Page 31 of No Man's Land

He had, however, returned Josef’s boots.

They’d been delivered early that morning, cleaned and polished, along with his laundered clothes. No note. Not that Josef had been expecting a note, nor wanting one either. But it meant he now had a set of Beaumont’s clothes, including the rather cosy cardigan he was currently wearing, that he needed to return.Thatthought sent irritating silvery feelings fluttering through his chest. Not exactly anticipation, but something like it—an agitation he couldn’t quell.

It was enough to make him jump to his feet to dislodge the thought and make his way along the swaying aisle to the stairs, trotting down to stand on the rear platform and gaze out as they crossed the foggy river.

The army had commandeered hundreds of LGOC buses, and their drivers, for the war effort and used them to transport men, ammunition, and casualties to and from the forward lines. Once, Josef had stumbled across the corpse of one lying half on its side in a muddy ditch by the side of a shelled-pocked road. All skin and bones, with its London General Omnibus Company name still displayed on the front. The poignancy had closed his throat and made him reach for his camera.

It was disorientating to be riding one back in London. Everything was disorientating, as if the world had been picked up and shaken and nothing was where it should be anymore.

When the bus slowed in heavy traffic just after Westminster Bridge, he jumped off and hurried to the hospital, hands sunk deep into his pockets. He tugged the long sleeves of his borrowed cardigan down over his hands too, for a little extra warmth.

St. Thomas’s was quieter today than last time he’d been there. No Red Cross vehicles—hot cross buns, they’d called them in Flanders—queued up to unload their sorry cargo, and that suited him just fine.

He walked around the back of the old red-brick Victorian building, in the direction he’d seen Vi and Lottie drive when they’d taken their body to the mortuary. His new camera sat snugly in his coat pocket, and his plan was to look for the soldier who’d been found dead in the sewer. Vi had said that was Tuesday morning, so he hoped the poor bugger would still be there. With luck and daylight, he’d get a better picture. Proof—of what, he didn’t yet know. But of something, at least.

Josef had never been inside a hospital until he’d reached the salient, and St Thomas’s was quite different to a field hospital. Long hallways infused with the stinging scent of carbolic soap echoed with the sober clip-clip-clip of footsteps on tiles, occasionally the distant wailing of a child or the slamming of a heavy door.

Nothing like the organised urgency of medicine on the front line.

Pulling off his hat, he attempted to look like he was meant to be there as he strode along purposefully, casting discreet glances at the signs pointing him in the right direction. The mortuary was in the basement, down a set of chilly, poorly lit stairs. It was colder still below, and Josef was suddenly gripped by clammy panic, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rising, heart thumping and legs less stable than he’d have liked. He was no coward whatever his father might think, but what had happened to him last night… Well, it had shocked him, no getting away from that fact.

Mouth dry, his boots scuffed on the stone floor at the bottom of the steps. A stark electric lightbulb illuminated the space, and ahead of him extended another long corridor, lightsspaced at intervals along its institutional length. A small sign saying ‘Mortuary’ pointed down the corridor, and, about a quarter of the way along, he saw another sign jutting out from the wall.

Mortuary Services

Right. He clenched his fingers and found they were ice cold despite the added warmth of Alex’s cardigan. Nerves, he supposed. His blood was pumping hard enough—his heart certainly was—but the blood didn’t seem to be reaching the ends of his fingers and toes. Stupid, to feel this…frightened. What did he think would happen in the middle of the day, in the middle of a hospital? The creature from last night was hardly going to jump out from around the corner.

‘Course it bloody wouldn’t.

“Get a hold of yourself, Joe.”

His voice echoed in the empty corridor, tense and rasping. It didn’t reassure.

Still, he’d been in stickier situations than this. Last night was one, and ten months under the German guns, stealing photographs beneath the nose of the army, was another. He could bloody well walk along this corridor and into the mortuary without cringing like a schoolboy.

And so, he did. He forced his legs into motion just like he’d done on those endless, exhausted nights driving backward and forward from dressing station to clearing station.

When he reached the door to the mortuary, he found it cracked open. After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed it wider and poked his head inside. It was a large space, again lit by glaring electric light.

A man in a white coat was rising from a desk next to the door, and he looked at Josef in surprise over the rims of his wire spectacles. “Can I help you?” he said shortly.

Josef felt a stupid rush of relief to find another living, breathing human being here. But what had he expected? A room full of dead bodies? However, it meant he now had to think on his feet. “The police sent me,” he said, pulling out his camera. “I’m to photograph the body of the man brought in on Tuesday. Private Andrew Sykes.”

“The police?” The doctor frowned down at his desk, shuffling papers. “I was expecting Inspector Lakeman in half an hour.”

“Really?” Shit, that was a bit of luck. “That is—the inspector’s been called away on, er, urgent business. But he asked me to come along instead. I hope it’s not too inconvenient, me coming a tad early?”

The doctor pulled out his pocket watch and frowned at the time. “I’m afraid it is, rather. I’ve a meeting with Dr Collins in ten minutes, and my assistant is at lunch. Can you come back?”

“That would be difficult,” Josef said, which had the benefit of being entirely true. Snapping his fingers, as if coming up with a splendid idea, he said, “Why don’t you point me towards the unfortunate private? I’ll get my photograph and be gone before you get back. How about that?”

The doctor hesitated. Josef could see his gaze darting to his watch.

“I’ve done this plenty of times,” Josef assured him. “I don’t need any help.”

“Well, it’s not exactly orthodox…”

Josef shrugged. “We’re not living in orthodox times, are we?”

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