Just as she was retiring to bed and turning off the lamps for the night, she passed Philip’s room and could hear him sobbing. The sound cut her deeply. She stood and listened for a while, unsure of what to do. Thoughts crowded her mind. He was suffering, alone, racked with the wounds inflicted on both his body and his mind. She knocked gently on the door. When no answer came, she opened it quietly and whispered, ‘Philip, Philip, it’s me, Kate. Is there anything I can do?’
A low triangle of light lit up the floor. A shape moved beneath the bedclothes.
‘Sorry to disturb you. I was wondering if . . .’
‘Come in, Kate,’ Philip said, in a broken whisper that hardly reached her.
She stood just inside the door and waited for him to speak again. She could see that there was a very pale light coming from a bedside lamp turned down very low. The yellow glow gave the room a sickly tinge.
‘Come . . . closer . . . come,’ he said. His voice was weak and punctuated with deep intakes of breath.
‘I thought perhaps you might like something to drink,’ Kate said. ‘Some warm milk perhaps with a little brandy?’
The bitter laugh that escaped him then was a shock to Kate.
‘Some brandy, yes, that will do it!’ he said choking over the words. ‘That will make it all go away.’
She knew from his tone that he was mocking her. It frightened her.
‘Well, if there’s nothing you need then I’ll . . .’ Kate began to move slowly back towards the door.
Philip sat up in bed and said more calmly and slowly this time, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kate. You’re only trying to help, I know. I have these times when I just don’t know what I’m saying. There’s an anger inside me that has to come out. I would like a drink, yes, if it’s not too much trouble. I’m having difficulty sleeping.’
Kate went downstairs. The house was quiet; all had retired to bed except her. She entered the room again with the drink and placed it on the bedside table.
‘Will you stay a while?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think it would be . . .’
‘Proper? It wouldn’t be proper. Tell me what is proper in the current world as we know it?’ Philip spat the words out at her, making her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to say. He was silent for a while until he was finally able to gain control of himself. Then he spoke again. ‘There, you see, it comes at me just like that. I can’t seem to stop it. I’m so . . .’
‘No need to apologize,’ Kate said. ‘I’ve seen what this war can do to people.’
She tried not to stare at him. In the low light, with his face turned slightly away from her, she couldn’t see how badly he was hurt. She could tell from his outbursts, though, that he’d been through the unthinkable and unimaginable. She gently touched the side of his face. The torn and patched ridges of his scars under her fingertips made her start but she wanted him to know it made no difference to her and she leaned over to kiss him.
At the touch of her lips he turned towards her. She took his hand.
‘He wanted to know all about it, my father,’ he snapped. Kate could feel the anger returning. She let him talk. She didn’t interrupt or try to calm him down. She just listened.
‘He kept saying what a great honour it was to serve and how well our boys are doing. He knows nothing. Mother just kept on looking at me and weeping. I don’t want their adoration or their pity, Kate. I just want to be left alone. I’m here to recover so that I can go back. I have a job to do. I need to get better and get back to my men. I need to . . .’
Kate stepped forward to take his hand. She sat down on the bed beside him and said she would stay with him for a while.
‘Don’t be kind to me, Kate,’ he said. ‘I just want you to listen and to be there but don’t be kind to me or I won’t want to go back and I must,’ he said. ‘I can’t get too comfortable here.’
‘But you can rest and I can help nurse you, if they’ll let me,’ Kate said.
He suddenly lurched forward and grabbed hold of her by her shoulders, thrusting his face up close to hers.
‘Look at me, Kate, look at me. That’s what shrapnel can do,’ he cried, his voice rasping. He began to cough and struggle for breath.
‘And that’s what . . . gas . . . does to your lungs,’ he said. The tears began to flow, tears of anger and frustration. The sobbing and coughing racked his chest and she drew him to her, letting him rest upon her breasts.
Eventually a calmness came over him, he pulled back and said, ‘You’re a good person, Kate. Has anyone ever told you that?’
She smiled at him. ‘Try to sleep now,’ she whispered.
She wondered if anyone had held Fred while he died. She hadn’t been with her brother when he needed her, she couldn’t be there to soothe him and comfort him, but she could be with Philip. He was here, he was real and his pain was real. She could help him. She handed him the milk and brandy and watched him drink.
