The Edge of the Fall by Kate Williams

alone, eating a sandwich, and who minded if she’d known him in Etaples? All that was three years ago.
    Where was the waiter with her tea? That would give her something to look at. Her gaze was swinging, nearly pulling back to him. What was she doing ? She blushed and looked down at her lap.
    When she lifted her head, hoping for the waiter, the man was standing in front of her.
    â€˜Good evening, madam,’ he said. He was tall, she was right, wearing the uniform of a junior officer, handsome tanned face, an Eton kind of voice cut with something regional. Kent, maybe?
    She gave him a vague smile. Where was the waiter?
    â€˜Are you alone on Peace Day evening, miss? Seems a shame.’
    She shook her head. ‘My family are upstairs.’
    â€˜May I join you, miss?’
    She shook her head. ‘I’m just going to eat my sandwich, then return. My family will be wondering where I am.’
    He bowed his head, a strange mock-courteous action. ‘Sorry to bother you, miss. Good evening.’
    He turned. Then, as he did so, she looked past him and all of the people in front of her suddenly changed into a group, a large group of them all holding hands, it seemed. They were like a cocktail party, a band of friends. They all knew each other, except for her.
    â€˜Wait,’ she said, to his back. ‘I—’
    He turned around, saw her face. In a minute, he was sitting next to her.
    â€˜Name’s Gilligan,’ he said. ‘Stephen Gilligan. Nice to meet you, miss.’
    She was almost surprised by how close he was to her.
    â€˜Celia,’ she said. ‘Celia Smith.’ She was ashamed of herself for lying, still, about their name, when the Germans weren’t enemies any more, not strictly, things were all about peace and the Kaiser was beaten down, paying money for forgiveness. But still, she wanted to be someone else, anyone.
    â€˜Have you come up just for the parade?’
    â€˜Yes. You too?’ She didn’t want to talk about herself. Tell me about you , she wanted to say. Just keep talking .
    â€˜I know it’s quite a cheek, me coming over. But I saw your face and I thought – there’s someone who’s seen war. You know. Not all this let’s get over it quickly business. You know, smile, move on, don’t talk of it.’
    She nodded. ‘I didn’t see the war, though. I was at home the whole time.’ She’d make herself into someone else, just by saying it. She wouldn’t be the woman who’d told the recruiting office she knew how to drive when she’d only once been behind the wheel of Rudolf’s car. She wouldn’t be the woman who held tight to Shep, her closest friend in those days, in the training school in Aldershot and then at the station in France.
    She wouldn’t be the girl who watched an ambulance, chased by a bomber, swerve off the road – and then saw that the driver was Shep. She would forget crying so much that she thought it would never stop hurting. She would forget hearing the news that Michael had died, forget the pain.That wouldn’t be her, she was someone else, far from the war, above it.
    He nodded. ‘Too young, I suppose. Of course.’ He paused. The waiter arrived, put down the sandwich and some tea. ‘Sir?’ he asked.
    â€˜A sherry, please.’
    â€˜Thank you, sir.’
    She poured her tea, the sound of the milk and water in the cup echoing against the voices.
    â€˜I was watching you while I was standing there. Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you seem lonely, miss.’ He flashed regular white teeth. She supposed he was the sort of man who women wanted to speak to, who knew he had them in his hand.
    â€˜I’m not. Well, a little. Surrounded by crowds, one feels it, you know. My sister’s just had twins, upstairs.’
    He raised his hand, as if a glass was in it. ‘Congratulations, Miss Smith. I hope they’re all doing