‘Maybe. I d-d-d-don’t know.’
A spray of artillery pierced the air from both sides. Sam and Nicholas ducked and waited for it to finish.
‘When?’
‘I don’t know.’ Sam fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a letter and the photograph of his pretty fiancée. The image of the young woman trembled in his hands as if she knew, and feared, for what he was about to do. ‘Give Rose the Christmas she deserves. I don’t deserve her.’ He pressed them into Nicholas’s hands.
Nicholas stared at them. ‘I can’t Sam. I’m no substitute.’
‘You’re a better man than I . . . and a loyal f-f-friend. Without you I would not have lasted this long.’
For the first time, Nicholas saw hope in Sam’s eyes. It was something he had not seen in his friend for a long time. They embraced, fists clenched in both determination and despair of what was to play out, yet unsure if they would even survive the next few minutes to carry out a plan that could never be made right.
The command came and Nicholas pushed the letter and photograph deep down into his pocket. They exchanged knowing glances, scrambled out of the trench and marched forward, as they had done many times before. The crater-scarred landscape, tangled barbed wire and crossfire were perilous traps to thwart their success and in the chaos of war and the poor light of dawn, confusion reigned as to who were the enemy and who was a friend. Nicholas soon lost sight of Sam in the smoke and mist of the early morning hours as the battalion slowly executed their orders to reform the line.
At one point, when the view cleared, he thought he saw Sam running into the mist, but it may have been a fanciful notion that he was still alive. He did not see Sam again. The mission to reform the frontline was a success, despite half their battalion becoming casualties. The enemy fared far worse, andspent many hours after the battle collecting their dead from no man’s land. Nicholas could not bear to watch. Instead he played out his role and reported that he had witnessed Sam’s death, not knowing at the time what his friend’s true fate really was. Had he deserted or was he dead? Did it really matter? Whatever Sam’s fate was, to Nicholas’s mind he was still a casualty of war and someone, somewhere, would have to tell his fiancée that he was not coming home.
* * *
Tuesday, 16th December, 1919
The heartfelt embrace came to a natural end with a manly pat on the back. They stepped back to look at one another — two men who had not known each other in peacetime. How does one converse when there is not the war to drive it?
‘You look better than when I last saw you,’ observed Nicholas as he followed him into the front room. It was small and cosy, with homemade Christmas paper-chains hanging from corner to corner and a sprig of wilting mistletoe suspended over the fireplace. ‘It’s a nice place you have here.’
‘We only use this room for visitors.’
‘I’m honoured.’ He sat down and smiled as Sam sat opposite him. He wanted to ask him who “we” were but instead said, ‘I got your letter. I knew it was you. Only you call me that blasted name.’
‘I’m a day older.’
‘You always liked to twist that knife.’
Sam finally smiled. ‘You look well.’
‘I re-enlisted.’
‘I didn’t realise you enjoyed the army life so much.’
‘I don’t, but I preferred it to the one I thought I would have when I came home. My grandfather was ill and his prognosis was poor. I knew I was in line to inherit his title and theresponsibility that came with it. I was in no hurry to return home.’
‘I knew you were a toff, Nicky Boy. Should I have bowed when we met?’
Nicholas laughed. It had been a long time since his friend had made a joke at his expense. It was a good sign.
‘I hear I’m not the only one with a new form of address.’
‘I couldn’t use my real name. I’m meant to be dead. I think it suits me well.’
Nicholas nodded in agreement. There was still sadness lurking inside Sam; he could hear it in his voice.
Sam raked a hand through his hair. ‘I let you all down.’
‘No. You were not the only one to suffer. It has been given a name. The symptoms were real, not in your head, Sam.’
‘I told you, Sam is dead. Call me Harry.’
‘They call it shell shock. It was beyond your control just as you tried to tell them. If the army had a more understanding—’
