‘You knew the letter was from me.’
Nicholas had received the letter on the anniversary of his disappearance, six months after peace had been declared. It said little and was signed by a stranger called Harry Willis, but Nicholas knew who it was from as only Sam called him Nicky Boy. The letter informed him that he was settled in Bristol and was working on the railways.
‘What happened to you?’
Sam searched for his tobacco and papers and offered them to Nicholas. Nicholas shook his head.
‘You won’t join me?’
‘Not today.’
Sam proceeded to prepare a cigarette, carefully selecting the strands of tobacco as he spoke.
‘There was an explosion next to me. Lots of dead, everywhere. And I started to run. Ran and ran. Couldn’t see farin front of me. Too scared to stop. Eventually came across a farm and rested in the barn. Moved on after that, stealing eggs to survive. Woke up one morning to see an old farmer looking down on me. He took me in and he and his wife cared for me. I was a mess, Nick. I was a pitiful sight.’
He turned his carefully crafted cigarette in his fingers, then put it to his lips, lighting it in the old familiar way that reminded Nicholas of their time at war. Sam inhaled deeply and threw back his head as he exhaled.
‘I thought I would never get better. But over the months my face stopped jerking and my stammer went away. For the first time I began to feel . . . as if the real me had returned.’
‘Does your mother think you are still dead?’
Sam shook his head. ‘No. I sent her a letter the same time as I contacted you. I wrote “If she would like to visit to talk over old times and reminisce about our holiday in Devon” and signed it Mr Harry Willis. She knew instantly it was from me as it was just the two of us who went to Devon and Harry and Willis are her brother’s middle names. Not many people would know that. We met and she understands. She has moved to Bristol to be near me.’
‘But you did not tell Rose.’
Sam shook his head again. ‘No. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust her with the truth. I just thought it would be better for her if she didn’t know. It’s one thing asking your mother to live a lie, it’s another to ask someone who is just starting out in life and wants marriage. What name would she take? It wouldn’t be legal.’
‘She might be still grieving for you.’
Sam took a hearty inhale, the burning embers of the cigarette sizzled as it ate up the paper.
‘Hopefully not. I have moved on. I hope she has too.’
‘Moved on?’
‘I share my life with Annie.’ He raised an eyebrow and jerked his head towards the paper-chains. ‘Can you see me making those?’ Sam had a point. They both smiled. ‘I met her shortly after arriving in Bristol. She is older than me and has no wish to marry and have children. We are well suited.’
‘Does Annie know?’
‘It’s not something I wish to brag about.’
‘You were ill.’
‘I’m a deserter.’
They fell silent. The ripples of war were still affecting Sam’s life.
‘What about you?’ asked Sam as he studied the end of his cigarette. ‘Did you survive unscathed?’
‘I was promoted to lance corporal, corporal, then sergeant . . . battles have a habit of opening up new vacancies. I was briefly treated for shrapnel wounds at Pop, but they were relatively minor and I was soon back with the men. Otherwise I was lucky. I re-enlisted when I was offered my demobilisation papers.’
Silence descended again. The difference in their army experience lay bare between them. Nicholas regretted not accepting a cigarette. He had not come here to gloat about his own experience in the army. He wanted to talk about Rose. How he wished he had something to focus on and a burning roll would have sufficed. He thought of Rose standing in the meadow at the top of the hill looking down on Wadebridge and thinking of Sam. She was the reason he had come.Have courage man! Just do it! Just do it!
‘I’ve met Rose.’
Sam lifted his gaze to meet his. ‘You have? When?’
‘We have met several times this month.’
