Page 5 of The Last Kiss

He spat out the sour taste and squinted at the grey sky, watching a couple of reconnaissance planes fly north. There’d been a time, not so long ago, when he’d wondered what it would be like to fly above it all and look down on the battlefield. He and the captain had mused on it, trying to sketch out a future where men might fly from town to town instead of taking the train. Fanciful stuff, but the captain had always loved to dream.

Imagine if… I wonder whether… What do you suppose…?

No point in wondering now. The captain was gone and the world was a darker place for it. Harry’s world was, at any rate. Dark and hopeless.

Christ, he wished they weredoingsomething. All this sitting about waiting gave him too much bloody time to think — and thinking took him close to the edge. He’d been hovering there since he’d carried the captain to the dressing station and watched, helpless, as they’d stretchered him away, his face death-white and one arm swinging lifeless over the edge of the stretcher.

That first evening he’d sat in the miserable rain and stared at the captain’s blood beneath his fingernails, waiting for dark to fall so he could climb onto the fire step, light a fag, and let a sniper end it for him. What had stopped him were the men around him, turning to him in their grief, looking to him for hope he didn’t bloody have.

The captain will make it, sir, won’t he? I’ve seen men survive worse.

He’d held on for them that night but hoped in his heart that he’d click it in the next push. He hadn’t. And now, over a month later, he just felt empty. For the best part of three years he’d lived and breathed death, yet he still couldn’t make himself believe the captain was gone. Not him, not Captain Dalton.

Not Ashleigh.

He closed his eyes against the memory of the single time he’d used the captain’s name, of the wrenching tenderness of that moment, held now in the hollows of his heart. Love, yes, but not like anything he’d known before. Nothing like the furtive desire he’d felt for other men. What he’d felt for the captain had been pure, a connection of the soul not the body. And without him, Harry was lost.

A kerfuffle further down the street roused him. Taff, returning from the Field Post Office. All the men stirred. Thanks to the fighting and the advance, they hadn’t had mail in days.

Little Bill scrambled to his feet and Harry took the fag from his fingers. The lad had a sweetheart back home and her letters did more than anything to bring a smile to his pinched face. Harry watched as Taff handed out letters and postcards — he had quite a stash — and something like a smile touched his lips to see Bill’s glee when he was handed two letters. At least someone was happy.

Harry wasn’t expecting anything. His sister was working and didn’t have much time between that and keeping the children fed and clothed. Mum wrote twice a month, and it wasn’t her time. So he was surprised when Taff called out to him, waving an envelope. “Something for you, Harry.” His face was carefully set. “It’s from Calais.”

With a frown — barely daring to think what this might mean — Harry shoved himself away from the wall and clambered over the rubble. “Thanks.” He glanced at the address but didn’t recognise the firm hand. His heart, what was left of it, tightened. “Anything for you?”

Taff patted his pocket. “From the wife.” But he wasn’t smiling, his attention fixed on Harry’s letter. They all knew the nearest Base Hospital was in Calais. If the captain had made it that far, this could be news.

Harry gave Taff a nod and, expecting the worst, walked away from the others. If it was notice of the captain’s death, he couldn’t let them see him weep. And he knew he would. As much as Harry’s heart believed the captain was gone, this final proof would crush him.

With the letter in hand, he slunk into the shadows of Passchendaele’s shattered church and squatted with his back against the remains of a wall, hands shaking as he stared at the envelope. The air was sharp with brick dust and he rubbed at his nose. Procrastinating.

Fuck it. Taking a deep breath, he tore the letter open.

My dear West, I wanted to write sooner but I’ve had rather a time of it…

An ugly sob of pure, impossible relief ripped out of his chest, so violent it felt like pain. He could barely read the faint, shaky words through his tears, could barely suck in a lungful of gritty air. He was half-laughing, half-choking as he tried to devour the whole letter in one go, scrubbing his eyes, skipping over words in his haste to understand.

…and am only now capable of putting pencil to paper. I won’t trouble you with the details. Suffice to say that I’m alive, thank God, and, if not yet well, on the way to being so. I don’t remember much, but enough to know that I owe you my life — among every other debt I’ve accrued at your expense.

Please write as soon as possible. I’m to be sent home once I’m fit to travel and you may imagine how I fear for you, and for all the men. I’m starved of news and depend on you for information.

I can’t express everything — it’s too much — but I trust you understand and know that I remain your most loyal and grateful friend,

Capt. A.A. Dalton

Harry sat for a long time staring at the words, reading them again and again. He hadn’t dared hope and now his heart was rioting, relief chased along by a desperate, impossible need to get to Calais. To see for himself, to be with his friend. To hold him.

“Harry?” Taff kept a careful distance. “We wondered whether you’d had news. About the captain.”

Harry looked up, swiping at his eyes. He felt raw, as if Taff could see the bare truth of him. But Taff just watched him steadily and Harry remembered that all the men loved the captain. Not like he did, but well enough.

He pushed to his feet. “Aye, I have.” He held out the letter so that Taff could read it himself. “Sounds like he’ll make it.”

Taff’s smile split his grubby face. “Praise God.” He skimmed the letter, then handed it back. “He don’t say whether they saved his leg.”

Harry shook his head and folded the precious letter, holding it close. “There was nothing left to save, Taff. It’s a bloody miracle they saved his life.”

They shared a look and neither addedFor now.

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