As I Lay Dying

Twenty nine

1918

Evelyn

I expected resistance from my parents once I announced that Bobby was to stay with me on the estate. My mother was certainly adamantly against the idea.

It was my father, perhaps shocked at the sudden flame of fierceness within me, perhaps eager at seeing something of the old me, who arranged the necessities. He consulted his solicitors for things I hadn't even considered, papers of guardianship, private financial contracts to prevent Bobbys mother from blackmailing me in the future.

I think father had also hoped that in backing me so earnestly, I would allow him to paper over the gaping wound between us. I think he hoped that we would regain some sense of our old loving closeness.

It hasn't happened. I don't think it ever will. He pushed me into Roberts cruel hands and I will never shake the feeling that even if he had known what I was to suffer he would still have done the same thing to hide my disgrace. Despite the way he trips over himself to help me and will do anything in his power to make me happy... It's not enough. I will never be the same again and his attempts to make me happy, even his welcoming of this illegitimate child, it will never be enough to compensate. He knows it too.

Bobby has found it hard to adjust, as I suspected he would. He doesn't appear to miss his mother, from what I can gather he is accustomed to being passed between relatives. It seems that he is not used to being fussed and played with and he regards me with caution. He's aloof and difficult.

I expected it. I hardly expected some fairy tale where he rushed into my arms and loved me. Life isn't like that, especially for a child who has been plunged into a completely unfamiliar situation. He just needs time and patience. I have plenty of both.

***

Harry

"I'm alright. I just need a ciggie." Jimmy's face is pale and sweat beads across his forehead.

"You need to get to the hospital bay." I say quietly as I glance the shrapnel wound on his cheek. It's deep, not deep enough to be life threatening, but I after four years of witnessing injuries, I can see a blooming infection. The skin is raw and there's a horrible smell emanating from it. It's impossible to keep a wound clean in the trenches, as I know well from my own shrapnel injury. "You need to go there Jimmy. You don't want it to get worse."

"It's packed down there. There's fellas with limbs missing. You know what it's like after a dash over the top."

"Even so." I lean back. "It hasn't healed in the past few days and it doesn't look like it's going to. You need it dressed properly."

"I'll go in the morning." Jimmy sighs. He pulls away from me and shuffles closer to the fire. He looks ghastly and I notice him shiver, despite the warmth of the summer night. There's been an outbreak of fatal influenza across the trench and I stare at him in concern.

"Pack it in." He laughs weakly. "You're as bad as Ellen. I'll be fine."

"You have to go to the medical bay in the morning." I say firmly.

"I will, I will." He coughs. He doesn't protest as I pull off his damp boots. His feet are red and horribly swollen. It's not the worst case of trench foot I've seen, but along with his other maladies, I feel a fresh surge of worry. Jimmy coughs painfully again and gently push his feet towards the small fire.

"Is it ready yet, Harry? Reckon I just need some decent food."

"Yeah, you'll be alright Jimmy." I say quietly. I lean towards the fire and pull away the little tin pot. Our small stew is ready and I tip most of it, with most of the meat, into Jimmy's tin mug.