Lying Together by Gaynor Arnold

bomb might one day kill my sister in London – and God knows I’d be half-crazy if it did – it doesn’t justify me flying off and bombing someone else’s grandmother in Berlin. And it’s equally wrong that the person whose grandmother was killed should come and bomb, say, your uncle in Taunton. Don’t you see how cruel and illogical it is?’
    What he said made sense in a sort of way, but I couldn’t see Hitler taking any notice of the logic. I was surprised that Jack even thought he might. I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet. He was quiet too. He probably thought I was too stupid to understand. ‘So what are you doing down here, if you’re not joining up?’ I asked at last. ‘I mean, you live in London, don’t you? It said Cavendish Square in the book.’
    â€˜What?’ That old absent-minded look. ‘Oh, yes, I do have a flat there. Or, at least, I did. My mother has it now and I just perch there from time to time. I didn’t have much use for it before the war with all the travelling I did.’
    â€˜Travelling?’ I thought of my midnight ships and tropical islands, and thought of Jack in a white suit, leaning over the rail. ‘Abroad?’ I said.
    He laughed. ‘Good Lord, no. Just lots of train journeys to obscure places. Lots of strong tea and stale buns. And lots of high-minded talk. We thought we’d get our way, in those days. I had a very successful Peace Pledge meeting here in this town – that’s why I was here, you know, that day I gave you the shilling. I didn’t think I’d be coming back as a prisoner eighteen months later.’
    He said the word ‘prisoner’ lightly but I still got a shock. ‘You were in prison?’ I said. It made sense suddenly – the skin and the nails, and the way his clothes didn’t fit. But it didn’t seem the right sort of place for him.
    He nodded. ‘Well, you know what they do to us Conshies. We mustn’t contaminate the general population. But why they sent me here of all places I don’t know. It was difficult for Mother and the girls to visit. Another subtle punishment, I suppose.’
    â€˜Was it very bad?’ I’d heard the Conshies were half-starved. Mrs Willacott’s nephew worked in the prison kitchens and said they were poor little specimens who didn’t eat meat and were probably too weedy to fight even if they wanted to. I hadn’t taken much notice at the time; I’d thought Conshies deserved all they got.
    Jack gave a funny kind of smile. ‘I wouldn’t exactly recommend prison life. I had nothing to read for six months. I think that was the worst thing of all; I think that might have broken my spirit if anything would. And then of course I got to know the size and shape of mailbags more intimately than I cared for. That black waxed thread was the very devil.’ Jack turned his hand, showed me his stained and mangled fingers. I cast down my eyes, unable to look. ‘But it gives you time to think, to see if you can stand up for what you believe, in practice.’
    â€˜But you’re out for good, now?’ I said. ‘They’ve let you out?’
    â€˜Yes, they let me out. The Government and I have come to an understanding. I shall be working on the land. After all, I have no conscientious objection to people being fed.’
    I couldn’t help being relieved. I didn’t care if Jack had funny ideas. He wouldn’t be going to the Far East or Africa. He wouldn’t be manning a convoy in the North Atlantic or battling in the skies above our heads. He would be safe on a farm. Even if I never saw him again, I’d know he was alive.
    He drained his cup. ‘That was very welcome. Even if I got it on false pretences.’
    I shrugged. ‘I thought you might need it. You didn’t come down for dinner.’
    â€˜Oh.’ That old absent-minded look again.