‘Are you all right there, mate,’ said a man from the neighbouring bed, his arm in a sling and one eye heavily bandaged. ‘Nice here, ain’t it? Lovely comfy beds here, everything nice and clean, even the food’s nice.’
‘Wonderful.’
‘Yep, sure is the best hotel I’ve ever stayed in.’
The man was right; everything seemed so sanitized after the chaos of the CCS in France. Guy lay on his bed, exhausted, and realised with a thump of dismay that everything ahead of him was blank. He didn’t know how to fill the next five minutes, let alone five months.
‘So where you come from?’
‘What?’ It was the man next to him. ‘Oh, erm, local.’ He could think only of Mary, doll-like, her arms folded neatly on her chest, being tossed around the whirlpool, smiling, as she disappeared, spinning, into the dark.
‘Yeah, me too. London born, London bred. It’s good to get back, hey? Nightmare out there. You know, there was this lad I met out in France, yeah, and he was saying...’ Even beyond his freshly-dug grave, Jack had the ability to render him impotent with jealousy. He would have saved her had he been fit, had God not rendered him a cripple; he could have saved her still.
‘So I said, right, not bloody likely, the sergeant would have our guts for garters for that...’ It was the calmness in her eyes that haunted him. How could she have been so calm; how could Jack have given her such strength? He felt suffocated, and looked around for a window, but realised it was the memory of the sea crushing his chest that pressed on him; the water, rising, tickling his nostrils, like a feather on the breath of God.
‘I warned him, you know, I told him it was stupid. But he wouldn’t listen. Once he got the idea in his head...’
He listened to the sound of his breathing and remembered the gagging sensation of the wet mud choking him, buried under the earth as the shells landed nearby with unerring frequency. He remembered his breathing then too, his lungs like bellows, gasping for air.
‘You should’ve seen the look on his face. Picture, it was. That’d got him, the silly sod. So how long was you out there for? Hey?’
But Guy had fallen asleep.
*
Guy dreamt of Mary sitting at his bedside, wearing a long, dark blue dress with puffed upper arms, buttoned tightly to the top. Her right arm was covered with a cast and on her lap a pile of seaweed. She smiled at him and said, ‘We’re safe now, everything’s OK. We can’t come to any more harm.’
‘But you’ve gone,’ he said in a voice that seemed detached and faraway. ‘You didn’t have to go; I could’ve saved you.’
‘Guy, it’s me, wake up.’
‘No, no, I can’t. They’re waiting for me. I have to get back; I’ve got to save them.’
*
When, finally, he awoke, he found not Mary but Ray sitting at his bed. ‘Ray. Hello. What time is it?’
‘I don’t know but I fancy it is soon time for dinner. Fancy. It’s my new word for today.’
‘What?’
‘How are you, my friend?’
‘I don’t know. Fine. Terrible. My leg aches.’
‘Which one?’
‘The other one. D’you know, I can’t tell. God, I feel odd. Anyway,’ he said with a yawn, ‘how are you?’
‘Very well. I’ve leant to roll a cigarette with one hand. Fancy that?’
‘Yes, fancy. I didn’t know you smoked.’
‘I don’t. The doctors said they’d send me home if I had a home to go to here, so they’re transferring me to Oxford. Fancy that – Oxford? It’s so famous in India. I can go home and tell everyone I’ve been to Oxford and all the girls will want to sleep with me. Just fancy.’
‘Yes, indeed, fancy. So they’re letting you out already?’
‘It’s just an arm, isn’t it? A flesh wound, they told me.’
‘Then what?’ asked Guy.
‘Home, I suppose. India.’
‘Yes, I do know where you come from. You must be looking forward to that.’
‘I think so.’
‘Anyone waiting for you back home?’
‘Yes, oh yes, indeed.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, the fucking debt collector.’
‘Ha, you fool.’
‘It will seem like a different place, I think.’
‘Yes, I know the feeling. Thanks, Ray. You know... for everything.’
‘Is that it? I save your life and that’s the best I get?’
‘Yeah, but don’t forget you deserted me also.’
‘Hah, so that evens things out? You English. You think us Indians strange. Yet there’s no stranger race than the Englishman. I have learnt to find the true meaning of what an Englishman says by listening to what he doesn’t say. Now, my friend, I’m going downstairs to watch a film. Charlie Chaplin. He’s so funny. Do you want to come?’
‘No, I’ll stay here.’
‘Okey-dokey.’ He laughed at the expression. ‘Oh, before I go, I have news for you. Important news. Your friend, the nurse, Mary.’
‘Yes?’
‘I just saw her.’
‘Good God, where?’
‘Here. In this very chair. Oh yes, she has a little room all to herself, just down the corridor from me. She broke her arm, but she is well. Yes. She sends her love and says she will come back soon. Isn’t that good news? Fancy that. Guy, my friend, speak to me, what’s the matter with you; has the cat got your tongue...?’
Finding a pair of slippers under the bed, Guy donned his dressing gown and followed Ray down a long corridor and along another. ‘This way, this way,’ said his friend, as if leading him on a mysterious expedition. He stopped outside a door with a small plaque bearing the number eleven. ‘Here we are,’ he whispered. ‘You knock. I go. Good luck, my friend.’
‘Come in.’ Guy’s heart thumped at the sound of her voice.
She was standing next to her bed dressed exactly as he’d seen her in his dream. She was holding a shawl, dark green.
On seeing each other, they rushed to embrace. ‘Guy, oh, Guy, heavens, it’s so nice to see you.’
‘I thought I’d lost you.’
‘No, I’m still here. Remember, fourth year swimming champion of nineteen ten?’
‘I really thought... It doesn’t matter now. You’re here and that’s all that matters.’
‘Yes, it’s all that matters. Come, sit next to me on the bed. How are you?’
‘I’m fine now, just fine.’
‘We live to fight another day, eh?’
‘Well, you perhaps, not me. So, you’re out of uniform.’
‘Yes, it feels strange wearing normal clothes. And out of hospital. I’ve already been discharged. I’m leaving this afternoon. I’m moving back in with Josephine.’
‘Of course. How is the arm? Ray told me you’d broken it.’
‘Who on earth is Ray?’
‘Kiran.’
‘Oh, Kiran, why do you call him Ray?’ She laughed. ‘Anyway, it’s fine but I broke both bones in the forearm. Funny thing, I have no recollection of doing it. Isn’t that strange? I was lucky, you know. I jumped in with this poor chap who couldn’t swim; he was petrified, even with the life jacket. One of the boats picked us up and took us all the way back to shore. It wasn’t far, of course. They say it was a mine that did it.’
‘Yes, so I’d heard. How long do you have to wear the cast?’
‘About six weeks, then, if I was returning to some little job in an office or a shop somewhere, I’d be OK to go back to work. But not France, the work there is too strenuous. They won’t let me go back for months. By then the war will be over.’
‘Not such a bad thing.’
‘No, of course not. But...’ She sighed. ‘It gave me a purpose in life. And I need a purpose even more now than ever. What am I going to do? Sit around all day and think of my life as it should’ve been – marrying Jack, being a wife. Perhaps a mother one day. I miss him so much, Guy.’
‘You and me both. Listen, Mary,
I’m thinking of visiting my parents tomorrow afternoon. Come with me.’
‘Oh, Guy, I’m not sure.’
‘You have to face them sometime. We can go together, get it over and done with.’
‘I suppose I will be just round the corner from them again.’
‘So will you come?’
‘I don’t know. OK, yes, I’d love to.’
Making his way back to his ward, Guy stopped at the communal telephone booth and telephoned his mother.
‘Oh, Guy, Guy, oh Lord, is it you?’
Guy grinned. ‘Yes, Mother, it’s me.’
‘Guy, my boy... how lovely... Arthur, Arthur, it’s Guy...’ She trailed off, her voice caught between sobs. ‘Are you OK, Guy? Tell me you’re OK. Yes, Arthur, Guy, it’s Guy on the telephone.’
‘I’m fine, Mother, really I am. Can I come visit? Tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Ohh, yes, yes, please, please do...’ She said more but her words were lost to grateful tears.
And so it was arranged – three o’clock the following afternoon. Mary would join them a little later.
*
And so, after lunch the following day, dressed in a new uniform and a coat loaned from the hospital and with his left trouser leg pinned up, Guy caught a tube from Marylebone to Charing Cross and from there a train to the suburb of Charlton where his parents still lived. He noticed that people on the streets and on the tube, complete strangers, would say hello to him, tip their hats, ask him if he needed any help, offer their seats. Although only a short walk from the station at Charlton to Ladysmith Road, his journey so far had tired him out and he caught a horse-drawn taxi the rest of the way. Guy’s heartbeat quickened as the taxi turned into Ladysmith Road, and he wondered whether there’d soon be a Loos Road or Ypres Avenue. He remembered how anxious he felt returning here over a year ago on leave. But this now was worse, far worse. It began to unnerve him, he wasn’t ready for this; he desperately wanted to turn around and run back to the safety and anonymity of the hospital. It had been fifteen months since he last saw his parents, fifteen months and a whole lifetime. ‘This is it,’ he told the driver.
Guy stood outside the gate. Like London, he expected the house to look different somehow, but then, why should it? He had changed irrevocably but it didn’t necessarily mean the whole world had changed with him. Guy opened the gate and walked steadily up the front path, each step of his crutches echoing on the diamond-patterned tiles. He rang the bell and straightened his tie.
Lizzie, the family maid, opened the door. ‘Mr Searight!’ she exclaimed as if he hadn’t been expected.
‘How d’you do, Lizzie?’
‘Oh, fine thank you, sir. Come in, come in, I’ll tell Mr and Mrs Searight you’re here. They’ll be delighted.’
Guy waited in the hallway, re-familiarising himself with his family home: the parquet floor tiles, the sturdy banister, the dark floral-patterned wallpaper and the stained glass, squared-shaped lampshade on the hall table. Presently, Guy could hear the excited shrieks of delight as his mother came to greet him. She stopped in the hallway to look at her son, tears streaming down her face. She took in his uniform, his cap, his face and, of course, the crutches and the missing leg.
‘Hello, Mother,’ he said simply, removing his cap.
‘Oh, Guy.’ His mother wept as she flung her arms around him. From behind her, Guy saw the figure of his father emerging into the hallway. Guy prised his mother off and offered his hand to him. His father took his hand and shook it vigorously.
‘It’s good to have you back, son,’ said Arthur clearly suppressing his own emotion at seeing his son again after such a long, worrying time. ‘I see you bear the scars of war.’
Guy laughed. ‘If only it was a scar.’ The two men looked fondly at each other, still gripping hands. Guy smelt the pipe tobacco on his father’s breath and noticed that he was wearing his ‘Sunday Best’. The two men seemed unsure of what to do or say next, but then Arthur, hesitating for a moment, clasped Guy’s shoulder, leant forward and kissed his son on the cheek. Although taken aback and rather embarrassed by his father’s uncharacteristic show of paternal affection and slightly alarmed by the brief sensation of feeling his father’s beard against his cheek, Guy nonetheless felt touched. Subconsciously, he rubbed his cheek where the bristles had made contact.
Guy’s mother, still flapping with excitement, ushered him into the drawing-room. Lizzie came to take his coat and cap, and Edith asked her to bring them a round of tea and sandwiches. The drawing-room hadn’t altered a bit since Guy last saw it. His parents sat down together on the large dark sofa and watched Guy as he wandered around the room. He remembered being in the trench, waiting to go over, praying that he might be granted the chance to see his parents one more time. And now, he was here. His mother, his father sat watching him, knowing not to speak and to allow him a few moments to absorb being back home. Guy looked at himself in the large mirror that hung above the mantelpiece and smiled at the thought that his mother still persisted in keeping the paisley motif wallpaper that his father always loathed. The landscape watercolours and the commemorative plates still hung on the walls, the piano still stood in the corner but now with its lid closed. On the tapestry-covered table stood an aspidistra. ‘Is this new?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I bought it the morning I heard of Jack’s death. I don’t know why, I don’t even like it very much. But now I can’t seem to be able to get rid of it. Jack’s death has been difficult for us, Guy, I’m sure you can imagine. There’s no one we can talk to. Everyone has their own grief, no one has the strength to listen to someone else’s.’
‘We don’t even know if Mary’s been told the bad news,’ said Arthur.
‘She knows,’ replied Guy. ‘I’ve met her. I saw her in a hospital in France and now she’s back in London. I told her.’
‘Poor girl, it must’ve been hard on her.’
‘Yes. In fact, we’re expecting her any minute. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ said Edith, ‘but why? What is she doing here? Is she OK?’
‘Edith, so many questions, give Guy a moment to explain.’
And Guy did. He skimmed over the details of the sinking of the ship, merely saying that they had got into difficulties and had to be escorted back, and that in the process Mary had broken her arm.
‘Oh, the poor love,’ said Edith. ‘It’ll be delightful to see her again. Guy, we must say we were sorry to hear about what happened between you and Mary.’ She glanced at her husband.
‘Quite,’ said Arthur. ‘We didn’t approve of Jack stepping into your shoes like that –’
‘But with death we forgive all,’ said Guy.
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that but maybe you’re right. Fact is, we weren’t too approving of Mary either, skipping from one brother to the other. Edith wouldn’t have her in the house.’
‘Good for you, Mother.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, I thought so at the time but then one day, soon after Jack had left for France, we heard from Josephine that she’d gone off to be a volunteer nurse. She never came to say goodbye.’
‘You know they got engaged?’
‘No!’
‘You didn’t know? The day before he embarked for France, he asked and she said yes.’
‘Oh dear, he never said. It’s our fault, I suppose, ostracising her like that, but could he not have told me, his mother? And you, Guy, how did you feel about that?’
It was a question he’d asked himself a hundred times. Resentful, hurt, jealous. But now all those emotions seemed so petty and self-pitying. ‘I got used to it,’ was all he could say.
‘We know of so many families who have lost loved ones,’ said Edith, ‘but grief remains such a lonely experience. Your Aunt Winnie tells me to pray, but I can’t. Anyway, it’s easy for her, she just has Lawrence safely hiding in the background pretending to be all high and mighty.’
‘Wet rag of a man,’ added Arthur.
&n
bsp; ‘It’s easy for her to criticise me for losing my faith when I consider my poor boys: Jack killed and you crippled.’ She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose.
Arthur stood up and started pacing the room. ‘So, Guy, how it’s going out there? Sounds to me that we’re not actually getting anywhere. Are we making any headway?’
‘Don’t think so. We’ve used chlorine gas, phosgene gas, mustard gas, you name it, often with disastrous results when it blows back in the faces of our advancing troops and does no end of mischief. Vile stuff, I never thought we’d resort to such barbaric tactics.’
Edith sat listening with her hand over her mouth.
Lizzie appeared with a tray of tea, cucumber sandwiches and scones. Edith thanked her.
After she’d made her exit, Arthur asked, ‘People keep talking about the conditions out there. Is it really as bad as that?’
How could he explain, wondered Guy, how could they even start to understand? Perhaps he owed it to them not to even try. His mother interjected with a question.
‘Tell me, Guy,’ she said, pouring the tea, ‘you don’t fight on Sundays, surely? And what if it’s raining; they don’t make you go out in all weathers, do they?’
Fortunately, his father huffily intervened. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, woman, this is war, you don’t think they make allowances for a bit of rain, do you?’
‘Yes, of course, I’m sorry,’ she said, sweeping back her hair. ‘Even Lizzie’s been affected. She’s upset about Jack and her own brother. Jack was so excited at joining your regiment. Tell me, how was Jack the last time you saw him?’
Guy sighed at the memory. ‘It wasn’t long before he was killed. He seemed... well, I met many a brave man in France, but Jack had found a courage that surpassed anything I saw. It was a special kind of bravery, an unrecognised one. I was told he met his death quickly and painlessly, and...’ He paused wondering how to finish his sentence.
‘And...?’ his mother urged.
‘Apparently, he uttered your name with his last breath, Mother.’ He immediately wondered why he’d said that. Perhaps he had, but he would never know. And now, having said it, he could never unsay it.
This Time Tomorrow Page 24