Billy Mack's War by James Roy Page B

knew then that it was over with.
    We got one letter a week from Ma. There’s not much you can say in a couple of pages, but she did manage to let us know that Dad’s strength was gradually returning, he was managing to eat proper meals without getting ill, and he was keen to see his kids. I wondered what it would be like for him to see the twins, since they’d been just babies when he went away.
    I tried to remember him. I’d only been eight years old when he left, so I recalled bits and pieces, helped by the few photographs we had of him. There were two pictures from Ma and Dad’s wedding day, one more of them taken with me as a tiny baby, and one of me sitting on his knee. In the one of me on his knee, I was looking off into the distance with a perplexed look on my face, while Dad looked straight ahead, the faintest smile playing on his mouth. The only other pictures we had of Dad were in his uniform, one by himself standing proudly in his kilt with his rifle at his side, and the other with his company. The young men were grinning and happy, some squatting, some standing, all of them full of pride and camaraderie and youthful excitement. There was my father, Captain Fred McAuliffe, right at the end. They were his lads, that much was clear.
    I would take that photograph down from above the fireplace and look at it, touch it. For as long as I could remember, back when we all thought that my father was dead, I would peer into those young faces and think to myself, those boys don’t know that in a few weeks they’ll be dead. It was a creepy thought, looking at their smiles and their excitement. My father’s face, proud, ready, strong, prepared. And in a month or less, dead.
    Now that I knew better, I looked at that picture and thought, in a few weeks some of you will be dead, but you, Dad, you’ll be captured. You’ll be taken to a camp somewhere. You’ll come home to see me, your son. And when I thought that, I got a weird shiver of excitement, and had to put the photograph back on the mantel. I suppose I didn’t want to think too hard about it. I guess I’d grown used to the idea of my father being gone forever, and I was scared that if I started getting used to him being alive, I might end up disappointed all over again.

Chapter 8 Danny

    â€˜I know exactly what you mean,’ Danny said. ‘I’ve got this photo of my mum next to my bed, and sometimes I look at it and think how when the photo was taken she didn’t know what was going to happen to her.’
    â€˜Is that so?’ Mr McAuliffe said.
    Danny nodded. ‘It’s a picture of her and me, and I’m sitting on her knee, and she’s looking down. She’s smiling at me.’
    â€˜That sounds very nice.’
    â€˜Yeah, it is. It was taken about half a year before she died, and it’s kind of weird, looking at it and knowing that she already had the cancer, but didn’t have any idea that it was there.’
    â€˜I’m sorry to hear about your mum,’ Mr McAuliffe said. ‘Do you miss her?’
    â€˜Yeah, I think so. I don’t remember her very well, you see.’
    â€˜You were young?’
    Danny nodded again.
    â€˜You know what I’m talking about, then,’ Mr McAuliffe said.
    â€˜Yes sir, I sure do.’
    The waitress had come over again, and she placed the bill on the table. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re about to close up,’ she said to Mr McAuliffe.
    â€˜Is that so? Very well.’ He looked at Danny and shrugged. ‘It looks like we’re going to have to cut this short.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ the girl said.
    â€˜No, no, that’s quite all right,’ Mr McAuliffe said as he stood up and took out his wallet.
    It’s not all right at all, Danny thought crossly. He could tell that the story was reaching a really interesting point.
    He waited out on the footpath while Mr McAuliffe paid the bill. It was