men out of the freezing water. Unhurt men were transferred to the field tents. More serious cases were flown to the hospital ships.
I don’t remember what the news moved on to after.
‘Nineteen out of how many?’ Mum spoke through her fingers.
I knew the answer ’cause of my scrapbook. ‘About three hundred.’
Julia calculated, ‘Better than ninety per cent chance that Tom’s okay, then.’
Mum’d gone pale. ‘His poor mother! She must be having kittens.’
I thought aloud, ‘Poor Debby Crombie, too.’
Mum didn’t know. ‘What’s Debby Crombie got to do with anything?’
Julia told her, ‘Debby’s Tom’s girlfriend.’
‘Oh,’ said Mum. ‘Oh.’
War may be an auction for countries. For soldiers it’s a lottery.
The school bus still hadn’t come at a quarter past eight. Birdsong strafed and morsed from the oak on the village green. Upstairs curtains at the Black Swan twitched open and I think I glimpsed Isaac Pye in a kite of sunshine, giving us all the evil eye. There was no sign of Nick Yew yet, but he’s always one of the last to arrive ’cause he walks all the way from Hake’s Lane.
‘My old bid tried to call Mrs Yew,’ John Tookey said, ‘but her phone was busy. Non-stop.’
‘Half the village was trying to get through,’ Dawn Madden told him. ‘That’d be why nobody could.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘The lines’d’ve got jammed.’
But Dawn Madden didn’t even acknowledge I’d spoken.
‘Shut yer neck, Squelch,’ Ross Wilcox snapped, ‘or I’ll shut it for yer.’
‘Don’t pick on Squelch,’ Dawn Madden told Ross Wilcox. ‘Ain’t his fault he’s soft in the head.’
‘Shut yer neck, Squelch,’ Squelch twitched, ‘or I’ll shut it for yer.’
‘Tom’ll be okay,’ Grant Burch said. ‘We’d’ve heard if he weren’t.’
‘Yeah,’ said Philip Phelps. ‘We’d’ve heard if he weren’t.’
‘Is there an echo round here?’ grunted Ross Wilcox. ‘How would you two know, anyway?’
‘How I’d know is that the instant the Yews know,’ Grant Burch flobbed, ‘through Navy channels, they’d phone my old man ’cause Tom’s old man and my old man grew up together. That’s how I know.’
‘Sure, Burch,’ Wilcox mocked.
‘Yeah.’ Grant Burch’s wrist was still in plaster so he couldn’t do much about Wilcox’s sarcasm. But Grant Burch remembers stuff. ‘I am sure.’
‘Hey!’ Gavin Coley pointed. ‘Look!’
Gilbert Swinyard and Pete Redmarley appeared in the far distance, way over the crossroads.
‘Must’ve gone down Hake’s Lane,’ guessed Keith Broadwas, ‘dead early. To the Yews’ place. To make sure Tom’s okay.’
We saw that Gilbert Swinyard and Pete Redmarley were almost running.
I tested Why isn’t Nick with them? but Hangman blocked ‘Nick’.
‘How come,’ Darren Croome said, ‘Nick ain’t with them?’
Birds detonated out of the oak without warning and we jumped but didn’t laugh about it. Incredible to see, it was. Countless hundreds of birds, orbiting the village green once, elasticking longer, twice, winging shorter, three times, then, as if obeying an order, vanishing inside the tree again.
‘Maybe,’ Dawn Madden guessed, ‘Nixon’s given Nick permission not to come to school today. Considering, like.’
It was a reasonable guess, but now we could see the looks on Swinyard’s and Redmarley’s faces.
‘Oh…’ Grant Burch muttered. ‘Fuck, no.’
‘By now,’ Mr Nixon coughed to clear his throat, ‘you are all doubtless aware that Thomas Yew, an old boy of our school, has, in the last twenty-four hours, been killed in the conflict over the Falkland Islands.’ (Our headmaster was right, we all knew. Norman Bates the school bus driver had Radio Wyvern on and Tom Yew’s name was on that.) ‘Thomas was not the most studious boy ever to grace the classrooms of our school, nor the most obedient. Indeed, my register of crimes and punishments informs me I was obliged to administer the slipper on no less than four occasions. But neither Thomas nor myself are’ (bleak silence) ‘were’ (another one) ‘the type of man to bear a grudge. When the Royal Navy’s recruitment officer approached me for a character reference regarding Thomas, I felt able to recommend this spirited young man, unreservedly and unconditionally. Thomas returned the courtesy some months later, by inviting my wife and myself to his passing-out ceremony in Portsmouth. Rarely have’ (a flutter of amazement that anyone’d ever married Mr Nixon swept round the hall. One glare from Mr Nixon and the flutter dropped dead.) ‘rarely have I accepted an invitation to an official function with such pleasure, and such personal pride. Thomas had clearly flourished under military discipline. He had matured into a worthy ambassador for our school and a credit to Her Majesty’s forces. This is why the grief I feel this morning,