Pat Barker - Life Class

That was his last chance to speak to her. She was swallowed up in the crowd around the great Augustus and soon he could see only her head and shoulders. He should have challenged her about the note, only he knew that if he did and she lied it would be the end of the affair. And he wasn’t ready for it to end.

In the cab going back she hardly spoke. He went through the usual routine, going down the steps before her, looking in the coal-hole, unlocking the door, going in first.

‘I’ll buy some bolts,’ he said. ‘It won’t take me a minute to put them on.’

He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. She’d infected him with her passivity.

They undressed and got into bed. Their lovemaking had changed, become rougher, less nuanced, more abrupt. Every night, now, he seemed to be pushing at the boundaries of what was acceptable, waiting for a protest and then, when none came, moving still further away from tenderness. Was this what Halliday had done? After it was over he lay staring into the darkness, knowing he didn’t want to spend the night with her. She’d lied to him; worse than that, she’d lied about something that mattered for reasons he couldn’t understand.

He rolled over and kissed her upper arm. ‘I think I’ll go back tonight, if you don’t mind. I want an early start.’

‘Hmm? Oh, all right.’

She was too sleepy to be surprised. He gathered his clothes together as best he could and went into the bathroom to dress. Letting himself out of the flat, he climbed the basement steps and paused for a moment, his face lifted to the light of the street lamp, defying Halliday who might — might — be watching from the shadows but more probably was tucked up warm and drunk in bed. If he was going to do anything he’d have done it long since. Then Paul started to walk home. The gritty fumes from the railway line were mixed tonight with a fresher smell: the dawn smell and as he walked he felt the wind quicken, flattening his trousers against his legs as he reached the corner of the street. He didn’t look back.

Paul had never been a heavy drinker, but now he drank every night. He knew it was pointless looking for Halliday, he had to wait for Halliday to find him, and he felt it would happen. It wasn’t over. On the last day of term he went with a crowd of students to the Crown. The evening was warm. All the doors and windows were open, the bar was crowded, drinkers spilling out on to the pavement. He drank four pints of tepid beer, very quickly, argued passionately on subjects he didn’t care about in the least, sang, swayed from side to side, vowed undying friendship to people he would never see again, became sentimental, demonstrative, then, abruptly, morose, and, deciding he wasn’t fit company for anybody in his present state, plunged out into the night. He staggered and held on to the wall, while above his head pale London stars swam in shoals from roof to roof.

The city was brazen and clamorous. The crowded pavements exasperated him and so he turned into the side streets, letting his feet carry him forward, unthinking, until there was no sound except the echo of his footsteps and the stamping of horses at a cab stand. He turned left, blindly, and found himself in a livery yard. The darkness now was full of tossing manes, snuffles, snorts, slurrings and scrapings of iron-shod hooves on stone. The horses were too intent on their hay to bother about him, though he caught a glint of eye white as a head turned. Was there a way through? He couldn’t see, and didn’t fancy slithering all the way across the muddy yard to find out, so began to retrace his steps. He’d almost reached the lighted pavement when a shadow peeled itself off the wall.

‘Sorry,’ he said, thinking it must be a groom or an off-duty cabbie. ‘Took the wrong turn.’

‘Too damn right you did.’ That voice. Genial, complicitous, dangerous, drunk. ‘Got you now, haven’t I?’

The world shrank to a few yards of muddy ground. There was no time except for the long second in which he turned to face Halliday He opened his mouth to speak and a fist smashed into it, sending him staggering back against the wall. The next two blows he dodged and then began to dance around, looking for an opening. Nothing existed now except Halliday’s eyes and grinning mouth. Paul darted back, Halliday followed, swinging his fist wide, unable to stop. As he lunged past, Paul hit him on the mouth. The pain in his knuckles was pure joy. Halliday shook his head. Anybody else would have been on the ground. The punch seemed to sober him. He came for Paul, who backed away, feeling the wall hard against his spine. The next blow caught him on the side of the head and he went down. Huddled against the wall, he felt Halliday’s boot smash into his ribs. And again. The sounds jerking out of him seemed to come from the boot not his mouth. He tried to crawl away. Halliday followed. In desperation Paul lunged forward and grabbed Halliday round the knees. Halliday tried to kick himself free. When that failed, he pummelled Paul’s head and shoulders, but Paul hung on. Hands came down, clawing, finding the orbits of his eyes. He let go of Halliday’s knees and pulled at his wrists. Then a voice. Not Halliday’s. Somebody else. He seized his opportunity and crawled towards the light. Behind him the voices went on. Then legs coming towards him. He braced himself for another kicking, but, instead, a hand touched his shoulder. A face, not Halliday’s, bent over him. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t stretch. Everything hurt. Up to this moment, there’d been hardly any pain, but now, as the other man helped him to his feet, every move was agony. ‘I’m all right.’

‘Aye, you look it.’

Paul was on his feet now, though only just. Halliday had gone.

‘Can you walk?’

‘I’ll be all right.’

As long as Halliday didn’t come back. He looked around, tried to think. Get a cab. There was a stand not far way, he remembered that. He tried to walk, but after a few feet everything went black.

‘Come on. I’ll get you to a cab.’

Every step sent a jolt of pain from his ankle to the top of his skull. Somewhere in all this he’d lost his hat. Dazed, he looked round and found it squashed flat into the mud. His suit was caked with mud and worse. Cab. Cab. He couldn’t think further than that. They set off, Paul’s arm across the groom’s shoulder. He wondered if his mouth was bleeding, and pressed his lips to find out, but his hand was so filthy the blood — if there was blood — didn’t show. At last, the cab stand. One cab waiting.

The driver took one look at him. ‘Sorry mate. Can’t do it. What you been doing? Rolling in it?’

Paul was too weak to argue, and the groom was going no further, he could see that. ‘Can’t leave the yard. More than me job’s worth,’ he said, though his breath stank of porter.

Paul struggled to get money out of his pocket and pressed it into his outstretched hand. ‘Thanks.’

‘Thank you, sir. Mind how you go.’

Paul clung to the railings. There was a hospital half a mile away, or there was Elinor. Elinor was just round the corner. He could go there, clean up, then get a cab.

Shaking, though the night was hot, he staggered along, holding on to railings whenever he could. It was late, too late to knock on anybody’s door, but he had no other way of getting home. He knocked and waited. Almost immediately the upstairs window opened. ‘Who is it?’

He stepped back into the light.

‘Paul? What on earth —? Wait, I’ll come down.’

He swayed on his feet. The street lamps blurred. Then the door opened and Elinor, still dressed, got hold of him. ‘What happened?’

‘Halliday happened.’

‘Oh, my God.’

He saw her hesitate, torn between loyalty to a friend and horror at the state he was in.