Christopher's Medal (25 page)

Grace took a deep breath, curled her trembling hands into tight, cramped fists in her pockets. “Why should I do that?”
Do I really want this?
She ached when she looked at him. “You said you didn’t need my help.” She wished that she didn’t love him. She wished that his eyes were less sad.

“Please, Grace. Please don’t turn me away. I need you. I love you so much that I can’t breathe when I look at you. Please say you’ll forgive me. I want to be with you, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Grace flinched at the raw pain in his voice. She fought to keep her voice even. “What makes you think I can make it all better? Ever since you came back from Afghanistan, I did nothing but mourn you. All I wanted was to see you. I know you’ve been through hell, but so have I. I’ve been trying my best to move on, to get over you. It wasn’t a great life before you were in it, but it wasn’t bad. I was happy, I have friends, I have a good job, a nice place to live that’s all my own. Now you want to sweep back in and turn it all upside down. I don’t know if I want that.” She took a deep breath. It felt good to vent after mourning him and nursing her own wounds for so long.

He stared at his feet then looked up at the rain. “I know how much I hurt you and, I suppose, that’s what I tried to tell you when you came to see me. Bad things happened to me. I can’t seem to shake them. I hoped that you could help me to forget or learn to live with them. I was wrong to speak to you like that and I guess I was wrong to come here and expect you to still love me.”

“What about Pippa? Where does she fit into all of this?”

“Pippa? What are you talking about?”

“When I came to visit you in hospital, when you refused to see me, she was there. She told me how well you looked. It was obviously all right for her to visit you.”

“She never visited me. She tried. She was there visiting someone else. She found out which room I was in and poked her head round the door. I threw a water jug at her and told her to bugger off.”

“You did?”

A trace of a smile. “I did.”

Grace watched him. Her thoughts were a tangle of hurt, anger and love. There were too many good things tied up with him. She had never loved anyone as much as she loved him and all the warmth, hope and memories that he had given her came rushing back as the rain fell around and between them. “Damn you, Chris.”

She walked slowly toward him and stood close enough to take his hand. It was cold. He wasn’t wearing a coat, his jumper was soaked and rain trickled and mixed with the tears on his cheeks. His fingers wound through hers and his eyes were pleading. The rain was turning to sleet, and large flakes of snow clung to his hair. Grace knew she was about to take on a huge monster. She couldn’t resist. She loved him enough to fight his battles for him.

“I know how badly I hurt you. I don’t blame you for being angry. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I just know that I can’t live on my own. I can’t be without you.” His hand tightened around hers. “God, please, Grace. Save me.” He collapsed into her arms, shaken by hoarse, racking sobs.

Grace clung to him and let him cry. All she could think about was how good it felt to hold him, to feel his arms around her. She knew that everyone stood in an anxious knot at the edge of the circle of light. Her father’s voice cut through the rain.

“Is everything all right, Gracey?”

“Everything’s fine, Dad. I think we need a little time.”

“All right, love. Call me if you need me.”

“I will, Dad.” She put her arm around Christopher’s waist. “Come on, let’s get you in the warm.” She helped him back to the cottage. He leaned heavily against her and cried.

Steve had finished unloading the boxes and offered her an uncertain smile. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes, we’ll be okay. Thanks, Steve.”

Christopher still wept. Grace guided him through the kitchen and to the living room. She sat him on the settee and went off in search of a blanket. He sat, crying, while she removed his wet jumper and wrapped the blanket around him. She threw another log into the fire and sat beside him. She held him in silence.

Grace stroked his hair and his face. “It’ll be all right,” she soothed. “Everything will be fine. I’ll take care of you.” She wanted to cry herself. She was scared of what she’d just taken on. This man who clung to her like a child caught in a nightmare.

Grace brushed the tears from his face and waited. Eventually, his sobs subsided and his deep, even breathing told her that he had cried himself to sleep. She sat for a while and looked at him. She was overwhelmed by a fierce and sudden rush of love and the need to protect him from everything that was bad.

“It’s all right. I still love you,” she whispered. “You’re not the only one who can’t breathe, my love.” She kissed his forehead, slid from beneath his weight then walked into the kitchen. Grace stood for a moment and stared, numbly, at the empty counter. Everything looked the same. The kettle sat where she had left it, next to an empty mug. She filled it with water and switched it on. She needed Pavel’s Russian cure-all for everything. The song of the rain filled the silence and wet clumps of sleet slid down the window. She heard the gates slam open as people left for the night. It was all so normal. It was too easy to pretend that Christopher wasn’t sleeping on her settee, that the spare room wasn’t full of boxes again.

Grace wandered into the hall and looked at the room that she had hoped to paint. The boxes were back, along with a suitcase and an exercise cycle. She wondered if she should unpack the box that she’d packed in anger and hurt and decided against it as the kettle began to sing from the kitchen. Instead, she made a cup of tea and returned to her vigil. She let her fingers drift across his face, rediscovering the slant of his cheekbones and the curve of his lips. His hair was longer and it had dried in wayward spikes. She smoothed them down and traced the curl of his ear with her forefinger. It was good just to watch him sleep, to feel the warm, solid weight of him.

He woke an hour later and looked at her, his eyes huge.

“Grace.” He reached up and touched her face.

She covered his hand with her own and closed her eyes, scared of the pain she saw in his.

He sat up. She watched him fumble in his pocket for something.

“Will you wear this again?” he asked. “Would you still marry me, Grace?” He held the ring between his fingers.

Grace looked at the ring for a moment, at the promises and the burdens that it now carried with it. She remembered the beach and how it felt to sit protected from the wind, in his arms. She remembered his proposal, the rush of hopeful words, making love back at the cottage. She wondered if it would be possible to find those moments again. She had to try. “Yes. I’ll marry you.” She held her hand out as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

“Thank you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Thank you, Grace.”

“I love you, Chris. I just want to help you, to be with you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I know, baby. I know you will. I think you’re the only one who can.” He sighed and gathered her into his arms. “Whatever happens, I love you.”

Grace closed her eyes and listened to the comfortable, familiar rhythm of his heart. Whatever it took, she would manage. She would fight his demons for him. If it meant moments of peace and warmth like this, she would endure anything.

* * * *

It was still snowing at bedtime. Grace sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair. She glanced at the wardrobe, where Christopher’s clothes now hung. It would take some getting used to, as would the feel of his pendant around her neck once more. He’d returned it to her without a word while she was in the kitchen making their dinner. He’d kissed the back of her neck and smiled, before returning to unpacking his things.

The medicine cabinet now housed a daunting array of pill bottles, along with the cologne and his shaving gear. Grace had looked at the open cabinet for some time, absorbing the suddenness of the change. His shampoo stood beside hers on the edge of the bathtub, his bathrobe hung over hers on the bathroom door and his toothbrush had returned to its rightful place. She wanted to cry.

He limped into the bedroom. “Are you sure you don’t want to turn out the light?” He unfastened his fly buttons. “They’re pretty bloody ugly, darling.”

“I don’t mind.” She watched him as he sank onto the bed and pushed his jeans away. He swung his legs onto the bed and she noticed how he studied her face as she looked at his scars. She bit her lip and surveyed the brutal damage. The long sweep of thigh that she had once loved to run her fingers along was now pock-marked with misshapen, puckered scars, ranging from an inch to five inches in diameter. Raw, red skin as fine and crinkled as tissue paper stretched across the smaller, concave ones where chunks of flesh had been cut away by the surgeons at Camp Bastion. There was another scar, a two-inch line, where the surgeons had pinned his leg back together. The largest, discolored ones were where the skin grafts had taken. That he had managed to keep his leg was a miracle.

“Do they hurt?” Grace asked. Her eyes burned with unshed, angry tears. She wanted to kill the people who had done this.

“The big ones do. There was a lot of nerve damage. They’re starting to grow back and they hurt…a lot. That’s why there’s all those pills. There’s a whole pharmacy of pain pills in there.” He rolled onto his side and pulled his shorts down, half way. “That’s where they took the skin for the grafts. Sorry, darling, my arse isn’t as nice as it once was.”

Grace touched the two patches where a faint, mesh pattern could be seen in the new skin. “Your arse is just fine.”

“Thank you, Gracey.” He put his shorts right and sat up once more.

She ran a cautious finger around the edge of the largest scar on his thigh.

Christopher reached for her hand and held it to his face. “Thank you, Grace. Thank you for giving me another chance.”

“It’s all right. I’ll do my best for you, I really will.” She wasn’t sure what she’d actually face in the days to come, but it had to be done. She stood up and peered out of the window. “I think you got here just in time. It’s snowing now.” She drew the curtains and crawled under the bedclothes. The snow whispered against the window and the room was cold. Grace reached for the lamp as Christopher curled up against her. She reveled in the warm weight of him while his head rested on her shoulder and she fell asleep, holding him.

* * * *

Grace wasn’t sure at first where the shouting came from. She sat up with a start. Her heart hammered against her ribs as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She reached for the lamp and turned it on as the bed shook.

“Chris?”

She didn’t know this man huddled up against the headboard. His eyes were wide and blank. Arms wrapped around his knees.

“Chris?”

He stared past her, his knuckles white while he kept groping at his legs. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. Formless sounds escaped from his lips, plaintive cries and nonsense, a mad jumble of words.

Grace put her hand on his arm. “Chris, it’s all right. It’s just a dream. It’s done, it’s over. Darling, please…wake up.”

Another shudder. His skin twitched at her touch. He jerked his head toward her.

“Do you know me?” His voice was raspy.

“You’re Chris.” She kept her voice low, calm.

“Chris,” he repeated. The shaking eased, his arms relaxed.

“You’re safe, and you’re home.”

“I am?” Christopher looked at her hand. “Home.”

“Yes, with me, Grace.”

“Grace.” He sounded drugged. “Grace. That’s a good word.”

“Yes.”

“I like that word. It makes me feel safe.”

Grace edged toward him. She put her arm around his shoulders. “I am safe. I’m your safe place, Chris.”

“Really?” He sounded like a child.

“Really.” She held him, felt him relax against her. “You’re safe with me.” She kissed his forehead. “You’ll always be safe with me.” Grace wanted to cry.

Christopher crumpled into her arms and sighed. Grace hid her face in his hair while he clung to her.

Outside, the wind rose and hurled mean spits of snow against the window and she was grateful that he was there and that he needed her. She held him until he slept, kissed his eyelids then turned out the light once more.

* * * *

Grace awoke to silence and to a room filled with soft white light. The other side of the bed was empty and she stared at the ceiling and wondered if it had all been a bizarre dream. She rolled over. There was a soft hollow in the other pillow and one of the wardrobe doors was slightly ajar, revealing clothes that didn’t belong to her. The scent of Christopher’s cologne lingered in the bed linen. She sat up and rubbed her eyes when he returned to the room carrying two mugs.

“I brought your coffee,” he said, handing her a mug.

“Thanks.”
I could get used to this.

He sat on the bed beside her and kissed her cheek. “Did anything happen last night, Grace?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just remember feeling scared and lost.” He stared into his coffee. “It happens, sometimes. I don’t know where I am. I’m scared of the dark.”