Birds of a Feather

inside the car again and on his way back into London.

“Shall we talk about Charlotte Waite’s possible whereabouts?”

“No. Wait until we get back to the office. We need to get our heads really clear. First, tell me why you don’t like doves or pigeons. Does your dislike extend to all birds?” Maisie pulled out into the middle of the road to pass a rag-and-bone man, his horse clip-clopping along as if it knew instinctively that it had been a bad day for business.

“Aw, Miss, it don’t make sense, not really. I mean, it ain’t the bird’s fault, is it?”

“What isn’t the bird’s fault?”

“Nah, Miss. Can’t tell y’. It’ll make you think I’m a few coals shy of a load, it will. S’ all a bit silly, all a bit in me ’ead, as you would say.”

“I don’t think I’d say anything of the sort.” Maisie pulled over to the side of the road and stopped, allowing the engine to idle as she turned to him. “Spill the beans, Billy. Why do you hate birds?” She had a distinct feeling that, with his “silly” feelings, Billy might have something for her to consider.

He sighed. “S’pose I’m gonna ’ave to tell you, ain’t I?”

“I suppose you are.”

“And you ain’t gonna move this jam jar till I do, are you?”

“Absolutely right.”

He sighed again. “Well, it in’t all that stupid, now I know a bit more about what goes on up ’ere, from working wiv you.” Billy tapped the side of his head. “But . . . I don’t like ’em because of the war, and even thinkin’ about it makes me leg get bad again.” Billy rubbed his leg.

“What’s your leg got to go with it?”

“Well, y’ see, I didn’t enlist straightaway. There was only me and me brother, both workin’ for me dad. Not like we came from one of them big families, not like there was ten of us and if one went there was always a few left. Anyway, I was going to join up, but me mum didn’t like it, though I thought I should do my bit. But you know what it’s like when you keep meanin’ t’ do something. . . .”

Maisie nodded. You’re rambling, Billy.

“Then one day, I decided that there was no time like the present, so I went down and got meself enlisted. Me mum, when I told ’er, aw you should’ve ’eard ’er go on, and on, and on. At least me brother was too young to go, so she’d still ’ave ’im at ’ome. Anyway, I ’ad a few days at ’ome before I ’ad to report for duty, so me and me little brother, fifteen at the time, ’e was, went out for a bit of a laugh one afternoon. I didn’t ’ave a uniform yet, in fact, let me tell you, even after I was at the barracks in Colchester, I never ’ad a uniform for three weeks. They were enlistin’ so many at once, they’d run out of uniforms. Run out of uniforms? I tell you, it’s no wonder we ’ad trouble over there. No wonder.”

Billy shook his head, while Maisie waited for his story to unfold.

“Gawd, seems I was like an old man already, but I was only eighteen. Anyway, there we were, walking down the street, when this young lady comes up to us, all smiles. Then she ’ands me and ’im a feather each, and tells us we should be in uniform, and—”

“Oh my God!” Maisie gasped. “It was there all the time, only I couldn’t see it!”

Maisie pushed the car into gear, looked over her shoulder, and pulled out onto the road.

“See what, Miss?”

“I’ll tell you later, Billy. Keep on with your story.”

Billy was silent.

“It’s all right, Billy, I’m still listening.” Maisie pressed down on the accelerator to gain speed.

“Well, it’s them feathers. Sign of cowardice, ain’t they? I mean, I was signed on anyway, so it didn’t bother me, did it? Water off a duck’s back. But not Bobby, oh no, ’e was only a youngster. Couldn’t wait to be a man. And o’ course, nice young woman comes along, calls ’im a coward, what does ’e do, eh? Goes an’ enlists on the sly, just after I left.”

Maisie blushed, remembering the lies she told about her age in order to enlist for nursing service, and her father’s furious frustration at her actions.

“Me mum does ’er pieces, me father went mad, and all the time, I’m runnin’ around takin’ orders from ’igher- ups who didn’t know much more than I did.”

Suddenly, Maisie slowed the car, her speed checked by the cold chill of realization. “What happened to your brother, Billy?” She looked sideways at him, her hands clutching the steering wheel.

Billy looked out of the passenger window.

“Copped it, didn’t ’e. Silly little bugger. Sixteen years of age, and pushin’ up daisies in a place where ’e couldn’t even talk the lingo. All because of a bleedin’ feather.”

“Why ever didn’t you tell me all this?”

“S’long time ago, ain’t it, Miss? Mind you, it seems that every time I see a bird, you know, look at a bird, well, the stupid animal seems to drop a feather or two, just as they’re flappin’ their wings t’ get away, and every time I see a feather, I see our Bobby with the feather between ’is fingers, runnin’ after me, sayin, ‘She called me a coward. Did you ’ear that? Eh, Billy? She called me a coward! Now everyone’ll think I’m not up to it!’ But ’e weren’t no coward. Sixteen, and gave ’is life.”

Billy rubbed at his legs again. Maisie let the silence linger. I must get him to Chelstone as soon as I can.

“Billy, Billy, I am so very sorry.”