by Clare Flynn
She paused, gave her head a little shake, then stepped across the narrow kitchen and took a raincoat down from a peg on the back of the door. ‘But there’s no need now.’
Before he could reply she had left the room. She hadn’t even said goodbye.
Grass was elated as they walked back to the garrison. Ethel had agreed to meet him in The Stag again. He had not even noticed that Jim had absented himself from the main party, reappearing from the kitchen only when he heard it breaking up. ‘I need a favour, Jimbo,’ he said.
‘Oh no. I’m not having that again. You want me to babysit her cousin. Well, it’s not on.’
‘Look, it’s only until Ethel can tell her mother we’re going steady. I need to get to know her mother a bit first. Need her to understand I’m trustworthy and with honourable intentions. Unless she’s with Joan, Mrs Underwood won’t let her go out in the evening.’
‘Can’t she find an excuse? Say she’s going round to Joan’s house and meet you instead? She is an adult, for Pete’s sake.’
‘Don’t be daft, she’s not the sort who’d lie to her mother. And anyway they all live in each other’s pockets. They’re a close family. She’d find out right away.’
‘That Joan is more than capable of looking out for herself. She’ll find someone else to talk to in the pub while you and Ethel are gazing into each other’s eyes. Or she could take herself off to the pictures.’
‘Come on, Jim! Please. It’s only once. I’ll talk to Ethel about telling her mother and then problem solved. But just this once. Do a mate a favour, eh? Joan's a good looking girl and she's clearly fallen for that Armstrong charm.’
Jim reached up and knocked Greg's cap off his head. 'Has she hell!' he said as his friend bent down to retrieve his cap.
'I'm serious. Ethel reckons Joan's got the hots for you, Jimbo.’
'What rot.'
‘You can't see it, can you? Half the women in Aldershot are swooning at your feet and you're oblivious. Not still pining over that girl back home?'
'There is no girl back home. Not any more. And you're wrong about Joan. She can't stand me.'
Greg shrugged and slapped an arm over his friend's shoulders. 'I'm not going to argue with you, but please do this for me, pal. Just this once.'
The two men made their way back to the barracks via what they intended to be a quick drink in a pub in the town centre. The room was smoky and crowded and Jim was about to suggest they head back to the base, when Greg proposed a game of darts. Before long they were caught up in the competitive rush, the cheers of the onlookers and the plentiful flow of best bitter. The bell for last orders rang and after downing another quick pint they staggered out of the pub with the rest of the crowd, mostly other Canadians.
After walking a few blocks, the full moon mitigating the worst of the blackout, they heard the sound of breaking glass, followed by raised voices and a commotion. They broke into a run and, rounding the corner, came upon a small group of Canadian soldiers brawling in front of a shop whose display windows were scattered in shards over the pavement and gutter. A middle-aged couple, the owners of the damaged store, a gentlemen’s outfitters, stood on the threshold in their dressing gowns, the man waving a stick in the air and shouting curses at the assailants. Jim and Greg exchanged a look before rushing into the fray to try to break up the fight. Greg wrestled one man to the ground, twisting his arms behind his back while Jim pinned another against the wall of a neighbouring shop.
‘Come on, guys. Calm down!’ Greg’s voice was raised.
As one of the brawlers got to his feet, Jim realised it was Walt. Leaving the man he had restrained, he turned to his brother. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Fighting in the street? Smashing shop windows? What will the folks say if they find out? That’s not how we were brought up to behave. You stupid brainless idiot.’
‘Going to tell them, are you? Going to rat on me?’
There was a screech of tyres and an army vehicle pulled up and three soldiers jumped down. One of them was Tip Howardson.
Taking advantage of the commotion, Walt and the other instigators ran off, leaving Jim and Greg standing in the piles of splintered glass outside the shop. Howardson and his companions bundled them into the back of the van, oblivious to the protests of the shopkeeper, who was trying to point out that these men had actually intervened to calm the situation.
Inside the canvas-covered truck, Howardson leered at Jim. ‘You’re finished, Armstrong. Brawling in the streets, damaging property, disturbing the peace.’ He pushed his face close to Jim’s and sniffed. ‘Drunk and disorderly too. Let’s see you wriggle out of this one.’
‘But, Cororal,’ said Grass. ‘Armstrong and I were trying to break up the fight. We’d only just arrived at the scene when you got there. Didn’t you hear what the shop owner said?’
‘I saw what my eyes told me, you despicable scum.’
‘What are you going to do with us?’ Jim’s voice was calm but his heart was thumping with adrenaline from the altercation and fear about what lay ahead.
‘You’ll spend the night in the clink then tomorrow you’ll be turned over to the mercy of the local magistrates. And I might add that the people of Aldershot are sick to death of this kind of drunken display. They’ll want to make an example of you, and so they should. You’ve disgraced your country and the regiment.’
Jim looked at Greg and rolled his eyes. There was no point in arguing with the corporal. Better to trust to the British legal system and hope that the truth would out.
After a long cold night in the cells, the two men were brought before the local magistrates the following day. Jim felt ashamed to be standing in the wooden dock of the courtroom, even though he knew he had nothing to be ashamed about.
Tip Howardson, as the non-commissioned officer who had made the arrest, was the first to make a statement, telling the bench that he had come upon the fracas while conducting a routine patrol of the city centre in an effort to prevent any disorderly conduct before it arose.
‘Your worships, on behalf of the 2nd Canadian army, I’d like to express my regrets at the behaviour of these two men. They have let down the army and their nation, and abused the hospitality of the people of Aldershot. We are fully supportive of anything your worships do to make an example of them. They deserve to feel the full weight of the law.’
The lead magistrate, a man with profuse mutton chop whiskers, waved a dismissive hand at him. ‘Thank you. We’ll bear that in mind. Is the owner of the vandalised premises here in court?’
The man from the previous night got to his feet.
‘You have sustained substantial damage to your establishment I understand?’
‘Yes. I heard this morning it’ll cost me upwards of six quid to mend the glass in that display window. My missus and I were up all night shifting the stock out of harm’s way so no one could pilfer it. Not to mention the loss of trade while the window’s boarded up. Those Canadians should be run out of town. They do more damage to this town than Hitler does. They’re supposed to be over here to fight the Germans not wage war on us.’
The magistrate waved his hand again and consulted his pocket watch. ‘I have received notification from the Canadian military authorities that they will put right any damage that you have incurred. Now I need you to tell us whether the individuals who were responsible for the damage are present here in this court.’ He nodded in the direction of the dock.
The shopkeeper looked at Jim and Greg. ‘No. I said to that chap over there last night that it weren’t them.’ He jerked his head in Howardson’s direction. ‘Told him those two lads were only trying to break the fight up. It were four other fellows who did it. They were all drunk. Came out of the Crown and Anchor and started arguing. Shouting and yelling at each other. They woke up the missus and me and I went downstairs with the poker. They were laying into each other like a pack of hyenas, then as I got to the door, one of them – looked a bit like that fellow over there but shorter.’ He point
ed at Jim. ‘He thumped one of the others so hard he sent him flying into the shop window. Completely shattered it. I’ll be picking bits of glass out of my display cabinets for months if you ask me.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose loudly. ‘But it weren’t either of them. I don’t know why he arrested them instead of going after the real culprits.’ He pointed a finger in Howardson’s direction.
Less than ten minutes later Jim and Greg were told they were free to go.
The afternoon of the day they were due to meet the cousins again, Jim was reading a book in the mess when Walt appeared in front of him. It was the first time he’d been near Jim since the night of the street fight. No apology for causing Jim’s wrongful arrest.
Jim lowered his head and focused on the book.
‘I’ve heard from home, Jim.’ Walt’s eyes were bright and his hand was shaking as he held a letter.
‘So?’
‘It’s from Alice.’
‘Can’t you see I’m trying to read? Leave me alone.’
‘I have to go home, Jim. I have to leave the army.’
Jim shrugged and looked around. ‘I’m not standing in your way.’
‘How do I get a discharge?’
‘You don’t. You signed up for the duration. Only way home is in a canvas bag.’
‘I can’t stay here. Everything’s changed. You have to help me. I’ve spoken to Tip and he says I need to speak to the CO. Will you talk to the CO for me? You’re good at explaining things. You always know the right words to say.’
Jim slammed his book shut and got to his feet. ‘Get lost, Walt. If you want to make a laughing stock of yourself, go and talk to Captain Bywater. Otherwise, shut up and forget about it. Either way you’re going nowhere. They told you that when you joined up.’ He started towards the door.
Walt grabbed Jim by the sleeve. ‘Wait, Jim, please. It’s Alice.’
Jim felt a cold stab of fear in the pit of his stomach. ‘What about Alice?’
‘She’s having a baby.’ Walt waved the letter in the air, his voice a mixture of pride and panic. ‘I have to get back to the farm.’
‘You should have thought about that possibility before you joined the army,’ Jim said, as the blood slowed in his veins.
‘Look, I know it’s hard for you, but I hope you can find it in you to be happy for us, Jim. Especially now that the baby is on the way. Isn’t it time we buried the hatchet? Come on. Please, Jim. Help me. You’ll be able to think of something that will convince them to let me go.’ Walt’s voice was a whine.
Jim shook his head. ‘Don’t look at me, Walt. You’re on your own.’ He left the room and went outside to get some air.
Leaning against the wall at the rear of the building, he realised he had been chewing the inside of his cheek and he tasted the metallic sourness of blood. His brother’s naivety was infuriating. Everything was simple to Walt. When he wanted something he reached out and took it, regardless of the consequences. Jim thought about Alice being pregnant. Having the child he had dreamed he would have with her one day. And now Walt was rubbing salt into the open wound of his pride.
The drinks that evening in The Stag were a welcome break for Jim after his encounter with his brother. Sitting in the Snug, Jim admitted to himself that Joan made him feel as though he was a bit daft. Slow even. He wasn’t used to the company of women apart from Alice and he’d known her for most of his life. Well, he thought he’d known her. He knew now he hadn’t.
Joan was completely unlike Alice, apart from being attractive on the eye. Alice had been uncomplicated, easy to be with. Joan unnerved him. Talking to her was like dancing on hot coals. He felt tongue-tied as virtually everything he said seemed ambiguous once it was out of his mouth and it felt as though she were taunting him, teasing him, like a cat with a mouse. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like her. Didn’t like the way she unsettled him. Didn’t like the way his eyes kept being drawn to her mouth. Didn’t like the way he wanted to kiss her again. She was dangerous and he should keep away.
He tried silence, hoping that, like the first evening, she would fill the void. He tried to remember what she had been talking about then but he was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t really listened to her. He’d allowed her to talk and interjected the odd ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘interesting’ or ‘really?’. There’d been a boy at school who nodded and said ‘interesting’ all the time so that he didn’t have to think about what to say next. Jim had noticed that everyone liked the boy because they failed to realise that he had little conversation to offer and they loved the constant affirmation that their own words were interesting. Jim, naturally shy, had tried the tactic himself the first time he went to summer camp and found it guaranteed acceptance by his peers. It hadn’t worked with Joan. She had seen through his insincerity, going along with it only for Ethel’s sake. Now he had no choice as she was no longer playing the game.
He took a deep breath and decided to ask about her fiancé. That would serve to draw the lines between them, remind her of her own commitment and reinforce to him that she was a No Go area.
‘Tell me about your fiancé.’
She shrugged. ‘He’s in Africa. Fighting in the desert.’
‘How long since he went away?’
‘Long enough.’ She lit a cigarette.
‘And have you known him long?’
She exhaled a plume of smoke. ‘Long enough. Is this a quiz game? How many questions? And do I get a prize?’
Jim leaned back in his chair, defeated. On the other side of the table, Greg and Ethel were gazing into each other’s eyes and he was stroking her hand. They were speaking barely above a whisper, lost in their own little universe. He turned back to see that Joan was watching him.
‘You’ve stopped,’ she said.
‘Stopped what?’
‘The quiz. Did you run out of questions?’
‘There was no point. You kept giving me the same answer.’
‘Maybe you need to find more interesting questions.’
He felt a rush of annoyance. ‘Maybe I need to find someone more interesting to answer them.’ As he said the words he wished he’d thought them and not spoken them out loud. But to his surprise Joan laughed.
‘Touché’
He smiled. ‘Sorry.’ Then added, ‘You speak French?’
Joan rolled her eyes. ‘No. I like sword fights and swashbuckling. Adventure films are rather my thing.’ She held out her arm as though brandishing a sword and said, ‘En garde!’ Then, sounding unsure of herself for the first time since he’d met her, she said, ‘There’s a new Errol Flynn on at the flicks. I don’t suppose you’d like to go?’
Before Jim could answer, Ethel overheard and said, ‘Did you hear that, Greg? Why don’t we all go? We could go tomorrow.’
‘I’m in,’ said Greg. ‘Come on, Sunny Jim. We can’t disappoint the ladies.’
And so it was that the following evening the four of them went together to see The Sea Hawk. Jim thought the claim “The greatest movie in all history” on the opening titles was likely to be something of an exaggeration. The cinema was crowded and their group of four needed to split up. Greg and Ethel sat together and Jim felt ill at ease as the usherette shone her torch to show him and Joan into a pair of seats towards the back. He remembered the last time he had sat in a picture house. He’d been alone then and he wished he were now. But as in Toronto, Jim soon lost himself in the film, completely absorbed by the action unfolding in front of him. It was only as the final credits rolled that he remembered he had been worried Joan might come on to him in the dark. He was both relieved and slightly disappointed that she hadn’t.
‘What did you think?’ he asked Joan as they came out of the foyer and stepped into the dark street. There was no sign of Greg and Ethel.
‘His best yet. The fight to the death with Lord Wolfingham was so well done. No one can do a sword fight like Errol Flynn. But it doesn’t feel right to see him kissing anyone other than Olivia de Havilland.’
‘I’m no expert. I’ve only been to the movies a couple of times. The nearest picture house was miles away from us and running a farm there’s never enough time.’
‘For a moment I thought you meant you were no expert at kissing. I was about to correct you. You made a pretty good stab at it the other night.’ She stepped in front of him so that he stumbled against her in the dark of the blackout. Her hands went up to the collar of his uniform and she pulled him towards her. Before he could think about what was happening, he found himself kissing her. Her lips were soft and he could smell the same perfume she had been wearing the previous Sunday even though she was now back in uniform. Jim pressed her up against the glass window in the recessed entry to a drapery store. Her hands were around his neck and his were around her waist. This time it was Jim who pulled back.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Don’t apologise. I started it.’ She fumbled in her coat pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Want one?’
He declined, but took her matches from her, lit one and cupping his hand around it offered it up to her. She took a long drag on the cigarette. Then, feeling ungallant at ending the kiss she had initiated, Jim turned towards her and held her face in his hands. ‘I didn’t want to stop then, but I don’t go around kissing women who are hooked up with a guy already. Particularly one who’s stuck out in the middle of the African desert risking his life for his country.’
She turned her head away from him, drew on the cigarette and then ground it out on the pavement. ‘Not supposed to be smoking in the blackout. Apparently the German planes can spot a lit ciggie from a couple of thousand feet.’ She started walking, her arm stretched out sideways to feel her way along the line of shops beside them.
Jim followed her, feeling helpless.
