Christopher's Medal (32 page)

* * * *

Grace woke to the smell of coffee. She lay still for a few minutes and watched the sunlight fall through the part in the curtains as they shifted in the cool morning breeze. The liquid trill of a blackbird filled the room with birdsong. Everything was as it should be, apart from the clatter of a pan on the kitchen stove and the whistle of the kettle.

What the…?

She wondered whether Christopher had come up with a good reason for staying. She rose and crept into the bathroom, hoping that a shower would clear her mind. The sight of his razor and shaving gel resting on the edge of the sink was just about her undoing. The scent of it rose to meet her as she brushed her teeth and glared at herself in the mirror. It really did feel like the last four, empty months had never happened.

Grace found him in the kitchen, grating the unmoldy bits of the cheese. A bowl full of beaten eggs waited beside the frying pan and pieces of bread waited in the toaster. She watched him for a moment, absorbed in his task while the sunlight streamed through the windows and touched his skin with gold. The radio was on and he hummed along as David Archuleta sang
Crush
. The song turned her heart over and she wanted him to look at her, take her in his arms and dance across the tiny kitchen floor. The song reminded her of all that was good about him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He turned. “Hi.” His smile was full of uncertainty. “Scrambled eggs?”

She nodded mutely.

“I did what you asked. I sat up most of the night and I’ve thought about what I want to say. I just want something to eat first,” he told her as he poured the eggs into the frying pan and stirred them.

“All right.” Grace got the plates down from the cabinet and found the last remaining sliver of butter in the fridge. Whatever happened, she needed food. There was nothing left in the fridge and the pantry contained little more than a few tins of stew, spaghetti and soup. She took the toast and buttered it. He tilted the eggs onto the toast and Grace carried the plates into the other room.

Breakfast was something to be got through, consumed in silence, while the blackbird continued singing outside and the walker hummed as Pavel put one of the three-year-olds on it. The radio played softly in the background. Grace was surprised how calm she felt and how unsure Christopher looked while he picked at his breakfast and, finally, pushed his plate away. Grace, starving, finished her breakfast and lit a cigarette when he took the plates into the kitchen.

He sat back down at the table with a sigh and looked down at his hands. Grace waited, determined to be sensible and strong.
God, I just want to touch him. I just want to hold him.
He was thinner, his arms wiry.

“I shouldn’t have left you, Grace. I felt…disconnected. I know how much I was hurting you, but I just couldn’t climb out of myself. I couldn’t talk. There didn’t seem any point. It was like all my feelings had been taken away from me. I don’t know what I thought I was going to achieve by leaving, but once my mind was made up that was it. I didn’t even stop to think of the consequences.” He looked at her. “I don’t blame you for being angry and for wanting me to go. What I did was selfish and unforgiveable. I’m not going to beg, Grace. If you want me to go, then I will. I just want you to know that I have always loved you and I always will.” He paused. “I watched that race. I watched the interview. It just about killed me. I was in some bloody awful, chintzy bed-and-breakfast somewhere in Shropshire. I stayed in that room and cried solidly for two days after seeing you. I realize that probably doesn’t cut much ice, but it was the first real emotion I’d felt since leaving here, since leaving you.”

Grace bit her lip.

“That’s when things really went downhill. I knew I couldn’t come back, I was so screwed up. I couldn’t face the pain I’d caused. So, I wandered a bit more. I slept in a few fields and tried to find the courage to come back to you. It took a while, but here I am.” His eyes were huge and dark. “Do with me what you will.”

It was like a dare.

Grace reached for another cigarette and poured herself another coffee, anything to buy the time she needed. “If I were to take you back and let you stay, how would things be different from before?”

“I know I’ve broken so many of my promises to you. The only thing I can promise is that I won’t make promises that I can’t keep. There’s no point in my saying that I’ll turn to you when I need you, because there may be times when something inside me won’t let me do that. I won’t run away again. I can’t live without you, Gracey. It’s that simple. I will really try to talk. I know that’s what I need to do. I need to remember and I need to talk about what happened. I also know that you don’t want to push me, because that’s what you’ve been told. I know you think you’re supposed to be patient and gentle, but maybe that doesn’t work. Maybe where we went wrong was that we were too busy trying to do the least damage to each other.”

His hand covered hers. “And, as a consequence, we ended up hurting each other more. I don’t want to be a burden on you. I don’t want to screw up your life any more than I’ve already screwed it up.”

“It would be screwed up whether you were here or not,” she told him. “I think I’d rather you were here screwing it up for me. It seems that I can’t live without you either. It doesn’t seem to matter how much you hurt me, there’s something inside me that always wants to forgive you and not give up.”

Grace wiped her eyes. “It’s been hell these past few months, especially when I remember how it was last summer, how happy I was. I want those days back again and maybe that’s why I can’t give up on you just yet. You just need to know that we’re really busy here right now. It’s not like spring when I had more time. If you want to spend time with me, then you’ll have to get out and about. Come racing with me. Learn how things work around here. It might be just what you need. You’re a military man, you know how to keep things spic and span, you can clean the tack.” She smiled.

I just want to hold him. God, give me strength, we will get through this.

He curled his fingers through hers. “All right, it’s a deal. Perhaps being busy is a good idea. Maybe it’s what I need.” He leaned across the table and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Grace.” His eyes were bright and tears gleamed on his cheeks. “Thank you. I really will try not to let you down.”

“I won’t let that happen. We’ll get you a Jockey Club card so that you can come into the stables at the racecourses with me. You can be a Pupil Assistant. If you step out of line, you’ll have Dad to answer to and probably Billy.”

“I should think they’ll have something to say to me anyway.”

“Probably, Billy thinks you’re a fuckwit.”

He laughed.

“Anyway, you’re lucky. Today’s my day off. We can start by going to see Mum and Dad, and then we’re going to get food and you’re coming with me.” She stood up and held out her hand. “I love you, Chris. More fool me, but I love you.”

* * * *

“Will you wear these again, Grace?” Christopher held the pendant and ring toward her as she unpacked the last of the groceries.

Grace had missed them both, the solidity of the ring on her finger, and the brush of the pendant against her skin. “Yes.” She held out her hand and let him slip the ring back onto her finger. He fastened the chain and kissed the nape of her neck.

Grace closed her eyes. His lips were firm and warm and she had missed his touch, no matter how sparing he had been with it before he left. She leaned back against him when his hands crept around her waist and he hid his face in her hair. “Grace?”

“Yes?”

“What kind of wedding do you want? Were you wanting the full production, the white dress, flowers, choirs, bridesmaids, me in my uniform?”

“I can’t say that it was on my mind much these past few months.”

“I’m sorry.”

She covered his hands with her own. “It’s all right. Since you asked, no, I don’t want the big production. I don’t ever want to see another grand wedding production again. I just want to marry you. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His breath was a long, warm sigh. “Then let’s do it. Let’s go to the nearest registry office and get it sorted out. I can’t give you much at the moment, but I can give you my name.”

Grace turned in his arms and touched his face. “I’d love to have your name.” It was such a simple thing. “We’ll go to Bury tomorrow and get it sorted.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. We won’t have to wait long either, hopefully.”

“Thank you, Grace.”

She closed her eyes when he kissed her. She remembered the first time he had kissed her—the sweet, gentle sips had told her all that she needed to know. Grace fought the ache of longing that rose inside and kissed him back, her fingers spread across his face. “Thank you for coming home.”

* * * *

“I want to tell you what it was like there.” Christopher stretched out on the settee and rested his head on Grace’s lap. “It’s time I started talking.”

Grace stroked his hair. “Yes.”

The late afternoon sunlight fell through the open window and across the room. The cool breeze moved the curtains. Grace watched his face. His eyes grew distant.

“They flew us in by Chinooks, in the night, from Gibraltar. The locals knew we were coming. When we landed, in the dark, they started shooting at us with small arms and RPGs. Luckily, we had air support with heat-seeking cameras. They soon took care of our welcoming party. By daybreak we’d set up our FOB in an abandoned compound. It wasn’t great, but it was better than being out in the open, because the bastards kept shooting at us.”

Grace kept stroking his hair. His voice was low as he continued.

“We got set up. It was a bit rough and ready.” He grinned. “You saw the showers.”

She smiled, remembering the photograph.

“Once we’d settled in, and taken care of a few of the snipers, the CO decided that it was time we went out and introduced ourselves to the locals. It was all about winning hearts and minds…it’s the new philosophy. No more mortars, in case we killed civilians. It took ages to reach the village. There were IEDs everywhere.”

“There were?”

“A lot of them were easy to find—they were covered with piles of stones, so that the locals didn’t step on them. But we could only move as fast as the lad with the metal detector. Plus, we had to keep an eye out for snipers.

“By the time we reached the village, we realized that most everyone had left. They knew we were coming and they’d cleared off. I don’t know if they left because they didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, or whether it was because the Taliban told them to leave. There was an old man and his wife. The old man was too ill to leave. He had to stay behind. He wasn’t too convinced that our being there would make things better. He said that in all his ninety years, there had never been a government that could make things right.” Christopher sighed. “He didn’t think we’d make much of a difference either. He ended up being our only ally in that place. That’s where we bought our eggs.

“There were a few others who’d stayed because they owned shops and they saw us as a way of making a bit of money. There were grocers, tailors and there were others who dealt mainly with the Taliban. They sold drug-making equipment and needles for local addicts. Hell, we were surrounded by poppy fields. There was even a place where you could buy field dressings and morphine for the local fighters. There were white banners everywhere, marking the place as Taliban territory. We were dropped right into the middle of a hornet’s nest.”

He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. “Every damn day someone was taking pot shots at us. Even now, if I hear anything that sounds like a gunshot, I flinch.” His hand was light on her hair. “See, I’m still a bit messed up.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll get through it.”

“You sound so sure.” He kissed her cheek.

“You’re worth fighting for, Chris. Just don’t leave me again.”

* * * *

It was good to be home. Christopher watched Grace while she sat on the edge of the bed and combed her hair. Her hair had grown longer in his absence. It fell past her shoulders in a veil of chocolate brown. The soft lamplight found streaks of fire, bay and chestnut in it. He knew it would feel like silk to the touch. He’d missed that simple bed-time ritual, missed watching her and listening to the whisper of the comb when it swept through her hair.

“May I?” He sat behind her and took the comb from her hand.

Something inside turned slowly when Grace smiled at him. The anger and fury was gone, replaced by warmth and a look he couldn’t define. He only knew she made him feel better, just by letting him stay. He ran the comb through her hair until it fell straight and crackled and clung to his hands. He set the comb down, pushed her hair to one side and kissed the nape of her neck. “I love you, Gracey.”

She turned out the light. “I love you, too.”

Christopher moved into her open arms. This was what he’d missed most of all, the nights, lying in her arms. Her heart beat a steady, slow lullaby beneath his cheek and her hand tightened on his shoulder.

Home at last.

Chapter Nineteen

“If you weren’t so bloody tall, I’d bloody kill you,” Billy declared. “But, yes, I’ll be your best man because I want to see you do right by Grace.” He grinned and shook Christopher’s hand. “You’re one lucky bastard. I hope you realize that, mate.”