by Pat Barker
‘I think he probably mentioned it. If he did, I’m afraid it slipped my mind.’
Mr Prior looked him shrewdly up and down. ‘Nab. Wasn’t your mind it slipped.’
‘Well, sit down. How did you find him?’
‘Difficult to tell when they won’t talk, isn’t it?’
‘Isn’t he talking? He was this morning.’
‘Well, he’s not now.’
‘It does come and go.’
‘Oh, I’m sure. Comes when it’s convenient and goes when it isn’t. What’s supposed to be the matter?’
‘Physically, nothing.’ Two l’s, Rivers thought. ‘I think perhaps there’s something he’s afraid to talk about, so he solves the problem by making it impossible for himself to speak. This is… beneath the surface. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.’
‘If he doesn’t, it’ll be the first time.’
Rivers tried a different tack. ‘I believe he volunteered, didn’t he? The first week of the war.’
‘He did. Against my advice, not that that’s ever counted for much.’
‘You didn’t want him to go?’
‘No I did not. I told him, time enough to do summat for the Empire when the Empire’s done summat for you.’
‘It is natural for the young to be idealistic.’
‘Ideals had nowt to do with it. He was desperate to get out of his job.’
‘I think I remember him saying he didn’t like it. He was a clerk in a shipping office.’
‘That’s right, and getting nowhere. Twenty years wearing the arse of your breeches out and then, if you’re a good boy and lick all the right places, you get to be supervisor and then you sit on a bigger stool and watch other people wear their breeches out. Didn’t suit our Billy. He’s ambitious, you know, you mightn’t think it to look at him, but he is. His mam drilled that into him. Schooled him in it. She was determined he was going to get on.’
Rather unexpectedly, Rivers found himself wanting to leap to Billy Prior’s defence. ‘She seems to have succeeded.’
Mr Prior snorted. ‘She’s made a stool-arsed jack on him, if that’s what you mean.’
‘You make it sound as if you had no say.’
‘I didn’t. All the years that lad was growing up there was only one time I put my oar in, and that was when there was this lad at school picking on him. He was forever coming in crying. And one day I thought, well, I’ve had enough of this. So the next time he come in blubbing I give him a backhander and shoved him out the door. There he was, all tears and snot, yelling his bloody head off. He says, he’s waiting for us, our Dad. I says, go on, then. You’ve got to toughen ’em up, you know, in our neighbourhood. If you lie down there’s plenty to walk over you.’
‘What happened?’
‘Got the shit beat out of him. And the next day. And the next. But – and this is our Billy – when he did finally take a tumble to himself and hit the little sod he didn’t just hit him, he half bloody murdered him. I had his father coming round, and all sorts. Not but what be got short shrift.’
He seemed to have no feeling for his son at all, except contempt. ‘You must be proud of his being an officer?’
‘Must I? I’m not proud. He should’ve stuck with his own. Except he can’t, can he? That’s what she’s done to him. He’s neither fish nor fowl, and she’s too bloody daft to see it. But I tell you one person who does see it.’ He pointed to the ceiling. ‘Oh it’s all very lovey-dovey on the surface but underneath he doesn’t thank her for it.’ He stood up. ‘Anyway I’d best be getting back. His nibs’ll have a fit, when he knows I’ve seen you. Wheezing badly, isn’t he?’ He caught Rivers’s expression. ‘Oh, I see, he wasn’t wheezing either? Not what you could call a successful visit.’
‘I’m sure it’s done him a lot of good. We often find they don’t settle till they’ve seen their families.’
Mr Prior nodded, accepting the reassurance without believing it. ‘Any idea how long he’ll be here?’
‘Twelve weeks. Initially.’
‘Hm. He’d get a damn sight more sympathy from me if he had a bullet up his arse. Anyway…’ He held out his hand. ‘It’s been nice meeting you. I don’t know when we’ll be up again.’
Rivers had completed two reports when Miss Crowe put her head round the door again. ‘Mrs Prior.’
They exchanged glances. Rivers threw down his pen, and said, ‘Show her in.’
Mrs Prior was a small upright woman, neatly dressed in a dark suit and mauve blouse. ‘I won’t stay long,’ she said, sitting nervously on the edge of the chair. She was playing with her wedding ring, pulling and pushing it over the swollen knuckle. ‘I’d like to apologize for my husband. I thought he was just stepping outside for a smoke, otherwise I’d’ve stopped him.’
A carefully genteel voice. Fading prettiness. Billy Prior had got his build and features from her rather than the father. ‘No, I was pleased to see him. How did you find Billy?’
‘Wheezing. I’ve not seen his chest as tight as that since he was a child.’
‘I didn’t even know he was asthmatic.’
‘No, well, it doesn’t bother him much. Usually. As a child it was terrible. I used to have to boil kettles in his room. You know, for the steam?’
‘You must be very proud of him.’
Her face softened. ‘I am. Because I know how hard it’s been. I can truthfully say he never sat an exam without he was bad with his asthma.’
‘Did he like the shipping office?’
Her mouth shaped itself to say ‘yes’, then, ‘No. It was the same docks as his father and I think that was the mistake. You know, his father was earning more as a ganger than Billy was as a clerk, and I think myself there was a little bit of… You see the trouble with my husband, the block had to chip. Do you know what I mean? He’s never been able to accept that Billy was different. And I think there might have been a little bit of jealousy as well, because he has, he’s had a hard life. I don’t deny that. A lot harder than it need have been, because his mother sent him to work when he was ten. And no need for it either, she had two sons working, but there it is. What can you say? He worships her’ She was silent for a moment, brooding. ‘You know sometimes I think the less you do for them, the better you’re thought of.’
‘Would you say Billy and his father were close?’
‘No! And yet, you see, the funny thing is our Billy’s…’ She sought for a way of erasing the tell-tale ‘our’ from the sentence and, not finding one, gave a little deprecatory laugh. ‘All for “the common people”, as he calls them. I said, “You mean your father?”’ She laughed again. ‘Oh, no, he didn’t mean his father. I said, “But you know nothing about the common people. You’ve had nothing to do with them.” Do you know what he turned round and said? “Whose fault is that?”
Miss Crowe tapped on the door. ‘Your husband says he’s going now, Mrs Prior.’
‘Yes, well, I’ll have to go. You’ll take care of him, won’t you?’
She was close to tears. Rivers said, ‘We’ll do our best.’
‘I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t mention I’ve been to see you. He’s upset enough about his father.’
After she’d gone, Rivers turned to Miss Crowe. ‘That was amazing. Do you know, I think they’d have said anything?’
‘You get married couples like that, sir. One sympathetic word and you’re there till midnight. Captain Broadbent’s waiting to see you.’
Rivers looked at the pile of papers on his desk and sighed. ‘All right, show him in.’ The frustration boiled over. ‘And do please try not to call him “captain”. He’s no more a captain than I am.’
‘You are a captain, Captain Rivers.’
Miss Crowe paused at the door to savour the small moment of triumph. Rivers smiled and said, ‘All right. But at least try not to address him as “captain”. It really doesn’t help him to have his fantasies confirmed.’
‘I’ll do my best, sir. Though as long as he’s allowed to walk round t
he hospital with three stars on his sleeve, I don’t see that my remembering to call him “mister” is going to make a great deal of difference.’ She smiled sweetly and withdrew. A moment later she reappeared. ‘Mister Broadbent, sir.’
‘Come in, Mr Broadbent. Sit down.’
It wasn’t just the stars. There was also the little matter of the medals, including the Serbian equivalent of the VC awarded to a foreigner for the first and only time in its long and glorious history. And then there were the honorary degrees, though at least he hadn’t yet taken to wearing those on his tunic. However, he was doing very good work with the hospital chamber orchestra. ‘Well, Broadbent, what can I do for you?’
‘I’ve had some bad news, Dr Rivers,’ Broadbent said in his confiding, insinuating way. ‘My mother’s been taken ill.’
Rivers didn’t believe Broadbent’s mother was ill. He didn’t believe Broadbent had a mother. He thought it entirely possible that Broadbent had been hatched. ‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘I was hoping for some leave.’
‘You’ll have to ask the CO about that.’
‘I was hoping you might put a word in for me. You see, I don’t think Major Bryce likes me very much.’
People who’d heard of Broadbent’s exploits, but not met him, were apt to picture a rather florid, swashbuckling, larger-than-life figure. In reality, Broadbent was a limp, etiolated youth, with a pallid complexion and a notably damp handshake, whose constant and bizarre infringements of the hospital rules took up far far too much time. He was quite right in thinking Bryce didn’t like him.
‘It’s not a question of liking or not liking,’ Rivers said. ‘Is your mother very ill?’
‘I’m afraid so, Dr Rivers.’
‘Then I’m sure Major Bryce will be sympathetic. But it is his decision. Not mine.’
‘I just thought…’ Suddenly Broadbent’s voice hardened. ‘This is extremely bad for my nerves. You know what happens.’
‘I hope it doesn’t happen this time. Because last time, if you remember, you had to be locked up. Why don’t you go to see Major Bryce now?’
‘Yes, all right.’ Broadbent stood up, reluctantly, and spat, ‘Thank you, sir.’
At least he didn’t offer to shake hands.
After dinner a Charlie Chaplin film was shown in the cinema on the first floor. The whole of the ground floor was deserted. Rivers, taking his completed reports along to the office to be typed, saw that a lamp had been left burning in the patients’ common room and went in to switch it off.
Prior was sitting beneath the windows at the far end of the room, looking out over the tennis courts, his face and hands bluish in the dim light. Rivers was tempted to withdraw immediately, but then something about the isolation of the small figure under the huge windows made him pause. ‘Don’t you want to see the film?’
‘I couldn’t stand the smoke.’
He was wheezing very badly. Rivers went across to the window and sat beside him. Housemartins were weaving to and fro above the tennis courts, feeding on the myriads of tiny insects that were just visible as a golden haze. He watched them cut, wheel, dive– how skilful they were at avoiding collision –and for a moment, under the spell of the flickering birds, the day’s work and responsibility fell away. But he couldn’t ignore Prior’s breathing, or the whiteness of the knuckles where his left hand gripped the chair. He turned and looked at him, noting the drawn, anxious face. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’
‘Bit tight.’
Prior was bent forward to help the expansion of his lungs. Looking at him now, Rivers could see the straightness of the shoulders, the surprising breadth of chest in a delicately built man. Once you knew it was obvious. But why nothing on the file?
‘I gather you met my father,’ Prior gasped. ‘Quite a character.’
‘He seemed to be a man of strong views.’
Prior’s mouth twisted. ‘He’s a bar-room socialist, if that’s what you mean. Beer and revolution go in, piss comes out.’ He attempted a laugh. ‘My mother was quite concerned. “He’ll be down there effing and blinding,” she said. “Showing us all up.”’
‘I liked him.’
‘Oh, yes, he’s very likeable. Outside the house. I’ve seen him use my mother as a football.’ The next breath screeched. ‘When I was too little to do anything about it.’
‘You know, I think I ought to have a look at that chest.’
Prior managed a ghostly imitation of his usual manner. ‘Your room or mine?’
‘The sick bay.’
The walk along the corridor to the lift was painfully slow.
‘I didn’t want you to meet him,’ Prior said, as Rivers pressed the button for the second floor.
‘No, I know you didn’t. I could hardly refuse.’
‘I’m not blaming you.’
‘Is it a question of blame?’
While the nurses made up the bed, Rivers examined Prior. He’d expected Prior to be impossible, but in the event he became strictly impersonal, gazing over Rivers’s shoulder as the stethoscope moved across his chest. ‘All right, put your jacket on.’ Rivers folded the stethoscope. ‘I’m surprised you got to France at all with that.’
‘They couldn’t afford to be fussy.’ Prior started the long climb into the bed. ‘I won’t be moved to another hospital, will I?’
‘No, I shouldn’t think so. Four doctors, thirty nurses. I think we might manage.’
‘Only I don’t want to be moved.’
Rivers helped him to pull up the sheets. ‘I thought you didn’t like it here?’
‘Yes, well, you can get used to anything, can’t you? Do you think I could have a towel tied to the bed?’
‘Yes, of course. Anything you want.’
‘Only it helps, you see. Having something to pull on.’
‘What was it like in France? The asthma.’
‘Better than at home.’
A shout of laughter from below. Charlie Chaplin in full swing. Rivers, following Prior’s gaze, saw the single lamp and the deep shadows, and sensed, with a premonitory tightening of his diaphragm, the breath-by-breath agony of the coming night. ‘I’ll see about the towel,’ he said.
He saw Prior settled down for the night. ‘I’ll be along in the morning,’ he said. Then he went to Sister’s room next door and left orders he was to be woken at once if Prior got worse.
7
__________
Sassoon woke to the sound of screams and running footsteps. The screams stopped and then a moment or two later started again. He peered at his watch and made out that it was ten past four.
Because of the rubber underlay, a pool of sweat had gathered in the small of his back. The rubbery smell lingered on his skin, a clinical smell that made his body unfamiliar to him. In the next bed Campbell snored, a cacophony of grunts, snorts and whistles. No screams ever woke him. On the other hand he himself never screamed, and Sassoon had been at Craiglockhart long enough now to realize how valuable a room-mate that made him.
Fully awake now, he dragged himself to the bottom of the bed, lifted the thin curtain and peered out of the window. Wester Hill, blunt-nosed and brooding, loomed out of the mist. And yesterday, he thought, shivering a little, his statement had been read in the House of Commons. He wondered what would happen next. Whether anything would happen. In any event there was a kind of consolation in knowing it was out of his hands.
He knew he was shivering more with fear than cold, though it was difficult to name the fear. The place, perhaps. The haunted faces, the stammers, the stumbling walks, that indefinable look of being ‘mental’. Craiglockhart frightened him more than the front had ever done.
Upstairs whoever-it-was screamed again. He heard women’s voices and then, a few minutes afterwards, a man’s voice. Rivers, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. Quaking and comfortless, he propped himself up against the iron bedhead and waited for the dawn.
∗
Prior hauled himself further up the bed as Rivers came in. He cl
osed the book he’d been reading and put it down on his bedside table. ‘I thought it was you,’ he said. ‘I can tell your footsteps.’
Rivers got a chair and sat down by the bed. ‘Did you manage to get back to sleep?’
‘Yes. Did you?’
Silence.
‘I wasn’t being awkward,’ Prior said. ‘That was concern.’
‘I didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t sleep much after four anyway.’ He caught the flicker of interest. How quickly Prior pounced on any item of personal information.
‘Thanks for showing up.’
‘You hated it.’
Prior looked slightly disconcerted, then smiled. ‘I don’t suppose anybody’d choose to be seen in such a state. I don’t really see why they had to call you.’
‘They were afraid the fear might bring on another attack. Though in fact you seem to be breathing more easily.’
Prior took a trial deep breath. ‘Yes, I think I am. Do you know I detect something in myself. I…’ He stopped. ‘No, I don’t think I want to tell you what I detect.’
‘Oh, go on. Professional curiosity. I want to see if I’ve detected it.’
Prior smiled faintly. ‘No, you won’t have detected this. I find myself wanting to impress you. Pathetic, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think it’s pathetic. We all care what the people around us think, whether we admit it or not.’ He paused. ‘Though I’m a bit surprised my opinion matters. I mean, to be quite honest, I didn’t think you liked me very much.’
‘There’s a limit to how warm you can feel about wallpaper.’
‘Oh, we’re back to that again, are we?’
Prior turned away, hunching his shoulders. ‘No-o.’
Rivers watched him for a while. ‘Why do you think it has to be like that?’
‘So that I… I’m sorry. So that the patient can fantasize freely. So that the patient can turn you into whoever he wants you to be. Well, all right. I just think you might consider the possibility that this patient might want you to be you.’
‘All right.’
