Jo White- Woman at War

Chapter Six

I tap the crisp white paper form in my hands, the pad of my thumb smoothing over the dark ink that had seeped through it already. I find myself at his office door, knowing this was my only chance to turn back. I glance down at it again, seeing dark ink stain the paper through and knock decidedly at his door.

"Come in," he calls, to which I twist the handle and step into his office, his head down near the lamp hands shuffling papers in haste and concentration. He glances up to me for a moment, "Ahh, have you seen to Mrs Fredricks?"

"Mmhmm," I hum, sliding the form carefully over his desk so it lands under his eyes, his whole being freezes as he thumbs the paper eventually his head lifting to mine in confirmation which I give him with a gentle nod.

"You're sure?" he asks, his mouth agape, now standing.

"Yes," I nod. He moves around the desk and takes my hand.

"But you said- "

"I say a lot of things I don't mean," I dismiss, feeling terribly embarrassed.

"I am sorry for saying what I did, I realise now how insensitive it was for..." he trails off, stopping himself with a shy smile playing on his lips.

"A woman?" I chime in, laughing.

"A woman with so many men in her life at war," he says seeming to decide in himself, we both chuckle the letter hovering between us. "Thank you," he says, his voice dropping into a genuine tone. I nod and press the form into his hands firmly, "I'll get this sent off straight away," he smiles, placing it on his desk.

"Christmas" I say quietly, he squeezes my hand that still rests in his and looking down at the two hands holding on together one large and spotted with ink and age, the other my own which is thin and taunt. It occurs to me in a moment, the image perhaps confirming the feeling that had been held in his eyes all along. My head glances up to him hurriedly, my own eyes searching for him. His eyes hold so much longing in them, like he's looking down at a new-born that he can't hold. He frowns, his eyebrows knitting together and he takes a sharp breath in.

"I know," he says, his face turning into a half frown that sets my heart racing again, "I'm sorry for that too,"

Words become lodged in my throat. I just squeeze his hand. "I don't want you to be sorry," I say, after a moment, "We just can't, no matter how much either of us want to,"

"And do you- want to?" he asks, tentatively. I draw in a shaky breath to reply when the door squeaks open.

"Dr Poole," Matron enters, we drop our hands instantly, stepping away from each other, "Sister White, I thought Mrs Fredricks needed seeing too," she chastises, her head tilting up in her usual manner that I'm far too unsettled to challenge.

"Yes, Matron," I murmur, avoiding his eyes as red flushes guiltily to my cheeks as I dash out of the room. Aware only when I had fled the room I had seen to Mr Fredricks and my break was due in ten minutes. I flee again to the back yard where cold concrete and grey stone seemed coolly comforting to me now as I sit with my knees tucked to my chest, feet planted onto the bench. I tilt my face to the breaking sunlight that was passing through the clouds, breathing deeply as I press my fingertips to my temples when the door opens and Oscar steps out tenderly.

"You managed to escape Matron's claws then," I laugh half-heartedly.

"Only just," he replies, sticking his hands into his trouser pockets and swinging himself up to the wall beside me.

"That can't happen again," I say quietly, after he lets silence sit stagnant between us.

"I know," he nods, "If you don't mind me asking, what would your answer have been?"

"I'm not sure I have one for you," I admit honestly, his face crumbles for a moment before he recovers himself to the stoic impression. "Not yet, anyway," I add, carefully, finding my hands clutching themselves again.

"I understand,"

"It's not your age before you say that," I say, "I just can't allow myself to fall in love when my family is torn by war. I'm not sure I can let myself feel that,"

"Jo," he says, turning to me, "I understand,"

"We have to focus on our jobs right now," I insist, swallowing down every emotion bubbling inside of me, "Those men have to come first when we are out there,"

"They will. You have my word, Jo," he promises, an earnest glint in his eyes that makes him seem so honest and vulnerable, almost childlike.

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The next week passes like a dream, as if I am not really awake but floating through idly life in a weird limbo; the glances between myself and Oscar have stopped, both of us finding it difficult to stop our eyes meeting, Benny towing one of his old suitcases to our house insisting that I use it instead of my own torn, ragged one. The one thing that hasn't felt different is mother; she hasn't changed, still drifts through her day life a half sunken ghost, barely muttering two words to me unless she can help it.

"You're going to have to talk to me at some point," I say, eyebrows raised as I clear the table from another silent dinner. She sits still at the table, as I dump dishes into the sink. "You're being petty,"

She looks up to me, "And I suppose you know best now?" I shift uncomfortably at her challenging gaze, "That." She says, pointing a rogue fork to me, "That is exactly why you won't last two minutes out there. Do you think your brother or father stutter under a look?"

I take the fork out of her hands and stack it with the rest of the dishes. "I think that you are being unreasonable," I begin, "How is what I am doing any different to Jack?" she opens her mouth to reply and then allows herself to fall silent again, pursing her lips shut, "You may as well say it. Because I'm a woman, yes?"

She slams her hands down so hard on the counter that the vase in the middle rattles. "Because it is not your place, in this society to be as you are,"

"Which is what exactly?" I say.

"A woman," she strains, "A daughter,"

"I can still be your daughter whilst serving my country," I exclaim.

"Your father would hate you for this,"

"You don't know that!" I shout, my throat aching and head pounding, "You don't know what father would have thought because he's not here,"

"I know my husband,"

"And I know my father," I seethe right back, "Don't use him against me. It's not fair,"

"Well, sorry to burst your naïve little bubble Josephine but life isn't fair."

"You never treated Jack like this," I say quietly. "But then he was always perfect, wasn't he? Something I could never be to you. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I can't be the daughter that you want me to be," my voice straining, "But I feel like this is what I need to do, not just for my country but for myself and perhaps you were right in that I wanted to prove something and maybe I am doing this for more selfish reasons than I'd be prepared to admit but... but I never did any of this to hurt you or to spite you."

"I never said Jack was perfect," she whispers back to me.

"You never needed to," I say.

"Have you written to your father?"

I nod, "And Jack and John."

"You don't have my blessing until you have theirs," she says stiffly, finally meeting my eyes, I scoff under my breath breaking eye contact before she could.

"You don't have to be like this," I remind her as she walks towards the door. I hear her pause but her voice doesn't come, only the soft click of the door.