The Songbird and the Soldier

by Wendy Lou Jones

  When I walk through the park I think of you and I hope that you will find happiness again as full and wonderful as I found with you.

  In the later letters, Sam also wrote of her fears about her health and as Andy reached the first of these he was gripped by the realisation that had he been with her, or even heard her words through the letters at the time, maybe he could have done something about it.

  I worry sometimes that I may not be very well, but then I think of all you went through and I give myself a stiff talking to and soldier on.

  I am tired tonight, so I will not write for long, but I heard today that you are starting to walk again. I am so pleased for you.

  She had obviously been following his recovery closely and asking after him.

  I’m afraid, Andy. I think I might be really ill. I know I should see someone, but I’m not as strong as you. I don’t think I could cope. Tell me it’s all in my mind. Maybe it is. If you do ever read this…

  She had suspected. Of course she had. She had no proof that he had ever heard a word she’d said.

  …which by now I doubt you ever will, then you might think I am losing my mind. Maybe I am. But you have not once told me to leave you alone. Perhaps you still feel something for me, however small? I only hope you do not think so little of me that you toss this straight in the bin and leave it to rot on a rubbish heap for eternity unread. Or maybe that would be wise, considering my endless ramblings. I’m sorry.

  I am so tired. I ache all the time. I’m sorry to complain, but I’m afraid this is not just a virus. My friends think I’m anorexic after all the stress of the past year. Don’t laugh. If they only knew how much I liked my food! Oh well, at least if my teaching career gets too much I can always switch to the catwalk! Don’t make me laugh, my chest hurts.

  Andy discovered that she had begun to read poetry, as she told him of each poem she had read and what she thought of it. She wrote at length about baby Ellen and how beautiful she was and how she hoped more than anything to have her own children one day. Yes, thought Andy, she would make a wonderful mother. Andy realised that towards the end of her letters she must have been certain she was no longer being listened to, as she unburdened her worries to him, her ever silent best friend. What better friend to have than one who never judged, or criticised?

  As he opened her final letter, dated the 10th of April, he finally found out why she had stopped writing.

  Dear Andy,

  My dearest confidant of nearly five months, I shall miss writing to you. But I know now that you are fully recovered and must assume therefore that you either cannot bring yourself to reply to me, or you are using my letters as firelighters. Either way I suppose I must learn to take a hint, for both roads lead to my getting burnt.

  What we had, if only very briefly, was beautiful to me. You will never know how sorry I am for how it ended and for not being there for you while you were going through your private Hell.

  I am too tired now to fight any more, so I am releasing you from the burden of my expectations. My heart may take a little longer to heal, but I will get there. And I am patient.

  I have found something you may know well, but it says with far more eloquence the words I have wanted to say to you:

  Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing,

  And like enough thou knowst thy estimate,

  The Charter of thy worth gives thee releasing:

  My bonds in thee are all determinate.

  For how do I hold thee, but by thy granting,

  And for that riches where is my deserving?

  The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,

  And so my patent back again is swerving.

  Thy self thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing,

  Or me to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking,

  So thy great gift upon misprision growing,

  Comes home again, on better judgement making.

  Thus have I had thee as a dream, doth flatter,

  In sleep a King, but waking no such matter.

  William Shakespeare

  It only remains for me to say… I love you.

  Think of me sometimes with kindness and try not to judge me too harshly. I was weak, nothing more, and I have paid the price.

  Goodbye my love. I wish you every happiness.

  Yours always,

  Sam x

  As he finished the final letter, Andy looked over to the photograph lying on the table, no longer hidden within its papery bed. He picked it up and stared at it and as the beautiful smiling face of Samantha Litton, tenderly holding a baby, wandered into his breaking heart, his body filled with pain and long-imprisoned tears were finally released and began to flow.

  Andy spent a long while wallowing in the misery caused by his foolish pride and his stubborn refusal to hear her words. He had punished her for not being the woman he had built her up to be. For years he had held her up as an example of perfection. She could have done no wrong. Each time Claire and he had argued he had reflected on how things would have been different if he had had Sam by his side - and then she had proved herself to be just as bad.

  Minutes turned to hours as he sat in his living room, turning over in his mind all the events that had brought him here, and finally Andy realised where he had gone wrong. He had built Sam’s pedestal up so high that Claire hadn’t had a hope of climbing it. He had gradually learned to block her out of his life. No wonder she had sought the company and affection of other men. He had been the downfall of his own marriage. All those years of blaming Claire when it had been him all along.

  Sam had come close to perfection, but in not letting her truly in, he had given her space to harbour doubt. Why hadn’t he told her about their holiday all those years ago? He could have explained to her how precious she was to him. Even when she cried on his shoulder at the thought of losing him he had kept her from knowing his heart. She had known how much more he had meant to her then, why couldn’t he have told her he understood. The pain he had felt when he’d found out she was with another man spoke all too clearly of how close they had become. He could have told her he loved her, because he had. He did. From the very first moment he had loved her. And still, she had never heard those words pass from his lips. He read through her letters again… and again.

  Andy swiped the tears from his face and rubbed his damp fingers through his hair. He looked around for his mobile phone, but in the mess he had created, it wasn’t readily to hand and so he stormed out of the house and around the corner to Spike and Kate’s.

  Andy hammered on the door impatiently, eventually rousing a rather disgruntled Spike. Baby Ellen was screaming in the background.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Spike asked.

  Andy peered around Spike’s shoulder to look for Kate.

  “It’s gone eleven!”

  Andy was aware he must be disrupting their life, but this was important. “Look, I’m sorry, Spike. I just need to speak to Kate. It won’t take long.” His frame moved uneasily, as he shifted his weight to try to see past him.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  Andy shook his head. “Not nearly enough.” He called out. “Kate?”

  “Keep your voice down, will you.”

  Kate appeared at the back of the hall, a screaming baby over her shoulder. She looked at him and in that moment, he could see that she understood. “It’s okay, Spike. Take her, will you? I’ll be up in a minute.” She passed the baby over and walked inside and Spike took Ellen back upstairs. She stopped inside and turned to him.

  Andy could not find the words he needed to say. He couldn’t bring himself to ask what he desperately needed to know. He was afraid. His mouth moved in silence as his eyes spoke volumes. Kate invited him to sit and he did as he was told. Cots and pushchairs and soft toys littered the living room. He moved a couple of fresh muslins to one side.

  “You’ve read them, haven’t you?”

  Andy nodded and searched her face for the forgiveness he so
desperately needed.

  “Right.” She shook her head sadly. “What a bloody waste.”

  Andy looked her in the eye, his mouth ajar.

  “You want to know everything?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “It’s lymphoma. I don’t know much about it, but it’s a type of cancer.”

  Andy felt the pain soar.

  “They’ve only just found it and it’s big. They’ve started her on some treatment, but…” Briefly she let her head hang down and then rallied her courage and looked him in the face, more kindly now.

  “But she will be okay?” Andy asked.

  Kate smiled sadly. For a long moment she said nothing. “They don’t know.”

  For a few minutes neither of them spoke. In the distance, Andy could hear the floorboards creaking in a rhythmical pattern and the muffled whimpers of baby Ellen, obviously fighting against sleep with every ounce of energy she had left in her.

  “So how did she leave it?” Kate asked. “Did she tell you to go to Hell?”

  Andy looked up from where his face rested in his hands and he took a deep breath. He shook his head.

  “No. I thought not. And another man?”

  “No.”

  “So are you going to go and see her?” Kate asked.

  Andy frantically searched the floor at his feet, his face twisted in torment. “How can I, Kate?”

  “Sam’s in there fighting for her life. You of all people should know how hard that is. You can’t let her keep believing you don’t care. Go to her, Andy. She needs you.” She paused for a second and then added, “before it’s too late.”

  Andy turned on her suddenly. “Don’t you dare say that.”

  Kate matched his tempo. “Well I’m sorry, but it had to be said. I really hope it doesn’t come to that – I love the girl, you know I do – but you haven’t seen her, Andy.” Kate’s eyes began to glisten with fresh tears, but she bit them back and kept herself strong. Her voice softened. “You haven’t seen her.”

  Spike walked back into the room and immediately asked Kate if she was all right. Kate sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “Fine, love. Thanks,” she said. “How’s Ellen?”

  Spike walked through to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “Sleeping.”

  Andy stood up. “I’d better go,” he said. Spike walked back in and saw Andy to the door.

  “She’s on Sherborne Ward,” Kate said as he turned to thank her. “Think about it, please, Andy. She needs you.”

  Andy looked at her and then at Spike.

  Kate went to say something more, but Spike put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Let him go,” he said. He nodded at Andy and then he closed the front door and pulled Kate against him and held her for the longest time.

  By morning Andy was like a caged animal, restless and tortured. He paced the living room, trying to figure out what he should do. What could he do? He had slept little overnight and it showed. His eyes were haunted, shadowy creatures in a restless face. He was clean shaven and his clothing pressed and as smart as it had always been, but this thin veneer of daily routine in no way hid the turmoil that battled inside him.

  By nine he had already been out for a run, showered and changed. He sat in his living room and stared into space, desperately seeking the right words to say when he met her again.

  At ten o’clock he rang the hospital ward and asked for the visiting hours. The next one was two till three that afternoon. Four more hours to fill.

  He began watching the clock like a man on death row and suddenly it hit him what he should do. He fetched over his laptop and looked up everything he could find out about lymphomas. By half past one he was armed with all the knowledge he could take in and had worn his carpet to threads. He checked his appearance in the long mirror by the door and walked out to unlock his bike then cycled off into town to the hospital and his only hope of redemption.

  He arrived early and decided to prepare himself on a small area of garden with a couple of benches he found beside the car park. People with serious faces passed him by. He thought about how he was going to greet her. What he was going to say? Perhaps she would refuse to see him. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. He took a few deep breaths and thought that if he had the choice of going back to the front line, or facing Sam right now, he would not have to think twice. The enemy, in whatever guise it could choose, had never been so terrifying as facing her right then. He stood tall, straightened his clothing and then strode off purposefully toward the entrance to the building.

  At the door to the ward, Andy paused, and for a second he thought he was going to walk away. A patient walked past in her dressing gown, drip stand wheeling by her side. She smiled and Andy was stilled in his retreat. From beside him, a man appeared. “Going in?” he asked.

  “Er, yes, sir.” He looked down and realised the man was pushing a frail looking woman in a wheelchair.

  “You need to press the button up there.” He pointed to the intercom on the wall and Andy did as he was told. A lady’s voice spoke out. Andy told her his name and that he was visiting Samantha Litton, and then the porter leaned over and spoke too. The door buzzed and they walked in. Andy walked up the ward looking, despite himself, at the faces of the patients on each side of him. Through every window a tale unfolded. The smell of the hospital, which had pervaded his senses up until this point, was heightened as he turned the corner.

  He arrived at the nurses’ station like a little boy lost and quietly asked for directions. The nurse asked him to wait where he was while she went to see if Sam was up to receiving visitors. Andy waited and watched the comings and goings of the ward as he held his breath in anticipation.

  A few minutes later she returned and led him down the corridor to where a man was waiting. “This is Mr Litton, Sam’s father. Can I leave you with him?” Andy nodded and thanked her and she swept away to see to her business. Andy turned to Mr Litton, who offered his hand and introduced himself.

  “You’ve come to see Samantha?” Mr Litton asked.

  “Yes, sir. If that’s all right?”

  “Can I ask how you know her?”

  “I’m a friend, or at least I was.” Andy searched hard for the right words to say. “We… I was in Afghanistan last summer and…”

  “You’re Andy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Walk with me, would you?” Mr Litton escorted Andy down the corridor to a quiet room with no one else around. “Would you like to sit?”

  “No, thank you.” Andy was too anxious to be still. “I didn’t know whether to come, whether she would want to see me again.”

  “I only know a little about what happened between you two last summer. I realise that something went wrong and I have no idea who was to blame. But I know she cared about you, a lot I expect. What reason do you have to think she wouldn’t want to see you now?”

  Andy took a deep breath. “I let her down.” Mr Litton said nothing, only waited to see what more Andy had to say. “It was all a complete mess. She tried to apologise, she did, but I wasn’t in a good place after I got back. It’s no excuse, I know, but that’s just how it was. She wrote to me… for months.”

  “Well then?

  “But I never wrote back.”

  He seemed to consider this for a minute. “Why not?”

  “At first I think it was self-preservation. I had to block her out to get through, but in the end? Stubbornness… and pride. You have to understand, it has been the thought of her that has kept me going for so long.” He pointed to his head. “In here, she was… perfect. She could never do anything wrong.”

  “That’s a hard mark for anyone to live up to.”

  “I know. And when she eventually did make a mistake… I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t forgive her.” Andy hung his head.

  “But you have now?”

  Andy moistened his lips. He paused for a moment. “Last night a good friend forced me to read Sam’s letters, and I did. All of them. Several time
s, in fact. They forced me to take a long hard look at myself and my own flaws.” He shook his head. “I didn’t like what I saw.” Andy looked up, his eyes pleading for one last chance. “Sam may not be perfect, Mr Litton, but she’s a Hell of a lot closer to it than I am. I…” His voice trailed off.

  “Well, I’ll certainly ask her for you. Let’s just see what she says, eh? You do know how poorly she is, don’t you?”

  “I think so. Kate came to see me.”

  “Ah. She’s a good girl, Kate. Well she’s been off for radiotherapy this morning, so she’s very tired now, but I’ll see if she’s up to seeing you.” He put his hand on Andy’s shoulder. “Come on.”

  Andy was left alone outside the room while Mr Litton went in to see Sam. He felt a little calmer. Her father had heard his confession and was still willing to let him in. There had to be some hope.

  He watched through the glass as inside the room Mr Litton whispered to his wife and she turned around and mustered a smile. She leaned over and talked gently to the young woman lying in the bed in front of them, and Andy’s heart rate quickened. Then Mrs Litton turned round and beckoned him in. Andy walked inside and Sam turned to look at him. He had tried to prepare himself for seeing her again, but the thin, pale face and enigmatic smile that greeted him was almost more than he could stand. He hid his pity as best he could and smiled back. She was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Hello, Sam.”

  Mr Litton offered the chair on the far side of the bed and Andy slowly walked around and sat down. The pale blue covers were undisturbed by her quiet form. He reached out to touch her delicate hand and noticed the bracelet dangling loosely around her wrist. Regret pierced his side and his heart squeezed harder. It was the gift he had given her the previous summer, when she meant everything to him and he to her. She was his songbird and he was her soldier. He looked up into her eyes and was immediately engulfed in the tide of love that swept through him. But did she feel it too? Andy could only hope.

  Chapter 15

  Sam was unsure why Andy had come to see her. She tried to smile, but her body trembled. She must look terrible, she thought. She had lost so much weight since he had last seen her. Her hair was lank and unkempt and she was wearing, of all things, her comfy old puppy pyjamas. Had one of the girls forced him to come? Did he resent being here? “You’re here,” she whispered, wishing more than anything that she had had time to prepare for his arrival. He had been through so much more than her and he still looked good.