Work Text:
If Pip had been less familiar with the city, he would have said London was fashioning itself to suit his mood. Though it was mid-July, the sky was a heavy grey and all morning, the weather had alternated between sticky drizzle and furious downpour. The people in the street below kept their heads down as they bustled past each other, umbrellas bumping and rain dripping down their coats. Pip was not so conceited however that he supposed any of this was for him. Just last week, when his mood had been rather like a pitifully sinking ship, the sky had been vibrant blue and everyone in London had become suddenly gregarious and vexingly joyful. Pip had sat at the window, just as he did now, feeling nothing but bitter resentment towards the sun and every person who had something to smile about.
Everything hurt and Pip let the sadness drown him. Estella had left him and when he thought of her with Drummle – that spider knitting her into his web– it ached, a deep unbearable ache. Magwitch had left him too, not by his own volition of course, but he was gone, before Pip had even got the chance to know him. Biddy and Joe too appeared to have taken leave of him: they had each other now and there would surely be a baby, a child to take the place Pip had once occupied in their life. And shortly Herbert would be leaving him too – permanently now, for business with Clarriker or for matrimony with Clara. All around Pip, the hands that had so long held him up were rapidly falling away, withdrawing into their own pockets or into the hands of others.
And who could blame them? After Joe had paid off his debts, after Herbert had returned, after Pip had made his last stumbling trip to Kent, he had slipped into an exhausted state of misery. He could not read – the words blurred together, the happy endings mocked him and any conflict set him too much on edge. He could not face the streets of London – those same streets that Magwitch had once walked, those streets he had wandered when he didn’t know who his benefactor was, when he’d believed Estella could still be his. He didn’t want to eat – when Herbert reliably guided him to the table at breakfast and dinner, his stomach would turn at the sight of the food and all he could imagine was Estella and Drummle sat down at Miss Havisham’s wedding feast, silently eating their meal as the speckle-legged spiders and black beetles crawled across their plates and their hands.
While Herbert went out to work, Pip sat listlessly at the window, his mood flickering between despondency, anger, bitterness and apathy. Sometimes he would pace the room. Often he could not even bring himself to do that. When Herbert returned however, Pip would rouse himself to ask his companion about his day and then he would sit besides him in silence, half listening as Herbert talked enough for both of them. Many times, Herbert had tried to interest Pip in going to the theatre or for an evening walk. He’d tried to take Pip on a trip to Hammersmith, he’d encouraged him to visit Joe and Biddy, he’d read aloud to him until he’d realised Pip was hardly listening. Other times, he would simply sit beside his friend with an arm round his shoulders and Pip would hide his face against his companion’s neck. Those were Pip’s favourite moments, moments when he didn’t have to think or feel too deeply.
Now though, it seemed that even Herbert had reached the end of his remarkable patience. That morning, he had suggested that they brave the rain and take a trip to see the latest diorama in Regent’s Park. It featured an enormous representation of a volcanic eruption and Herbert was rather excited to see it, having overheard another clerk discussing it over lunch. Pip had looked down at his untouched toast and his rapidly cooling tea and asked why Herbert didn’t see if Clara wished to go with him instead – surely, she was better company. Herbert had informed him that Clara was with another friend and anyhow, he rather wished for Pip to be there. Pip had shaken his head, insisting that he was not up for the outing and that he would only tarnish the day with his low mood.
Usually, Herbert would have left it there, but that morning, he had persisted, espousing the wonders of the diorama, the benefits of a change of scene and even the apparent thrill of walking in the rain. When Pip could bear it no longer, he had snapped that he did not want to see the diorama and that there was no use going on. He had expected Herbert to fall quiet, finish his breakfast and then for the pair of them to settle into the routine their weekends had recently adopted – sitting before the unlit fire, Herbert reading and occasionally explaining the content of his book to Pip. He was rather surprised then, when Herbert had clanked down his coffee cup, shot up from the table and declared that he would see the diorama by himself. He’d left the stunned Pip at the table to hurriedly get himself ready and then he’d left without saying goodbye and without picking up an umbrella.
In the moment, Pip could hardly process what had happened. Now, he felt the sharp pangs of guilt and regret. Their unfinished breakfast still sat on the table; the undrunk coffee stood icy in the cups. Pip suffered a painful image of Herbert arriving at the diorama, dripping wet and cold having walked an hour in the rain and getting turned away for being in such a state. He would have to walk back in the same rain and by the time he reached their chambers, he would be ill. He would lie in bed for several days and then the doctor would declare that there was no hope. Herbert would die and Pip would have killed him. Alternatively, he might not come back at all. He would trudge his way to Hammersmith to see his father or he would go to Limehouse and wait at Clara’s house until she returned.
Either way, Pip had quite lost him. He certainly wouldn’t bother spending his evenings sitting in silence with his wretched companion any longer. He wouldn’t put off his engagement to take care of his deplorable friend. He would move out, move on and there would be no one to ensure that Pip ate or slept, no one to encourage him to go out, no one to offer him a cheerful word. Pip would wither away, the clocks stopped, his clothes growing threadbare, the uneaten breakfast decomposing on the table, the chambers disappearing between layers of cobwebs and dust.
Herbert would not do that – he would not abandon him completely. Herbert was too good for that, and perhaps that stung more, because Pip certainly didn’t deserve such kindness. Nonetheless, Herbert would begin to pull away, extracting himself delicately from Pip’s life. He would organise for someone to bring Pip food. He would continue to employ the woman who cleaned their chambers. He would visit once, maybe twice a week. But there would be a distance. Clara would be the one to have his arm round her shoulders in the evening. He would read to Clara and they would go on country walks together. He would tell her about his day and she would listen attentively; she would have something to say about her own. Clara would love Herbert deeply and they were both such wonderful people that they deserved such love between them.
Still, it was almost unbearable to imagine London life without Herbert by his side, without Herbert there in the mornings and evenings. His companion had been there from the start, gently teaching him the peculiarities and intricacies of his new station in life. He’d stayed up late with Pip, talking and laughing about nothing, he’d offered advice, listened to his woes, he’d adjusted his neckcloth when it would not go right. He’d assisted Pip with Magwitch, he’d rescued him from Orlick, he’d tended to his wounds. Once, he’d even let Pip sleep besides him when sleeping alone was too distressing. Now, he had come back from far more exciting opportunities to languish in his wretched companion’s misery.
Pip stared down at the street below, then back into the place that had once seemed like a home. Now it felt cleaved out and haunted, as if Herbert had already left and Pip had died. A shudder went through him and he made the effort to get up and venture into his friend’s room, to reassure himself that he had not disappeared entirely from his life. Everything was still in place – clothes still in the wardrobe, a book left open on the top of the drawers, even the flowered dressing-gown – the one that matched Pip’s own, the one that Herbert hadn’t really been able to afford – even that was still there, flung carelessly on the bed. Pip sunk down besides it and gathered it towards him, breathing in the familiar smell of Herbert, holding it close as if it was his friend himself.
He stayed clutching the dressing grown until he felt quite ridiculous and had to hurriedly leave the room. On re-entering the parlour, he was once again faced with the desolate breakfast things. For one reason or another, no one had been in to clear them away and Pip could stand them no longer. He poured the tea and coffee away and settled on taking the unfinished toast to the grubby children who sometimes loitered outside the Temple. They snatched it from him with suspicious eyes and it only occurred to him when he was back inside that offering half-eaten bread to those who had nothing may have looked very condescending, especially coming from a man who was still dressed in his morning coat and slippers.
With that, he decided to get dressed. He combed his hair, checked his appearance in the mirror, noting his pallid skin and made a pledge to himself that he would begin to take at least a short walk every day, no matter how hard it felt. He didn’t check the time, but decided it must be time for tea and if it wasn’t, then there was no one there to witness his transgression. He settled himself in an armchair with his cup and took a sip. That was better. This was better. When Herbert returned, he would be cheered to see Pip looking better. When Herbert returned, Pip would even propose they step out for their dinner. When Herbert returned – but what if Herbert didn’t return? What if he stayed away at his father’s? What if he went to Clara’s and sent someone for his belongings? The tea soured in Pip’s mouth.
He had never truly considered the possibility of Herbert actually leaving him, not even when he’d secured him the place with Clarriker, not when he’d first mentioned he may need to spend time abroad. Estella was walking away from him right from the day they’d met. Losing her still ached in a brutal way but if Pip was being completely honest, it was hardly surprising. Magwitch’s death continued to strike him with sadness and anger, the injustice deep and painful. But the pair had always intended to part, perhaps even permanently. As for Biddy and Joe, they weren’t lost. He could reply to their letters, he could visit them, he could keep his place in their life. They would not forsake him, even in their own happiness. Moreover, Pip had lived outside of their world for a long time now. But Herbert? Pip had never supposed they would part – not even when Herbert talked of marrying Clara, not when Pip thought of marrying Estella. For some reason, Herbert, in all situations, was still there by his side.
Now he considered it, it was an impossible, impractical idea. What had he expected? That he would marry Estella and have Herbert move into a room in their house? Or that Herbert would marry Clara and invite Pip to live with them? Or perhaps they would marry their respective women and all live together. Pip encountered a ghastly image of them all living at Satis House, Miss Havisham’s ghost watching their every move as they drank their tea at the wedding feast table, Herbert wincing out a smile to keep the atmosphere light, Clara putting in the occasional word, Estella looking disdainfully on and Pip hoping the dankness of the room would consume him whole. It was too awful. It was ridiculous. And yet, not having Herbert there was a truly wretched possibility.
Pip set down his tea and sunk his head into his hands. He pictured himself shamefully returning to the old place, instead of remaining in the city and taking the position as a clerk for Clarriker that Herbert had been suggesting to him sporadically over the last few weeks. He would clumsily take up his position at Joe’s side, muttering the words to Old Clem as he dreamed of the city, the theatre, The Temple and flowered dressing-gowns. He would be cumbersome and out of practise and under everyone’s feet. Perhaps, if he was lucky, Biddy would let him teach at her school. Then, in the evenings, he would return to the cramped bedroom of his youth and his greatest pleasure would be walking across the marshes to the churchyard on Sundays. Biddy and Joe would do their best to make him happy and he would love them for it but, wretched as he was, he was sure to become a blight on their life. In Kent, there would be no chance of catching a glimpse of Estella. There would be no rowing with Startop or conversations with Clara. There would be no visits to the Wemmicks at Walworth, no run ins with Jaggers, no trips to the chaotic Pocket household. There would be no evening conversations with Herbert; there would be no cheerful breakfasts together, no one to link their arm through his and pace across the room in times of distress.
Just as Pip felt the first sting of tears in his eyes, there came the sound of a familiar step on the stairs. He peeled his hands away from his face and took out his handkerchief to tidy himself up, just managing to put it away again before Herbert pushed open the door. He looked rather worse for wear, his coat waterlogged, his hat crooked and water running down the tip of his nose. Under one arm, he held a pottle of strawberries.
‘I beg your pardon, my dear Handel, for bringing in the damp,’ he said, looking sheepishly at his shoes, ‘but, given the circumstances, I rather thought you might like a little fruit, and though it was a little out of the way, I went to Covent Garden Market, to get it good.'
Pip was very close to forgetting propriety and flinging himself into his friend’s arms, but he settled instead for taking the strawberries and placing them down on the table.
‘Herbert,’ he said, ‘that was terribly kind of you but I do wish you hadn’t walked so far in the rain. You might have caught cold – or worse, your death.’
Herbert reached out to take Pip’s hand in his own cold one. ‘I am sorry to have worried you, my dear, but – in my haste – to depart this morning, I rather foolishly left my umbrella behind and in my stubbornness, I quite refused to go back for it. I must have looked a sight when I arrived at the diorama for I received some rather curious looks.’
‘You made it to the diorama then?’
‘I did. It was rather wonderful and I do so wish you had been there, Handel,’ Herbert squeezed Pip’s hand and smiled sadly at him.
‘I’m sorry, Herbert. I’ve been wretched.’
‘No, my dear boy. It was I who was rather reprehensible when I took off this morning!’
‘You, reprehensible, Herbert? No! You could never –’
‘But Handel, you have had a terrible time and I left you –’
‘But Herbert, I have been dreadful to you.’
‘No, my dear, you have not.’
‘I have rather.’
‘Well, perhaps a little.’
Pip looked down, guilt crawling up his spine, but Herbert squeezed his hand again and smiled gently.
‘As I say, only a little. And let us agree that I too was unpleasant.’
‘No –’
‘Yes, Handel. Now, I must go and change my clothes or I shall catch cold, as you feared.’
Herbert retreated into his chambers and Pip felt strongly the loss of his presence. He stood awkwardly, considering each corner of the room in search of inspiration for a way to convey to Herbert just how much he meant to him. His eyes eventually fixed on the strawberries and their significance struck him. He was back in Barnard’s Inn, and there was Herbert coming up the stairs, out of breath, arms laden with fruit and desperately sorry for being late. There was the moment of recognition – the prowling boy! – the pale young gentleman! – and the subsequent laughter that broke away any awkwardness. There they were, sat at the table, a chaotic feast around them, boiled fowl in the bed, bread on the bookshelves, and Herbert bestowing the name Handel upon him. There, Herbert told him the story of Miss Havisham and Estella, gently prompting him not to put the knife in his mouth or the napkin in his tumbler. There, Pip looked at Herbert and decided he would never be successful.
So much had changed. A whole lifetime had been lived, lives had been lost, fortunes made and abandoned, marriages sealed, old places left. But there were still strawberries. When Herbert returned from his chambers, Pip did not hesitate. He flung his arms round his companion, burying his head in his shoulder and though Herbert stumbled slightly, he did not dither in returning the embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly round Pip, fingers rubbing soothing circles on his back. They stood like that for a long while until Herbert finally pulled back and took Pip’s face in his hands. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Pip’s forehead.
‘For what do I owe this pleasure?’ he said, smiling, his hands still on Pip’s cheeks.
‘Only that you are my dearest friend –’
‘And you mine.’
‘– and though I quite deserved it, I feared that you had left me today.’
‘I would never.’
Pip tried to drop his eyes, but he could still feel Herbert’s tender gaze.
‘But – Clarriker –’
‘Never mind that.’
‘And Clara –’
‘Would understand.’
Pip frowned but Herbert let out an easy laugh.
‘I will explain, but not today. For now,’ he said, letting go of Pip’s face but quickly taking up his hand instead, ‘for now, let us enjoy these strawberries.’
He took the pottle of fruit under one arm and led Pip to sit down. They sat close together, and Herbert plucked up a strawberry and lifted it to Pip’s mouth. It was sweet and delicious, and it tasted of love and friendship and warmth. For the first time in a long time, Pip felt a smile pulling at his lips and he let it grow, only to be rewarded by Herbert breaking into a wide grin. Estella was still gone, Magwitch was still dead and Biddy and Joe’s letters remained unanswered. A heavy dread of loneliness still rested on Pip’s mind and a deep sense of inadequacy weighed on his chest. Outside, the rain still drizzled, but in their chambers, away from the world, the two men had burst out laughing, Herbert’s hand curling round Pip’s shoulder and Pip’s hand darting out to stop the strawberries from spilling across the floor.