Alice Kelloway turned out to be a bit third-rate, sadly. I was used to people who worked tirelessly and single-mindedly, and both Boxy and Kitty had been a joy to partner up with. Kelloway and Johnstone drove rarely, and helped with cleaning and repairs even less frequently, but, to be fair to them they knew their way around a first-aid station. Kelloway and I didn’t really get on from the start although I don’t think either of us really knew why.
The cottage hadn’t been evacuated long, and there was still work to be done fixing it up so I joined in where I could, reminding a disapproving Elise she’d said I was fit for anything.
‘She meant you’d be absolutely fine digging a trench, or firing a sixty pounder from the front line, not scrubbing this ghastly muck off the floor,’ Boxy grumbled. ‘Honestly, the boys have got much the easier job!’
I flicked water at her, and went back to work, my mind on Will’s letter. There seemed little doubt that it was really me he was thinking of, but not once had he said he still loved me. Was that because he thought it might weaken my resolve? Perhaps…I swallowed hard, and it hurt as my throat was so tight, suddenly. Perhaps I was wrong after all, and that he no longer loved me and was looking for an escape.
I had changed too, I knew that. As evidenced by my impatience with poor Kitty that night, I was bleaker in outlook, less ready to please others, and although the optimism Will loved in me hadn’t really disappeared, it had certainly faded. I’d tried so hard to be the same old Evie whenever we met, but just as I could see past his smiles and still love what he had become, so he would have been able to peel back the layers of my own good humour. Perhaps the difference, though, was simply that he did not like what he saw beneath. The thought panicked me and, worse, it made me question my persistence; if he wanted to relieve himself of the burden of my love, how could I possibly force him to endure it?
Boxy seemed to sense my need to keep working, and she and Elise stopped nagging me to take things easy. Thanks to Elise’s superb dressings I felt as if I could keep going all night, but when Archie arrived, with the promised bread and wine, we all downed tools and the others took themselves off for a walk, urged by Boxy who looked at me with a rather too-knowing expression.
Archie poured wine into two tin mugs, and produced some biscuits, and told me how Uncle Jack had found him at Calais where he’d been staying in a small hotel by the dock.
‘I was pretty surprised to see him, I must say,’ he said. ‘He certainly knows how to use his contacts to good effect.’
‘I wish he was having the same luck with Oli,’ I said. ‘I’m so glad he found you though, we were all so worried you might send that wire.’
‘Aye, it was a close run thing, a couple of hours to spare. And it was good to see him in any case. I’ve not seen him in a long time, we communicate by letter, mostly.’
‘You’re very alike,’ I said, studying him again. ‘I can’t think why I didn’t notice it when I first saw you.’
‘You had Lizzy and Will to think about.’ He paused, then cleared his throat. ‘How is Will, by the way?’
‘He’s…uh, he’s well,’ I managed, but my voice wobbled and a moment later Archie was on his feet and around the table.
He knelt at my side. ‘Come on, Evangelastica, he’ll be absolutely fine, try not to worry, it’s not fair on him.’ The way his words echoed Will’s own plea struck me; I had also used the same argument, when Mother had been so worried about Lawrence. How could I now dismiss it?
‘He wants me to leave him.’
‘I see,’ he said carefully.
‘Should I?’ I looked at Archie, pleading with him to tell me no.
‘Do you want to?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Do you think you should?’ That was the wrong question. I struggled to find a reply that wouldn’t rip my heart right out of my chest, but couldn’t find one. I nodded. Archie didn’t say anything, but stood up and drew me up with him. I looked up at the kind, handsome face, echoes of Jack Carlisle in the strong bone structure making him seem even dearer and more dependable than ever. His strength seemed to flow through his hands as he held me to him, and it was so like leaning against Uncle Jack that I unthinkingly let myself relax against him.
After a moment I became aware of his breath stirring my hair, and that his heartbeat was heavier beneath my cheek. His head moved slightly as if he were about to speak, and I pulled back, remembering who he was, and who he was not. I was being unfair.
‘Nothing’s changed,’ I said, searching his tired grey eyes, looking for understanding in their depths.
‘I know, darling.’ He kissed my forehead. I missed the feeling of being cherished, but what I felt for Archie Buchanan was the wrong kind of love. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. And I didn’t know if I was sorry for wanting to accept his love, or sorry for rejecting it, but he nodded.
‘Aye. Me too.’
‘There’s something else. He wants me to…he doesn’t want me to be alone.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘He likes you.’
Archie looked at me for a long, quiet moment, then nodded. ‘You can tell him whatever will give him the most peace.’
‘Thank you. I mean it, you’re the dearest –’
‘Friend. I know.’ He smiled and squeezed my hand. ‘Write to him now, Evie. Give him what he needs.’
Voices heralded the return of the others, and Archie stepped away as Boxy came in brandishing a bunch of wild flowers and looking for a jar to put them in. I turned on my brightest smile and put the water on to boil for Bovril, and Archie exchanged a few words with Elise and the new girls before picking up his cap.
‘I’m away now, ladies. Thanks for the hospitality. Be sure and let us know if you’re in need of anything. Supplies, mechanics, extra hands, wine.’ He said that last with a wink at me, and grinned, but those lovely eyes were shadowed still. As we said our goodbyes he brushed my cheek in a gentle kiss. ‘Take care of yourself, Evie. And please tell young Kittlington I’m thinking of her.’ Again, I detected a tremble in his voice, and there was a tightness in his fingers where they closed on my arms. Then he was gone, and in front of me lay the awful task of writing my final letter to my husband.
I kept it short; I wanted a swift cut, as painless as possible. Which is to say it only hurt like the slice of a blade for a few moments, and then it subsided to a deep, low throb that nevertheless eclipsed any pain I’d ever known.
My dearest Will
I hated to read your words, but hate even more to be a burden to you. I once told my mother the same thing as you have told me; that it is a weight on your heart you would better be without if you are to give your full attention to survival. As you wish then, I will stop writing to you and will no longer come to see you when on leave. I cannot keep fighting two wars at once, so I write to tell you that you have won. The next time I am in England I will begin divorce proceedings.
I will take such support as I find here, and Archie is a dear friend and keen to comfort.
E.
I placed the letter in the pile on the little table by the door, and by the next morning it was gone, and Will would soon know he was free.
After breakfast Elise, Boxy and I set to work preparing the cellar, and when the mail arrived there was sad news from Pervyse. Even Boxy was silenced as she digested it.
‘Poor little Mairi Chisholm’s fiancé was killed,’ Elise said as she flicked out the end of one of the sheets Frances had donated.
I caught it and we pulled it tight between us. ‘I didn’t know she was engaged.’
‘It was a private thing. Dorothie told me last week, but you’re not to say it around.’
‘Poor child. Mrs Knocker must be a great strength to her, at least.’
‘She’s not there, apparently. Mairi was alone, so Dorothie’s been staying with her.’
Dorothie Feilding thought even less of Mrs Knocker than I did, particularly after Elsie had published her memoir. Dorothie had really been incensed by the whole thing. I’d not read the book myself and so couldn’t comment, but the consensus was that it was very much a story of how Elsie Knocker, now a Baroness, was the bravest woman at the Front. Mairi was so sweet, and every bit as brave, and it was a terrible shame to learn of her bereavement.
‘How did he die?’
‘It was the most awful thing,’ Elise said, scanning her letter. ‘Apparently his machine came down with engine trouble, when he was flying over the aerodrome.’
I caught her eye and jerked my head towards Boxy, who had paled. ‘What freakish bad luck,’ I stressed.
Elise cleared her throat. ‘Well, yes. That sort of thing can’t be at all common.’
‘You needn’t be careful on my account,’ Boxy said. ‘Benjy and I talk about the likelihood of things going wrong all the time. If you talk about it, it stops being such a worry somehow.’
I could see that wasn’t entirely true, but didn’t push the matter. ‘Poor Mairi,’ I said again, and we worked in silence for a while. Thinking about the little Scots girl at Pervyse, and what she was going through, helped convince me I had done the right thing. If I heard something had happened to Will, my cutting him loose would not soothe me in the slightest, but it would help him if he believed me to be taking comfort elsewhere. I pictured him reading the letter, tucked into his awful little funk-hole, or sprawled out with his division in the fields further back, and I imagined the burden of care lifting from his shoulders. Yes, I had done the right thing.
So why did it feel as though my life had disintegrated?
Over the next few days I got back into the swing of things, and it was a relief to be distracted, even by a seemingly endless stream of trench foot cases, and heavy lice infestations. However, once my stitches were checked and pronounced to be “doing the job nicely”, I went back to driving. It was a relief to be away from the cottage, and to have something to take my mind off both Will and Oliver and, although the work was grim and our contribution often felt inadequate, I seized every chance to work. Boxy and I fell into our old routine easily; we had always worked well together and it was a deep and genuine pleasure to have her back. And Boxy was happy to take her car right up to the lines and then let me know if it was worth me taking my bus up, or if it was better relying on the horse-drawns.
I think Kitty might have been pleased to do that too, but despite her obvious courage I’d always hesitated to suggest it and so, on day runs, she’d always go up to the train station and take the wounded from there. I never had to worry about Boxy the same way, which left me free to worry, instead, about how Will had received my terse little note and if it had given him the release I’d intended, or if it had actually hurt him further. It was driving me mad, not knowing, and I prayed for one more letter from him to indicate how my seemingly quick acquiescence to his wishes had been interpreted. I didn’t even know whether I hoped he believed me or not, and part of me, despite knowing it would work against what he needed, wished he would read between the pathetically few, sharp lines and see the pain there.
‘Where are you off to?’ Boxy said, coming out of the cottage after breakfast, and catching me climbing into the ambulance. ‘The convoy’s not due for hours yet and I’m not ready to go up the line, I’ve got to replace the plugs on the car first.’
‘I’m going back to Number Twelve,’ I said. ‘Just for a look around. See if I can find…anything useful.’
She looked steadily at me for a moment, her lips pursed. ‘And if you find “anything useful”, will you risk your life to go inside and get it?’ She knew, of course, what I was hoping to find.
‘I’m sure it’s quite safe there now,’ I said evasively. ‘Anything that was going to fall down would have done so by now.’
‘And what if you don’t find it? Or if it’s mashed beyond all recognition, or burned? Would that be worth the risk?’
‘I have to try. You do see that? It’s all I have left now.’
‘Then let me come with you, you might have an accident, trip on something.’
‘You have the plugs to do,’ I reminded her. ‘You have to be ready for tonight, that’s far more important. It’s all right, I won’t do anything silly, I’m just going to be in and out again in a few minutes. I know exactly where it is. If I’m not back in an hour, come and find me.’
‘Be careful, poppet. Promise me.’
‘I will. Go in, you’ll catch your death out here.’
I began the long, frustrating task of starting the cold engine. Boxy watched me for a while, clearly struggling with her conscience, then blew me a kiss without smiling and went back inside.
I parked the ambulance on the road just across from Number Twelve, and sat quietly for a while, listening to the distant sound of the bombardment and knowing that, when it stopped, we would not celebrate, but instead feel that hollow, sick anticipation of the whistles summoning us to bring our men back from yet another hopeless push. The rain beat steadily down, turning the last of the late snow to grey-brown mush where the hundreds of tyres had churned up the mud. There was a good deal of traffic on the main road, but none of it pulled into the yard any more; Number Twelve was useless now, where it had once been a bustling haven of hope to so many. The cars, ambulances and horse-drawns simply rumbled carefully past on their way to the clearing stations and hospitals, and in the other direction they sped, empty, to the aid posts and dressing stations up near the lines.
I peered through the downpour at the cottage, seeing it in its ugly quaintness, as it had been for our first years out here, before my vision accepted the rain and allowed me to see through it to what was really there: just another of the countless, shattered ruins that had once graced the landscape, and now marred it beyond all recognition.
I pushed my hat more firmly onto my head and climbed down, sloshing through the puddles and mud that were all that remained of the once-neat yard, stepping over small holes and skirting larger ones until I reached the doorway where Anne had stood, smoking what was to be her last cigarette. I closed my eyes for a moment in memory, then stepped into the ruined main room, looking ahead through the gloom to where the bedroom door hung half off its hinges.
There was debris everywhere, but the roof looked sound enough, and nothing was creaking or groaning. A few tentative steps across the room and my confidence and excitement grew; I would go straight into the bedroom, find the little black box, and be out of the cottage and back to Number Twenty-Two before Boxy had time to spare me another thought.
But a noise from the cellar changed everything.