Seacliff

Chapter sixty-three: When in France...

1939

A loud ruckus barged into Aidan's billeted lodgings. He tucked the letter he was writing into his pocket and stood up from the rickety table to help Jemmy and his mates. The lads carried Christmas cake, beers, parcels, and cigarettes.

"Merry Christmas, Mortimer!" Sullivan, the cheekiest of Jemmy's new friends, shoved a package at Aidan.

Another one passed him a beer.

"Thanks." Aidan smiled.

Jemmy had lit a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and blew smoke in Aidan's face.

"Let them eat cake!" someone else bellowed and the room burst into laughter. Their Christmas cake now took up the whole table as it was being sliced.

Meagre garlands woven out of pine and folded paper lined the walls, with some mistletoe tucked in here and there. Sullivan snatched a berried twig from the nearest wreath and held it above the two childhood friends standing next to each other.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" the crowd of entertainment-deprived Tommies began to chant.

Jemmy rolled his eyes, grinning. Aidan struggled not to redden.

"C'mon, Mac!" Sullivan insisted. "Give 'im a good smooch!"

"The people want what they want," Jemmy said, grabbing Aidan's head with both hands and pulling him into a kiss.

The chanting erupted into wolf whistles and howls of laughter. Aidan didn't have to fake his shock. His discomfort was very much real as he wiped at his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. Winking, Jemmy blew him another kiss and went to fetch two pieces of pudding for them.

Aidan slumped onto the straw-strewn floor, leaning against the wall, to open his present. A book, a letter, and photographs from Ma. Learning news from home always made his soul ache. His poor mother, no doubt heartbroken by his betrayal and worried sick for his well-being, never failed to add a joyous note to her missives. Reminding him of how much they all loved and missed him.

"Cheer up, there's cake."

Aidan smiled and took the proffered slice. Jemmy sat down beside him and whipped out the miniature Cailleach he'd been working on for the past week. Instead of eating, he continued to chip at it with his pocket knife. The commotion now congregated around the table – cleared of cake – where the lads had started an arm-wrestling championship.

"Mortimer, do you...," Jemmy mumbled after a minute, his deft fingers cutting and carving into the small piece of wood. His slice of pudding sat untouched on his lap. "Do you think we'll ever go back home?"

Aidan paused mid-chow and swallowed hard. He washed the cake down with beer, the fizzy bitterness stinging his throat. "Of course. Of course, we will."

Jemmy mustered a weak smile. He never looked up from the tiny blade of his pocket knife as it shaved off splinters of wood.

"Optimistic as always."

"Jem..." Aidan put his bottle down. He wanted to reach over and take Jemmy's hand, but didn't dare risk it in full view of the others. "It's why I'm here," he whispered. "To take us both home."

Jemmy scoffed, then snickered. His hazel eyes held a cocktail of disdain, awe, and mockery as he raised his head. He'd once joked how dashing he looked in his uniform, but he now resembled a sad, stiff khaki mannequin.

"You're such a funny lad, Mortimer," Jem murmured. "Funny and really quite baffling. I never know if you're being altruistic or egotistic."

Blushing, Aidan averted his gaze. "Are you, um..." He cleared his throat. "Are you going to eat that?"

Jem glanced down at the cake on his lap. "Egotistic, I guess."

"Never mind," Aidan muttered and spread out his letter on the hardcover of his book to finish writing it.

Thank you for the book and the pictures, he added where he'd left off, and especially for your unwaveringly kind words. I know I hurt you, Ma, and I hope we can meet when I get my leave. You might have to come down in advance, though, as I am not sure I will have enough time to come up to Edinburgh. I –

His hand stopped scribbling as Jemmy held out the wooden figurine for him. Aidan put his pen down and took it. The same one-eyed face of the old hag who ruled the winter months, except shrunken to fit a thumb-sized stub, rather than a footlong log.

"It's beautiful, Jem," Aidan said, handing it back.

Jemmy grunted his disapproval, his mouth stuffed with cake. He gulped it down and finished his beer, pounding his chest as he coughed. "Keep it. I made it for you."

"Jem..."

The boy shrugged. "Feel free to chuck it into the fire, I suppose. Best not break tradition, eh?"

Aidan closed his fist around the figurine. "No... No, I can't burn it."

"What, then? Will you keep it in your pocket as a good-luck charm?" Jem stuck another cigarette in the corner of his mouth and lit it. "You'll lose it, anyway, so might as well burn it now."

"No, I..." He felt the tree-of-life pendant under the collar of his shirt. "I'll keep it close to my heart."

Jem arched an eyebrow.

"Can you drill a small hole at one end, so I can wear it as a pendant?"

Jemmy nodded, exhaling smoke. "On your head be it, you sentimental idiot."