It took a while for Posey to find her footing again after all that coming back to England had changed. She felt lost for a while, a passenger seat spectator in her own life. She found herself floating through weeks on end, retreating into herself whenever she wasn't training and having to be coaxed into social interaction otherwise.
Her only respite, ironically, came when she went to visit her brother. Despite his lack of enthusiasm at her first visit, Posey found her way back to the RAF General Hospital on her next available weekend pass and let out a long breath when she found him exactly where she'd left him - not, of course, that she'd really expected him to move, but she could never be too careful with how volatile life was at the present.
"Posey," John greeted when he saw her, once again reading a folded newspaper.
"John," she replied, and, unlike last time, dragged a chair over to sit at his bedside.
"I can't say I was expecting you," he admitted, though without any hints of regret or disdain in his voice. Instead he sounded curious, as though wondering why on earth she'd want to visit her last living family member.
Posey ducked her head and shrugged bashfully at her lap. "I missed you."
John didn't reply, but when she risked a glance up he was gazing straight forwards and smiling just slightly. In response, she smiled to herself too - she sensed that he reciprocated the sentiment but just couldn't show it. She didn't hold that against him.
"How have you been?" she ventured tentatively, unable to keep her eyes from darting down to where his right hand had once been. Though the blanket hid the damage, much like it had last time, she still felt her heart drop looking at where his hand ought to be. She couldn't even imagine how much it had hurt - how much it likely still hurt.
John shrugged, staring straight ahead still. "Fine," he replied. "Recovering, albeit slowly."
Posey nodded and twiddled her thumbs, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip. "Are any of your crew here, too?" she wondered. Not thinking, she glanced behind her to scan the other beds in the ward as though she'd recognise any of the members of his crew even if she saw them. She'd never met them - and, come to think of it, didn't even know their names.
"No," John snapped, his voice hard. She turned back to face him immediately but he said nothing more.
Posey glanced at him once before turning her eyes to the blanket he sat under, which she found she longed to reach out and touch just as much as she had last time, but she still refused to satisfy the itch. Eventually, John's sigh broke through her idle thoughts. "Well," he amended, "one of them is." He cleared his throat. "Daniel. My wireless operator."
"Daniel," she repeated under her breath. Louder, she said, "I wanted to be a wireless operator, when you first left for training."
"I know," John said. A ghost of a smile flitted over his lips and disappeared just as quickly as it came. "You wanted to be my wireless operator, if I remember correctly."
"No," Posey protested, though it was perfectly true. But she'd never told him that and had no intentions of admitting it now. "I just wanted to be a wireless operator." She sighed, somewhere between a longing exhale and an indignant huff. "Anyway, they don't let women out on combat flights."
John laughed. The sound was abrupt in the wake of his monotone. "They don't let women be paratroopers either."
Posey rolled her eyes. "I did that out of desperation, not because I wanted to. I don't think I would have stayed otherwise." She shook her head. "It was hard. Is hard. Harder than I could have imagined. Harder than you're imagining, too, no doubt."
"I'm sure it was hard," John replied. "I've heard paratroopers are some of the best."
Her heart swelled with pride, though she tried not to let it show. She was part of that. Of 'some of the best'. When had she ever been counted as among the best in anything? A hand came up to fiddle with her expert marksman badge absentmindedly, and a smile tugged at her lips. Somehow, the military hadn't been so bad for her so far.
"Anyway," she said, not wanting to be taken for juvenile should John notice the traces of pride still lingering on her face, "where is Daniel? Your wireless operator?"
John shrugged. "Haven't seen him. He's in a different ward - not an officer, is he. But one of the nurses did some digging for me and told me he was here. I didn't ask any more questions than that."
"What about the rest of your crew?" Posey knew she shouldn't be asking but she was too curious. She knew his navigator, Henry, was his best friend. He'd come back from his first few months of training gushing about him, just before Posey had been evacuated. She couldn't imagine the sadness he must have felt if he'd lost his best friend.
John coughed once and then cleared his throat. His eyes took on a vacant look, something glazing over the surface and making him appear farther away than he was. It was a few moments before he replied, "Missing," in a voice barely above a whisper. Immediately, he cleared his throat again and said louder, "Missing. Somewhere in France."
"Occupied France?" Posey asked, her own voice quieter than she'd intended.
"All of France is occupied now," John replied irritably. "No more Free Zone. Surely they know that over in America?"
Posey shook her head as though to clear it. "No. Right. Of course."
John carried on speaking as though she hadn't spoken. "Of course that means they're as good as dead now, anyway. The Nazis are offering civilians a lot of money to turn downed airmen in, and with the conditions over there you can hardly blame 'em for doing it. So it's just Daniel and me now."
"Don't say that," Posey said, hoping to inject more confidence into her words than she felt. "I'm sure there are at least a few people who'd want to help. French people don't like the Nazis, after all."
"But they like starvation even less, I should think."
A heavy pause settled over them. Posey didn't know what to say - it was clear John knew a lot more about the war than she did, and arguing with him for the sake of optimism was only seeming to prove her naïveté. John, for his part, seemed to be stuck in his own head. He stared straight ahead as if having forgotten she was sat there at all.
Abruptly, into the silence, Posey spoke, "I want to say goodbye to mum." She surprised both herself and John with the words.
"What?"
"A proper goodbye," she said. "Do you reckon they'd let you out of the hospital for a bit?"
"Probably not, no."
Posey sighed but forced a smile. "Then we'll do it here." Her smile became watery and she forced back the sting of tears. She found she'd become rather good at doing that. "I think we need to say a proper goodbye to her. Together."
To her surprise, John looked at her and nodded. "Okay."
"Really?"
"I'm allowed out once a day, and usually they take me out back into the gardens. They're rather nice. We could go there."
Posey nodded, feeling overwhelmed by emotion all of a sudden. Sadness and longing and nostalgia and love. Maybe he was still the brother she remembered, just hardened a little bit.
When a nurse came to check on John she gave them the all clear and led them out into the back gardens, which were, as John had put it, rather nice. In fact, Posey would even have gone as far as to say they were beautiful. Sitting atop a bench facing a seemingly endless lake, flanked by rows upon rows of bushes filled with different types of vibrant flowers, she knew her mother would have loved it there.
She gazed about herself for a while, letting the stillness settle over her. They weren't the only people out there - a few other wounded airmen were wandering around and sat at benches in the gardens, too - but everyone talked in hushed tones. It seemed the type of place to warrant quiet. The birds even seemed to chirp quieter, their singing less insistent and more gentle.
Posey turned to John with a soft smile. "Irises," she said, gesturing to a bush of irises a ways away from them, off to the left. "Mum's favourite."
John looked to where she'd gestured and smiled too, a muted version of the bright smile he'd used to wear on occasion. "It's perfect, then."
Posey hopped to her feet and approached the bush quickly, making quick work of plucking out two irises before walking back to the bench. When she sat back down she offered one to John, who laughed. "You're good at that," he said. "The sneaky stuff."
Posey laughed too and shrugged. "I've had lots of practise."
The pair sat together silently for a while, letting their thoughts surround them like the smell of the flowers on the wind. Posey got lost in her memories for a while, remembering her mum in their own garden at home, before she sighed and dragged herself out of her thoughts.
"Time to say goodbye, I think," she said, and looked to John for his agreement.
John nodded, staring out across the lake. "Me too," he said quietly.
When they stood, Posey held onto John's arm tightly as they approached the edge of the lake, the fence surrounding it keeping them from getting too close but allowing them close enough to peer down into the water. Posey looked up at the sky, at the single clear blue day they'd had in a while, and drew in a deep breath. When she looked back into the water she whispered, "Goodbye, mum," and dropped her iris. In her head, she added, "I miss you," and her eyes followed the flower floating away from her.
"Bye, mum," John echoed, and dropped his iris too. His emotion was audible in his voice, as was how hard he was straining to contain it. Posey offered him a watery smile and led him back to the hospital.
When Posey got back to Aldbourne, she felt lighter somehow. More sure of herself. She held her head high as she wandered the village, until she ran into one Lieutenant Nixon.
"Private Wells," he said, smiling as though she was just the person he'd been wanting to see. He approached her appearing increasingly glad to have run into her. "Fancy seeing you sere."
"Lieutenant Nixon," she said, saluting. When he gave a half-hearted salute back she dropped her arm and stood at attention until he laughed.
"At ease, private. I'm off the clock." He inclined his flask towards her, dark eyes glinting in his amusement. "As, I think, are you."
Posey nodded, feeling uneasy under his gaze. She felt he was laughing at a joke she hadn't been let in on - one, perhaps, that was even at her expense.
"Can I help you, Lieutenant?" she asked, desperate to be dismissed so she could retreat to the safety of the barracks. She'd never spoken to Nixon one-on-one before, hadn't even been sure that he knew her name, but apparently he had noticed her, which likely didn't bode well.
"Yeah," he said, nodding to himself. He took a sip from his flask and then nodded again. "Yeah," he repeated. "Wells, off the record, is there something you wanna tell me?"
Posey was sure all colour drained from her face. Her heart raced. Warily, she replied, "Is there something you want to hear?"
Nixon laughed and nodded, glancing away for a moment before looking back down at her again. "Yeah, I think so."
"Sir?" Posey wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers and immediately wished she hadn't, for his eyes followed the movement.
"Relax, private," Nixon said, chuckling in that easy way he always seemed to, as if unbothered by the world. "I'm just wondering why you're still with us."
"Sir?" Posey asked, her voice stiff. "I'm not sure I - sir, I don't think I follow."
"Now that we're in England, I mean," Nixon elaborated, as though that should have been obvious. "British girl like yourself, I thought you would've gone home by now. I didn't take you for a thrill seeker, is all."
Posey had gone entirely still. She was sure her blood had stopped pumping. She daren't even breathe.
"Wells?"
"Oh my God," was all she could say. Then, realising her error, she tacked a squeaked, "sir," to the end.
Nixon laughed and patted her firmly on the shoulder. "Look, I'm not gonna tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about." He rolled his eyes jovially. "Especially Dick, 'cause he's a great guy and all but I don't know how he'd feel about taking a girl into combat under his command. You know what he's like."
Posey didn't - not really - but she nodded anyway. Winters was her platoon's officer, it was true, but that didn't mean that she knew him. She knew him about as much as he knew her, which was to say, not at all. Not really.
"But why are you still with us? I assumed you were just trying to beat the other evacuees back home."
Posey's jaw fell open. Did he know everything?
Nixon laughed. "I read your file, came up with nothing, did some digging, did some observing -" he clapped his hands and then held them out as if to say voilà "- came to a single viable explanation. Am I right?" He lowered his hands and leaned towards her conspiratorially, mischief dancing in his eyes. "I'm right, aren't I? Come on, Wells, tell me I'm right."
"I'm not sure I can do that, sir."
Nixon brushed her aside. "Well, anyway. Why aren't you staying home? The thrill of the army too addictive? The acceptance and camaraderie too alluring?" His face fell and then brightened in the space of a single second, excitement overtaking his every feature. "You fall in love with one of them?"
"What? No!" Posey exclaimed, then rushed to add, "sir," again. Nixon laughed, and before he could speak again, she explained, "My home was bombed and my mum along with it." It never got easier to say that. "My brother's wounded and the RAF won't let him back in. I don't have a choice but to stay which is why I desperately need you not to tell anyone, sir. Please. Sir."
Nixon nodded and took another sip of his flask. "Sure. I wasn't planning on it. It's nothing to do with me." He took another sip and capped it, adding in a lower, more sincere tone, "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry about what happened. But you can trust I won't tell anyone."
"Can I?"
Nixon's smile reached his eyes when he grinned. "Do you have a choice?"
Posey shook her head and wrung her hands together before Nixon took a step back. He levelled her with a steely gaze before smiling easily once more, his hands fiddling with his flask. "You know, you don't look much like a boy."
"Thank you, sir."
"You've done a pretty good job at hiding it, though." He offered an approving nod and then turned on his heel, beginning to walk away. After a few steps, however, he turned back and offered a smile. "Wells," he said, and inclined his head.
"Sir," Posey replied, and snapped a salute.
Nixon rolled his eyes and brushed her away before turning and retreating once more.
Posey stayed watching him until he was out of sight, feeling as though she'd just run a marathon with the struggle to get air into her lungs. She ran the conversation over and over again in her head, trying to make sense of it and how he'd found out. On her way back to the barracks she debated with herself about whether or not she could actually trust him, and then resigned herself to the fact that he'd been right, and she had no other choice. After all, how long had he known and not told anyone? Surely he had to be trustworthy. He'd given her his word.
She collapsed onto her bunk feeling drained of all energy and stared up at the ceiling of the barracks deep in thought. She supposed she had managed to find herself another ally, and a powerful one at that, and could only hope that he'd prove himself loyal. There was little she could do else.