Pat Barker: Toby's Room

She couldn’t see much from the window, so she went downstairs and looked out into the street. Snow was still coming down fast, six inches at least had piled up against the door; it must have been falling steadily ever since she got home. Looking up into the circle of light around the street lamp, she could see how big the flakes were. Whirling down from the sky, each flake cast a shadow on to the snow, like big, fat, grey moths fluttering. She’d never noticed shadows like that before. Mesmerized, she stood and watched, trying to follow first one flake and then another, until she felt dizzy, and had to stop.

When she looked up again, she realized she wasn’t alone. A man was standing at the foot of the steps, only five or six feet away from her. The snow must have muffled the sound of his approach. She took an involuntary step back.

Instantly, he took off his hat. ‘Miss Brooke?’

‘Ye-es?’

‘My name’s Andrew Martin. I’m a friend of Toby’s.’

Yes, she remembered seeing him on the steps of the medical school with Toby. ‘Is he all right?’

‘Well, no, not really, that’s why I’m here.’

Fear slipped into her mind so easily, it might always have been there. ‘How bad is it?’

‘I think you should come.’

‘I’ll get dressed. You get back to him.’

‘No, it’s all right, I’ll wait.’

She stepped back. ‘Well, at least wait inside.’

He brushed past her. She closed the door, shutting out the dervish dance of flakes and shadows. He stood awkwardly, snow coating his shoulders as if he were a statue. Big, raw, red hands — he’d come out without gloves — a long nose with a dewdrop trembling on the tip, and a terrible, intractable, gauche shyness coming off him like a bad smell.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said.

She ran upstairs, burst into her bedroom, snatched up the first clothes that came to hand, put on her coat and wound a scarf round her neck, all the time trying to think what she would need to take. She’d be staying all night; she might have to stay longer than that. Nightdress, then: soap, flannel, toothbrush, toothpaste, brush, comb. What else? She snapped the lock shut and carried the case downstairs.

The snow on his boots had melted to a puddle on the floor.

‘Can we get a cab?’

‘No, I tried on my way here but they said they’re not taking fares.’

London had become a silent city. For Elinor the stillness added to the strangeness of this walk through deserted streets with a man she didn’t know to a place she’d never been. How secretive Toby was, really. She hadn’t realized till now. He always seemed so laughing and open, so uncomplicated, and yet he’d never once invited her to his lodgings or offered to introduce her to his friends.

‘Has he seen a doctor?’

‘Two days ago, he said go home and go to bed.’

‘Which of course he didn’t.’

‘No, well, he had to go into college; he had an appointment with his tutor. And he didn’t seem to be too bad. But then last night his temperature absolutely shot up.’

‘What’s his breathing like?’

‘Quite bad, I think it might be pneumonia.’

‘Is there a telephone?’

‘I think the landlady has one, but she lives next door.’

‘It’s just I’ll have to tell my parents.’

‘No, you mustn’t, he doesn’t want them to know. He’s afraid if your mother comes she’ll get it herself.’

‘They’ve got a right to know.’

‘You talk to him then, he might listen to you.’

Mother would come and nurse him. Surprising, perhaps, in such an indolent woman, but she’d have been on the next train.

‘Is term over?’

‘Finished yesterday. That’s why he wouldn’t give in, you see. He won’t take time off.’

She caught the note of hero worship in his voice. When Toby was at school, he’d always had hero-worshipping younger boys trailing round after him, coming to stay in the holidays, taking him away from her. This Andrew might think he was special but he was merely the latest in a long line.

They were climbing a steep hill now, which at least allowed her to stop talking for a while. The smell of sulphur that had hung over the city for weeks had gone; the air tasted crisp and sweet. With each step she pressed her foot down hard, relishing the squeak of her boots on the impacted snow. Odd, to be able to feel pleasure at such a time. She didn’t, even now, believe Toby was really sick, or in any danger. He never had been. Apart from the usual childhood things that everybody gets, she couldn’t remember a time when he’d been ill.

The houses on either side were more imposing now, set well back from the road and screened by trees. She bumped into a low-hanging branch that sent snow cascading over her head and shoulders. Taking off her hat, she beat it against the side of her coat.

Andrew was staring, as if he’d only just seen her. ‘You’re awfully like him, aren’t you? I didn’t think boy/girl twins could be identical.’

‘They can’t,’ she said. ‘One’s a boy, one’s a girl.’ He was supposed to be a medical student, for God’s sake. ‘Anyway, we’re not twins.’

‘Oh. I’m sure Toby said —’

‘I think I’d know.’ That verged on the sharp. ‘Toby was a twin, the other one died.’

‘Sorry, I must’ve got it wrong.’

He was still looking puzzled: Toby had said they were twins. She didn’t understand any of this, but there was no time to think about it now. ‘Is there anybody in the house who can help look after him?’

‘No, not really. I live at home, I can come in during the day, but I couldn’t stay overnight.’

‘I meant the landlady, somebody like that.’

‘I’m afraid she’s much too grand for anything like that. And I don’t think he knows any of the other tenants.’

The walk took a lot longer in the snow than it would normally have done. By the time they reached Toby’s lodgings Elinor was gasping for breath, in no state to face four flights of stairs, or brace herself for what she might find when she reached the top.

Andrew pushed open the door, called out a cheerful greeting and then stood aside to let her go in first. Her nostrils caught the usual sickroom fug of camphor and stale sweat. The room was in darkness except for a circle of firelight flickering on the hearthrug. She couldn’t see where she was going, but then Andrew stepped in front of her and lit the lamp. A bristle of meaningless detail: clothes, shoes, socks, furniture, books, dirty dishes piled up in a sink. None of it registered. She saw only Toby’s face.

‘Elinor.’

Three quick strides took her to the bed. ‘It’s all right,’ she was saying. ‘It’s all right.’

He gazed up at her, and a thick, pasty-white tongue came out and licked his cracked lips.

‘Don’t try to talk.’

As she spoke, she was pulling off her coat and scarf. She tossed them on to a chair and stamped her feet to shake off the curds of snow. The room filled with the smell of wet wool and the cold air they’d brought in on their skins.

Elinor glanced round. The fire was burning low, but there was a basket full of logs, presumably carried up by Andrew. There was a jug of water by the bed. As for food, well … She doubted if Toby could eat anything and she certainly didn’t want to.

‘You won’t tell Mother, will you?’

‘She’s got a right to know. And Father.’

‘Honestly, Elinor, this is a terrible thing …’ He was struggling to sit up. ‘Don’t let —’

He’d always been like this about Mother. Nothing must be allowed to upset or disturb her at all. It made Elinor actually quite angry: so much concern for Mother, so little for her. It obviously didn’t matter if she got ill. And Father, where was Father in all this? Nowhere. Rachel, not even mentioned. But she could see he was becoming more and more agitated.