Page 41 of The Last Kiss

“Ash,” Harry said over the constant bloody blasting of the whistle — how many times did the bugger have to blow it? “Look at me.”

The train lurched forward and Ash opened his eyes. “I c-c-can’t st-stop it.”

“I know.” Harry squeezed his hand. “Train’s moving now, look.” He nodded to the window, saw Ash’s attention shift toward it. “We’re here, see? Not there. No one’s there anymore.”

“N-no one’s there.” Ash nodded. “Yes. Last time, c-coming down, you w-were still out there.”

Harry swallowed. For all the misery of those hellish days when he’d thought Ash had bought it, the idea of sitting at home with Ash still at the front was appalling. “Well I’m back now,” he said firmly. “We both are. And those whistles are just for the trains.”

Ash nodded, his death-grip on Harry’s hand easing. “Thank you,” he said. “This helps.”

“Good.” Harry kept hold of his hand.

Later, his gaze still fixed out of the window, Ash said, “Do you ever w-wonder what’s happened to the b-battle fields?”

“Not really.” Unlike Ash, who couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it, Harry considered himself the sort who looked forward not backward.

“So m-many men lost there. Their b-bodies, I mean.”

“I hope the trees grow,” Harry said, giving it some thought. “All those blasted stumps… I hope the trees grow back.”

Ash gave a faint smile. “Yes, that w-would be fitting.” After a pause, “Would you ever go b-back? To p-pay your respects.”

Swallowing, Harry squeezed his hand tighter. “Not for a while, Ash. Not for a good long while.”

By the time they reached Waterloo, Ash looked drawn and sallow. Harry had to pry their hands apart as the train pulled into the station. Luckily, Ash’s appointment at the bank wasn’t for another hour, so, once they’d reached Charing Cross, Harry marched them both to the Strand Corner House and sat Ash down with a pot of tea and a fruit bun.

The city was as loud and chaotic as always, but less sombre than when he’d left. Spring had arrived in London, too. Ash regained some colour as he ate, although he didn’t entirely lose his haunted expression. Under the table, Harry pressed their knees together and when Ash looked up, he smiled. “Better?”

Ash nodded. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to the next bit, either.”

“You don’t want your old position back?” It wasn’t something they’d talked about, but nothing Harry had seen made him think Ash missed his role at the bank.

“Would you want to sit in an office all day?”

“No fear.” He gave an exaggerated shudder.

“Not unless horses start working as clerks, eh?”

Harry laughed and turned to watch the traffic, a raucous mix of horse drawn vehicles and motor cars. The world was changing, that was for sure, and who knew where his place in it would be.

“Imagine,” Ash said suddenly, leaning forward across the table and speaking in a low voice. “Imagine if we could live in the country together, you and I.”

Harry glanced around cautiously, but nobody was listening. “And do what? Or are we to be gentlemen of leisure in this dream?”

“God no.” Ash wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had enough of idleness to last a lifetime. No, we’d work. You’d do something with horses and I’d — ”

“I’d own a stud farm,” Harry said. “If we’re talking of dreams, then I’d breed Thoroughbreds fit for a king. Make a bloody fortune.”

“Yes!” Ash’s eyes lit up. “And I could help you. I’d run the business while you concentrated on, uh, horse things.”

“Horse things?” Harry laughed and gave Ash’s knee an affectionate nudge. “That’s what it’s called, is it?”

“We could have a house right there at the stable and…” His voice cracked and he flashed a bright, deflecting smile. “And I’d never have to get on another bloody train.”

“We’d buy a motor car,” Harry suggested, heart twanging with a sweet pain. Longing, he supposed, was the word. “Then we could go wherever we liked.”

“We could take a holiday. To Devonshire, perhaps. Have you ever been?”

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