Goodbye for Now

by M. J. Hollows

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ll take it up right away, Mrs…?’

  ‘My name isn’t important. You shan’t be here long enough to need it, if all is right.’

  She walked up the stairs. George stood for a minute, exasperated. He hoped she was right. Lifting his pack back onto his shoulders and grabbing his rifle, he followed the ageing woman up the stairs. He couldn’t work out why she was so hostile towards a man she had never met before. Perhaps she resented his presence in her house, but she must have volunteered as a billet for a solder? What was she expecting?

  ‘You’ll have my son’s room, here at the end of the corridor,’ she said as she led him along the upstairs hallway. It was narrow and his pack rubbed against the walls. No doubt she would complain about that too as soon as she noticed and he was careful not to leave any marks.

  ‘Here.’ She opened to door to a small bedroom with a single bed in front of a window. Clean white cotton sheets were wrapped around the mattress as if she were expecting a guest and not this soldier that she had scorned since arriving.

  ‘You can have his room. He’s in the East Surreys. Out in France, where you should be. If you were a proper soldier and not a terrier, that is.’

  Ah, he thought – there it was. She moved out of the way of the door so he could enter. She wasn’t resentful of having a soldier in her house, she was resentful because he wasn’t a regular. It wasn’t his fault which regiment he had been assigned to. Besides, they would all be going out to France sooner or later, or so he had been told. He hadn’t been a soldier before the war and he wasn’t as experienced as the regulars, but that didn’t make him any less of a soldier than the others. The thought made him angry and as she turned to leave he dumped his pack on the wooden flooring.

  ‘Don’t make yourself too much at home,’ she said and shut the door behind her.

  He stared at the closed door, fuming. He was thankful that it now separated her from him, or who knew what he might have said. Things were going to be difficult enough as they were without rising to her attempts to unsettle him. She was being unnecessarily cruel, but that was her problem; he was determined not to make it his.

  He sat down on the bed and tested the springs. At least the bed was comfortable. He pulled back the sheet to see what the bed was like and it was covered in only a thin woollen sheet. The springs poked through the mattress. In a way, it very much reminded him of his bed at home, but unlike his room at home there was only one bed. He didn’t have the decorations he so much adored. He looked out of the wood-framed window and the view was of the railway. As he looked an express train screamed past, rattling the window and dislodging small particles of plaster dust that fell on him. The smell of smoke that he had grown familiar with over the past twenty-four hours rushed into the gaps of the window. The candle on the bedside fluttered. He couldn’t ever imagine this being a home away from home.

  He watched in the direction the train had gone for some time, wondering where it was going, and if another one would come past. When it remained silent he turned back to the room and thought about what to do with himself.

  He heard a noise from downstairs and sat up on the bed, listening. The stairs creaked and the door handle started moving before opening. The intruder didn’t even knock.

  ‘Evening, George.’ Tom’s grin was a welcome sight. ‘Thought I would pop in and see how you were getting on.’ He rolled his eyes, then nodded towards the door, indicating the landlady was listening.

  ‘I’m fine, Tom. Just settling in.’ He was determined not to give the landlady anything to pull him up on, or give him any hassle about. He hoped his time here would go without any further incident and he would soon be on his way to France.

  Tom popped his head out of the door, then came back into the room with a satisfied look on his face.

  ‘I think she’s gone. We can talk properly now.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, with perhaps a touch too much venom. Tom didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Listen, George, I haven’t got long. She only let me in because she thinks I’m your CO.’ They both laughed, but tried to keep it quiet enough not to alert the landlady.

  ‘She’ll be up in a moment to send me on my way.’

  ‘How can she send you away? You’re my guest.’

  ‘It is her house, George. Be fair, she doesn’t want any more soldiers than is absolutely necessary treading her carpets into the floorboards.’

  At that second George thought he could hear the sound of floorboards creaking from outside the room and groaned openly. Tom took it to mean that he was sad that Tom had to go. He was, but that wasn’t why he had groaned. He had groaned at the thought of being left alone with the old landlady.

  ‘I’m staying in a house round the corner. There’s a family there and they’re not nearly as well off as this. It kinda reminds me of home, they don’t have much between them. They’re doing what they can to help me out, but I feel bad just being there, and I refused any offer of food. I had to get out of there for a bit to take the attention off me.’

  ‘I’m glad you did. I’ve not been here long, but it seems like I haven’t seen anyone in ages. Shame you have to go almost as soon as you got here though.’

  ‘Well, I thought I would come and wish you a Happy Birthday, George. There won’t be time tomorrow, while we’re on duty. And, well… you only turn nineteen once.’ He winked and George couldn’t help but laugh. Tom always knew how to make him feel better, and an inside joke always helped.

  ‘It’s a shame I have to be here on my birthday,’ he said.

  ‘Not really, George. At least you’ve got a roof over your head. Think about that. There’s lots of people that are worse off than us right now.’

  ‘That’s always true, I guess.’

  ‘See, there you are, starting to smile now. That uniform will see you right. We’ll be with the company tomorrow and you can forget about this place for a few hours while we do manoeuvres or whatever it is they have planned for us.’

  ‘Why are we here, Tom?’

  ‘I don’t know, George, I really don’t.’ He shrugged and lifted a hand to George’s shoulder, but thought better of it. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Sleep well.’

  And with that he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him and his footsteps receded down the stairs. George hadn’t been expecting that answer. Tom always had an answer for everything and could always put a positive spin on things.

  He wanted to talk to someone, but there was no one there. The landlady had made it abundantly clear that she would be no source of conversation. Not for a lowly ‘terrier’ like him. Besides, he didn’t know the woman. He was taking up her spare room. A spare room that he felt uncomfortable and alone in.

  He carefully unwrapped his puttees, putting them to one side, then undid his boots and put the puttees inside. He lay down on the bed without getting underneath the sheet. There was no real need to, it was warm enough, but at home he had always felt reassured by his sheet before he drifted off to sleep. That wouldn’t be the case here. This wasn’t his bed.

  He turned his head to the left and looked across to where Joe’s bed would be. He would never have thought it would have been possible to miss his brother, but he had never been alone like this before. Even if Joe had just been there reading to himself, at least George would have felt some kind of reassurance. He sat up on his arms and blew out the candle. Moonlight filtered in through the window.

  He closed his eyes to try and force himself to sleep, but he knew that it would be a long time coming.

  Chapter 14

  Joe entered the building as usual, said hello to Stephen at the front desk, who was still there for now, then carried on up the stairs. Joe was in a good mood. Mr Harlow had allowed him to write a few small articles. It wasn’t much, but there was hope, and things were moving forward.

  At his desk he had acquired a pile of notepads and stacks of paper. On top of them all was that latest article that he had suggested to Mr Harlow. The edi
tor hadn’t been happy about it when Joe had told him what he wanted to write – he had shouted at Joe in the confines of his office, saying that the paper wanted nothing to do with such unpatriotic behaviour, that their owners would be unhappy – and now Mr Harlow had read the draft of it.

  The draft was covered in Mr Harlow’s handwritten notes, composed of his thick, blocky handwriting. There were plenty of crossings out, including a big cross straight through the first two paragraphs. Joe guessed he should feel lucky it hadn’t just ended up in the bin.

  He shuffled them into a drawer before anyone could notice that they had been left there for him.

  He heard a noise behind him and turned.

  ‘Ow!’ a female voice said.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said to the woman.

  ‘You have a habit of bumping into people.’

  He looked up and recognised the face. It was the lady that had glanced at him in the station, as he had argued with Albert Barnes. She had a slightly round face, with pronounced cheeks, but she was incredibly pretty, and her eyes, the colour of which he couldn’t make out in the gloom, had the light of intelligence that was immediately endearing. They looked blue to him, blue like the winter – but not a cold blue, they had an unnatural warmth. Her long black hair framed her face and helped it fit in with the rest of her figure. She smiled through her perfect lips, exposing white teeth.

  Joe had to look away to make sure he didn’t stare.

  ‘Apparently, I do. I am sorry, truly.’

  He saw Mr Harlow coming and his heartbeat increased further. What did he want?

  ‘Ah, Miss Wallace,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve met our stalwart editor, Mr Abbott, already. Good of you to make your introductions, Joe.’ He winked at Joe in a way that Joe thought was obvious, but Mr Harlow thought was conspiratorial. Joe struggled not to blush.

  ‘How would you like to show Miss Wallace around, Joe?’

  ‘Anne,’ she said, still smiling.

  He surreptitiously pushed the pieces of paper into a corner of his desk with a hand behind his back, hoping that none of them would notice. The smoke from Mr Harlow’s cigar floated into his mouth and he coughed violently. His cheeks reddened.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘Which part of the building would you like to see first?’

  ‘Good man, Joe. Miss Walla… Anne.’ Mr Harlow smiled his sickly grin at Anne and flicked a dollop of ash over Joe’s desk without realising. ‘Anne is going to replace Albert. Not that anyone could replace him, of course. We all miss him round here, but the front called, eh, Joe?’ He locked eyes with Joe who merely stared back. ‘Dear Anne will be on a trial basis, of course. If we like her work, who knows? She might even be better than old Albert. After fighting the Hun he may have to fight for his job when he gets back.’ He laughed a huge wracking laugh that made his substantial chins wobble in delight. When the others didn’t join in he stopped.

  ‘Ah, well, um, that’s enough. Why don’t you show her around, Joe? There’s a good chap.’

  With that he left, the cloud of cigar smoke following him.

  Joe was unsure; he was no tour guide. What would anyone want to see?

  ‘Where would you like to start?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Anne said, thinking. He could see the intelligence in her eyes. ‘I’ve always wanted to see a real printing press. Let’s see where all these papers get made.’

  They walked through the rows of empty desks, the few occupants looking up at Joe and giving him a wry smile that he ignored. He wouldn’t be drawn into their game. He knew what they were thinking and he didn’t want to embarrass Anne. What would she think of him, if she caught him smiling back at them? To her credit, she said ‘hello’ to the others as they passed. It was met with mumbled replies. After they passed everyone, she spoke to him.

  ‘Do you mind me asking?’ Her sweet voice was a welcome relief to the thudded beating of his heart. ‘What happened at the station?’

  Joe tried to stifle his surprise.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I guess that it’s my natural inquisitiveness. My father always said I ask too many questions.’ With that she flashed a smile that made Joe immediately warm to her. It was self-deprecating in an obvious way.

  ‘Oh, that?’ he replied. ‘It was just a little disagreement. It looked worse than it was.’

  They carried on down the back staircase of the building towards the presses.

  Anne wasn’t convinced. ‘It didn’t look like a little disagreement,’ she said. ‘That other man had you cornered. If that guard hadn’t come along, I think he may have hurt you.’

  ‘I had no idea you saw so much. You were walking away when I saw you.’

  ‘What could we do? As young women, you’re told that if you ever see a fight to stay well clear.’

  ‘It wasn’t really a fight—’

  ‘I had to come back though, and make sure that you weren’t hurt. By that time the guard was there. I’m not sure what I would have done anyway, so I went to join my friends.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t seen that. It really was nothing.’

  It was a lie, and she knew it. He attempted a smile at her, and she was kind enough to smile back.

  ‘You still haven’t explained what it was about, or who that other man was,’ she said. For some reason he felt like he could be honest with her and it wouldn’t cause any problems. She was unlike anyone he had met before. Their conversation felt natural.

  ‘That was actually Albert Barnes.’

  She looked suitably shocked, and he stifled a laugh.

  ‘Exactly. The man that you are supposed to be replacing as he goes off to war. A more suitable fighter, I do not know of. He has the right temperament.’

  He laughed again, and this time she joined him. It was a lovely laugh, not too high and warm, the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh more and hope it would never end.

  ‘As you can imagine,’ he continued, ‘there are quite a few disagreements around here, particularly between the editors and writers. He didn’t like an article I edited. That’s all, but he rather took it to heart and threatened me.’

  ‘What can have been so bad for him to threaten you?’

  He stopped on the landing halfway down the flight of stairs. The brickwork of the building made Joe feel claustrophobic, but at least here they were unwatched and no one would hear what he had to say. He looked into her eyes.

  ‘You’re going to think badly of me,’ he said.

  He didn’t know why he said it. She had a way of opening him up that no one else had. With everyone else he was guarded, but to her he spoke his mind. Her eyes had a depth to them that threatened to engulf him, but he was happy to fall.

  ‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘I won’t, I promise.’

  ‘He had written an article about the war.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘No, there was more to it than that.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, most of it was wrong. He had no idea what he was talking about. It was all hearsay, none of it was checked.’ He breathed after letting it all out in a torrent. ‘He was saying all sorts of things, like the Germans are eating babies, and all kinds of other ridiculous things. I have no idea what he thought he was doing, but it was completely… wrong.’

  ‘Never let the truth get in the way of a good story, Joe… or of selling a newspaper.’

  He laughed, but it was half-hearted, a nervous reflex.

  ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,’ he said. ‘I hardly know you, but I want to tell you everything.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I promise I won’t write a story about you.’ She smiled. ‘I’m just curious. You seem nice, and that argument the other day didn’t seem nice at all. You’re… different. Most men treat me like a little girl. You are talking to me like… well, like an equal.’

  For a moment she was distracted, staring off into nothing. Though he had only just met her, the thought of Anne being upset hurt him too. Bu
t her sadness disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.

  ‘Surely that’s not enough for an argument? Did you confront him about it? I wouldn’t think it, speaking to you.’

  ‘Oh no, that wasn’t it. Not at all. No, it was somewhat worse than that. Well, you see, my job here is sub-editor. I’m responsible for reading through all the articles. I will have to read yours once you write them.

  ‘Mr Harlow doesn’t have time for reading all the articles, so he entrusts us to do that. We check spelling and grammar, that sort of thing, the usual stuff. But sometimes we have to make substantial edits.

  ‘This time I couldn’t let it pass through my desk, it was despicable.’

  ‘So you edited it?’

  ‘I edited it. Mr Harlow was busy that day, with all the news that was coming in about the war. He didn’t mind what we were up to, as long as something was making the presses. I started off crossing out the bits that I thought were wrong, but by the time I had done that, there wasn’t much in the way of article left. So, I had to add to it.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ She was right, but she was also shaking her head in sympathy ‘What did you add?’

  He didn’t really want to answer. The writings of the Labour Leader and other papers weren’t popular. However, it was about time something changed. He had already confided in her.

  ‘I borrowed some lines from a few socialists. Fenner Brockway and the like. Not much, just some choice words. They were ones that had evidence too, unlike Albert’s.’

  She looked stern, her lips pursed and brow furrowed. He feared that he had blown it, and she would never to speak to him. He turned and continued down the stairs to the first floor where the machinery was kept.

  ‘It was possibly a bad idea putting the article under someone else’s name,’ she said after a while. The rumble of the presses masked their voices from anyone else. ‘You’ll get in trouble at some point. Barnes must have taken affront to you changing his work. I guess it’s easy to understand that he’d be upset.’