The Soldier's Return

by Rose Meddon

  For a moment, she felt certain he had said that Luke was alive. But, obviously, he couldn’t have. Luke was dead. His vehicle had been hit by a shell. They had held a service of remembrance for him. She had worn her widow’s weeds.

  Feeling Naomi grasping her hands tighter still, she pulled them away from her. No. This made no sense. None at all. ‘So…’ But she couldn’t even think what to ask. Luke was alive? ‘So…’

  ‘It would seem,’ Lawrence continued, and with which she saw him glance briefly to Naomi, ‘that although his vehicle was hit by a shell, he was not the soldier driving it. On the day in question, his own vehicle wouldn’t start and, since his mission was an urgent one, unbeknown to me, he commandeered a motorcar. Later, when the problem with his usual vehicle was fixed, it was taken out by someone else. And that is when it was hit by a shell.’

  ‘So…’ But still she couldn’t make sense of this. If Luke hadn’t been dead all these weeks, then where had he been? And where was he now?

  Still squatting beside her, Lawrence glanced back to the letter. ‘Apparently, on the return leg of his journey, he found the way ahead blocked by a skirmish. So he took a different road, whereupon he became lost, ending up behind enemy lines and forced to hide out on a farm. Some days later, when one of our battalions was trying to re-take the area in question, there was a protracted battle and, as your husband was helping families to find cover, he took a rifle shot to the thigh. Once the village had been regained by our chaps, and he was being treated for his injury, the matter of his earlier mis-identification came to light. Kate, as soon as he is well enough to travel,’ Lawrence said, pausing to look up at her and smile, ‘he will be on his way back to you. He’s being sent home on medical leave.’

  With that, Kate felt her ears fill with a familiar rushing noise. And then everything went dark.

  * * *

  ‘Please, Kate, just take a sip. Mabel put plenty of sugar in it for the shock.’

  No matter how much Naomi pleaded, Kate didn’t want to sip sweet tea. Yes, she was almost certainly in shock. And, yes, she didn’t seem able to stop crying. But the reason behind her tears wasn’t – as Naomi clearly supposed – relief: it was guilt. It was guilt at how close she had come to accepting Rowley’s proposal of marriage, and it was guilt at the thought of how he must feel now, knowing that Luke was alive. Worse still, there was the guilt she felt for not leaping up and down with joy at the news, or for offering up thanks that Luke wasn’t dead after all. But the truth was that before she could celebrate Luke’s survival, she had to make her peace with Rowley. She had to apologize to him. No matter how distressing that might prove, he deserved more than to be simply forgotten about. And then, after that, she somehow had to bury what she felt certain was regret. Not that her decision to marry again had been easily taken. It hadn’t. All along she’d had a nagging suspicion that it was too soon to be considering remarrying – although not, she had to admit, because she had believed Luke was really still alive. Luke was alive. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t believe it. Daren’t believe it. They had told her he was dead. But all the time he had been alive. Oh, the relief of it! But oh, poor, decent Rowley; he didn’t deserve to have his hopes dashed in this way.

  Lifting her face from where it had been buried in the eiderdown, she reached into her sleeve for her handkerchief and blew her nose. She had to speak to him; although she could never have foreseen how things would turn out, she had to ask for his forgiveness. Only when she had done that would she be able to rest – and begin to come to terms with the news that Luke was coming home. Luke was coming home!

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, stuffing her handkerchief back into her sleeve and glancing at Naomi’s face. ‘I should like to just sit quiet for a moment. On my own.’

  Uncertainly, Naomi got to her feet. ‘Well… if you are sure you will be all right.’

  She nodded. ‘Perfectly sure.’

  ‘Only, I’ve seen how shock can affect people – cause them to misjudge things… have accidents.’

  Slowly, Kate shook her head. ‘You’ve no need to worry. I’m not going anywhere. I just need to… well…’

  ‘Yes,’ Naomi replied, smoothing a hand down the front of her dress. ‘You’re wary of becoming too excited until you can be completely certain that Luke really is alive and coming back to you.’

  ‘Yes!’ she said, exhaling with relief at spotting a perfectly credible reason for her singular reaction to the news. ‘Yes,’ she said again, taking care this time to measure her tone. ‘That’s it. I worry about getting my hopes up…’

  ‘Before you have more certain proof.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, on your behalf, Lawrence has already telephoned Wiltshire and, as we speak, is standing by for a return call from a Major Somebody-or-other. The moment he hears from him, and we have it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, I shall come and get you.’

  In furtherance of her charade, Kate swung her stockinged feet back up onto her bed and reclined against her pillow. ‘Before you go,’ she said, ‘do you think you might draw the curtains across?’

  One day, she would be called to account for all of this deceit. In the meantime, it couldn’t be helped. To stand any chance of speaking to Rowley, she had first to get rid of Naomi.

  With the room in darkness and Naomi having finally left, she lowered her feet back down to the floor, poked them into her shoes, and tiptoed across to the window. Tweaking apart the curtains, she scanned the gardens. Beneath the cedar tree, Mabel and Edith were clearing away the remnants of the tea party. Of anyone else, there was no sign. Pulling the curtains back one over the other, she crossed the room, eased open the door, and then peered out onto the landing. Good – no one in either direction.

  Holding her breath, she slipped out into the corridor and, very carefully, closed the door behind her. Rowley had been occupying a room on the bachelors’ landing, which led off the far side of the stairwell. And so, drawing a deep breath, she stole towards it. Arriving at the staircase, she stopped to peer over the balustrade. The only voices she could hear seemed to be coming from some distance away – at least as far as the drawing room – and so she continued on around the semi-circular gallery and, at the far side, went up the couple of steps onto the bachelors’ landing. Breathing heavily now, she paused. So far, so good.

  Ahead of her, the door to one of the rooms on the left was showing a crack of light. Good – if the door was ajar, then presumably he was in there. Feeling her heart thudding, she went towards it. Then, careful not to knock too loudly, she tapped three times. For a while, there was no sound from the other side. But, as she raised her hand to knock again, the door opened back and there he stood, his collar unfastened, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the dishevelled state of his hair suggesting he had been repeatedly clutching at it.

  ‘Kate.’

  At least he didn’t seem angry. At least he hadn’t slammed the door on her.

  Relieved, she unfurled her hands. ‘May I come in? Only, I need to talk to you, and I can’t really do that from out here.’ When he shrugged his shoulders and stood aside, she mumbled her thanks. But, once inside, she stayed close to the door and directed her eyes to the floor. To venture any further felt wrong, to look around at his possessions even more so – an invasion of his privacy.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said without looking up from the rug.

  ‘Perhaps not as sorry as I am.’ She heard him reply.

  ‘If I’d thought for a moment… I would never even have entertained—’

  ‘If I’d thought for a moment that your husband was still alive, I wouldn’t have asked you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Cruel fate.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Seeing his feet coming nearer, she looked sharply up. He looked utterly broken.

  ‘You were going to say yes, weren’t you?’

  Feeling tears welling, she bit hard on the side of her tongue. But, on this occasion, the dull pa
in did nothing to stop her eyes from brimming over. Fumbling in her sleeve, she drew out her handkerchief and dabbed with it at her face. ‘I would prefer not to say.’

  ‘But you were, I know it. Watching you earlier today, I could tell. You had a… you had a… a sort of glow.’

  Again, she bit on her tongue, this time harder, to stop herself from answering him. Admitting that she had indeed been going to accept him would do nothing to help either of them.

  ‘What will you do now?’ she asked. Though she knew it shouldn’t matter to her, she found that it did; if nothing else, she couldn’t bear to think of him ending up somewhere he didn’t want to be.

  Letting out a long sigh, he thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Well, I was going to look for a cottage for us to rent in a village close to my new posting but, clearly, I shan’t be needing that now. So, I suppose that instead, I shall take a room in a house, and hope for a landlady whose cooking is at least tolerable.’ She swallowed hard. It was precisely what she had hoped not to learn. ‘Kate,’ he said, reaching for her hands and taking tight hold of them, ‘Come with me. It’s not too late.’

  When, in her alarm, she shrank away from him, he let her go. ‘Rowley, I can’t. And you know that.’

  By way of response, he gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘This war has wreaked havoc with my sense of humour.’

  She frowned. He hadn’t mean it as a joke; she knew he hadn’t.

  ‘I ought to go,’ she said, growing uncomfortable. But, before turning away from him, something made her go on to ask, ‘When will you leave?’

  ‘On the first train tomorrow morning. I shall depart early – before breakfast. I had thought to go tonight – take a room in Westward Quay, but I didn’t want to leave you in a fix – you know, have people drawing conclusions about the timing of your news and my sudden departure.’

  Oh, dear God. Considerate to the end. And now that she was stood here with him, the prospect of his leaving made something in her chest feel as though it was splitting in two. ‘Thank you.’ She somehow managed to reply.

  Oddly, having determined to take her leave of him, she found that her feet wouldn’t let her turn away. But she had to; this was it. This dear man, to whom in different circumstances she might have become married, had to leave. He had to. This was goodbye. She would never see him again.

  Quickly taking the single step needed to close the gap between them, she leant across and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re a fine man,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m so truly sorry. I really am.’

  Somehow, from there, she managed to make it all the way back to her room, close the door and turn the key in the lock, before all of the tears she had been holding back came streaming down her face. Blinded by them, she kicked off her shoes, climbed onto her bed, and curled into a ball.

  Flooding out with her tears came feelings she could share with no one: deep, deep sadness for Rowley, and the excruciating guilt she felt for allowing herself to be the cause of his pain. And, yes, there was regret, too. But all of those things, she knew for certain, would pass. And she knew it because the other feeling welling up from deep within her, was one of the most intense relief: her dearest Luke was alive. And he was coming home.

  * * *

  More unbearable than she could ever have imagined; that was how it felt to be forced to spend one day after another in limbo – one day after another with little to do but wait.

  It was now ten days since Kate had received the news of Luke, and yet still she’d had no word from him – just a type-written letter from the army confirming that, in due course, Corporal Channer would be arriving home on medical leave. At the bottom of that single-page missive, a handwritten postscript had been added to say that no doubt Corporal Channer would get word to her, through the usual channels – whatever they were – just as soon as he was in a position to do so.

  On this particular afternoon, she was sitting in the drawing room – the weather too uninviting for her to want to venture out of doors – half listening to Ned reading Esme the story of Thumbelina. Eventually, unable to sit still any longer, she got to her feet.

  ‘You do know, don’t you, that you’re wearing out the rug,’ Ned observed, breaking off from the fairy tale and glancing up. ‘Not to mention the soles of your shoes.’

  ‘I’m wearing out my nerves more,’ she replied, returning to sit heavily back in her chair.

  ‘You don’t fancy a stroll?’

  She glanced to the window. ‘It’s threatening rain.’

  ‘Ah. Then you will just have to sit quietly like Esme is doing and find out what happens to Thumbelina now that she’s met her flower-fairy prince.’

  ‘Yes, Aunty Kate,’ Esme agreed, the look on her face a stern one. ‘Be quiet for story.’

  With that, and seeing Naomi appear in the doorway, she sighed yet again; someone else to try and coax her into doing something.

  ‘Kate, I think you might want to come through.’

  Just as she had suspected: now what had Naomi dreamt up for her to do? Only, whatever it was, and no matter how well-meant, she just wanted to be left alone to wait in peace. For anything else, her mind was completely useless – distracted in the extreme. ‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’

  ‘Let me put that to you another way,’ Naomi persisted.

  Hearing her coming further into the room, Kate turned more fully to look at her. On her face was the broadest of smiles.

  ‘What? Is he here?’ Feeling suddenly short of breath, she scrabbled to her feet. ‘He never is!’

  ‘The station taxi is just coming up the drive.’

  ‘Lord alive,’ she breathed. ‘And here’s me without so much as a comb dragged through my hair. Just like him to turn up when I’m not fit to be seen.’

  ‘Come on,’ Naomi coaxed, extending a hand. ‘I can’t imagine he’ll be the least bit concerned by a few stray hairs.’

  With her heart pounding in her chest, Kate skirted the end of the sofa and accepted Naomi’s hand. Sure enough, beyond the porch stood the station taxi, its nearside door opening back. Hardly daring to believe her eyes, she tried to gulp down her disbelief. From inside the motor, a khaki-clad leg appeared, followed, with some difficulty, by an arm and then a head bearing a cap. Heavens. It really was him. He was home. Her husband was back!

  Dropping Naomi’s hand, she ran the length of the hallway and darted straight out through the porch and onto the drive.

  Rounding the side of the taxi was the driver, carrying in his hand a crutch.

  ‘Here,’ she said, reaching to take it from him. ‘I’m his wife. Let me.’

  When Luke eventually lowered his other foot down to the gravel and slowly eased himself upright, she caught her first look at his face. His complexion was grey and his cheeks hollow. But there, in his eyes, was that unmistakeable glint, and on his lips, that mischievous grin.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Channer,’ he greeted her.

  Almost buckling under the weight of him leaning on her shoulder, she fiddled to position his crutch. ‘Back from the dead then, I see.’

  His grin grew wider still. ‘Aye,’ he replied, ‘you’re not the only one who can be obstinate, you know.’

  * * *

  ‘So, here we are then, the two of us. Mr and Mrs Channer.’

  It was later that same evening and, despite the fact that it had long since grown dark, Kate and Luke hadn’t moved from where they had been seated together on one of the benches under the cedar tree. In front of them, silhouetted against the indigo twilight, a dozen pipistrelles flitted back and forth, zig-zagging through the dusk in their search for supper.

  Exhaling a long and contented sigh, Kate angled her head to better see her husband’s face. ‘Yes,’ she replied, reassured by the familiarity of his profile, her voice little more than a warm murmur. ‘Here we are. Mr and Mrs Channer. And I can scarce believe it.’

  ‘When I found out they’d wrongly told you I’d been took, I tell you now, I was livid. All I could think
about was what hearing of my demise would have done to you – how it would have changed everything for you. And I wanted to swing for the dolt who hadn’t thought to proper check the identity of the poor feller who’d really bought it.’

  She snuggled back against his shoulder. It was comforting to hear that his first thought had been for her. ‘To listen to you earlier, telling of what happened over there, I do see how it happened,’ she said. ‘The confusing of you with some other poor soul, I mean.’

  Beneath her weight, Luke shifted his position. ‘Don’t suppose it was the first time there’s been such a mix up. And I daresay it won’t be the last, either.’

  ‘But you’re here now,’ she went on, feeling the warmth of his shoulder through the cloth of his shirt. ‘Home where you belong. Safe.’

  ‘And, if fate is on my side, I shan’t have to go back out there again, either,’ he remarked. ‘With a fair wind, the last of it will be over before I’m anywhere near fit enough to be sent back—’

  ‘You most certainly won’t be fit enough,’ she said, giggling. ‘Rest assured I shall see to that myself.’

  Pulling away to look at her face, he grinned. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Trust me,’ she said, grinning back at him. ‘I know a good deal about getting legs to heal and, more importantly, the myriad reasons why they don’t. Quite the expert I’ve become. Not that I’d thought to have further use for it, all that knowledge I’ve picked up from Nurse Hammond. I certainly hadn’t thought I might one day make use of it to keep my own husband at home.’

  ‘Handy,’ Luke remarked, the mischief in his tone precisely as she remembered it. ‘And what other skills have you picked up while I’ve been gone? What else have you been up to that I should know about?’

  She knew straight away that he wasn’t expecting an answer to that – she could tell from his tone that he was pulling her leg. He’d already remarked, more than once, that they were where they were, four years down the road, and that all he wanted now was to make a proper start on married life. Even so, she couldn’t help herself. ‘I’ve learned more things than I’ve time to tell you tonight, that’s for sure,’ she replied in similar vein. ‘You wouldn’t believe the half of it.’