“The next set of skin grafts is tomorrow.” Linda sat propped up in her bed. Her red hair had grown and she had it tied at the back. She’d taken the time to apply lipstick. She glanced at the ceiling.
Sharon thought, What do I say to her? “How many grafts will it take?”
“I don’t know. This could go on for months. Years, perhaps.” She took a long breath. “The nurse said I could go outside. I have to keep my legs covered. What do you think? Do you want to wheel me around East Grinstead for an hour or two?”
Five minutes later, after the nurse helped them find a wheelchair, Sharon was pushing Linda down the hall.
“Oi! You cheeky bastard!”
Sharon looked left through a doorway. She caught a glimpse of two young men sitting across from one another. One held cards fanned by a hand with stumps rather than fingers. A column of flesh joined his nose to his shoulder. The other had a nose, no ears, and a relief-map face of scar tissue.
She continued down the hall.
“Left,” Linda said.
They passed a keg propped on a table in the corner.
“Is that beer?” Sharon asked.
“That’s right. The rules around here are simple. You can do what you like, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else. That way!” Linda pointed.
Sharon backed out through the doorway and into the sunlight.
Linda closed her eyes. “That feels wonderful.”
“Where are we going?”
Linda pointed to the left. “The Guinea Pig Pub, of course.”
The pub was on a corner in amongst rows of houses and businesses.
Sharon stopped in front of a narrow doorway. “How will I get you through there?”
“Wait a minute.”
“For what?”
There was a tapping from inside the window.
The door opened.
One man was in RAF blue. He had neither eyebrows nor ears and was in the process of having his face rebuilt. The other wore an apron and had arms the size of hams. He leaned over. Linda wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her. “Park the chair against the wall,” he said to Sharon.
Sharon did as she was told. The scarred man held the door open to allow her to follow them into the pub. Her eyes smarted at the smoke.
Linda was sitting at a table with a group of young men dressed in a variety of styles, including white hospital gowns and an unofficial mismatch of blue RAF uniforms.
“What’s your poison?” asked the barman with the massive arms. “Call me Robert.”
“She’ll have what I’m having.” Linda raised a pint and winked at Sharon. “Come on, there’s a spot right here.” She pulled out the empty chair next to her.
Linda went around the table. “Willy, Ginger, Pat, and Richard.” Each of the men nodded or smiled as he was introduced.
Willy wore a patch over his eye. He was the only one of them who had a full head of hair. It hung to the right, leaving a bald patch over his left ear. He pointed at his eyepatch. “Lost my glass one. If you find it, please hand it over.”
“Of course.” The wig looks ridiculous, yet no one seems to notice, Sharon thought.
Robert put a pint in front of her. “One of Linda’s ATA friends, are you?”
“That’s right.” Sharon nodded.
“We hear you’ve got three Jerries to your credit,” Ginger said.
Sharon looked at Linda, who was smiling behind her pint. “We do some chatting in the pub. I was telling the truth, so don’t get all upset with me. It’s just pilot talk.”
Sharon shook her head and reached for her drink. As she lifted the glass, she thought, It got awfully quiet in here.
She looked over her glass and saw four and a half pairs of eyes on her. She tipped the glass and heard something clink at the bottom.
Willy smiled.
Sharon began to drink.
“Bottoms up!” Willy said.
“Cheers!” Ginger said.
Intuition provided Sharon with the most likely answer to their odd behaviour. She continued to drink deeply, slowing as she reached the bottom of the glass and hesitating for effect. She put her glass down, then reached inside her mouth.
“Find something?” Willy asked.
Sharon pulled out a glass orb, reached across the table, and dropped it into Willy’s glass. “Ever have a prairie oyster?”
Willy asked, “Prairie what?”
She reached over, lifted his eyepatch, and stared into his other good eye. She pulled the patch back and then let it snap back against Willy’s forehead.
“Ouch!” Willy rubbed his head.
Laughter erupted in the pub.
Sharon leaned back in her chair. The laughter ebbed. “When calves are branded in the spring, the young bulls are castrated. The testicles are kept and cooked with butter and onions in a frying pan. Quite tasty, actually. They’re called prairie oysters.”
Robert thumped Sharon on the back and put another pint in front of her. “Finally! Someone’s got the best of Willy!”
Linda winked at Sharon.
Ginger pounded the table with a fingerless hand.
Pat threw his head back and laughed some more.
Richard reached over and pulled Willy’s wig off. “Now you’re entirely exposed!”
An hour later, after Linda had been poured into the wheelchair, Sharon pushed from behind, using the chair for support.
“What are your intentions as far as Michael’s concerned?” Linda asked.
“What?” Where did that come from? He’s your brother, he’s handsome, and I don’t know how I feel when I’m around him. Although I do look forward to seeing him again.
“I’m the last person you should play coy with. I owe you my life — well, at least my legs. And you owe me the truth.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Michael’s absolutely gaga over you. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
Sharon stopped pushing and swung Linda around so they could talk face to face.
Linda leaned back and tried to focus on her friend.
Sharon went to say something, then began to think about what it felt like when Michael was nearby.
“You may be a hell of a pilot, but you’re a little thick when it comes to men.” Linda tried to put her hands on the wheels, but the brakes were on. “Where’s a mechanic when you need one?”