Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro [46]
“Yeah, and he really respects you. I know because he’s often talked about it. How you’ve got guts and how you always do what you say you’re going to do. He told me once if he was in a corner, he’d rather have you backing him than any of the boys.” She did a quick laugh. “Now you’ve got to admit, that’s a real compliment. So you see, it’s got to be you to our rescue. Tommy and I were made for each other and he’ll listen to you. You’ll do it for us, won’t you, Kathy?”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. Then I asked: “Ruth, are you serious about Tommy? I mean, if I do persuade him, and you get back together, you won’t hurt him again?”
Ruth gave an impatient sigh. “Of course I’m serious. We’re adults now. Soon we’ll be leaving Hailsham. It’s not a game any more.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to him. Like you say, we’ll be leaving here soon. We can’t afford to waste time.”
After that, I remember us sitting on those beds, talking for some time. Ruth wanted to go over everything again and again: how stupid he was being, why they were really suited to each other, how differently they’d do things next time round, how they’d keep much more private, how they’d have sex in better places at better times. We talked about it all and she wanted my advice on everything. Then at one point, I was looking out of the window towards the hills in the distance, when I was startled to feel Ruth, suddenly beside me, squeeze my shoulders.
“Kathy, I knew we could depend on you,” she said. “Tommy’s right. You’re just the person to have when you’re in a corner.”
WHAT WITH ONE THING AND ANOTHER, I didn’t get a chance to talk to Tommy for the next few days. Then one lunch-time I spotted him on the edge of the South Playing Field practising with his football. He’d been having a kickabout earlier with two other boys, but now he was alone, juggling the ball about in the air. I went over and sat down on the grass behind him, putting my back against a fence post. This couldn’t have been long after that time I’d shown him Patricia C.’s calendar and he’d marched off, because I remember we weren’t sure how we stood with each other. He went on with his ball-juggling, scowling with concentration—knee, foot, head, foot—while I sat there picking away at clovers and gazing at the woods in the distance that we’d once been so frightened of. In the end I decided to break the deadlock and said:
“Tommy, let’s talk now. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
As soon as I said this, he let the ball roll away and came to sit down beside me. It was typical of Tommy that once he knew I was willing to talk, there was suddenly no trace left of any sulkiness; just a kind of grateful eagerness that reminded me of the way we were back in the Juniors when a guardian who’d been telling us off went back to being normal. He was panting a bit, and though I knew this was from the football, it added to his overall impression of eagerness. In other words, before we’d said anything, he’d already got my back up. Then when I said to him: “Tommy, I can tell. You haven’t been too happy lately,” he said: “What do you mean? I’m perfectly happy. I really am.” And he did a big beam, followed by this hearty laugh. That was what did it. Years later, when I saw a shadow of it every now and then, I’d just smile. But back then, it really used to get to me. If Tommy happened to say to you: “I’m really upset about it,” he’d have to put on a long, downcast face, then and there, to back up his words. I don’t mean he did this ironically. He actually thought he’d be more convincing. So now, to prove he was happy, here he was, trying to sparkle with bonhomie. As I say, there would come a time when I’d think this was sweet; but that summer all I could see was that it advertised what a child he still was, and how easily you could take advantage of him. I didn’t know much then about the world that awaited us beyond Hailsham, but I’d guessed we’d need all our wits about us, and when Tommy did anything like this, I felt something close to panic. Until that afternoon I’d always let it go—it always