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Fenning…’

      ‘He wouldn’t have wanted this,’ Joe said. ‘This is an incitement to riot. You’re going to find yourself in a lot of trouble if you carry on.

      ‘Fenning would have advised caution. He would say educate people about the war. Not to go all out on some kind of crusade. People are mad at Germany, and they’ll be mad at you too. What good would you be able to do from a prison cell?’

      ‘Th… that’s…’ Jimmy had developed a stammer from nowhere, and Joe felt sorry for him. ‘That’s w-why I w-wanted to talk to you, Joe. I r-r-read an article p-published by your p-p-paper. I w-wanted to ask if you could p-p-put me in touch w-with—’ he took a deep breath ‘—Albert Barnes.’

      Joe’s heart sunk. This nervous man was trying to make a difference. He had read an article that asked questions about the war, and he wanted to speak to its author. All the time he had no idea that the person he was speaking to was that man. Joe felt ashamed at his anger, but he couldn’t shift the feeling that Jimmy was wrong for this. It was as if he was searching for a place to exist, something to be part of, rather than having any real conviction. The army itself would have given Jimmy a sense of purpose. He had always gone from one idea to the next, without following it through.

      Joe sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have got angry with you. Albert Barnes is no longer in Liverpool. He enlisted. He’ll be in France by now.’

      ‘But why did he write the article, only to sign up?’

      ‘Because he didn’t, Jimmy. I did.’ He didn’t trust Jimmy, and he knew it was probably a mistake to tell him, but he hated lying. ‘Don’t you dare tell anyone, or I’ll lose my job.’

      ‘You?’ Jimmy’s eyes widened. ‘Perhaps you can help me then.’

      ‘Listen, Jimmy.’ Joe gestured roughly at the pamphlets again. ‘I could lose my job over this if anyone found out. We could all lose our jobs, or worse if we’re not careful.’

      ‘So you won’t help me then?’

      ‘I can’t, Jimmy. I want to, but I can’t. I disagree with the war too. We can both make a difference but turning people against you won’t help.’ He checked to see if anyone had overheard, while Jimmy examined his shoes. ‘We shouldn’t even discuss this here.’ He put some distance between the two of them. The police could get funny ideas about two men talking closely on the streets. ‘We’ll talk again. But you must promise me something.’

      ‘What?’ Jimmy’s voice was a whisper.

      ‘You must not come by the newspaper.’

      Jimmy nodded. A spark of light had returned to his eyes.

      ‘If you do, Jimmy, people will ask questions. They will want to know why you’re there, and that wouldn’t end well for either of us.’

      ‘How shall I c-c-contact you? If not at the newspaper?’

      Joe didn’t want Jimmy coming by his home either. That was another conversation with the family that he wanted to avoid, even if he could pass Jimmy off as a mad old school pal. He had never mentioned Jimmy to any of them. ‘I don’t think that you should contact me, Jimmy. I’ve too much to lose. Some of us aren’t as well off.’ It was cruel, but he wanted to make a point. ‘I will contact you. I have your address.’ He pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of his coat pocket and straightened it. ‘I will keep this safe… until I need it.’

      Jimmy was still as tense as he had been when they left the shop. A couple of gentlemen wearing long coats walked towards them, talking and swiping their walking canes with each step. They visibly perspired in the summer heat, their long moustaches keeping the sweat out of their mouths. They tutted at the pair of them, bemused that their way was blocked.

      ‘Excuse us,’ Joe said as he doffed his cap and dragged Jimmy to the side. He waited till they were out of earshot before talking again. ‘You should go now,’ he said, realising that he still held Jimmy by the collar of his jacket. He let go and brushed the other man’s collar. ‘We’ve been here too long, and I’m late for work.’

      Jimmy finally put the leaflets away, carefully folding them in his pocket. ‘Yes, you are right. Of course. I have things to do.’ He took a big breath and reached out to shake Joe’s hand. ‘I will await your convenience, Joe. We shall look forward to having you up at the house, whenever you are free. No notice needed.’

      Joe returned the gesture this time. It was a strong handshake, full of emotion. It was unexpected. Joe watched Jimmy walk away and felt a fool. He didn’t think he would see the man again. They were from different worlds. From behind he could just imagine Jimmy having one of those long, tapered moustaches, and swinging a cane. Even if Joe did go to the Sutcliffes’ house, he would feel entirely out of place, and his presence would serve no purpose, but to make him more anxious. Joe wanted Jimmy to succeed, to stop the war before any more needless deaths, but he would do things his own way. He would help to change public opinion. People could be made to see the war was wrong. He was sure of that.

       Chapter 7

      George was in a hurry, and he had left before breakfast. He would tell everyone later, of course, but he couldn’t face their questions now. They might harm his already fragile confidence. He wore his best Sunday suit, which was reserved for special occasions. Today was definitely one of those. Tom had tried to convince him it would be all right, but he was sure that he would have trouble convincing the recruiting officer he was old enough. He hoped that they would think the two of them the same age.

      Tom’s eyes widened as he saw George. He was also in his Sunday best.

      ‘Woo, look at you,’ he said. ‘Off to charm the girls in Belgium, are we?’

      George wasn’t in the mood for Tom’s jokes, the butterflies in his stomach made him feel like being sick. It took all his effort to even speak.

      ‘We’ll be in uniform by the time we get out there, Tom.’

      Tom chuckled heartily and patted George on the back with a couple of thumps. ‘Don’t be so matter-of-fact,’ he said.

      It was a ten-minute walk to Gwent Street, where they would find the local recruitment office.

      ‘Did you tell your ma?’ George asked Tom.

      ‘Nah, she’d only worry about me, and what’s the use in worrying her? I’m gonna do it anyway. What other option have I got?’ An odd darkness crossed his face in contrast to his usually jovial attitude. ‘Besides, you’re with me, and she likes you. You’ll look after me, won’t you, George?’ He laughed that familiar laugh, as George scowled at him. ‘Did you?’

      ‘No,’ George replied. ‘I left early to avoid it. I hope they’ll think I just went to work.’

      ‘Why not? I mean, ya old fella was in the army. Surely he’ll be backing you?’

      ‘I hope so, but I didn’t want to find out. It’s my decision, not theirs. A part of me was worried what they might say. I am under-age after all. I should wait, but I want to go now. I want to do my bit before I’m no longer needed.’

      Tom gave George another pat on the back. ‘Me too.’

      On Gwent Street they met a group of men, chatting in excitement. Everyone was dressed smartly, in various brown suits, waistcoats and caps.

      ‘What’s all this then?’ asked Tom, speaking to no one in particular.

      A short man turned. ‘We’re queuing up, lad. Tha’s the recruitment office.’ His Lancashire accent was stronger and more rural than theirs. He had the look of a farm hand, with dried mud around his face and in the corners of his nails. ‘Here’s back, if you’re looking to join.’

      George

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