Christopher's Medal

by S. A. Laybourn

  Chapter Eight

  It didn’t seem right to Grace that the October morning should be so clear and bright and beautiful. She shivered as she stood on the vast parade ground of the regimental barracks and waited with his family for Christopher. Everyone was subdued, even Sally’s boys who stared, wide-eyed at the huge space.

  “There he is,” Sally’s youngest shouted out. “There’s Uncle Christopher.”

  Grace looked at the men filing out of the barracks and wondered how the child could possibly know, but, as she tried to find him in the crowd, he waved and ran toward them. She realized she had never seen him in combat gear and it seemed strange to reconcile the professional-looking soldier in desert camouflage with the man she had fallen in love with, who was rarely out of jeans. There was a flurry of hugs and Grace waited, knowing that she’d be last. She trembled while she watched him. Tall and striking, even dressed for war. The square was full of people, all saying goodbye and trying to fill the final moments before departure with brave chatter. She tried to ignore the row of buses, engines running, that waited beside the entrance.

  “Gracey.” He swept her up into his arms, squeezing her. His face was pressed to her neck. “God, Grace, this is so bloody hard.”

  Her eyes filled with quick tears. She fought them back. She wasn’t going to ruin the moment with tears. She had six months to cry as much as she wanted. “Yes, it bloody is,” she sniffed.

  “I promise I will do everything I can to get back to you. I should get a week’s leave sometime in January. I intend to spend it in bed, with you.”

  “I know you will. I still have your toothbrush, remember?” She cradled his head in her hands as he kissed her, a deep bruising kiss full of everything he obviously couldn’t say.

  “I love you so much, Gracey.”

  “Same here.” She kissed him back.

  He let out a long, shuddering breath and stepped back. Grace looked at him and wanted to fall to pieces.

  “I have something for you,” he told her. “It’s just some music. There’s a letter too.” He handed her a brown envelope. “Wait till you get home.” He fished in his pocket. “Here are the car keys. Ask one of the staff, they’ll show you where it’s parked. You look after it, Gracey, I don’t want you flying up the M11 at a hundred miles an hour.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.” She managed a feeble smile. “Tempting as it is.”

  Somewhere, from across the square, someone shouted an order.

  “Jesus. They don’t give us long.” He hugged her once more. “I’d better go. I’ll email you as soon as I can.”

  Grace nodded mutely.

  “We’re four and a half hours ahead of you.”

  It could’ve been a universe ahead. He was leaving her and that was bad enough. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Another kiss, quick and fierce. “Take care, Gracey. I’ll see you soon.”

  “And you, please be careful.”

  His hand slid down her arm, grasped her fingers one last time then fell away. He smiled at his family, blew her a kiss and walked away.

  Grace watched him go. He walked with the same easy grace as a good horse and, for a moment, she was pulled back to that first evening when a moment like this hadn’t even been considered a possibility.

  “Are you all right?” Sally’s arm was around her shoulder.

  “No, not really.” She took a deep breath and watched him climb on the bus. He turned on the step, waved then disappeared. She managed a smile. “But I’ll wait till I get home and then I’ll lock the door and have a good cry.”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll fly past, you’ll see.”

  Grace swallowed at the stubborn knot in her throat. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Margaret kissed her cold cheek. “Come on, darlings, let’s go and find somewhere to have some breakfast. I think we could all use it.”

  They stood and waited and watched the buses pull away. Grace waved at the bus that she saw Christopher climb onto. She wasn’t even sure if he could see her, but she would wave anyway, anything to show him she could cope with this.

  * * * *

  After breakfast, Grace made her way back to the barracks and, with some help, found Christopher’s car. She stood and looked at it for a little while, then plucked the leaves from the windscreen. She had never regarded cars as anything more than a means of getting from one place to another and a receptacle for rubbish, as numerous friends liked to point out. This car was different, low-slung and rakish, and Christopher’s one material indulgence.

  She opened the door and sat down. The seat was set far back to accommodate his long legs. She pulled it forward and closed the door. The scent of his cologne lingered and Grace shut her eyes to stop the tears. She couldn’t navigate the tortuous streets of London if she was crying but there were so many memories tied up with the car—the drives to country pubs, the trip to Pembrokeshire, visiting his parents, the way his long fingers curled around the gear shift. The leather seats were warm and spotless.

  Grace sighed and slipped the key into the ignition. The engine purred into life and she put the car in reverse. The prospect of nursing Christopher’s car through the traffic made her wish for a cigarette. She didn’t dare. Instead, she turned the CD player on and headed for the Victoria Embankment.

  The sun was brilliant on the Thames, glinting on the wavelets. The trees along the riverbank were beginning to turn, their leaves gilded by the light and the frost. She had forgotten how lovely London could be, not just a tangle of traffic and crowds. She rolled down the window and turned up the volume. For a while she could pretend that she belonged there, sitting in a sports car in a posh part of London…Grace Webb, Assistant Trainer and fiancée of a captain in the Grenadier Guards. There would be plenty of time to come down from the illusion and plenty of time to cry when she got home.

  * * * *

  Grace hated that the sun was still shining when she returned to the yard. She parked the car then went straight to the house. In a daze, she put the kettle on and made herself a cup of coffee before sitting down with the brown envelope. She stared at it for a moment, at her name neatly written and underscored, smiling as she pictured Christopher writing it. Jesus, this is going to be hard. She opened the envelope and pulled the CD case and the letter out. He hadn’t labeled and listed the tracks as he had in the past. It was just a clear plastic case. She unfolded the letter and lit a cigarette.

  My darling,

  This is a hard letter for me to write. It kills me to say goodbye to you, if only for a few months. At least it isn’t like it used to be in the bad old days, when soldiers would be sent to war and had no idea when they would return. Still, it’s going to be hard, so bloody hard.

  I want you to know how much I love you. I never expected to fall so fast and so hard. Love has never scared me the way it did when I fell for you. I can’t begin to count the times you’ve left me not only breathless but speechless. There are times when I’ve felt stupid and tongue-tied because I can’t believe that you love me. These past few months have been the happiest of my life and, when I return, I know we’ll have a lifetime together and I can’t wait. It’s that promise and the fact that you’re wearing my ring on your finger that gives me the strength to get through the months to come.

  Now, for the music, I didn’t label the CD because I didn’t want you to cheat and peek. I wanted you to find some time and really listen—every song means something to me, every song is for you. They’re all wrapped around the memories I have of you, from the song that came into my head when I first saw you, to the first time we made love, to tonight when I have to find the words to say goodbye to you. You may not have heard some of them. I think you’ll agree that my taste is probably a bit more eclectic than yours. Stop laughing, Gracey, I can hear you.

  I promise that I will keep in touch with you. It’ll be easy at our first FOB, but I don’t know what it will be like in the backcountry. I hear that things are better than they used to be with regard
to the internet. We shall see. If worst comes to worst, I’ll write to you. There’s something cathartic about putting pen to paper and something much more permanent about letters.

  I love you, Grace, more than I can ever find words to say.

  Chris.

  Grace wiped her eyes and fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. The words on the plain, white paper blurred before her eyes. If the letter had that effect, God alone knew what the music would do. She leaned over and slipped the CD into the player. She huddled into a corner of the settee and wrapped her arms around a cushion while the October sun streamed through the windows and music filled the room.

  As soon as she heard Leona Lewis sing the opening lines of The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, she hid her face in the cushion and sobbed. She didn’t stop crying until the last word of the last song, Every Time We Say Goodbye. Her eyes burned. Every song meant something. They tugged at her memory and left her raw and bleeding inside. Grace went to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. The blue and white striped shirt was still there. She slipped it off the hanger then crawled under the duvet and held onto the shirt and she cried herself to sleep.

  * * * *

  “Are you all right, darling?” her mother asked when Grace sank down at the kitchen table. “You look like you’ve been crying…a lot.”

  Grace rubbed her eyes and took a sip of her tea. “Yes, more or less all afternoon.”

  “It’ll be okay. Six months isn’t very long.” She put her arm around her shoulders. “Stay and have tea with us. There’s plenty. I don’t like to think of you sitting over there on your own, not when you’re so down.”

  “Thanks, Mum.” Grace managed a smile. The stew smelled good and the huge kitchen was a haven of gold light and warmth.

  “You know what your Dad’s going to say, don’t you?” She sat down in another chair.

  “Yes, I know. ‘Best to keep yourself busy, Gracey. I’ve plenty for you to do.’”

  “Exactly, and it’s good advice. Sitting around moping won’t do either you or Christopher any good. He wouldn’t want that, would he?”

  “No, Mum, he wouldn’t. But I’m not going to watch the news for the next six months. I don’t think I can bear that.”

  “I don’t blame you, sweetheart.”

  “How did this happen?” Grace looked at her mother. “How did it happen so fast? He just snuck right in there under my skin and that was it. I was done for.” The ring glittered on her finger. “Now I’m engaged to a soldier who’s in the worst place in the world. I know my history degree was useless, but I learned one thing that scares the hell out of me, Mum. I learned that no one has ever managed to sort that country out. I never talked to Chris about it, but I know what they’re like. They want to be left alone with their warlords and their tribal squabbles and they won’t stop fighting until the last soldier is gone.” She took another sip of tea. “I thought we were all supposed to learn from our past mistakes, that’s what studying history is all about. At least, that’s what I thought it was about. I guess I was wrong.”

  “Darling, things are different now.”

  “No, Mum, they’re not. Look at the Russians, they had tanks and modern weapons and they still ended up getting stuffed. I’m just glad that he’s only there for six months, at least there’s an end to it.”

  “I’d forgotten about that.” Her mother patted Grace’s hand. “Try not to worry, darling. I know it’s easy for me to say. As you say, at least it’s only for six months and then it will be all over. Then you’ll have a wedding to plan and you can spend the rest of your lives together.”

  “It seems like forever, Mum, but you’re right, once those months are out of the way, it’ll be different and I can’t bloody wait.”

  * * * *

  Darling,

  Here I am, all nice and warm in my cozy billet at FOB Gibraltar. Sadly, it’s only for a little while, until we head farther south, but I’m enjoying having my own room in the brand-new barracks here. This place has all mod cons, it even has a Pizza Hut. The best thing, though, is the internet. I’ll enjoy this while I can.

  The journey here was tedious. I slept as much as I could, but I kept dreaming of you and then I’d wake up to find a colleague snoring on my shoulder. What a bloody letdown. God, Gracey, I miss you so much already.

  I’ve got to go, this was only a quick note to let you know that I arrived in one piece. I’ll keep an eye out and IM you if you’re online when I am. I’ve attached a couple of photos so you can see the cushy lodgings.

  I love you, Gracey.

  Chris.

  Grace clicked on the first attachment. The photo showed a small room with a single bed, desk and a wardrobe. His jacket was flung across the bed and the window showed nothing but night. She smiled when she opened the second attachment. Christopher had had someone else take the photograph. He sat on the edge of the bed, a half-smile and a night’s worth of stubble on his face. His eyes were huge and dark. She touched the monitor screen and bit her lip. He’d been gone all of thirty-six hours and it already felt like a lifetime. She put a piece of photo paper in the printer and printed the picture off. If nothing else, as long as he had his camera, she could see him.

  Well, hello, Handsome.

  It was lovely to get your email and the added bonus of the photos. I must admit, your lodgings look very nice, considering the circumstances. I’m glad you get a bit of comfort before you head out into the wild frontier.

  Things are OK here. I’ve just decided that the best thing to do is to keep busy. Dad, of course, thinks that’s a great idea, because he’ll get twice as much work out of me for the same amount of money. Anyway, it’s that cold that it’s best to keep moving. We couldn’t do much on the Heath this morning because the grass gallops were frosted up, so it was the all-weather for us.

  Darling, thank you for the CD, it was beautiful and I cried the whole way through it. When I’m done with evening stables tonight, I shall do the same thing for you. I have plenty of songs in mind, I’ve been thinking about them all morning. I’ve also decided that, for every photo you send, I shall send one back. I’ve pressed Jane into being my official photographer, so here’s the first one. Yours truly with the tool of her trade (pitchfork).

  I miss you so much. I’m just glad that we can keep in touch like this, instead of how it was in the old days with letters and long waits in between. I slept with your shirt last night, the blue and white one that you were wearing on the night we met. I know it’s silly, but it made me feel a teeny bit better.

  I love you, Chris. I really do.

  Grace.

  * * * *

  Captain Chris: Gracey, darling, are you there?

  The messenger box popped up as Grace finished studying the online form for the next day’s races. Her heart hammered against her ribs and her hands shook as she typed a response.

  GraceyW: Yes, I’m here. What time is it there?

  Captain Chris: It’s nearly midnight. I stayed awake, hoping I’d catch you and use the laptop. I wanted to say goodnight.

  GraceyW: I’m glad you’re awake. I’ve missed you.

  Captain Chris: I know, same here, baby. Miss you so much. Taking lots of cold showers. Are you still dressed or getting ready for an early night?

  GraceyW: I’m still dressed. It’s too early for bed!

  Captain Chris: You’re still dressed? I insist that from now on, we conduct these conversations in a state of undress.

  Grace giggled.

  GraceyW: That wouldn’t do either of us any good. This house is too cold tonight for cold showers.

  Captain Chris: No, I don’t suppose it would. I don’t think I could bear the torment. It’s bad enough as it is. I love you, Gracey.

  GraceyW: I love you too.

  She bit her lip.

  Captain Chris: Did my boxes arrive yet?

  GraceyW: No, not yet. I’ve had Harry keeping an eye out while I’m riding out. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know when they get here.

 
Captain Chris: I don’t want to clutter up your spare room.

  GraceyW: There’s nothing else in there. Just bits and pieces. I like the idea that your things will be here. It’s not the same as having you here, but it’s better than nothing.

  Captain Chris: You can open the clothes box and have your pick of shirts to sleep with…kinky girl.

  GraceyW: I like the blue and white one. It has good memories.

  Captain Chris: I wish I’d taken something of yours.

  GraceyW: I can send you something, if you like.

  Captain Chris: I want your old slapper T-shirt, because I know you are not sending me knickers.

  Grace laughed.

  GraceyW: I’m definitely not sending you my manky old knickers. I’ll send the old slapper T-shirt. It’s my favorite but, because I love you, I’ll let you have it.

  Captain Chris: Will you sleep in it first, Gracey? I just want to be able to remember how you smell when you sleep.

  GraceyW: I’ll do that.

  Captain Chris: Thanks. If I can’t have you, at least I’ll have something. Darling, I’d better go. I’ve just realized I’ve got to be up in five hours. I just wanted to talk to you.

  GraceyW: I’m glad you did.

  Captain Chris: Goodnight, Grace, I love you.

  GraceyW: Goodnight, Chris. I love you too.

  Captain Chris is offline.

  The blank, white box glowed in the evening darkness like a ghost, which brought silence with it. Grace stared at it for a long time before she switched the laptop off.

  * * * *

  The boxes arrived the following morning. Grace stood in the doorway of the spare room and looked at them. Half a dozen plain boxes, labeled in Christopher’s tidy hand—two with books, two with clothes, one endearingly marked ‘odds and sods’ and one, smaller one on which was written, ‘Grace, don’t you dare open this until Christmas. I’ve got my eyes on you’. Next to this he had drawn two round googly eyes.

  “Gracey?” Jane called through the door. “Is everything all right?”

  “I think so… I don’t know… I’m not sure.” She returned to the kitchen and to the boiling kettle. “I knew it was going to be hard, I just didn’t realize how hard. I can’t stop wanting to cry.”