::as requested by r_scribbles
“Kevin Darling,” said Doris, drawing out the syllables as she darned a stocking, and ignoring the inevitable snicker that her fiance’s name brought forth from her younger brother. Stanley didn’t like Kevin, which, Doris had to admit, wasn’t *entirely* a personal thing and more to do with Kevin’s inevitable habit of treating Stanley as if he was something that should be kept in an outhouse. Kevin, Doris had long ago realised, was an acquired taste. And it wasn’t a taste that many acquired. Doris’s elder brother, Jeremy, couldn’t stand him, and, last time he had been home on leave, had kept muttering something about the Women’s Auxiliary Balloon Corps, but Doris didn’t pay him any attention.
Doris didn’t care about masculine honour. She didn’t care that Jeremy turned his nose up because Kevin worked for a general behind the lines. She didn’t care one bit, because all she cared about was getting him home safe and sound, so they could marry, and have children, and she could volunteer with the Girls Guildry, and Kevin could keep wicket for the Croydon Gentlemen. That was all she wanted.
In the end, though, even Jeremy couldn’t say anything. He had been home when Doris had the telegram, and he hadn’t said anything, even when Doris had cried and shouted at him, “Are you happy now? Is he all right with you now?”
Doris would much rather Kevin Darling had been a coward and lived, than gone over the top and died.