Pat Barker - Toby's Room

‘Yes, he told me he was going. Doesn’t seem to be looking forward to it very much. Fact, he said he’d seen enough horrors to last him the rest of his life.’

‘I’ll miss him. I couldn’t have done it without him.’

Ahead of them Waterloo Bridge loomed out of the mist. The water underneath the nearest arch broke into V-shaped ripples as a boat passed through. There were flecks of crimson on the surface of the river, where the setting sun had briefly managed to free itself from a bank of cloud, but they were fading even as he watched. From the far side, almost invisible in the mist, came shouts and splashes and then, one after another, factory whistles began to blow for the start of another shift. London in winter.

‘Doesn’t it make you want to paint it?’ she asked.

‘No, it makes me want to get away from it. Oh, I can see it’s beautiful, but it’s not for me.’

She’d slowed down and was scuffing her sleeve along the balustrade, looking at the great arc of the bridge with the hundreds of grey and black figures pattering across.

‘Neville would love it. But then, he’s luckier than I am.’ Instantly, Paul realized how crass that sounded. ‘I mean, as a painter, he’s got all this waiting for him after the war.’

‘You’ve got the countryside.’

‘Well, ye-es. But landscape’s starting to feel a bit old hat even to me.’

She turned to face him.

‘How was he?’

He started to say something bland, and stopped.

‘Different. You know, before the war I used to think he was incredibly self-pitying, because, let’s face it, he had it a lot easier than most. And yet there he is, no nose, quite a lot of pain … Not that he ever mentions it, but … Well, I know the signs. Facing God knows how many more operations, and there isn’t a trace of self-pity. I mean, he’s actually quite funny about it now and then. Is it true the last operation was a failure because he had a cold in the nose?’

‘Oh, it was a bit more than that. Fact, I think he very nearly died.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Did you talk about Toby at all?’

The white face under the lavender hat took the decision for him: he couldn’t lie to her, not about this. ‘Yes.’

She tried to smile. ‘Well? How bad is it?’

‘Bad.’

‘Go on.’

‘He killed himself.’

‘Why?’ She was up in arms at once. ‘Because he was frightened? I don’t believe —’

‘No, nothing like that. Because …’ He threw up his hands. ‘He was having an affair with a boy who looked after the horses and somehow or other the CO found out.’ He watched her struggling to take it in. ‘You’ve got to realize nothing could’ve saved him. Yes, he was well liked, he was respected, he’d got the MC — none of it would’ve made the slightest difference. Except, I suppose, it was why the CO took the decision he did, which was to let Toby know he’d been reported. Otherwise, the first he knew he’d have been arrested. In effect the CO gave him the chance … Well. To sort it out in the only way possible.’

Her face was completely blank; he couldn’t tell whether she was taking it in or not.

‘Otherwise, you see, it would have been a court martial, he’d have been stripped of his rank, probably got ten years with hard labour and he’d have been struck off the medical register — even when he came out he wouldn’t have been able to practise as a doctor. So you can see, can’t you, why suicide must have seemed the only way? He was trying to spare his family the disgrace.’

Her mouth twitched as if she wanted to speak.

‘Does that make sense?’ he said.

‘Oh, God, yes. Except it wouldn’t be “family” — it would be Mother. Even as a boy he was always trying to protect her.’ A small, hard laugh. ‘The wind was never allowed to blow on her.’

She turned and looked over the river. Before, when he’d tried to imagine this moment, he’d dreaded her tears. Now her composure worried him more.

‘Let’s get you somewhere warm. It’s freezing out here.’

‘How did he do it?’

‘You’re sure you want to know?’

She looked at him.

‘He said he saw something moving in No Man’s Land. They’d spent all night getting in the wounded, but he thought, or said he thought, that there was somebody else out there. He took Neville with him.’

‘So Kit was there?’

‘Yes, he was. Just as it was getting light Toby stood up and fired at the German lines. Obviously, he thought he was going to be shot, but — God knows why — nothing happened, so he turned the revolver on himself. It was over in a second, there couldn’t possibly have been any pain.’

‘But there would have been a body.’

‘Another bombardment started, not long afterwards. Every inch of the ground was shelled. Of course, they went out looking for him, but there was nothing left.’

She was breathing heavily, still tearless.

‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘Neville says he was quite exceptionally brave in the last few days. He refused to leave the line even when he was wounded. If it hadn’t been for this other thing he’d have been decorated again, no question.’

‘No, but there was, wasn’t there? This “other thing”.’

She made as if to walk on and for a moment he hoped that might be the end of it, but then she turned back.

‘Who told the CO?’

‘The Padre. I don’t know how he knew.’

He’d set out to tell her the truth, or at least the version of the truth that Neville had told him. Instead, he’d started lying without ever taking a conscious decision.

‘Will you tell your parents?’

‘No, I don’t think so. What’s the point? It only adds to the pain.’

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you?’

‘No, I needed to know.’

He touched her elbow and they started to walk on again. She looked almost dazed.

‘Did you know about Toby?’

‘That he liked men?’ She shrugged. ‘Yes and no. I mean, I always thought he and Andrew were lovers. But … It’s never that simple, is it?’

‘Were there ever any girls?’

She took so long to answer he was beginning to think she hadn’t heard the question.

‘There was a girl, once.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know.’

They turned away from the river, cutting up the steep lane that lead from the Embankment to the Strand. At the top of the hill, Paul looked back at the water. Here and there, dark, sketchy shapes of boats smirched the mist. Tiny figures like insects still swarmed across the bridge, while underneath the strong, brown, muscular river flowed, oblivious of the city that befouled it.

He touched her arm. ‘Let’s have a drink, shall we?’

They went to the Savoy. Paul had never been there before, nor ever dreamt he would one day be able to afford it. The foyer seemed vast, with red-and-gold rugs covering a black-and-white marble floor. A short flight of stairs led down to a room in which groups of smartly dressed people were reflected in tall gilt mirrors. A murmur of conversation, a chink of glasses, gloved waiters bending deferentially over the tables …

They sat on a leather sofa several feet apart, for all the world like a Victorian courting couple. He ordered two brandies, and was pleased to see some colour returning to her face as she drank. He told himself it didn’t matter that he’d withheld a large part of the truth from her. Some secrets aren’t meant to be told.

After a long pause, he said tentatively, ‘Have you thought what you might do after the war?’

He was painfully aware of how insensitive this question might seem so soon after she’d learned of Toby’s suicide, but she turned to him with a smile.