Top Posts Tagged with #percy hapgood

Lilac Wine | 1/8

summary: When Percy Hapgood meets a girl who lives at a different pace, his own world begins to slow. When fear threatens to pull them apart, he must decide who he is when the noise falls away.

Percy Hapgood (Queen and Country, 2014) x OFC

tags: 1950s setting • slow burn • longfic • post-war Britain • angst • male pov • military themes • period typical sexism

chapter 2

The light that morning was flat white, thin English sun that didn’t so much warm the barrack room as expose every stray thread and scuff mark left behind from the night before. It stretched in dusty planks across the floorboards, illuminating the rows of iron beds where blankets had been pulled so tight the wool felt as hard as board, and each corner folded into a mitred point that spoke of learnt discipline.

As it always comes with men, there was a particular smell to the place that never truly spared your nose. One that can only be described as a heavy mingling of floor wax and the sour scent of Brasso that seemed to coat the back of your throat, layered over the mutton fat rubbed deep into boot leather.

It stank, to be precise.

The high ceiling always caught the scrape of a chair or the clearing of a throat and tossed it back down again, magnifying the small, private sounds of forty men trying to make themselves presentable under the watchful eye of a clock that never seemed to move quite fast enough, as typical of such frozen in time places.

Let’s be honest. Most of the men moved sluggishly, working their clothes brushes against heavy khaki serge. The sound of a scrape competed with the distant, muffled barks of an NCO drifting in from across the gravel of the square.

It was a morning of small, metallic clicks and the rasp of webbing. It was a world of heavy fabric and cold metal where every man kept his head down and focused on the narrow slice of space he’d been allotted. There was a comfort in that shared, quiet labor, too. Or rather an understanding that as long as the brass shone and the creases were sharp enough to cut, the rest of the world could be kept at bay. Or so they thought. But every day, day after day, the air inside felt thick with apprehension that no amount of polishing could entirely buff away. It seemed as though the silence had been waiting for the first mistake of the day to break the surface of their fragile, manufactured order.

It nearly always did.

That day, the steady tempo of the room was fractured by a stumbling noise coming from the far corner. Everyone heard the uneven scratching of a brush and the panicked rattle of a locker door that couldn’t quite close. While the others worked with a numb sort of grace, one could say, this sound was clumsy and loud. You could hear the frustration in the way a buckle snapped against the floorboards and the hurried, heavy breathing that followed. It was a sharp contrast to the slow, lazy movements of the men nearby who pointedly looked at nothing but their own reflections.

As annoying as it could be, it was truly a lonely sound that seemed to pull at the edges of the room’s composure. It was a reminder that underneath the spit-shine and the squared blankets, there was always someone struggling just to keep their chin above the rising tide of the morning.

Percy Hapgood occupied his allotted stretch of floor with a restless, scrambling energy that made the simple act of dressing look like a struggle against the Koreans themselves.

His best battledress seemed to have been tailored for a man of entirely different proportions. The jacket rode high and stiff across his shoulders while the sleeves gave up several inches before they reached his wrists, leaving his bony, freckled arms looking vulnerable and strangely long in the morning light.

He moved in a series of sharp, jolting jerks, folding his lanky frame into a crouch over his boots only to spring back up a second later, never quite finding a position that his joints found agreeable. There was a clumsy determination in the way his legs jutted at odd angles, and how his knees threatened to collide with the iron frame of the bed as he wrestled with the heavy leather of his gaiters.

He had been working at the brass buckles for several minutes, fumbling with the stiff webbing in a manner that suggested a great deal of effort but very little progress. The straps remained stubborn, slipping through his grip and snapping back against his skin with a stinging sound that echoed in the quiet of the morning, yet he continued to tug at them with a desperate persistence.

Percy in a nutshell, really.

His head was tilted at a sharp angle, his tongue caught between his teeth as he tried to coax the material into place, but the gaiters twisted and puckered around his shins until his legs looked even more spindly and awkward than before. It was a tiring, repetitive act, a battle of wills between a man and his uniform that Percy seemed destined to lose despite the dark, glassy polish he had spent hours buffing into the leather.

When he finally pushed himself to his feet, he did so with a sudden surge that his balance wasn't quite prepared to handle. He straightened to his full, inconvenient height and turned toward the small, silvered mirror inside his locker, but his boot caught the heavy iron leg of the bed anyway. He struggled to keep upright, his body pitching forward with his arms windmillng through the air in a wide arc that sent his shadow dancing wildly across the floorboards. His shoulders twisted and his elbows flared as he fought the pull of the floor, his boots scuffing and sliding until, by some minor miracle of physics, he managed to lurch back onto his heels and steady himself.

Percy never waited for the room to turn on him. He threw his head back and let out a loud, braying sound of amusement that shattered the tension and rang loudly against the high rafters. He was always far too large for the smallness of the trip.

He looked down at his feet, betrayed, jabbing a finger at his own boots as if they were unruly children he was scolding in front of a crowd.

"Blasted things," he called out, his voice pitched to reach the very end of the aisle where Bill was quietly finishing his own kit, "I tell you, Bill, my left foot has a personal vendetta against my right, and I'm just the poor sod caught in the middle of their fucking civil war."

Bill sat on the edge of his bed a few feet away, solid and contained in the narrow space. His posture was straight without the strained effort Percy always displayed. He moved through the final details of his uniform neatly, his hands working with a speed that spoke of months spent doing exactly these same tasks in exactly this order. He ran a brush down his sleeve and checked the sharp line of his trouser crease before reaching up to settle his collar. His fingers were quick and practiced as they found the right tension in the fabric. There was a quiet competence to him that seemed to mark out a clear boundary around his bed. He was certain that the morning would proceed exactly as he intended it to.

Percy drifted closer, drawn by the contrast, and leaned in until he was peering at Bill’s collar with a stare of intense, mock-serious scrutiny. He prodded the stiff material with one restless finger, but the fabric held firm. Percy whistled and grinned as he bent a little nearer to Bill’s ear.

“Careful now, Billy boy,” he said loud enough to stir the attention of the men nearby. “Ease up on the starch. You’ll be so stiff your mother won’t know if she’s hugging her son or a wooden post. You’ll have to be kicked in the rear just to take a sip of tea.”

Bill’s mouth twitched against his will, though he swatted the probing hand away and shot Percy a weary look.

He smoothed the collar back into place. “It’s called being presentable, Percy,” he remarked. “Something you might want to look up in the manual.”

Percy let his attention wander immediately. His energy pushed him back into motion as he set off down the central aisle between the long ranks of beds. He walked with a loose, loping stride. His thin legs kept swinging wide so that he seemed to occupy more of the room than he actually did, and his shoulders always rolled as he paced.

A few of the other men glanced up from their polishing, sensing the familiar rhythm of Percy beginning a performance. He reached the far end of the barrack, turned on his heel, and made his way back with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“I’ve been giving this family visit of yours some serious thought,” Percy announced, projecting his voice to the high rafters without quite shouting.

He let his eyes flick from face to face before settling back on Bill. “And I’ve decided this sister of yours isn’t real at all. A… phantom, that’s what she is. A clever ruse to make the rest of us feel like lonely, tragic bachelors while you swan off with a relative who is, in truth, a disguised duchess slumming it for the weekend. Her tits any nice?”

He paused at the end of the aisle and spread his hands wide, waiting for the soft huff of laughter that followed, clearly enjoying the brief hold he had over the room.

Bill shook his head and kept his eyes on his tie, aligning it carefully against his shirt front. He kept smiling, though he didn't let it distract him from his work.

“She’s real enough, Percy,” he replied. “And she’s twenty-two, so keep your jokes tucked in where they belong. She’s… she’s a quiet sort. Nursing student.” He hesitated for a second before the last part, and his fingers paused on the silk of the tie as if he were trying to find a way to make her sound at home in a crude place such as this.

Percy seized on the description with a sudden, broad grin and turned back toward Bill’s bed. “A nurse,” he repeated, drawing the word out as if he were weighing the possibilities of it. “Even better. She can mend my broken heart when I inevitably trip over the doorstep and shatter into a thousand pieces.”

He clutched at his chest in a dramatic gesture, leaning into the role of the clumsy victim, and the laughter from the other beds came more easily this time. He stood in the center of the aisle, a tall, awkward figure enjoying the noise, while the morning sun continued to climb higher through the windows.

He then moved towards his corner, and his boots came to a rest on the floorboards as his gaze snagged on the small, silvered mirror inside his locker. The glass was clouded with age, and a thin, wavering crack ran across the center that split his reflection into two jagged pieces.

He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to force the unruly strands into something flatter and more obedient, but the hair sprang back in an instant. It was a stubborn, washed-out mix of red and blond that refused to stay put at any time of the day. He studied his own face then, noting the pale, richly freckled skin and the sharpness of his nose, and the way his mouth looked like it was perpetually about to say too much.

Without the noise and the constant motion to distract him, the old, familiar worry settled back into his chest; the feeling that he took up far too much space and was too strangely put together to ever truly belong in a place like this.

A sergeant’s whistle soon blasted from somewhere across the parade ground loud enough to make Percy jolt as if he had been caught jerking off. He reached for his beret and shoved it onto his head at a jaunty, lopsided angle that looked just deliberate enough to be a challenge. His grin snapped back into place before the echo of the whistle had even faded. He crossed the distance to Bill’s bed and brought his hand down on his friend’s shoulder with a heavy clap that was intended to be friendly but nearly sent Bill face-first into his locker.

“Right then,” Percy said, bright and carrying easily toward the door as he began to lead the way out. “Let’s go meet this Mary. If she’s half as sturdy as you are, Bill, I’ll have to put on my best behavior, or at the very least try not to fall on top of her in the first five minutes. If you know what I mean.”

His laugh rang out again, full and confident as it bounced off the high ceiling, and any trace of the doubt that had crossed his face a moment before was tucked away beneath the noise, safely hidden from view as he stepped out into the morning.

***

By the time they reached the main guardroom gates, the morning had sharpened into a bright, exposing light that caught every stray thread and scuff mark on their boots.

Bill walked without any fuss, his heels together and his shoulders back in a steady line that looked entirely natural on him, the picture of a man ready for an inspection. Percy hovered just a few inches to his side, unable to find a way to stand that felt right. He rocked forward onto his toes and back onto his heels, dipping his hands into his pockets only to take them out a second later. He ran his fingers over the knot of his tie, adjusted the brim of his beret twice, and finally let his arms hang at his sides, though they felt oddly heavy.

Standing out there in the open air with the road stretching out in front of him, he always felt conspicuous and exposed, too tall and too loose-jointed for the stillness the place demanded.

The crunch of tires on gravel announced the taxi before the car actually rounded the corner. A moment later, a black Austin rolled to a halt with a growl.

Percy drew the air in deep, glad for the sudden change in atmosphere. The taxi door swung open and Bill’s parents stepped out onto the gravel, looking solid and sensible in their Sunday coats. His father kept a steadying hand on his wife’s elbow as she straightened her hat and looked over the gates and the uniforms.

Percy straightened his spine, smoothed the front of his battledress jacket one last time and fixed a wide, expectant expression on his face, bracing himself for the introductions. He stood with his heart thudding a little too fast against his ribs, watching as the rear door of the taxi began to open again, revealing the hem of a coat and a flash of movement from inside the dark cab.

A third figure emerged more slowly, and a young woman quietly stepped down onto the gravel, as if she were feeling her way into the morning light rather than making it obvious. She paused beside the open door with her small frame framed against the dark, shadowed interior of the car, and something in the absolute stillness of her made the moment stretch out.

Percy’s restless shifting faltered and his heels hit the ground and stayed there as he watched her, waiting for a cue he didn't quite understand.

He took her in with the quick, judgmental assessment of a man used to the pin-ups pasted inside lockers and the glossy cinema posters that promised a very particular kind of beauty.

Truth be told, he had expected Bill’s sister to step out with a wide smile and a lively, easy grace. He had imagined a girl who would fill the space around her with noise and charm, but the reality of what he saw made his thoughts stumble.

She was a curious picture.

Mary was, in fact, small, much shorter than he had imagined, and she was built in a way that seemed at odds with itself. Her hips were full and heavy beneath the thick, dark wool of her coat, while her shoulders sloped away into narrowness that made her look almost unfinished.

Her coat looked too warm for the climbing sun, its heavy fabric swallowing her and giving her a grounded appearance, and the sensible hat she wore sat low enough to cast a deep shadow over her face.

There was an air of quiet about her that unsettled Percy, a sense that she moved to a much slower rhythm than the frantic one he lived by, and his first instinct was a soft, careless sort of dismissal. She looked frail to him, though not in a way that made him want to protect her; it was more of a detached pity, as if he expected a strong gust of wind to tip her sideways. He noticed the way she held herself, her weight settled firmly through her middle despite the slightness of her frame above, and he decided she was an odd figure to have come from Bill’s sturdy, predictable stock.

He filed her away as an anomaly and was soon ready to move on to the next thing, entirely unaware that the quiet impression she had made was already beginning to sink in in his scattered brain.

Bill stepped toward his parents first, then turned with his hand toward Percy.

"Mother, Father, this is Percy Hapgood," Bill said. "He’s the one I mentioned in my letters. The one who can’t sit still for five minutes."

He shifted his gaze to Mary, and Percy noticed that his expression softened just a fraction around the eyes. "And Percy, this is my sister, Mary."

Percy reacted, as usual, too quickly, because his body was always eager to get ahead of the conversation. He stepped forward at once, shoot out his arm before his feet had quite finished their stride, and he nearly crowded into Mary’s space in seconds. He offered his hand with the automatic, firm grip he used on everyone, but the contact stopped him short.

Her hand lay in his like something borrowed from another season altogether. It felt thin-boned and oddly weightless. The grip was slack rather than shy, and it was so cold that it startled him outright. Even in the mildness of the day, with the sun already warming the gravel and the smell of spring in the air, her skin carried a chill that seeped straight through his palm and into his wrist, sharp enough to make his fingers twitch. The sensation lingered for a second too long, and in that pause, Percy became acutely aware of the sheer bulk of his own presence; the heavy wool of his uniform, the heat of his skin, and the clumsy height that made him loom over her while Bill and his parents turned their attention toward the guardroom.

You see, silence had never been a thing Percy trusted. The feel of that sudden cold against his palm seemed to flip a switch inside him, and instinct took over before a single coherent thought could catch up. His mind began scrambling for something light and loud to fill the gap, his shoulders lifting as he drew in a sharp breath. The urge to turn the moment into a joke rose quickly to the surface. It was a usual reflex meant to smooth over the sudden unease before it had a chance to take a definite shape.

He leaned in toward and realized that he had to bend at the waist a fraction just to bring his face level with hers. To his annoyance, his posture made him feel ungainly and all elbows again, but he pressed on regardless. He pulled up the broad grin he used whenever he wanted to set the tone of a room before anyone else could speak.

By the time the group had been ushered through the gates and into the small tea room just beyond, the quiet of the place felt almost pointed. The lace curtains muted the morning light and the low, polite murmur of other voices made his own sound far too large as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Pleasure, Mary,” he said more brightly than he had planned as he looked down at her. “Bill’s told me everything. Mostly lies, of course. I expected someone twice your height, given how he talks you up. You’re a bit of a pocket-edition, aren’t you? I shall have to be careful not to misplace you in mine.”

He waited for the familiar signals, for the soft, polite laugh or the downward glance. You know, the small gestures that usually told him his footing was sound, but they never came. Instead, Mary lifted her head and met his eyes squarely, steady and entirely unembarrassed.

He noted that her eyes were dark and deep, holding intensity that felt far too heavy for such a casual exchange. There was no fluttering retreat in her expression and no quick, shy smile to smooth the moment over. She watched him so calmly that it made Percy’s grin awkwardly hang on his face, and the general hum of the tea room seemed to drop away as he realized that she had no intention of playing along.

Mary did not laugh. The smile she eventually gave him was measured, barely lifting the corners of her mouth. Percy could tell that she had seen straight through the performance and found it lacking.

She held his gaze as she eventually spoke. She was quiet but steady enough to carry through the room.

“Better to be a pocket-edition than a sprawling encyclopedia, Mr. Hapgood,” she said. “Harder to lose your place, and much less likely to gather dust on a shelf.”

Percy’s grin stalled, as if the muscles had forgotten their next cue, and for once no noise rushed in to fill the gap. He blinked twice, opened his mouth, caught entirely off-balance by a response he hadn't prepared for and didn't know how to meet. He had been bracing himself for shyness or a frail sort of confusion typical of the ditzy town girls. At least for something that would allow him to keep the upper hand and steer the conversation back into familiar territory, but her calm wit had cut straight through his rhythm. He stood silly in a rare silence, scrambling for his thoughts to take any shape that made sense, while he felt Bill watching him from the side with interest.

Bill’s mother then stepped into the center of the group and began guiding them toward a table near the window. The legs of the wooden chairs scraped softly against the floor as everyone moved. Percy stayed a step behind, fixing his eyes on Mary as she walked ahead of him.

She surely moved slow and weirdly heavy for a girl her age. He frowned at the mismatch for a second before shaking his head and pushing the thought aside.

By the time Sophie—his latest conquest—arrived in a thick cloud of perfume and a burst of high-pitched chatter, Percy had already managed to pull himself back together. He was on his feet in an instant as he pulled out a chair for her with a flourish of exaggerated charm. His voice rose to meet hers, he began to laugh again to fill the space, and he felt the presence of the quiet girl slip back into the shadows of the room as he pivoted back into the role he played best.

A jester, that is.

***

By early evening Percy had changed into his civilian clothes, and a tweed sports jacket that looked as if it belonged to a smaller man. The fabric pulled tight across his shoulder blades and the sleeves ended several inches above his wrists, leaving his long, pale forearms exposed to the cooling air.

He looked younger and less sure of himself without the thick serge of his uniform to hide behind. His body moved with a loose, rattling energy as he and Bill waited near the iron gates of the hospital. Their usual place to pick up girls.

Percy caught sight of himself in the shop window opposite the gates and stopped moving. He grabbed his tie and yanked at the knot, then began to cycle through a series of practiced expressions, trying to find one that looked natural and easy. He squinted at his own reflection, twisting his face into awkward grimaces that made Bill, who was adjusting his own collar, turn away to hide a smirk.

There was a restless hum under Percy’s skin that had nothing to do with the drop in temperature. He felt the keyed-up sensation of a night beginning, the sense of being on the hunt for a bit of fun to kill the hours of their leave. This was what they did at least twice a week: they stood on street corners and waited for girls to pass. It was a game with its own rules and rhythms that Percy understood perfectly.

He straightened his back and rolled his shoulders, bracing himself as he shot Bill a sideways grin.

“Right then,” Percy said, dropping his voice into a tone of mock seriousness. “Operation Nurse is in effect. We’re looking for the ones with the loud laughs, Bill. I’ve had enough of the quiet geese for one day. My ears need the… exercise.”

He gave his tie one final, unnecessary tug and rocked back on his heels, already starting his performance for the empty street, waiting for the hospital doors to open and the evening to work in his favor.

The sound of the girls soon reached their ears. Percy’s head snapped up at once, looking out eyes wide as the heavy iron doors finally groaned open to release them. Six student nurses spilled out onto the cobblestones, clicking their heels as they moved in a tight knot, talking over one another with the hurried energy of people who had just finished a long shift and were desperate to leave it behind.

There was a sudden flash of color in the grey street, that’s for sure. Bright silk headscarves and fresh applications of lipstick that looked vivid in the fading light. Intoxicating, by young soldiers’ standards. Percy felt the restlessness lift in his chest at that.

Sophie, of course, was right at the center of the group, moving so gracefully that it seemed to draw the eyes of everyone on the street without her ever having to ask for it. She had her head tipped back, letting out a high, musical laugh that carried over the noise of the traffic, and her hair was tucked neatly beneath a scarf tied in a chic, effortless knot. She occupied the pavement with confidence that Percy understood and admired. It matched his, he believed. As a way of being loud and vibrant that felt like a direct invitation to come and join the fun.

And maybe shag soon enough.

He found himself straightening his jacket again, unconsciously angling his body toward her like he was lining up a shot, convinced that she was exactly the kind of girl who would make a night of leave feel like it actually mattered.

Mary followed a few paces behind the rest, emerging from the doorway with a heavy step that lacked any of the skipping energy the others possessed. She was still buttoned to the chin in that same dark wool coat, and had her arms wrapped tightly around a thick, leather-bound medical textbook that she held against her chest, for whatever reason. She kept her head bowed, looking at the uneven stones beneath her feet rather than scanning the road for a distraction or a friendly face. She looked as though she was merely passing through the evening on her way to something more serious, already detached from the chatter and the bright makeup of the girls ahead of her. Percy’s gaze slid right over her without a second thought, dismissing her as a quiet, insignificant detail in the background while he focused entirely on the noise and the sparkle of Sophie’s laughter.

Easy.

Percy launched himself into the girls’ path with a sudden, jerky burst of energy that made it impossible for them to miss him. Of course. He let his boot catch on a protruding cobblestone and lurched forward, arms flailing for a second as if he were about to go down hard, before he converted the fall into a wide, sweeping lunge. He ended the movement with a loose-limbed flourish, rolling his shoulders and straightening his jacket as if the whole clumsy display had been choreographed.

The reaction was instant. Sophie’s laugh broke out above the others, sharp and genuinely surprised, and Percy felt that satisfying heat rise in his chest.

Yes, that’s it, baby.

He stood a little taller, basking in the attention, feeling his earlier doubts vanish as he realized he had the floor.

He moved directly into Sophie’s space, ignoring the other nurses as they drifted to the sides to make room for him. His long arms stayed in constant motion, his hands darting out to emphasize his words as he began to talk, his voice pitched loud enough to dominate the small stretch of pavement. He wore a broad, crooked grin and leaned in close to his girl.

“Careful now, ladies,” he called out surely. “You’ve just walked right into the presence of the Royal Artillery’s most dangerous secret weapon.” He waited a notch, making sure Sophie’s eyes were locked onto his, then dropped his voice as if he were letting her in on a military secret. “I tell you, the Sergeant is absolutely terrified of me. He says my left hook is a lethal weapon—though, if I'm honest, I mostly just use it to reach the top shelf of the larder for the chocolate biscuits.”

Sophie laughed again and gave his sleeve a quick, playful tug, and Percy felt a surge of genuine triumph. He was looming over her restlessly, talking with his hands even larger as he spun out the story, with his eyes glued to her face.

Although he’d rather kept them lower.

It took a couple of crude jokes to make Sophie’s laughter grow louder and more unrestrained, her head falling back as she reached out to catch his arm. Her fingers curled around the rough wool of his sleeve, making the hair on his arms stand up. Percy felt himself broaden under the touch. He lifted his chest and squared his shoulders as if he had just grown another inch on the spot. He grinned down at her, unabashedly drinking in the attention. Every giggle and every sideways glance from the girls fed the feeling that he was exactly where he belonged, doing the one thing he was truly good at.

Behind him, Bill had been pulled into a conversation with one of the other nurses. His voice was low and his posture relaxed as he listened to her.

Just beyond that small circle, Mary stood entirely still. As usual, she wasn't quite part of the group, yet she hadn't walked away. Her presence was so silent that it was easy to forget she was there at all. Her face remained calm and thoughtful, her dark eyes skipped over Percy as if she were examining a curious object. There wasn't a trace of admiration in her expression. She looked, indeed, puzzled.

Sophie finally caught her breath and jabbed a thumb in Percy’s direction. Her eyes looked bright with amusement as she looked over at Bill. “You’re a proper caution, aren’t you?” she said, teasing. “Is he always this mad, Bill?”

Bill glanced over from his own conversation, taking in Percy’s lanky, hovering frame with a quick, knowing look. “Day and night,” he replied. “It’s a medical marvel they haven't locked him in a cupboard yet.”

Percy joined in the laughter, loud and eager as he played along, never once turning his head to see the girl standing on the edge of the light, unaware of the quiet, heavy scrutiny that refused to let him go.

Satisfied with the turn of events, Percy started talking over the top of the group, booming as he began to direct everyone toward the next street over.

“Right, enough standing about on the pavement,” he announced, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm toward the dark line of trees in the distance. “A stroll through the park is exactly what’s required to build up an appetite. Then it’s off to the milk bar for the biggest shakes in town, my treat. Don’t all thank me at once, it’s quite embarrassing.”

He turned to Sophie and offered his elbow with an expansive flourish that nearly clipped a man walking his dog in the opposite direction. He flashed a quick grin at the passerby and looked back at Sophie, who slid her arm into his with a pleased little laugh.

He leaned his head close to hers as they started moving, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “I should warn you, I’ve won medals for my walking pace. You’ll have to keep up or I might leave you in the dust.”

Bill stayed behind for a second to take stock of the group, and soon his eyes landed on Mary where she still stood by the hospital gates. She was clutching her book against her side as if she were still debating whether to follow them or simply head back inside.

“Come on then, Mary,” Bill called out. “Don’t just stand there like a statue. We’re losing the light.”

She let out a small, tired sigh that seemed to deflate her whole frame, then shifted the heavy book higher against her hip and started to walk.

She kept her pace unhurried, trailing several yards behind the others.

Percy was already halfway down the block, angling his shoulders sharply toward Sophie as he led the way toward the park gates.

The park soon stretched out in front of them, the sky overhead fading into a bruised, heavy grey as the sun dropped behind the line of trees. A low, thin mist had started to crawl across the lawns, blurring the edges of the bushes and making the air feel damp and heavy.

The temperature took a sudden, sharp dip, and the girls immediately began to huddle together, pulling their cardigans tight across their chests and hunching their shoulders against the chill.

Sophie shivered theatrically and pressed herself firmly against Percy’s side, hooking her arm through his as if the cold had left her with no other choice. Of course. Percy was delighted. He moved to the side to make room for her and leaned in, his voice rising as he launched into another rambling story to make her giggle.

He walked beside her with a swinging, confident stride. The tight tweed of his jacket bunched up around his neck as he gesticulated, his arms moving in wide arcs while he kept the group’s attention locked on him. He felt a deep, heady sort of satisfaction in the way the girls leaned toward his voice, and he kept the pace brisk, pausing only to wait for the next burst of laughter before he pushed on again. He held his chin high, his grin bright, entirely caught up in the feeling of being the undisputed center of the evening.

Meanwhile, Mary trailed several yards behind the main group, with her heavy coat buttoned all the way to her throat so that only her pale face was visible against the dark wool. The mist swirled around her ankles as she walked cautiously on the damp gravel, and the gap between her and the others continued to widen as no one turned back to wait.

She didn't complain about the cold or made a show of shivering, though. She kept her head down and her arms locked around her textbook, stiff and withdrawn. She looked like a small, dark anchor dragging behind the bright chatter of the rest of the group, a quiet figure moving through the fog at a completely different speed than the world ahead of her.

The group slowed as the path split into two, where the gravel curved around a small patch of grass where the white, octagonal shape of the bandstand stood half-buried in the mist. It looked ghostly in the fading light, with painted railings and peaked roof rising out of the dusk like a pale island.

Percy’s stride faltered for just a second as he took it in, his eyes darting toward the structure with that same restless energy he’d been carrying all night.

Sophie caught the look immediately, widened her smile as she sensed an opportunity to push the evening into fun.

She suddenly shrieked and bolted away without any warning, her skirts fluttering and her heels skidding wildly on the loose stones. “Last one to the bandstand is a slow-coach and buys the cakes!” she shouted back over her shoulder, already several yards ahead.

The challenge worked in an instant. Bill let out a roar of laughter and gave chase, with the other girls following in a frantic, noisy scramble, their voices clashing and gravel flying up behind their boots as they raced into the fog.

Percy’s body jolted into motion soon enough, his long legs pumping as he surged forward into a run.

“Catch me if you can, Percy!” Sophie yelled, and her headscarf snapped in the wind behind her. “Or are you all talk and no legs?”

Percy’s answer came back as a loud, breathless shout of delight. “You’ve made a grave error, Sophie!” he called out, echoing off the trees as he gained ground. “I’m built like a greyhound, even if I have the grace of a giraffe!”

He leaned into the sprint, pumping his arms. His coat flapped behind him as he chased the flashes of color and noise toward the white railings of the bandstand.

Mary didn't bolt after them right away, but as the laughter faded into the mist and the path ahead emptied, she tried to force her legs into motion. She managed six or seven hurried, shuffling strides, her boots skidded on the loose gravel as she attempted to catch up, but the effort broke her almost immediately.

The color vanished from her face so fast it was as if it had been wiped away, leaving her skin a thin, waxy white that made her eyes look sunken and much too dark. The cold evening air hit the back of her throat soon, and she slowed to a staggering halt, her chest heaving as her body simply quit on her.

She reached the small stone bridge over the water and slammed her hand down onto the iron railing just before her knees could buckle. This clearly wasn't the normal panting of someone who had run too fast. Her throat seemed to be narrowing, and every breath she tried to pull in was met with a stubborn resistance from within her lungs. A harsh, rattling wheeze broke out from deep inside her chest that she couldn't stop no matter how hard she pressed her hand against her ribs. She leaned her weight over the railing, gripping the cold metal so hard that her knuckles turned dusky blue, while she fought the sensation that the air was being squeezed right out of her.

The park seemed to grow wider and darker around her, the green lawns turning to black shadows as the mist crawled up over the stone of the bridge. She looked pitiful against the heavy bulk of her coat with her head hanging low as she gasped for breath, her whole frame shaking with the strain of staying upright.

Far ahead, the high, thin sound of Sophie’s laughter drifted back through the trees, followed by the muffled thud of feet hitting the wooden floor of the bandstand. The others felt miles away now, and Mary stayed there alone in the damp quiet, feeling her heart hammering an uneven rhythm against her chest while she clung to the railing and waited for the world to stop spinning for once.

Mary bowed her head and stayed that way, pressing her chin nearly to her chest. Her shoulders rose and fell in shallow jerks, while every breath felt like a slow, painful struggle to get the air down. Through the blur in her vision, she watched the others finally hit the end of the bandstand. Their dark shapes danced and bounced under the peaked roof, arms were flinging out with the leftover energy of the race, and their voices drifted back to her in thin, happy shouts. She knew from long experience how quickly people’s faces changed from concern to annoyance when a night was interrupted, and she had no desire to see that look on her brother’s face.

The cold from the iron railing began to numb her palms and crawl up her forearms, so she pulled the heavy wool of her coat tighter around her body. She was grateful for the thick weight of it now, the way it seemed to hold her steady while her insides felt like they were collapsing. This was the same coat Percy had mocked in his mind earlier, the one that made her look so dowdy and out of place next to Sophie’s light scarf, but now it was the only thing keeping her warm. She stood perfectly still and waited for the tightness in her lungs to let go, her breathing slowly turning from a wheeze back into a shaky rhythm as she kept her eyes fixed on the gravel.

Across the grass, the lights of the bandstand clicked on one by one. The small, pale bulbs threw a yellow glow through the mist, making the white-painted wood stand out sharply against the black trees. The sudden light was a clear signal that the evening was moving into its next phase and she was still stuck on the bridge.

Meanwhile, the happy group gathered under a shallow roof. A single bulb hung from the center of the ceiling, making everyone’s faces look pale and sharp against the dark mist pressing in from the park.

Percy leaned back against the railing, trying to catch his breath, with his face flushed red from the sprint. He didn't mind at all when Sophie stepped into his space, and bumped her shoulder against his arm.

"I didn't think you actually had it in you!" She panted with her eyes bright and teasing as she looked him up and down. "You looked like a runaway horse coming down that path. I nearly tripped just trying to stay ahead of those great long legs of yours."

Percy laughed out loud and wiped a smudge of damp grit from his forehead. "I told you, didn't I? It’s all in the stride, Sophie. Give me another fifty yards and I’d have overtaken the lot of you without breaking a sweat. I’m built for speed, even if the Army tries to slow me down with boots that weigh a ton."

He grinned at the other girls, enjoying the way they all crowded around the light, and how their chatter filled the wooden structure with a loud, hollow echo.

Then the noise began to die down. The laughter thinned out into a few scattered chuckles as everyone’s lungs recovered, and the sudden quiet made the sound of footsteps on the gravel stand out.

A dark shape emerged from the fog, moving toward the bandstand with a heavy, agonizingly slow persistence.

Mary came into the light one step at a time, her free hand hanging stiffly at her side while the other was jammed hard against the center of her chest, with her fingers splayed out over her coat as if she were trying to pin herself together. She kept her head down, her face tight and drawn, and the only sound in the bandstand was the harsh, rattling rasp of her breathing as she finally reached the bottom step. She climbed it slowly, her shoes scuffing the boards, and as she stepped under the yellow light, the last of the jokes died away completely.

Mary was clearly done with moving for now. She didn't even try to climb the last few inches, instead letting her shoulder slump heavily against the nearest wooden post. She leaned there with her head hanging, and her chest rose and fell in those same shallow, desperate hitches. The ghostly white of her skin had been replaced by a sickly grey-blue tint around her mouth, a color that looked wrong even under the light of the overhead bulb. Her fingers gripped the rough wood of the post so hard that her knuckles looked like white stones, and she stood there trembling, just trying to stay on her feet.

Bill was the first one to break the silence, stepping away from the others fast enough. His face had gone tight, and while there was a flash of worry in his eyes, it was quickly drowned out by a look of sheer annoyance. He glanced quickly at Sophie and the other girls, checking their reactions, before he turned on his sister.

"For God’s sake, Mary," he said harsh enough to make even Percy wince. "We’ve been standing here for five minutes waiting for you. If you can’t even manage a simple stroll through the park, you should’ve just stayed back in the dorms and kept your nose in your books."

Mary lifted her head just enough to look him in the eye, though the effort made her breath hitch and stutter in her throat. She looked small and exhausted, but she didn't look away. She waited a long moment, pressing her hand so hard against her sternum that it looked like she was trying to shove the air back into her lungs, before she finally managed to speak.

"I didn't ask," she rasped as she fought for every syllable. She stopped to swallow hard. "...for a race, Bill."

Percy pushed himself off the railing, feeling his heart still thumping with the leftover energy of the sprint. He could feel the mood of the group dropping, the air turning heavy and uncomfortable as Mary’s ragged breathing filled the silence.

He glanced over at Sophie and saw her face caught between a polite frown and total boredom, and that was all the incentive he needed. He didn't like it when things got serious or slow; he lived for the noise. He forced his shoulders to drop into a loose, easy slouch and plastered a wide, mocking grin on his face, signaling to everyone that he was about to fix the atmosphere the only way he knew how.

He barked a heavy laugh that sounded far too loud under the wooden roof. He looked Mary up and down, taking in the way she was practically glued to the post for support, and the adrenaline still coursing through him turned into a reckless, mean sort of humor.

“Lord, Bill,” Percy called out as he looked at his friend. “What have you brought us? Is she made of china? I’ve seen old men with canes move faster than that for a bit of a lark.” He turned his focus onto Mary. “Honestly, Mary, do you come with a ‘Fragile’ sticker on your back? We’re out for a good time, not trying to run an infirmary ward in the middle of the park.”

Sophie giggled in a quick, high-pitched voice and leaned into his side, her shoulder warm against his arm as she played along. “She does look a bit peaked, doesn’t she?” she added, her eyes skimming over Mary’s pale face before darting back to Percy. “Like she’s just seen a ghost.”

Percy felt the relief of the group's attention coming back to him. He kept his smile bold, completely ignoring the way his joke had landed like a slap in the quiet space, too caught up in the warmth of Sophie’s laughter to care about the girl still struggling for air at the edge of the light.

Mary didn’t flinch or shrink away like he expected she would. She knew boys like him too well. Instead, she slowly pushed herself off the wooden post, pulling her coat tight across her chest and buttoning it as if she were preparing for a long walk. The shaking in her shoulders began to steady, and while her breathing was still loud and wet, the look of panic had vanished.

Her face changed; the soft, tired look Percy had been making fun of fell away, leaving behind a sharp, cold focus that made her look years older than anyone else under the roof.

She looked him right in the eye, and it wasn't a quick or shy glance. Her gaze went straight through his wide grin and his loud voice, cutting past the performance as if she were looking at something much smaller and more pathetic underneath.

Percy felt the heat of the run drain out of him instantly. It soon turned into sudden, cold prickle of discomfort that made his smile feel heavy and stupid on his face. He hands suddenly felt too big and clumsy as he struggled to find somewhere to look that wasn't that odd girl’s face.

“I’ll find my own way back,” Mary said. Her voice was quiet, but it was steady enough to silence the group. She stopped to take one more shallow breath, and her eyes never moved from Percy’s. “Don’t let me spoil your sport. I’d hate for you to pull a muscle trying so hard to be funny."

A tiny, tired shadow of a smile touched the corner of her mouth, though there was no humor in it. It was the look of someone who had seen exactly what he was and found it exhausting. “It seems to be such hard work for you,” she added.

Not waiting for a reply, Mary turned her back on them with a quiet finality and stepped off the wooden boards. All they could see was her heavy coat swinging around her legs as she disappeared into the mist.

Within a few seconds, the dark and the damp air swallowed her whole, leaving the path behind her empty. The sound of her shoes on the gravel grew quiet and then cut out completely, as if she had never been standing there at all.

Nobody spoke for a moment. The silence was thick and uncomfortable, and even Sophie’s face changed, her playful expression slipping as she stared at the empty spot where Mary had been.

Percy stayed exactly where he was, his half-finished grin still hanging on his face, feeling a dull, heavy thud in his chest. It was a messy mix of heat and hollowness that he didn't want to address. Mary’s words had stuck somewhere deep, and he felt a sudden, annoying spark of curiosity about her that he was definitely too proud to admit to.

He moved before the silence could get any heavier. He slammed his hands together in a sharp, loud clap that made everyone jump.

“Right!” he shouted, forcing a bright, loud energy back into his voice as he turned toward Sophie. He pulled his old confidence back around him like a shield. “Milkshakes, then? I believe this beauty owes me a strawberry one for being the fastest man in Hampshire.”

He then forced a laugh to fill the hole Mary had left behind, and the group started to move again soon enough. Their chatter rose to drown out the quiet. He led the way back toward the park gates, talking faster and louder than before.

***

The milk bar was a blast of heat and neon the second they pushed through the door. The air was so thick with the smell of vanilla syrup and damp sawdust that it was almost hard to breathe. Pink and yellow lights hummed behind the steamed-up windows, reflecting off the chrome edges of the counter and the polished tabletops. A jukebox in the corner churned out a tinny, upbeat song that mixed with the loud chatter of the other tables, and Percy felt the chill of the park begin to melt off his skin.

They piled into a red vinyl booth that was far too small for all of them. Percy’s long legs tangled under the table until his knees banged against the underside of the wood. He accidentally kicked Bill’s shin and got a quick, silent shove back, but he didn't care; he was back in the light, after all.

Trays of tall glass flutes arrived with a clatter, filled to the brim with frothy pink-and-white milkshakes that were already beginning to drip down the sides. Percy and Sophie didn't even wait, dropping two straws into the same glass. She leaned her weight comfortably against his shoulder, and her laughter soon mixed with the sweet smell of the drink as she whispered something funny in his ear. Under the bright light of the bar, everyone looked younger and more energetic, in their element.

But as the night roared on, a small, empty gap remained at the end of the table where the vinyl curved toward the wall. No one mentioned Mary, and no one looked at the empty space, but it stayed there nonetheless.

Percy grabbed his straw and slurped noisily, making a show of getting the last of the foam, then knocked his elbow against the sugar dispenser as he started a new, louder story about his basic training. He talked faster than usual, his voice rising to stay above the jukebox, but every time there was a tiny break in the noise, he found himself thinking of the cold mist on the bridge. He shoved the thought away, leaning back and grinning at Sophie, trying to drown out the memory of that quiet, dark walk with more sugar and louder jokes. That was safer.

Soon enough, Percy was completely "on", hunched over the sticky table with his elbows jutting out so far they kept knocking the napkin holder askew. He was treating the red vinyl booth like his own personal stage, his hands constantly in motion as he waved a soggy straw around to emphasize his points.

At one point, he stopped mid-sentence, puckered his lips, and whistled, pretending a drill sergeant’s call so perfectly it cut right through the jukebox music.

Sophie doubled over and pressed her face into her hands to stifle her giggles. "Stop it, Percy! People are looking," she managed to gasp out, though she was clearly loving the spectacle.

"Let 'em look!" Percy shouted back, leaning even further across the table until he was inches from her face. He took a long, noisy slurp of his strawberry shake, making a disgusting rattling sound at the bottom of the glass just to make her laugh again.

"I’m telling you, love, the man’s got a neck like a bull and a brain like a pea. He stood there, red as a beetroot, screaming at me because I’d polished my boots so well he could see his own balls in the toes. 'Ginger!' he bellows. 'Are you trying to dazzle the enemy into submission or just looking for a mirror to admire your own pathetic face?'"

He didn't wait for her to answer before launching into the next one. He told stories about the mess hall mystery meat and the time he’d accidentally marched a whole squad into a duck pond. His voice rose every time the conversation at the next table threatened to get louder than his own.

His eyes kept darting to Sophie, checking to see if her smile was still in place, and every time she gave him a fresh grin, he dialed up the energy. He was working hard for it, determined to keep the table loud and the girl by his side eager enough to maybe flash him through the window of her room by the end of the night.

"So there I am," Percy said at some point, leaning back and widening his eyes for effect, "balancing three trays of hot tea and a plate of jam tarts, and the Colonel walks in. I try to salute with my chin, the tea starts sliding, and I—"

He stopped. The punchline was right there on the tip of his tongue, but the noisy clatter of the milk bar seemed to drop away for a split second. Without warning, a flash of Mary under that dim bandstand light shoved its way into his head. It wasn't just a vague thought of her looking sick. It was the way that yellow bulb had hit her face, making her mouth look a bruised, dark blue. He could still see the way that color stayed there, even when she’d pulled herself up to look him in the eye.

The sound hit him next. He could hear that wet, rattling wheeze of hers again, the kind of sound that made your own chest feel tight just listening to it. It jarred against the upbeat song on the jukebox and the high-pitched giggles of the girls at the table. Suddenly, the sugary taste of the strawberry milkshake felt too thick and sticky in his throat, and the loud slurping sound he’d just made sounded obnoxious rather than funny.

"—and I ended up wearing the tarts like medals," he finished lamely, forcing the words out just to fill the gap. His timing was a mess, and the joke landed flat on the table. He stared at his empty glass for a second. He then looked up at Sophie, but her bright, expectant smile suddenly felt a touch too loud, and he wasn't quite sure where he was supposed to look next.

Percy tried to shove the thought of Bill’s sister aside, leaning over the table and speaking even louder to drown it out. He went for one of his old reliable stories he’d told a dozen times in the pub until he knew every beat of it by heart.

"So I told him straight, I said, 'Sergeant, you keep moaning about my kit, but if I polish these boots any harder, the sun is going to reflect off 'em and blind the entire Soviet army before they even cross the border!'" Percy slapped the tabletop with a sharp thud that made the spoons rattle in their tall glasses. "Ha! Can you imagine? The man turned a shade of purple I didn't think was humanly possible!"

He laughed at his own words, but the sound felt wrong in his own ears. It echoed off the chrome counter and the tiled walls, sounding more like a shout than a joke. For the first time all night, his own voice annoyed him. It felt heavy, like he was trying to force the air into the room when nobody had asked for it.

He caught Bill’s eyes darting toward the door for a split second like a quick, nervous glance at the dark street outside, before his friend turned back to the girl next to him and forced a smile.

Percy then felt Sophie lean back against the red vinyl, shaking her head at him with a tired, fond sort of look.

"You’re too much, Percy," she said softly. "Honestly. I don’t know where you get the energy to keep this up all night."

Percy grinned back, trying to soak up the compliment like he usually did, but it felt like a lot of work. He picked up his glass and sucked at the straw again, but the lukewarm remains of the milkshake tasted cloying and far too sweet. He was still smiling so hard that his face began to ache from the effort, but he couldn't stop thinking about how quiet and dark it was back at that bridge.

Percy sucked at his straw until it made a long, hollow scraping sound against the bottom of the glass. The noise was thin and grating, like a dry cough, and it made him shiver. He set the glass down and noticed his hands on the table; his fingers were actually shaking. A cold draft seemed to crawl right through his tweed jacket, settling deep in his chest despite the heat of the milk bar.

He forced himself to move, sliding his arm around Sophie’s shoulders and pulling her toward him. She leaned into him, warm and smelling of floral perfume, and for a second, he felt like he was back in control.

He looked past her at the window, where the condensation had turned the street into a blur of black and grey. Somewhere up that dark road was the hospital where the girls worked and slept. He had his nurse for the night, he had the drinks, and he’d won the race, so why did he feel like he was holding a handful of smoke?

The jukebox hit a snag, the record skipping for a beat and leaving a sudden, dead silence at the table. Percy jumped on the gap before anyone could say a word.

"Did I ever tell you lot about the time the Sergeant Major tried to ride that mangy horse from the stables?" he started, booming as he leaned into the middle of the booth. He gestured wildly with his free hand, nearly knocking over Bill’s empty glass. "He’s standing there, chest puffed out like a pigeon, and the horse looks him right in the eye, lets out a sigh, and just—"

He broke off. He saw Mary’s face again in his mind, and the way her hand had gripped the cold iron of the bridge.

"And just... well, it sat down," he finished quietly. The joke died in the air. He cleared his throat and tried to laugh, but it sounded thin and forced as the jukebox kicked back in, drowning out the silence he’d almost let in.

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