That’s when Peg struck.
She said, Tommy Bruskin didn’t come back. Mick Dodds didn’t come back. John Baines lost a leg. Gary Castle’s gone fucking doolally. And you talk about art? What kind of war did you have? You have a nice one, did ya, Tempy? Fucking nice one?
Everyone looking at them now. Everyone thinking: this is more like it, fireworks instead of sonatas.
Ulysses put down his glass slowly. He looked up, said, I dodged bullets for six years, Peg. Yours are a piece of piss.
Stomp stomp stomp. She broke the glass in the door.
You’ll have to pay for that, mate, said Col, laughing.
I’ll pay, said Ulysses, and the music played on.
The next morning, Ulysses was shovelling snow whilst Col and Cress surveyed the repair he’d made on the door. Suddenly, from inside, a tall shadow approached through the stained glass.
What the fuck! said Col and he grabbed the hammer and raised it.
It was Pete coming through the door, doing his best impression of Lazarus. I feel like I’ve lost everything, Temps. Days, weeks— You’re frightening me, Pete, said Col. Look at me.
Pete looked at him, eyes and mouth crusted with drool.
You’ll be all right after a good night’s sleep, said Ulysses.
And remember, said Col, today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Pete couldn’t quite get his head around that and began to cry.
That’s just the whisky working its way out, said Col. You’ll feel better in an hour. Keep it flowing, mate.
Come on, Pete, said Cress, I’ll help you back home. Lean on me, son.
Col watched them depart. Blind leading the blind, he said. Aye aye, he said, as he blew out a thick plume of smoke. Here she comes.
Fuck off, Col, said Peg, approaching.
Fucking off now, said Col, heading back in the warmth.
Peg was sheepish and shivering, a bit cold and a lot hungover. She said to Ulysses, You all right?
He knew that was her apology. He said, Not bad. You?
Oh, you know. （Hunched shoulders, hands in pockets, big furrow between her eyebrows.）
He carried on shovelling and she surprised him by mouthing the s word.
What’s that? he said.
You heard, she said.
No I didn’t. Go on. Again.
Sorry, she whispered.
And again?
Sorry.
She laughed and punched him, and he ditched the spade and grabbed hold of her. Peg, he said, I bloody missed you, and you start giving me grief – I know, I know, she said – I got back when loads didn’t – I know, I know, she said – and stuff helped me, he said. And I learnt things and I met people and I’m proud of what I got to know – I know, I know, she said – And he started to dance with her, and she laughed more, and he’d forgotten that it was the best thing in the world to make her laugh. They stopped their dance and caught their breath. Peg looked warmer; she had colour in her cheeks.
You still want a divorce? he said.
D’you mind?
Nah.
So, they did it. They got divorced and got more friendly. Even shared the kid called Alys. Peg kept the name Temper ’cause there was no way she’d go back to Potts. And the weeks and months rolled out ahead of them and ordinary returned. The snow disappeared and the sun shone again, and everyone complained how hot it was, how winter was really better. The kid called Alys grew and Col’s new lady friend was called Denise. Peg got a job in a typing pool for an insurance firm off Tottenham Court Road and Ulysses settled into civvy life.
By the summer of 1948, London was ready for the Olympics. Col was happy that neither Japan nor Germany had been invited to take part and Denise agreed, saying that England would probably have a better chance in the shooting now.
Col wanted to increase custom during the fortnight, and it was Cressy who suggested the television. He said he knew someone who knew someone who had access to the back of a lorry, and before long, a small set was moved into the snug, covered to look like a bird cage. Inside was the sweet sound of a 9-inch Pye. Wembley Stadium had never looked so small.
A week before the opening ceremony, Cress walked into the pub all woozy and vacant-eyed, and Col said, You look a bit touched, mate.
I am touched, said Cress.
Here, sit down, said Ulysses and he pulled out a chair and handed him a small glass of beer.
So what’s what? said Col.
I had a vision.
Jesus, said Col.
Not him. Fanny Blankers-Koen.
Who?
Dutch athlete, said Ulysses, feeding Claude a Brazil nut.
She was doing the housework, said Cress.
And she appeared to you? Alfred Cresswell? Out of all the people in the world?