Jack had to hold onto the street railings as he retched. Bent double he spat out a mouthful of bile. ‘God, never again,’ he muttered to himself, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Groaning, he left the darkened street and wandered into a park. He was close to home but thought better of greeting his parents in such a state. Better, he thought, to try to sober up. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he found a bench and plonked himself down. It’d been a cold day and now, almost eleven, it had turned freezing, the grass stiff with ice. He heard a group of men passing on the street, the other side of the bushes behind him, laughing and talking gibberish. More revellers from the pub.
He’d gone to the pub with a couple of older friends to celebrate their joining the army. Apart from the occasional beer offered by his father, Jack was unaccustomed to drinking, certainly in this quantity. In the shadow of the pub’s Christmas tree, he’d played the piano and sung some old music hall favourites and a couple of carols, to the amusement of all. He could play well but his singing, by his own admission, left much to be desired. He may have been the youngest there but Jack could never pass up the opportunity to entertain – especially when a piano was available.
One pint had turned into two; two into three and more. He knew he was drinking too much but it seemed churlish to deny his friends their celebration – they were both deeply excited by the prospect of leaving their mundane jobs behind, donning the uniform and finding adventure in a foreign place. And why not, thought Jack, he felt excited for them. The minute he turned eighteen, he’d be down there at the recruiting station, signing his name on the dotted line. He’d heard of boys lying about their age in order to join up early but he couldn’t do that – it’d break his mother’s heart. Besides, she wouldn’t let him.
It’d been six months now since Guy had gone over to France. There were days when he missed him and others when he never thought of him; but nonetheless he was envious, as envious as he was of his friends who would soon be joining him on the other side of the Channel.
‘Mary,’ he said aloud. No sooner had he said her name than he was on his feet, deciding to strike straightaway before he lost the nerve. Mary and her sister and mother lived not far from his parents, only a few streets away but in a location decidedly less salubrious than his own. It was their close proximity to each other that first brought Mary to his brother’s attention. Well, Guy had buggered off, Mary was struggling to cope with her poorly mother and he, Jack, could extend the hand of friendship... or more.
He could see her front door. Could he do this? No, it wasn’t right. Fuck it; Guy’s loss could be his gain. All’s fair in love and war, as they say, and while Guy was at war, Mary needed love. Taking a deep breath of cold air, he marched up to the door, his shadow in front of him. He noticed a light on in the front room. Not allowing himself to consider the rights or wrongs, he stepped up and rapped on the door. A face appeared at the window, the curtain pushed aside. It was Josephine, Mary’s sister. Moments later she was at the door.
‘Jack, what brings –’ A darker version of her sister, tall, elegant, subtle green eyes; there seemed to be little family resemblance.
‘I was passing. Is Mary in?’ He realised he was speaking quickly, perhaps aggressively.
‘Yes, but isn’t it a bit late?’ Her hair was darker and wavier, her skin positively pink in comparison to her younger sister’s paleness.
‘She’s gone to bed?’
‘No, but...’ She spoke with a more pronounced Irish accent than her sister.
‘Let the poor boy in, Jo,’ said Mary from inside.
‘Hello, Mary.’ He realised he hadn’t been inside their house before. The living room, although large, felt small with its drab brown wallpaper and cluttered with so much furniture.
‘Jack, what a surprise.’ She was standing in the living room next to a leather sofa, her back to the bay window as if she was expecting him. The fire in the grate was down to its last embers, a Christmas tree sparkled with small lighted candles. On the wall a painting of Dublin, and on the mantelpiece, he noticed, a bust of Queen Victoria and a small silver cup with ornate handles with an inscription. He tried to read the inscription but, his head floating, found it too difficult to make out.
‘What’s the cup for?’ he asked.
‘Swimming.’
‘Oh. Very nice. I’ve been to the pub.’
‘I think I worked that out. Jo,’ she said, turning to her sister, ‘I reckon Jack could do with a coffee.’
‘Yes, please. Make it strong.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ she said affecting a curtsy, ‘coming right up.’
He waited until she’d gone to the kitchen before announcing to Mary his decision to join up as soon as he turned eighteen.
‘That’s good, Jack, but it comes as no surprise. I think I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.’
‘Would you, Mary?’ He approached her. ‘Be disappointed, I mean.’
‘Of course. It’s important...’
Jack lunged at her, his lips puckered. Mary sidestepped him, using the sofa as a shield. ‘Jack, please, what do you think...?’
‘Mary, don’t think bad of me but I think I – ’
‘No, don’t say it, whatever you’re about to say, I beg you – don’t.’
‘No, you have to listen to me – ’
‘And I think you forget yourself.’
‘Oh God.’ The absurdity of his gaucheness suddenly hit him. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, oh no. Forgive me.’
Regaining her composure, she forced a little laugh. ‘It’s OK. Just took me by surprise a little.’
‘No, it’s not OK. What an idiot, a bloody idiot. It’s just that... I’m so fond of you now but I shouldn’t have...’
‘It’s fine, Jack, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen, yes?’
‘Mary?’ Josephine was at the door, carrying a tray of cups and saucers. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Everything’s fine.’ The sisters looked at Jack who was staring out of the window through the gap in the curtain, sucking his knuckles.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Josephine quietly, placing the tray on a low table at the centre of the room, pushing aside a newspaper.
Mary nodded and mouthed a yes.
Josephine coughed. ‘I’ll get the coffee.’
‘What?’ said Jack, turning round. ‘Oh yes, thank you. I think I’d better get going actually.’
‘So quickly? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I have to go now.’
‘If you wish,’ said Mary. ‘I do have to get up early tomorrow morning for an early shift.’
‘The bakery?’
‘Yes, the bakery.’
‘Yes, OK. Yes. I’ll see myself out.’
‘But are you sure you won’t stay for a quick...’
But he’d gone. The sisters looked at each other, aghast, before breaking out in a fit of giggles.