"What's happening?" Jimmy whispers loudly.
I nudge him in the ribs to silence him. We've managed to get fairly close to meeting that's happening and I'm listening intently. The last thing we need is for him to give away our position and get us in trouble.
Everyone has been in a state of tension since the General arrived here an hour ago. It was my turn to take watch near our officers little camp in the trench and of course Jimmy was right by my side. I listen carefully to the final outcome of the meeting before turning to him.
"They're going to send us a battalion of Australians." I whisper.
"That's good, right? We need more men." Jimmy whispers back optimistically.
I shake my head slowly, unwillingly to burst his optimism.
"They're sending us more troops." I whisper slowly.
"That's good isn't... Oh." He suddenly catches on and a frown traces itself across his forehead. "We need more troops because... Because we'll be going over the top soon."
I nod grimly and he sits back heavily. We are both quiet for the rest of our patrol, but Jim is unusually so and by the time we've come off our watch, the rumour has spread round the entire battalion.
Jimmy hadn't spoken since we found out that we'll soon be going over the top, meeting those adverseries so close yet so nearby. He'd almost tried to forget they were there.
As we arrive back to our part of the trench a few voices call him over to play dice or cards but he ignores them, rushing into the scant safety of the hollowed out part of the earth we sleep in. I follow him quickly, shushing the dissenting voices that call after him.
"Jim."
He doesn't respond.
"Jimmy!" I lean forward to touch him before I see the shake of his body.
I stare at the silent sobs that rack his huge muscular frame. The fear and panic radiates from him and to my bitter shame I can't help him. Without even trying to reassure him I move away.
I walk down the muddy walls of the trench, humiliation flaming in my cheeks that a dear friend, who would have sat by side as I cried, who would comfort me through anything, must now cry and feel fear alone because I'm simply too inadequate to help him.
I find a quiet place and tuck myself into it, and there I cry.
Hot tears pour down my face, for her, for Jimmy. The bitter, salty trickle down my cheeks is for them both, though they'll never know it, I weep for her arrogance and Jimmy's innocence. The sadness in my heart that I finally allow to break free is for the breaking of a dear friend. No matter what happens in this battle something will change in him and maybe I cry for myself too. For the loss of a perfect, pureness that I know will be stolen from my dear friend.
And so I weep for them both. The two losses of innocence, neither of which I am responsible for... But both of which I have chosen to bear as my cross.
It's a long while before I regain my composure, it takes several shouts of my name before I emerge slowly, like a deformed, broken butterfly from my cocoon and slowly walk to my place.
Jimmy is waiting and there is no trace of anger, no sense of my desertion on his face. Although I failed him in his time of need he won't blame me.
We walk slowly along the perimeters of our watch in silence before finally settling, sitting next to each other and staring at no-mans land.
"I'm a coward." Jimmy says eventually. "Crying like a big bloody baby because I've got to do what I came here for."
"You wouldn't be normal if you weren't afraid Jim. It doesn't matter how many times you do it, it's still a terrifying thing to face your own mortality."
He nods and pulls a hip flask from his pocket, taking a long sip at it before passing it to me. I cough as the heat of the whiskey goes down. Somewhere beneath us in the trench a lone voice starts singing and it's not long before others join in.
"You're lucky actually. I've never known it be this long without battle, it's been a good few weeks since you got here and we haven't done anything. I was over the top on my second day."
"Yeah... You've been here two years and you're still alright." He smiles, some of his customary cheerfulness returning.
I look down at the ground, unwanted images swimming to the front of my mind.
Blood oozing slowly across thick, sticky mud. Screams, oh god, those screams haunt my nightmares. Fear, utter, stomach clawing terror. The smell of death, the lifeless eyes that stare at you with their mocking message; you may have survived this time but you'll never forget.
"Harry..." Jimmy's awkward tone pulls me back from the brink of insanity. "One of the lads was saying last night he didn't want to die a virgin." A flush grows in his already ruddy cheeks.
"Ha. That's why so many of the French prostitutes have grown rich, half the men in the medical bay have some sort of sexually transmitted..." I trail off as I catch sight of the look on his face and a wave of understanding hits me. "Didn't you and Ellen ever...?"
He shakes his head with an awkward laugh.
"You're bloody joking aren't you? She's as religious as the pope himself, I'm not even allowed to touch her backside until I've put a ring on her finger." He grins.
"Well that's another reason for you to get home then isn't it?" I laugh.
"Yeah. Have... Er... Did you ever, you know?"
"Have sex?"
"Well. Yeah." He coughs at my bluntness and I have to hide a smile.
I nod and I can tell he's surprised.
"But you weren't married!" He protests.
"We were more than married Jimmy. We were in love."
***
1912
There's something utterly magical about snow.
Despite the fact that it is a nuisance for me, my work is harder in the biting cold of winter; there is nothing like gazing out of a window at a thick layer of snow, illuminated by the moon and stars. Nothing so wondrous to the eye as thick, fluffy flakes drifting down to lie on their sparkling bed.
The master told the few of us servants who don't live in the main house that we should stay in the main hall near the big fires, this winter promises to be one of the harshest on record.
I didn't take his offer, so long as I have enough wood for my fire I like the beauty and solitude of this time of year.
So I find myself, banking up my fire and drinking a hot tea, passing my evenings reading or writing. Christmas is coming soon and I'm writing a poem for Evie... It's all I can give her, I have not wealth to buy necklaces or rings, the only jewels I can give her are words.
Without Evie I wouldn't even have this gift to give her. Lord Ashbury found it distasteful that one of his servants is literate, but of course, Evelyn's stubbornness prevailed over his protests.
Samuel, my old sheepdog, sleeps faithfully by my side. He's in the twilight of his years, the other groundsmen would have me shoot him as there is no work left in him, but of course I can't. That seems like cruel reward for years of loyal service.
As if he knows that my thoughts are on him, Samuel lifts his head and gazes at me. Suddenly, a low growl starts in his throat and he stands, slowly and painfully and pads over to the door.
I walk to the window and I immediately notice a trail of fresh footprints in the pristine snow. A loud banging at the door startles me.
"Harry? Quickly Harry, it's so cold!"
I rush to the door and the second it's opened she falls into my arms, giggling.
"Is everything ok?" I frown. "Why are you here?"
"I haven't seen you in two days." She answers breathlessly. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold and small flakes of snow adorn her hair like a winter crown.
"All the roads are closed, why have you walked here? Evie! You're freezing!"
I grab her small hands in mine and begin to rub them but she pulls away and throws her arms around my neck, pressing a cold kiss to my lips.
"I had to see you Harry. I would have walked five times that distance just to look at your face."
I pull her next to the fire. Her dress is soaked from the snow and I busy myself making tea as she pulls off her wet clothes.
When I turn to face her I almost drop the cup. She's standing in profile, clothed only in her slip and bodice. Her slim arms are extended towards the fire and I can see the colour slowly returning to them.
I pass her the tea, staring pointedly away from her body.
I sit in my old armchair and she sits confidently at my feet, her arms draped over legs, her delicate cheek pressed to my knee.
"You need to go soon." I utter finally. "I'll walk you home."
"No." She smiles simply. "I told my maid to tell everyone that I am sick and my room isn't to be entered. I'll stay with you until the storm has passed."
I nod and push my hand into her hair, massaging slow circles against her scalp. I should argue, insist that she leaves... But as always I have no will but hers.
We talk for a while, about America, all of our plans and all the while her finger slowly rubs small patterns against my leg. We talk about books, poetry, the names of our future children. We are well into the night before I reluctantly tell her we should sleep. It's not time, we could talk until the very end of time and never have to search to fill a silence, but the clock dutifully informs us that it's almost time to rise, nevermind sleep.
I guide her to my mothers old bedroom and after a quick wash I climb into my old tiny bed. I've given her all of the blankets and I feel a rush of goose-pimples across my body as I try and find warmth in my single sheet.
I don't care though. She's sleeping here, just a short space from me and tonight has been a glimpse into our future, all of the nights to come where we talk for hours, feeling more at home with each other than we ever could anywhere else.
I'm just drifting into a light sleep when the door opens and footsteps make a light tread across my room. Evelyn lifts the covers gently, sending a chill of cool air across my body as she climbs into my small bed.
"What are you doing?" I make to sit up, suddenly alert as she wraps a small arm across my chest.
I stare at her for a moment and to my surprise she looks almost nervous and I suddenly understand.
"Why now?" I ask softly. Our lips are just inches apart and the cold mist of our breaths dance with each other.
"I want... I need..." She stares up at me, unable to articulate what she wants to say, but needing me to understand. I do.
She had this planned, or at least, seized the opportunity. Without this storm when else would we spend a night together? What excuse could their be for a servant boy to be in her rooms? If not tonight, then when would we have the chance to consummate a love that has already lasted our entire lifetime? Stolen kisses and whispered promises have been the sum total of our romance for years, but of late something has changed in us both, the sweet heady balm of love is no longer filling enough to soothe a hunger that has awakened within us.
Her eyes gaze into my, almost fearful of rejection. This is the moment. Once this line has been crossed their is no way back, the rules that bind us have been entirely severed.
Slowly I lean down and press a soft kiss to her waiting lips and I feel the tension release in her, a small bird set free into the vast wilderness.
Our lips move in an unfamiliar pattern, wilder, less restrained. Frantic kisses are pressed to places usually forbidden, deep red marks left in their wake. Her bodice is pulled open by my eager hands and she pulls my shirt over my head quickly.
Time itself seems to stop as we look at each other, fully, for the first time. I stare in wonder at the softness of her stomach, the sharp V of her abdomen. The complete beauty of her brings a lump to my throat, she is the forbidden fruit, she should never be mine to touch and yet, how could something I love so much not belong to me? I am hers and she in mine and in this moment there is nothing else, no snowy night, no world outside. Just me and her and this small moment in infinity in which our lives have changed.
We are clumsy, eager in our inexperience, but soft and slow, exploring the wonder of each other, not an inch of skin goes without a soft touch or gentle kiss.
Our bodies move in fevered bliss and when finally, I push slowly into her, the world explodes around us. There is nothing else. Just this. Just her. We move slowly, I kiss away the slight water that gathers in her eyes and she whispers softly of her love. It is here, in this small bed I have slept in all my life, where I have wept out childhood illnesses, dreamt of her beauty every night; right here that I become a man and she a woman.
After she falls into a gentle sleep, cradled tightly in my arms. I don't sleep, I just watch her, stare down at the stubborn, fragile beauty that has gifted itself to me.
There are no words, not a single word exists for the ferocity of my feelings, the deep pain that comes with the strongest of loves.
If ever there were any doubts, they are gone now, come what may... I will never regret this.