Christopher's Medal

by S. A. Laybourn

  * * * *

  “Whaddup, Gracey. You’re even quieter than usual this morning.” Billy passed her a cigarette as they rode their horses away from the all-weather gallop. The wintry sun glistened on the wet grass. Pockets of frost lingered beneath the trees alongside the horse walk.

  “Chris phoned me this morning.”

  “That’s a good thing isn’t it?”

  “Not this time, Billy. He scared me. I know he was in a hurry because they were all having to take turns on the phone, but he wasn’t right. He sounded so sad and so…so…empty. I just think of what they’re all up against over there and I feel sick and scared.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Gracey. I don’t know him like you do. Perhaps he’s just tired. It’s got to be wearing, dodging bullets and wondering when the next bomb’s going to go off.”

  “There are times”—she took a deep draw on her cigarette—“when I wish I hadn’t done that bloody history degree. All these bloody, fucking wars and all they do is bugger up people’s lives.”

  “He’s got three months left. He’ll make it. Don’t worry. He’ll have you to make him better when he gets home.”

  “That can’t happen soon enough.”

  “It will come, Gracey. I know it will.”

  “I hope you’re right, Billy. I really do.”

  “Just think.” He gave her a huge grin. “We’ll all know what you’ll be doing that week. Door locked, curtains drawn…”

  Grace laughed, in spite of everything. “You really are a filthy bugger, Billy Riley.”

  “I learned from the best, Gracey.”

  * * * *

  Grace leaned in the tack room doorway and stared across the yard. Behind her, Jane and Pavel bickered about football over their mugs of instant coffee while the morning DJ on the local radio station read through a list of birthdays. She scarcely paid attention. Christopher’s phone call had left her sleepless and fretting. Her head was muzzy and half-formed thoughts drifted through her mind while she tried to wake up.

  “In Afghanistan today, soldiers from the Grenadier Guards Regiment were engaged in a gun battle with insurgents after a roadside bomb halted a convoy. Three men sustained injuries from the bomb and five more were wounded during the gun battle that followed. All were airlifted to the Field Hospital at Camp Bastion…”

  Grace was aware that everyone in the tack room had stopped what they were working on and were looking at her in the heavy silence that followed after Pavel sprang across the room and turned the radio off. She wanted to be sick. “It’s all right,” she told them as she fumbled to light a cigarette with shaking hands. “It’s all right. He’ll be fine.”

  Pavel lit the cigarette for her. “Yes, Soldier will be fine. Don’t worry. Afghans dirty bastards, he beat them.”

  She nodded weakly and slumped down on the traveling trunk. She was aware that Jane was squeezing her shoulder. “It’s okay, Grace. He’ll be fine. He’s a good soldier.”

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at it. It was fully charged, just in case. “Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose we’d better get this next lot out, or we’ll never get finished. Come on, everyone, saddle up.”

  The phone rang just as they were about to jump off on the Round Gallop. Grace sat hard on the excitable two-year-old and groped for her phone. “Oh, Jesus.” She felt everything inside slip down toward her feet.

  “Gracey?” Billy grabbed the horse’s reins as Grace slid down from its back and opened the phone.

  She leaned against the horse and trembled. “Sally?”

  “Grace…did you hear the news?”

  “About an hour ago. Please tell me it wasn’t Chris.”

  “I wish I could. Two officers have just been to see Mum.”

  She knotted her fingers into the horse’s mane. “Is he all right?”

  “Chris was one of the ones caught by the bomb. The shrapnel tore up his leg. That’s how the fight started. He was walking alongside a lorry when the bomb went off. As soon as someone tried to get to him, the enemy opened fire. The men who were shot were the ones who managed to drag him and the others out of harm’s way.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “They had to wait ages for the helicopter because of the fighting. He lost a lot of blood, but there was a medic and he kept him alive. He gave him plasma and managed to stop the bleeding.”

  “God.” Grace screwed her eyes shut. The horse leaned back against her and snorted. “Will he be all right? Please tell me he’s going to be all right.”

  There was a long pause. “He was in theatre for ages, but they managed to take all the shrapnel out. As soon as they’re okay with his condition, they’ll fly him home. The soldiers seemed to think he’d be taken to the Queen Elizabeth hospital. They deal with a lot of soldiers there, the shrapnel cases, anyway.”

  “God,” Grace repeated. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Her legs trembled and the world seemed to stand still. Silence fell around her like a fog.

  “I know. I’m so sorry, Grace. When Chris asked me to be the one to phone you, I never thought I’d have to do it. I hate having to do this.”

  “I’d rather it was you than a stranger.” Grace tried to imagine how Sally felt, having to be the one to break the news or, worse, how Margaret felt opening the door to find two soldiers on her doorstep. “I’m so sorry you had to be the one to tell me. How’s your mum?”

  “Scared, shaky and I’m going round there later, as soon as I can figure out what to do with the kids. I don’t want them running around screaming and making things worse. I’ll phone you as soon as I hear anything new. Don’t worry, hopefully the worst is over now. He’ll be home soon and we’ll be able to see him. It’ll be all right.”

  Grace could tell that Sally was trying to sound bright, but was failing. “Yes. Everything will be all right. At least he’ll be out of there, out of harm’s way.” She didn’t know what else to do or say.

  “Will you be all right? Do you want to come down and stay with us?”

  It would’ve been so tempting to say yes, to take refuge somewhere else and share the worry. She wanted to be home. Home was where she knew Christopher best. His photographs were there, his things—the toothbrush in the stand, his shaving gear and cologne in the medicine cabinet. “I’ll be all right. I’ll stay here. I need to be here at the moment.”

  “I can understand that.” Sally’s voice was soft, shaky. “I’ll phone you as soon as I hear anything. Take care, Grace.”

  “Thanks.” She closed the phone with one hand and turned her face into the horse’s neck.

  “Grace?” Billy’s hand was light on her shoulder. “Is he all right?”

  She couldn’t answer. She clutched at the horse’s mane, bent over and vomited.

  “Boss?” Pavel scooped the hair away from her face and put his arm around her waist.

  “Gracey?”

  She heard her father’s voice from a long way away. Someone must’ve phoned him. Pavel helped her walk while Billy led the horses. She collapsed in her father’s arms, sobbing. No one spoke. She knew that they were all standing around her. She could hear the restless jingle of the horse’s bits and Jane whispering into her phone. Grace knew she was right to stay home. They loved her here. They knew her. She heard her father telling people who were riding past, who asked, that she would be all right. That she’d had a bit of bad news. It would be all over Newmarket by lunchtime.

  “Come on, let’s get you home.” He helped her toward the car and Grace could barely see. She only knew that Pavel was murmuring something in Russian that sounded like a prayer.

  Back at the house, Grace still couldn’t talk. She sank down on the settee and stared at her hands.

  “What happened, Grace?” Her father’s voice was gentle.

  “He’s been hurt, Dad. That story that was on the news this morning. He was one of the men injured by the bomb. The men who were shot were shot because they got him and the others out of harm’s way.” Her throat felt raw.
Words were hard to put together. “His leg was torn up by the shrapnel.” Grace took a deep, shuddering breath. “They’re waiting until he’s stable before they move him.” She started to cry again, hiding her face in his coat. “Dad, I’m so scared. I just want him to be all right. I just want him back.”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s in good hands.” He kissed her hair. “It’s okay, Grace. Why don’t you come to the house and let your mother look after you. I don’t think you should be on your own.”

  “I’ll be fine. He’s coming home. I want to stay here. This is where Chris is, Dad. He’s all around me here.”

  “All right, love. If that’s what you want.”

  Grace nodded. She just wanted peace and quiet and a chance to think, to worry about the future and whether Christopher would make it through. She wandered into the kitchen and spooned coffee into the cafetière. While she waited for the kettle to boil, she leaned over the sink and stared blankly out of the window, still trying to absorb the news. Outside, life in the yard went on without her. Harry led a fractious filly away from the walker, while Dave led the next lot through the gates. It seemed impossible that Christopher was lying wounded in a military base thousands of miles away.

  “God, keep him safe. Bring him home.” Grace closed her eyes, fighting the burn of tears. She was scared of what she was up against, what they would both be up against, but she told herself that at least his war was over and he would soon be home.

  * * * *

  Grace heard the phone in a fog. It was still dark. She glanced at the clock. It was five in the morning.

  “Sally?”

  “Grace?”

  “It’s me.” She clutched the phone and closed her eyes. “Is Chris all right?”

  “They’re bringing him home. He’s stabilized enough that the doctors think he’s well enough to be moved here. They’re taking him to Queen Elizabeth Hospital.”

  “Is he conscious? Did they tell you anything?”

  “I think he’s heavily sedated, because of the pain. That’s all they really said. He should be there by tonight. They’ll take the wounded men by helicopter to Kandahar and put them on a plane there.” Sally paused. “I’m just glad he’s on the way home.”

  “Yes.” Grace fell back onto the pillow. “So am I.” She just wanted to see him, to reassure herself that he was all right, that he’d recover from his injuries.

  “I’ll let you know what time he’s due there.”

  “Yes. Thank you. I’ll be there. I’ll be waiting.” Oh, dear God, how do I cope with this? Grace put the phone down and looked up at the ceiling. She told herself that it would be all right, that no matter how badly he was hurt, they would cope. She just wanted him home.

  Christopher’s car needed a good, long run and Grace decided to drive it to Selly Oak after Sally phoned her to tell her Christopher was on the way home. Her phone rang while she sped along the A14 and she reluctantly pulled into the inside lane, slowed down and answered it.

  “Grace?” Emily’s Belgravia drawl was a relief to hear.

  “It’s me. I’m on my way to Birmingham.”

  “Howie phoned me last night. He told me what happened. Are you all right, dear?”

  “I’ll feel a lot better once I’ve seen Chris.” She took a deep breath. “I’m scared. I’m scared about what I’ll find when I get there.”

  “It’ll be all right. He’s in the best place.”

  “What happened?”

  “Howie said there was an ambush. The IED was remote-controlled and was intended to stop the convoy. When it stopped, the insurgents opened fire. The force of the blast knocked Chris off the road and out into the open. If it wasn’t for all the blowing dust…well…he was very lucky.”

  Grace’s stomach rolled and her hand tightened on the steering wheel. She wanted to faint. Instead she pulled onto the hard shoulder and sat, shaking.

  “Grace? Are you still there?”

  “Yes.” She turned off the engine and stared blankly at the plowed field beyond the verge. The car shook as lorries thundered past. “I just didn’t realize how easily he could’ve been killed. Oh, God.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. I think I just need to see him.” She wished the journey was over, that she didn’t have another hour’s drive ahead of her.

  “It will put your mind at ease.” Emily’s voice was gentle. “He’ll be fine. Don’t forget, if you need anything just let me know, even if it’s just to talk. Sometimes just having someone to talk to about these things helps.”

  Grace turned the key in the ignition. Sitting at the side of the road was not going to get her where she needed to be. “Thanks.” She eased the car back out onto the road. “This is all new territory to me, I don’t know what I’m going to do, how we’re going to get through this.” Grace couldn’t help thinking about Mark, about Christopher spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair. It didn’t matter. As long as he was alive, she would cope—they would cope.

  * * * *

  They were all waiting for her, Christopher’s family. The waiting area of the trauma ward was brightly lit and awash with false calm.

  Margaret hugged her. “The consultant is with him now. We haven’t seen him yet. He’s still unconscious.”

  Grace looked at the double doors that separated them from the ward. After all this time it seemed hard to believe that Christopher was on the other side of those doors, that he was so close. She sat next to Margaret and held her hand while they waited. Her stomach lurched every time the doors opened. Finally the doctor emerged, tall and important in his pristine white coat, a stethoscope slung casually around his neck. Half a dozen medical students followed in his wake like acolytes.

  “Mr and Mrs Beaumont?” He stood before them, his brow screwed into furrows. “I’m Doctor Chase.” He found another chair and pulled it up. “I’ve had a look at Captain Beaumont’s wounds, I’ve had a good look. They did a good job at Bastion but, then, they always do. The wounds were well irrigated and debrided.”

  “What does that mean?” Sally asked.

  “Tidied up would be the best way to describe it. The deeper wounds have been packed and he’s on antibiotics, because that’s always the biggest danger with this kind of wound, infection.” He wiped the end of his stethoscope on the lapel of his coat. “One of the fragments sliced into his femur so we’ve put him in a splint, too. It’s a fairly clean break, but it just makes his recovery that much slower. One or two of the wounds are very large and we’re looking at doing a couple of skin grafts.” He looked at Margaret, his eyes solemn. “He was lucky not to lose his leg. He could have a tough time ahead. He’ll need help.”

  Grace was aware that everyone had turned to look at her. “I’m his fiancée,” she told him. “I’ll be looking after him.”

  “I don’t know how these injuries will affect him in the long term. It’s highly likely that he’ll need physio. What’s your nearest hospital?”

  “Addenbrookes.”

  “That’s something, it’s a good hospital. When he’s ready to go home, I’ll refer him to someone there for outpatient treatment and physio. Chances are, he’ll be given exercises to do at home, he’ll probably need your help.”

  “That’s all right.” Grace would’ve done anything to make Christopher better.

  “It’s likely that there’ll be some long-term pain issues, not to mention mobility. It all depends how everything heals, how well the nerves grow back. Luckily, he’s in good physical condition. That will be a big help. We’ll have a clearer picture as time goes on. In the meantime, we all just have to be patient.”

  He stood up and put the chair back. His acolytes clustered around him once more. “You can see him now. He’s still unconscious. That’s our doing. He’s doped up to the eyeballs for the pain. But talk to him. Let him know you’re here. He may hear you and that’s a good thing. He’s in his own room so you’ll have privacy.” He shook their hands, leaving Grace until last. “Good luck
.”

  Grace decided that he didn’t have to add that she was going to need it. She already knew.

  * * * *

  Christopher looked so pale and still that Grace started to cry. She sat in the chair beside the bed and took his hand—it rested, warm and lifeless in hers while she stroked his fingers with her thumb. He still had the beard and it made him look gaunt and gray in the cool, white light of the room.

  “God, Chris. What have they done to you?” she whispered. There were tubes everywhere and, beneath the sheets, his left leg was covered by a frame. She kissed his forehead and his eyelids. “I love you so much and I promise I’ll do everything I can to make you better.”

  There was no response, just the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest.

  “I don’t care how long it takes. We’ll do this. We’ll get by.” She stroked his face. “I just want you back with me.”

  She rested her head on his hand and prayed. She only hoped that it would be enough.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are you all here to see Captain Beaumont?” The ward sister glanced up as Grace and Christopher’s family walked toward his door for another visit. “If I may have a word.” She steered them toward the waiting area. “Captain Beaumont is conscious. I thought you should know that.”

  Grace felt relief wash through her. Sally took her hand and squeezed it.

  “But I need to warn you. Don’t expect him to be pleased to see you. He’s in a lot of pain, he’s a bit confused. He’s still not sure of what happened. He knows he’s in England and he knows that you’re all here and he doesn’t really want to see anyone.”

  “Do you think we should even see him?” Margaret asked. Grace blanched at the hurt in her eyes.

  “It’s probably not a good idea.”

  Grace could understand that. As much as she wanted to see Christopher, she wasn’t sure she was ready. She felt guilty at her relief. “How long do you think we should give him?”

  The sister shrugged. “I don’t know. He has a psychiatric evaluation later today. We may get some idea. Please, try not to be upset. It’s not a personal thing. He didn’t come round and decide he hates you all. He needs time.”