Child of Illusion

When Laurie got in from the office, his landlady came out to tell him that there’d been a phone call for him.  She’d taken a message, she said in a rather strict voice:  this was not, of course, her duty—she’d made that clear when he’d taken the room—but a great kindness on her part.  What Laurie had never quite been able to work out was the point of providing a telephone in the hall for the tenants, if no one was supposed to phone you back.  Of course, there was the advantage of not needing to walk to the call box at the corner, especially when it rained.  On the other hand, she had a preternaturally keen ear for voices on the phone.  If you didn’t rap on her door and pay her in advance, she promptly came out to collect her due; and she had the habit of hanging around afterwards listening to your end of the conversation.

The message, when he got to his room and had a look at it, came from Alec Deacon.  How the other man had got his number was a little puzzling:  Laurie could only conclude that he’d had it from Ralph at some point.  That Alec was now on his own in Bridstow he’d heard on Ralph’s last visit.  Sandy had long since got his call-up notice—inevitable, really, since he was not specializing—and had disappeared into the Army, which was siphoning useful young doctors straight out of training.  Mercifully for their patients, the war seemed to be in some sort of holding pattern, which would give them a chance to gain experience.  Sooner or later (please God sooner, thought Laurie) the British would recross the Channel, beat off the Boche, and liberate Europe.  In the meantime, he was stuck in an office in London; Sandy was working in some army hospital, God knows where; and Ralph, his course at Bridstow finally complete, was posted as an ASDIC operator to a destroyer assigned to the Atlantic convoys.  Also God knows where:  Ralph said nothing even on leave, except “There’s a war on, Spuddy,” as if Laurie didn’t know that all too well.

So (and his eyes dropped back down to Mrs. Tatum’s scrawl) did Alec’s appearance in town indicate a final fling before reporting to an army centre?  Or merely a couple of days off?  At any rate, yes, he could meet the other man at the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch.  Laurie would be going out to eat anyway:  Mrs. Tatum did not do meals.  He might as well dine there as anywhere.

Laurie glanced at his watch and concluded that, if he were not to risk Alec deciding he’d been stood up, then he’d better leave without changing.  The ministry kept one working late.  (The war, of course.)  Certainly his budget would not run to a cab.  In the end, by hurrying after the bus as best he could, attempting a leap, and being grabbed by the conductor more or less by the scruff of the neck, he was only some twenty minutes late.  Looking round, he spotted Alec spooning some lackluster soup, and arrived at the table with apologies on his lips.

“Not at all,” said Alec politely.  “I’m just glad your … landlady is she? … did actually pass on my message.”

“Oh, lor’,” said Laurie ruefully.  “Was she horribly rude?  She rather bosses us, you know.”  He slid into his seat.  “It can’t be helped.  Rooms are almost impossible to find, what with the bombing; and this place is not too far from work.  I can walk, in fact, which saves a few pence.”

“Well, I’ve had a landlady or two myself,” Alec commiserated.  “The worst are the ones who ask questions, in that nosy sort of way.”  As Laurie inspected the menu, such as it was, he added, “I’ve ordered for myself already.  There’s not much choice.”

“There never is,” Laurie replied.  “One takes what one’s given.”  He wondered why Alec had called him.  The man was Ralph’s friend, had been for years.  What Laurie had seen of him he’d liked; but he’d hardly been in Bridstow long enough for the two of them to have much of a chance to get to know each other. T o fill time, he wittered platitudes about the war and weather.  Alec finished his soup; and the waitress collected his bowl and took Laurie’s order.

Laurie wondered what else to say.  “Where are you staying?” he finally asked.

Alec named a small hotel that Laurie didn’t know.  “It’s quite discreet,” he added.  “A bit off the beaten track, but that’s probably all to the good.  Well, what can I say?  We’ve been working like dogs, of course.  When Sutcliffe told me to take a few days off, I could have slept a week; but what’s the point of that?  A change is sometimes better than a rest.  So I thought I’d pop up to town, have a look round.  People were very generous with suggestions.”  He paused.  “I got your telephone number from Ralph a while back.”

“Yes, I thought it must be that.  I do wonder why you looked me up, though.  I mean, if Ralph were in town, then of course; but we—you and I—”  He broke off wryly.  “It was a fraught time, those last days in Bridstow.  One I should think you probably wish to forget, really.”

“No, actually I do rather miss Sandy—more than I thought I would.”  Alec cocked an eye at Laurie.  “And before you ask:  yes, I do look forward after a fashion to military service, though it’s extremely unlikely that he and I will ever be posted to the same place.”  He paused thoughtfully.  “Well, I say ‘look forward’; but I don’t fancy being subjected to the drill and saluting and all that nonsense.  But being of service, yes.  To my country you might say, I suppose; but, even more, to the wounded.  At least, I imagine that’s the sort of work I’ll be doing, wherever I get sent.  And no, I’ve no idea where that will be.  How could I?”

Laurie grinned ruefully.  “That does rather answer all my idiot questions, I suppose.”  He shifted slightly as the waitress returned with his soup and Alec’s main course.  “I’m not much good at small talk, I’m afraid.”  He took a spoonful of soup and found it as bland as he’d feared.

“And how’s your life?” asked Alec, with a wicked twinkle.

“Boring as hell, really,” Laurie admitted.  “Pushing paperwork, at a very very junior level, with nothing of any real interest in it.  I don’t have the clearance for more.  Or the experience, either, to be fair.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“Oh, yes.  And with my leg….”  Laurie shrugged.  “So I would actually prefer to be in uniform—drill and saluting and ‘all that nonsense’, as you put it, be damned.  But it’s not my choice, when all’s said and done.  Jerry saw to that at Dunkirk.  Anyway, when you come to think of it, we’re all under orders, one way or another.”

“‘There’s a war on,’” quoted Alec, with appropriate little hand gestures.  He picked up his knife and fork, and dug in.

“One can hardly forget it, living in London,” Laurie agreed.  He glanced down at the bowl in front of him.  The soup was a duty, too, and also had to be done.  One mustn’t waste food.

“Mind you,” Alec said thoughtfully, “I’ve seen your chart.  If they’d taken your leg off, you’d probably have managed to get around with a prosthesis better than you do now with….”  He glanced significantly at Laurie’s cane, leaning against the table.  “You might even be in uniform.  You’d still be doing paperwork, I expect.  Never see action, obviously; probably never get out of some depot in England.  But the army has its bumf in triplicate, same as everywhere.  I’m surprised, really, that they didn’t just whip the leg off.”

It was a rather presumptuous comment even coming from a surgeon.  “I’m actually rather glad they didn’t,” Laurie said, in a reserved tone.  “I may have a pretty horrible knee; but everything else looks just as it always did, right down to my old familiar foot with all its toes.”

Alec froze, fork halfway to his lips.

Laurie continued, a bit indignantly, “You may not think it matters, but I’m rather attached to my leg.”

“Literally,” Alec said, with a faint smile.  He was presumably hoping to lighten the moment.  Laurie was not amused.

“As you say.”

“Sorry.  None of my business, of course.  Your leg, and all that.”

“Quite.”

There followed an interval of silent dining.  Laurie emptied the bowl of soup and was served his main course; Alec finished, and the waitress cleared his place.

“I get letters from Ralph now and then.”

His mouth full, Laurie simply nodded.  That Ralph wrote Alec was no great surprise.

“Sometimes two or three together, then months without.  I suppose he writes when he has the time, but is only able to send anything when they make port.”

Laurie nodded again, swallowed, and said, “I write him, too, of course.  I hope he gets them; but one never knows.  Well, not unless—months later, like as not—you get a reply that refers back to something you’ve written.”  He shovelled peas onto his fork.

“I don’t suppose he’s said anything about leave.”

Laurie simply shook his head, took a sip of water, and continued eating.

“Not that that’s anything new,” said Alec reflectively.  “Even before the war, he could be the other side of the world on some tramp ship plying Pacific ports.  I always thought he’d make a good travel writer if he wanted.  Now, of course, he hardly dares tell anything except chit-chat—I won’t call it gossip—about daily life on board, that sort of thing.  People I’ve never met and probably never will.  Even so, he brings them to life.”

Laurie cut off another piece of the scant meat portion but, for the moment, left it on the plate.  “I wish I had that knack.  My letters must bore him.”  He forked in the food.

“I’m sure not,” said Alec.  “Or no more than mine, anyway.  What can one talk about, after all?  There’s no saying what the censor will allow; so one watches every word preemptively.  One has to write between the lines, so to speak, knowing that there’s always some unknown someone else out there looking for invisible ink.”

Laurie nodded, and swallowed a bit too fast in order to add, “And even so, nothing truly personal.”  From the other man’s wry grimace, he knew Alec correctly interpreted the plaint.  “Does Sandy write?”

“Fairly often.  I do reply … when I have time.”

Laurie took the final bite, laid his cutlery across the plate, and wiped his mouth with the napkin.   “Did you want pudding?”

Alec had seen on other tables the dessert on offer:  a rather dry-looking slice of bland sponge cake.

“No, I agree,” said Laurie.  They paid and left, walking along the street in the blackout.  Laurie would have pointed out the sights if one could see them properly.  If Alec had come earlier in the day—if he had himself been free earlier in the day—then he could have taken him round properly.  At least London streets had proper sidewalks:  he did not have to negotiate the cobbled roads of a country town.  The near-full moon helped too, though it brought the danger of raids; but for once the siren didn’t sound.

“Along here,” said Alec, guiding him down a street with which Laurie was not familiar into a part of town he’d not explored.

“You know where we’re going?” asked Laurie, a bit puzzled.

“No,” said Alec.  “But I’ve been told this place is pretty good.”  He laughed.  “I borrowed an A to Z and practically memorized the maps.”  He touched Laurie’s elbow briefly, guiding him towards steps down to basement level, where they were inspected through a peephole in a locked door before being allowed inside.  Rather like a speakeasy, thought Laurie, having read about American Prohibition.  Inside, things were almost quiet.  Music did play:  some of the modern jazz for which Laurie, always rather a traditionalist, did not particularly care.

Through the fug of cigarette smoke they made their way to the bar, where Alec ordered something improbably named which Laurie assumed must be a new cocktail.  “I’ll have the same,” he said.  Whatever it was, when he sipped it he found it to be strong with a rather unpleasant aftertaste.

“I’ve no idea what they put in these things,” said Alec after trying his own.

His comment was not loud, and they had drifted away from the bar:  Laurie didn’t think anyone could overhear.  Still, he took a quick glance back at the barman, who was mercifully busy with another customer.  “Whatever they can get, I suppose,” he murmured; and Alec replied, “Off the back of a lorry, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Laurie took another tentative sip.  Perhaps it would grow on him; but, on the whole, he thought not.

There was a table empty on the far side of the room; and they sat, looking round at the clientele, leaving their glasses almost untouched.  It was, Laurie thought, a rather odd bar in some ways.  Though there were a couple of women, most of the people were men.  A rather effete gesture from a young officer at the bar recalled the party in Bridstow.  The voices two tables over—he could not quite make out the words—had echoes of Sandy, taken up at least ten notches.  “We can talk here,” Alec said, unnoticed beside him.

Laurie felt an unexpected touch on his arm.  He jumped a little and turned to find Alec leaning rather too close.  “I said, we can talk more freely in here,” Alec repeated.  “How are you and Ralph getting on?  I know it’s an impertinent question; and I’m certainly not asking for intimate details—none of my business, and you wouldn’t tell me anyway, I’m sure—but, when he was in Bridstow, he seemed to be working himself down to some sort….”  He stopped, and took an improbably long draught of his cocktail.  “Look, I’m no psychologist; and diagnosing a friend is strongly deprecated for good reason—one can’t possibly be objective—but I’m not joking when I say that I was worried sick about him.  What passed between you at the hospital … well, he’s never one to open up about personal things, and I didn’t know you well enough … but let’s just say that I was terrified.”  He hesitated, and put down the glass.  “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes,” said Laurie simply.  “I’d rather not talk about it; but I do recognize that you were the one who told me to go after him.  At the time, I didn’t grasp why; but I did later.  Anyway, I think it’s all right now.”

“That’s good to hear.”  Alec looked at Laurie closely.  “So things between you…?  I know you write him; but then I write too.   Always have.  We’re just friends now, of course—you know that.  But we still write.  Just as you do.” He stopped again.  “He’s been away for months.”

It was a statement of the obvious.  “Yes, he has,” Laurie said, and then dared to add, “I miss him.  Rather a lot at times.  As you say, it’s been months.”

“I did wonder.”  A bit tentatively, Alec put a hand very close to Laurie’s.  “Do the two of you have plans?”

Laurie almost laughed.  “Plans for what?  Who has plans?”  There was a war on, for God’s sake.  He almost said so; but it was too trite a cliché to repeat yet again.

Alec reached over and touched Laurie’s arm again.  It was presumably intended as a sympathetic gesture; but, in public like this, it made him feel queerly nervous.  He looked round the room again, hoping that no one had noticed; but, if they had, no one rose to denounce them.  In fact, no one seemed to be looking in their direction at all.

“Would you like another drink?” asked Alec.  “On me, this time.”

Laurie looked at his unfinished cocktail.  “No, I think I’d rather not,” he replied.  And then, lest he seem ungrateful of the offer, added, “I think if I finish this one that will be quite enough.  What’s the time?”   He glanced at his watch.  “Mrs. Tatum tends to lock up early.  She doesn’t give out keys; I’ll have to ring the bell.  And, knowing her, she’ll be sniffing the air when I come in.  She has opinions about liquor.”

“Come back with me to the hotel,” suggested Alec.  “I can probably lay my hands on some mints.  Or perhaps … stay the night.”  He looked at Laurie meaningfully, and shifted his hand to lie boldly flat on Laurie’s wrist.  It felt scarily warm.  For a flustered moment, Laurie was unsure what was going on.  Then things fell into place; and he saw the bar clearly for what it was.  They could “talk freely” indeed!

Of course, he knew such places existed.  Up till now, though, he’d met people at parties.

Well, he wasn’t going to flee in horror, as he’d fled from Charles’s friends in Oxford.  He wouldn’t embarrass them both by such behaviour.  No doubt it was the sophistication with which he’d met the guests at Alec’s birthday party that had led the other man astray.  “Are you making a pass at me,” Laurie asked carefully, to be sure.

Alec looked amused.  “Well, I hope so.”

“You do,” Laurie said, even more carefully, “remember that I’m seeing Ralph.”

“Well, not now,” Alec pointed out sensibly.  “He’s God-knows-where on some destroyer protecting the Atlantic convoys, if they haven’t sent him somewhere else already; and there’s no saying when he’ll be back.”

“And you think that, just because Ralph’s away, that means I’m available?”

Alec scratched his nose.  “Are you doing a Sandy on me?”

“I’m not about to slit my wrists,” said Laurie.  “But, if you mean that I believe in being faithful, then yes.  I wouldn’t do that to Ralph.”  There was a pause.  “Look, what I’m saying is—”

“—‘no’.”  Alec smiled.  “What you’re saying is ‘no’.  It’s all right; I can take being turned down, Laurie.  I’m not about to make a scene.  Nor am I going to be a pest, if that’s a worry.  All I did was ask, after all; and you’ve turned me down.  I surely have a right to ask!”

“In the ordinary way,” Laurie said grudgingly.  “Except that Ralph’s more or less your best friend; and, in my book, you don’t make a pass at your best friend’s…”  He hesitated, uncertain of a right term to use.  “…best friend,” he finished lamely.

“Boyfriend?  Lover?”

Laurie flushed.

“You two aren’t married, you know.”

“Marriage has nothing to do with it.  My parents were married:  that didn’t stop my father being unfaithful.”

“Fair enough.”  Alec twiddled his cocktail glass.  “I could really do with another right now,” he muttered, then looked straight into Laurie’s eyes.  “Look, Laurie I—”  He stopped and shook his head.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Go on,” said Laurie in a quiet, hard voice.  “You started:  finish.”

Alec sighed.  “Very well.”  Still, he picked up his glass, sipped the last drops of his drink, and then gestured towards Laurie’s.  “You going to have the rest of that?”

“Not really,” said Laurie, glancing down at it.  “I thought it was pretty awful, actually.”

“Do you mind?”  Alec reached out, with a querying brow; and, on Laurie’s nod, picked up the cocktail and drained it.  He set the glass back down, firmly enough that it chinked a bit as it hit the table top, and passed a hand over his eyes with a faint sigh.  “All right, then,” he said.  “Let’s see how best to put this.  You know Ralph and I were together, some time back.  He was a sailor then; he’s a sailor now.  He was away for weeks at times.  Do you think he was faithful to me?”

“You weren’t faithful to him,” Laurie said shortly.  It was a guess, of course; but a fair guess.  He knew that Alec had been chronically unfaithful to Sandy.  It was reasonable to suppose that he’d treated Ralph the same way.

“I was quite serious about Ralph, actually,” said Alec quietly.  “When he was in port, we spent pretty much all our free time together.  When he wasn’t in port….”  He shrugged.  “Well, that’s the way it is.”

“For you, maybe.”

“For Ralph, too.”

Laurie felt a stubborn resistance to the idea; but, on the other hand, he could see how it might make sense.  “He knew you weren’t faithful; so why should he be?”

“If you want to put it that way.”

“Your morals are yours, Alec,” Laurie said sharply.  “But I don’t see what they have to do with Ralph and me.”

“You’re missing my point,” said Alec calmly.  “And keep your voice down, Laurie.  If we have a row in here, everyone will be hanging on our every word, up to the point where they throw us out.”

“No, you’re wrong:  I do get your point,” said Laurie, but he lowered his voice.  “You’re trying to tell me that Ralph sleeps around when he’s at sea.”

“More likely in port.”

“Or not at all!  He’s not you.  And he knows I’m not you.”

“Well, he knows you’re not Sandy,” said Alec judiciously.  “As you say, you’re not about to slit your wrists.  I’m not sure, beyond that, how well he knows you at all.  How long have you been together, after all?  And don’t count the months he’s been away.”

Laurie looked at him sullenly.

“Look Laurie, let’s be reasonable.  You have memories from school, such as they are, topped with a few snatched weeks in Bridstow months ago.  Hero-worship glazed with infatuation, that’s what you have.  Hardly what I’d call reality.  I, on the other hand, have known Ralph for years.”

“I don’t accept your implications.”

“You don’t have to take my word for it.”

“Right now, after you make a pass at me, I wouldn’t take your word for the time of day.”

Alec smiled gently.  “No, I’m not trying to get you into bed.  I’m just trying to warn you.”

“Warn me off, you mean.”

“No, warn you that Ralph’s a man, not a hero.”

Laurie had no idea what to say to this.  His reaction—that Ralph was a man and a hero—would undoubtedly be taken as absurdly naïve.  He was reasonably certain he read Alec right on that count.  Yet Ralph was a hero, not just because Laurie had idolized him at school (along with most of the rest of the students) but because of his courage at Dunkirk, to which Laurie’s own survival bore witness.  “I think I should be going,” he said in a low voice, and reached for his cane.

Alec put a hand on the crook.  “Just a moment,” he said.  “About Ralph.”  And Laurie’s heart sank.

“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

“As you wish,” said Alec quietly.  “But I think you’re making a mistake if you don’t talk to him the next time you see him.  Clear the air, one way or the other.”

“I trust Ralph.”

“I know you do.  And he’s utterly trustworthy.  I promise you I believe that too.  But if he hasn’t given you his word he’ll ‘cleave only unto thee’, then…”  Alec hesitated.  “…can you be sure the two of you are actually on the same page there?”

“I’m sorry,” said Laurie, “but I’m not having this conversation.”  He pushed back his chair to get up only to find that, between the walk from the restaurant and the time they’d been sitting, his leg had stiffened.  The struggle to his feet was humiliatingly awkward.  Nor did it improve matters that Alec rose easily and offered a helping hand.  Laurie shook his head.  “I can manage.  I’d rather do it on my own.”

Alec nodded and stepped back, waiting until Laurie had gained his feet and picked up the cane.  “I gather you’re not familiar with this part of town,” he said.  “Neither am I, of course; but I’ve got the map fresh in my mind.  I can at least see you back to your lodgings.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I’m sure you can manage,” Alec said politely, “but, in the blackout, you know.  There are no street signs now, and no lights.”

Laurie took a deep breath.  He wanted to say it was quite unnecessary; but, unfortunately, the searchlights crossing the sky did little for visibility at ground level.  Despite the moon, he was more or less guaranteed a stumble or two.  “Thank you,” he said finally, summoning the courtesy his mother had drilled into him when he was small.  “If it won’t take you out of your way.”

“Only by a few streets,” Alec assured him.  Whether that was true or reciprocal courtesy Laurie had no way of telling.

They parted a few doors from Mrs. Tatum’s.  “Just in case,” said Laurie.  Not that there was anything he need conceal, of course.  Still, it was only after Alec had turned the corner out of sight that he continued along the street and rang the bell.  For several minutes, he had to wait on the step.  Then, finally, the door was unlocked; and Mrs. Tatum let him in with a sharp, “Had a good evening then, Mr. Odell?”

“Yes, thank you,” he murmured.

“You might think of others who want their beds,” she said with a sniff.  “Stopping out so late.  I can only hope you’ll not oversleep in the morning.”

It was none of her business, Laurie thought, strongly tempted to snap something about staying out all night if he wanted.  However, having no wish to be given notice to leave, he murmured a meek “Sorry”, and made his way slowly and awkwardly upstairs.  Behind him, Mrs. Tatum remained standing in the hall watching his efforts.  Only as he fitted the key into the lock of his door did he finally hear her footsteps and the slight creak of hinges as she went into her ground-floor flat.

After closing the blackout and turning on the light, he took off his jacket, carefully hanging it up, and loosened his tie.  He felt a strong urge to take a bath—to immerse himself in hot water, and scrub himself soundly with soap and loofah.  Of course, there was a rota for the tub; and this wasn’t his night.  Furthermore, Mrs. Tatum charged for its use.  And, even if he went downstairs and knocked her up to pay his bob, there probably wasn’t enough hot water left.  In any case, no bath could wash away the grime of the secret pub to which Alec had taken him.

He went down the hall to use the lavatory.  After washing his hands, he took a quick swipe over his face with a damp corner of the towel, went back to his room, and locked the door.  Usually, he sat up for a while reading, though most of his library, such as it was, remained boxed at the vicarage for lack of shelving.  Still, he had brought a few books from his university studies; and these marched along the back of the chest-of-drawers.  At the moment, he was re-reading Paradise Lost.

Reaching carefully behind the curtains lest he show a glint of light, he picked it off the windowsill and sat down in the faded armchair.  An envelope marked his place, but he had barely taken it out when he thought better and slipped it back.   No, he really couldn’t spare the time.  He’d been out too late with Alec.  Instead, he set the book aside and reached down to unlace his boots:  the ordinary one for his left foot, and its heavy, thick-soled mate that balanced his gait.  When he held them up critically, it was clear they could do with a good blacking.  To save money he always did this himself; and he padded across the room in his socks to get out the polish and brushes.  That done, he undressed. Waistcoat and trousers joined the jacket in the narrow wardrobe; his old school tie was folded carefully and laid on top of the chest-of-drawers.  He gave a cautious sniff to his shirt, looked at the collar, and decided that it really could not be worn another day.  (It was a pity that he had not had time to change before going to the restaurant.)  Into the laundry bag it went, to be joined by socks, vest, and pants.  Pyjama-clad, he turned out the light and got into bed.

Given the long walk home, Laurie expected sleep sooner rather than later; but, lying in the quiet dark his mind fixed instead on Alec’s warning.  Alec had been rather too certain about Ralph’s behaviour during the time the two of them had been a couple.  He clearly knew; or at least believed he knew what he was talking about.  Laurie could not avoid the notion that Ralph and Alec might have gossiped together about their casual liaisons….

Yes, gossip.  Laurie shunned the word:  it was one he associated only with women and the sort of queers he’d met in Bridstow; but he could not deny it was circumstantially appropriate.  It would explain Alec’s insistence on the truth of his allegations.  Still, even if Ralph had been reciprocally unfaithful to Alec, that did not mean he behaved like that now.  It did not.

Laurie rolled sharply over, accidentally twisting his knee awkwardly as he did so; and briefly the pain blotted out his thoughts.  But only briefly.

The house was quiet.  Everyone else must be long asleep. Laurie reached out for his watch on the bedside table.  Fortunately, it had a radium dial:  he could see the time clearly in the dark; and it startled him how long he’d been lying abed fretting.  It was hours since Mrs. Tatum had hinted that he might oversleep.   At this point it was a real possibility … assuming he did finally drop off.   Ordinarily, inured still to the schedule of army and hospital, Laurie woke early and had no trouble getting to work on time.

Mrs. Tatum did not do wake-up calls.  Laurie set the watch back down, thinking that it would not be a bad idea to scout round and see if he could purchase an alarm clock.

Almost he hoped for an air raid.  That would take his mind off! Also it would excuse being late to the office in the morning.  However, it did not seem that the Luftwaffe would be so obliging.

With a faint sigh, Laurie lay back down again.  So should he do as Alec had suggested, and tackle Ralph when he next had leave?  Of course, he wasn’t worried that Ralph would lie to him:  it was just that he was horribly unsure he wanted to hear the answer.  Unless, of course, it was what he hoped it would be—but it was sadly true that neither of them had explicitly promised fidelity:  Laurie had just assumed it as a matter of course.  He was all too well aware that Ralph was far more experienced than he.  Delightfully so; but matters between two men could hardly be learned from a book.  There was only one way Ralph could have gained those skills.  What Alec was really suggesting, Laurie supposed, was Ralph’s missing sex more than he missed Laurie himself, which was hard to accept given all they meant to each other.  I’m not Sandy, he thought.  And Ralph’s not Alec.  At least Sandy’s hysterical accusations were true—Alec being Alec, as Ralph had taken pains to point out.

Questioning Ralph’s behaviour could only be offensive.  No man of honour could be expected to accept such a slight on his integrity.  It would ruin everything.  He trusted Ralph.  He could not betray that trust.

Notes   “Child of Illusion” was written as a gift for pelican_in_its_piety in the 2025 Yuletide Gift Exchange, uploaded to the Archive Of Our Own on 17 December 2025, and released on 24 December.  The author reveal was on 1 January 2026.   The title comes from Miguel de Unamuno’s The Tragic Sense of Life: “Love is the child of illusion and the parent of disillusion.”