John sat in the kitchen of his parents home. A place he had been very familiar with when growing up. The fire crackled in the open range that his mother would cook on. The kettle sitting neatly in its holder slowly boiling away as John gazed at the flickering flame in the dark kitchen. 

The two letters he had recieved sat on top of the table. The one on top was what was causing his mind to wander. It was what he had not expected to recieve. He had been told when he was sailing home he would be sent to the recruitment depot battalion to train new recruits as he recovered from his injuries but typical army fashion it was changed. He knew his mother would break down when she found out. John once more was returning to the field of battle. This time with the West Yorkshire Regiment. 

(Acting) Captain William St. Claire had wrote to him directly asking him to join the company of whitby men he was assembling. This wasn't what caught John of gaurd. The captain had put his neck on the line to keep John out of military prison.....but also had written to request John to be his acting Sargeant Major of the company.

Perfectly unaware of letters that had brought bad news and lies that had been uncovered, Bill returned home, whistling a merry Tyneside tune. His face and clothes were black with soot. The threat of a rolling pin had trained him to leave his boots by the door. He entered the kitchen in socks.

“Yer mum still out?” he asked, when he found John alone. Usually, there’d be towels and clean clothes and hot water ready for him, and Lottie to shout at him if he dared leave the kitchen before he was free of soot. There was hot water at least. He made his way to the stove, took the kettle, filled a washbowl and added cold water from a jug. As soon as he dipped his hands into the clear water, grey whirls appeared.

John heard the door open and turned round to see his father. He spoke after his father "yeah she's out with my little sister running a couple of errands" he got up from his chair and walked over to the side board and grabbed his father a towel before placing it beside the washbowl. He picked up the kettle and filled it once more the cold water that remained in the jug and placed it back over the fire before turning his father "kate needed something for class tomorrow so they are away out to get it. He pulled out a mug and looked back to his father again. "Brew?" He said placing mugs out for them and grabbing some fresh tea he had brought from India. He sat back down as the kettle was boiling "she's stopping to bring home food aswell. Save her stressing out over cooking when she gets in"

John sat longingly trying to figure out the words to say to his father that he would be leaving once more for foreign shores but not a full posting like before only a short duration. Would he accept it? Be angry? Be understanding?

These days, John kept surprising him. “Thank you, lad,” he said, when the young man brought a towel and refilled the kettle, without being asked to do so. “Aye, I’ll ‘ave a cup.”

Surely the walls of this kitchen remembered echoing back the shouts, or trembling with the slamming of a door. Surely they still felt the occasional dish that had smashed to pieces on contact. Bill certainly remembered it; the obstinate disregard for rules, the insolent replies, the policeman knocking on their door, his disappointment, mutual punches thrown, Lottie’s tears, their shared anxiety for this young man who seemed determined to throw his life away and destroy his family in the process.

He did not know how it had happened, but five years in the army had straightened the lad out and Bill was increasingly pleased, even a little proud, when he looked at his eldest son now.

He washed his face and neck, drying it with the towel. He had done a shit job, because the towel, too, was turning grey. “Well, I don’t mind chippy.” His eyes landed on the letters on the table. “Any news from the big bosses?” The past that they were all trying to move beyond, had caught up with John in the shape of the Whitby Gazette, and his fate was still undecided.

John made them both tea and placed his cup down in front of his father before retaking his seat. He looked at the letters and replied to his father. "Yeah, not what I had thought I was going to get. The army have a way of changing things to suit their needs. I was suppost to be going to the training depot. Instruct new recruits but that's been changed. I've been given notification to expect embarkation orders to join the West Yorkshire regiment under the command of a Captain William St Claire. I have been asked by him to take up the position within the company he has formed from men of whitby as Company Sargeant Major."

John took a drink of his tea before continuing "I know you've never approved of my choice of career" he spun his cup around in his hand "but we both know deep down this was the right choice. If I didn't I would have ended up locked up like Eugene Longbottom. And quite frankly that would have probably killed mother and I'm not having that on my conscience" he rubbed his chin. "I'll hold my hands up. The article in the Whitby Gazette, found it's way into the hands of the officers in my regiment. I was facing a year in military prison for not declaring I had a criminal record. Captain St Claire has fought for me to join his company and they have agreed that if I do this. It's as 12 week round trip to where ever I'm going. My case will be disregarded and I'll walk away with my career intact. No black mark on my service and also keep the rank of Company Sargeant Major on my return to my original posting to the Training battalion."

He laughed "I may have also bumped into the journalist that tore our family through muck with his articles and stupidly gave him a hiding he would never forget but he apologised and we shook hands like gentlemen. After it I spoke with him and made an agreement that if I provide him with information from the posting abroad. He keeps our family out of the paper thus protecting my little brother and his wife, my siblings and both you and mother."

He sighed "I've always been the black sheep. The one who brought trouble to this house. Now I'm determined to protect this family"

With a black streak behind his ear, Bill turned to John to listen. He made a mental note that if he’d ever meet that Captain St Claire, he’d buy the good man a drink. This sounded like a godsent. Sure, three months in some far off corner of the empire was rough, but it wouldn’t really be dangerous, would it? Just some swinging of riffles and parading in uniform to keep the locals from getting ideas, right? He remembered John’s injury… But John had been gone for five years. What was twelve weeks compared to that? Especially if it kept him out of prison?

He didn’t know how he felt about John attacking that reporter, though. Not that he cared about the reporter getting a well-earned trashing. Bill himself had certainly fantasized about punching the little weasel in his lying weaselly face. But John had a record. He hoped that Mr. Scott was the ‘gentleman’ John thought and kept his mouth shut.

“The past is the past, John,” he said, blackening the cupboard he leaned against. “We’ve all made mistakes. But ye’re a good lad. Only I wish ye hadn’t gone and beaten that little shite. Think of what would ‘ave happened if the police got involved. Even that Captain St Claire of yours couldn’t keep ye out of prison if ‘e reports ye.”

John nodded "I know it was rage that took control. At the end of the day blood is thicker than water and I will not let my brother or my two sisters be harmed. I do this. It protects us all. It's a 10 week garrison duty from what I've heard. They haven't given us much to go on from but from what I've heard its called Ashanti. On the Gold Coast in East Africa. Garrison duty to keep the locals from rebelling and from what I'm told. I will be in camp for all of is it helping to run the day to day running of the company. A week sailing either side of it." John smirked and gave a little chuckle "and don't worry about him telling the Constabulary. If they did. The captain put my name in the attendance register today for the camp so it looks like I was in camp on official business all day. He signed off on me speaking to the journalist to protect this family"

John finished the last of his tea. "I know you did time before and I know you would hate for any of us to do it. Even if I was a rebellious little shite growing up"

Bill picked up his cup and held it in both hands, listening to the young man describing his considerations and the station. East Africa was... peaceful, right? It sounded fairly peaceful. Good. If nothing else, it seemed like John's superiors had his back, keeping him out of prison and signing off on him and all that. They wouldn't put him in a particularly dangerous situation, surely.

John's last sentence was lost over the noise of Bill's cup shattering on the kitchen floor. Hot tea hit his trouser leg, but Bill didn't notice. He swayed for a moment. His heart had stopped. He was going to die. This was it. But though his vision went dark for a second, he still stood, leaning against the cupboards for support. His heart hadn't stopped. He was still alive, still in the kitchen, still with John and the unmentionable now out in the open. His shin hurt but the pain was all that kept him rooted. "How do you know?" he whispered. Lottie! Lottie had broken her promise!

John sighed. "The journalist blurted it out when I beat him. My siblings don't know. Mam doesn't know I know either and I'm not telling anyone. It's not my place to"

The journalist. The fucking journalist knew! Clutching the cupboard and then the table, he found his way to a chair. He was fairly certain he stepped on some shards. His socks were certainly wet with hot tea. But he couldn't bother about that. Nor about getting soot from his clothes all over the chair. His life was over.

Bill was pale. He avoided looking at his son. How could he, after losing face? For twenty-five years the truth had been buried so deep that only dreams and John's encounters with the police had brought it into his conscious mind. It had never passed his lips. He had forbidden Lottie to ever mention it. "I was a wee lad then. Younger than Kate is now. I came out as a young man, and a different person. I just wanted to look forward and start over completely. I certainly didn't want to burden you children with the shame. I wanted ye to be able to respect me."