing the familiar expression of a man enjoying the fun.

Angela followed his gaze and said, ‘Charlie writes books, you know? I often wonder where he gets all his ideas from. As for the soup I’m sure there is plenty more, but there is a very nice turbot to follow, after which there will be roast saddle of mutton and that will be followed by roast quails. If, young man, you haven’t exploded by then, there will follow a compote of cherries – very sweet. I see you haven’t touched your wine; it is quite a decent sauvignon blanc, and I think you would like it.’ As Dodger reached for the glass, she turned to answer a question from Sir Robert Peel on her other side.

Dodger did like the wine, and because he was Dodger he thought, Well, this is pretty good stuff so I will drink it very slowly. After all, he very seldom drank wine, although Solomon used to buy some stuff at Passover which was so sweet it made your teeth ache. Dodger generally liked beer or stout, especially stout in the winter; they were simple drinks for simple people, and Dodger did not wish to become a complicated person, which he certainly would become if he drank more than one glass of this wine.

Solomon had told him beforehand that there could be a different wine with every course with meals like this; he had to wonder how on earth people would get back home. So, while Angela spoke to Sir Robert Peel and Simplicity delicately finished her own bowl of soup, he treasured the little glass, taking a small sip at a time. Oh, he had been rascally drunk occasionally, but while it had looked a good idea at the time it never looked quite the same later on when you woke up, and it was very hard to go on the tosh without your mind being clear. Of course, not throwing up a lot helped too, and more than anything he didn’t want to disgrace himself in any way in front of all these nobby people, and while Simplicity was watching. And she was watching.

So was the turbot, which came past on a silver tray before being distributed among the guests. It was big and fat, but you had never seen such a sorry expression on the face of a fish before, although perhaps it might have been cheered up by the fact that along with the rather piquant sauce it tasted very nice. Dodger was more at his ease now; the dinner was going well, people were chattering to one another, and it was all rather jolly. It was still jolly when the roast saddle of mutton turned up, slightly yellow and rather greasy, and to a lad as energetic as Dodger, pure pleasure, although he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten so much. In the attic, the meals prepared by Solomon were . . . wholesome, and enough. Meat came in small amounts, more a seasoning than the whole meal, and generally the basis of a thick soup or nourishing gruel. He was aware now of a general tightness of the stomach; but good mutton was the food of the gods, and therefore it would be