Read Online Stratton's War by Laura Wilson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Wilson
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irritably, it doesn’t matter. In any case, she wasn’t going to fall in love with him. She’d only be making the same mistake, and the consequences would be even worse. ‘Oh, God!’ She sprang out of bed, opened her jewellery box and, extracting her wedding ring, rammed it firmly back on her finger.
NINE
Stratton sat back and watched his brother-in-law Donald sipping his beer. They were in The Swan, which they frequented mainly because Reg was unequivocal in his preference for the pub in the next street. After another row with Jenny - actually, another abnormally loud conversation, which was as close as they ever got - about whether or not the children should come home, Stratton had decided to seek consolation in a quiet pint. The alacrity with which Donald had responded to his suggestion of a drink made Stratton wonder if he might not have spent his afternoon going over the same sort of ground with Doris. He determined to ask about this, but not until they’d exhausted the pleasurable subject of Reg’s recent idiocies. ‘They’ve been drilling at the football ground,’ said Donald. ‘Talk about the blind and the halt! There was one old chap staggering around with an assegai, for Christ’s sake.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed the top of his nose. ‘I hope they frighten Hitler, because they certainly frighten me.’
‘I saw that dirty great sword.’
‘He insisted on taking it. I don’t know what use he thinks it’s going to be . . . I was in the toilet when he came round.’ Donald shook his head. ‘It’s come to something when you can’t even have a shit in peace.’
Stratton laughed.
‘And when I said something about business being bad,’ - Donald ran a camera shop - ‘he told me I’d be had up for spreading alarm and despondency! Said it was unpatriotic to complain. Mind you, I don’t think he’s doing too well, either, with the stationery orders . . .’
‘Has he said anything to you about Johnny?’
‘No, but he wouldn’t, would he? I know Lilian’s worried about him, though. She told Doris.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Bit of trouble at the garage. ’Course, Lilian says it’s all their fault, says he’s being bullied. Boot’s more likely to be on the other foot, if you ask me.’
Stratton nodded. ‘What did Doris say?’
‘Not much she could say. You know Lilian.’ Donald shrugged. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything to Jenny.’
‘Not yet. But Jenny said she’d seen him loafing with some boys when he should have been at work, so . . .’ After a few more shrugs, and oh wells, and some general stuff along the lines of don’t-meet-trouble-halfway, they relapsed into a companionable silence. One of the things Stratton liked about Donald’s company was that he knew when there wasn’t anything more to be said. Unspoken between them was the knowledge that Johnny was a bad lot and Reg was a fool, and it was this, as well as marriage into a large and close-knit family, that had helped to cement their friendship. They’d never have criticised their wives to each other - not that Stratton had ever felt the need, and he suspected that Donald was the same - but they were both aware of their status as outsiders: Stratton, because he’d grown up in rural Devon (his accent, which had charmed Jenny when they first met, had been gradually eroded by years of contact with hard London vowels) and Donald because of his Scottish parents.
‘Talking of children,’ said Stratton, ‘Jenny keeps saying we should have our two back home.’
‘Yeah . . .’ Donald sighed into his pint. ‘Doris is the same about Madeleine. I keep telling her it’s not safe, but . . . It’s a funny thing. You get into the habit of not bothering each other, but all the time when we’re not talking about it, I know she wants to and she’s biting her tongue.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Stratton thought of Jenny that afternoon, staring through the taped window into
NINE
Stratton sat back and watched his brother-in-law Donald sipping his beer. They were in The Swan, which they frequented mainly because Reg was unequivocal in his preference for the pub in the next street. After another row with Jenny - actually, another abnormally loud conversation, which was as close as they ever got - about whether or not the children should come home, Stratton had decided to seek consolation in a quiet pint. The alacrity with which Donald had responded to his suggestion of a drink made Stratton wonder if he might not have spent his afternoon going over the same sort of ground with Doris. He determined to ask about this, but not until they’d exhausted the pleasurable subject of Reg’s recent idiocies. ‘They’ve been drilling at the football ground,’ said Donald. ‘Talk about the blind and the halt! There was one old chap staggering around with an assegai, for Christ’s sake.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed the top of his nose. ‘I hope they frighten Hitler, because they certainly frighten me.’
‘I saw that dirty great sword.’
‘He insisted on taking it. I don’t know what use he thinks it’s going to be . . . I was in the toilet when he came round.’ Donald shook his head. ‘It’s come to something when you can’t even have a shit in peace.’
Stratton laughed.
‘And when I said something about business being bad,’ - Donald ran a camera shop - ‘he told me I’d be had up for spreading alarm and despondency! Said it was unpatriotic to complain. Mind you, I don’t think he’s doing too well, either, with the stationery orders . . .’
‘Has he said anything to you about Johnny?’
‘No, but he wouldn’t, would he? I know Lilian’s worried about him, though. She told Doris.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Bit of trouble at the garage. ’Course, Lilian says it’s all their fault, says he’s being bullied. Boot’s more likely to be on the other foot, if you ask me.’
Stratton nodded. ‘What did Doris say?’
‘Not much she could say. You know Lilian.’ Donald shrugged. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything to Jenny.’
‘Not yet. But Jenny said she’d seen him loafing with some boys when he should have been at work, so . . .’ After a few more shrugs, and oh wells, and some general stuff along the lines of don’t-meet-trouble-halfway, they relapsed into a companionable silence. One of the things Stratton liked about Donald’s company was that he knew when there wasn’t anything more to be said. Unspoken between them was the knowledge that Johnny was a bad lot and Reg was a fool, and it was this, as well as marriage into a large and close-knit family, that had helped to cement their friendship. They’d never have criticised their wives to each other - not that Stratton had ever felt the need, and he suspected that Donald was the same - but they were both aware of their status as outsiders: Stratton, because he’d grown up in rural Devon (his accent, which had charmed Jenny when they first met, had been gradually eroded by years of contact with hard London vowels) and Donald because of his Scottish parents.
‘Talking of children,’ said Stratton, ‘Jenny keeps saying we should have our two back home.’
‘Yeah . . .’ Donald sighed into his pint. ‘Doris is the same about Madeleine. I keep telling her it’s not safe, but . . . It’s a funny thing. You get into the habit of not bothering each other, but all the time when we’re not talking about it, I know she wants to and she’s biting her tongue.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Stratton thought of Jenny that afternoon, staring through the taped window into
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