It took longer for the lad to appear than George expected, but George knew the streets of London and there was only one way out of that alley unless the boy backtracked. After several minutes, George started to worry that some other bloke had snatched up his mark, but finally the boy peeked out around the corner and George grabbed him by the back of his collar.

The rejected recruit spun around, his fists and feet flailing, but George kept the boy’s punches and kicks at arm’s length. Unable to land a hit or break free, the boy clawed at his arm. “Let go of me! Help!”

A cluster of women gossiping in a doorway across the street spared them a fleeting glance before returning to their conversation.

“Help!” the boy screamed even louder, but this time no one looked their way.

“I’m trying to help,” George said through clenched teeth as the boy’s fingernails drew blood on his forearm. “But you need to calm down.”

“Let go!”

“Fine, but first you have to promise you won’t run.”

The boy stopped struggling.

“Do I have your word?” George asked.

The boy nodded, so George let go and reached into his shirt pocket. The boy scrambled back until his heels hit the brick wall of the tenement.

“Relax,” George said, pulling out his last cigarette. He’d earned the pack loading cargo at the shipyard. His blistered hands stung from gripping the ropes all night, and his back, arms, and legs ached from the strain of lifting the crates. He rolled the cigarette between his sore fingers and then held it out to the boy. “Smoke?”

The boy shook his head.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” George asked, placing the cigarette behind his ear.

The boy didn’t answer. George noticed him start to reach up to touch his throat, but then stop and jam his hands in his pockets, his large blue eyes never leaving George’s face.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” George said. “I just want to have a little chat. If you don’t like what I’m selling, we’ll go our separate ways.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, but George forged on. “I overheard your conversation with the recruiting officer. I think you got a raw deal being turned away like you were. What do you want to go joining Kitchener’s Army for anyway?”

No answer.

“Come on, Timothy,” George said, leaning in closer. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Thomas looked down at his worn boots. He was trapped. This con kept digging at him and was now poking around, trying to get at his secrets.

Six months earlier, when James had told Thomas he planned to join the army, he’d made Thomas swear to tell no one, especially not their mum, until after he’d left for training. Thomas remembered the morning he’d stood on the Dover station platform fighting back tears as he waved goodbye to his brother. Before the train had pulled away, James had leaned out the window, mussed up Thomas’s hair one last time, and promised everything would be all right. Thomas hated that James had left them, but he’d kept his brother’s secret. When his dad had discovered the truth, he gave Thomas a swatting he would not soon forget.