Armistice Day

Another man says, "I'd wager you boys met a few Chloe's in your time over in France."

"I once knew a girl exactly like her back in Paris," Pete says, nodding at the image, smiling. "Reckon she was the very model in the picture."

"Bet you knew more than a few," another bloke laughs, offering Pete a cigarette.

Another man places fresh beers in front of us and says to me, "What about you, son, did you meet a girl like Chloe over there?"

"I met an Antoinette...and a Clementine, a Marguerite..."

"Jesus, you're supposed to fuck them, not learn their names!" The man laughs, perhaps at his own attempt at humour, a great cloud of cigarette smoke blowing over me and he slaps me on the back with force, pushing me forward and making me cough, but he doesn't care. "I bet they were grand young lasses, you should have invited them all back here to Melbourne, like our Chloe here."

I'm hacking up my lungs and Pete says, "Go easy on Alfred, the poor bastard was gassed by the Huns and his lungs are fucked."

"Sorry, cobber," the man says. "Nothing a few more beers and tobacco won't cure."

Someone else asks Pete to, "Tell us about how you got them hideous scars?"

Pete shrugs and neither of us pay for a single drink. A crowd gathers to listen, enthralled as Pete regales them with stories of aerial combat over the trenches, waving his hands about as if they're Sopwith Camels tangling with German Fokkers up the endless blue. Can't see how those fellas did it because it always looked confusing when we looked up to watch them fools fighting hundreds of feet above our heads, more often than not ending with several falling in a smoking wreck from a great height.

I've heard Pete's stories enough on the voyage back home, but still content to listen because I can't stand being the centre of attention with these rowdy gentlemen who want to live the war vicariously through younger men. Pete's experience of the war was nothing like my own, where he almost makes it sound romantic up until the point his aeroplane caught a bullet through the fuel tank, the resulting fire spreading quickly, and Pete's heroic effort to get to the ground before he burnt to death. The men lap the details up and some tell us they have sons over there too, mostly infantry like I was and I don't want to share my tales of endless mud and sneaking across no-mans-land and artillery and gas and imminent death in the trenches.

Later the men have left and when last drinks are called we're drinking alone. Pete looks at Chloe, and tells me, "I knew plenty of girls like her, but now they're repulsed by the sight of my scarred head. What I'd do to go back to Paris and look up this one lass who taught me a thing or two."

"Taught you what?"

He grins. "Ever kiss a woman's firebox?"

With a snort I almost spit my beer across the bar, but swallow it instead and laugh. "Firebox!"

"Or cunt."

"Girl in London called it her cranny."

We both laugh, then Pete takes another pull of his lager, setting his now half full glass down again. "We had a doc who taught us how to check the girls out to see if they were clean or not. Some would get offended, but they were taking our money anyway so most thought nothing of me having a sticky beak before sticking my todger in. I was checking out this one girl with the finest fairest hair you ever did see, my head between her legs as she lay on the bed, and she says in her cute accent, while you're down there how about you give me a special kiss. I thought to me self, she looks clean so why not. I went in, tongue and all like they kissed us on our mouths over there, and she starts directing me as if instructing me to fly a plane, telling me to keep my tongue flat over her clitoris. Moments later she's moaning and quivering, her juices everywhere on my face and in my mouth, and she offers to return the favour, sucking me off like a lollipop! Best quid I spent and I returned several times till we were moved to the front. Her name was Marie and she asked me to come and see her again, then one day I was gone. She probably wouldn't want to see me now."

Pete's scars are terrible and I pat his back. "Looks like you almost learnt your lesson about getting too close to her firebox when she's going off, mate."

His laugh is hearty and despite his wounds he's a positive fellow. "If I made it back to her she wouldn't have to look at my head anyway, I'd keep it between her legs!"

We laugh some more and swill our drinks as the publican tells us he's closing up, and I take one more look at Chloe. "She reminds me a lot of the daughter of the woman I'm billeting with."

"You sly bastard, tell me you're poking her, c'mon, spill the details!"

I shake my head. "I'm not telling you nothing because I ain't pokin' her. But actually, her husband was a pilot. Did you know a bloke named Cornelius Atkinson?"

"Can't say I did."

"Bastard got himself killed on his first mission straight out of training. Hardly even got to the war."

"Half his fucking luck, that's how most left the war, right out of training before it could properly fuck with them." Pete downs the dregs of his beer as the publican again motions for us to finish and leave. In no time we're on the street and my head is swimming. Evidently, so is Pete's as he sways and leans against me. "I'm gonna get the book thrown at me when I arrive at my billet. The Bible with a lecture about thou shall not drink or some shit."

"Come back to mine, Carmel won't mind."

"Carmel? She the widowed daughter?"

"Nah, Carmel's my host and Susannah's the daughter. Maybe Susannah will drop by in the morning and I'll introduce ya."

"She'll take one look at me and say, yes, he is the man of my dreams, even if half his face is melted off. Anyway, what's wrong with her?"

"Nothin's wrong with her."

"Why ain't you poking her then?"

I smile, propping him up when he almost falls onto the road. "I'm heading back home so don't want to get too involved."

He shakes his head which looks like it might fall off. Eventually we're on a tram and Pete falls asleep, snoring, his head on my shoulder. I can hardly keep my eyes open either and people glance our way, respectable people I suppose, all of them looking tired from a long day's work. Arriving in Richmond, I manage to haul Pete off and we eventually find ourselves at Carmel's front door.

"Oh, gawd, you've come home drunk and you've brought yer mate," she says, but with a smile. "Men are all the same."

"This is Pete," I slur, knocking into my companion who's almost asleep on his feet. "Do you mind if he stays the night?"

"If you can get him up the stairs, sure, but I don't want any trouble or mess."

"You're a true goddess my lovely Carmel."

"And you're drunk, my friend."

It's a struggle, but eventually Pete is in the bed in the attic, snoring his head off. Despite the grog I can't sleep and wander down stairs, knocking on Carmel's door.

"For Pete's sake, go away," she hisses, not opening her door.

"Nah, Pete's sound asleep, a Jerry shell could go off next to his head and he'd not wake."

I think she's laughing, or at least I hope so, but she's adamant. "Go back upstairs, Alfie. We'll talk tomorrow when you're sober."

"Oh...sorry, Carmel. I wanted you to know the doctor discharged me."

Turning, I make my way back to the stairs, swaying and bracing against the wall. The door opens behind me and Carmel whispers, "Discharged? Do you mean from the Army?"

"The doctor said I could go home." I haven't turned around, still bracing against the wall, the world spinning around my feet.

"And you're going?"

"Not tonight."

"Tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow. Thursday."

A floor board creaks, Carmel's footsteps behind me, and she slips her arms around my waist, lowering me to the stairs, where I sit. Her voice is quiet. "I knew this day would come, but now I don't know what to say."

When I look into Carmel's eyes, I know my smile is drunken and I realise there's no chance at spending the night in her arms. "Sorry I'm drunk."

She sits at my side on the stair. "I'm sorry you're leaving."

"Not tomorrow."

"And you have to go." After a long pause, she tells me, "Get a good night's sleep and I'll fix you and your friend breakfast in the morning."

"That'll be fantastic, Carmel. My Melbourne angel."

She gives me a squeeze, kisses my cheek, then stands. "G'night, Alfie."

Eventually I stagger up the stairs and crash on the bed, listening to Pete snore away across the room.

~0~

Pete's groan wakes me and for a moment I lay there marvelling how I slept through for the first time in I don't know how long. It's the beers, but I'm not sure if the price is worth it with the thumping drum in my head trying to split me at the temples, my guts feeling like they want out, and my full bladder about to burst.

"Oi, Alfie me old mate," Pete groans again, "Where's the dunny can?"

"Chamber pot over there in the corner."

"Yep, I filled it with vomit last night."

"Did ya? Back garden then, I'll join ya."

"I fuckin' need it more."

"Race ya."

We stumble down two flights of stairs, pushing and shoving, racing down the hall and through the back door, Pete pushing me off the path at the last moment and claiming the outhouse. I'm laughing, then have to sit by the roses so I don't fall and don't vomit. Awful noises are coming from Pete on the dunny and I look about trying to think about anything else, feeling the sun warm on my face, too bright for my sore eyes and splitting head and painful bladder.

"Might need your gas mask in there, cobber," Pete says when he steps out, face as straight as a ruler. "Otherwise what I've done might finish your lungs off, old boy."

Gingerly, I step into the toilet where the stench hits me. "Phew, we could've used you on the front, fill you up with grog and waited for the wind to blow towards the Huns before letting you rip."

Pete's laughing. Eventually we wander back up the path where Pete and I sit at the wrought iron table in the courtyard at the back door. "Bloody lovely, you hit the jackpot with your billet here."

"Goes alright."

"Fucking goes alright he says. Look around, it's bloody paradise! My people harangue me about this and that and ask us all to join in with their prayers and go to church on Sunday. Almost wished I'd burnt up completely back in France. Think I'll have to move in here after you've left."

I'm laughing, my head splitting, then we sit in silence, both with our eyes shut to the bright sunlight.

"Didn't you hear me call you to breakfast?"

Almost losing my balance when I turn, I look up at Carmel standing at the back door. She's grinning, holding a plate of freshly baked English muffins with a jar of jam and a small jug of whipped cream, bringing it to us, setting them on the table.

Pete jumps to his feet. "Good morning Mrs..."

"Carmel. And you're Pete. Alfie introduced us last night."

"Sorry," Pete says with a sheepish grin, "I don't remember much."

"You're not the first boy to come home drunk, I once had a husband and still have two cheeky sons."

Pete thanks Carmel over and over for letting him stay, but she brushes it off, then gives me a little smile. "I'll make you boys some tea, I'm sure you need a pot or two."

We're still eating when Susannah arrives with Mabel, who barks at Pete. "Oh, you have a friend over."

"We're the walking wounded, Miss," Pete says, standing and taking Susannah's hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm Pete and you must be the lovely..."

After a pause, she says, "Susannah."

"That's right," Pete replies. "And to think I almost called you Chloe."

Susannah is clearly confused and I try hard to contain my laugh. Holding Pete's outstretched hand, she asks, "Who's Chloe?"

I'm still trying not to laugh but not hiding it too well, patting Mabel to settle her. "A French sheila we met at the pub last night."

She gives me a look of confusion, probably trying to read my own expression. "But we women can't drink at public bars...not respectable ones...no, don't tell me..."

"Pretty as a picture, this Chloe was," Pete says with a wink. "Our friend Alfie here said she looked very much like you, and my dear Susannah, he's right, but you're a damn sight prettier."

"I don't understand, was she a..."

"Not a whore, if that's what you're thinking, but like I said, pretty as a picture."

Laughing without holding back, but seeing the confusion and possible anguish on Susannah's face, I say, "Chloe is a picture, a painting. On the wall of the pub we drank at."

"You men and your...pubs!" Susannah's visibly annoyed, making Pete and I laugh some more. But Pete's all charm and soon Susannah's joining us at the table.

Carmel barely pops her head out the door, telling us, "Alfie's leaving us tomorrow and I have to buy something to roast for his farewell dinner. You will stay with us, won't you, dear?"

Susannah turns to me, her face betraying shock. "You're leaving? So soon?"

"Heading back home. Bought a ticket and all."

"No...you mustn't leave yet..." She whispers it, her hand at her mouth.

Pete gives me a wink across the table and Carmel calls out again, "So you're staying for Alfie's farewell?"

"Yes, of course."

"Excellent, you too, Peter, I insist."

"I wouldn't dream of saying no the company of two beautiful women," Pete replies with a smile.

Carmel flashes me a raised eyebrow look and funny grin I can't decipher before disappearing into the house, and for a moment I want to chase her. I can't explain it; here is Susannah, beautiful and young, and there goes her Mum, older, wrinklier, with grey hair and saggier bosoms, yet we've shared the comforts of one another's bodies on many occasions now and I know in my heart she's the first woman I've genuinely connected with.

Sometimes I wonder if my growing feelings of attachment to Carmel are love.

Susannah and Pete are conversing and I realise my mind has wandered, my manhood beginning to rise. Not something I want right now, so I listen to Pete telling Susannah he was a pilot, explaining his injury, where she's visibly upset by his story. Then she's asking if he knew her husband and he lets her down gently. Susannah asks more details about the war and what it's like to fly, presumably for her book.

I've heard all Pete's stories before, but they've done the trick and my erection's disappeared, so I excuse myself and find Carmel at the kitchen bench, scribbling out a shopping list. Placing my hands on her waist when she's standing at the bench, I ask, "Would you like me to come to the shops and help you?"

She brushes my hands away, avoiding my lips when I try to kiss her cheek, whispering, "No, Alfie, not now. And no, I won't need your help, the shops are only a mile down the road so it won't take me too long. Stay and entertain Susannah and your friend Pete."

When I laugh she frowns. I can see Pete and Susannah out the window but it's unlikely they can see in on account of the bright day outside and dimness inside. "But look at those two, hitting it off. Might want to give them some room."

Carmel shakes her head. "Poor fellow, your friend Peter. His head's terribly scarred and I'm not sure if Susannah is...anyway, I rather hoped she was interested in someone else."

I shake my head. "Give them a chance and we'll see."

Later Pete and Susannah leave the heat of the day for the front lounge room and when Carmel leaves for the shop I make my way upstairs to pack my few belongings, ready for the early trip to the station at five tomorrow morning. I'm heading back down when I run into Susannah on the landing outside Carmel's room.

She meets my eyes, saying, "Your friend Pete has fallen asleep in the front room. Exhausted after talking about himself all morning I imagine."

I smile at her quip. "You appeared to enjoy his company."

"He's certainly experienced some interesting adventures. Poor man, burning up in his aeroplane like he did."

"He wouldn't have much to talk about if he hadn't."

"Don't be unfair."

"I was being sarcastic." I shake my head, the joke going over hers. "Anyway, he can help you with your book."

"Yes, I believe he can." She looks at me for a moment, our eyes catching. "I can't believe you're leaving so soon."

"I have to go. I have family and friends back home who're waiting for me."

She nods, stands there for a moment, turns and opens the door at the far end of the landing, opposite her mother's door. "This was my room."

Curious, I follow. It's musty and dusty inside and I try hard not to cough. She opens the curtain and window, light streaming in, illuminating a dolls house, books on shelves, a dresser with mirror, a wardrobe and neatly made bed. "It looks like a girl's room."

She snorts, quietly, picking up a rag doll from the pillow. "This is Esther. Looks like she's waited faithfully for six years for me to return and here I am."

"You left when you were eighteen, right?"

"Yes...do you think you will return?"

"Pardon?"

She places Esther on the dusty bed-side table. "If you'd consider returning to Melbourne after seeing your family, I'd very much...well, I'd wait like Esther here has waited for me."

My heart dips a little, confused because she's young and beautiful and I'd be a fool not to accept her offer. Never look a gift horse in the mouth is what my mother always said, but I'm sleeping with Susannah's mother who I know I've developed feelings for, even if she's much older. Our loving is fun, but I also know I'm going home, and even if I miss Carmel and Susannah I think it unlikely I'll come back. Then again, Susannah is beautiful and tempting.

"Would you move to the country with me?"

She approaches, shakes her head and continues walking past, closing the door quietly, turning the key in the lock, returning with a smile, then shoves me onto the bed.

I'm falling back, shocked, landing on the soft covers. "What are you...?"

"Shhh," she tells me, finger at her lips, approaching me and fingering the buttons on my trousers. "Mum's out for at least an hour and Pete's asleep."

"Susannah, what are you doing?"

"I don't wish to live in the country, I belong in Melbourne. So I'm giving you a taste of things to come if you come back to me. Think of this as an incentive." She pulls my trousers down and I confess I'm not at all resisting. After all, I'm a man, young and dumb and my penis is already excited. Susannah looks at me there, a wild look in her eyes, reaching out, gently stroking me with the lightest touch. Pleasure shoots through me and I'm stiffer than a board. "Delicious..."

"This is not a good idea."

She smiles and pulls her dress off, dumping it on a chair in the corner, then her undergarments, pins from her hair, rich chestnut brown locks cascading around her pale shoulders and beautiful breasts, and she's standing beside the bed, naked, her sex completely hairless. Her smile is cheeky. "You can't hide the fact your eyes and penis want me."

"What if your mother finds out?"

Susannah's laugh is rich and mocking. "I'm twenty-four, it's none of Mum's business what I get up to."

"And what do you think you're getting up to?"

"The same thing you're getting up to," she giggles, stroking my hardness, then straddling me. "I like you, you're good company, you choose nice wine, and you look at me with desire, I can tell."

What's not to desire, because Susannah is beautiful, curvy in the most delicious manner, big round breasts like her mother, but younger, firmer, hard nipples sticking out, her eyes twinkling with cheek, her smile inviting, and for a moment I think she may be the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.

Indeed, I suspect she is.

I thought Mary to be the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen with her golden hair and sparkling eyes of blue, and in my mind's eye I see Will in the moments before he died, telling me to tell Mary he loves her and to ensure she and their son Jack are provided for.