“I needed that,” Tommy said with a satisfied pat of his belly as he handed around a packet of Lucky Strikes he had taken from the store at Honeybourne. Edward took a cigarette and lit up.

“Remember the Lucky Strikes in Calcutta?” Joseph said to him, drawing deeply on the fag. “Remember that, Doc? Playing poker with that Yank corporal?” Edward laughed at the memory and Joseph explained: “There was this American soldier we met in Calcutta. This was the night I met Doc––he’d just got his arse kicked, as I remember.”

“I don’t remember it like that at all,” Edward chuckled.

“We got falling down drunk and ended up persuading this Yank to play poker. He told us he was an expert.”

“He was completely boozed,” Edward said. “By the end of the game Joseph had gulled him out of an entire evening’s worth of drinks for us both, six packets of US army issue Lucky Strikes and a quart of rum.”

The others laughed, all except Billy.

“You two must have got up to all sorts,” Tommy Falco said.

Billy deliberately hurled a derisory sneer at Edward. “He was talking about all that in the truck earlier,” he said. “Burma and so forth. I was trying to get him to tell me about shooting all those Nips, the ones he said he topped to get his medal. All I wanted to know is what it was like and he wouldn’t tell me.”

Edward was startled by his own nervousness. “And I told you,” he said sharply, “that it’s not something I’m fond of talking about.”

“You say that, but it makes me wonder whether any of it is even true. Do you know what I mean, lads?”

“Of course it’s true,” he said, doing his best to keep the anxious tremor from his voice.

“Leave it alone, Billy,” Joseph warned.

Edward’s palms were damp with sweat. He rubbed them against his thighs.

“I’m just saying.”

“And I’m telling you to put a sock in it.”

Billy went on, “I’m just saying, I bet he don’t have the balls for it. You should’ve seen his face when he saw my hand on the shooter today. Thought he was going to wet himself, like it was the first time he’d seen one. A proper soldier wouldn’t never have reacted like that, Joseph, would he? I mean, he wouldn’t have nearly shit himself.”

Billy started to laugh, looking around at the others in the expectation that they would join in. It choked in his throat as he saw that Joseph was staring grimly at him. “I’ve already told you once––that’s enough.”

“But he––”

Joseph spoke harshly. “Shut it, Billy. If you’re so interested in what it was like you should’ve signed up rather than ducking out.” Joseph’s voice was clipped, as if he was a teacher chastising a naughty child. Billy’s cheeks flushed and he looked down at his empty plate.

“Bubble’s jealous of you,” Jack explained to Edward. “He likes to think he’d make a grand soldier but he didn’t have the bottle to go out and actually get shot at.”

“Piss off, you Scotch twat,” Billy spat out. “I’ve got more bottle in my little finger than you’ll ever have.”

They all laughed at the sudden vehemence. Edward knew he should have let it go. He saw that Billy had reacted badly to being chided, and prodding at him further could only make things worse. But he had suffered his jibes and taunts all day. The others were laughing at him and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to laugh along with them. Billy deserved it. He could see that Jack’s comment had found its mark and probed a little further. “You must have been eligible to go, Billy? You’re a young man. There’s nothing wrong with you, is there? Not psychologically, I mean––well, it’s obvious you’re not the full ticket––but medically, I mean. You look fit. How did you get out of it?”

“That’s where you’re wrong, see,” he muttered, not looking at him. “I’m not well.”

“Oh, aye,” Jack said, ‘that’s right.” He faked a long, wheezing cough and the others laughed along with him.

“Piss off, the lot of you.”

“George has a doctor on the books,” Tommy explained. “He had him doing fake medicals during the war. He did Billy’s for him.

“Terrible asthma, wasn’t it, Bubble?” Jack said. “Can’t hardly run five minutes without getting the vapours.”

Billy glowered across the table. “Didn’t see you volunteering.”

“I never wanted to go. At least I don’t pretend that I did.”

“Billy comes from a long line of cowards,” Jack said. “His old man was all talk and no trousers. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

The laughter continued.

Joseph frowned but Edward laughed along with the others. Billy stared at him, seemingly transfixed. He banged his fist on the table. “What do you bloody well know?” he said to him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know none of us. You swan around here, pretending you’re one of the lads but you ain’t and you never will be.”

“Billy,” Joseph said sharply.

“Piss off, Joe.” Billy was furious now. “I don’t know what happened to you, you can’t see nothing straight no more. You only met him once, you don’t know him either! He goes around with his bloody university education, his airs and graces, but he ain’t got nothing in common with any of us and he needn’t think he does. He don’t belong here.”

“There’s no need for that,” Edward said. “You want to calm down.”

“Is that right? I want to calm down, do I? You want a kick in the slats, you patronising bastard.” He stood up so suddenly that his chair clattered behind him and, before Edward could even get his hands up, he swung a right-hander and stitched him square on the chin. It was the shock of it more than anything else. Edward toppled backwards off his chair like a skittle. The punch was decent but he was too far away to put any power into it and he hadn’t connected with enough force to do more than dizzy him for a moment. Edward bounced up and tackled him into the table and then onto the floor, firing in two quick punches of his own before Tommy and Joseph pulled him away.

The proprietor hovered by the door. “It’s alright,” Joseph said. “Just a little argument. Bit too much to drink.” He put his palm against Edward’s shoulder. “Right then, chaps. No more nonsense. We’ll have a drink and forget all about it, alright? Alright?”

“I’m fine,” Edward said, his temper tamping down. He wiped bloody saliva from his mouth.

“Billy?”

Tommy was between them. Billy did not say a word.

“Bubble?”

“Don’t call me that!” He shoved Tommy away and headed for the door.

“Let him go,” Joseph said. “He needs to calm down. I’ll sort him out later.”

Outside, one of the trucks growled into life.

“Joseph––?”

“Bugger. He’s got the key.”

They went outside. Billy jerked the truck backwards and crashed into a bollard that marked the boundary of the car park and the hotel’s ornamental garden. He crunched the gearbox into first and pulled out onto the road. They watched as the headlights painted the dark trees at the side of the road, the red glow of the tail-lights dimming as he turned through corners and, eventually, disappearing completely as he crested the brow of a hill.

The four of them stood there, the sound of the engine gradually fading away.

“I didn’t even know he could drive,” Jack said.

“He can’t,” Joseph said.

“What if he gets stopped?”

“It’s late, the roads are empty. He’ll be fine. I’ll speak to him tomorrow.”

Edward stood shivering in the cold. He was imagining the worst. He pictured Joseph and Billy together, Billy persuading him that the story behind Edward’s medal did not bear weight. He imagined Billy checking the regimental history, somehow knowing to ask questions about the injury to his foot. He tried to remember everything that he had told them at his birthday dinner, tried to remember the expression on Joseph’s face as he recounted his adventure. It was no good. He suddenly felt insecure about what he had told them. The story needed more detail. The more detail it had, the easier it was for him to believe it himself. He began to invent. He was imagining himself back in the jungle, the rain lashing into his face. He imagined himself in the middle of the formation, sweeping across a paddy field towards a road and, beyond that, a river and a bridge.