Free The Foreshadowing by Marcus Sedgwick

silly,” Father said. “He hasn’t grown. You shrank him in your memory.”
    I think Father might be right about that, but Mother was right too. There was something different about Tom. He wasn’t any taller, but he was older. He had aged by more than the few months he’d been away.
    Father stepped forward and put out his hand. Tom looked at it for a moment and then shook it.
    It was the first time that they’ve ever done this, and I immediately knew what it meant. Father considers Thomas to be a man, and as I watched I smiled inside for what I hope it means.

67

    Tom and I have been catching up today, swapping stories of hospital life.
    We chatted as we helped Mother make Christmas pudding, rather late this year. This is one job she likes to do herself, and not leave to Cook. She bustled around the kitchen, getting Molly to fetch ingredients for her. She was busy, she seemed happy, and I saw that she smiled, listening to us talk as she stirred in a bottle of brown ale and a bottle of stout.
    Father came home later and we had supper. It was quiet at first, and I felt nervous for some reason.
    Father looked at Tom, a forkful of food in one hand.
    “So, how are your studies, Tom?”
    Tom’s face lit up.
    “Everything’s going well,” he said. “There’s only a few of us, really, because lots of boys deferred entry to go to . . .”
    He stopped.
    Father nodded.
    “Go on,” Mother said. “Tell us about Manchester.”
    Tom shrugged.
    “It’s well enough,” he said. “It’s not as nice as Brighton, but the people are friendly. Well, most of them.”
    I could tell he was thinking of the white feathers he’s been given. I knew more about that than Mother or Father because he knows it upsets them, though in different ways.
    Tom talked for a bit as we ate. Then Father put his knife and fork down and looked at Tom.
    “I’m sure that any son of mine could make a fine doctor,” he said. “But I think you may not have the chance to find out for a while.”
    Tom’s head dropped.
    Father was talking about conscription. It seems more likely than ever that a bill will be passed soon.
    “But if we start now, we can get you a commission in the medical corps, and then you can do your bit as well as do what you feel is right.”
    Father was trying to compromise between what he thinks Tom should do and what Tom wants to do, and I was amazed. Father is not a man who usually compromises on anything.
    But Tom let his head sink a little further, and would eat no more supper.

66

    I saw Evans today, and it’s true, he seems to be better. I was wheeling a trolley between wards when I heard someone behind me.
    “How are you, today, Nurse?” he asked, as if he made small talk like this every day of his life.
    I smiled.
    “F-fine . . . ,” I stuttered out. “Fine.”
    “That’s good.” He stood smiling at me, waiting for me to speak.
    “And how are you?”
    As I spoke I saw from the corner of my eye that three nurses on the other side of the corridor were watching us with interest.
    I started to wheel forward again, but Evans was talking to me now.
    “Very well,” he said. “Thank you, Nurse. Very well.”
    “You look much better, I must say.”
    We were still being watched, and I was afraid.
    “Yes, yes,” he said. “Wonderful what the doctors have done for me, it is.”
    I thought about what he had said, about the tests, the lights and being hurt.
    “Everything’s right now, is it? The tests . . . ? They didn’t—”
    “Oh, no,” he said quickly, smiling.
    I started to feel uneasy.
    “But what you said,” I persisted, “about feeling as though you had already seen things once before. What about that?”
    He stopped smiling and stood up straight, stiff. For the first time I could actually imagine that he could be a soldier.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and turned on his heels.
    I looked at the nurses who had been watching and they pretended to be busy.
    I wheeled my