‘Oh, that’s actually really useful! That’s where my interviews are. Apparently there is a veterans’ group who meet there on a –’
Matt exploded. ‘Bloody no! Not you too! I am not going to the Vets’ Support Group so you can damn well forget about it. I swear that’s why Nicola always makes her appointments for Thursdays – to try and trick me into joining them and I’m not going to. I already know I make the wrong decision in a crisis. I don’t need any support group. I don’t need any psycho-mumbo-jumbo. I’m all right on my own!’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ Freya shouted back. ‘Because I’m not. Not today. I’ve got a meeting set up with two airmen who were at Lord’s Chase when it was a military hospital and married local girls and whose families are bringing them in especially to tell me their memories of the place. My car has broken down and the bus to town has already left and all the taxis are busy. I can’t do this any other day, Matt.’
Nicola walked into the room. ‘My overnight case is in the bedroom. There’ll be no need for you to hang around today.’
‘We’ll be there in five minutes,’ snapped Matt into the phone.
It took time getting Nicola booked in and settled into the ward. Matt was only just leaving the building when he heard Freya calling to him, her interviews finished.
‘How is she?’ she asked.
‘Resigned. It’s only tests. She’ll be out tomorrow.’
He started the Land Rover, cursing his inability to apologise for his loss of temper earlier. Would he never be fit company? ‘That’s nice,’ he said, hearing church bells as they drove through a village. ‘Such an English sound.’
To his surprise, Freya didn’t comment. When he turned his head, her hands were gripping each other in her lap. ‘What’s up?’
‘This is Skirlethby,’ she said through gritted teeth.
He felt as if she’d kicked him. ‘Oh, blast, I’m sorry, I’ll get us out of here.’ Then he saw the tears on her cheeks and made a belated connection. ‘Those aren’t wedding bells? It’s not today?’
She nodded tightly. ‘It’s one reason I arranged the meetings for this week. I wanted to be busy.’
He could understand that.
‘I did love Patrick. I like Lucy. I sent them a card, but I don’t think they know how much I wish them well. I don’t want them to start married life with a shadow.’
Matt took a deep breath. Could he do this? ‘We’re both looking presentable,’ he said. ‘Would it help if we slipped into the back of the church? Not stay. Not pretend anything. Just so they could see you were there, with a friend, and smiling.’
She did turn to him then. ‘I’d like that very much.’
They got there just ahead of the bride’s car. Matt heard the indrawn breaths of those members of the congregation who turned to see the late-comers. He squeezed Freya’s hand. Afterwards, he was pleased to see how heartily both Patrick and Lucy hugged Freya. He thought there was a touch of appraisal from Patrick when they shook hands. Fair enough. He still thought the man was a prat.
‘Thank you,’ said Freya. ‘I couldn’t have gone on my own. It had got to the stage when I couldn’t even set foot in the village – not because of them, because of me. I’ll be all right now. I’ll be able to go back. You’ve helped me break down a totally stupid barrier.’
Going back? Not live in Lord’s Chase any more? That startled him. ‘Glad I could help,’ he said mechanically.
She began to talk easily and naturally about the two old soldiers she’d met that morning. ‘Apparently a plane crashed somewhere in the Chase during their time here! There they were, recuperating peacefully in their beds, and suddenly the place went all Casualty on them.’
‘I know the crash site,’ said Matt. ‘I’ve been running in the estate every day since I was discharged. I found the remains of a plane some time ago. Do you want to see it now? You can get photographs of the fuselage to go with the anecdote.’
She glanced down. ‘I’m not wearing walking clothes.’
‘Nor am I, but I can drive quite close.’
‘Thank you. I would.’
Matt was such an attractive man when he forgot about his illness, thought Freya. She walked along the grassy sward with him, listening to him tell her what he’d discovered about the crash.
‘It was an accident that could have been a catastrophe but wasn’t. An American bomber, badly damaged and way off course. The pilot ordered his crew to bale out. He could have done the same to save his own life but the town was below him. Crash the plane into that and … So he stayed fighting the controls until the plane reached the Lord’s Chase. Tried to land safely.’
‘Poor man.’
‘Lucky man. Against the odds, he survived.’ Matt’s face went taut as he added, ‘That kind of luck doesn’t happen very often.’
Freya’s heart went out to him. She wished she could help him the way he had helped her. On impulse she squeezed his hand before quickly letting go.
‘There’s a surprising amount of the fuselage and wings left – it should make a good photo.’
Freya was lighter of heart than she had been for weeks. Ahead she saw the silver of a wing tip slanting down into bracken. She hurried forward. It would make a good photo! She ran along the side of the wing to get a good position and then, in panic, she saw an adder sunning itself on the silver metal. She had seen them occasionally, even photographed one, but this was a shock. She slipped, threw herself sideways away from the snake, banged her head, and felt herself sliding across the fuselage. Then she jerked to an immensely painful stop as something gashed into her leg.
Matt watched, horrified. Not more injuries! Hadn’t he seen enough of them? Hadn’t he suffered enough of them himself? Then he forgot everything except that he was trained for emergencies. Even as he raced towards Freya, he was undoing the first aid kit he always carried when away from the car. A protruding metal spike had cut into her femoral artery. That could be lethal. He stopped the bleeding with a tourniquet. He applied a field dressing to her thigh, then carried her into the shade of a tree and shook out a space blanket to wrap round her.
She’d lost a fair amount of blood. He knew he could drive her more quickly to the hospital than any ambulance could reach her here. He hoisted her in his arms, kissed her cheek distractedly, and told her to trust him – and ran for the Land Rover as if he’d been training for this moment for months.
Safely at A&E, however, all the adrenalin left him. He slumped in the waiting room and flayed himself. How stupid of him to take her to the crash site. When would he ever learn to think things through? She could have died!
‘Ahem.’
He forced himself out of black despair to find a nurse telling him they’d cleaned the graze on Freya’s head and stitched the wound in her leg, and would he please go in and see her immediately because she was refusing more sedatives until she’d spoken to him.
He approached the bed warily. She was groggy, but very definitely conscious. ‘They say you can take me home when you collect Nic tomorrow,’ she said. ‘But I needed to tell you something right now.’
Never to suggest stupid places to take photos again? Never to assume that because he knew his way around rough terrain, everybody else did too? Whatever she said, it couldn’t make him feel any guiltier than he already did.
She found his hand and gripped it. ‘Don’t you ever tell me again that you are no good in a crisis, Matt Temple. You made a whole set of right decisions one after the other this afternoon. I think I probably owe you my life.’
Her eyes closed. He stared at her in shock. There were entirely new emotions welling in his breast. Emotions he thought he’d never feel again.
‘Can you drive Nicola over to tea this afternoon, please, Matt? I’ve got a couple of pamphlet people coming to be interviewed and she offered to photograph them in the garden while we talk.’
‘I’m no good with strangers,’ he said shortly.
With a superhuman effort, Freya stoppe
d herself boxing his ears. In the fortnight since her accident, he’d been even unhappier than usual. She’d caught him looking at her with a bleak yearning that thrilled her even as she despaired of him. She knew how she felt about Matt Temple. But it seemed he still needed to like himself.
‘Well, it’s going to be a nice day. You can stay inside and keep the tea and sandwiches coming,’ she said.
By arrangement, her two visitors were settled in the back garden before Nic and Matt arrived. Freya braced herself, seeing the gathering anger on Matt’s face as he took in former Sergeant Mickey Dunning in a wheelchair and two sticks leaning against ex-Corporal Horace Gee’s chair. Heart in mouth, she made the introductions.
‘Sorry, can’t salute, Lieutenant,’ said Mickey, holding out his hand with a grin. ‘Haven’t got my cap on.’
Matt, stood, every muscle clenched. Then he slowly walked forward and shook the elderly man’s hand. ‘We’ll deal with that later. And Corporal Gee?’
‘Forgot my cap too. Discipline is going to the dogs. That’s an impressive scar you’ve got, lad.’
Matt’s expression eased properly, even further than it had in the car after the wedding and before her accident. Freya had the sense of a strange kinship between the three men. Tears started in her eyes and she had to turn aside to hide them.
‘Got mine in Afghanistan,’ said Matt, pulling out a chair. ‘Mickey?’
‘Stood on a landmine in Korea.’
‘Horace?’
‘Fighting the Mau Mau in East Africa. Man tried to chop my leg off with a machete. Still, I got sent home early, so not all bad, eh?’
‘Tea?’ asked Freya. ‘Or I’ve got beer?’
‘Now you’re talking, lass.’
She brought bottles out, listening to the talk as Nicola took photographs. Matt chatted easily enough with the men, but refused to look at her once. Could he forgive the trick from someone he’d trusted? He left when the vets’ group transport did and didn’t contact her all evening. The next morning, she was staring miserably at her computer, unable to write a single word, when there was a knock on the door.
Matt stood there with a great bunch of multicoloured bracken and ferns. ‘From Lord’s Chase,’ he said. ‘I’m hopeless with flowers, but I thought these looked good.’
She flung her arms around him. ‘You aren’t hopeless at anything,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m sorry for tricking you. I just wanted you to see that soldiers can see awful things and have dreadful injuries and still live wonderful, life-affirming lives.’
‘You did that all right,’ he said. Somehow they were crushing the bracken between them because his arms were around her as tightly as hers were around him. ‘You’ve changed me, Freya. Helping you at the wedding helped me as well. I was so nearly there, but I just couldn’t break out of the last shackle. The PTSD went, just like that, while I was talking to those old soldiers. I felt it go.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I love you very much, Freya. You mean more to me than any one else I’ve ever met. And I don’t want to wait at all before doing something about it.’
Tears were rolling down Freya’s face again. But she was laughing at the same time. ‘Can you wait long enough for me to put this greenery in water?’ she asked. ‘Because I love you too, Matt. Enormously.’
And that was when he kissed her. Quite gently. At first.
The Difference Between Us
Laura Wilkinson
How stupid to carry the shoes – guilt overriding common sense. Nestled under my arm the box digs into my ribs, and I wonder how I’ll manage my suitcases. Swollen soles throb; my feet look like trotters, my legs like skittles. I am a mess. Pushing aside an unread book and wash bag, I scrabble in my handbag for nicotine gum. I am trying to give up – smoking dulls my complexion, yellows my teeth. Eva doesn’t smoke. The flight number flashes on the screen, the belt groans into action, and people surge to claim their luggage, knocking me off my fashionable, unforgiving heels. I hobble forward.
As I push my trolley through the arrivals lounge I see her. She looks preternaturally beautiful, and my heart sinks then swells with pride in such rapid succession I feel faint. Or is it the heat? She glows like a nymph in a river of sweaty faces. She is daydreaming, not watchful, so I watch her, unobserved, and realise with dismay that she’s lost weight.
‘Not that she needed to,’ I snipe, penitent immediately. Eva’s been ill; there was a traumatic break-up. Correction: she was dumped. But Eva is never dumped, she is the one who grows tired and moves on. Until David. I note that other than weight loss Eva looks in rude health.
The last time I saw my twin was a few hours before my departure. She was getting ready for an evening out and the house shook with excitement. Her date was a local celebrity, an ex-footballer whose career had been cut short, purportedly, by a knee injury. He spotted her at a beauty contest. Eva was not a contestant, much to the relief of the other girls; she worked as a stylist and make-up artist. Our mother described David as ‘a good catch’.
So all eyes were on Eva the night I left. She wore a turquoise dress, emphasising her green eyes, and her blonde hair had been curled and piled high on her head, accentuating her height and leanness.
‘Where are my yellow shoes?’ she bellowed from the landing as I dragged my bags across the hall. ‘I can’t find the bloody things anywhere.’
From the bedroom our mother cooed, ‘Eva darling, why don’t we look in your wardrobe? I’m sure they’ll be there. We’re not looking hard enough.’
‘We’d better be bloody fast about it. The car will be here in a minute.’
‘Why don’t you wear the red ones? They’re gorgeous,’ I offered, picking fluff from my jumper and hoping my tone didn’t betray me.
‘Because red is tarty, Monica.’
Outside a horn tooted and Mum emerged from the bedroom, pink faced and flustered, holding a pair of silver courts.
‘They’ll have to do.’ Eva snatched the shoes, slipped them on, and waltzed down the stairs. We scurried after her as she whirled through the porch door.
‘Give me a hug, sweetie. Sorry I can’t come to the airport. You understand. I’ll come and visit when I’m a happily married woman!’
And with that she was gone.
Mum touched my shoulder and said, ‘Plenty of time. Study, work, live, love. That order.’
‘Monica!’
Pushing her way through the crowds she flings her arms around me. I could snap her in two if I squeezed hard enough.
‘You look well,’ she says.
‘Fat.’ I force myself to laugh. ‘I’ve puffed up like pastry.’
‘You look amazing. Come on.’
Driving home Eva talks incessantly. Familiar scenery flashes before my eyes. This is home, where my heart is, I think.
‘How does it feel to be back?’ Eva interrupts my thoughts.
‘Good. I miss this place.’
‘I’d so love to get out of here.’
‘Then you should. Why not?’
She looks at me and I’m worried that we’ll crash. ‘Because I’m not as brave as you. Or as clever. People know me here. And there’s Mum.’
‘She’d cope. If you really want something, then go get it. It needn’t be forever.’
‘Sound words, Egg. Perhaps I’ll travel when you’re done.’ The nickname – short for Egg-head – comforts me; she hasn’t used it for years.
I wonder if there’s anything for me here anymore. Anyone. I try to be casual. ‘Have you seen Tony? He know I’m visiting?’
I hope he’s forgiven me.
‘Saw him the other day. He asked after you. “How’s your sis? Haven’t seen her in an age, must be twelve months.”’ Eva’s impersonation is good. Too good. The cadence is spot on and goose pimples rise on my arm.
Tony.
It’s been thirteen months – I saw him four weeks before I left.
Tony was the kind of guy everyone liked. Nice looking, affable, flawed. Ever so slightly boss-eyed, a bit like Benicio
del Toro. I’d been in love with him since high school.
Eva teased me mercilessly. ‘Monica loves Toneeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,’ she’d say, fake-fainting on the sofa.
But he didn’t go for girls like me. Or so I thought. I figured he liked Eva – most of the guys we knew did.
One evening, at a bar on the harbour with friends, Tony mooched over. He invited us all to the launch of a new club he was managing, but no one could make it. No one except me. I had nothing planned other than studying for my exams. I rarely did.
Eva shrugged, pouted and said, ’You win some, you lose some, huh, Tony?’
Ignoring her, he turned to me and said, ‘It’s you and me, kid. I’ll pick you up at eight.’
He winked as he walked away. The ‘picking up’ made it feel like a date.
‘Monica and Tony Sanchez, eh? Who’d have thought it?’ Eva said. She was laughing, but I didn’t care.
I couldn’t decide what to wear. My black dress was flattering but too frumpy. I needed something to transform the look – statement shoes – but I didn’t have any.
Eva did. Spiky-heeled yellow shoes with outsized bows. They weren’t her favourites, but I knew she would not lend them to me.
I crept towards the door, a tote held fast under my arm. From the landing Eva said, ‘You look nice. Very, err,’ she struggled for a quietly insulting remark, ‘refined.’ A heel jabbed at my ribs as I quickened my pace.
The club was packed and no one could see my feet. But Tony was attentive – we sat on bar stools and talked and talked and talked. We made each other laugh.
Later, as we walked to the taxi rank, Tony took hold of my hand. My palms were sweaty, my feet ached. The yellow shoes click-clacked on the pavement.
‘They Eva’s shoes?’
I shrugged and looked down.
‘She wasn’t worried you’d look better in them?’
‘No danger of that,’ I mumbled, twirling strands of hair round a finger.
‘She is lovely, that twin of yours.’ He emphasized ‘twin’ and his tone was jocular.
‘Non-identical twin.’ I cursed the shoes; they reminded him of Eva. My confidence evaporated.
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