Pat Barker - Toby's Room

‘Mrs Neville’s asked me to go and see Kit.’

‘Why don’t you? I’m sure he’d love to see you.’

‘I’m not sure it’s coming from him. Oh, she means well, but, you know, she’s frantic with worry and I think she’s trying to push him to see people when perhaps he’s not ready. What do you think?’

Paul shrugged. ‘He certainly wasn’t ready to see Elinor. Or me. But then …’

‘Yes?’

‘You were closer to him than we were.’

‘For a time. No, at one point we were very close.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘I’d like to see him before I leave London.’

‘You’re leaving?’

‘I thought I might go back to Scotland.’

She was looking at him, waiting for a response. ‘You’ve got work here,’ he said. ‘And friends.’ He didn’t know what he felt, except that relief was part of it.

‘It’s easier up there. You don’t feel the same … hatred.’ She laughed. ‘Probably because we don’t see anybody.’

‘Is it really as bad as that?’

‘I think so. Do you know Olive Schreiner?’

‘Not personally, no. Of her.’

‘Well, she was staying at Durrant’s Hotel, in George Street, you know? And they asked her to leave — not because they thought she was German, they knew she was South African, but because the other guests might think she was German. You get little pinpricks like that all the time.’

He remained silent.

‘Paul? What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking there are worse things than being chucked out of a hotel. Like ending up in a hole in the ground with your guts draped round your neck.’

‘It’s not a contest, though, is it? The suffering.’

‘Do you know, I sometimes think it is.’

A long silence. Then she said, ‘I don’t think I could bear not to be friends with you.’ She reached out and took hold of his hand.

‘Only it’s never going to be more than that, is it?’

‘There’s Elinor …’

‘And Kit. Don’t forget Kit. As if any of us could.’

This was why she’d come: to end something that had barely begun. And he was in danger of trying to pull her back, but without really believing that their incipient love affair stood a chance. At the back of his mind was the image of the two girls entwined on the sofa, impossibly conjoined: Siamese twins, though there was no doubt which twin was dominant. Elinor, every time.

He reached a decision. ‘I think you should go to see him.’

‘Do you?’ she said, withdrawing her hand. ‘I’ll think about it. And now I think I should go.’

At the door she turned. There might have been a kiss — he was hoping there would be — but at the last moment she smiled and shook her head.

Elinor travelled back to London on a jolting train full of vacant-eyed passengers staring at advertisements. A ruddy-faced young soldier stood up and offered her his seat. She thanked him, aware of his admiration, of his body, even, as she had not been aware of any man, including Paul, for a long time.

She really needed to talk to Paul, but it was difficult. After their joint visit to Kit, they hadn’t parted friends. But he wouldn’t turn her away; he never had. She’d go to see him now, she decided; chance his not being in.

It was a weary climb up the hill to his lodgings. She knocked loudly several times, and was about to peer through the letter box when the door was suddenly flung open and a dark woman with spots of hectic colour on her cheeks stood there, her arms folded aggressively across her chest.

‘What do you want?’

‘I’d like to speak to Mr Tarrant, please.’

‘Oh, I expect you would, you and half a dozen others.’ She marched across the hall and yelled up the stairs, ‘Tarrant, there’s another one!’ She turned to Elinor. ‘No doubt he’ll be down in a minute, he’s keen enough, God knows.’

With a sniff and a flounce she went back inside her own living room and slammed the door. For a moment the house was silent, though not peaceful. Even the dust motes, visible in the circle of light round a lamp, seemed to seethe with suppressed anger. Elinor looked around. The house was shabby and not particularly clean. The stair rods were speckled brown; some of them were missing altogether, so the carpet bulged dangerously over the treads. Somewhere in the shadows at the back of the hall, a clock ticked.

At last, she heard a door open and shortly afterwards Paul came limping down the stairs.

He stopped dead when he saw her. ‘Elinor.’

‘Were you expecting somebody else?’

‘No. What makes you think that?’

‘Just something your landlady said.’

From behind the landlady’s door came the sound of a tenor voice, swelling: You are the cutest thing … ‘Oh, for God’s sake, if I hear that bloody song one more time today …’ She looked at Paul. ‘Do you mind if I come up?’

‘No, of course not, though …’ He jerked his head towards the music. ‘It’s not popular.’

‘She’s in quite a state, isn’t she?’

He mouthed: ‘I think I might have to leave.’

Something was wrong, she could feel it, and it wasn’t his landlady’s mood. Following him up the stairs, she said, ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, you know …’

‘Work going all right?’

‘Yes, in fact I think I might have turned a corner. Mind you, I’ve thought that before.’ He was opening his door. ‘You must’ve been to the hospital.’

‘All day. I didn’t realize it was going to be like that.’

‘Threw you in at the deep end?’

‘You know Tonks.’

‘How was it?’

‘Hard, really hard.’

‘Do you think you’re going to do it?’

‘I’m not sure I can do it. But yes, I’ll give it a go. Tonks says he’ll help, he says I can go back to the Slade, one day a week, if I want. Feels a bit like flying backwards …’

‘Well, I’m back there. Perhaps there’s a bit of elastic round our middles …’

‘I really hated being on the wards.’

‘So why do it? You don’t have to.’

She pulled a face. ‘You’ve changed your tune.’

‘No, really. Why put yourself through it if you don’t have to?’

‘Can’t say no to Tonks?’

She was taking in the room as she spoke. The walls were covered in a dingy yellow paper with an intricate paisley pattern that would have driven her mad in a week. The sofa sagged; he hadn’t bothered to add cushions or do anything to soften the bulging disgrace. How on earth could somebody with Paul’s eye for line and colour live like this?

He took her coat. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No, I’m all right, thanks.’ She smoothed an imaginary crease in her skirt. ‘I saw Kit today.’

‘You haven’t been pestering him, have you?’

‘I don’t think he even knew I was there. Thing is, he’s developed a chest infection, it doesn’t look good.’

‘But he’s not …?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘I tried, he wasn’t making a lot of sense.’ Quickly, she ran through as many of Kit’s ramblings as she could remember. ‘There was one moment, he said, “It wasn’t my fault, he knew the risks.” So he does obviously feel guilty about something.’

‘ “He”? Not “Toby”?’

She shrugged.

‘So you don’t know who he was talking about.’

‘Toby. Who else?’

‘Anybody else. Half the bloody army, more or less.’

‘No, you’re not listening. You don’t say “It wasn’t my fault” unless you’ve got a pretty good reason to think it might be.’

He was shaking his head. ‘Elinor, we all feel guilty. Everybody who survives.’

‘Do you?’