Free Toby's Room by Pat Barker Page B

Tonks that she didn’t want to continue with the anatomy course, and she didn’t know how he’d respond to that. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to get her on to it. She looked at her watch: five minutes past the time of her appointment, but there was no sound from behind his door.
    Tonight, she was going to the end-of-term Christmas party: one of the social highlights of the Slade year. Normally, she loved parties, she loved dressing up, but this particular one aroused mixed feelings because it marked the end of Kit Neville’s time at the Slade. Tonks had told him he was wasting his time, he’d never make an artist, and Kit had said, ‘That’s it, then, I’m off.’ His leaving wouldn’t make any difference to their friendship, they’d still see each other, but all the same … The last few days she’d had a constant sense of change, of movement, gears shifting, life taking a new shape, a new direction. Asking to see Tonks, taking the initiative, rather than waiting, passively, for him to send for her, was part of that. She was beginning to feel she belonged here: this was her place.
    She looked up. A man was coming down the long corridor towards her. At first, he was merely a dark, indistinct shape, moving between patches of light and shade as he crossed in front of the windows. As he came closer, she could see he was wearing a black overcoat so long it nearly reached the floor, and so shabby it must surely besecond-hand. He sat down, three chairs away from her, clutching a battered portfolio to his chest. A prospective student, God help him. She felt a stab of sympathy, remembering the day she’d come to the Slade to show her drawings to Tonks. How totally crushed she’d been. She wanted to reach out to him, to say something encouraging, but she couldn’t catch his eye. He had one of the most, if not
the
most, remarkable profiles she’d ever seen. She wondered if he knew.
    The door opened. Tonks appeared and waved her to a chair in front of his desk. All her carefully prepared speeches crumbled into dust. She sat there, in the light from the window behind him, gobbling like a turkey that’s just realized why it’s been invited to Christmas dinner. At last she dribbled into silence.
    ‘You’ve had enough?’ Tonks said.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘All right. Though I hope you don’t feel it was a waste of time –?’
    ‘Oh, no, not in the –’
    ‘Because, actually, your work’s come on leaps and bounds this term. After’ – he smiled, delicately – ‘a somewhat shaky start.’
    Oh, God. He hadn’t forgotten the drawing.
    ‘It’s been very useful,’ she said.
    Was that it? Evidently it was. Tonks was on his feet, escorting her to the door, saying he hoped to see her at the party that night. ‘Oh, if there’s a young man out there, could you ask him to wait a few more minutes? There’s just something I need to do …’
    She left the room, thinking:
Leaps and bounds?
Leaps and bounds?
Praise from Tonks was so rare she could’ve leapt and bounded all the way along the corridor. But there was the young man, head down, picking at a ragged cuticle on his right thumb. He looked up, startled, when she approached.
    ‘Professor Tonks says he’ll see you in a moment. He’s just got something he has to do.’
    He was struggling to his feet. She’d noticed before how surprised men were when girls spoke directly or behaved confidently. Almost as if they were so used to simpering and giggling they didn’t know how to react.
    She held out her hand. ‘Elinor Brooke.’
    ‘Paul Tarrant.’
    ‘Are you coming to the Slade?’
    ‘Don’t know. Doubt it.’
    The northern working-class accent came as a bit of a shock. ‘Well, don’t let Tonks put you off, his bark’s worse than his bite.’
    Liar
. She smiled and walked off, already thinking about the dress she was going to wear to the party that night, but at the end of the corridor, she turned and looked back. He was still on his feet, watching her. She gave