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Alison strode into the common room with an air of excitement.
“Captain, look!” She held out a photograph, 10 by 8, black and white. A cricket eleven arranged formally for their team picture. Six men standing and 5 in front, kneeling on one knee. All in their whites, darker smudges of grass stains on some trousers. Some wore sleeveless sweaters, some soft, dark-coloured caps, the wicket keeper still had on his gloves. In the centre, smiling as widely as his team mates, was the Captain, grasping a small cup proudly.
The other ghosts crowded around him, straining to see the picture, pointing and chattering. But the Captain was no longer present. He had been transported to a warm summer afternoon many moons ago. He could feel the heat of the sun, hear the twittering of the birds. It had been a marvellous game, the teams well matched throughout, making the final victory all the sweeter. And there, right by his side, was his lieutenant. The Captain felt the tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. They had made a great batting pair, racking up the runs, knowing instinctively what the other intended from each stroke. Havers had an admirable cover drive. But then there seemed to be nothing the man couldn’t do. The Captain could almost feel him, stood shoulder to shoulder, the heat of his arm felt through the cotton of their shirts, the way Havers had placed his hand in the small of the Captain’s back to guide him into the line-up.
The Captain’s chest felt tight, his breathing a little laboured, as he came back to the present and realised Alison was asking him a question.
“Ah, yes” he said a little distantly. “The Button House IX, winners of the annual match against the village team. A fine bunch of men.” He attempted a grateful smile for Alison, as he knew manners dictated, but it came out somewhat weak.
“I found it tucked inside a book in the library. Would you like me to put it in your room?” Alison looked up at the Captain but he didn’t look as thrilled as she had anticipated. “Perhaps that was a time of, um, mixed emotions?” she ventured. “You must have felt pretty stressed most of the time, with the war and everything.”
She turned the photo to look at again.
“Perhaps we should display it in the drawing room. I might make a collection of the things I find. And then you can visit it when you’re in the mood?”
This time the Captain’s look of gratitude was heartfelt. He nodded stiffly.
“Thank you, Alison. That would be a most appreciated solution.” He met her eye and she smiled gently, the chatter of the others a mere mumble in the background as the pair communicated without words.
“And maybe, one day, when you feel like it,” Alison said casually, “You might like to tell me about the people in it?”
The Captain smiled sadly and nodded. Perhaps one day he would.