Free Peacetime by Robert Edric Page A

Army, and now I’m an engineer—’
    â€˜Here,’ she said.
    He turned away from her. He had come to that far end of the dune ridge in the hope of locating the remains of the unfinished railway, but had found nothing of it.
    He was about to ask her if she knew of the line when she said, ‘She said to ask you to come tomorrow night.’ She waited for him to turn back to her.
    â€˜Tomorrow?’
    â€˜To eat with us.’ Her disapproval of the invitation remained clear to him. In the confines of the house she would be a child again, her mother’s daughter, her brother’s watcher.
    â€˜You could always tell her I said I was busy,’ he said.
    She considered this. ‘She’ll make a big thing of it, that’s all. She always does. It’s embarrassing. She’ll spend all day worrying about it, make a mess of it when it happens, and then spend all night worrying about what the others might say. Apart from which, you’d be bored.’
    â€˜She might just want a practice run for when your father gets home,’ he said, wondering how cruel he intended the remark to sound.
    She saw what he had done. ‘You wouldn’t want to be a practice for that,’ she said.
    He still had no idea of the man other than what he had heard from others.
    â€˜It was a stupid thing to say,’ he said. ‘I apologize.’
    â€˜It was. But not for the reason you think.’
    â€˜All this will still be happening’ – he swung his arm to encompass the distant workings – ‘for a long time after he’s back.’
    â€˜So? He probably won’t even stay.’
    â€˜It might be a condition of his parole.’
    â€˜His what?’
    â€˜They sometimes insist on knowing where recently released people are living, and then on them staying put.’
    She considered this for a moment, leaving him uncertain how she regarded the possibility. ‘He never listened to anybody before,’ she said. ‘Tell him to do one thing, and he’ll do the opposite. Way he is. That’s what she says, what they all say. No one’s looking forward to him being back here.’
    Except you , he wanted to say, but didn’t.
    â€˜Except me,’ she said absently. ‘I’m his favourite, see.’ She spoke now in a childish, mocking voice. She picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them one at a time towards the water.
    â€˜Have things changed?’ he said. He knew how all-encompassing and revealing her answer might be.
    But all she said was, ‘Not really.’ She turned back to him. ‘What do you want me to say?’ she said.
    â€˜Say?’
    â€˜To her.’
    â€˜Tell her I shall be honoured and delighted to accept your gracious invitation.’
    â€˜ Her gracious invitation. I’ll tell her you said yes.’ She slid her hand into the pocket which held the dead bird, turned and walked back into the dunes. ‘Six o’clock,’ she shouted to him.
    â€˜Should I bring anything?’
    But if she heard him, she gave no sign.
    At the crest of the rise, she fell to her knees briefly and then struggled back to her feet. He watched as she took out the dead bird, held it close to her face for a moment, and then threw it into the tall grass beside her.

10
    The following morning, taking a break from the site, he crossed the road to the sea and waded in the shallows. The water felt bitterly cold after the warmth of the sand. He shielded his eyes to watch the vessels crossing the horizon, their distant outlines molten in the light and the heat, only their slowly unravelling ribbons of black marking their passage. He was distracted from this by a nearby noise and turned to see a man coming towards him along the water’s edge. He recognized him only as a man who lived alone there, and as he came closer, Mercer saw that he carried a bundle of driftwood under each arm. He had dropped some of this, and this