Pat Barker - Life Class

She kissed him then held him at arm’s length.

‘You’ve lost a lot of weight.’

‘A stone and a half.

‘You were thin to start with.’

‘I’m careful about cracks in the pavement.’

Catherine shook hands, first with him, then with Neville. She was pale and wearing a black dress that drained her complexion of the little colour it had. Neville hadn’t spoken to Elinor, but now, at the last moment, he bowed and smiled.

‘I called at your lodgings this afternoon,’ Paul said to Elinor. ‘But you were out.’

‘I thought you were still in the country,’ Neville said, almost simultaneously.

Catherine answered. ‘No, the Parish Council didn’t like the idea of having a Church cottage rented by a German.’

‘A German —?’ For a moment Neville looked puzzled. ‘Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry, I forgot. And they threw you out because of that? But that’s outrageous.’

‘Well, they did,’ Elinor said. ‘And they didn’t even offer to refund the rent.’

‘Why don’t you complain to the Bishop?’

‘Because it wouldn’t do any good.’

‘You can’t let them get away with it.’

She shook her head. ‘Catherine’s got enough on her plate without that. I don’t think you want the battle, do you, Cath?’

‘Not that particular one.’ She turned to Neville whose anger on her behalf, however misdirected, had obviously touched her. ‘You see, we may have to move house and if we do I’ve got to be there to help my parents, so I’m afraid painting in country cottages is a thing of the past.’

‘ Why do you have to move?’ Neville said. He was becoming more truculent by the minute.

‘We live on the coast. Right on the front, in fact — the sea’s about two hundred yards away — and people think we’re signalling to German ships. It’s ridiculous, but that’s what they think.’ She tried a smile, but it wouldn’t stay on her mouth. ‘If we close the living-room curtains that’s a signal. Open them, that’s a signal. Flowers in the window: signal. And as for switching on a lamp … Well!’

‘But that’s insane.’

‘Oh, we’re the lucky ones. A family we know — they’re not even German, they’re Polish — had bricks thrown through the windows.’

Neville was breathing noisily, a dragon working up a head of steam. ‘Should you move? I mean, shouldn’t you stay and face it out?’

‘My father’s lived there thirty years and last week …’ She was fighting back the tears. ‘Last week somebody spat at him in the street.’

‘So, you see,’ Elinor said, ‘not being allowed to rent the cottage doesn’t matter very much.’

Neville was leaning towards Catherine. ‘Do you have people you can stay with?’

‘My mother’s sister. I’m staying with her at he moment.’

Nobody came near them, though Neville and Elinor must have known everybody in the room. They were in quarantine, it seemed. Neville was aware of it, Paul could see that — he had that blue, dancing, truculent light in his eyes — he’d found a cause, and sooner or later everybody in this room would pay for ignoring Catherine tonight. Oh, he was a champion grudge-bearer was Neville, but he was also on this occasion — and how distressing it was to admit it — right.

One way and another it was a relief when Elinor suggested they should leave.

‘Good idea,’ said Neville, jumping up. ‘It’s boring in here tonight.’

It was raining, no more than a light drizzle but enough to make them decide to take a cab. Paul went to summon one, leaving Neville and the two girls standing in the shelter of the doorway. He’d just attracted a cabby’s attention and was turning to call the others when an incident took place. A young man, rather foppishly dressed, carrying a silver-topped cane, stumbled against Catherine as he was leaving and knocked her to one side. It might have been an accident, but his grin suggested otherwise. Neville spun round and head-butted him in the face. Blood spouted from the young man’s nostrils and splashed on his shirt-front.

Paul ran back to join Neville, whose fists were clenched in front of him. One of the young man’s companions grabbed his arm and pulled him back. The other bent and picked up his cane. By this time the doorman and several waiters had appeared, obviously determined not to have a fight in the entrance. Gradually, with muttered threats of future reprisals, the young man allowed himself to be dragged away.

In silence, they walked to the cab. Catherine was white and seemed to be on the verge of tears. Elinor had an arm round her shoulder. Paul was stunned, less by Neville’s anger, which he thought was fully justified, than by the sheer backroom-brawl brutality of that head-butt. He wouldn’t have believed Neville had that in him.

They got into the cab. Gradually Neville’s breathing returned to normal. None of the others could think of anything to say. Paul looked across at him — he was still shaking with anger, but exhilarated too, you could see it in his eyes. He was like that all the time underneath.

The cabby was waiting for instructions.

‘Café Eiffel Tower?’ Elinor said.

Catherine shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I just want to go home. You go.’

‘Why don’t you and Tarrant go?’ Neville said. ‘I’ll see Catherine home.’

‘All right,’ said Paul, snatching the chance of time alone with Elinor, though amazed it had been offered. He shook hands with Neville. ‘Shall I see you again before you go?’

‘Give me a ring tomorrow. We’ll fix something up.’

Paul got out and handed Elinor down.

‘Well,’ said Elinor, as the cab drove away.

‘He’s found a cause.’

‘Hasn’t he just? You know, he’s always going on about his parents and their campaigning and how neglected he felt because of it, but my goodness the block chipped. Block s .’

‘He likes Catherine.’

‘I hope he does.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I hope she’s not just a cause.’

‘You don’t mind him going off with her like that?’

‘Good heavens, no. Lets me off the hook.’

‘Is it over? Between you and him?’

It seemed obvious that it was, but he needed to have it spelled out.

‘It was never on.’ She walked a little further. ‘Did you see how he enjoyed hitting that man?’

‘He deserved it.’

‘But Nev head-butted him.’

‘No, it wasn’t exactly Queensberry Rules, was it?’

‘You see, you’re laughing. You’re as bad as he is.’

‘I think that fellow deserved everything he got.’

They were drifting aimlessly along. After a while she took his arm and that pleased him.

‘Are we going to the Eiffel Tower?’ he said.

‘No, I’ve had enough of people for one night. Let’s just walk.’

London at night was more obviously changed than London by day. The lamps had been painted blue and cast a ghastly glow on to the faces of passers-by. The darkened streets directed your attention to the sky, where searchlinghts stroked the underbelly of the clouds. All around was that burnt, used-up smell of late summer in the city.

‘I hate August,’ Paul said.

‘Well, this August isn’t much fun.’

‘No, I’ve never liked it. My mother died in August.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

He smiled. ‘It was a long time ago.’

Silence for a hundred yards or so. Then Elinor said, ‘What time’s your interview?’

‘Ten-thirty.’

‘Neville seems to think they’ll jump at you.’

‘It’s not fighting, but it’s the best I can do.’

‘The best you could do is stay here and paint.’

‘Not an option. We can all go back to painting when it’s over. Except Neville. Do you know, he told me he’s going out there to paint ?’