Poppies at the Well (2 page)

‘He's not dead, Kitty.'

‘I know.'

‘They found him in a field hospital. They're bringing him back to you. He'll need looking after. He was gassed, you see, he's not what he was, Kitty. I'm sorry.'

They brought a stranger to the Well, and left him. His head was bandaged and he sat awkwardly in a wheelchair. His legs had gone, left on the fields of France for the crows to peck. And she had to tend to this … this … whining, fretful being, constantly demanding time and attention of her that should have been her husband's. She had no time for Ellis now. He waited patiently in the shadows, and she lived for the brief moments they snatched together, when the stranger wasn't looking. Ellis was even kept from her bed at night, for the interloper was there, awake, pain-ridden. She could no longer listen to the music of the Well. His noise drove everything from her ears, even Ellis's sweet, loving whispers.

She knew what she had to do. She and Ellis planned it, whispering together in corners when the stranger's back was turned. She waited for the spring to come, the poppies to bloom, then she spoke to the interloper.

‘The poppies are blooming; we can go to the sea. It's not far. I will push you on to the causeway. You will feel better for the sea air in your lungs, you may even sleep easier tonight.'

He smiled up at her from his chair and patted her hand awkwardly. She had seemed cold and distant since his return. But then it was a lot to expect. Even from someone who loved you. His disfigured face, his crippled, useless body, his mind constantly wavering from the poison he'd breathed.

They set off for the sea. He felt her presence as she pushed his chair. She was murmuring to herself but he took no notice. It came of living alone, he thought. God only knew he had done enough of it in the past. He shuddered, regretting all the lonely years, and his shattered body. He would recover; the doctors had told him so. Things could never be as they were, but they would get better. They had to. After all they still had one another, and he loved her, and she him.

Not even his mutilated body could alter that.

She pushed his chair on to the pebbled causeway then wandered away, looking for crabs. They were sweet and good to eat. He made her move his chair, just once, so he could look up the downs to the copse of trees that hid the Well. Then he dozed.

The water woke him. It was swirling around what was left of his thighs, cold and clammy, it made his stumps ache. Frightened, he called out to Kitty. It was so easy to wander and forget the time. The tide was notorious. Many had been caught here and drowned. He looked for her frantically, worried lest she be hurt.

Then he saw her, standing on the cliff above him, laughing. Her arms stretched out to a shadow. He shouted, but the wind carried his voice, then the tide took his chair and he saw no more.

They came for her. She knew they would. Their cart carried her away from the Well but she did not mind. The poppies were in bloom, and he was at her side. Wherever they took her, Ellis would come too. They could not take that away from her, no matter what …

Other titles by
Catrin Collier

  
  

For more information about
Catrin Collier
and other
Accent Press
titles
please visit

www.accentpress.co.uk

Join Catrin Collier on Facebook

www.facebook.com/CatrinCollierAuthor

Published by Accent Press Ltd 2013

ISBN 9781783755639

Copyright © Catrin Collier 2013

The right of Catrin Collier to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN