Pat Barker: Life Class

‘Teresa, are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?’

‘No, I’m all right, really. Don’t worry about me.’

They kissed goodbye. Paul watched as Elinor and Neville left together. At the door Neville put his hand between her shoulder blades, guiding her. They’d said nothing all evening to suggest they were more than acquaintances, and yet now, suddenly, he saw they had a close, perhaps even intimate, relationship.

Teresa had gone quiet. There were purple shadows under her eyes and he found himself wanting to touch them. He moved closer. They chatted about this and that, the conversation sputtering like a cold engine — on, off — until a shadow fell across their table and Paul looked up to find no less a person than the great Augustus John towering over them.

‘Teresa,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you join us? And your friend too, of course.’

She looked across him to a noisy table at the far end of the room. ‘Thanks, Gus, but I was just leaving. I’ve got a bit of a headache coming on.’ She was reaching for her bag as she spoke.

Another few words and, with a nod to Paul, the great man moved on.

She’d chosen to stay with him. Perhaps. More likely the headache was genuine and she was longing to get home. But that didn’t seem probable either with a potentially violent husband prowling round her backyard. He looked at her and saw how the purple shadows had changed the colour of her eyes from pale to smoky grey. The blood was thickening in his neck. ‘Shall we go, then?’

She nodded at once and stood up.

A light rain had fallen. The street was busy, people hurrying to restaurant and bars. Women’s scents, as they walked past on the arms of husbands and lovers, mingled with the smell of leather and dung from the cab horses that stamped and jingled in a long row by the kerb. For no better reason than the freshness of moist air on his skin, Paul felt suddenly full of hope.

Teresa was pulling on her gloves, pale grey cotton, pressing each finger into place. She barely reached his shoulder but was so slim and held herself so erect that she struck him as a tall woman, and how beautiful that dark, warm colouring, those cheekbones that caught and held the light.

‘I suppose you’ve already had dinner?’

‘No, I came straight from modelling.’ Her voice had an unexpected rasp to it, like fingernails dragged across the skin. ‘I’ll have something when I get back.’

As she spoke her pale grey eyes darkened, and he realized two things: she was hungry — that must be why the wine had affected her so much — and she was afraid.

‘Perhaps we could eat together?’

She looked up at him. A cleft in her chin, he noticed, rare in women. He struggled not to touch it, the side of his thumb would rest there so sweetly.

‘That would be nice.’

‘There’s a place over there. Shall we try that?’

They ran across the street and pushed open the heavy door of the restaurant. Steamy heat, a smell of onions frying. The waiter showed them to a table by the window where they could look out at people walking past. Paul was delighted, particularly since the couple at the next table were engrossed in each other. They were virtually alone.

‘Would you like some wine?’

‘ More wine?’ She blushed. ‘Yes, go on, why not?’

Her accent was very strong when she said that. He’d kissed and cuddled girls like her, standing with his back to the factory gates, pausing and pulling them deeper into the shadows whenever anybody walked past. But then he looked at her again and thought, Who are you kidding? You’ve never had a girl remotely like this.

They ordered soup and roast beef and talked about their mutual acquaintances. Had she known Elinor long?

‘Two years. She was only seventeen, you know, when she came to London. She’s always saying what an old stick-in-the-mud her mother is, but when you think of it … letting a seventeen-year-old girl come to London, unchaperoned. Most mothers wouldn’t do it.’

‘Would your mother?’

Her face hardened. ‘I was married at seventeen. No danger of that with Elinor. Though it’s not as if she hasn’t had offers. You must have seen how men react to her?’

‘I saw how Neville did.’

‘She keeps trying to get him interested in other girls.’ She looked at him mischievously. ‘Do you think she’s attractive?’

‘In a boyish sort of way …’

‘Isn’t that what men go for?’

‘Not all of us.’

‘Neville does.’

Perhaps she felt she’d said too much, because she immediately raised her glass, using it as a shield against her mouth as she gazed round the room.

‘Do you like Tonks?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Yes, I think I do. He’s a very kind man. Underneath.’

‘Tell that to Neville.’

‘Henry didn’t like his work. But I think he always thought he had talent.’

‘Not the way Neville tells it. Tonks told him he despised his work — and despised him even more.’

‘Oh? I didn’t know that.’

‘Henry’, he noticed, and she’d called Augustus John ‘Gus’. She was no more than a girl from the back streets of some northern town, and yet she assumed equality with these men. A fragile sort of equality, based, ultimately, on sex.

— Whore.

— Now, now, Nan. Rest in peace.

‘It’s not done him much harm, has it?’ she was saying. ‘He’s doing rather well.’

‘Painting trains.’

‘Not just trains.’

‘He’d like the view from my window.’

‘Oh, where do you live?’

‘St Pancras.’

‘I live there. Victoria Street.’

They looked at each other, registering that when they left the restaurant they would be going in the same direction.

Over coffee he asked about her husband. He was afraid she might think the question intrusive, but once she started the words streamed out.

‘I was seventeen. I can’t even say it was a mistake, I had to get away from home. Dad left when I was eleven and three years later Mam took up with somebody else.’

‘You didn’t like him?’

‘That wasn’t the problem.’

‘He didn’t like you?’

‘Not that either. I couldn’t tell Mam, I dropped one or two hints and she just —’ Teresa hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘She wasn’t well. That was half the trouble — she was always in bed with poultices on her chest — her skin was raw, you used to have to put mustard on them. I couldn’t see they were doing her any good, I used to hate putting them on, she used to scream, but the doctor would have it. He was costing that much you couldn’t disagree with him. So anyway I was downstairs making these bloody poultices and he used to come up behind me. What could I do? I couldn’t shout. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Oh, and I wasn’t allowed out, he was always saying he didn’t want me running round with any of the local lads, getting into trouble. It’s laughable really, all the trouble I had was at home. So in the end I ran away.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not very far — I went to me auntie’s in Redcar. She’s a dressmaker, so I used to help her with that and then I got on with Jack. He was a mate of Dave’s — that’s Auntie Nancy’s lad. He was in the army and, oh, he was smart. I couldn’t see the drink was a problem, but even if I had seen it I’d probably still have married him.’

‘Were you in love with him?’

‘God knows.’

For a while she sat in silence, looking down at her glass.

‘You don’t have to talk about it, you know.’

‘No, I want to. It lasted about six months. I mean, before things started to go wrong. I fell pregnant and he was over the moon. Came out of the army — big mistake, but it didn’t seem like that at the time — and he got a job in the ironworks. Labourer, but he was making good money. And then I lost the baby. The horrible thing is I was quite relieved.’