Read Avalanche of Daisies for Free Online Page A

shoulders or anything. But she was so aware of him it was as though there was an electric current crackling between them, linking them together. Neither of them had paid much attention to the second feature, which was pretty ropey, but the main film had been diverting in its technicolored, all-singing, all-dancing, totally incredible way and now the familiar globe was spinning on the screen and British Movietone was about to
bring the news to the free peoples of the world.
And that had to be watched no matter what they might be feeling.
    â€˜
Monty visits the famous Desert Rats,’
the voice-over said. And there he was, surrounded by men in khaki, as the snow fell steadily upon them, flecking his familiar black beret with white. And it wasn’t just the beret that looked familiar.
    â€˜Why thass Lynn,’ Barbara said, leaning forward for a closer look. ‘Thass the station. I didn’t know he was down here. That must ha’ been las’ week, when it snowed.’
    â€˜That’s right,’ Steve said, his voice proud. ‘It was.’
    â€˜Were you there?’
    He tempered his pride with self-mockery. ‘I’m the third beret along on the left.’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ she teased. ‘I can see you. The ugly one.’
    They watched as the great man addressed his troops.
    â€˜Why don’t he wear his jacket in all that snow?’ she asked. ‘You know, that ol’ sheepskin of his. He look a right fool standin’ around with no coat on.’
    â€˜He wanted us to see his medal ribbons,’ Steve explained. ‘That’s what the tankies said anyway. They were bellyaching about him for hours after.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜He had the wrong badge in his cap. See it? The one this side’s the General Staff badge. That’s all right. Butthe other one’s the badge of the Royal Tank Regiment an’ you’re not entitled to wear that unless you’re a tankie. They were up in arms about it.’
    That intrigued her. ‘I thought he was their hero.’
    â€˜He is,’ he told her. ‘That’s why they rib him. We go by opposites in the army. The more popular you are, the more you get ribbed.’
    â€˜Do you get ribbed?’ she asked, thinking, I bet he does. I bet he’s one of the most popular men on the camp.
    Steve was torn between an undeniable desire to let her know how well-liked he was and an equally powerful compulsion not to show off. Fortunately, there wasn’t time to answer because the newscaster had turned his attention to the war in the Pacific.
    â€˜
American troops storm ashore at Los Negros in the Admiralty Islands,’
he intoned, as the screen filled with approaching landing craft and hundreds of soldiers leapt into the water and began their dangerous wade ashore, rifles held above their heads, faces seamed and grim beneath their rounded helmets.
    They’re going to be killed, Barbara thought, and she was filled with a yearning pity for them. They’re going to be shot down and killed the minute they get on that beach. Thousands of them. It was something she’d known all through the war in a vague, generalised way but now the knowledge was immediate and personal. These men, struggling through the water, were going to be killed. Were dead already in all probability, poor devils. That’s what happens when armies invade. Men get killed. That’ll happen when the Second Front begins. They’ll be killed on the beaches in France too. Men like these. Men like Steve. And that made her heart contract with a new and personal distress.
    â€˜I hate this war,’ she said, passionately.
    He turned to look at her in the light reflected from the screen and was torn by the distress on her face. ‘Let’sgo,’ he decided. ‘We don’t want to see the rest, do we? It’s only General Mac Arthur poncing about.’
    The narrator was continuing his commentary.