Christopher's Medal (18 page)

He shuffled forward and held out his hand. “I’m Wayne.”

Grace shook his hand. “Is Mark home?”

Wayne looked at his feet for a moment. When he raised his head, his pale blue eyes were a bit too bright. “No.” He turned back toward his open door. “You’d better come inside and sit down.”

A chill much deeper than frost crept into Grace’s bones. She followed Wayne into his living room, her face flushed by the blast of warmth from the central heating. Wayne sank into a chair with a groan and Grace perched on the edge of the settee, clutching Mark’s Christmas present. It seemed the best way to stop trembling. She watched Wayne fumble in his pocket for a handkerchief.

“Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

He blew his nose. “Were you friends with Mark?”

“He and my fiancé served in the army together. They were very good friends…are very good friends.” Her hands were clammy and cold in spite of the stifling heat in the tiny living room.

“I really hate to be the one to break the news.” Wayne inhaled then exhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks. “Mark’s gone.”

“Gone? As in gone away?” Grace wasn’t in the mood for guessing games.

“No, I mean gone as in dead.” His bottom lip quivered and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Two days ago, I got a bit worried. Usually I can hear him moving about, I can hear his television. Not that I mind, it’s comforting, knowing someone’s there. We always looked out for each other, you know?”

“Dead?” Grace wondered when she’d become a parrot. She couldn’t absorb the word ‘dead’. It didn’t fit with Mark. It didn’t fit with someone she knew and liked.

“I tried ringing the doorbell, knocking…everything. He didn’t answer.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I have a spare set of keys for his place. He had mine. So, I went in.”

Grace tightened her hold on the box. Her fingertips squeaked across the wrapping paper.

Wayne stared up at the ceiling. “He was in bed. There was an empty bottle of pills on the floor, prescription stuff. Painkillers…I dunno…something strong. He was just lying there, flat on his back, a little smile on his face.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and when he spoke once more, his voice shook. “He had his good days and his bad days, you know?”

Grace’s eyes burnt. She nodded and tried to speak. It was too easy to see what Wayne saw.

“He never left a note or anything. He lost touch with his family years ago. The police turned themselves inside out trying to find someone. I don’t know that they did. It doesn’t matter. The army will take care of him. That’s one good thing, they may send us to hell and let us get blown to bits, but they look after us in the end.”

“Jesus.” He was only a year or two older than Christopher. Funny, kind, good-looking. It wasn’t right. It didn’t fit. “I had no idea he got that low. He never let on. I don’t think even Chris knew.”

“Mark was very good at hiding it. I only knew because I’ve been where he was.”

Grace groped in her pocket, hoping there was a bit of tissue, a napkin, anything. Her face was sticky with tears. “I wish I’d bloody known.” She found a scrap of tissue and wiped her eyes.

“He wouldn’t want you to know. He wouldn’t want you to worry.”

It was the ‘little smile’ that killed her, that little detail. Grace’s throat constricted. She wanted to howl. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say.” She looked down at the parcel on her lap—a gift box with a bottle of Irish whiskey and a couple of crystal glasses. She’d take it back home, save it for when Christopher returned and they would drink it in Mark’s memory. It seemed right.

“It’s all right. I’m sorry I was a bit blunt. There’s just no easy way to break that kind of news.”

“It’s all right. I understand.” She stood up, wanting to be out of there, wanting to be home. “I’m sorry, I think I need to go.”

Wayne struggled to his feet. “Look, you’ve had a shock. At least have a cup of tea.”

Grace looked at him, the day’s worth of gray stubble on his cheeks, red-rimmed eyes asking her to stay a little while longer. “Yes, all right. A cup of tea would be nice. Thank you.” She sank onto the settee.

“I’ll fetch us both a cup. I could use one myself.” He shuffled out of the room.

Grace stared numbly at the gas fire and listened to the sounds of tea being made—the clunk of mugs onto the kitchen counter, the hiss and whistle of the kettle and the rippling sound of water poured into a pot. It was all comforting and familiar, but she should’ve been next door listening to Mark while he thumped about his kitchen, whistling while he made the tea and rooted through the cupboard in search of biscuits.

“Here we are.” Wayne returned with a tray. He set it down on the coffee table. Steam swirled lazily from the spout of the tea pot, bringing with it the comforting scent of strong tea. He spooned sugar into both mugs, before Grace could protest. “You need sugar,” he told her. “You’ve had a shock.”

“Thank you.” Grace watched him pour the tea into the mugs then add milk. Suddenly, a cup of tea seemed like a very good idea.

Wayne handed her a mug. She cupped both hands around it and waited for it to cool a little. She glanced around the room, a mirror image of Mark’s with different bits and pieces. There were family photographs on the mantelpiece and bookshelf. A medal, in a presentation case, rested beneath a photograph of a younger Wayne and an important-looking officer. Grace wanted to ask but couldn’t summon up the energy to talk. She sought refuge in the tea instead.

They sat in silence. The only sounds were the somnolent tick of the wall clock and the hiss and soft thump of the gas fire. The tea was sweet and strong and just what Grace needed. She tried not to think of how she was going to tell Christopher. There wasn’t a good way to break the news.

* * * *

The crematorium’s Christmas decorations, in spite of being muted and tasteful, were all wrong. Grace shivered on the porch with Emily Edwards, Wayne and a small handful of other mourners, waiting for the arrival of the coffin.

“It’s a pity there’s no one from Mark’s family here.” Grace put her hands in her pockets and watched the hearse’s slow progress down the long drive. The sunlight glittered on the grass, turning the December morning to a golden illusion and mocking the mourners.

“I did try.” Emily pulled her coat collar up. “As soon as you told me, I had someone check his files. I phoned his parents and they tried to tell me they didn’t have a son called Mark.”

“It makes you wonder what on earth happened between them that they couldn’t even come to say goodbye one last time.” Grace sorted through her pocket for a tissue. The arrival of the hearse always hurt.

“I don’t know.” Emily sighed. “It’s done now. It’s over.”

The hearse halted under the portico. Six Guardsmen in full dress uniform stepped forward in unison and lined up behind the hearse and waited for the driver, solemn in a long black coat, to open the back. The coffin, draped in a Union Jack, was eased out and shouldered by the Guardsmen. Grace choked back tears. The coffin should have been covered in flowers, instead there was a simple wreath from the Regiment and her spray of white lilies.

They followed the coffin into the chapel. Grace didn’t think it was much warmer in the vast, echoing room than it was outside. She slid into a pew beside Emily and stared numbly at the coffin. Muted, silvery light fell through the chapel windows and glinted on the simple cross behind the altar. The organ music faded away when the chaplain reached the front. Grace watched him place his Bible carefully on the podium. When he started to speak, Grace let his voice fade away to a dull hum. She thought back to the wedding. Apart from Christopher, Mark had been the only good thing about the whole wretched weekend. She thought of the easy friendship he and Christopher shared and wished she hadn’t been the one to break the news to him.

Somehow, a brief little email had made it through the tangled, erratic ether.

Jesus, Grace,

I don’t know what to think, or what to say. I know Mark had his bad days, but I had no idea it would ever come to this. I’m so sorry you had to find out like that. I’m so sorry you had to be the one to tell me.

I love you. I miss you.

Wayne sniffed in the pew behind her. When they rose to sing, a ragged rendition of
Abide with Me
, he burst into tears. Grace slipped back and put her arm around his shoulder. She wasn’t going to cry, not there. She owed to Christopher and Mark to be strong. She knew neither would want her to cry. Grace bit back her tears and comforted Wayne while he mourned his friend.

The service was brief and horribly impersonal. It sounded to Grace like the chaplain had a set speech dotted with blanks that he filled with Mark’s name—that was all. It was almost a relief when the conveyer belt shifted the coffin smoothly forward until it slid behind heavy beige curtains.

Grace was grateful to get out into the cold. The Guardsmen disappeared as did the half a dozen mourners, leaving Grace standing with Emily and Wayne.

Wayne fastened his coat. His eyes were red-rimmed while he stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket. “I wonder if you’d come back to the house with me. They’ll be coming to clear Mark’s things away tomorrow. I thought it would be nice if you took something, you know…a memento.”

Grace wondered if she’d be able to face the empty little house. She remembered the photograph on the mantelpiece. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll let you go, dear.” Emily kissed her cheek. “Have a good Christmas.”

“Thanks, and to you.”

“Don’t fret, Grace. Only a little over three months now.”

“Yeah.” Three months didn’t seem quite so bad. “I can’t wait.”

She walked to her car and waited for Wayne to start his. She drove behind him back to the quiet street and parked in Mark’s driveway for the last time.

“Sorry, it’s cold in here.” Wayne opened the front door and Grace stepped in behind him. ‘Cold’ seemed too mild a word for the chill that settled in her bones when she followed Wayne into the living room. She couldn’t bear to look into the hall at the closed doors there. It was too easy to see, too easy to imagine.

The photograph was still on the mantelpiece. Grace picked it up and wiped the dust from it with a gloved hand. “This is the only thing I want.” Christopher and Mark frozen in time, both grinning. She touched Christopher’s face with her forefinger.

“That’s your fiancé?” Wayne stood in the doorway.

“Yes.” Grace put the photograph in her handbag. “They’ve known each other a long time. I wish Chris could’ve been here today. He would’ve wanted to say goodbye properly. He’ll like this photograph.”

The house was full of Mark. It was too easy to imagine him sitting in his chair, teasing her about her lousy racing tips. It still didn’t seem possible that he was gone, his remains carried away by a conveyor belt beyond those thick, beige curtains.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m all right.” Grace managed a smile. “Thanks for letting me do this. It seems a better way to say goodbye.”

“I know I’ll miss him.” Wayne sighed and stared at his feet. “My daughter wants me to move in with her. She doesn’t like the idea of me being alone, now that Mark’s gone.”

“Will you?”

“I think so. It’ll be nice to spend time with the grandkids. It’s been too quiet since he went. I think it’s time.”

Grace retrieved her car keys from her coat pocket. “I think that’s a good idea. I should go. I need to be back in time for evening stables.”

Wayne shook her hand. “Please thank Mrs Edwards for organizing everything. She did Mark proud.”

“Yes, yes, she did.” Grace followed Wayne back out into the brilliant light of late morning. She couldn’t bring herself to look back and hoped that was all the grief she’d have to endure.

* * * *

“Typical bloody Christmas weather.” Grace stood in the doorway of the tack room and watched the rain streaming off the stable roofs into the yard. A cold wind hurled dead leaves and bits of straw along the walkway.

“I’m glad we’re not going anywhere for Christmas.” Jane shivered. “I’m going home and getting pissed.”

“That sounds like a very good idea.” There had been no word from Christopher since the email following Mark’s death. Grace had recorded a Christmas message on the webcam and emailed it to him, hoping that he’d get it. She hoped his silence was just because the internet wasn’t working.

Billy ran in from the rain, blowing on his fingers. “Whaddup, Gracey? You’re miles away.”

“I’m all right.” She glanced at him. “Thanks for helping out tonight. I knew it was a bad idea handing out the Christmas bonuses at lunchtime. I’d be willing to bet that Harry’s already drunk his way through his.” Every year, the owners always left presents and money for the staff. In spite of the recession, the yard had done well and everyone had received a box full of wine, beer, chocolates and an envelope with money. “I think I’ll have to have a word with Dad about changing his tactics next year.”

“Harry will still manage to get rat-arsed on Christmas Eve, regardless.” He put the pitchfork on the rack with the others. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Staying warm and safe in the comfort of my own home. I can’t make up my mind whether to have the frozen pizza or curry to go with my bottle of merlot.”