1917
England
Lying in a bed feels strange. Nurses bringing meals to me, constant fussing and being told not to move.
I can't take myself off red alert. I keep expecting someone to run in and grab me, order me on to my feet and shove a gun in my hands. I wake several times a night and the shock of a silent ward is almost as great as being told it's a night raid.
Through my dreams I wander the trenches. In quiet moments I see Tommy's ghastly white face as he begged for his mother, the thick, sticky blood pouring down his face waits for me when I close my eyes.
I thought I hated the trenches, but I don't think I was prepared for my return to England. Sometimes I want to grab the nurses, berate them, scream at them. How can they be so calm when there are men dying in France? How can they act as if everything is normal, as if we haven't just returned from a living hell?
In the four days since I arrived I've been plagued with nightmares, both living and waking ones. Everything is so clinical, calm and peaceful here. It's like being hidden away in room when you know the rest of the house is burning around you.
I'm not the only one. All the men here have the same haunted, wary look. A solider in the bed opposite mine lost both of his legs and spends his days rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. His parents visited yesterday, obviously anticipating a joyful reunion with their son. What they found, the way their son screamed and recoiled from them as the nurse ushered them away cut them deeply and his mothers silently horrified, sobbing face is burned into my mind.
It was painful to watch. Perhaps more to see the realisation dawn on her face. She may have her son home at last, but the boy she nurtured from infancy is no longer there. He has been utterly broken beyond repair and there was nothing she could do to protect him when he needed her most.
I suppose it is a twisted blessing that I have no one to weep for me, to see the broken shell I have become.
I wonder at how the world can be filled with such pain and sadness. So many stories, countless lives shattered because of this damn war.
I gaze over the ward at the boy, rocking back and forth and wonder what his life would have been. He's another victim, another lost soul.
Today the ward is being overseen by a cheerful young nurse. It's a bright summers day and she is insistent that as many of us as possible are taken out into the sunshine. I've watched as she's overseen the hospital porters lift men into wheelchairs, or propped them on crutches and guide them out. My bed is nearest the window and I'm one of the last to be approached.
I try to protest, I would much rather stay indoors, but she brushes aside my arguments and insists that I am lifted by the two porters into a wooden, three wheeled chair. She fusses over me, wrapping blankets around my legs before smiling widely at me and turning towards other of her other charges.
My leg still pains me and the area that her hand has just brushed stings as though she has slapped it.
It's a slow procession down the corridor. The porter behind me chats pleasantly, almost to himself as he pushes me along.
The sunlight is so bright that I wince against it. The shade of various trees houses a multitude of men in various states of injury. Some, those capable of walking, are sat in the full glare of the sun on benches, reading papers or playing chess. Others who are less mobile, like myself, have been wheeled into the shade and sit oddly hunched into themselves, like ravens in a churchyard.
The porter swears softly under his breath as the wheels of my chair catch on a tuft of grass. He fumbles for a moment then lurches me forward so hard I grip the edges of the chair. Within moments I'm placed neatly under the tree, feet away from other men who barely seem to notice me.
"There you are mate." The porters already lined face creases into a friendly smile. "Bit of fresh air will do you a world of good."
He nods to me and makes his way back, ready to drag out another unwilling man into the sunshine. I don't think they understand, the don't realise how exposed we feel. We're stuck here, out in the open, with a huge space behind us and no possible means of defending ourselves.
I stare at his retreating back, willing myself to stay calm.
One he's gone I feel panic rising in my chest, but I can't give in to it.
I force myself to focus on something, anything. I stare round at the men in the sunlight, those capable of walking. They're not far from me and with huge effort I force myself to stay in this moment, to remember I'm in England and I'm not going to be attacked from behind.
Long minutes pass as I scan the area around me. Checking even the most innocuous scene for danger has become a habit that I'm not sure will ever leave me.
Two men nearby are hunched over a chess board, clearly in a whispered argument, and for some reason my eyes keep wandering to them. There's something about one of them that I can't put my finger on. It's not until he speaks that my heart lurches.
Surely not?
That familiar, much missed and beloved voice speaks again.
Jimmy.
I don't realise I've shouted the name aloud until he turns slowly towards me.
It's him. It's really him.
He stands, slowly, disbelieving and begins to walk towards me. Suddenly, as if he's realised that his eyes aren't deceiving him, he breaks into a run and within seconds he is kneeling before me, his huge arms wrapped around me.
I can feel the tears on my face as he grasps my head in his hands and presses his forehead to mine.
This is happiness. This is sheer bliss, such as I never imagined to feel again. Tears slide down my face as I embrace him. I had thought to never see him again.
"Harry!" He pulls away from me and I see the shine of tears on his face. "What on earth?"
He touches my face clumsily as if to check I'm real.
I stare up at him. He doesn't look like himself. He's thinner, a lot thinner and his face is gaunt. He looks oddly hollow, but I've never had such a welcome sight as this.
He gives a strangled half sob, half laugh before reaching forwards to hug me roughly again.
"What happened to you? Why are you here?" He bursts forth with the questions I want ask him. "Hang on."
He stands fully and I see how much weight he has actually lost. He looks almost skeletal, but before I can ask him anything, he moves quickly behind me and unlatches the lock on my chair. He pushes me smoothly across the grass waving and calling out to other men, apparently just as popular here as he was in the place I first met him.
Finally he pushes me up onto the stone patio next to a table. He fusses for a moment, asking a passing porter for a pot of tea and adjusting my chair repeatedly so that the sun is directly behind me. Finally he sits heavily and grins at me. Several long moments pass as we stare at each other, barely daring to believe that we are actually here together. The coincidence is too great.
"What happened to you?" He says eventually.
"Shrapnel." I gesture to my leg. "Gangrene and blood poisoning. What about you? How did you end up here?"
"Dysentery." He grimaces as the porter lays a tray on our small table.
"They don't usually send you back for that." I can't take my eyes off him. I can't believe he's really here.
"Yeah well I had a bad case of it. Still not fully recovered now. I think there was something else mixed in with it, never felt so bloody awful in my life. Dying would have been a blessing." He gives me one of his old grins and with sadness I notice the loose skin on his face.
"How's Luke?" He asks before I have chance to speak again. It's like there is too much to say to each other.
"He's fine. You know Luke." I tell him about Luke's talk of deserting and Jimmy listens quietly. Once I'm finished I ask him about sergeant Johnson and he questions me about Darlington.
The shade on the lawn has lengthened by the time we've exhausted the subject. There's a pause as I reach shakily towards my teacup to drain the dregs of my cold tea.
Jimmy is watching me with an odd expression and I can see he's trying to weigh up his words carefully. I can't help but smile, he's as easy to read as he ever was.
"Harry." He says hesitantly.
"Yes?" I smile as I slowly place my teacup back on its saucer.
"I need to tell you... Well, when I was in the ward in France waiting to be moved back to England I met someone." He pauses, looking unusually solemn.
"What about Ellen?" I frown.
"What? Oh Christ no! Not like that." He laughs shaking his head. "I mean... I met someone you know. Someone- oh bloody hell, I'm making a right mess of this. I've always been shite at breaking news to people." He takes a breath then looks directly at me. "When I was in France there was a nurse who tended me. I was friendly with her, lovely girl, a bit posh.. Harry... It was Evelyn."
"What?" I frown at his jumbled speech.
"Evelyn. Your Evelyn. She's working as a nurse in France."
I stare over at him. The creeping shadows make odd patterns on the hollows of his cheeks.
I'm certain that my tired mind is playing tricks on me.
"My Evelyn." I say slowly. "Evelyn Ashbury. A nurse in France. You're mistaken Jimmy. There's no way Darlington would allow-"
"No it's her Harry. She told me herself she grew up in Ashbury Manor in Cheshire. She was a bit posh like, upper class accent. Slight lisp." He takes my stillness as a cue to continue. "Auburn hair, blue eyes..."
The silence grows.
Evie?
My Evelyn is a nurse in France.
A singe glance into Jimmy's face tells me that it's true.
I can't help the stupid notion that rises in me. Perhaps she went there for me. It's foolish, stupid, but hope still beats within me.
Jimmy has seen Evie. The revelation hits me, making her same more real, more tangible. It's as if someone has reached into my memories and pulled the ghost of her from my past and made her real.
I want every detail, every tiny account of her. I'm confused at how she has become a nurse, but more than that, I want to hear every detail of what she said, how she looked. Every word that passed her lips.
I go to convey all this to Jimmy but before I can issue a single word a loud commotion comes from near us.
"I don't bloody care if it's visiting hours or not, that's my Jimmy. I've travelled 300 miles and I'm paying a bloody fortune to stay in London! I'm buggered if you can tell when I can and can't visit my fiancé!"
"You've been here every day for the past week! It's not visiting hours!" The porter protests weakly.
Jimmy barely has time to mouth the work 'Ellen' before she's standing in front of us.
She's far prettier than the single picture I've seen of her. Her dark hair is pinned up and her face is delicate. Perhaps what surprises me most is how tiny she is.
Jimmy could almost wrap a huge hand around her waist. Even by average standard, she's a very small woman.
The steely glint in her eye as she shoves past the protesting porter softens as her eyes alight in Jimmy.
Ignoring the bumbling porter she rushes forwards, tenderness written on her features and holds Jimmy's head against her chest, stroking his hair.
It's a bizarre picture, tiny as she is, she looks oddly minuscule next to Jimmy's large body and the fact that she's cradling him so protectively adds to the oddness.
They are gazing at each other with such deep devotion that I feel like an invisible intruder. It's several long seconds before Jimmy breaks away from her, clutching her tiny hand in his huge one and gestures to me.
"You'll never guess who this is." He smiles.
Ellen turns towards me. I see sympathy in her eyes as she takes in my weakened state and wheelchair and she smiles softly, holding out a hand elegantly.
"This is Harry." Jimmy beams.
Ellen's mouth falls open and she gasps.
"Harry?" She whispers.
"It's lovely to meet you Ellen." I smile.
My mind is still full of Jimmy's revelation about Evelyn. Much as I'm happy for them to be reunited, I wish if had just a few more minutes alone with him.
"Oh this is wonderful. Why didn't you tell me he was going to be here?" She bats Jimmy gently on the shoulder, ignoring his protests of ignorance to my presence. She begins to rummage in a large bag hanging over her arm and pulling out wrapped parcels of food. "Luckily I brought extra, they don't feed you enough here. I swear, I've been saying this all along. Look at my Jim, barely an ounce of fat on him. Oh they're more than happy to send you off to war, but they don't want to look after you..."
She continues muttering as she pulls parcels from her bag. I glance at Jimmy but he doesn't even seem to notice me.
His eyes are all for her and the look on his face as he watches her is so deeply loving, so tender, that I feel as if I'm intruding on a deeply intimate moment and I hastily look away.
~
I stare down at the paper in front of me, unsure if I'm really going to do this.
Ellen finally left an hour ago, long after it had grown dark. We sat in that garden in the warm night air and god help any porter who approached and nervously suggested that Ellen leave.
We ate her food and laughed as though our life's were blessed and free of trouble. She's the opposite to Jim in every way but I couldn't imagine a more perfect union.
Between us we told her about Evelyn and it was on her insistence that I find myself here now. I have the address that Jimmy eagerly gave me for the camp she was stationed at.
Darlington could have never made her happy. Perhaps I still could. Perhaps.
I think for a moment about all of those letters, those phantom letters, I wrote to Evelyn over the years. For the first time I'm writing something I intend to send. Nerves flutter at me but I push it down and press my pen to the paper.
Dear Evie,
I'm sure you will be just as surprised to receive this letter as I am to find myself writing it.
So much time has passed, but in my mind and heart, it feels like none at all...
***
Dedicated to minniemair just because she is lovely and one of the best people on wattpad! ❤️