The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~Chapter 48~

London, 1924.

The hospital loomed behind them, its tall windows glowing faintly in the dark like tired, watchful eyes. Florence and Harriet sat on a wooden bench just outside the gates, huddled close against the cold. The night had drawn a thick curtain over the city, and the chill in the air nipped at their cheeks and fingertips.

Florence shivered, pulling her coat tighter around herself. She balanced a paper-wrapped bundle of hot chips on her lap, the steam rising like a faint mist into the cool air. Beside her, Harriet was unwrapping her own portion with far less ceremony, the crinkling of paper sounding unusually loud in the quiet street.

"Bloody freezing, isn't it?" Harriet said, her breath visible in small puffs. She popped a chip into her mouth and gave an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. "But these make it worth it. Chips always taste better after a shift." Florence smiled faintly, taking a chip and biting into it. The heat spread through her, momentarily chasing away the cold. "Can't argue with that," she murmured. "Though I'd kill for a proper cup of tea to go with them."

Harriet chuckled, leaning back against the bench. "You and your tea. We've just spent twelve hours on our feet, and the first thing you think of is tea. Not bed, not even a stiff drink—tea." Florence shrugged, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Tea solves most problems, Harriet. You should try it sometime."."Hmm, I'll stick to gin," Harriet shot back with a wink.

For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the only sounds the occasional passing car and the distant hum of the city. Florence looked around at the streetlights casting long, golden pools on the cobblestones, their flickering halos interrupted by a thin veil of fog. The cold had kept most people indoors, leaving the city unusually quiet for a London night.

Harriet, always one to fill the silence, leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "That old man in Ward Four," she said suddenly, breaking into Florence's thoughts. "He had me in tears laughing today. Did you hear what he said to Nurse Mitchell?"

Florence shook her head, a curious smile tugging at her lips. "No, what?"."Well," Harriet began, a mischievous glint in her eye, "he told her she'd make a lovely wife for his nephew—then asked if she could manage a farm because the nephew's a terrible cook but has 'handsome cows.'" Florence let out a surprised laugh, her tiredness momentarily forgotten. "Oh, poor Nurse Mitchell! She must have been mortified."."She was blushing like a tomato," Harriet said, grinning. "But I swear, she was also a little flattered. Can't say the same for the cows, though."

Their laughter echoed softly in the quiet street, a brief spark of warmth against the chill. Florence leaned back, her head tilting up to look at the night sky. There wasn't much to see—just a faint glow from the city below and a few brave stars peeking through the haze.

"It's nights like this I think about that whole stupid war," Florence said softly, her voice quieter now. She didn't look at Harriet, but she felt her friend's gaze shift, her usual playful demeanor fading. Harriet didn't respond immediately, letting the moment settle. "I think we all do," she said finally, her tone gentle. Florence exhaled slowly, her breath a pale cloud in the chilly air. "I can't believe it's been six years since it ended. Feels like another lifetime. France feels like another world to me now." She shook her head. "Sometimes, I still smell the trenches, the blood, and the ether. I think of the boys we couldn't save."

Harriet glanced at her, her expression softening. "You did what you could, Florence. More than most of us did." She paused, tossing another chip into her mouth before adding, "Meanwhile, I was back here hammering rivets and dodging lecherous foremen. Don't think for a second I had it as hard as you." Florence managed a faint smile. "It wasn't a competition, Harriet. We all did what we had to."."Still," Harriet said, her voice dropping, "you were right there, in the thick of it. I've never told you, but I always admired you for going. I don't think I could've done it." Florence looked at her friend, touched by the honesty in her words. "And I admired you," she said. "For keeping things going back here. For holding up the pieces when the rest of us were gone."