As Hammers Fall. Mark Svendsen

As Hammers Fall - Mark Svendsen


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had been.

      ‘Blimey son, I hope you don’t hesitate so much come the Revolution,’ his father laughed. ‘Or you’ll dance for the hangman before we get started.’

      He winked at Tomfool and pulled a strangled face as he tugged on an imaginary noose. Joe felt the red creep up his neck. Blushing in front of them all. In front of Molly.

      ‘Mind you, not everyone was happy with him,’ Molly offered. ‘Look at what the Loyalists did,’ she said, lifting Joe’s hair so they could all see the wound. Its blood was coagulated now. Her hand was warm, and soft and careful. He blushed a deeper, more thankful red.

      ‘And hello to you too, Miss Molly … Tomas,’ Uncle Bill said, nodding to them each in turn.

      ‘You’d make a rose blush for beauty these days, Molly,’ he continued, looking with feigned interest to where she showed Joe’s injury. Now it was Molly’s turn to colour.

      Segeyev took his usual blunt action.

      ‘I leave to prepare for lecture,’ he said. Molly stepped away from Joe, to make way for him to pass, fumbling to recover her composure.

      ‘Tonight, Montague Miller. He may be old man but he is valiant,’ Segeyev continued. ‘Though I sometimes think his Socialism is merely a fierce hatred of injustice in disguise. And Mrs Griffiths – a rousing speaker and good to hear a woman-worker. I must ready the rooms,’ Segeyev said more to himself than the others.

      ‘You come up after your meal and help me with chairs?’

      Joe nodded as Segeyev continued, addressing both Uncle Bill and Ted.

      ‘You are both wrong in the matter we discuss,’ he said, staring hard at Uncle Bill. ‘I say no more. My regards, fellow-workers.’

      Artem walked down the hall to see himself out.

      ‘What’s he mean, “wrong”?’ Joe burst out. ‘Who’s wrong?’

      ‘And about what?’ added Molly.

      ‘And you still haven’t told me what you meant by, “yet”?’

      ‘The doctor’s going home,’ Tomfool chimed in. Joe turned to Tomfool’s voice. He grinned, pleased with the attention.

      ‘Well, is it true?’ Joe demanded. ‘Is someone going somewhere?’

      Uncle Bill glanced down at Ted Hill.

      ‘I suppose I have to tell them sooner or later, Ted,’ he half-asked.

      ‘Don’t look to me for help,’ Ted Hill answered. ‘Spit it out!’

      Bill gazed at a point out the kitchen window on the other side of Tomfool’s head.

      ‘I’ve decided,’ he said, as all their eyes followed the every move of his lips. ‘I’ve decided to go to France.’

      ‘No!’ a voice sobbed behind them. It was the sort of voice they’d heard many times before, when the Postmaster delivered those black-bordered telegrams that swirled around the suburbs like leaves from the war’s far-off, dying tree.

      ‘Kathleen!’ Ted and Uncle Bill said together. They all turned.

      Her hat was only half-off, her face pale. She trembled, then swayed. Joe jumped to her side, grabbing her arm.

      ‘Mother?’ he asked. He’d never seen her like this before. Was it the shock of Uncle Bill’s news, or worse? Joe had his own trouble dealing with what he’d just heard.

      ‘Ouhah!’ she answered. Her voice sounded as though she had been struck a blow to the stomach. Her eyes, as she gazed at Uncle Bill in dull surprise, seemed vacant for a moment then, they rolled back in her head.

      ‘Sit her down. Quick!’ Molly ordered. She took Kathleen’s hat as Joe directed her collapsing body to a chair at the table. Ted stared at her strangely as her head fell to the tabletop. Uncle Bill strode to her side.

      ‘My bag, Joe!’ he ordered. ‘Under the seat of the buggy!’ Joe ran.

      Tomfool put his hands to his ears. His mouth moved soundlessly. Uncle Bill lifted the kitchen chair and moved it back from the table. He lifted Kathleen’s head, to lower it down, between her knees. She hung, limp as a rag doll. Molly held her on one side, Bill on the other. Joe ran back, thrusting Bill’s doctor’s bag into his hands.

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