Silent Noon by Trilby Kent

camera with stern eyes.
    “Is this your brother?” he asked.
    Ivor didn’t look up from the trunk. “I don’t suppose you’ve had the pleasure of hearing Pleming’s Armistice Day speech yet? In a year’s time you’ll have
the roll call of the school’s Glorious Dead by memory.” He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and took a deep breath. “
Coatsworth, Comfrey, Curless, de Bock, Dockett,
Frankland, Hess, Just, Kors, Kingsley, Lennert, Loft, Morrell, Overbay, Previn, Potts, Savin, Standring, Thorup, Thrane, Voigt, Voysey, Widdows, Williams, Wilbermere
. And the greatest of them
all was Morrell.” He snorted, though it could have been involuntary. “Jonty’d have hated knowing that he’d end up as part of some set-piece propaganda drill. He only went
into the military because Runcie sat him down for a chat one evening and told him it would make Pater proud.” He closed the lid of the trunk so that Barney could see the words printed in
white across the lid.
Effects of Cpl. Jonathan W. Morrell
, it read. He reopened the trunk and withdrew a box tied with elastic bands. “Ah. There you are.”
    He unfastened the box and picked out something wrapped in crushed paper. He handed it to Barney, who discovered that it was a pot of jam. “Blackcurrant, I think,” said Ivor.
“Granny’s finest. You’ll give it to her for me.”
    “Who?”
    “Flood.”
    Barney considered the pot. “I… suppose so.”
    “As an apology for embarrassing her in front of the class today.”
    But you didn’t embarrass her
, Barney wanted to say.
She called you sir. She embarrassed herself.
    Ivor closed the trunk and returned it to the closet under the eaves. He stood up and joined Barney by the desk, pointing at the larger of the two photographs. “Big ears,” he
said.
    “It’s a nice photograph,” said Barney.
    “When he saw that picture, my father insisted that I have them seen to,” continued Ivor. “The next week I was sent to have my ears pinned at an army surgery near our house. I
recovered in a ward next to the burns unit. Can you imagine?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Grown men returning from battle with the most ghastly wounds, and a five-year-old having
his ears pinned so his old man needn’t be ashamed.”
    “Did it hurt?” asked Barney.
    “I don’t really remember.”
    They stood staring at the photograph for a few moments, saying nothing.
    “I suppose I should go,” said Barney.
    “Take care with that.” Ivor indicated the pot of jam. “If I hear about any Medlar scum getting their fingers in you’ll find yourself in Ratty’s office for six of
the best before you can blink.”
    When he stopped Belinda on the drive later that afternoon, Barney told her he had something from Ivor Morrell in the Fifth before handing over the pot, still wrapped in paper. It was the first
time he had spoken to her, and he hated himself for sweating so.
What did it look like?
he wanted to ask.
What does a dead thing look like?
She received the bundle with white
fingers, a cleft digging between her eyebrows as she registered its weight.
    “Is this a trick?” she asked, looking up at him. Barney shook his head, realizing only now that it might seem this way. “What is it, then?” she asked.
    “Blackcurrant, I think,” said Barney, starting to wish the girl would just accept the gift and walk away. “Jam.”
    There was a flicker of excitement as she examined the jar.
    “Well,” she said. And then again, “Well.” She tucked the pot under one arm. “Thank you. Tell him I say thank you.”
    “I will.” He turned to go, then stopped. “Cowper was asking for it,” he said.
    For a moment, she seemed about to smile.
    “Holland, yes?” Barney nodded. “Would you like some?”
    Barney remembered Ivor’s warning. “No, it’s all right,” he replied. “Really. It’s for you.”
    The girl narrowed her eyes. “Then how will I know he’s not put something in it?” she said.
    “He didn’t. His