‘Good morning, Joe.’ Anne’s sweet voice rang out behind him.
He panicked and dropped a book on top of the feather, crushing it and hiding it from view. He turned in a hurry, hoping she hadn’t noticed. Why had she snuck up on him? Did she put the white feather on his desk?
‘What’s wrong, Joe?’ she said. Wrinkles of worry marked her usually soft face. She put a hand on his arm. It felt warm.
‘Oh, nothing,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘Nothing at all.’
Being that close to her felt fantastic. She had an aura that warmed him, and he could smell the faint scent of her perfume. He realised how close he was and jumped back, banging into the table.
‘Ow.’ He looked to see if anyone else had seen his mistake. Still no one looked up from their desks. She chuckled, but the look of concern was still on her face.
‘Are you all right? You needn’t be so nervous, Joe.’ She reached out a hand and took hold of his. ‘There really isn’t any reason to be.’
He regarded her for a second, and she looked back. A worried frown crossed his brow. No, it couldn’t be, not her. She had understood when he told her about the article he had written, she had been on his side. As far as he could make out she cared for him, perhaps as much as he cared for her.
‘I’m sorry, Anne. You made me jump. I wasn’t expecting you. I was in a world of my own.’ He was lying and he hated lying to her, but he didn’t know what else to say. He hoped that she didn’t realise, but from the look on her face he couldn’t be sure. He suspected there was a hint of annoyance, but he was being paranoid again.
‘Why are you so anxious this morning, Joe? Are you sure nothing is wrong?’
It was almost as if she was pressing him to discuss the feather, leaning in closer, but how could she know? It couldn’t have been her. He didn’t like it, but he decided to bend the truth.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ he said as he sat down. ‘I’m just worried about my brother. Nothing for you to be concerned about.’
‘Your brother?’ Anne asked, tilting her head. It gave him the impression she was trying to reach inside his head and examine just what he was thinking. It was unsettling. ‘Is anything the matter with your brother?’ She sat at the next table.
‘Nothing’s the matter with him. Unless you mean his ability to run headlong into things without thinking first.’
He smiled at the thought, but Anne just stared back. ‘Then why are you concerned?’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘What has he done? Or, what is he going to do?’
‘Well, that’s exactly it. You didn’t ask at the time why it was that I was in the station that day.’
‘I had presumed that you were there writing a report or something of the sort. Newspaper business. I didn’t think it was much to do with me.’
‘Well, in a way you’re right, I was trying to write an article. I think it was quite good, but Mr Harlow didn’t send me down there. He didn’t even know I was there. He doesn’t really let me write copy, only edit. Well, it wasn’t the main reason I was there, it was more a lucky coincidence of my being there.’
‘Why were you there, then? Don’t tell me you were there to have a look at the brave young men in uniform as well?’ She smiled for the first time that morning, teasing him, and being self-deprecating. She knew full well the crime of such a thing.
He laughed. ‘I guess I don’t have quite the same tastes as you. I was there to see my brother. Or rather, to see him off.’
She nodded.
‘Not that he knew it. I was there to see him onto the train, to wherever it was they were sending him.’
‘He was one of the soldiers off to France? You didn’t see him?’ She had guessed where he was going.
‘Yes, but… I had thought about speaking to him, wishing him luck. Telling him to look after himself. I gave up. I was too much a coward to approach him.’ The word ‘coward’ made his stomach sink again.
‘Why were you too afraid to talk to your own brother?’
Joe swallowed what he was about to say and hesitated. The conversation had escalated out of his control. At first he had been shocked to find the feather, and then his weak cover-up had been exposed and diverted onto something altogether more embarrassing. Embarrassing wasn’t the right word. Why would he be embarrassed of his relationship with his brother? Ashamed? Perhaps, but that didn’t cover it either. It had been fractious for many a year. They were two very different people who just happened to be born to the same parents. They hadn’t shared much, other than a bedroom, since they were children. How could he make her understand that without appearing uncaring?
‘I don’t know,’ he said. It wasn’t what he had expected to say. She gave him an odd look. Was there pity in those pretty blue eyes? He hoped it wasn’t that. ‘We’ve never been close…’
‘Why not?’ She was now playing the role of counsellor. Had she read some Freud, or Jung? Sadly, he hadn’t read much of either man’s work. He usually read more political texts and novels. Could it be where she got her easy manner from, the slight incline of the head? Trying to put him at ease and get him to speak. What little he had read suggested that to be true, and it was working. Or was she being a good journalist, interviewing him and trying to get to his core thoughts?
He wasn’t sure it was thanks to their efforts, or whether he just wanted to talk to Anne, to tell her his innermost thoughts and feelings. It was her, he promised himself, not any kind of, what did they call it, psychoanalysis?
‘I don’t know,’ he said again, feeling stupid at his inability to form the ideas. Why could he always internalise things, but never vocalise them? Why was he so bad at speaking his mind, even with Anne, the one person that made him feel most at ease?
‘You keep on saying that,’ she said. ‘For a journalist, there’s a lot you don’t seem to know.’
The comment was scathing, and he felt more stupid than ever. However, after an awkward moment Anne smiled, then seeing his expression burst into a laugh.
‘I’m joking, Joe. You know I am, don’t look so serious. You are too easy to wind up.’
Joe had flashbacks to his time in the office with Frank. She had filled his place quite well. Even better, in fact. She was a lot more attractive than Frank. He smiled back at her and let out a laugh.
‘I’m sorry, Anne. It hasn’t been a good morning for me. I do need a bit of humour sometimes.’
‘But that’s one of the things I like about you, Joe,’ she said. ‘Your passion. You don’t do things by half. Too many of the lads around here are happy to just get by. You’re not like them. You’re much more focused, I guess. Not to mention, you’re sweet. I’ve never seen one man care so much about anything before.’
He was flattered and fought the urge to blush. It was the first time that she had shown a real interest in him, and once again he was at a loss for words.
‘I wish I could make my friends as passionate about things as you.’ Her smile changed to a look of bored frustration as she stared into the middle distance. Only he would notice the change. She rarely mentioned her friends, except for that time she talked about why she was at the station. Perhaps that was what had had brought them to mind now. Regardless of the reason, he was thankful for the change of subject, for the distraction.
‘What do you mean?’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘Hmm? Oh, my friends? Well, they’re never dedicated to anything. Unless they’re trying to find men. It’s quite frustrating.’ She shook her head and smiled, but this time there was little humour in it. ‘And that’s the kind of thing that we’re trying to put an end to.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ he said.
‘We don’t exist just for men, you know,’ she said in a clipped manner.
He couldn’t think what he had done to make her angry.
‘I know you don’t,’ he said. ‘Who is suggesting that you are?’
‘Oh, not you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just a frustrating feeling that you
have no power. I was very lucky to get this job here, it means the world to me, and even then I feel like I only got it because I batted my eyelashes and Ed… I mean Mr Harlow fell in love with me.’
She stopped and covered her mouth.
‘Don’t tell him I said that, will you, Joe?’ It was her turn to blush. ‘I daren’t think what he would say.’
Joe laughed then, seeing her face, regretted it. It was curious how she could go from fierce and powerful in one moment, to frightened about what one might think in the next.
‘I wouldn’t. It’s none of my business how you got the job, as long as you’re good at it. That’s what’s important, most of all. And you are good at it.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, blushing. He liked her vulnerability, there was something endearing about it. Although, he had also got a rush when she had been talking so forcefully.
‘However, you still haven’t explained what you were talking about just now,’ he said, thinking that the conversation might bring her back out of her shell.
‘Oh, well, isn’t it obvious? I want the vote.’
Joe wondered why he hadn’t seen it all along. ‘You’re a suffragette?’ he asked.
‘Yes. It’s not our term, but yes. Definitely. The bloody newspapers can call us what they like, but we just want choice. Oops.’
Joe laughed. ‘Go on,’ he said, smiling, trying to reassure her. ‘I want to know.’
‘Yes, well getting work here was the first step of trying to force myself into a better life, away from relying on a man for my income. I also want the vote, and I’ve been trying to encourage my friends to help with the protests. As I’ve said before, they’re quite useless.’
‘I would say I know how you feel, but I don’t, being a man and all. But I tell you this, I will do everything in my power to help you… if you’d like.’
‘You’re kind, Joe.’ She brushed the back of his hand. ‘I don’t need the help of a man, that’s rather the point. Besides, I’m not sure what you could do to help, but I appreciate the gesture.’
‘How about this then? I would like to get to know you better.’ He wasn’t sure where his sudden confidence had come from. Perhaps it was the idea that they had shared values, or perhaps he was drunk on her beauty and intelligence. It didn’t matter why. For once, he was proud of himself. ‘I know you don’t need a man, or perhaps want one, but perhaps some company? Would you, at some point, permit me to take you to the picture house, or even just go for a walk?’ He had put his heart out there, and now he was waiting for her to stamp on it.
She hesitated. ‘I think I would like that, Joe,’ she said, a moment later. Then she noticed the clock that hung on the end wall of the office. ‘Is that the time?’ she said, standing up in a hurry and removing her hand from the top of Joe’s.
‘I have to be going,’ she said as she collected her things. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. We’ll have to talk about this another time. I have to meet the others, and I cannot be late.’ She grabbed her coat from the coat stand and threw it on, barely getting an arm in the sleeve.
‘I’m sorry,’ were the last words he heard her shout as she rushed out of the office. Just like that, she was gone. He had almost forgotten his worries, but in her absence they surfaced again. As he pulled over a pile of paper to start some work a book slid from the top and he saw the white feather. He knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on work. He idly played with the feather, noticing its soft touch. Perhaps that was why it had been chosen; soft, weak, cowardly.
It couldn’t have been Anne, he had to believe that. But, he realised now, he didn’t know her at all, no matter how much it felt like he did. She had yet to make any mention of the fact he should be fighting. Why would she just leave it here for him to find? It didn’t make sense.
It must have been one of the other women that had access to the office. There were a number of cleaners, and a couple of others who had replaced the men who had gone to fight. He was one of the few men left, and he would have to watch himself from now on.
Chapter 17
‘I miss home.’ George had to blow into his hands to get some warmth into them. The army hadn’t provided any gloves. He almost looked forward to drill, to warming up his muscles and forgetting the cold. The billet was cold through, the only things keeping it out were the small glass windows at intervals along the length of the wall. The walls were a stained brown wood. There were gaps the mice crawled through. Someone had got a hold of some cloves and stuffed them into an orange, giving the room a strong smell. If Sergeant Campbell found out then they would be in trouble, but for a few minutes at least they didn’t care.
George was lying on his side. He was so tired, but he couldn’t keep his eyes closed. His mind wandered, thinking of everything – of home and wondering what the girls were doing.
‘What d’you reckon we’ll wake up to tomorrow? Them saying the war’s over and telling us all to go home?’ someone asked from the gloom.
‘What a waste of time, I’d sure be annoyed,’ another said from across the hut.
‘I don’t think that’s how it works, Fred.’ Tom was sat on the bed opposite George, smoking a cigarette, the pale blue smoke clouding around his head like a halo. Until now he had been gazing off into the middle distance, enjoying the smoke. His knees were pulled up to his chest and he scowled across at the younger soldier, speaking with a voice of authority. ‘I doubt this war will be over by tomorrow. I don’t think the Germans are going to pack up and go home for Christmas. It’s serious, going by what the papers are saying.’
Fred dropped to the other side of his bed, kneeling on the floor and closing his eyes.
‘What’re you doing?’ George asked, from the other side of the hut.
At first Fred didn’t answer and George looked at Tom. He shrugged.
A few moments later Fred opened his eyes and in a small voice said, ‘Just making a wish.’
George almost laughed but was stopped by the serious look on Fred’s face.
‘What’re you doing making a wish for?’ he said.
‘It’s a family tradition. Every Christmas Eve we wish for something we want. It’s just something we do. I guess I miss them. It made me think of home.’
‘What did you wish for?’ Tom asked, feigning interest.
‘I can’t tell you. That’s not how it works.’ There was a slight upturn of a smile at the corners of his mouth, breaking through the seriousness.
‘Are you wishing for the end of the war? So you can go home?’ he asked.
‘No, definitely not!’ Fred replied, all trace of the smile gone. ‘I don’t want that. I want us to go to the front. I’m tired of waiting. Aren’t you?’
‘Definitely,’ George muttered.
‘To think they said it would all be over by now.’ Fred was in full flow, and George was unused to hearing him talk so much. ‘And we haven’t even left the bloody country yet.’
George grimaced. Fred had picked up bad habits from the Sergeant, swearing whenever the mood took him.
‘Oh, don’t be stupid, Fred.’ Tom had never quite taken to Fred. He thought the younger man would never make a soldier, that he didn’t have any kind of martial bearing. George disagreed, and so Tom humoured him. ‘That was all just newspaper talk. They always say things like that. You didn’t believe it, did you?’ He scoffed and took another drag of his cigarette.
‘No, I guess not. I was just saying I’m glad they were wrong. I want to do my bit.’
‘You will, Fred, you will.’
Fred beamed at that. Tom stood up and gave the smaller man a pat on the back, before walking out of the hut without a word. A minute later he came back with a bundle in his arms.
‘I asked the post master to hold this back for tomorrow,’ he said as he dumped a pile of parcels wrapped in brown paper onto his bed. He searched the room for something. The others were still in shock and confusion. Then Tom seemed to find what he was looking for. He vaulted over Fred’s bed. He grabbed Fred’s red fo
otball scarf, ignoring the protest, and wrapped it around his shoulders.
‘There, we go!’ Tom said, grinning at everyone. ‘Gather round, gather round, lads. Christmas has come early!’
‘Why’ve you got my scarf?’
‘It’s red and red is Christmas, right, Fred? The bishop back home always used to talk about wearing red at Christmas. Then he’d start handing out blessings. Don’t worry, I’m only borrowing it, you’ll get it back.’
The men from the other end of the hut crowded around Tom and his pile of parcels. They would do whatever he said. If he told them to jump off a cliff, George suspected they would. ‘Now, get comfortable, lads. Find a place to sit, go on, there’s plenty of room. Fred, budge up so Bill can get in next to you.’
‘What have you got there?’ one of the lads from the section said, slow on the uptake.
‘Just take a seat and all will be revealed!’ He flourished a parcel in one hand and held it up as if in mock surprise, then with a grin let it drop back on the bed and looked around the room at everyone assembled. They were like kids in a penny sweet shop, eager to see what Tom had to offer them, eyes wide and smiles large as they waited. ‘Now that you’re all here. I’ve got a surprise for you.’
There was a mock ‘ooh’ from the men and some of the others laughed.
‘These here—’ he pointed to the pile ‘—these are from the post master. I caught him this morning and offered him a hand.’
‘Oi, that one’s got my name on it, you thieving get!’
‘Quieten down, Arthur,’ George said. ‘No one’s been stealing, Tom will explain in a minute.’ He nodded at Tom, hoping that he would get on with it, but Tom was enjoying himself too much.
‘I offered to take the post for our section and I managed to convince him not to deliver it to you.’
‘What’d you do that for?’
‘So I could do this, you fool. It’s Christmas. I was going to wait and surprise everyone in the morning, but then I thought, “The Bloody Sergeant won’t let us have a Christmas. ”’ They’d started calling Campbell ‘The Bloody Sergeant’ behind his back, due to his excessive use of the word. ‘He’ll probably make us march all the way up the Great Stour and back before we even get something to eat. Probably all the way to the sea if he’s in a bad mood.’
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