PEACH STONES, band of brothers

eight, A MOUTH OF CHERRY FLAVOURED GIN

          "So why are we going ahead with this, then?" Robin Winifred responded, her voice wavering marginally. Her tone was queer when she spoke again, "Surely I don't matter to you folk all that much."

          "I couldn't agree more, but Harold reminded me that as host and hostess, we must want nothing more than to please our guests, and if Hiram wants to be introduced to you formally, he shall," and then, she added with threatening undertones, "We are in no place to deny him his request. Perhaps, if you're lucky, you'll bag yourself a wealthy husband and you'll be able to tell all your beautiful little children about how the Hamiltons treated you so well and set you up together."

          "I have a sweetheart," Robin said surely, staring Irene down in the mirror. I can be as tough as old boots if I want to be, she decided, like Grandpa. However, she remained partially insecure about what she'd said. She had Jim had never actually spoken about anything like that, so maybe she was completely wrong on that front, but she was suddenly made wistful by the mere thought of him.

          Irene lofted a barely-there eyebrow, "You're courting? Goodness, you do know how badly you're reputing us? — Looks as if you're just another one of our girls in favour of the American side, now."

          "We are fighting on the same side, Mrs Hamilton. We're fighting for the same cause. This idea that you have that they are any different from us is merely on account of yourself and your biased ideals. The American men are nice men," she confirmed thickly, expecting a reprimand from the Hamilton woman, at the least. Dating wasn't even taboo anymore, unlike how it had been viewed earlier in their century — in fact, nowadays, it was totally normal for young girls and boys to be spending their free time mooning about a pash and pining over one another enough to thrust themselves into social situations like clubs with jazz bands and trips to Reggie's Reels and dances at beer halls.

          "Oh, Robin Winifred, of course they're nice," she spat patronisingly, brushing at the young girl's scalp harder than before, catching her ears and the nape of her neck with the prickles. "You're eighteen going on nineteen, almost a woman grown. I know the Albourne boys must seem so lacklustre in comparison, but do you think this Airborne man will want you when the war's over? When he's a war hero? Chances are, he'll either get his brains blasted out by a Nazi, or he'll knock up so many European woman that he'll be downright bored of you by the time he gets back here."

          The breath in her chest rattled. "He wouldn't do that."

          "Of course he wouldn't," Irene complied with Robin hastily, "Although, you do live on two different sides of the world don't you? Two different continents. You have to value yourself, Winnie, is it really worth all the heartbreak? Say, imagine you go out there, ship yourself over and away from your family, and then he goes and ditches you for some Marilyn-Monroe-looking girl, blonder and prettier than yourself. What do you do then? Well, what can you do?"

          "Not so much, I suppose," Robin frowned, her brow creasing together. She ought to have known better than to succumb to it, but Irene sounded so sincere, and above all things, she had a point — that could happen to hundreds of women, excluding Robin herself, as their American sweethearts leave for home. She felt rather taken aback, and she teased her bottom lip back with her incisors, frowning down at the trinkets on the dressing table.

          "Exactly, honey, so you understand why we wouldn't want that to happen to Millicent, don't you?"

          "I do," Robin responded earnestly, wringing her hands together in her lap. She tried not to let her voice tremble too much, but all these irrational thoughts about her American sweetheart were swelling up inside her chest; her airways were being restricted; she could scarcely breathe. There was only one thing to it now: she was going to cry.