Aware that to step outside was to court unwanted
attention, the five had taken off their battle-blouses, rolled up their shirtsleeves
and settled down to a game of poker around one of the unused beds.
More than an hour after they had begun, two - Bell and
Kershaw - had fallen by the wayside, although they were still there as
spectators.
Sykes glanced at his watch. Tanner was taking his
time, he thought. He put his cards face down on his knee and rolled himself a
cigarette, while keeping half an eye on the other two players. Hepworth was
fingering his cards, knowing he was beaten but evidently hoping that by
shuffling them repeatedly, the winning combination would miraculously reveal
itself. McAllister, on the other hand, clearly believed he had the hand of his
life.
Sykes smiled to himself. 'You know, Mac,' he said,
'you could be quite a good player, but you're so bleedin' easy to read. The
point of poker is not to give anything away.'
McAllister jigged his knee up and down. 'I don't care.
No one can beat my hand.' He chortled. 'Come on, Hep. Get a move on. You're
dead and buried, mate, so why prolong the agony?'
'It's your bloody crowing,' said Hepworth. 'It's
driving me mad.'
There was now seven shillings and fourpence on the
empty bed that was doubling as a card table - a tidy sum and more than any of
them, even Corporal Sykes, was paid for a day's soldiering. Sykes wondered what
hand McAllister had - a straight flush, perhaps? Had to be something like that.
He licked the cigarette paper, ran a finger down the seam, then put it to his
mouth.
Eventually Hepworth sighed and laid his cards face up
on the bed. Three of a kind. 'Go on, then, Mac, let's see what you've got.'
McAllister grinned, then slapped down his cards.
Seven, eight, nine, ten and jack of clubs. As Sykes had suspected, a straight
flush.
'Very good, Mac, very good,' said Sykes. He held his
cigarette between his thumb and index finger and stroked his chin.
'Swallow your pride, Stan,' said McAllister. 'Just
accept that this time a miracle's happened and you've lost.' He looked round at
the others. 'He knows he's beat. Ha - look at all that lovely lolly! That'll
keep me in fags and booze for weeks.'
Sykes remained impassive. He was not a tall man, with
a wiry frame, a narrow face and always immaculately brilliantined hair. But he
had long, slender fingers and a sleight of hand that could fool most people,
and certainly the young Yorkshire lads in his section.
'All right, Mac,' Sykes began, and McAllister leaned
forward to scoop up the coins in front of him. 'Here's my hand.' He fanned his
cards on the bed, a smirk stretching across his face as he did so.
Hepworth laughed. 'It's a royal flush! Ha! Unlucky,
Mac!'
'What?' exclaimed Mac. 'How the hell did you manage
that?'
Sykes grinned. 'Like I said, Mac, you're too bleedin'
obvious.' He picked up a coin and flicked it to McAllister. 'Here,' he said,
'have half a crown. Runner- up's prize.'
A moment later, Tanner returned with Lieutenant
Peploe.
'Don't get up,' said Peploe, from the doorway. 'As you
are.' He eyed them all and, seeing McAllister putting away the cards, smiled.
'Who won?'
'Corporal Sykes, sir,' said Hepworth. 'McAllister here
thought he'd nailed us all, but it weren't to be.'
Sykes shrugged.
'You want to watch the corporal, sir,' said Tanner,
standing beside the lieutenant. 'He can do very clever things with those hands
of his.'
'What are you suggesting, Sarge?' said Sykes, feigning
indignation.
Peploe cleared his throat. 'An introduction,' he said.
'I'm Second Lieutenant John Peploe and I'm your new platoon commander. I know
you had quite a time of it in Norway and I'm sorry you've not had more leave.
However, your experience is much needed here - we're primarily still a training
company - and I'm extremely glad to have you in my platoon. There's every
chance we'll soon be joining the First Battalion in France, but in the meantime
we need to help the recruits so that if and when