Christopher's Medal

by S. A. Laybourn

  “He’s only been gone for a couple of days. It’ll get easier.”

  “I hope so.” She spooned coffee into the cafetière. “I don’t think I could survive six months of constant whining and weeping. I’ll be worn out or someone will have murdered me in order to shut me up.”

  “I wish I knew what to say.”

  Grace poured the coffee into the mugs and handed Jane the biscuit tin. “Just slap me if I whine too much. I’ll try and mope in private.”

  “All right, then. I can do that.” Jane grinned. “Shall I put up a sheet in the tack room so that people can sign up and take turns?”

  She laughed. “Like that scene in that film, Airplane!, where they all lined up to smack the hysterical woman? Yes, that might work.”

  “At least you have the internet, that’s something, and you can talk to each other.”

  “It’s a good thing, but it’s also a bad thing. When we spoke last night and I just wanted to crawl into his arms. I wanted to touch him. It was so hard.” She sighed. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it in time. Probably in about six months.”

  “Just think of the reunion you’ll have. You won’t be able to walk for days.”

  “You dirty mare.” Grace giggled. “Now, stop it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Panicked thumps and squeals reverberated through the yard. Grace dropped her pitchfork and ran along the path toward Allonby’s box where Harry stood by the door, his eyes wide.

  “He’s cast, Boss. Flat on his back, he is.”

  “Shit.” Grace watched Allonby struggle in vain to find his feet. His eyes were white-rimmed with panic. “Go fetch a rope or the lunge line and be quick about it.”

  “Yes, Boss.” Harry hurried away.

  Grace put her hand on the latch and tried to gauge how best to slip past the colt’s flailing legs. Harry returned puffing and panting.

  “Stand by the door,” she told him. “I’m going to try and sit on his head to calm him down. Hopefully, we won’t need the rope.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Harry eyed her doubtfully.

  “Yes, I’m sure. It’s not like there’s anyone else around at the moment.” Grace slipped the bolt, took a deep breath and waited for a lull in the thrashing.

  “Be careful, Boss.”

  Grace nodded and lunged forward, slipping past Allonby’s forelegs before they struck out once more. She collided with the manger and winced, but she was behind the colt. Harry was an anxious shadow in the doorway.

  “Steady on, mate.” Grace kept a wary eye on Allonby’s legs and inched toward him. He snorted and rolled his eye at her. His flared nostrils were brilliant with scarlet. Grace took another deep breath and lowered herself carefully until she straddled Allonby’s head. He snorted and quivered. Grace watched his legs uneasily. Harry murmured a prayer. With a soft grunt, the colt stilled.

  “You big, daft thing.” She stroked his neck. “What have you done?”

  He lowered his head to the straw and rolled onto his side. Grace eased away. Her heart hammered against her ribs in the silence.

  “All right now, big fella?” She tugged at Allonby’s ear with an unsteady hand.

  Allonby snorted and Grace stood back when he scrambled to his feet. He looked at her, trembling. Late morning light turned the straw dust to gold.

  “Come here.” Grace fumbled in her pocket for a mint and held out her hand. “Have a treat.”

  The colt edged forward and lipped the mint from her hand. Grace held his head collar and glanced down at his legs.

  “Shit.” Everything inside lurched downwards. Grace led the horse to the wall and clipped his head collar to the rope. She dropped to her knees and ran a cautious hand down his off foreleg. “What have you done, idiot boy?”

  A thin trickle of blood ran from an angry gash halfway down Allonby’s cannon bone. “Harry.” Grace tried to keep her voice even. “I need to phone the vet.” She unfastened the rope and led Allonby from the box. He hobbled, favoring the injured leg. “He’s got a nasty cut on his leg. It needs hosing. Make the water as cold as you can and keep it running.” She watched Allonby follow Harry with his usual meekness. His limp broke her heart.

  Please, God, not his tendon, oh Jesus.

  By the time the vet arrived, Grace’s father had returned from the gallop. They gathered in the hose room while the vet examined Allonby’s leg. Grace held Allonby’s lead rope and stroked his nose.

  “How bad is it, Brian?” Grace’s father leaned in the doorway, his face gray.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Ed…it’s not good.” The vet leaned over and turned on the ultrasound scanner. “I’ll soon tell you.” He passed the scanner over Allonby’s leg and stared at the screen. He paused and moved the scanner slowly, carefully. “See for yourself.” Brian sighed.

  Grace’s father peered at the screen. Brian pointed to a dark gash in a fine mesh of threads. “There’s your trouble. Nasty bit of tendon damage there. I’m sorry.”

  “Shit.”

  Grace kissed Allonby’s nose. He sighed and pushed his head against her chest.

  “It’s amazing how much damage a stray hoof can cause.”

  “How long are we looking at?”

  Brian shrugged. “At least four months, probably longer.” He turned the scanner off. “The first thing is to keep the swelling to a minimum. Get him on bute. I’ll get you some antibiotics and then keep a pressure bandage on it. You’ll need to cold-hose it three or four times a day for the next couple of days.”

  “Is he fucked, Brian?”

  The vet’s shrug offered little comfort. “I don’t know. Just keep the swelling down and then in a couple of days I’ll come back and have a look. Then it’s the heat pads. More cold hosing. If we can keep everything managed for the next two or three weeks, then we’ll see how it looks. Until then, complete box rest.”

  “Thank Christ it happened now.” Grace’s father pinched the bridge of his nose and puffed out his cheeks. “We’ve got a good six months to get him right again.”

  Brian stood up. “Six months would be about right. He needs time.” He patted Allonby’s shoulder and looked at Grace. “Go ahead and bandage him up. Keep it tight. Mind, I don’t need to tell you what to do.”

  Grace led Allonby back to his stable and carefully wrapped the bandage around his leg. Harry had filled his hay net and the colt munched at the hay as if everything was all right in his world.

  “All right, Gracey?” Her father leaned over the stable door.

  Grace rose and knocked the straw from her jeans. “Yeah.”

  “This’ll keep you occupied.” He gave her a half smile. “I’m putting you in charge of this. You’re better at playing nurse than anyone else here.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She patted Allonby’s gleaming rump. “I think I need this.”

  “Yes you do. It’ll keep you from worrying too much about Soldier Boy.”

  “I hope so.” Grace closed the door behind her. “I bloody hope so.”

  * * * *

  Grace had just pulled up on the Round Gallop when her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She eased the three-year-old to a walk and pulled the phone out. It was a London number, one she didn’t recognize.

  “This is Grace.”

  “Grace? Hello. It’s Emily Edwards. You don’t know me.” The voice was very cut-glass. It made her think of Kensington, of twinsets and pearls and velvet hair-bands. Even worse, it reminded her of Pippa and the Wedding from Hell.

  No, I don’t. “How can I help you…erm…Miss Edwards?”

  “I hope you don’t mind my calling you out of the blue like this. Christopher gave me your number.”

  Grace remembered a piece of paper that Christopher had given her, with names and numbers of officer’s wives. “He did?”

  “I’m Major Edwards’ wife.”

  Grace pulled the horse to a halt. Christopher’s CO. She regretted her off-handedness. “Oh, I’m sorry, Chris gave me a bunch of numbers and names, but
I’m hopeless at names.”

  “That’s all right, I quite understand. How are you bearing up, dear?”

  “I’m coping. It’s been a long month, but I’m doing all right. We manage to keep in touch, when the internet’s working at the FOB.” She wanted her life back. The life before Christopher when she was just Grace, not Grace, fiancée of a serving soldier. As much as she loved him, it bothered her that her life was defined by missing him.

  “I know, it’s a pain, isn’t it? I think we were all spoiled when the boys were at Gibraltar.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Look, I won’t keep you long because I know from what Chris has told me that you’re a busy woman. Is there any chance you’d be able to join us for lunch one day next week? I try to have some of the officers’ wives around for lunch, now and then. I’d love it if you could come.”

  She knew so little of Christopher, the officer. This would give her a glimpse into that world. “I’d like that very much.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll phone you when I’ve spoken to the others and let you know when. It’ll be lovely to meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you and it would be nice to put a face to the name at last.”

  The horse raised its head and whinnied loudly at a passing string. Grace tightened her fingers around the reins.

  “Are you working, dear?”

  Grace laughed. “I’m sitting on a fidgety three-year-old colt in the middle of the Heath.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to work then. I’ll phone you later and give you the details.”

  Grace put the phone back in her pocket and shivered. A cold wind was rising out of the north, straight off the Wash. A few stray seagulls hovered above the grass and she remembered, with a sharp twist of pain, the last time she’d seen gulls. She patted the horse on the neck and turned him toward home.

  * * * *

  Hahahahaha, so Emily phoned you did she? Don’t worry, baby, you’ll be fine. You’ll light up the room, they’ll love you.

  I miss you. I hate being stuck in this godforsaken place that the Taliban like to use for target practice every day. I hate that the bloody internet doesn’t work half the time. I hate these damned meals-in-a-bag that we have to eat. What I wouldn’t give for a plate of steak and chips. We did buy some hens so at least we can have eggs with our breakfast. Which reminds me, could you send some sweets and chocolate? I’m wasting away here and I have an unholy craving for some Fruit Gums.

  Anyway, that’s enough whining from me. I’m sure you’d rather I didn’t bang on and on. At least there’s only five months left, it doesn’t sound quite so daunting as six months. Grace, I can’t wait. The photos you send keep me sane. I still can’t believe that you’re going to be my wife. You’re just beautiful, Gracey. God, I love you so much. It hurts to be away from you. All the emails and web cams in the world can’t make up for being with you, for making love to you, for waking up in the morning with you in my arms. I listen to that CD every day and I sleep with your shirt. I do everything I can to keep as close to you as I can.

  I should go. I’m so tired, darling. These patrols are so bloody wearing on the nerves.

  Sending another photo. Hope you like it. I thought you’d like to see our showers.

  Love you, Gracey.

  Chris.

  Grace clicked on the attachment and laughed aloud. The base’s shower appeared to consist of a pipe and spout, shielded on three sides by canvas beneath open sky. Christopher, wearing nothing but a strategically placed flannel, grinned impishly at the photographer. The smile was made more devilish by a few days’ growth of beard.

  Darling,

  I loved the photo, thank you. It made me laugh and I’m thinking that I might have to take it to lunch with me next week, what do you think? I’ve printed it off and shall keep it somewhere private. The beard suits you too. Your smile made something inside flip over. Beautiful boy, I miss you too. Five months doesn’t sound quite so bad, but it’s still too long. I can’t wait for you to make love to me, I can’t wait to see you again and feel your heart beat beneath my hand. Things here aren’t so bad. It’s a slow time of the year for us because we only have a handful of jumpers and only a couple who run on the all-weather. Most of the work is just keeping the rest ticking over. It’s probably just as well, it’s been hellishly cold so far this autumn. I’m going through a lot of firewood in the evenings and I’ve dug the winter duvet out already. It’s still not enough, it just won’t do until you come home to me.

  That lunch will be strange. Emily did sound very nice. I’m looking forward to it, although I loathe driving in London and I’m not looking forward to navigating my way through Belgravia, of all places. How very posh! I’m at a loss as to what to wear. I’ll probably have to ask Mum, she’ll know.

  Allonby is doing okay. I still walk him around the paddock every day. We’re lucky he’s so laid back. A lot of horses turn into right arseholes if they’re stuck in their boxes for weeks on end but not Big Al. He loves his daily stroll. The only thing he’s not happy about is his new rations. He’s on hay and water with only a little proper food. Too much food and he’ll get fat and, with our bloody luck, a dose of laminitis. The cut healed well. Now we just have to wait and hope.

  Right, my love, I’d better go. We’re off to Huntingdon tomorrow with one of the jumpers. He hasn’t a cat’s chance in hell, but it’s a (cold) afternoon out for his owners.

  I love you, darling.

  Grace.

  p.s. photo attached. Jane is getting very good at being my official photographer. We may have to hire her for the wedding.

  Grace looked at the picture. Janey had snapped her walking Allonby. He was half-asleep, his head low while he strolled behind her across the frosted grass. The late autumn sun gleamed on his coat. In spite of his knock-back, the colt looked happy enough with his morning walk.

  You’ll need to get better, Al. We’re screwed without you.

  The vet was pleased enough with Allonby’s progress to suggest that he could be ridden out after Christmas, for ten or fifteen minutes a day. Anything had to be better than walking him like a dog.

  * * * *

  Grace parked Christopher’s car, grateful that it was small enough to squeeze into spaces that others could not. She rolled down the window and lit a cigarette as she studied the address once more. After sorting through her wardrobe, she’d decided on new jeans, Christopher’s blue and white striped shirt and she’d borrowed her mother’s pearls. She drew the line at a velvet hair-band. She hoped that her occupation would excuse her from wearing anything more…well…Belgravia. It would have to do. She stubbed out the cigarette, scrabbled in her pocket for a mint and climbed out of the car. It didn’t look out of place among the Mercedes and BMWs parked along the curb. The late-morning sun was bright in her eyes when she walked along the street.

  The Edwards’ flat was on the top two floors of a white regency house. Grace shivered on the doorstep and gazed at the glossy black door.

  “Ah, you must be Grace.” Emily Edwards was a slender, tall woman, elegant in corduroys and a Pringle jumper. She offered Grace a warm smile and kissed her cold cheek. “You must be freezing and starving. Come in. We’ve been waiting for you. I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”

  She ushered Grace into a large, sunlit sitting room where another three women sat clustered around a coffee table, balancing drinks on their laps.

  Oh, wonderful, I must be the youngest here by about ten years.

  “Ladies, this is Grace, Chris Beaumont’s fiancée. Luckily, she was able to join us today.”

  Grace, feeling awkward, tried to remember everyone’s names. They all knew Christopher and she suspected that they had been dying to find out who the long-unattached captain had finally set his cap on. She perched on the edge of her chair and wondered what to say. She wasn’t used to sitting room conversations with strangers. She was used to meeting strangers on her territory, the yard or a racecourse, comfortable i
n her knowledge of racing.

  “We’ve heard a lot about you,” Emily said.

  “None of it too horrible, I hope,” Grace replied, sipping her gin and tonic. She nearly choked. It appeared that Emily’s hand had slipped when she was pouring the gin.

  “Not at all, dear. I was overjoyed to hear that he’d finally found someone. He’s such a lovely chap.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “He is.” She fought a sudden, fierce twist of longing.

  “Is that your ring?” one of the others asked. “It’s beautiful.”

  Grace set her drink down and held her left hand out for inspection. The ring met with universal approval.

  “He picked it out himself?”

  “He did. It was all a complete surprise to me.” She remembered the beach, the blanket, the warmth of him.

  “You really had no idea?”

  “None at all.” She retrieved her drink and braced herself for another onslaught of neat gin.

  Emily smiled. “I can tell you, my dear, he was like a dog with two tails when he came back and told my Howie that you’d said ‘yes’.”

  “I felt a bit like that myself.” Grace looked at the ring. The sapphire gleamed softly in the cold light.

  “It must be so hard for you.”

  “It is.”

  “We’re more used to it, although none of us are happy that they were sent back for another tour of Afghanistan. I’d rather hoped that oh-seven would be the last trip they’d take out there. Just remember, dear. We’re here if you need us. I know it’s harder for you, because you live out of town, but we’re always on the other end of a phone.” Emily rose. “Now, let’s dispense with the gloom and have some lunch.”

  * * * *

  “So you met with the officers’ wives, eh?” Mark sank into a chair and propped his crutches against the wall.

  “Yes.” Grace stirred her tea. “It wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be. I expected a room full of Pippas and Emmas. They were very nice.”

  “Emily isn’t a bad sort. She was very kind to me after…well, everything.” His voice tailed away.