Christopher's Medal
Page 16
Grace swallowed and looked at the ceiling.
“We’ll call the moment he decides that he wants to see you. I promise.” The sister’s voice was gentle.
“It probably would be best.” Sally put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “The last thing Chris needs is more upset.” She glanced at Grace. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a very good idea. We all have a lot we need to get used to. I’m glad that he’s safe, but I think I need time too. I need to get used everything in my own head. I don’t want to make things worse.”
“I think that’s wise.”
Grace sank down in a chair and covered her face with her hands. She felt tired and drained, torn between relief and tears.
“Are you all right?” Sally sat down beside her. “Will you be okay with this?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine. What’s important is that Chris gets better.” It would be hard to walk away, knowing that, a few feet away he was awake and in pain. She knew it would only be a matter of time before he was ready to see her again.
* * * *
Grace hated January. It was cold, gray and empty. She spent two weeks waiting, as the days became a seamless silence of soft, white mist. Sally phoned once to tell her that the hospital had phoned to let them know that Christopher’s wounds were healing as well as could be expected. He had asked to see his parents, but that was it. Grace tried to phone him, but his cell phone was switched off. She left a message.
“Hi, it’s me, Grace. I’m just calling to say hello and find out how you’re doing. Call me when you can. I love you.” She didn’t want to leave anything heavy, full of sighs and longing. She just wanted him to know she was there and waiting.
He never phoned back and it hurt her to hear his voice, the message prompt recorded long before Afghanistan, when everything was still good.
Grace phoned the hospital and the switchboard put her through to his ward, to a nurse with a harassed air.
“Captain Beaumont isn’t in his room at the moment.”
Grace heard the rustling of paper and a heavy sigh.
“He’s with the physio. Phone back in about an hour.”
Grace looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” She wanted to ask how Christopher was, how he was doing, but the nurse’s tone put paid to further questions. She thanked her and put the phone down. It seemed such a simple wish, to hear his voice, to hear him say that he loved her.
Grace rubbed her eyes and stared at the fog. It cloaked the house in silence and a gray chill that crept into her bones. She had an hour to fill—a long, empty hour. No racing on television, the papers already read from front to back. She’d even done the crossword puzzle.
The yard was quiet. Evening stables was hours away and her father had gone racing. Grace found her jacket and boots and walked out into the mist. Even the crows were silent, sulking in a ragged gathering in the black trees. Allonby nickered softly when she turned the corner into the yard. His star shone a brilliant white in the gray gloom. Grace sorted through the bits of paper, empty bute sachets and cellophane in her pockets until she found the mints. She held her hand out and Allonby lipped the mint from her palm, his muzzle warm velvet against the chill of the day.
“What do I do now, eh?” Grace rubbed his nose. “He won’t phone me back. Why doesn’t he want to speak to me?”
The colt nibbled at her hair. His breath was scented with hay.
“No, I didn’t think you’d have an answer.” She tugged his ear and headed to the tack room. If she mucked out now, there wouldn’t be so much to do at evening stables.
Grace walked back to the house after an hour, two rows of stables skipped out. She sank into a chair, picked up the phone and hit the redial button.
A different nurse answered. Grace asked for Christopher.
“He’s just come back from physio. Hold on, I’ll just fetch him for you. Who shall I say is calling?”
“Grace.” She waited, hearing the nurse set the phone down. “Captain Beaumont?” Her voice was cheerful, speaking of an easy familiarity with Christopher. “There’s someone called Grace on the phone for you.”
Grace tightened her hand around the receiver and felt a sharp little stab in her gut. She was ‘someone called Grace’, someone whom this nurse, who knew him, hadn’t heard of. She wished she hadn’t phoned. Grace pressed the phone to her ear, straining to hear Christopher’s voice. There was a distant murmur then the brisk footsteps of the nurse.
“I’m sorry, miss. Captain Beaumont can’t come to the phone at the moment.”
“Oh.” Grace’s fingers cramped. She wrestled with the sudden tightness in her throat. “All right. I see.” She didn’t. She couldn’t see at all. Her eyes burned. “Just tell him to phone me some time.”
“I will.”
Grace thought she heard sympathy in her voice. That made her hurt even more. “Thanks.” She hung up and fought an urge to crawl into bed and cry herself to sleep. The dull glint of the sapphire on her finger was a bitter reminder. For a moment, she was back on the beach, warm in Christopher’s arms. She wanted that Christopher back, the affectionate one, irresistible and charming. Grace wondered if she’d ever see that man again.
* * * *
Margaret’s phone call was weighty with things that were left unsaid. Grace listened to his mother’s chatter. He hadn’t spoken much, but he’d been pleased to see them. He’d cried a bit, but recovered himself.
“I asked him if he was ready to see you,” Margaret said, then fell silent.
Grace puffed on her cigarette. She knew what the answer was even before his mother said it. She had used the empty days of waiting to do her research, driven by a nagging suspicion that Christopher had returned with more than a messed-up leg. She now knew more than she ever wanted to learn about Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. “It’s all right,” Grace told her. “He doesn’t want to see me.” Another draw on the cigarette and her eyes swam with tears. She stared out of the window, at the mist. A starling settled on the fence, regarded her with a cold, silvery eye then flew away. The world was so still.
“He says that he’s not that man you fell in love with.”
God, now what do I do? How do I fix this mess?
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The cigarette burned away to ash in the ashtray. She curled and uncurled her free hand. “As long as he lives to draw breath, he is the man I fell in love with.” Grace wasn’t going to cry, not on the phone. “I suppose, somehow, I need to convince him of that, when the time is right, if there’s a right time.”
“Darling, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. We’ll do all that we can, you know that.”
“I know.”
“He needs you, Grace, he just doesn’t realize it yet.”
Grace sighed and twisted the cold butt of the dead cigarette between her fingers. “We can’t force him. Not yet.” She wondered how she could sound so calm and reasonable when her insides were being torn to pieces.
“Shall I talk to the psychiatrist? Do you think that would help?”
“It might.” Grace glanced at the calendar—the big, black crosses fell away at the beginning of the month. It was nearly February. He had been home for nearly a month, away from harm, yet he could’ve been lost in the hinterlands.
“We’ll do that, then. We’ll arrange to speak to the psychiatrist when we go to the hospital in a couple of days.”
She wanted to ask how Christopher looked. Instead, she looked at the photograph on the wall. The one that she had loved, the Guardsman gazing at something that no one else could see.
“Grace, are you all right?”
No, I’m dying, Margaret. I’m dying and I don’t know what to do.
“I’ll be all right. I think it’s best that I try and keep busy. You know, that way, I won’t think so much.”
Maybe it won’t hurt so much.
“I’m sorry. I know how hard this must be for you. How much it hurts.”
She put the phone down and stared out of the window again, grateful for the mist. Sunlight would have just been a mockery. She looked at her watch. Morning break was over. It was time to get back to work. She hoped that her father would give her a stupid, dangerous two-year-old to ride. Something that needed her full attention and, if she happened to break her neck in the meantime, that would be all right too.
* * * *
The phone rang just as Grace sank down onto a bale of straw for a break. She hated the phone because every time it rang it seemed to bring more bad news. She looked at the number and thought it looked vaguely familiar.
“Hello?”
“Grace? It’s Emily. I thought I’d call and see how things were going with Christopher.”
Grace leaned against the wall and stared up at the white sky. She decided it was best to be blunt. “Not well. He won’t see me.” It felt like a kick in the gut every time she acknowledged that fact.
“Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry.” There was a pause. “I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for you.”
“I’m trying to deal with it, without much success.” She swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat.
“I wish I knew what to say.” There was a pause and a sigh. “It’s Guardsman Roberts’ memorial service the day after tomorrow. He was the lad who…”
“The soldier who died saving Christopher?” Grace fished in her pocket for a cigarette.
“Yes.”
She lit the cigarette with a shaking hand. Regardless of whether Christopher wanted to see her or not, someone needed to represent him. “I should like to go. Chris can’t. I don’t think he even knows that Guardsman Roberts was killed so I think I’d like to be on his behalf, if you think that would be all right.”
“I think that would be a lovely thing for you to do.” Emily’s voice was warm. “It’s not that far from you, it’s in Hadleigh, at St Mary’s.”
“I went to a wedding there, a long time ago. What time?”
“It starts at eleven and then there’s lunch at the Guildhall afterwards.”
Grace doubted that she would feel like eating. “I’ll be there.”
“Good, I think it’s the right thing to do. I know it would mean a lot to his wife. I’ll see you there.” The line went dead and Grace stared at the pale, cold mist and wondered if it would ever break.
* * * *
Grace decided to take Christopher’s car. It needed a run and it was the one thing of his that didn’t hurt to look at or use. She felt close to him when she curled her hand around the gear shift and leaned back in the seat. The narrow, winding lanes were quiet and the car hugged the road and took the curves like a race car. The hedgerows were touched with frost and sea gulls squabbled among the empty furrows of fallow fields beneath an endless, colorless sky. The countryside slept. Copses of trees rose out of the land like smoke, crows like black blossoms squabbled in the branches. Grace tried to forget about the reason for the journey until she found Emily waiting for her outside the church, in a cluster of soberly dressed mourners. She was swept up in a warm hug and was glad that Emily was there.
“Come and meet Mrs Roberts,” she said, taking Grace’s arm.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. She wants to meet you.” Her grip was firm.
Grace swallowed. “What on earth am I supposed to say?”
“It’ll come to you. Don’t worry.”
She wished she had a fraction of Emily’s confidence. Her stomach rolled when she followed her companion toward another cluster of black-clad mourners. They surrounded a small, plump, blonde girl. She seemed scarcely older than a child, yet a smaller, curly-haired replica clung to her coat. Grace wanted to run. Her mind was a mess of words that she needed to put in some sort of sensible order. She was dimly aware that Emily was telling this girl who Grace was. Grace braced herself for the unknown. She was surprised when she smiled, her blue eyes bright.
“Thank you so much for coming.” Her hand was warm on Grace’s arm. “Jason thought the world of Captain Beaumont, he’d be happy to know that you’re here.”
Grace’s eyes stung. “It was the least I could do,” she replied, unable to speak above a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry. I just don’t know what to say.” She wasn’t even sure what Christopher would’ve said. “I don’t think there are words enough to thank your husband for what he did, how much Chris and I owe him.” It was hard not to cry, especially in the face of Amanda Roberts’ calm and sweet expression. Christopher should have been there.
“How is he doing?”
“He’s getting better.” It wasn’t quite a lie. Physically, she supposed he was recovering.
Another smile. “That’s good, as long as he gets better.”
“He will. He is.”
The bells pealed out into the sullen, misty silence and people filed into the church. Grace was surprised when Mrs Roberts hugged her. Grace hugged her back, hiding her face in the tousled blonde hair. It smelled of orange blossom.
“You look after yourself,” Grace said. “If there’s anything you need, anything we can do—let me know.”
Mrs Roberts stepped back. Her eyes were very bright. “Just remember Jason. That’ll be enough.”
“I’ll never forget,” Grace promised. “Neither will Chris. We’ll always remember him.”
Chapter Thirteen
Grace tightened Allonby’s girth and stared at the saddle for a moment.
“Are you all right, Boss?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She hoped Allonby’s laid-back manners would hold, after nearly four months of nothing more strenuous than being led around the paddock. The last thing Grace wanted was an impromptu rodeo. “Hold his head, will you?”
She put her hands on either end of the saddle and let Harry give her a leg up. Allonby snorted and shifted. The straw whispered beneath his feet and one hoof scraped the concrete beneath. Grace settled into the saddle and slipped her feet into the irons.
“You ready?”
Grace gathered up the reins. “Go ahead, lead him out.” She pushed her heels down and sat as deep she could on the flat, slippery seat of the racing saddle.
Harry opened the stable door. Allonby’s shod feet clopped on the cold concrete. Grace watched his ears. They twitched forward when he stepped into the yard. He stood still, lifted his head and whickered softly at something Grace couldn’t see.
“What is it, Al?” She patted his neck.
“You ready, Gracey?” Billy pulled up alongside on Seal.
“Yup.” Grace nudged Allonby’s side with her heels. He snorted and walked forward. His ears flopped into their usual relaxed, mulish position. Relief helped her relax in the saddle. “We’ll just walk down the horse walk and back.”
“Sounds good to me, Boss.” Billy led the way to the gate, leaned out of the saddle and tapped the switch with his crop.
Grace braced herself for Allonby to object to the gate’s unoiled groan. The colt pricked his ears at the sound and quivered a little. “Easy, boy,” she whispered. Allonby’s ears flicked back and he followed Seal onto the horse walk. Grace sat deep and felt for any unevenness in his stride.
“He’s looking sound to me.” Billy glanced at Allonby’s legs. “Not a trace of a limp.”
“Thank Christ for that.” It was good to think about something other than missing Christopher. If she couldn’t put him right, there was always Allonby.
* * * *
Grace eased Christopher’s car toward the inside lane and searched for the hospital entrance while Jane, who was meant to be navigating, slept on in the passenger seat. She wished for a cigarette. Her palms were damp and clammy on the steering wheel and when she turned into the hospital she wanted to vomit.
Jane stirred, mumbling something before sitting up. “Are we there?”
“Ye
s.” Grace searched for a space in the crowded car park.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sick.” She found a space between a mud-splattered Range Rover and a battered Mini and took the key out of the ignition. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner I can get on with the rest of my life the better.”
“Don’t be so bloody pessimistic.” Jane climbed out of the car. “We don’t know what’s going on in his head.”
“I know. I just hate this limbo.” Grace stared up at the blank windows of the hospital and fought with her racing pulse. “I just want him back, Jane.”
“I know. It’ll happen.”
Their footsteps echoed in the long corridor. Grace shoved her hands in her coat pockets and stared straight ahead. In spite of the blast of tropical heat from the central heating, she shivered when they walked into the ward. A nurse sat at the desk, sorting through papers. Grace took a deep breath and leaned on the counter to stop her legs from giving way.
“Hello.” The nurse smiled. “Are you here to see someone?”
Grace swallowed and curled her hand around a handful of clutter in her pocket. “I’ve come to see Chris Beaumont.” She hated that she was shaking so much.
“Captain Beaumont?”
“Yes. Is he seeing visitors?”
“Let me just go and see.” The nurse offered her another small smile. Grace didn’t find much comfort in the fact that the smile never touched her eyes. “Who shall I say is here?”
“Grace. Just tell him Grace is here to see him.” She looked down at her ring. It glittered coldly beneath the flickering fluorescent light.
“Just wait here.” The nurse hurried away from the desk. Grace listened to the muted music from the hospital radio station. She wanted to weep with the irony of the timing. She recognized the song, the one that had filled the living room on that long-ago rainy evening when she was at the beginning of something wonderful. The scent of juniper and lemon rose around her like a ghost. She heard Christopher’s sighs, felt his hands sweep across her skin, driving away the chill of the rain.