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Aldbourne, England - March 1944
“Where the fuck is Joe?” is the first thing Bill says to him when George walks into the mess, only somewhat worse for wear, on Sunday morning. Bill, of course, looks just fine, except for all the glaring. He’s got his thumbs hooked through his belt and he’s staring down at George like he’d better know, and he does, but that’s not the point.So he shrugs, and leans to dig through one pocket, and then, when Bill doesn’t stop glaring at him (which is just his face, really), makes a show of turning out the other. He twists his mouth. “Nope. You check yours?” he asks, leaning in to grab at Bill’s jacket like he’s gonna do it himself. Thinks better of it, because Bill’s jonesing about something and he’d rather not get his ear twisted.“Don’t irrigate me, Luz. I know youse was out at the bar last night. If he’s got a fuckin’ hangover-”“What, Toye? Oh, he got something better than a hangover,” Malarkey grins as he shoulders past, making for the table before Bill can collar him and ask what he means. George fights the urge to groan. He was really hoping not to have to think about this, at least until after whatever it is the army is calling breakfast today.Guarnere rounds his shoulders, because if he hates anything it’s missing out on gossip. “Anyone gonna tell me what the hell’s going on?” Bill’s tone says that anyone had better be George if he knows what’s good for him, and that’s great, just great, because he can think of nothing he’d rather do than go over it again.See, George could tell him, because he’d seen it all.“You first,” he tells Bill, because if he is going to tell him, and the rest of the mess, that Joe did what half of Easy have been angling for since they got here and went home with Cath from the Blue Boar last night, he needs to work out how to do it without causing a ruckus.Because Bill might be, well, Bill, but he’s got an odd sense of chivalry about some broads, probably graded on how much they remind him of his mother. Plus, Cath’s a sweetheart, lets them take over the bar every Saturday night when the officers aren’t there, and if Joe screws that up, Bill will kick him all the way back to Pennsylvania.He looks like he’s fixing to do it anyway, but he follows George to the mess stand and leans up against it while George helps himself to half-cold bacon and thin English bread. “Captain wants another exercise. This afternoon,” he says, once they’re sat down. Everyone in earshot starts groaning, because it’s fucking Sunday, but Bill ignores them. “So I gotta get all of youse into some kind of shape, and I need to know where the fuck Joe is. Now, Luz.”George chews his bacon, then, any annoyance at Sobel’s latest attempt at running manoeuvrers – and he’s not doing fucking Major Horton again, that’s played out – pushed down in favour of placating Bill. Bill, who’s continuing looking unimpressed. George sighs, swallows, and wiggles his eyebrows meaningfully.“What? He hooked up? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Bill sounds a mixture of jealous and long-suffering. Mostly the former. “He’s got some timing.”Ain’t that the truth.Joe’s sure got a talent for picking his moments, and last night, in spite of a hundred more sensible things he could’ve, should’ve been doing, a card game on the other side of the poky little bar-room practically calling his name, George had let himself be dragged to the front of the crowd and posted up at Joe Toye’s side, where some idiot part of him has convinced himself he belongs, and fuck anything to the contrary.Said idiot part of him likes being close to Joe, likes it more than he knows he should, given who they are, and God, he really needs a pass up to London soon, just to get his head on straight. Find some guy to take him up an alley and sort him out so he doesn’t just go where Joe pulls him, right to the head of the bar, and pretty Cath Sullivan with her fall of chestnut hair and too many glasses on the sticky tray in her hands.But there he’d been, close enough to hear Joe’s low, “Need some help, sweetheart?”, and to see the twin spots of pink get deeper on Cath’s cheeks, the slight snap in her voice. Not sharp enough to make it seem like she was going to refuse, though, when it came to it.Luz can’t blame her.God knows he’d be just as soft, if Joe Toye turned all that on him.Bill’s still talking.“If that fucker thinks I’m gonna cover for him he can goddamn well think again, you hear me? I ain’t getting’ KP because he decided to go chase some skirt, and I can tell you-”On George’s other side, Perco nudges him. “Pass the ketchup, yeah?” He’s determinedly ignoring Bill, even though he was in the bar too last night, and probably saw all of it.George passes the ketchup. Bill’s elbowing him now.“Listen, Luz, you know we ain’t s’posed to be goin’ with village girls anyhow, but if – morning, Lieutenant, sir.” Bill knuckles his forehead with impressive speed as the tall shadow of Lieutenant Winters falls across the table, and while the rest of them are following suit, he digs Luz in the ribs again, as if he were the one shooting his mouth off (which, yeah, is more likely than not usually, but he’s not on top form this morning), and kicks Don under the table.“Everything under control, Sergeant?” Winters asks, and he doesn’t look like he overheard anything, but George thinks he wouldn’t show it even if he had, because he’s that sort of officer.“Nothing doin’, sir.” Bill says, and because he is, at the end of the day, good at this shit, just like Winters is, George supposes, the Lieutenant nods.“Good.” He pauses, eyes tracking over them, but then Lieutenant Welsh shouts something from the Officer’s mess, and he nods again. “Good. North gate in two hours, yes?”There’s a collective yes Sir, and Winters, thank God, leaves.Bill rubs at his face despairingly with a napkin. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Will someone, anyone, go and dig Toye outta whatever pussy he’s buried in, before we all get-”“I’ll go. I’ll go get him, look, I’m going,” Luz says, swinging round onto his feet, because it may as well be him, at this point. He’ll regret it later, but when has that ever stopped him before?“Two fuckin’ hours, Luz!” Guarnere yells after him. “Better not be late and get us in shit or I’ll stick my boot up your ass and his!”“Yeah, yeah,” he says – but only once he’s far away enough for Bill not to follow through on that particular threat.~He’s halfway into Aldbourne before he realises that, while he may technically know where Joe is, he has no idea where the fuck that where is. Cath doesn’t exactly hand out her address over pints of bitter.Moron, he thinks, unsure if he means himself or Joe, and changes direction, making a beeline for the church and the last few exiting parishioners.“In a hurry, young man?” It’s Mrs Lacey, who (according to Skip) is in charge of something called the W.I. and therefore knows everyone’s business, who spots him first. She and the woman she’s talking to blink owlishly at him.“Morning, ma’am. I was looking for Cath? From the bar,” he adds, though he’s pretty sure they know who he means. They’re certainly frowning like they are.“Oh?” Mrs Lacey asks, and her companion clucks.They remind him of his Ma and her friends out on the stoop, only slightly better dressed, and he scrambles for a likely excuse. “Yeah I – think I left something at the counter last night, wanted to see if she’d picked it up?”It’s true, kinda, even if what he left was a grouchy Pennsylvanian with real nice dark eyes and arms like tree trunks. And he knows for a fact that Cath picked it up, but that’s besides the point. Mrs Lacey and the woman she’s with exchange a glance that could mean anything, and her companion points across the green.“Ivy Cottage. At the end of the row, turn left as you pass the butcher’s.”He thanks them over his shoulder, but he’s not in enough of a rush not to hear what they say next.“Well. I should think -”“Oh, Enid, really.”“It’s all very well, these Americans. To be sure they’re decent boys, most of them...”“Yes, and that one, no better than she should be-”He breathes out through his teeth. Ivy Cottage. Left past the butcher’s shop.He’s sure people would’ve found out anyway. Joe would’ve had to leave Cath’s place sometime, even without Sobel and his half baked exercises, on a damn Sunday. Someone would have seen him, and someone would have talked. Someone always does. Hell, someone probably saw them leaving the bar together last night.So why does he feel like he’s done Cath down, somehow? It’s the damnedest thing. He’s not jealous, not truly – only in a small, impersonal sort of way, an ache that never seems to let up. Which is ridiculous, really, because it’s not her fault, any more than it’s Joe’s fault, that George Luz can’t seem to stop wanting what he knows for certain he can’t have.The point is, Joe likes girls. Joe likes girls, he likes Cath, even if he’s not about to up and marry her or anything like the gossips in the village will surely already be talking about.Luz has never given it much thought, until now, crossing the green towards the row of stone houses. He supposes that Cath's exactly the kind of girl Joe would want to marry, even if most of the folks in Aldbourne seem to agree she's no better than she should be, whatever the hell that means. The English are weird.But Cath's nice, and funny, and sad in a way Luz isn't sure is specific to her or the Irish in general, he should probably ask Malarkey, because Joe would smack him if he asked him. Anyway, he could've guessed Joe would go for her, because he knows him, doesn't he, too well.He picks a sprig of fern from the hedgerow and twirls it between his fingers to the tune in his head. He hates being so fucking philosophical about this, like a dame in a railway pulp. He doesn't even have a cute little hat like they would.There's no point in being anything else, though. He and Joe are friends. It's a nice morning. He can, if he tries a little, see the funny side.He carries on past the butchers, humming low to himself. It’s not until he’s halfway down the street that he realises what the damn tune is, and wants to kick himself.Last night, when Malarkey had gotten his way and hoisted Cath up onto the bar, him and Skip shushing the room because Cath was gonna be sweet and sing them a song, a proper Irish tune, she'd blushed and insisted she couldn't really sing, but they weren't paratroopers for nothing, stubborn bastards all of them, and she’d given it up, held onto the wooden beam at the side of the bar and sang in her low voice, something about whiskey, but George hadn't really been listening.He'd been looking at Joe. And Joe, he was looking at Cath – not even really bothering to hide the hunger in his eyes, because why should he? He'd caught Luz's look though, and grinned, wide, nudged him. Almost shy.“Close your mouth, you look like Webster,” Luz had found himself saying, letting his own drop open in a pretty pitch perfect impression of their blue-eyed college boy. But Joe didn't look like that, not really. He looked like a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and how to get it.“Shut up,” he'd said, but only a bit gruffly, and then he'd smacked George's shoulder and elbowed his way through the crowd, towards Cath.Luz hadn't needed to watch, then. He had anyway, though, because he supposes he's a sucker for punishment. Which is what's led him here, to the house at the end of the row with the low grey wall and its sign, Ivy Cottage, which where George is from is something rich assholes call their summer homes, but here probably means something different.It’s pretty enough alright – ivy hanging down across the front, and little sash windows with flowerpots on the sills. Pansies, which, again, if he were Webster, he’d maybe find literary. There’s a blue front door, facing the curve of the road, and the polite thing to do would be to go and knock on that, and hope Cath answers, make some joke unconnected to last night or the man she’s had in her bed, because it’s gonna be fucking awkward enough as it is. But on his side of the road, there’s a back door half open already, and Luz is nothing if not expedient, so he hops the wall and raps the wood with his knuckles.No answer. Now he really should try the front door, only – well, this one’s open already, isn’t it? He knocks once more though, for luck.“Kitchen!” Someone calls out from inside, light like they’re expecting him.When he does step inside, it’s into a stone-flagged corridor with early morning sunlight dappling the walls. Three pairs of rubber rain boots – Wellingtons, the Brits call them Wellingtons, he thinks – are lined up by the far wall, one of them small enough for a kid.He doesn’t pay it much mind as he follows the direction of the voice into the next room, absently noting another pair of boots, paratrooper issue, kicked off by the inner door. Least he knows he’s got the right house, he supposes.The cottage is fucking tiny, so he shouldn’t be surprised when the next room turns out to be all there is left of it – couch to his left with its back to the front door, and a steep flight of stairs along the back wall. The kitchen’s on the other side, and behind the scrubbed white table a woman is pushing a broom around. A heavy iron furnace behind her is making a hell of a noise.“So sorry, Mrs Wingate, I meant to come along and get it after breakfast, it’s ever so good of you to-” She turns round as she’s speaking, and her grip tightens on the broom handle at the sight of him.“Good morning,” he says, to be polite. Brits don’t like hello.“It is, is it?” she says, very crisp, which George thinks is a little uncalled for. But he’s in her house, so he supposes it’s not up to him.While he’s trying to calculate whether a Lord Haw Haw impression would make this better or worse, actually, when he realises they’re not alone in the room. Call it a sixth sense hammered into him by nine younger siblings, or just the rubber boots, but he’s not overly surprised when a woolly haired kid crawls out from under the kitchen table, takes one look at him, and runs in a quick blur to hide behind the woman’s legs.“It’s alright, darling,” she says to the kid, though her expression as she looks George over says that its really anything but. “What can we do for you...Corporal?”He’s pretty sure she already knows, or she wouldn’t be looking so sour, but he puts his shoulders back and smiles, not too big, like the army would want him to. “I’m, uh – m’lookin for a buddy of mine.”“Oh?” Her mouth purses up a bit.“Yeah,” Luz continues, “think he might’ve spent the night with your- I mean, uh-” He cuts off, sharply, because she looks about an inch from going for the broom and smacking him with it if he says that in front of the kid, “That he might’ve stayed here. Last night.”He must sound embarrassed enough at least, because she clicks her tongue. “I expect you mean the Yank using up our hot water,” she says, arch. As if to prove her point, the pipes groan again and the furnace shudders – he’s pretty sure he could fix it, if he took a look, probably just a screw or two out of place, but he reckons he’s on thin ice anyway, so he doesn’t offer.She takes pity, though, and gently detaches herself from the kid, coming round the table and leaning to yell up the stairs. “Cath?”“Morning Evie!” he hears Cath call from upstairs, and her face briefly appears over the rails, a little flushed. “Sorry.”“Someone’s -” Evie throws a dark look at George, and he backs into the kitchen a little, though he doubts Cath could see him anyhow, “- here to collect his friend.”“Oh, gosh.” Cath’s face disappears again, and Luz takes a moment to wish he was anywhere else, or that he’d just told Bill and let him come and march upstairs to drag Joe back to camp.His boot collides with something as he leans back against the table, and when he looks down, he sees it’s a little metal plane. He bends down to grab it and comes face to face with the kid. He can’t be much older than George’s youngest sister, and right now, looks just the same as she does when she’s about to burst out crying. Shit.“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says, after turning the toy over in his hands to make sure it is, actually. “Here you go. Good as a new Thunderbolt.”The kid is still looking at him warily, but he reaches out and prods the plane with a small finger. “S’a Spitfire,” he says, very seriously, the first noise George has heard him make.“Yeah? Pretty cool,” he says, because kids are easy, kids he can deal with in his sleep, far better than chippy broads wielding brooms. He makes the plane do a couple of loops round the kid’s head, and while it doesn’t get him a laugh, he no longer looks like he’s gonna start bawling, which George is gonna count as a win.“Cath?” Evie’s still at the foot of the stairs when he looks up. “How-”“Five minutes?” Cath’s voice answers, apologetic and a little echoing. “Sorry.”“That’ll be twenty, then,” Evie says, more to herself than anything, but loud enough for Luz to hear and to leave him in no doubt that she considers this the fault of him, Joe, and the entire US Army Air-force, probably in that order. Turning back, she huffs a bit and holds her hand out to the kid. “Come along Liam, it’s past time for breakfast.”“Mummy?” the kid – Liam – says, looking towards the stairs, and it does take George a second, and damn, he’s usually quicker on the uptake.He means Cath.Well. Shit.~Once the kid has been sent to wash his hands, Evie levels a hard look at George across the kitchen table. “One word,” she says, “and I shall take great pleasure in throwing you out of the door.”George isn’t sure if she means about Cath, who he’s pretty sure isn’t any kind of married, or Liam’s skin colour, or both, but either way, he’s not gonna say shit about either, because it’s certainly none of his business. He mimes zipping across his lips, which gets him a haughty sigh, and she turns to start pulling things from the shelf above the sink.It’s oddly familiar, and remote at the same time, being in a damn kitchen – freshly cleaned tabletop, plates stacked to dry from the night before, and a pair of checked red and white curtains George’s Ma would like. He guesses it must be Cath who picked those out, because the girl across from him doesn't look like someone who gives much of a damn about interior decor.She's wearing a land army uniform, but it looks as if she's just thrown it on, short dark hair loose round her face, and as she lifts Liam up to sit him at the table, she’s looking across her shoulder at George like she's not sure still whether she should hit him with her broom.“I'm, uh. I'm Luz, by the way,” he says, taking the chair she hadn't exactly offered, but hadn't not offered either.“Mmm,” she says. Then, because she’s probably had manners trained into her at one of those fancy limey schools. “Evelyn.”“My buddy and I, we're with the 506th. Paratroopers.” This just gets him a tight press of her lips, so he turns and grins at the kid instead. “Know what a paratrooper is, Liam?”The kid screws up his face a bit, like he’s thinking, then says, “Parachute?”“Yeah, that's right,” Luz grins, “They hook us up with one’a those and then we gotta jump right out the door of the plane.” He taps the little metal spitfire where it’s sitting on the table.While the kid’s looking like he’s deciding whether or not to believe him or not, George turns back to Evie. She’s leant up against the stove, half watching him and Liam and half minding whatever she’s heating in the little black pot she’s stirring. The whistle of the kettle reminds him of his own half finished breakfast, and that he’s a fool who ought to have better sense than to run around after Joe Toye, but there probably isn’t much help for that.“Don’t got any coffee, do you?” he asks, because it’s something to say, and because he wouldn’t say no.Evelyn’s eyes widen, just a bit. “How on earth would we have coffee?”It'd be a fair enough question, only Luz is pretty sure that if this girl wanted coffee she'd get it, or at least that she could, rationing or not. She talks, and stands, like most of the Limey officers he's met, and he'd guess the silk scarf hanging from her pocket costs more than his Pa makes in six months.She tuts. “You can have tea. Sugar?”“Always.” He doesn't wink, but let it be known that he was tempted.“Evie,” Liam says, the slightly worried look from earlier back on his small face. “Uncle Danny…”“Yes, darling?” Evelyn says, and she even smiles a bit.“Is Uncle Danny gonna jump?” He lifts the toy spitfire in his hand, waving it in Luz’s direction.“Of course not,” Evie says, shooting George another quite fabulous scowl. “He’s not an idiot.”She’s not wrong there, he supposes. And if it’s not enough that George is the kind of idiot who signed up to fling himself out of a moving aircraft while a bunch of Krauts shoot at him, he’s also the idiot sitting here waiting for Joe to hurry the fuck up and get down here so they can go back to the very important business of watching Sobel get them lost in twenty feet of hedgerow.“Uncle Danny flies,” Liam informs him.“Yeah? He a pilot?” Fucking typical, if he was.“A gunner,” Evie says crisply. She’s not the fussing type, this one, but when George looks at her, he can see that she’s got one hand tucked into her pocket, and her thumb digging circles in the fabric. He waits.If she’s gonna ask him not to gossip about Cath, he thinks he should probably tell her that that particular ship has sailed, through no fault of his, really. Everyone in the bar last night would’ve seen how things were gonna go between her and Toye, and if the way people already talk about her around the village is any indication – and if the child sitting across from him chewing steadily on apple slices is, come to that – Cath Sullivan doesn’t have much of a reputation left for anyone to worry about.He’s not really keen to have that particular conversation, though, so he waits while Evie makes the tea, and works herself up to what she wants to say. It’s a surprise, though, when she brings the drinks over and perches herself on the chair at the corner of the table from where George is sitting.“Are you sure,” she begins in an undertone, then seems to pause to consider, “Well, what I mean is – Cath...goes dancing with an awful lot of people. Are you quite sure that your friend is the one…”He is – sure, that is, but he can’t help but remember the second, maybe third month they were in Aldbourne. Someone had asked Cath, perched at the bar, why she didn’t come to dances. She’d smiled up at whoever it was, Bill perhaps, and maybe George doesn’t know girls but he knows that look, he thinks. “All you Yanks are far too tall,” she’d said, light and teasing.George thinks he’s perhaps the only one who knew it was bullshit.He gets it, though, doesn’t he. Wouldn’t he throw away any kind of safety in a second, has done, will do, if Joe asked?Fuck, even if he didn’t.“Pretty sure,” he says. Evelyn clearly isn’t. “Hey, I can check, though.”And before his better sense can talk him out of it, he leans back in his chair and half yells, half sings up the stairs, “We fall upon the risers, we fall upon the grass, we never land upon out feet, we always hit our ass -”A second later, Joe’s own (terrible, he might be half gone for the guy but he can admit that, at least) carries down the stairs – “highty-highty Christ almighty, who the hell are we?”“Zim zam, goddamn, we’re airborne infantry,” Luz finishes. He lets his chair fall forward with a clatter and grins, hapless, at Evelyn. “Yeah, that’s him alright.”She turns in her chair, and he can hear her, under her breath, counting down from ten. Upstairs, he hears the low burr of Joe’s voice, and Cath answering him, laughing. He takes a swig of tea, burns his mouth a bit.Liam seems happy at least. “’Gain, again!” he says, jumping in his chair.“Oh, once is quite enough, I should think,” Evie says, “Eat your toast, lovely, and then you can have a biscuit.”George knows better than to ask if he can have one too. He occupies himself entertaining Liam while she gets up and moves things about on the worktop (he’s guessing Cath usually does the cooking, too).He thinks about what she said. Cath goes dancing with an awful lot of people. The kid’s proof enough of that, he supposes. He looks like Cath, when you bother to pay attention, even though he’s half-caste - the same big brown eyes, the worried crumple of his brow. He thinks of all the nights Easy’s spent at the bar, and the careful way Cath moves through the crowds of soldiers.It’s making him a little sad, so he digs through his pocket to find a penny, and makes it fly through the air and appear behind Liam’s ear, to general delight on their side of the table, and Evelyn only sighs a little bit, and glares at him for cursing when he nearly drops the penny.He feels half like he should apologise, but that's never been his strong suit. “You keep that, buddy,” he tells Liam, once the penny’s made another round and appeared from his nose this time. “Get your mama to buy you some candy, yeah?”“What d’you say to the corporal, Liam?” Evelyn says.“Thank you,” Liam says, and then looks at Evelyn. “Can I get down?”Evie lifts him out of the chair and sends him into the other side of the room, penny clutched in one hand and spitfire toy in the other.He opens his mouth to tell Evelyn that it’s just a penny, not a big deal or anything, but the look on her face stops him.“You’re very forward,” she says, and he’s not clear on what that's meant to imply, though he’s heard it enough since they marched off the Samaria that he’s pretty sure it's not a compliment.“Well, that is the trouble with us Yanks,” he says, grinning.“Oh, just that, of course,” Evie snorts a well-bred little laugh.He can’t think of a goddamn thing to say to that, so it’s probably a good thing that Cath comes clattering down the stairs a second later, a blur in a yellow dress.“Mummy, look!” Liam’s up and showing her the penny. “Luz gave it me.”“Did he, precious?” Cath swings the kid into her arms, kissing his cheek. George nods at her when she looks across at him, biting her lip. She’s flushed, just a bit, and her hair’s only half done, but she smiles when she sees him, only a little surprised. “Oh. Morning, Luz.”“Hey, Cath,” he grins back.See, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. He determinedly doesn’t look at the dark mark on her throat, and if Evelyn sees it, she does the same.“Time is it?” Cath asks, setting Liam down once she’s been told about the cocoa at Mrs Wingate's, and that Uncle Danny isn’t going to jump out the plane, Evie promised, and that Luz also said Liam could have candy, really.“Nearly noon,” Evie says. She puts her hand lightly on Cath’s shoulder, steadying her when she nearly trips on the flagged kitchen floor. “Don’t rush.”Cath’s chewing her lip still. “I’m sorry. I should have-”“It’s fine.”George isn’t altogether sure that it is, but he keeps quiet. Cath clicks her tongue against her teeth, looking up at Evie, big eyes. “Can you do me up?”“Turn round, then,” Evie sighs, long suffering, and Cath really must be in a rush, because the back of her dress is half unbuttoned still, peach slip showing. Evie sweeps Cath’s hair away over her shoulder, deceptively gentle for the frown on her face, and fixes the buttons while Cath keeps apologising.“Shh,” Evie tells her, and he gets the strangest feeling, like he’s intruding, which, given he’s already barged into their kitchen, seems a little late. Her hand closes around Cath’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright.”“We live in hope,” Cath says, tossing a rueful grin back at her. Evie clasps the last button, then pulls Cath’s hair back and twists it up, easy as. Cath looks at the clock, then hisses under her breath. “God, I really am late. Evie, you’re a darling!”She disappears briefly, coming back with one shoe on and the other in her hand. “I’ll be back soon, pet lamb,” she assures Liam as she bends to tug it on, “And we’ll go get you those sweets, yeah?”“Sherbets?” Liam asks, winsome. “Sherbets are the best,” he tells George, who nods seriously.“Sherbets you shall have,” Cath promises. She leans down and presses another kiss to Liam’s hair. “Love you.” Crossing round the table, she grabs her coat from the hook, then leans over to kiss Evie’s cheek. “Love you. Be back by three.” She’s in a real rush, and George thinks briefly she might kiss him too, on autopilot if nothing else, but she only waves distractedly.He mock salutes, like they do at the bar when she tells them it’s last orders, and she laughs a bit before she’s gone, just as fast as she came downstairs.Evelyn stands where Cath left her, and when Luz flicks his eyes back to her, it’s in time to see her press her hand briefly to her cheek, then give herself a slight shake. Huh.It clicks into his head as easy as anything, right then, and he feels like a dumbass for missing it before. He’s got a good eye, usually – but usually, it's other guys.She’s frowning at him across the table again. He should wipe whatever look she can see off of his face. Let it be. But when has he ever done that? He leans back in his chair, draining the last of the tea. It’s not exactly liquid courage, but it’ll do. “Well,” he says, drawing it out as best he can. “Ain't we a fuckin' pair.”He's expecting to get told off for cursing, but Evelyn just crumples her brow, like she doesn't know exactly what he means.“You and her,” Luz says, tipping his head to the door Cath’s just left through. And then, because it's only fair, back towards the stairs. “Me and him.”Evie’s shoulders draw back. She makes a slight sound, blinks.“Who would’ve thought, yeah?” He lights a cigarette. His hands are shaking a bit, but he could just be hungry.It’s the first time he’s said it out loud.Evie takes a deep breath. She’s on the edge, he thinks, of pretending she has no idea what he’s talking about. Whatever it is that tips the scale, he suspects he’ll never know, but he’ll credit his winsome charm, thank you very much. “Foolish,” she tells him, hands on her hips. “You know, I could be terrible, for all the idea you have.”He grins around the smoke. “Nah. Don’t think you are.”She doesn’t smile back. “You know what the real problem is? With you Yanks?” Evie sits down again, across from him this time, and drops her chin onto one hand. It makes her look as young as she probably is.George can’t help but grin, because this is a fun one at least. Maybe she’ll even like it. “Wait, I know this one. It’s – overpaid, overrated...overdressed? Over easy? Nah, that's eggs. No, no, I’ll get it, give me a minute -”The broom is far enough away he’s sure he can dodge if she changes her mind about whacking him. Evie only sighs, though.“Believe it or not, I’ve no problem at all with your being over here, like they say. If that's what it takes, then so be it. No. All I’d like is if the lot of you didn’t act as though you’d been here the entire time.”And well, he might not get it, get the Brits and their closed up faces, thinks they’re all a bunch of cold fish half the time in fact – but he thinks he understands her, just in this second. He’s spent a lot of time not saying things, because that's what keeps you safe, and he knows Evelyn knows it too. And here he’s come in one sunny morning, and smashed it all up.He leans forward a bit. “Look, I -”“More tea.” She shoves her chair back, any tolerance for feeling a damn thing clearly at its limit. “You’ll have another?” Says it like a question, but he knows it's not. He gives her his mug back. The boiler’s stopped wheezing, he realises, and just like that, he can hear Joe’s heavy tread on the upstairs landing.There’s times he feels like he’d know Joe Toye blindfolded in the dark, and others where he thinks it’d be a whole lot easier if he never laid eyes on the guy again. He’s not got much choice either way now, and he spins in his chair to see Joe tip himself down the stairs, hair still damp from the shower.“What's the story, morning glory?” he asks, and Joe opens his mouth to say something back, probably nothing fit for polite company, and then realises they’re not alone in the room.“Liam, darling,” Evie calls, because Liam’s frozen where he’s been playing on the living room rug. She’s not looking at Joe, who’s stopped still just the same, right at the moment of shoving his feet back into his boots, but her shoulders are set even tighter than they were when George walked into the kitchen. “Come here.”Liam comes, sneaking looks back at Joe, and then at George. Evie brushes his hair back from his face, and George watches her paste on a smile. “It’s nice and sunny, you can go and play in the garden,” she tells him, “Go on.” With a little push, he does as he’s told.“Hell are you doing here?” Joe asks him, scrubbing a hand over his face.“Take a wild guess, Joe,” George says, and Joe groans. It shouldn’t be this easy, knowing what one another’s thinking, but it's always been like that. He can tease Joe like nobody else, because he’s like that, but Joe can give it to him just as good.“Fuckin’ again? Jesus Christ, on a Sunday?” Joe looks like he’s gonna keep going, but then seems to realise Evie’s looking at him, brows raised, and if George thought she looked unimpressed at him earlier, that's nothing to the once over she’s giving Joe. “Uh, morning, miss.”“Afternoon nearly, I think you’ll find,” she says crisply.Joe makes a non-committal noise, far more interested in the bowl of apples in the middle of the table. He picks one from the pile, biting into it, then points to the teapot. “Mind if I-”“As a matter of fact I do. This is not a bed and breakfast,” Evie snaps.“Yeah, Joe. One or the other, c’mon,” George says it without really thinking, as he does most stuff, and hey, it works, because now Joe and Evelyn are both glaring at him instead of each other.Evie turns her back to them both, and George thinks he can hear her counting to ten again.“You ain’t fuckin’ funny, Luz,” Joe tells him, taking another bite of the apple regardless.“Oh yeah, that’s not what your sister -”“Out!” Evelyn says abruptly. “Both of you out of my house, now, please.” She’s crossed over to the door and is holding it fully open. Because he figures he’s put her through enough for one morning, George drains the last of his tea and gets up, hustling Joe along with him. He wants to say something to Evie, tell her hey, it’ll sort itself out, or something, but he’s not sure that it will, and besides, she’s pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, not looking at either of them.“Thanks, Evie,” he says instead, and then follows Joe out into the back garden.“Who’s she, then?” Joe asks, once the outer door swings shut behind them, “And what's with the kid, anyway?”The kid is running about on the little square of grass out the front of the house, and Joe squints at the sun, that worried look on his face.“He’s Cath’s,” George says, keeping his voice even. He’s pretty sure Joe already figured that. He doesn’t want to think about it. He turns round to leave the garden, talking over his shoulder, “Look, whatever you do don’t go telling Bill about this, no matter how much he rags you, you know what he’s like – I left Perco running cover but I can’t promise anything about Malarkey, you know what he’s like – Joe?”He stops, because Joe has, and half turns to see him still staring at Liam. And like he’s said, Joe’s easy enough to read – and George knows when not to push him. Not too far, at least.“Joe, c’mon. We gotta go,” he says instead.Joe nods, but he’s still distracted. George lets him work it over, and when he stops again at the gate, he turns and waits. Joe’s mouth tightens, and he’s got that look, turned to the plough, the one George can usually trick him out of, if he’s got enough time, make some stupid joke to distract him, which is what he’s good at, after all. Now, he doesn’t feel like he knows where to start.Maybe Joe realises, because he seems to pull himself back, nudges George lightly with one solid arm. He’s warm all through, Joe is. That’s enough of that.Joe looks back at Liam’s small figure once more. He’s frowning, but more puzzled than anything. He’s not the type to be an asshole about it, George thinks, about Liam not being white – nah, this is something else.He knows how to give Joe his time, and they’re halfway down the street before Toye says anything. When he does, it's not what George was expecting.“Didn’t know she had a kid.”“Yeah, no one did. Or if they did they weren’t saying anything,” George says, kicking at the turf with the side of his boot. “Guess it just happens.” It's a war, after all.“Yeah,” Joe nods. Doesn’t sound convinced. “I just...fuck, I don’t know.”George looks at him. “You like her, don’t you?” He doesn’t know where that fucking comes from, what small, selfish part of him that wants to take what he feels for Joe and wring it til it bleeds out, but he can’t take it back now.“Sure,” Joe says, “But it’s not-”“Not like you’re gonna marry the girl,” George finishes. Again, with this. He wants to shake himself.“Fuck off, Luz,” Joe says, but he looks more settled. “I just didn’t know she-”Ah. That’s what it is. “Ohhhh,” he draws it out, like he did with Evelyn at the kitchen table. Joe thinks he should have been nicer to her, somehow, now he knows she’s a mother. Treated her like a lady.“Shut up,” Joe tells him.“I’m not saying anything,” George says, flipping his hands outwards in surrender. He feels almost inescapably fond of Joe, in that moment, of this man who’s scowling at the road between his boots, guilty over something most guys wouldn’t give a second thought to.He knows he’s had it bad since Toccoa, but never so much as this moment, staring down the barrel of all the things he can’t have. He lights another cigarette, passes it to Joe, second nature, and then lights one of his own.It’s fine. It will be fine. It’s not Joe’s fault George doesn’t know when the hell to stop, how to gather up his heart and discipline it. He knows just enough to hide it, and that’s all he can manage. That’s how boys like him get by, after all.Anyway, he's not in love with Joe. In love implies something, some kind of reciprocity, which is a word he only learnt from the pictures, and wouldn't that just be ridiculous?There’d been a moment, a collection of moments, when he’d thought – hoped, more like – that he was wrong about Joe. Wishful goddamn thinking. One hot look shot at him over a bar aside, he knows Joe’s not on the same bus as him. Not even the same damn direction. If Joe’s eyes on him still make his stomach turn over, that giddy flip he knows far too well, that’s his own problem, and his own business.George will take care of himself, and anyone else who needs him to, and Joe too. Joe, who will go home to marry some nice girl, presuming they make it through the war and out the other side.He can feel Joe watching him now, dark eyes narrowed under the wan English sun.“I could’ve found my way back, y’know,” he says eventually.“Oh yeah? Just in time for Sobel to find a twelve mile hill for you to run for being out without a pass?”“Ah, fuck Sobel,” Joe shrugs. “What’s he got us on now, anyway?”“Some cross country exercise. Hey, if we’re lucky, maybe we’ll run into some more cows.”Joe stops, just for a second, then, when George smiles innocently at him, or his best approximation of innocent, barks a laugh.“I shoulda fuckin’ known that was you,” he says, shaking his head.“Why, Corporal Toye, I’m sure I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” It’s not his best Lieutenant Winters, not near crisp enough, but it makes Joe’s eyes crinkle up, gets him to smack George’s shoulder, and he takes it, that half second of touch, just like Evelyn did in the kitchen – because it's what he can get. “Hey,” he says, stubbing out his cigarette under his boot heel. “You got lipstick on your collar.”Joe does a double take, leaning down to check and then cursing. “The fuck I do- Luz!”George takes off before he’s done speaking, and he can hear Joe curse under his breath, “You little shit, Luz, c’mere,” and the scrape of his boots coming after him. Knowing he’ll catch up, overtake him – he’s always known that, and he’s glad, because it means Joe will survive this thing, if any of them have a chance – George laughs, and runs faster.