1918
Grief is the most wretched emotion of all.
Hatred, fear, regret. You can live with those, painful though it may be.
Grief is different because you'll never be able to change the outcome. Grief takes all hope with it, there's no way back. The lost tomorrows, the words unsaid, the promises of a future now lost.
In the life I should have lived I would never have met Luke. I would be the proud father of a 4 year old daughter, living my life with Evelyn by my side.
Luke would be an unknown person on the other side of the world, spending his days in his beloved outback, watching the sun rise and set and following his lifes path.
Fate threw us together and took him in such an undignified way back into her arms.
They will say he was a coward, a deserter.
I know differently. He was the bravest soul I ever met. Let them think of him what they want. I'll carry the truth within me, I'll carry him with me all of my days. In my mind he'll be forever young, he'll never age or lose his bravery and vitality. He will forever be that 20 year old boy with bright blue eyes and adventure in his heart, frozen in time for eternity.
In that way, at least, I suppose he'll never be gone.
But I would give anything, anything at all, to see his face and hear his voice one last time.
***
"Are you sure you're ok Harry?"
"I'm fine." I can hear the sharp edge in my voice and Jimmy flinches from it. I feel as though I've kicked a puppy from the wounded look on his face, but I don't try to smooth it over. I turn away from him and light another cigarette.
Luke left me with a terrible burden. I have to grieve for him alone. I have to keep the sheer horror to myself and in the past few weeks I've drawn into myself again.
Once this would have been my natural instinct, but over the past two years I've become accustomed to sharing every little thing with Jimmy. Without realising, it has become my way of coping with life here and not being able to talk to my best friend about the terrible secret that's tearing me up pains me deeper than I could have imagined.
Luke was right though. In a way, I think he had more clarity than me in our last conversation. He always used to tell me I didn't realise how soft Jimmy actually is and I understand now that his last wish was to protect him. His last gift.
I glance over at Jimmy and feel a surge of tenderness towards him. He's still very weak from his illness but of course, they treated him and pushed him back onto the battlefield as soon as they could.
He's frowning into the small fire and I can read his open expression easily. He's trying to think of something to cheer me up, snap me out of my mood. There's a beat before his face clears and he smiles.
"Do you remember when Luke got that brandy Harry?"
"Luke always had brandy, Jim." I try to sound casual but my stomach twists at the mention of his name.
"No, but I mean when he stole it from the Darlington's tent and we all got steaming drunk on his aged brandy?" Jimmy grins, warming to the memory. "And they insisted on searching all our backpacks. Luke thought ahead and put the empty bottle Goodhams backpack so Darlington had to punish him in solitary, even though he knew it wasn't him. Luke went down to cell they were holding him in and blew him kisses, all the while drinking the brandy from a different bottle. Goodham went crazy but there was bugger all he could do about it."
Jimmy laughs loudly and even my lips tug upwards at the memory.
"And you remember when he got caught on leave with that French girl in his room and Sergeant Smith chased him down the stairs?"
I can't help the ripple of laughter at the memory of Luke running down the stairs of our lodging laughing wildly with his modesty only protected by a towel held in front of him as our sergeant almost fell down the stairs in pursuit of him.
"He was one of kind, wasn't he, Harry?"
"He was, Jimmy."
We fall to silence again and it's a long minute before I realise Jimmy is fumbling in his pocket for something.
"I found this in the bottom of my backpack yesterday."
He holds out a crumpled piece of paper and I open is slowly. It's one of Tommy's drawings. I haven't seen one in so long that I'd forgotten how good he actually was, how he could draw as if it was a photograph. My heart lurches as I stare down at the image.
It's a picture of the four of us. Me, Jimmy, Luke and Tommy, sitting round a fire. I'm gazing into it, Tommy's head is bend over a piece of paper and Luke and Jimmy have their heads thrown back in laughter.
Jimmy's face is the most detailed and I feel a twist as I remember the futility of young Tom and his love for Jimmy.
I stare at the picture for a long, long time. Four dear friends. Two of them dead, two still struggling on, shells of men.
"Where do you think he is, Harry?"
"Luke?" I don't take my eyes from the beautiful picture.
"Yeah."
I hesitate before looking up at my last beloved friend.
"I think he's probably in Africa. He's in the desert, or exploring jungles somewhere. Off on some great adventure."
"He'll be happier now won't he?"
"He will, Jimmy. He will."
***
Evelyn
The screams echo down the hall as I race towards them.
In the nursery I find the poor maid on her knees in front of Bobby. He's laid, screaming and writhing on the floor in his underclothes, aiming sharp kicks towards her as she attempts to restrain him. Her hair is wild beneath her cap and she looks close to tears. I give her a small nod and gentle smile to gesture that she should leave and she nods before standing quickly, almost tripping over her skirt in her rush.
One the door has closed behind her I stand calmly, looking down at the screaming toddler on the floor.
His feet beat a drum on the wooden floor. His cries reach a crescendo but still, I make no move towards him. I merely watch.
There's a tiny pause as he halts his tantrum to assess the situation.
Once he realises that he has a fresh audience in me, he continues at a louder pace. It's several long minutes before he seems to realise that he is not going to get anything more than mild disinterest. Once this sinks in, he sits up with a fierce scowl. His little face is red and his wild curls stick to his forehead as he glares up at me. I pull my eyes away from his face and pretend to gaze out of the window.
He's scowls up at me for several seconds until he realises I'm not going to address him.
"Shan't put clothes on. Want toffee."
I continue looking out at the grounds and from the corner of my eye I see him stand upright, still glaring at me. He crosses his arms over his sturdy little body obstinately.
"Shan't put clothes on."
"Oh that's a shame." I say mildly. "I thought it was a lovely day to take a picnic down by the river. I suppose I shall just have to go with your puppy. It's a wonderful day for fishing."
I can feel his hesitation and I shrug, turning towards the door. I only take a few steps before his voice comes from behind me.
I have to hide a smile at the pout on his face. Bobby has been far to accustomed to getting his own way to stop a tantrum and keep him quiet.
"Me is coming."
"Oh? Well you're welcome to join us I suppose. Unfortunately, I can't take an almost naked little man outside with me. I suppose I'll just have to go alone. It's a terrible shame, cook has just prepared ham sandwiches and apple pie. Puppy is to hot inside, I must take him out by the river. Perhaps you can come next time." I shrug again and make to turn away.
"No!" He holds out a chubby hand. "Me is coming!"
"Well..." I look doubtfully between him and the pile of clothes the maid left in a heap. There's a minute where Bobby struggles, torn between keeping his tantrum going and the lure of an afternoon by the river with his beloved puppy and a picnic. I time it my disinterested glance perfectly.
"I is getting dressed." He announces.
I wait for him to ask for my help. Once I'm pulling on his clothing I speak to him gently but firmly. The maid was trying to help him. He's a very lucky boy that I'm going to allow him to have his picnic, but he must first apologise to the maid properly.
After his apology we walk hand in hand to the river. He shares the majority of his food with the rather literally named Puppy. Afterwards he sits quietly as I read to him under the oak tree. Bobby has a love of stories, he can sit for hours allowing the words to wash over him.
Finally, he runs down to the small bank of the river to throw sticks for Puppy. I smile as I watch him.
It's getting easier. Day by day, I'm slowly learning how to deal with this poor little boy. I love him more with each passing day, each tiny battle I win with him brings something of the old me back while chipping away at the damage inflicted on me.
I'm not selfish enough to place my healing on his tiny shoulders, but he's drawing me back slowly, without even realising what he's doing.
I still cannot bear the touch of a man and I don't think I ever will. My future is with this tiny boy and guiding him along his path, perhaps mending mine along the way.
"Evie! Look and me and puppy dog!"
Bobby pulls back his arm and throws the stick. To Puppy's extreme disappointment, it only lands a few inches from Bobby and I laugh as I applaud him.
In my lap are several letters and today's paper.
The war will be over soon. Germany has lost. Finally, it'll all be over soon.
All the papers say it. It's just a matter of waiting. I can't help but think of all the thousands of young men that will die pointlessly while men in suits wait to draw up a contract to finish the war. Why wait for weeks, months? Why not stop the fighting now?
I scan the paper with a sigh.
The letter is from Ellen. I know what it will say. In her usual blunt way she'll scold me for being too much of a coward to write to Harry.
She doesn't understand. After all this time how much we have changed. I'm not the Evie he loved anymore.
I'm battered and broken and I'm no longer the girl he loved. I hardly recognise myself.
I killed a man. Despite what he did and who he was, I wake in the night, drenched in sweat with the ghost of his fingers clawing at my arms.
I carry with me the knowledge that my husband killed mine and Harry's child. Adeline died because I married Robert and the guilt of it crushes me. It haunts me constantly. I look at Bobby and can't help imagine Adeline, almost the same age.
I push it down in mind, I give all my effort to Bobby, but Adeline died because of my choices. How could I ever these things explain it to Harry? Roberts hand may have taken her life but I put my beautiful daughter in his path.
How could I just pick up a pen and write to him as if no time has passed at all?
I'm no longer his Evie. She died on this estate the day Robert arrived. I carry so much sin and guilt. So much has happened, so much has been destroyed.
Nothing can ever be as it once was.