Christopher's Medal (19 page)

“Jeez, Gracey, you do know how to live. I’ve got a better idea. I’ll donate my bottle of wine and order a takeaway. I know you, you’ll sit there at that bloody computer all night and hit ‘refresh’ until an email magically appears. If you’re going to do that, I’m going to keep you company.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t, but I will. You can talk about your soldier boy all that you want. I won’t mind. I just think you need some company, Gracey. You’re closing yourself off again.”

Grace sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I am. It’s been a shitty few weeks.”

“I think Billy’s right too.” Jane sat on the traveling trunk and rolled bandages. “I know it’s hell for you, Grace, but you owe it to Chris to do your best to have a life. If that means a takeaway and bottle of wine with Billy Boy then you should. I’d be the same if I was in your position. I’d join you both, but Steve’s cooking dinner and that happens once in a blue moon so I’m going home to enjoy it.”

“Oh, all right.” Grace smiled at Billy. “But you’re paying.”

* * * *

The cottage was warm. Grace turned on the computer while Billy unpacked the curries. The inbox remained resolutely empty and a check of messenger showed that Christopher was still offline. She picked up the remote and turned the television on. No music for her. Everything they played on the radio these days seemed to drag back memories that made her insides twist with longing. She turned up the volume on the monitor just in case a message came through and flicked through the
Radio Times
in search of something decent to watch.

Billy carried the wine into the room and set it on the coffee table with the glasses. “Anything good on?”

“
It’s a Wonderful Life
. I love that film. Can we watch it?”

“It’s your house.” He went back into the kitchen.

Grace smelled the curries and realized that she was hungry. It seemed ages since she’d had a tikka masala. It always seemed too piggy and self-indulgent to sit on her own and eat a takeaway curry.

“Just don’t start bawling all over the place.” He set the plates and food on the table. “Now, come on and eat. You’ve lost too much weight and Soldier Boy won’t have any tits to play with when he comes home if you keep on at this rate.”

She laughed. “Since you put it like that.” She sat down on the settee and helped herself to rice and curry while Billy poured the wine. The rain hammered against the window and the cottage was a good place to be.

“What did you get him for Christmas, anyway?”

“A carton of Fruit Gums, chocolate, some boxer shorts. I had a T-shirt printed with ‘I’m with an old slapper’ and I bought him a chain with a St Christopher’s medal on it.”

“Ha! How appropriate.”

“What? The T-shirt or the medallion? I wanted him to have something to keep him safe. Christopher was the patron saint of travelers until he was demoted.”

“He’ll be all right, Gracey, you’ll see.” Billy tweaked her ear. “Now, come on, drink up.”

Jane and Steve turned up just as the film was ending. They brought more wine and mince pies. “We decided to join you.” Jane said. “We need a party. You need a party. You can’t spend Christmas Eve moping or stuck in the house with Billy. It’s not healthy.”

“Oh, thanks, Jane.” Billy opened another bottle of wine. “It wasn’t like I was going to jump Gracey’s bones or anything. Soldier Boy would bury me upside down in the muck heap if he found out.”

“I’d have buried you upside down in the muck heap if you’d tried.” Grace giggled. The wine was working. She leaned back on the settee and put the radio on. The Cambridge station was playing Christmas music and it finally felt right.

* * * *

Grace brought the box into the living room and set it on the coffee table. Her head hurt from too much wine the night before and her stomach recoiled as she sipped her coffee. The room was washed with gray, rainy light and the King’s College Chapel Choir sang
The Holly and the Ivy
on the radio.

“Merry bloody Christmas, Grace,” she murmured.

The inbox was still empty. She tried not to think about how much that scared and hurt her. She told herself it was just the internet connection. The cell phone was equally silent, apart from a mumbled, hungover ‘Merry Christmas’ from Billy.

She picked up the scissors and ran one blade through the tape along the top of the package. The flaps fell open and she pulled out the crumpled, white tissue paper. It fell with a whisper to the floor as Grace stared into the box. An envelope with her name written in Christopher’s familiar, beloved hand rested on top of neatly wrapped presents.

Merry Christmas, Gracey.

I don’t know where the hell I’ll be at Christmas, but I’d be willing to bet that the internet connection will be crap. So, just to be on the safe side, I wrote this letter to wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and to give you a kiss under the mistletoe. Next Christmas, I’m going to find the biggest sprig of mistletoe that I can find and hang it over our bed and, while I’m at it, I’ll stick smaller ones over every doorway. You don’t stand a chance, Gracey.

I can see you in my mind’s eye. You’re sitting on your settee, your legs tucked underneath you, a cigarette in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. I imagine that the Christmas sunlight is falling across your hair and I want to tuck that stray strand behind your ear. Ah, God, Grace. I haven’t even left yet and I miss you.

Anyway, that’s enough morose, maudlin sentimentality from me. I hope you like the presents. I’ll kiss you now and say goodbye.

I love you.

Chris.

“Damn it.” Grace dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve and opened the presents.

* * * *

Hello and Merry Christmas, my beautiful boy.

It’s Christmas morning, it’s raining and gray and I’m getting ready to go to Mum and Dad’s for the day. I hope you like your presents as much as I love mine. The pendant is beautiful, I’m wearing it now and I don’t intend to ever take it off. It feels like a kiss against my skin.

Darling, I hope you’re all right. I still can’t bring myself to listen to the news and, as I write this, I’m listening to King’s College Choir singing Christmas carols as the rain splatters against the windows. It suits my mood. Billy, Jane and Steve were here last night. We all got very drunk and sang along to the Christmas songs on the radio. Now I’m paying the price. It’s my first hangover for ages and my stomach feels…well…not good. I’m sure one or two of Mum’s sausage rolls will put that right. Morning stables was hell. I threw up behind the muck heap. Thank God Dad didn’t see me, he wouldn’t have given me a moment’s peace from teasing for the rest of the day. All I can say is, merlot and tikka masala don’t go together, don’t try it, ever. I shall be good for the rest of the day. It’s tradition here that the staff get the whole day off, so it’s down to me and Dad to see to the horses. Last year Pavel helped us, because he lives on the yard, but he’s gone back to Russia to see his grandparents and drink proper vodka. He’s threatened to bring some back with him. I hope he forgets. Last time he brought vodka back, I don’t think I could see properly for a week.

I hope you liked your Christmas presents. It just seemed very right to send you that medallion. I kissed it before I wrapped it up. I hope it keeps you safe. I suppose you’ve eaten all the sweets already. If you have, let me know and I’ll send some more. I realized I forgot the mustard. Do you want me to send you some? Are you having withdrawal symptoms?

I must go, darling. Grandma and Grandad have arrived so I’ll be expected for brunch.

I love you. Please stay safe and hurry home.

Chapter Eleven

“Grace?” Sally’s voice was hesitant at the end of a crackling phone line. “Have you heard from Chris at all?”

Grace turned the volume down. It was Boxing Day and she planned to put her feet up and watch the racing, given that the yard had no runners this year. “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Not a murmur. Mum’s worried sick.”

“I’m hoping it’s just the internet. That they’ve lost it or something. But, yes, I’m worried too. I haven’t heard from him for weeks. I’ve sent emails and had nothing back.”

“Same here. If something had happened we’d have heard by now.”

“Yes.” Grace lit a cigarette and refreshed the inbox. Nothing. Sod all.

“At least it’s been quiet there over Christmas.”

“Thank God for that.”

“If you hear anything, will you call me or Mum?”

“Of course I will.” She fingered the pendant as if somehow her touch could summon Christopher. The inbox remained resolutely empty. She had Emily’s number. Emily would probably know, but Grace didn’t want to bother her, not on Boxing Day. Grace worried that Emily would tell her that the internet was fine and that would open a whole other nasty, squirming can of worms that she didn’t even want to think about. She cursed her ability to wallow in doubt and self-pity. This Christmas it had been given a free rein.

The conversation veered toward more Christmassy matters after that and, when it was over, Grace put the phone down and stared blankly out of the window at the Boxing Day rain.

* * * *

Darling,

I don’t know if you’ve been getting my emails or not. I hope that you have and that you’re just too busy to keep up. I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year and to remind you that now we are halfway there. I planted daffodil bulbs in my little postage-stamp garden and I know when they start to bloom you will be on your way home. I miss you so much. I just wanted you to know that. I pray for your safekeeping every day and I long for your touch every night.

I love you, Chris.

* * * *

Grace groped for the phone and looked at the clock. Three in the morning was not a good time for a phone call. Her heart hammered against her ribs when she squinted at the screen. It wasn’t a number she recognized and she wondered if that was a good thing.

“Gracey?” Christopher’s voice was faint, crackly.

“Chris?” She sat up and pinched herself.
Yes, I’m awake.
“Is everything all right?”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch, darling. It’s been crazy here and the internet’s fucked. I don’t have much time, we’re all having to share the satellite phone, it’s all we have at the moment and the bastard thing was down this past week. I just wanted you to know that I love you and that I miss you so much that it hurts.”

She could hear the pain in his voice. “I miss you too. I miss you loads.” She wished she could find something more profound to say. ‘Miss you loads’ sounded like something from a text message and hardly skimmed the surface of how she felt.

“Yes, I know. I know. I’m sitting here imagining you in bed, all nice and warm under your winter duvet and I want to be there. God, how I want to be there.”

Grace swallowed. “I wish you were bloody here. It’s freezing and I need you to keep me warm.”

To her relief, he chuckled. “I have every intention of doing just that. Don’t plan on getting out of bed when I get home. It’s not long now. We’re halfway there. I can’t tell you how much I want to get out of this shithole.”

“I can’t wait either. I love you, Chris.”

“I know. You keep me going. Knowing that you love me, it means everything. And thank you for the medallion, I wear it all the time.”

She hated the hopelessness in his voice. She hated that she couldn’t be there, that she couldn’t hold him and make it all go away.

“Gracey, I’ll have to go. There’s a line of chaps waiting to use this thing while it’s still working. Look after yourself. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The line went dead. The light went out on the screen. Grace sat in the darkness too afraid to think. There was too much in those few, hastily exchanged words that frightened her.

* * * *

Christopher handed the phone to the sergeant and walked away, his boot heels kicking up dust in the sharp chill of morning. He strolled across the compound and thought of Grace. It wasn’t hard to imagine her lying in bed, half-asleep with her hair all over the place, all warm from the duvet. It was so good to hear her voice, to know that she loved him. The only problem was that he missed her even more.

“Everything all right?”

Christopher wheeled around and found the journalist who’d been embedded with the regiment walking toward him. He stood and waited. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be alone, knowing that he’d probably do something stupid like sit on the compound wall to mope about Grace and provide a nice target for the local sniper.

“Yea, I suppose so.” He liked Harrison. He didn’t seem to fit the stereotype of a pushy, nosey journalist. It helped that they’d been to the same public school, albeit not at the same time, but they shared the same memories of the place.

“It can’t be easy just having a few minutes on the phone like that.”

“No. It isn’t.” Christopher kicked at a small stone and sent it tumbling across the dirt. “It almost makes things worse.” He looked at the journalist. “Do you have a girlfriend? Don’t you miss her when you go away?”

Harrison shrugged. “I have a girlfriend, but I can’t say I miss her all that much.”