if I miss the last two exams I’ll have to repeat the entire year –’
Again, a spasm of coughing cut off his breath.
‘Does Mother know you’re like this?’
‘No – and you’re not to tell her either.’
The room warmed up quickly; by the time she’d made the tea he was starting to breathe more easily. But he was sweating heavily, and when he took the cup from her his fingers felt clammy. He wouldn’t look at her.
‘There’s no reason to go putting the wind up people. It’s just a cold, everybody’s got it.’
‘Hmm. Have they all got it as bad as you?’
He shook his head. There was nothing to be gained by nagging him; he’d made up his mind. She sat in the other armchair. ‘Oh, one bit of good news: I’ve won a prize.’
‘That’s wonderful. Oh, I am so pleased.’
He was genuinely, unaffectedly delighted for her. Of course he’d been the one who’d fought for her to go to the Slade in the first place, when her mother and Rachel had been so resolutely opposed. Toby had badgered their father until suddenly the impossible had become possible. He was a good brother. She felt a sudden pang of grief for everything they’d lost.
‘What did you get it for?’
‘A female nude. Not very good.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘No, no,
really
not very good. I only won because Tonks was the judge and the anatomy was spot on.’
‘So this course is helping?’
‘Well, I’m not sure it is, actually. My nudes used to look like blancmanges, now they look like prizefighters.’
As she chattered on, she was watching him intently, alert to every catch in his breath.
‘Where’ve you got to in the dissection?’ he asked.
‘The face. And I’m not sure I can face it.’ She winced. ‘Sorry, not intended.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘The face is the person, I suppose. Cutting into that, it’s … I don’t know. Different. I keep thinking about Daft Jamie, which is …’
‘Daft?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so. How did that dreadful man get away with it?’
‘Hare?’
‘No, Knox.’
‘He didn’t, I don’t think he ever practised medicine again.’
‘He didn’t die though, did he?’
‘No, but it might have felt like it – to him.’
Toby was breathing more easily now and some of his colour had returned.
‘The other girls call him George; the cadaver, I mean. One of them said she thought it was more respectful, to give him a name. I don’t know, I don’t see it like that. The fact is, he’s got a name. It’s just that we don’t know it.’
‘Ours was called Albert. It’s nearly always the royal family. Though I think one of the other tables called theirs Herbert. Asquith.’
She hoped he might stay for a while, perhaps even have something to eat, but as soon as he’d finished drinking the tea he was on his feet.
‘Can’t you stay? I’ve got some soup, I could –’
‘No, thanks all the same, but I need an early night. The first exam’s at nine …’
He touched her hand as he said goodbye, his fingertips as cold and slippery as a dead fish. He stood looking at her for a moment. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be all right.’
But the cold air tightened his chest and he was coughing again before he reached the bottom step.
Six
December was unusually cold and foggy even by the standards of London in winter. Day after day went by with no glimpse of the sun and it never became really light, not even at midday. Whenever someone came through the doors of the London Hospital, wisps and coils of sulphurous smoke followed them in. The air on the ground-floor corridors tasted metallic.
These mornings Elinor went straight to the cupboard where the heads were kept. By now, in this final stage of dissection, the face had become unrecognizable. She identified him only by the name tag clipped to his right ear. Not his name, of course – officially he had no name – but hers. At the start of each session she looked into the pallid eyes, still in place inside the dissected
Again, a spasm of coughing cut off his breath.
‘Does Mother know you’re like this?’
‘No – and you’re not to tell her either.’
The room warmed up quickly; by the time she’d made the tea he was starting to breathe more easily. But he was sweating heavily, and when he took the cup from her his fingers felt clammy. He wouldn’t look at her.
‘There’s no reason to go putting the wind up people. It’s just a cold, everybody’s got it.’
‘Hmm. Have they all got it as bad as you?’
He shook his head. There was nothing to be gained by nagging him; he’d made up his mind. She sat in the other armchair. ‘Oh, one bit of good news: I’ve won a prize.’
‘That’s wonderful. Oh, I am so pleased.’
He was genuinely, unaffectedly delighted for her. Of course he’d been the one who’d fought for her to go to the Slade in the first place, when her mother and Rachel had been so resolutely opposed. Toby had badgered their father until suddenly the impossible had become possible. He was a good brother. She felt a sudden pang of grief for everything they’d lost.
‘What did you get it for?’
‘A female nude. Not very good.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘No, no,
really
not very good. I only won because Tonks was the judge and the anatomy was spot on.’
‘So this course is helping?’
‘Well, I’m not sure it is, actually. My nudes used to look like blancmanges, now they look like prizefighters.’
As she chattered on, she was watching him intently, alert to every catch in his breath.
‘Where’ve you got to in the dissection?’ he asked.
‘The face. And I’m not sure I can face it.’ She winced. ‘Sorry, not intended.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘The face is the person, I suppose. Cutting into that, it’s … I don’t know. Different. I keep thinking about Daft Jamie, which is …’
‘Daft?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so. How did that dreadful man get away with it?’
‘Hare?’
‘No, Knox.’
‘He didn’t, I don’t think he ever practised medicine again.’
‘He didn’t die though, did he?’
‘No, but it might have felt like it – to him.’
Toby was breathing more easily now and some of his colour had returned.
‘The other girls call him George; the cadaver, I mean. One of them said she thought it was more respectful, to give him a name. I don’t know, I don’t see it like that. The fact is, he’s got a name. It’s just that we don’t know it.’
‘Ours was called Albert. It’s nearly always the royal family. Though I think one of the other tables called theirs Herbert. Asquith.’
She hoped he might stay for a while, perhaps even have something to eat, but as soon as he’d finished drinking the tea he was on his feet.
‘Can’t you stay? I’ve got some soup, I could –’
‘No, thanks all the same, but I need an early night. The first exam’s at nine …’
He touched her hand as he said goodbye, his fingertips as cold and slippery as a dead fish. He stood looking at her for a moment. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be all right.’
But the cold air tightened his chest and he was coughing again before he reached the bottom step.
Six
December was unusually cold and foggy even by the standards of London in winter. Day after day went by with no glimpse of the sun and it never became really light, not even at midday. Whenever someone came through the doors of the London Hospital, wisps and coils of sulphurous smoke followed them in. The air on the ground-floor corridors tasted metallic.
These mornings Elinor went straight to the cupboard where the heads were kept. By now, in this final stage of dissection, the face had become unrecognizable. She identified him only by the name tag clipped to his right ear. Not his name, of course – officially he had no name – but hers. At the start of each session she looked into the pallid eyes, still in place inside the dissected
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