Chapter Text
As more people gathered around the table, they found themselves with possibly one of the strangest, most varied groups of people each of them had ever been in. Harry and Robina sat at one end, with Kasia (who was very quiet and solemn) beside him, and Jan and Gregor (also very silent) beside her. Nancy sat beside Douglas on one side, who was in turn beside Tom, who was dressed in an undershirt and casual pants with no shoes on, slumped back, looking like a typical former juvenile delinquent, and on the other side Webster, who was sitting with a hand to his head. Beside him and across from Harry was Stan Raddings, who apparently was Harry’s sergeant when he was in the army. He sat with his head rested against the chair and his eyes closed, as if striving for a nap.
“Might we turn the radio on, for any news from the continent?” Nancy asked.
Robina’s eyes slid towards her; she did her best not to let any annoyance at the suggestion show through. “I’d rather not during the dinner hour,” she replied. “Afterwards, by all means. Once I can be sequestered in my room, and not listen to... that,” she concluded dryly.
Nancy raised her eyebrows. “Surely it’s worth hearing?”
“Not really,” Tom broke in. “If I never hear anything in reference to the Germans again, it’ll be too soon.” He peered at her. “Where’re you from again, missus?” She turned briefly to Webster, who was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes tightly shut. She wondered what he knew that she didn’t.
“I am from America, but I just came from Germany,” she replied.
He raised his eyebrows and picked up his water, slurping it down like he was dying of thirst. “How do we know you ain’t a German spy then?” he asked afterwards. She blinked. He smiled mirthfully. “Just tryin' to get yer goat, missus.” Webster covered his face with his hands. Stan snorted, not opening his eyes. He had no clue what was going on, but it certainly was amusing.
“I have no more goats left,” she deadpanned.
“Posh Boy over there is easy t’fu– to mess with,” he pointed to Harry, who rubbed his temple, briefly wondering if his mother hadn’t been too nice, just this once. It sounded like an oxymoron, but… there it was. He wished that the one time she’d decided to be helpful and generous, hadn’t resulted in having to deal with Tom Bennett, of all people.
“Ms. Campbell, can we play chess after dinner?” Jan asked. He’d beaten her, to her utter humiliation.
“I think Nancy is tired, Jan,” Harry broke in, smiling kindly. “I’ll play with you.” Tom never joined in; it would be a good way to avoid him.
“You’re too easy to beat,” Jan whined.
“I’ll play again,” Webster offered to Jan immediately, who beamed.
“So,” Nancy went in with a question. “How did all three of you get out with Harry at once?” she asked the three siblings. Webster opened his mouth and then closed it. Not my business, not my problem.
Stan bit his cheek to keep from laughing.
“We didn’t get out at the same time,” Kasia explained. “And Gregor got out on his own, by walking through Germany and France, to Dunkirk.” The boy, who’d been silent, nodded. “And Harry only got Jan out the first time, which was my doing.”
“You mean,” Nancy gaped, “you stayed behind?” Kasia nodded, looking tired. And very sad.
She glanced to her side. Douglas was being very quiet. Tom was pulling a face and fiddling with his fork.
“It’s very concerning, what is going on in the continent, especially in the east,” Harry chimed in. “Western Europe is utterly calm by comparison.” New subject, new subject.
“It’s calm until it isn’t,” Nancy said dryly.
“Well, once the Americans realize they are not Switzerland, maybe things will improve from there,” Robina said. “At the moment, the sole other point of failure is Canada. And Canada is, well…. Canada,” she concluded, in her high, liquid voice that was dripping with sarcasm. Nancy had to stifle a laugh at that. Stan snorted and smiled.
“The Free French are doing rather a lot, as well,” Harry added. “Demba wrote me, told me about it. They’re planning to–”
Tom abruptly snorted. Douglas made a desperate attempt to shush him, but Tom said “The red, white, and blue stripes–”
“The tricolore, ” Harry interrupted.
“The French flag should be all white, as far as France is concerned. Pretty similar to the last war, wouldn’t you say, Dad?” he said.
Douglas looked down, viscerally embarrassed. “Tom, goodness sakes, don’t–”
“They weren’t prepared,” Nancy said. “Tom wasn’t wrong.” Obnoxious, but far from wrong.
“‘Course I’m not wrong. Saw it for meself,” he added argumentatively.
“No, you didn’t –” Webster began to interrupt him.
“How long were you in France, Tom?” Nancy asked, cutting him off to prevent an argument, but at that moment, the doorbell rang.
“More people,” Robina sighed, standing to get it. “Because we were all so lonely.” She walked out the door.
“Dunkirk,” Tom replied to Nancy. “What a shitshow. To top it all off, my boat’s name was Keith.” Stan couldn’t help but stare at him in disbelief, before chalking his stupidity up to the fact that he was in the navy. Tom leaned back, rolling his eyes. What an idiot . The thought was tinged with amusement, though, so she halfway liked him. Douglas subtly kicked him under the table.
“Stop the foul language,” Douglas admonished him. He'd never been able to tell Tom what to do, he thought defeatedly.
Harry winced, knowing full well who would ask what…
“What does ‘shitshow’ mean?” Jan asked. Tom laughed obnoxiously.
Douglas covered his eyes then too. “See what an influence you are?” he muttered. “Please save the language for later.”
“Something you do not repeat,” Harry answered Jan, which Gregor concurred with. Jan nodded.
Tom pulled down his collar to reveal a long, deep scar to Nancy. “Got shot there, while I was in France. Nearly bled completely out on the beach. Wished I had for a bit.”
“Why?” she asked.
He smiled at her, feeling very pleased with himself. “Oh, you’ll love this story. I–”
“No,” Webster jumped in.
“There’s no need to be rude, ” Nancy admonished him, annoyed by his abrupt manner. He rubbed the top of his head, as if his headache had relocated there. This might as well happen.
But just then, three–no, four–new people walked in.
“Randy? ” Nancy and Webster blurted out. His face was drained of color upon seeing them. Lois, Vernon, and baby Josie stood beside, looking at Randy curiously. “Randy?” Nancy repeated, waiting for him to say something. “What are you doing here?”
Webster noticed something else. “Why are you in a Canadian uniform?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he said. “You guys haven’t seen me in a while. Wow, whatever is cooking smells wonderful. I envy you all,” he said.
Robina smiled thinly. “Please, sit. All of you.” If only I hadn’t been brought up as well as I was, I would have told these people to have a good night instead.
“B-But,” Webster stuttered, looking back and forth between Nancy and Randy. He tried to catch Randy’s eyes, but Randy successfully avoided him.
Randy immediately sat down and pulled out a plate, dropping it down on the table as he went. Nancy internally winced. Robina rolled her eyes, wondering if she could get any less lucky in terms of guests.
“How did they know you, O’Connor?” the other man said. He turned to her. “Vernon Hunter, pleased to meet you both.” Nancy smiled politely. She kicked Webster, who was still staring intently at Randy, under the table until he did too.
“We’re all family friends, but they are from the U.S and I’m from Canada. They’re from, uh, Minnesota, which is right across the border from Manitoba. Which is where I'm from. Manitoba. Which is in Canada,” Randy said, explaining at a million a miles a minute, before determinedly eating a forkful of spinach leaves. He crunched into the spinach and a piece of burnt garlic bread. “Delicious meal,” he said to Robina.
She smiled tightly at him, finding him about as normal as a martian from an H.G Wells novel.
Mr. Hunter looked at Nancy and Webster. “Why did you say he is not Canadian?”
Randy looked at them, begging them with his eyes.
“No, no, he is, It’s just a joke,” Nancy lied, shooting arrows at Randy with her eyes. He nearly choked on his salad. “My name is Nancy Campbell, pleased to meet you,” she added politely. He nodded.
“Some joke,” Tom snorted, snickering. Douglas shushed him again.
“Hi, Dad,” Lois said, bending over to kiss his cheek, not particularly interested in the personal mishaps of her husband’s flying partner. “Lovely to meet you,” she directed at the new editions to the table.
“My namesake,” Tom pointed at the baby, whisper-shouting to Webster.
“You said,” Webster muttered.
“Only because I thought you were six feet under,” Mrs. Hunter joked. She turned back to her husband. “Vernon, this is Mrs. Robina Chase. She and my dad are friends.” She looked over at Jan, smiled at him. “Hi Jan! How are you getting on at school?”
“I’m doing good!” he said brightly. “I got another 100% in mathematics!”
Mrs. Hunter beamed, and leaned over to ruffle his hair. “You’ll be into Oxford in a minute if you keep that up.” He smiled even brighter, but then asked “What is Oxford?”
“A stellar university,” Lois said. “That’s what.”
“What was the joke?” Vernon suddenly asked, leaning on his hands that were steepled under his chin.
“What?” Nancy asked.
“I’m asking him. What is your name? Only you never said,” he asked, pointing to Webster, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Webster’s eyes widened and he stared gracelessly at Vernon for too long.
“Webster,” he replied evasively, trying to keep Randy from getting into trouble. “Nice to meet you. Uh… I, er… um…that is…”
“The joke?” Vernon said pointedly. “And what is your last name?”
“Uh....” he looked around the room, panicked, before his eyes fell on Nancy. She shrugged, a what do you want me to do? gesture. “O'...Connelly,” he said, trying to sound certain. Harry peered at them in confusion; had he heard wrong earlier? Nancy winced. Randy held his face in his hands, remembering the myriad of times he’d witnessed his brother’s attempts to lie fail when they were children. He was screwed.
“How did you meet Robina?” Nancy interrupted what she knew to be a slow-moving train wreck, speaking to Douglas.
“Er. It’s a long story.” He went quiet, and she knew her attempt was only a temporary distraction. Clearly there was something Douglas planned to be tight-lipped about too. Until…
“Lois and Harry were stepping out. Now she’s with Posh Boy number two, and he’s with Polish Girl,” Tom said across his father, jerking his head between Mrs. Hunter and Harry as he spoke.
Tom had been loud enough for the entire table to hear. And now Vernon was looking at Harry very intensely across still-steepled hands instead, Harry was staring determinedly at his lap, Robina was looking at the ceiling, Stan rolled his eyes so hard he should have sprained his sockets, Webster breathed a sigh of relief at the distraction, Kasia was looking at Harry questioningly and suspiciously, Gregor looked befuddled, and the baby that cried looked….
About half a year old.
“That little un’s his. Not a fan of my namesake being Posh Boy’s kid, but–” the baby yowled. “I’m sorry, Thomasine, I’m kidding, you know we love you,” he said to her, and began to cover his face in a round of peek-a-boo. Mrs. Hunter glared daggers at him, wondering why, exactly, he’d been careless enough to ruin things, even if he did hate Harry.
The shoe dropped for almost everyone. They all looked down the table at Robina eating some peas, very focused on her fork, as if it were a sewing needle that she was working diligently over. Then she broke the illusion, and reached for the bottle of wine and filled her cup nearly to the top. Understandably.
Gregor, Vernon, and Kasia were all looking at Harry like they were faintly homicidal. Lois’ face became pinched as she wondered if it was too late to essentially disown her brother, deciding that, if nothing else, he would be the recipient of a thorough screaming match later.
“What, were it supposed to be a secret?” Tom asked, smiling obliviously.
“You had one job, ” Nancy said to Harry, deciding she might as well jump on the bandwagon. Stan couldn’t help but snort-laugh into his water glass before leaning his head back again and closing his eyes, not particularly interested in hearing this story yet again . Douglas stared at the ceiling, feeling excruciatingly uncomfortable and hoping neither Lois nor his new son-in-law would blow their tops. Randy started to laugh, rather obnoxiously.
“Oh, you’re that guy!” he laughed at Harry. “Wouldn’t know it from looking atcha,” he added, snorting out peals of laughter. Nancy winced, faintly hoping no one would figure out that they were related, out of sheer embarrassment. Webster choked and she kicked him under the table again. Harry held his head in his hands, wondering how much worse this could possibly get. Stan couldn’t help himself but smirk at his friend’s thoroughly dejected face.
“What were you thinking- ” Nancy began to ask.
“You’re the one who cajoled me into marrying her–!” he trailed off as he began to realize how awful he sounded. “Damn it,” he whispered under his breath.
“I thought that was not something to say, either?" Jan asked, confused.
“Don’t envy you, mate,” Tom said around a mouthful of bread. “Good luck, mate.”
“That was you?” Robina said, in a far too neutral voice, regarding Nancy calmly. “Well, I suppose journalists aren’t ones for minding their own business,” she said dryly, with a tilt of her head, reflexively annoyed. Nancy got the feeling that she hadn’t been exactly approving.
“Excuse me,” Kasia said, standing quickly and leaving the room, a mixture of anger and sadness on her features. Gregor shot one hateful look at Harry that said don’t even think about coming with us before standing up to follow his sister.
"You better have a good explanation for this," Gregor muttered to Harry on his way out. Jan followed his siblings, looking confused. Harry wished the floor could have swallowed him whole.
“Tom, this was wrong,” Douglas said. “Did you even... What were you thinking?”
The answer to that particular question was obvious to everyone: he hadn’t been.
Tom slumped in his seat. “Sorry.” He went quiet for a little bit, but then looked up: something clearly caught his attention, and he thought that he could possibly make amends by creating a new center of attention. “Hey, so what’s your deal? You’re obviously American,” he said to Randy. Everyone’s attention went back to Randy, who was conspicuously as still as a gargoyle, hoping to avoid notice.
“I. Am. Canadian,” Randy insisted. He then reached for the wine bottle and poured it straight into his large, empty water glass. Vernon’s contemptuous gaze turned back from Harry, who was now slouching over himself, avoiding eye contact, hoping to avoid further negative attention, to Randy. Vernon briefly retrained his gaze on Harry.
“I hope you die on your next deployment,” he hissed at him.
“You and me both,” Harry muttered. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out how in God’s name to do damage control on the mess that was his life. Vernon started out of his chair, leaning towards Randy like an interrogator.
“What did you do, O’Connor? Did you take me for an utter idiot? Is that it?” Vernon asked, livid.
“Well….” Webster began. Randy stared at him, his face painted with rage. Webster rolled his eyes.
“I’m telling you, I’m not American! I’ll swear on anything you want me to that I am Canadian,” Randy began to insist to Vernon.
“Oh, hey, is that a common name in America?” Tom asked, seemingly spontaneously.
“What?” both Nancy and Randy asked. “Why do you ask?” she asked. It’s not like he’s the most curious person.
“That guy,” he pointed at Webster, “‘is last name’s the same. I know it's not what he said just now, even though they sound similar.” Webster looked homicidal, or suicidal, or both. “Met ‘im when I were a POW,” Tom blurted out, then shrugged. He began to crunch loudly on a carrot. “So is it?”
“Is it what?” Nancy asked, wanting to get back to point one.
He took another bite of a carrot, then said, “A common name? In America?”
“Not really? It’s more Irish than anything–” Randy began to reply reflexively.
“How else would you know that, than if you were American yourself?! How else would you know if it’s common in America?” Vernon interrupted, leaning over towards Randy, looking like an interrogator.
“Oh my God,” Randy said into his hand, in what could only be described as a just kill me now tone. He considered drinking all of the alcohol currently at his disposal.
For a second, Nancy forgot what she was going to ask, but knew that something about Tom’s story seemed off. But then it dawned on her what was wrong, as Vernon and Randy began to quarrel: the timeline. “You met him in France? As a POW? After Dunkirk? How on earth did you get out?” she asked Tom, raising her voice to hear him over their increasing-in-volume conversation. Randy heard her, and he stopped arguing, tuning into Tom’s answer over Vernon’s bluster.
“He got me out,” Tom said, pointing to Webster, who closed his eyes. Tom pulled down his collar to show his scar again. “Stitched this up, too.” He smiled the same harebrained smile that Nancy had come to expect from him. “Can’t wait to show it off. Might impress some girl.” Webster held his face in his hands. Tom reached down to his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, then put it back. “Probably shouldn’t smoke in ‘ere,” he said, looking hesitant. Robina looked at him pointedly, trying to tell him absolutely not with a look, wondering how dense anyone could possibly be.
“What do you mean, ‘got you out’?” Nancy asked, trying to catch Webster’s eye now, but he was staring at the ceiling.
Tom leaned back, shrugged. “Forged me papers. Hid me, smuggled me out.”
“He did what?” she turned back to Webster, who avoided her eye.
“Different girl was the one who actually led me outa France, inta Spain, but–” he began, but suddenly stopped and leaned over to speak directly to Webster. “Oi, Web, would’ja happen to still be in touch with tha’ girl?” He paused, clearly racking his brain. “Her name’s, uh….. Juliet, I believe?” Webster just stared at him, blatantly unimpressed. “D’ye ‘ave ‘er address, or anything?” Tom reiterated his question.
“No, I do not, ” Webster replied to Tom’s (asinine) question. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t be giving it to you. ” Tom slumped back, looking profoundly disappointed.
“What were you thinking?” Nancy all but shouted at him. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!”
Webster cut her off, feeling like a bug under a microscope. "Oh, is that the time?” he asked looking at his watch. “Eight thirty, already? It’s getting a little late for me, so–I think I’ll just–” he got up and began to walk out of the room. Liar, Nancy thought.
“Me, too,” Harry said, getting up to leave, seeing his own way out. Robina smiled in the most straightforwardly mirthful way possible.
"I'm going to leave now, too. Might as well quit while I'm ahead," Randy contributed, turning sarcastic, by which point the other two were out of the room.
"Nationality fraud is no small thing," Vernon muttered, just loud enough for Randy to hear before he was fully out of the room.
Everyone sat quietly, awkwardly, not entirely knowing what to do. Slowly, in increments of one or two people, everyone else got up and left the room, as nobody knew where to go from there. Lois and Vernon went home, Josie in tow; Tom and Douglas went back to their room; Nancy returned to her room, after trying Webster's door and finding it locked with the light off; Stan departed, laughing at Harry all the while; Harry tried to go to Kasia's room before being denied entry by Gregor in a quick, angry, bilingual exchange; and Robina retired to her room as quickly as possible, wondering why in God's name she thought having this many people in her house would ever be a good idea.
~