with visitors always made Joe self-conscious, as though he was seeing things for the first time. It made him want to rearrange his life.
He could smell the faintest whiff of her soap, it smelled of lavender. He followed close. From now on the scent of lavender might always make him want to change his life too.
The doors to the bedrooms at the front of the house were closed. A sitting room opened out behind the hall. The room was full of half-finished garments spread across four single tattered lounge chairs in various stages of decrepitude. A treadle sewing machine sat under the only window and piles of books and papers were stacked about the floor in unsteady towers. A brick fireplace on the side wall was topped by a mantelpiece with a framed print of Karl Marx on one end and a clock on the other. Kathleen always had a vase of fresh flowers obscuring the portrait. Ted’s reading-of-the-moment was on the mantel too, including the newspapers, so they didn’t get lost in the detritus.
Joe felt even more self-conscious. No one else’s house looked so … well used. He pushed onward, close behind Molly.
‘I always feel at home in your sitting room,’ she mused aloud. Joe felt foolish once more, for not guessing that she would think that.
‘You never said so before,’ Joe murmured. How much more he wanted to hear that he’d never heard before. Through the back of the house was the kitchen. His father’s voice greeted them,
‘Is that you, Kathleen?’
‘No, it’s us,’ Joe said, stepping from behind Molly as they filed in. Sitting around the bare pine table, with enamel mugs of tea in their hands and a copy of The Worker spread out before them, were Ted Hill, Bill Carroll and Artem Segeyev.
‘How did you get here so soon?’ Joe asked.
Truth to tell, he felt a little dismayed as Ted had probably already entertained Uncle Bill with tales of Joe’s speech and the fraças.
‘Say hello to our guests and I might tell you,’ Ted Hill said. They all chorused their g’days as Bill and Artem stood, Bill almost formally and Artem a little uneasy as he stepped behind his chair, empty mug in hand.
‘Cripes, you don’t have to come to attention, Bill. You’re not in the Army,’ his father said. ‘Yet!’ he added.
‘Sit down, man!’
Molly and Joe shared a glance.
‘What do you mean, “yet”?’ Joe asked for both of them.
‘Haven’t even got to the first question and he’s already onto the second,’ Ted laughed. ‘He’ll make a politician “yet”!’
‘You make a good show tonight. A good show,’ Artem smiled, nodding.
‘How did it feel, Comrade?’
Segeyev was usually frugal with his praise and his question surprised Joe. He glanced at Molly.
‘I …’ Joe couldn’t get another word out. Ted and Artem waited for the second time that evening.
‘I felt,’ Joe finally managed in a rush of breath. ‘Once I got going I felt … exalted!’ he ended, happy with a word that sounded as high and as joyous as the moment 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!’
