The Post-War Dream

Chapter 3

The smell of fried eggs and the sounds of sizzling bacon reached Fletcher as he opened his bedroom door and sauntered through the sitting room.

“Good morning.” Vera reached one hand into a bag of bread whilst the other hand held the frying pan as Fletcher shuffled into the kitchen. “Sleep okay?”

Fletcher bobbed his neck from side to side to creak out the stiffness, then watched Vera c***k another egg over the frying pan.

Arnold raised his coffee mug to his lips and paused to stare at his son over the rim. “You sleep on the floor again?”

Fletcher scratched his chest. “How’d you know?”

“I checked on you. I remember those days.” He took a healthy sip of coffee and sat at the table.

“What time do you need to leave?” Vera asked as the bread popped from the toaster.

“As soon as I can.” He checked the wall clock. “I think I’m already going to be late.”

Vera rubbed his forearm and returned to the frying breakfast on the stove, waving her hand over the pan to dissipate some of the smoke.

The radio sitting on top of the refrigerator finished playing “Don’t You Want Me,” and the DJ began talking before The Human League had finished the song’s outro. “Today will be a balmy twenty-six degrees in London. And we congratulate all the troops who returned this weekend from the Falklands. It was announced today that the replacement for the Atlantic Conveyor, the container ship lost in the Falklands conflict, would be built in Japan, a spokesman for—”

Today will be a balmy twenty-six degrees in London. And we congratulate all the troops who returned this weekend from the Falklands. It was announced today that the replacement for thethe container ship lost in the Falklands conflict, would be built in Japan, a spokesman forArnold had reached up and clicked off the dial to the radio. “Feckin’ Maggie, screwin’ us over again.” He plopped himself at the kitchen table. “Thatcher is only concerned with two things: how she looks on the world’s stage and saving a pound. What do you think of that bullshit, Fletcher?”

He sucked in his lips to prepare an answer that wouldn’t anger his father. “Losing the Conveyor was a huge blow during the war. Losing the lives of the sailors, even worse. But I think if the queen were to rebuild her, it should be done in the UK.”

Conveyor “Not the queen’s call.” Arnold pointed at his son. “Maggie’s call. If the nips weren’t so good at shipbuilding, the yards would still be open on the Clyde.”

“Oh, Arnold. Don’t call them nips.” Vera delivered a healthy portion of bacon to his plate.

“Well, tell me why not?”

“It’s derogatory nowadays. We call them Japanese.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of them bleeding hearts too, Vera. And you’re right, son. We should have our people, our hands, our yards build our ships for us. Why are we letting those”—he glanced at his wife—“nips taking jobs from us just because it’s cheaper? Where’s our national pride? Our honour?”

nips “Dad, I agree with you that the Clydesdale shipyards should be operational and building our ships. But please stop calling them that.”

Arnold waved him off. “A country who lets their kids commit suicide in the name of war …” He pointed a forkful of bacon at Fletcher. “Can’t be much fun for them.”

“Dad, that was forty years ago. The Falklands and World War Two are not the same beast.” Fletcher reached around Vera to grab a sizzling piece of bacon off the pan. “The world is different.”

Arnold slammed his fist onto the table. “The people may be different, but the bureaucratic bullshit is not. I fought for the queen; you fought for the queen. My war ended so yours never had to start. That’s the dream we were fighting for, the dream we had been promised. What have we done? To England?”

“I don’t think world peace is ever promised, Dad.”

ever “No, then what’s the point of the UN?”

The doorbell sounded.

“That’s Julia. I told her she could come by to say goodbye,” Fletcher said and headed for the front door.

“Ask her if she wants breakfast,” Vera called out as he crossed the sitting room.

Fletcher opened the door, and Julia stormed past him like a tsunami. “I don’t know why they are making you go sort gear.” She stopped halfway into the sitting room and turned to face him. “You just got back. From fighting a war.”

warHe closed the door. “We need to inventory all our gear and sort all the munitions. I’ll be back in a week. I was just gone for a lot longer than that.”

“Yeah, but …” She bit one of her manicured fingernails. “This weekend is the gala, and I really wanted my war hero boyfriend on my arm for it. Ya know, make all the other women jealous, with their daft guys.”

Fletcher let his chin fall to his chest. “Do you only think about your image when it comes to what I’m going through?”

“What are you going through, Fletcher? You’re home. There’s nothing to ‘go through’ anymore.”

going through“Mom made breakfast if you want some.”

Julia giggled and bounded for the kitchen.

Fletcher heard her squeal, “Eggs,” and shook his head as his heart fell into his chest. He closed his eyes and pictured all the lives lost on the Conveyor and hoped the Japanese builders would do the new ship justice in their memory.

Conveyor