Peter’s memorial service had taken a long time to arrange, in part because there was no body to recover, but also because Ruth and the family couldn’t agree on anything. As he had had a simple military funeral shortly after he passed, his family had insisted on holding a memorial for him and had invited Ruth out of obligation. It was the most contact she had had with his family in years, and the stress of it all made her want to break down. Now, after the service, the fake smiles and sympathies, she wanted only to lock herself in a dark, quiet room and forget about the world. The way home was the slowest she had ever walked, trailing her mourning dress. She took a deep breath on the front step before entering.
‘Come, I’ve got a surprise for you.’ Anthony took hold of Ruth’s hand as soon as she had come in the front door.
‘Where are we going?’ Ruth half expected him to produce a blindfold from his pocket, but he led her through the house and into the kitchen.
‘You’ll see,’ he replied, a faint smile on his lips. He didn’t stop in the kitchen, but opened the back door with his free hand and almost pulled her outside. She hadn’t seen him like this before, his childlike enthusiasm showing through. It made her think of George, bringing a fresh wave of grief. As soon as they were outside, back in the cold of the open air, his face dropped, became more sullen and there was a look in his eyes that reminded her of when they had first met. It made her want to hug him, but before she could get a chance, he pulled her around to face the side wall of the little yard at the back of the house.
‘What do you think?’ he asked, his voice low, as if he would disturb the neighbours, but she knew it wasn’t because of that. He pointed when she wouldn’t take her eyes off his face.
He had moved Peter’s bicycle, and in the corner there was a small wooden cross, painted white, with two small flower pots either side to keep it upright. One pot was filled with sprigs of lavender and the other lilies, her favourite flowers. How had he known?
‘Where did you get them from?’ she asked.
‘I have my contacts, just like you.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Take a closer look.’
She leant down and noticed that he had worked on the cross. It was tied on the crossbeam with lengths of brown string. There was a name etched into the wood. ‘Peter,’ she breathed.
He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and she covered her mouth with her hands. Tears threatened to prick at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away. ‘You did this… for me?’
‘It felt like the right thing to do.’ He shrugged and looked away. ‘As you didn’t get to have a proper burial, I thought this might help. I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark.’
She could barely see his face through the tears that streamed from her eyes, nor could she get any sound to escape her mouth that wasn’t a faint murmuring. She wasn’t sure she knew what to say anyway. Instead, she pushed herself into Anthony’s chest and let the tears come. At first he hesitated, then he put his arms around her and rested his lips on her hair. Anthony didn’t say anything more; he simply held her, squeezing her with a control that made sure that the air wasn’t pushed out of her lungs, but that she felt reassured all the same. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, slowing her breaths with each wracking sob.
In that moment she couldn’t help but think about Peter. Had he been scared when he died? Had he thought of her? But she was glad that Anthony was there. She couldn’t do anything now to bring Peter back, but it was right that she should think of him, and she couldn’t imagine anyone other than Anthony making this kind of gesture. She thought that Peter would have appreciated it too. He may even have liked Anthony, though you could never be sure where men were concerned. They had a lot of similarities, but they were also very different men. Anthony simply stroked her hair, allowing her to cry.
She didn’t really know him all that well, but she felt like she did. She couldn’t explain that. It wasn’t as if he had told her everything about himself and there was nothing left to learn, it was more like she knew him, knew his character, the kind of man he was, and that he was above all else caring and good. But really, she had come to know him these past few months. They had been through things together that people wouldn’t go through during peacetime. She knew him now almost as long as she had known Peter when they were courting before he had proposed to her. It had seemed a long time back then, but now, with everything going on in their world it seemed both like no time at all and forever. War had a strange way of disrupting her perception of time.
She wiped the tears away with her hand and looked up at him. There was a look in his eye, something she had only seen on one occasion before, when she had told him about Peter. The only way she could think to describe it was a deep compassion, as if he felt her pain intensely, as if he lived it himself. Despite that there was a strength she hadn’t realised. More than just physical strength, Anthony had an emotional strength she didn’t think was possible for a man to have.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘You don’t need to thank me. I just wanted to do something for you.’
She nodded and pushed herself into his arms, letting him envelop her in a warm embrace. She closed her eyes almost on the verge of sleep, reassured by the comfort of him. If only she could truly confide in him, let him know her innermost thoughts and ask for his help. But she could not ask for anyone else’s help, least of all in finding George.
‘How many more will die before this is over?’ she asked instead.
He was silent for a few moments, before he spoke softly. ‘I don’t know. Too many. I don’t see this thing being over any time soon, do you? We need to take the fight to Hitler before this will be over. We’re on the defensive, covering ourselves, making sure we can last another day. I don’t know when the tide will turn, but it must. Perhaps if the United States enters the war?’
It was her turn to nod against his chest. Anthony was right, but here she was being forced into doing their bidding. Somehow, some way, she would turn this against them too. She had to. She couldn’t help them, not really. For George’s sake she would give them the impression that she was giving them what they wanted. She would have to stay one step ahead of them all the way. If only she could tell Anthony, bring him into her confidence, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. He was too kind, too pure for what she had to do, and she wouldn’t tarnish him like that. She would protect him as she protected everyone else. At all costs.