Christopher's Medal (35 page)

* * * *

Grace eased Allonby up at the end of the gallop and stared across the grass to the clump of onlookers surrounding her father. The swimming kept Allonby fit and his leg rested. A few light pieces of work hadn’t caused any problems. This was his final work-out before leaving for California. Grace suspected most of the onlookers were racing journalists, covering the story of the long-odds runner from a small yard.

“Like flies on shit.” Billy reined in beside her. “Bloody journalists.”

“It’s good publicity for the yard. You want more rides, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know.” He lit a cigarette. “They just make me nervous, that’s all.”

“They make me nervous too. Especially on days like today. I just dread Allonby breaking down, or walking off the gallop lame. They’d love that.”

“I’ll be glad when it’s all over.”

Grace thought of Christopher. “So will I. Chris is in a bad way again.” He’d woken screaming in the night. He’d clawed at the sheets and yelled for someone to ‘get the fuck away’ before collapsing in her arms, trembling and weeping.

“Do you think he’ll ever get better, Gracey?”

Grace pulled Allonby to a halt and watched her father walk across the grass, grinning. “God knows. He was all right for a while, now he’s right back in it. I need to give him my time. That’s why I want this all over and done with. We just need time and quiet and we’re not getting much of either at the moment.” It had been gone two in the morning before Christopher had finally fallen asleep, his head heavy on her shoulder.

“How did he feel?” Her father tugged Allonby’s forelock.

“Fine, Dad. No problem at all. I had a double handful. He’s ready.”

He looked at Billy. “You ready, son?”

“Yes, Boss.” Billy’s face was pale.

“Good lad.” He patted Billy’s knee. “Get them back to the yard, hose his leg and take the rest of the day, Gracey. You look knackered.”

“Oh, cheers, Dad.” Grace wanted to crawl into bed and sleep the day away. She only hoped Christopher and his nightmares would let her.

* * * *

The water returned, surrounding him, warm and murky. Christopher welcomed it, welcomed the refuge it provided from the memories. The cold weather made his leg burn and the ache settled in his bones. He didn’t want that reminder of how he’d come to be like this. The water and the thick glass made the pain less troublesome. He hated what it did to Grace, how it wrapped around him, keeping her away. Her voice receded to a worried whisper and her touch was too faint to bring warmth and comfort. Every time he tried to reach for her, the pain and the memories tugged at him, demanding to be remembered, demanding his attention.

Christopher knew he needed to fight it. He wanted to get back to Grace. He owed her too much and, with the big race looming large, she needed him to be there. This time, he fought the water, pushed it away, broke through the glass. It was time he faced up to what happened. He needed to find Grace again and he knew that the only way he was going to do that was to look back.

He wished to God he hadn’t.

* * * *

Grace woke to the sound of rain. It spattered against the window in the darkness. The wind tugged at the window, rattling it in its frame. She lay awake for a moment and tried to work out what was different. The room felt cold and the bed beyond her even colder.

Oh, God, no, not again.

She took a deep breath and sat up. Dread uncoiled from a cold, hard knot in her stomach and she shook as she crept out of the bedroom. Wind screamed around the house when Grace crept into the hall, her eyes adjusted to the stormy darkness. Light slipped pale and yellow beneath the living room door. She hoped that Christopher was just having trouble sleeping. There had been nights when he had taken a book into the living room in order not to disturb her with his tossing and turning. She opened the door with a shaking hand and peered into the living room. The settee was empty and the radio was off. “Chris?” she whispered.

Grace paused when she heard a rustle of movement in the kitchen. She tiptoed to the doorway. An amber glow from the streetlight fell through the window and found Christopher huddled in the corner. She looked at him for a moment, remembering the last time she had discovered him like this.

Oh, God.

Light glinted dully on the blade of a knife, dark against the pale glow of his forearm. His head was tilted while he stared at the blade and at his arm. It took a moment for her eyes to focus, then she could see the small, dimpled hollow where the knife pressed against his skin. Grace bit her hand and trembled when she dropped to her knees in front of him. Christopher kept staring at the knife and his arm, his face blank.

Christ.

She inched toward him on her hands and knees, watching his face for any change.

“Chris?”

She closed her hand around the hilt of the knife, around his cold fingers. “Chris, darling, I’ll take that now.” A lifetime of being around fractious horses had taught her calm. Everything had to be done, slowly, gently. “Darling.” Grace fought to keep her voice level.

Christopher’s fingers uncurled from the handle and she slowly eased the knife from his hand, all the while, not taking her eyes from his face, which remained empty. She backed away with the knife in her possession then slipped it back into the drawer. “Chris?” She touched his hand where it rested on his lap. He kept staring at it, at his fingers splayed pale across his damaged leg. He flinched when she covered it with her own and the emptiness in his eyes scared her far more than what he had intended to do with the knife.

“Chris, please, you must speak to me.” She tried to keep her voice even but great, dark sobs threatened to claw their way from deep inside. Her breath hitched and he stirred.

His eyes were huge and black when he looked at her. “Grace?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Chris. Not without your help, please come back to me.” She gave in to her tears, crying while he continued to stare at her, suspended between two worlds.

“Why are you crying?” He sounded like a lost child.

“Because you just tried to kill yourself,” she sobbed. “And because I’m tired, I’ve tried everything to make you talk to me. I’ve endured weeks of silence and I’ve been afraid of what you might do. I’m so tired and I can’t live like this anymore.” The words spilled out before Grace could stop them. She covered her face with her hands and cried helplessly, too scared to do anything else.

“Gracey.” His voice was a whisper and his hand was light on her arm. “Don’t cry. I was only trying to make things right.”

“How does killing yourself make things right?”

“I was meant to die when that IED went off. Those men, they should never have tried to get me. I told them to stay away, to look after themselves.”

She stared at him, stunned by his calm. “How can you say that? Those men would have no sooner abandoned you than you would’ve left them.”

He nodded. “An officer should always support his men.”

“By dying with them?” She wiped her eyes. “And what about the people you would leave behind? Your parents, me, doesn’t love count for anything? I can’t believe you’d choose the same road as Mark. Don’t you remember how that hurt you?”

There was silence and Grace watched him while he considered her question. A muscle twitched in his cheek and the glaze in his eyes was replaced by bewilderment before his face crumpled altogether. He reached toward her when he collapsed in on himself, shaking.

“What have I done?”

Half blinded by tears, Grace stumbled forward and put her arms around him. He clutched her robe and shook.

“Grace, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she soothed. “It’s all right, now.”

Christopher slid sideways onto the floor and she remained with him, cradling him when he broke down and clung to her. “God, help me,” he cried. “I remember everything.”

Grace held on to him in his misery, rocking him back and forth on the kitchen floor until, like a child, he finally settled, his head heavy on her breast. She curled up around him, protecting him from the world and the chill of the hard tiles. His reddened eyes were unfocussed once more when he spoke, his voice torn and hoarse. “We had to escort a supply convoy to an advance FOB about thirty miles from ours. It was slow going, we could only move as fast as the lad with the metal detector.”

Christopher’s fingers curled into her hair. “A few of us walked alongside the vehicles to keep an eye out for insurgents. It was a crap day for seeing much of anything. There was a cold wind that cut to the bone and we could hardly see for the dust. I had my scarf up around my face and goggles to keep the fucking dust from my eyes. Usually, IEDs are easy to spot, they’re usually covered with stones so that the locals don’t step on them. But the dust was so bad, everything was brown, everything was covered in it. This IED was remote-controlled.”

He huddled into the space she had made for him. He trembled against her and his chest rose and fell when he took a deep breath. “The force of the blast blew me off the road. I remember flying through the air and I remember that my leg felt like it was on fire… I’m not too proud to admit that I screamed. At least, I think I did. I couldn’t hear a thing, apart from my ears ringing… Everything went numb until I landed back on the ground… I felt like I’d been slammed into by a…I don’t know…a tank.”

Grace held onto him. She stroked his hair and face and tried to breathe.

His eyes glittered in the uneasy darkness. “I looked down at my leg, the pants were in shreds and there was blood everywhere, mingling with the dirt. For a moment, I couldn’t move, I just kept looking at my damned leg. My hearing started to come back…sort of…there was a lot of yelling and panic behind me. I heard someone shout for the medic and then the scuffle of boots as someone came to get me.”

Christopher’s hand sought hers. His grip was tight. He took another deep, shuddering breath. “That’s when all hell let loose. There seemed to be gunfire coming from every direction. I heard them whizz past me, I saw them hit the dirt all around me. They sounded like bees. I shouted for the others to get back and take cover. I didn’t want anyone getting shot up on my account. I started returning fire, I couldn’t see much, because the explosion had thrown up a lot of dirt.”

“Dear God, Chris.” Grace brushed her lips across his forehead. Her eyes burnt with unshed tears.

God, help me, I nearly lost him. Jesus.

He huddled closer. He tightened his fingers through hers. “The pain was appalling. I remember that I was having trouble staying conscious. Have you ever had laughing gas? Everything goes strange, every noise echoes, like it’s coming from the end of a long tunnel. That’s what it was like. I was stuck on the open ground, in a dust storm with bullets flying all around me, theirs and ours.”

Grace held onto him and kept stroking his hair while he trembled.

“I kept returning fire. The dust was clearing and I could see where the bastards were firing from. One of them got careless… I saw him, he was getting ready to fire off another RPG… There was no fucking way I was going to let him do that. I let off another round…and I got lucky. I nailed the bastard.” Christopher released her hand. His hands curled into her hair. “I dropped to the ground and tried to drag myself back to the others. That’s when one of the lads, Grenadier Roberts, lunged forward and grabbed hold of my arm… He started dragging me. He wouldn’t listen to me. He kept pulling at me…the bastards got him.” He stopped and shivered in her arms. “I saw this red bloom across his cheek. I don’t know if it was a good shot or a lucky shot, but he screamed and dropped like a stone.”

Grace heard the tears in his voice. She let him talk.

“After that, I guess I passed out because my leg didn’t hurt anymore and everything went dark and quiet.

“It was the pain that woke me. I wasn’t out in the open anymore. They’d managed to get me into one of the lorries. The medic was swearing and flushing the wounds out. Someone was pressing on my leg. His hands were covered in blood…my blood. Someone else was dealing with the other chaps that were injured. They were groaning. Someone was screaming. God…Grace, I hope I never hear that again.” Another deep, hitching breath and a muffled sob. “All I could smell was blood and dust. I was in and out. I remember someone saying that the choppers were on the way. That was it. It hurt, I couldn’t bear the sight of my own blood and I gave up and passed out.”

Grace bit her lip and let him continue.

“I came around at Bastion. There was a huge dressing on my leg. I tried calling out, but no one heard me. I’m not even sure that anything came out of my mouth. Everything hurt so much and I couldn’t remember why I was there. All I wanted was sleep and I wanted to wake up and find you there. I had a feeling that my war was over and that it was time to come home to you.” His hand found her face. “That was it, that’s the whole sorry story.”

Grace kissed his cheek, tasting tears. She wanted to keep him there forever, safe from those terrible memories, safe from anything that could hurt him. “You weren’t meant to die, Chris. Please, don’t ever think like that again. You have to live, for me, for Grenadier Roberts.”

He sat up. “Haven’t I put you through enough?”

“What I said, I said out of fear and frustration. I love you. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”