CHAPTER 31
The round came through the front left hatch, tearing Wilf to pieces. Bob’s hand grabbed for my haul loop, but I had to see, and as I leant forward the flames started up around me, rounds cooking off from the bow MG, and Tricia holding me tight as I screamed and thrashed.

“It’s all right, love. It’s all right. You’re safe now. Home, aye? Home. In bed with someone as loves you, so let it go, love. Let it go”

I lay still for a minute or so, little tics and tremors rippling through my forearms, Tricia’s head on my chest.

“That were a bad one, pet. Cup of tea?”

“I’ll get it, lass”

“No need, love. I were awake anyway; mornings, all that, you know”

She was back a few minutes later, with a couple of slices of buttered toast as well as our tea. She looked at me through the steam rising from her own cup.

“It’s cause of today, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t help, love. I mean, what are they going to say? We all know he did for himself, and that’s not something he should have to carry, even after, you know…”

“Gerald Barker, he were killed by idiots and nasty fools who never knew how well off they bloody were, scuse my French. I don’t hold with fighting, but you did right with that pig. I almost wish you’d done for him properly”

“Tricia, love, I was tempted, I really was, but that copper, he were dead right. Anyway, that lad will have to live with what he did”

“Gerald Barker, sometimes, you---“

She took a deep breath. “Love, he will still be gloating about it to his mates. No sense, no feeling, and no shame, no remorse. Lots of folk like him, and not many like you”

She leant over and kissed me, which was always nice, murmuring something about getting something right for once in her life, and I was a little worried about the baby, but, well, we were married.

Cyril hammered on the door at seven, Rodney and Matthew behind him.

“Kettle on, son? Your dad’s bringing your boots over in twenty minutes, he said, so a bacon sandwich would be nice and proper friendly, like”

“Er, Tricia’s not that well in the mornings, Dad, and frying…”

His eyes widened. “You sure? Doctor sure?”

“Er, aye. Sure. About six weeks, two months, we think”

“Gentlemen, one of you please take bag of breadcakes off me. Ta”

He flung himself at me, almost breaking my ribs. “A grand dad, that’s what I’m going to be, gents. I knew I was right about this lad! Now, our Tricia, she can take smell of cooked bacon?”

“Er, aye. Just the cooking does her stomach no good”

“Good job I brought some ready cooked and in breadcakes”

Rodney looked at Matthew, who raised an eyebrow and held up a large brown paper bag.

“Breadcakes, Cyril?”

“Aye. Rolls, buns, like. With bacon in them. Have us breakfast before we go to do our duty”

“Ah. Thank you, my friend. Rodney, I do believe I am broadening my education immeasurably in these distant parts. Gerald, what of young Ernie?”

“Seeing us there, Matthew. Oh, come in, all of you. Tricia’s decent by now”

I took them into front room and went to start the kettle going again. Dad, true to his word, had bulled my old boots to black mirrors, and as usual I had done my own ironing to get the shirt just so, my blazer already set with my medals. It wasn’t that far to the court, so we walked, the weather still set fair and as warm as that day I had found my friend. Ernie met us there, in the same rig as me, our British Legion best of blazer, khaki slacks, bulled boots and regimental beret.

“You ready for this, Ginge?”

“Aye, lad. Got news for you as well”

Ernie looked over at Cyril, who was grinning like that Wonderland cat, and gave me his own grin to go with it.

“How many months gone, Ginge?”

“Think about two, Ernie”

“Then we do what we can for our comrade, our mate, and then we get a pint in, aye? Wet baby’s head, like, in advance”

“Bit early, pal”

“Aye, but it’s as good an excuse for a pint as any other, and better than most. You really ready for this?”

“Aye. Come on”

It was a very different experience to my other court day, as it wasn’t a trial of people but of facts. I must admit that I got a bit lost, because we were at an inquest into how Bob died rather than a search for a guilty party, but I did my best.

“Mr Barker, in the words of our old service, you may stand easy. Do not worry about honorifics, titles and so on. If you merely remember to call Officers of the Court ‘sir’ it will suffice. Now, Mr Barker, I do believe you were first on the scene?”

“Aye. Yes, sir”

“Could you please describe what you experienced?”

I went through that afternoon’s horror step by step, and it was only when the usher handed me the little box of paper tissues that I realised the distress I was in.

“Are you fully up to continuing your evidence, Mr Barker?”

“Yes sir. If I can have a few seconds…”

“Mr Barker, it is in the nature of these proceedings that we are dealing with the loss of a friend, a loved one perhaps, and we are therefore enjoined, encouraged and indeed willing to exercise such patience as is necessary or appropriate. You served with Warrant Officer Wainwright?”

“Yes, sir. Same crew from D plus two right up to end. Well, end in Europe, that is”

“Excellent and impeccable war service record, I am informed. Be aware I served in the RAMC for my own sins. Now, you say the deceased was obviously drunk?”

There was just a flicker of his eyes, but I suddenly understood what he was doing, and it was damned well leading the witness. Where to?

“I assume he were drunk, sir, as he had empty bottle beside chair”

“Was the kettle full or empty?”

Think, Gerald. “Full, I think, sir?

“On the hob?”

Ah. “Aye, sir. Yes”

“You have already stated that the pilot light was out on the gas range. You are an engineer, I believe, Mr Barker”

“Well, I fix boat engines down by lock, sir, by Naburn”

“No matter. Usher?”

The black crow scurried forward, took instructions, and shot off out the door. The coroner looked back towards me and gave a genuine smile.

“Mr Barker, I do believe we have solved the riddle of the demise of our unfortunate friend. I have asked the court to secure the services of a gas engineer for this afternoon’s hearings, but I do believe we have covered the important parts of this investigation. Thank you. Could you please remain within the building until we recommence? This hearing is adjourned until one o’clock”

We gathered as a group in the cafeteria, Dad grinning almost happily.

“He’s a cheeky one, that’un. Happen he’s doing Bob a favour. Cyril, fancy a wager?”

“Against a dead cert, lad? Do I look daft?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want an answer to, pal. Gerald, he’s faced with a choice of verdicts here. Now, there’s ‘unlawfully killed’, which we all know it really were, but he won’t be able to make that one stick. Then there’s ‘suicide’, which none of us wants, am I right?”

I nearly disagreed with that one, because all I could see was that face as I punched it, as I lifted it by the hair over the kerb stone. It would have been so, so easy. Dad continued.

“What Gerald’s given him is the other option, which is ‘misadventure’, an accident, like. I’ll lay pound to penny with anyone that’s dafter than Cyril that he’ll get that gas fitter in and ask just the right questions for a ‘death by misadventure’, and then I’ll do rounds”

“Rounds, Dad?”

“Aye, son. Give Bob proper send-off; rub bastards’ noses in it”

Matthew nodded. “When you have a date, dear boy, I will make my own call. Shall I be mother? It will get awfully cold if we let it brew any longer”

By one-thirty the court was finished with hearing evidence, a gas fitter in beige overall the last, and the next day the Coroner gave his verdict: death by misadventure due to failure of the pilot light while Mr Wainwright was incapable through drink. Three days later…

We left St Lawrence’s after a service that left many of us in tears, many of the men, that is. Uniforms had helped fill the pews along with many, many Legion men and several widows wearing the medals inherited from their husbands. I saw so many old friends, so many stricken faces, as well as several that were darker with anger, for despite what the Coroner had recorded, we all knew who was to blame. Rodney appeared later than most, and I realised that the woman his ‘man’ was pushing in a wheelchair was dear Beattie, finally past the prime she had given to her boy the Major. We sang our hymns, heard our lesson, and I tried to blank out the eulogy. The night before, I had thrashed awake from yet another dream, this one of two men rolling and fighting in the snow, the pistol heavy in my hands as I shot one of them in the throat, and so much blood bright against the unmarked winter ground, but both men had had Bob’s face, and I had hurt Tricia with my kicking.

No, I didn’t want to hear war stories.

We formed up in good order behind the hearse, flag over the coffin, and marched properly to the cemetery, where I saw to my surprise a Bedford 3-tonner waiting outside. Matthew moved up beside me.

“A little word in the East Riding’s ears, dear boy”

Bob went into the ground, a part of my soul with him. The Legion bugler played those notes we all knew. A section of Royal East Riding boys fired three sharp volleys over the grave. It was done.

I heard Taylor moved away to London the next day. I’d missed my chance.