Valentine Joe by Rebecca Stevens

joined up for, Rose. See some action at last, have a pop at Fritz. Tell you what, you can walk along with me, if you want. Show Fred and Tonk that you do exist. If you’ve got the time, that is,’ he added, looking at her from the corner of his eye.
    Rose nodded. She had time – she just didn’t know how much.
    They set off, making their way between the military vehicles and the requisitioned London buses, the dog trotting behind them. As they crossed the square, more people were emerging from their hiding places, looking up at the sky as if they expected something else to fall out of it, and talking excitedly together as people do who’ve all survived to see another day.
    â€˜This way.’ Joe indicated a side street with a nod of his head. ‘It’s a bit rough-going, Rose. Better take care.’
    He held out his hand. Rose took it and together theypicked their way over the piles of rubble in the shattered street. You could still see the traces of the homes that had once been there: a smashed-up piano, its sheet music blown about in the wind, an iron bedstead, a single shoe, a patch of flowery wallpaper clinging to a wall.
    â€˜Hey, Rose. Look at this.’
    Joe had stopped to examine something. It was a stuffed owl, a little brown one, mounted on a branch in the remains of a broken glass case. If Rose had been a bit younger she would have felt sorry for it and wanted to take it home.
    â€˜I love owls,’ she said, thinking of the green ones all over her pyjamas.
    â€˜Me too,’ said Joe. ‘Lovely silly-looking things. Always surprised by everything, ain’t they?’
    â€˜It seems a shame to leave him there.’
    â€˜Yeah, I know. But what’s to be done? Come on, chum.’ Joe looked at the dog who was sniffing at the owl. ‘You can’t eat that. It’s just feathers and sawdust.’
    They walked on, leaving the owl staring in eternal surprise up at the blue spring sky.
    â€˜Here we are, Rose, this is it. Home sweet home.’
    It was a muddy square, enclosed on three sides by long low buildings. Steps went up to a sort of open walkway on the first floor where soldiers were leaning against the railings, smoking and chatting.
    â€˜Over here, mate! Sid!’
    â€˜Oi! Fred!’
    A football game was going on, the players in their shirtsleeves, jackets used as improvised goal posts. Just like the boys at school, thought Rose, playing football in the playground.
    A shout went up as she and Joe approached.
    â€˜Look who it is! The wanderer returns!’
    Fred lobbed the ball over towards them. Joe stopped it neatly, then flicked it in the air with his foot before blasting it through the goal to cheers and laughter.
    â€˜Where you been, Joe? Off with that imaginary girl of yours?’
    There was more laughter at this. Joe grinned at Rose, looking forward to proving them wrong.
    â€˜Imaginary? Don’t make me laugh, boys—’
    â€˜Look at this!’ shouted Tonk. ‘Joe’s brought us a visitor!’
    All interest in teasing Joe about his non-existent girlfriend was forgotten as Tonk, Fred and the others crowded round the dog.
    â€˜He’s a nice little bloke!’
    â€˜No collar, mind.’
    â€˜His people must’ve left with the last lot of refugees. Had to leave him behind, poor old mate.’
    â€˜We’ll adopt him! He can be our mascot.’
    â€˜What’s his name, Joe?’
    Joe looked confused. Rose could see he didn’t understand why they were ignoring her.
    â€˜What? I don’t know, chum. Don’t think he’s got one. He just followed us—’
    â€˜Tommy!’ shouted Fred.
    Everyone laughed, and the dog pricked up his ears as if he recognised the name.
    â€˜Tommy. Fine name for him. What do you reckon, mate?’
    Tonk addressed this last question to the dog, who wagged his tail politely then looked enquiringly at Joe as if to say, Is this all right? Do we