A Rose in No-Man's Land (22 page)

“She’s horrible, Jake.”

“Yeah, vicious old cow.”

“Jake!” Amy laughed. “You look quite ferocious.”

“It’s hardened battleaxes like her who want to send Harry back to the front. He’d be all right if they sent him home. My uncle has a place in the Blue Mountains near Katoomba; it’s so peaceful and quiet, he could recover there.”

Just from watching Harry Amy thought he would never fully recover. His mind was too shattered. He had obviously retreated into the safety of childhood. It touched her to see Jake cut up his brother’s bun.

“What are you staring at, you old cow?” Jake glared at an expensively dressed matron whose gaze had been glued on them from the moment their tea arrived.

“Probably expects uncivilized colonials like us to slurp from the saucer.” Amy laughed.

“Yeah. Is he going to marry you, Sister Amy?”

“What?”

“Captain Tremayne.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered sadly.

“Sister Amy!” Jake slapped his forehead with his open hand. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“Because I love him and there isn’t much time for us.” She lowered her voice. “You know what it’s like, how tenuous everything is.”

“Yeah, I suppose. He’s won several bravery awards, or so I hear.”

“That’s just it. Because he’s brave, he takes risks. Don’t you see? His luck can’t hold out indefinitely.”

“What happens to you?” He picked up her hand and held it in a gentle grip.

She stared into his face. She wasn’t ashamed of what she had done with Mark. “I don’t look into the future. I only worry about now. Tell me about Sydney. I’ve never been there but always wanted to go. I did my nursing training in Melbourne.”

“I like it.” He released her hand. “Ten of us lived crammed into an old single-fronted cottage. A bit of a slum, but we had lots of fun. Spent most of our time roaming the streets, didn’t we, Harry?” He gave his brother a nudge. “Our dad was a wharfie, worked hard and drank hard, but we always had full bellies, even if we went barefoot most of the time. What about you?”

“I lived on a cattle station with my cousin Guy’s family. He lost his hand on Gallipoli, but he’s back home now and coping well. It’s so sad, Jake. We went to a farewell dance at the Kilmore hall before we embarked. Four of us made a pact to meet at Big Ben, and only I made it to England.” She lowered her head. “Guy was wounded. The other two boys died on Gallipoli. That’s why I’m snatching what happiness I can with Mark.”

“Live for today because we have no tomorrow, eh?” Jake spoke the words softly.

“Exactly.” She picked up Harry’s trembling hand and held it. “You understand how it is. Most people wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well, I like you, Sister Amy. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

They strolled through Fortnum and Mason, oohing and aahing over the luxury delicacies from all over the world. “No rationing here,” she observed cynically.

“Nah, all you need is plenty of money,” Jake sneered.

I can’t afford to buy anything here.
Mark could and did. He’d mentioned receiving a package from Fortnum and Mason when he was in France, and she knew other wealthy English officers received them also.

“Where are you staying, Sister Amy?” Jake asked.

When she told him, it turned out to be near Harry’s convalescent hospital. “We’ll see you home,” he said, “and then I’ll have to get Harry back. I’m returning to France on the afternoon ferry.”

“I’ll make my own way home. Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure? I’ll be cutting things fine as it is. If I miss that bloody ferry, they’ll put me down as being AWOL.”

“I don’t want to go back yet. You said we could go to the cinema.” Harry whined like a petulant child.

“I can’t, mate. Next time.”

Harry’s eyes filled with disappointed tears.

“I’ll take him, Jake. Give me the address of the convalescent home.”

“Would you? It would be easier, and he wouldn’t be any trouble. They lock the gates at four.” Behind Harry’s back, Jake mouthed the words, “He’s like a kid.”

“I know, but he’ll be safe with me. We’ll have a good time, won’t we, Harry?”

He nodded his head vigorously. A child’s mind trapped in a young man’s body. What must he have been like before war destroyed him?

As they waved goodbye, sadness made Amy’s heart ache. His brother’s continuing disability had robbed Jake of his previous carefree cheekiness. When would all this suffering end? Maybe those who died were not so unlucky, after all.

Harry spoke very little, and then only with a lot of prompting, but he hung on grimly to her hand. They shared a pot of tea and some cake after the cinema.

“Will we walk or get a taxi?” she asked him.

“Walk. I don’t like the hospital much.”

“They’ll be sending you home soon.”

“I want to go home and see Mother now. She wouldn’t make me eat horrible food like they do.”

“I know,” she soothed. Poor Harry. Poor Jake.

As they started walking, the wind picked up and black clouds scudded across the sky. It seemed dull now, almost dark, and it was not yet four o’clock. She glanced at her watch again as they quickened their pace. No wonder winters here were long and bleak if it got dark so early.

“Here we are, Harry.”

Number thirty-seven turned out to be a rambling, double-storied mansion set behind high stone walls. The huge wrought-iron gates were securely locked. Amy gasped with the effort of trying to force them open. A guard box affair stood out the front. During the day someone obviously sat there monitoring the comings and goings of patients and visitors. She checked her watch again. They weren’t late. Three minutes to four. She rattled the gates. When this failed to produce results, she yelled out at the top of her voice.

Ding, ding—a clock from somewhere close by chimed five times. Heavens, her watch must have stopped. Harry had been locked out. She shook the gates again. “Let us in,” she screamed. Some of her panic must have transmitted itself to him, because he started shaking and sobbing.

Keep calm
. So they were locked out until morning. Harry would have to spend the night at her place. At least he wasn’t violent. Jake had assured her of that. But a strange young man spending the night with her? She couldn’t begin to think about the terrible consequences if it ever got out. Had she been able to afford it, he could have stayed in a hotel. If she sneaked him in without anyone seeing them, he could stay the night and return to the convalescent home in the morning. There was no other choice, unless she took him to the police, who would probably throw him in the cells. It would be pure cruelty to risk that happening.

“I don’t like the dark,” he whimpered.

“How would you like to spend the night with me, Harry? We could buy some fish and chips.”

He nodded his head vigorously.

“There’s a shop that sells them not far from my place.” She took his hand as they walked along.

Frantically she tried to think of somewhere else she could take him. It was madness letting him spend the night. If Mark ever found out… He wouldn’t understand, but what else could she do? Leaving Harry to his own devices would be criminal. People seeing them walking along holding hands would assume they were stepping out together. She giggled nervously, reminding herself that Harry was a disturbed little boy imprisoned in a man’s body.

“We have to hurry. It’s going to rain.” She tugged at his hand.

“Rain, rain, go away…” He chanted the nursery rhyme.

“Harry, please, come along. We won’t be able to get the fish and chips.”

He quickened his pace straight away.
That’s how to treat him.
Now she understood.
Pretend he’s six years old, not a strapping young man.

If it got really dark, it would be easier to sneak him upstairs. Mrs. St. John, miserable old biddy, never turned the hall light on unless the men were in residence. They paid the rent and would expect every facility to be laid on for their comfort, and the woman was smart enough to pander to their every whim.

Amy didn’t know how she treated the other women, but Mrs. St. John hated her.
Foreigner,
she flung at her once.
Australians came twelve thousand miles to fight your war,
she had felt like throwing back at the old witch who considered her a harlot. She was tolerated only because Mark paid big money for their rooms.

They ate their fish and chips in a little café. Some of Amy’s good spirits returned as she watched Harry tuck into his food with gusto. They finished off with a cup of tea and little iced cakes.

By the time they arrived home, night had borne down on them like a black cloak. She glanced around to make sure the way was clear, grabbed Harry’s hand, and sprinted for the stairs. Fumbling in the darkness for her key, she unlocked the door, flicked on the light, and stepped inside, pulling Harry after her.

****

For a split second a young man had been silhouetted in the doorway. The door slammed shut, but not before Mrs. St. John saw him. Foreign trollop! She gave a self-righteous sniff. How could a gentleman like Captain Tremayne allow himself to be fooled by the likes of her? All la-di-da, but with the morals of an alley cat. How many other men had she been fornicating with?
I will not have the tone of my establishment lowered by the likes of her. I have a reputation to maintain, high class and discreet, and married men pay handsomely for it
.
Ah, no, some foreign harlot is not going to ruin my
business.

“Well, Harry, this is home. What do you think?”

“He glanced around. “Nice.”

What on earth could they do to fill in the couple of hours before bedtime? Spare blankets were stored in the wardrobe, and he could have one of the pillows from her bed. If they left early in the morning, no one would be any the wiser. Amy always tidied the rooms herself. Mrs. St. John resented this; probably it deprived her of an opportunity to snoop.

Rain pelted against the windows, the loud staccato sounds making Harry more and more agitated. He rocked backwards and forwards on the chair. At a booming thunderclap he shook uncontrollably, his body convulsing with remembered horror. He wasn’t in England any more but back on the Somme, hearing the pounding artillery at Fromelles, where five thousand of his countrymen had been slaughtered in just a couple of days.

“It’s all right.” She put her arms around him. “You’re safe here. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

He moaned, a low guttural sound, but he didn’t scream, thank goodness. Please God, don’t let him yell out, she prayed desperately. If Mrs. St. John heard him, she would throw them both out into the street, rain or no rain.

As the storm grew fiercer, Harry’s moaning became louder. Squatting down on the floor next to him, she put her arms around him and started singing softly, rocking him like a baby. He sobbed against her breast. She stroked her fingers through his straight blond hair, marveling at its softness.

“I want my mother, I want my mother.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. How heartrending to listen to a grown man sobbing and crying out for his mother.

She spent one of the worst nights of her life, didn’t go to bed, just dozed on and off in a chair while poor Harry suffered torment from his demons. For a split second she came close to hating Jake for lumbering her with his sick brother. But it wasn’t his fault. The generals at headquarters who sent mere boys to the slaughterhouse on the Somme were to blame. Mark was still there. She needed him. Oh, God, how she needed him.

Finally the long night passed. Harry woke up and stared in puzzlement. “Where’s Jake?”

“He went back to France. I’ve been looking after you. Come on, tidy yourself up. We’ll have breakfast. Only toast and tea, I’m afraid.”

She lit the little stove in the scullery and put the kettle on to boil. “I’ll take you back to the convalescent hospital when we’ve eaten.”

“I want to stay here. I like it.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no room.”

His lips drooped and he started trembling.

“I’ll come over and visit you. All right?”

Were there any other Australians at the hospital? Maybe she could visit them, too. How lonely they must feel, so far from home.

He went to the bathroom, and when he returned his hair was damp and combed back into place. Harry ate the toast and tea with obvious enjoyment. The tremor in his hands had eased a little. Obviously, when he became upset or agitated it got worse. She knew little of psychiatry and wished she had taken more notice when Dr. Heinrich spoke about it.

When they arrived safely back at the hospital, Amy heaved a sight of relief as she left Harry with a smiling nurse.

“May I call in and see him again?” she asked, disentangling his hand from hers.

“That would be nice. Some of the boys don’t get any visitors at all.”

Harry did not move away from her, just stood there without speaking. He reminded her of a puppy waiting for a pat on the head.

“Do you have any other Australians here?”

“No, just Harry.”

“Are all your patients psychiatric cases?”

“Yes, but we get only the docile ones. The violent ones go to the asylum.”

“It’s sad, isn’t it? I was a nurse in the Dardanelles before going to France.”

“Really? You must have seen dreadful things.”

“Horrific. Some nights I’m almost afraid to close my eyes in case the visions come back. I fear I’ll carry them with me to the grave. Goodbye, Harry.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll call in again and see you soon. All right?”

“Yes.” He gave a tremulous, little boy smile as he waved his hand. Amy stood there watching as he told the nurse about the fish and chips.

Back at the house, Mrs. St. John pointedly ignored Amy’s greeting. Her hooded eyes turned ice cold, her lips thinning until they almost disappeared. Her rigid stance sent shivers up Amy’s spine. The icicles forming a barrier between them did not disappear until the woman minced off.

****

One evening, a few days after the episode with Harry, Mark arrived.