After the War Is Over Read Free

a reliable source of entertainment at the
     table, especially when conversation became bogged down. “How about you, Norma? How
     were things at the office?”
    “Well, let me tell you—it was nifty. A brick of the dreamiest doughboys you can imagine came in. They were sending a crate of something-or-other
     home to America.”
    “Whatever for?” asked Rosie, not sounding especially interested.
    “They’re only allowed to take their kit bag home on the troop ships. If they have
     any extra keepsakes from France—”
    “Like what? A stuffed rat? A roll of barbed wire?”
    “Don’t be such a wet blanket, Rosie. Honestly .”
    “Go on,” Charlotte pressed. “The Americans came in and were shipping something home
     . . . ?”
    “And they said I was so nice, and such a pretty girl—such a doll, they kept saying—that they had something for me. And here it is!” With a flourish,
     she pulled a small paper bag from beneath her chair and emptied its contents onto
     the cluttered table. “Can you believe it?”
    It was a banana. One perfectly ripe banana, its skin scatteredwith just the right amount of freckles, its heady fragrance half forgotten yet instantly
     familiar. Neither Charlotte nor anyone else in the room had seen one since the summer
     of 1914.
    “Where on earth did those boys find a banana?” asked Miss Margaret.
    Norma had been working at a shipping office down by the docks for several years, and
     often came home with startling stories or unusual gifts from customers. Only last
     week she’d brought home an ancient bottle of Madeira, its stenciled label illegible
     under a hardened layer of decades-old dust. They’d polished off the bottle of dizzyingly
     strong fortified wine in an evening.
    “I’ve learned it’s best not to ask. They’d had an entire bunch, they said, and this
     was the last one. Shall we?”
    They all leaned forward, crowding close as Norma peeled away the skin and set the
     naked fruit on a clean dinner plate that Janie placed before her. And then, as precisely
     as a surgeon, she cut it into seven equal portions.
    Silence fell around the table as the women slowly ate the fruit, their faces a moving
     tableau of wonder and delight. Meg was the first to speak. “It’s . . . it’s just lovely.
     I’d forgotten . . .”
    “Me, too,” said Rosie. “My mum loved them. Would buy a bunch from the greengrocer
     whenever one of us had a birthday.”
    “Thank you, Norma,” said Miss Margaret. “Such a treat for us all.”
    “You’re very welcome. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll excuse myself. I’m off to the pictures
     with one of the girls from work.”
    “What are you seeing?” asked Charlotte. It had been an age since she’d been to the
     cinema herself.
    “ The Hope Chest . It’s Dorothy Gish’s newest. Doris has seen it already. Says it’s grand.”
    Soon Charlotte was the only one left at the table, and as she scraped her plate clean
     of bubble and squeak it occurred to her that she’d forgotten to check the table in
     the front hall for the day’s post.
    “Janie, did anything come in the post for me today?”
    “Oh, yes, Miss Brown. Shall I fetch it for you?”
    “No need. I’m done now. Thank you for supper. You always make everything taste delicious.”
    The letter was on the front hall table. As soon as she picked it up, she knew it was the letter, the one she’d been waiting for all week. Her heart racing, she tore open
     the envelope and began to read.
                16 March 1919
                Dear Miss Brown,
                     Further to your inquiry of the 12th March, I am pleased to confirm that, as per the
     regulations of the Representation of the People Act of 1918, and as a graduate in
     good standing from Somerville College, you are indeed entitled to cast a vote in the
     forthcoming by-election for Oxford University. I therefore enclose a voting paper
     for you to return at your earliest