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removed his raincoat to reveal an immaculate dark grey suit and well-pressed shirt. Pikey had also seen him – and noticed me noticing. ‘Who’s he?’
    The closely cropped hair, clean shave and glowing ebony skin made him look like a Premiership footballer from Senegal. ‘No idea.’ I turned back to Pikey. ‘I didn’t even know Tenny came from up here. All the time you’re with someone, and it never occurs to you to ask where they come from . . .’
    ‘That’s because it doesn’t matter where you come from, man. It’s where you are that matters.’ He slapped me on the back. ‘Good to see you, mate. Now I’ve got to fuck off and sort out the bearers.’
    His George boots clicked off down the aisle and I squashed myself into a seat at the end of the very last row. I liked being at the back. It had something to do with my schooldays. People can’t see or hear you there. And I’d be able to ping everyone as they came in.
    I picked up the order of service. Tenny stared out from the cover in his Green Jacket kit and, for some reason, a moustache. Maybe it was part of the uniform. Whatever, he looked very much the colonel. But some things never changed. I felt myself grin. His rusty Brillo pad hair was still trying to fight its way out from under his cap.
    Dex, Red Ken and I had told him that when he was prime minister we all wanted a peerage, something that would set us up for life. Tenny promised he would, if only to make us shut up: Lord Ken of t’Pit, Lord Dex of Cards, and Lord Stone of Stony Broke.
    The smile left my face. It couldn’t disguise the grief I felt that someone like him, a man with a future and a purpose, had got zapped – while someone like me . . . well, I just plodded on.
    Another flurry of toe- and heel-caps clicked along the flagstones as a group of officers and warrant officers made their way to the front pews. Then Dex and his girlfriend appeared, looking sharp in their immaculately tailored outfits. He was decked out in a black suit, crisp white shirt and thin black tie. She was in a short black dress and very high heels. Even her hair was jet black, in honour of the occasion. She still had her sunglasses on.
    I recognized Dex straight away, even though he’d shaved off all his hair. It looked like his new thing was Buddhism. He didn’t see me. He was too busy feeling pleased with himself – every squaddie within a fifty-metre radius had leant across to cop a good look at his companion, elbowed his neighbour in the ribs and muttered what a lucky bastard he was.
    Just a few paces behind – and dressed just as sharply – strutted the roll-up king. ‘Nicky boy, all right, son?’
    He gave me a quick wink and carried on going with the flow. ‘The do . . .’ He raised an imaginary glass. ‘We’ll see you there, yeah?’
    I nodded and grinned. These were the only two I wanted to spend time with today.

12
    The lads at the back were packed shoulder to shoulder. Those who hadn’t been able to make it that far had to jostle for room on the cobblestones outside. The bugler fidgeted in one of the side chambers, now nervously flexing his lips. A dozen or so rows in front of me, Dex and Ken stood for a hymn. I could just see the shiny top of Dex’s head now and again when those behind him moved. The choir was really going for it, and so was he. Ten years of starting school with chapel every morning probably got you into the swing of things. The tall bird next to him didn’t seem to share his gusto. Now she’d removed her glasses I could tell she was bored out of her perfectly shaped skull.
    The only thing Dex seemed to have changed was his hairdo and the ribbon on his chest. He’d won the DFC in Iraq four years ago, just before he got out of the RAF. Dex’s dad would have been really proud. When Hitler marched on Poland, Dex’s dad, the seventh son of a maharajah, was just graduating from one of the poshest private schools in India. The moment Neville Chamberlain declared war on