Rosie thought about it for a few moments. “Well, since I’ve been living in London, I spend it with Ciaran and Beth. Mel’s never around. She goes to her mother’s. So I spend Christmas Day over at my brother’s. On Boxing Day a lot of their orchestra get together for a party and we go along to that. After that, Ciaran and Beth always go up to her parents for New Year. By that time, I’m practically due back at work so I stay down here.” She shrugged. “That’s about it.”
Gavin nodded slowly but said nothing.
Rosie frowned. “Why do you ask?”
Gavin leaned back in his chair. As he did so, the waitress came to the table with their coffee. Gavin smiled up at her and Rosie couldn’t help noticing the effect he had on the young girl. She returned his smile and left the table hurriedly, her face reddening as she went. Rosie watched her thoughtfully. Another one bites the dust …
Gavin focused his gaze back on Rosie. “You remember the health and fitness convention I went to last weekend?”
Rosie nodded.
“Well, I met a guy there who’s recently bought a country hotel somewhere in Wiltshire – a little place called Salmoncoates. He’s been having some refurbishment done and it’s not due to open officially while February. But he’s going to open it over the Christmas period for family and friends. Just something he fancied doing as a one-off I think. Not something he’ll be able to do again once the place is up and running.”
Rosie frowned again. She couldn’t help wondering where all this was leading.
Gavin cleared his throat. “The thing is, he invited me along too.”
Rosie narrowed her eyes. “I thought it was just family and friends.”
Gavin leaned forward, his face brightening. “Well, Rosie, apparently this place has a fantastic fitness suite. When we got talking, he told me he was really keen to get someone in to manage that side of things. He thought I might be ideal. So he asked me if I fancied going over for a few days once I finish work for the Christmas break. It sounds like a brilliant opportunity. I really fancy looking into it.”
“Go for it,” Rosie said as enthusiastically as she could. Despite herself, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment. Was this the bit where he tried to let her down gently – tell her in a roundabout way that he wasn’t going to be around for much longer, but not until he’d made sure she had somewhere to go for Christmas dinner? Was that what the flowers were all about?
“He said I could bring a friend.”
Rosie realised Gavin was looking at her intently. Her heart gave a sudden lurch. Bring a friend? Surely he wasn’t meaning …
“You mean me?”
Gavin laughed gently. “Well, we are friends, aren’t we? I thought you’d be a nice friend to ask along – if you could bear to spend that long with me.” There was that boyishness again, as though he was finding the subject awkward to broach.
Rosie hardly knew what to say. This was the last thing she’d been expecting. A rush of questions flooded her mind. Wasn’t all this a bit sudden? Just how friendly was he wanting to get? She realised her discomfort must be evident but felt powerless to hide it. Gavin was still looking at her, his eyes searching her face for a reaction.
“Can I think about it?” she asked quietly after a few moments. “I’m not sure what Ciaran and Beth have got planned. I’ll have to talk to them.” It wasn’t true of course. She had no intention of mentioning it to either of them. But as a stalling tactic, it was the best thing she could come up with.
Gavin smiled. “Sure. Take all the time you need.” He leaned over the table and took her hands in his. “Don’t look so worried, Rosie. I think we’d have a great time.”
Trying to pull herself together, Rosie returned his smile. “I’m not worried. I just can’t give you an answer right now.”
Gavin nodded. “I understand. You have a think about things and let me know when you’ve made up your mind. Okay?”
During the rest of their time together, the subject wasn’t mentioned again. But, for Rosie at least, it hung over their conversation like a shadow. Later on, as they sat in the car outside Rosie’s home, Gavin turned to her. He ran his finger along her cheekbone, his touch as gentle as a butterfly.
“Thanks for this afternoon, Rosie.”
Rosie looked down at her knees. “Thank you … you insisted on paying for everything.” She heard something in her own voice that sounded scarily like meekness.
Gavin tilted her chin towards him. “You’re worth it.” He moved his face towards hers and kissed her softly. “Like I tried to tell you earlier, Rosie, you’re a beautiful girl.”
There was a warmth in his eyes that Rosie had not seen before. For a brief moment she found herself wondering if this could be the real Gavin at last. There’d been slight hints on previous occasions. Sporadic outbursts of genuine niceness which had suggested the existence of a Gavin quite unlike the Mr Body Beautiful that the rest of the world perceived.
As their lips met again, Rosie’s heart began to pound. At first it felt like passion. But suddenly she realised; something deep inside her was coming unglued. He’d asked her to go away with him. Was this the moment she’d been dreading all her life?
____________
It was Monday evening. Beth glanced at the ward clock as the last of the visitors drifted past the door on their way out. Eight twenty. Well, she reflected, that was it for another day. All that remained now was bedtime drinks in an hour or so and then big lights out. Oh boy, I really need to get out of here – it’s like being at Enid Blyton boarding school. I’m actually getting excited about my Horlicks.
Apart from Beth, there was no one in the ward except a thin Scottish woman called Sandra. Everyone else seemed to have disappeared in a hurry. Sandra climbed out of bed and pulled a pale, satin dressing gown around her skinny frame. “I’m off outside for a ciggie. You comin’ to watch the telly in a minute, Beth?”
“What’s on?”
Sandra shrugged. “Dunno, but it must be somethin’ good. Everyone else shot off straight after visitin’.”
Beth shook her head. “I’ll give it a miss.”
“Okay. See you later.” Picking up her cigarettes and lighter, Sandra went off for her smoke. Beth watched her leave, then looked around at the roomful of empty beds. Reaching onto her bedside table, she took the envelope Rosie had just brought her. A couple more entries. Time for a little light reading.
Le Bizet (Flanders) August 23rd 1916
Well, here we are, Em; our last day of rest for a while. We move back to the front tomorrow. Things have been so pleasant here these last few days, I’ll be rather sad to leave. This morning a few of the lads were having a moan about going back. I think some of them have had enough. They’d just like to go home now and forget the whole thing. Earlier I was saying to Boxer and Jimmy that this war seems to me a sorry kind of business …
Even out here behind the lines, the ground could get boggy. The continuous movement of men, drilling and training, gave the land little chance to recover itself.
Boxer was scraping mud off his boots with a fragment of shell. It was a small piece he carried everywhere, ideal for the job. “A sorry kind of business, you say. Is that what you think, Sam?”
Sam sighed. He’d been thinking about Emily again. “Yeah, it seems so to me.”
Jimmy nodded quietly in agreement. His sallow skin and the dark circles under his eyes belied his handsome features.
Boxer carried on scraping, not lifting his head. “You wish you weren’t here then?”
Sam laughed as he exchanged a look with Jimmy. “Don’t we all? But no, it’s not that.” He paused for a few moments as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “I know we’re serving our country, and it’s right that we’re out here. To be honest, I’m proud to be a part of it – wouldn’t want anyone shoving a white feather in my lapel. But I was listening to some of the lads earlier, especially those with wives and little ones. It seems quite awful to think that the army has more claim
on them than their own kith and kin.” Sam thought of the men he’d helped to bury. Cold meat, names on telegrams. You had to look at it like that or you’d never be able to get on with the job. But to each man’s family, that man was the only one in this whole war that mattered. Sam suddenly hoped he hadn’t been insensitive to Jimmy. After all, should the worst happen to him, who would mourn him? He didn’t even have anyone to send a telegram to.
Sam looked down at his hands. Even after four days on rest, they were calloused and ingrained with dirt. He scanned the field. Somewhere in the distance a sergeant was bellowing orders to his men. He shrugged. “I suppose it hit me just how much our lives are not our own anymore.”
Boxer nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right, Sam. It is a sorry business.” He straightened up and put the shell fragment back in his haversack. “But can I tell you both what I think is even worse?”
There was something about his tone which made Sam look up. Jimmy fixed his dark eyes on Boxer. Boxer was gazing into the sky, a strange, inscrutable expression on his face.
“For me, the sorriest part about it all is that a man die without ever having discovered why he was born in the first place. That he spend his whole life chasing the wind, and never understand why he was put here. That’s the real tragedy.”
Sam stared at him. What on earth did he mean by that? He and Jimmy exchanged glances again, but neither of them spoke. For a few moments Boxer continued looking into the sky. Then he dropped his head and smiled broadly at them both.
“I’m confident, though, that this will not be the case with you two.”
Puzzled, Sam felt a sudden urge to question his friend further. At that moment, however, a familiar voice broke into his thoughts …
Before I got chance to say another word, Em, our platoon sergeant called us up for kit inspection. We’re moving on in the morning; who knows what’s waiting for us? It’s night-time now, and I’m just lying here thinking about what Boxer said. There’s a lot more time to think when you’re on rest. I suppose that’s why they try to keep us busy. I don’t know how Jimmy feels about it, but the whole thing bothers me. Have I discovered why I was born, or am I just chasing the wind, whatever that means? I’d never even thought about it until now. What’s worse, we’re going back to the line tomorrow. Suddenly, Em, I really don’t want to go.
Station Redoubt August 27th 1916
I am sickened today. Three of our lads were gassed earlier. One, Tommy Shipham, died almost straightaway. Poor fellow couldn’t breathe at all. He had a weak chest to start with – I don’t know how he ever ended up out here. He went fairly quickly. I think his lungs just disintegrated, but it must have been a horrible way to go. The other two – Ernie Tennant and Tim Pocklington (Pocket to us) – were fairly gasping for breath and clawing at their throats and eyes …
This was their third day in the Armentieres sector and, all in all, things had been pretty hot. So far, however, Sam’s platoon had got off fairly lightly; a couple of gashes, quickly patched up at the aid post, and other than that, not much to write home about. It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon and ‘B’ Company was enjoying a lull in the firing.
“Get any post, Pocket?” Twinny One’s voice sounded down the trench.
Tim Pocklington grinned as he made a fist at him. “You know I didn’t.”
“D’you reckon she’s forgotten it’s yer birthday?” Twinny One wasn’t about to stop ribbing him. “I thought you two were devoted to each other.”
There were hoots of laughter from some of the others. Tim shook his head in mock disgust. “In case you hadn’t noticed, idiot, there’s a war on. The post isn’t quite so reliable as it used to be.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Twinny One guffawed. “I bet she’s run off with the postman –”
Tim was about to make some caustic reply when the platoon sergeant appeared on the scene. “Come on, lads. I need a couple of volunteers to bring some supplies up from reserve. You Shipham, Pocklington – come with me.” That was the neat thing about volunteering in the army. You didn’t get a say in it. As if having second thoughts, the sergeant turned round again. “And you can come as well, Tennant. The more the merrier, eh?” He signalled to an older man who was leaning against the back wall of the trench. The four of them set off, turned into the next bay and disappeared from view.
“Wish I’d gone with ’em,” Twinny One remarked gloomily. “I hate sitting around waiting for the Bosch to kick off.”
For a good forty minutes things were quiet, only the sound of birdsong and the occasional shot breaking the monotony. Men talked or played cards. It looked like it was going to be a long afternoon.
A sudden, distant shout jolted the stillness. “They’ve sent one over – it’s coming this way, boys!” The sound of cursing. A moment’s confusion as raised voices resounded down the trench. Then the noise everyone dreaded. The gas rattle. There was a furious scramble as men pulled on respirators, their trembling fingers working as quickly as nerves would allow. In the split second before he managed to cover his face, Sam almost thought he glimpsed the noxious yellow cloud drifting towards them on its venomous breeze. Then the sky turned misty green, and all the world seemed suddenly a strange and surreal place. He inhaled, his heart pounding madly as he did so. Everyone knew what gas did to you. Please let this thing be working …
Difficult to breathe through and uncomfortable though it was, Sam knew immediately that the respirator was intact. He looked round to see Jimmy securing his mask. Good, he’d managed okay too. Now it was just a matter of waiting for orders. Either the Germans would attempt a trench raid, or they’d released the gas cylinder just to remind the Tommies that they were still there. A rather unpleasant way of relieving their afternoon boredom.
A muffled order came down the line; help was needed further up. Sam felt a prod from behind. It was Boxer. Kitted up in respirator, it was impossible for him to speak, but Boxer pointed along the line towards a section where the wind had carried the gas to its thickest concentration. Sam nodded. Within no time at all, a small group of men was wending its way clumsily through the front line trench. When they arrived at the worst affected area, they could see that the trench was in chaos. Most men had managed to pull on protective masks, one or two had even urinated on rags and were holding them to their faces, but others were in the throes of agony. Sam saw to his horror that Tommy Shipham, Ernie Tennant, and Tim Pocklington were among the victims. Tommy Shipham was lying in the bottom of the trench, his streaming eyes livid with terror, his body jerking with pain. “Help me – Sam – help …” he gurgled, his lungs seeming to corrode with every breath. Sam felt sickeningly helpless as he looked down. A yellow liquid was beginning to ooze from Tommy’s mouth, and his hands were clenched into desperate, trembling fists. Sam knew he’d had it. Kneeling down by the injured soldier, he placed his hand on the writhing chest, trying hard not to recoil at the sight of the tortured convulsions. It was almost a relief when, after a few minutes, Tommy’s body gave a final spasm and Sam realised it was all over.
“Biddy! Biddy!” Sam heard a mournful cry and then a violent fit of coughing. He spun round to see Tim Pocklington rubbing desperately at his eyes. “I’m blinded – God help me – I’m blinded – Biddy!”
Everyone in the platoon knew that Biddy was Pocket’s beloved sweetheart. Boxer put an arm around the injured man’s shoulder and began to guide him up the trench. A steady stream of walking wounded and goggled helpers was now making its way towards the aid post. Sam and Jimmy took hold of Ernie and began to help him along too. Coughing and choking, the distressed man pressed repeatedly at his eyes, as though by doing so he might make himself see again. He became more and more heavy as the three of them proceeded awkwardly through the trench. Sam was afraid the older man might collapse. He felt sadder than he could ever remember …
It was a terrible thing to watch, Em. Somehow, I’m struggling to understand how human beings can come up with such devilish inventions. There is nothing
glorious about being gassed, and there’s nothing heroic about gassing somebody. It seems to me a poor way of fighting a war. Nothing can prepare you for this, Emily. To see one’s fellow men suffer as terribly as we did today and be so helpless in the face of it – that can turn a soul to despair.
____________
Beth put the letter down and lay back against the pillow. Well, this wasn’t exactly bedtime reading, was it? She closed her eyes. The idea of being gassed made her feel claustrophobic. She could remember once being held under the water by a vindictive schoolmate during a class swimming lesson. She’d honestly thought she was going to die. Her lungs had burned for air and she’d very nearly given in and inhaled. How long she’d been under, she had no idea. Probably not very long at all. But it had been long enough. Time had seemed to stand still. She was sure it was the closest to death she’d ever come. Perhaps that was how it felt to be gassed. Gasping for air that wasn’t there. Panicking as your whole life flashed before you like some jerky home video. The thought made her shudder. It was like something out of a horror movie. No wonder Boxer philosophised like he did. These guys must have walked through hell every day. It was a wonder any of them managed to stay sane.
A sudden noise made her open her eyes. Dr Stafford had walked onto the ward and was coming towards her bed. “Hello, Beth. All alone?”
Quickly trying to recover herself, Beth sat up. “Yeah, for now at least. They’re all in the TV room.”
Dr Stafford smiled gently and sat down on the chair beside her. “I’m going off duty in quarter of an hour, Beth, but I just wanted to let you know that we’re hoping to get some results through in a couple of days.”
Beth nodded. “Glad to hear it. Any idea what we’re expecting?”
Dr Stafford sat forward, his voice soft and low. “Well, Beth, there are one or two possibilities. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
____________
Dan took a long, slow drink from his bottle of mineral water. “Ah, that’s good. Just what I need after a pasting like that.” He had just completed a gruelling gym session with Gavin, and now the two of them were chilling out in the upstairs café.
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