Читать книгу The Poppy Field - Deborah Carr - Страница 9

Gemma finished reading the note about Captain Woodhall on the back of Alice’s letter. Alice seemed to be developing a soft spot for him and Gemma couldn’t help hoping he survived. Knowing what she did about his condition, she couldn’t help fearing the worst for the poor Captain, especially as the nursing staff at the casualty clearing station must have been pushed to their limits. How did they find the time to focus on the more fragile patients?

It had been a bonus to discover the extra snippets on the back of most of the letters, written in Alice’s rounded script. The added insight into Alice’s day intrigued Gemma. They were both nurses, albeit Gemma was highly trained, and Alice had only received three months’ worth of training. However, the experiences Alice endured during her time assisting on the wards was something no training could ever hope to prepare someone for, Gemma was certain of that much.

She wondered how different it must have been to deal with the constant arrival of horribly damaged men. She thought the trauma unit to be busy if there were a dozen patients arriving at once and that didn’t happen too often, she thought. Gemma couldn’t imagine how shocking it must have been for Alice to nurse those poor soldiers. Gemma had seen old film footage that gave her an idea of the devastation to life during and after a battle. But would Alice have known what she was letting herself in for when she’d registered for her training? Gemma doubted it.

The notes referred mostly to someone called Ed, and Gemma presumed Alice must be referring to the injured Captain, Woodhall. But why would Alice write the notes on the back of Lieutenant Peter Conway’s letters?

Distracted by footsteps, Gemma wondered how long had she been engrossed in Alice’s story? She noticed that the fire was lit, which she was sure it hadn’t been earlier. Gemma looked up to see Tom walking into the kitchen.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,” she said, aware she had been unsociable.

“It’s no problem. I don’t mind being ignored,” he smiled. Holding up a mug, he added. “I hope you don’t mind, if I made myself a coffee. I can make you one, if you like?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine, thank you. I should be getting on with work, too,” she said guiltily as she stood up.

“Why? Carry on reading your letters. I’d be interested to hear what they’re about.”

“I shouldn’t really,” she said, wondering why she found it so difficult to sit quietly in someone else’s company.

“Rubbish. You read on. I’ve got to get back to work. I don’t want to let my client down.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “I don’t want her sacking me before I’ve finished.”

Amused by his gentle teasing, Gemma held out the letter for him to see. “Alice was a nurse, like me,” she explained. “I was comparing how different our lives must be, despite similar work.”

He took the letter and scanned it quickly. “I can’t see that it would be that different. If you worked in a trauma unit, then isn’t that really what she was doing?” He handed her back the letter a little abruptly.

Gemma was disappointed that he hadn’t taken the time to read it properly. “I suppose so,” she said. “Although I could at least get away from the day’s drama. She lived on site, so there was no real relief from it.”

“That’s true.”

Gemma told him about the notes added to the back of most of the letters. “I had a sneaky look at a few from the other bundle and most of those have notes, too. I’m not sure why yet. They seem to be like diary entries, but without the dates.”

“Maybe they were parts of her story she recalled afterwards.”

Gemma assumed that to be the case. “Or she might have written on the backs of the letters because she knew the information would be hidden away.”

“Possibly,” he pushed up his sleeves. “It’s intriguing.”

Gemma agreed, even though she could see Tom was only being polite about the letters. He could be squeamish, she thought, aware that not everyone had the stomach she did for gore. Tom was a bit of an enigma to her. Always easy going, but with a haunted air about him that she hadn’t worked out yet. “Still,” she said. “No need for me to ignore you when I invite you inside for a coffee.”

“You weren’t,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

She heard him washing his mug in the sink. Returning to the living room, he glanced at the open tin containing the letters. “You won’t miss having a television,” he said. “Not with all those to keep you busy. You can tell me more about what you’ve discovered so far, if you want?”

Gemma put the letter she was holding down onto the table next to her. She picked up her mug, nodding as she took a sip.

“That’s probably cold by now.”

It was, but she barely noticed. “It’s fine, thanks,” she said, not wishing to lose her chance to share her excitement with someone. “I don’t know why these letters were hidden here,” she looked around the room, trying to picture how is must have looked one hundred years before. “I assume Alice must have lived here at some point?” When Tom waited for her to continue, she added. “When I said she was a nurse, she really was a VAD.”

Tom shook his head. “Volunteer?”

She motioned for him to take a seat. “Yes, a VAD was a voluntary nurse in the Voluntary Aid Detachment. The women who enrolled had to be at least twenty-three. So far, I’ve discovered that Alice was stationed at one of the casualty clearing stations near Doullens. I don’t know where exactly, but I believe there must have been a lot of them around, as it’s near to the Somme area.”

“It is,” Tom said. “She must have been a brave lady,” he added staring into the flames of the fire.

“Very. They all were.” Gemma took another sip of her tepid drink. “When you think of some of the horrendous injuries they came across, on a daily basis, too.” She thought of some of the horrors she had been expected to cope with at the trauma unit. “I’ve seen some devastating injuries in my time, but I think war is another matter entirely. The injuries would have been far worse and back then there was a constant stream of injured men needing medical treatment.” She shook her head thoughtfully. “It doesn’t get any better either, I don’t think.”

“Hmm,” he swallowed and stood up. “I’d better get on. I don’t want it to get dark before I’ve had a chance to really make some headway today.”

“Okay, sure,” Gemma said, aware his mood had slipped, but unsure why. As she watched him go through to the back of the house, she had a feeling that the letters had disturbed Tom in some way. Was there a reason talking about the war or her work made him uneasy? She never failed to be impressed by the almost magical differences doctors made to some patients, even those in the trauma unit since she’d began working there. However, she was aware that some people, most, probably, didn’t like to think of such things.

Gemma watched him go outside and close the door behind him. She finished her drink and thought back to two months ago and her last day at work. She still felt sick when she recalled her shock at discovering that the man she’d thought herself in love with had not only lied to her about being single but was in front of her on a trolley, dying. One day, she hoped to discover her lost love of nursing, but she couldn’t see it happening for a long time yet. If ever.

Gemma swallowed the lump forming in her throat. All her yearning to be a nurse followed by years of training, dashed away. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to deal with traumatised people. It wasn’t as if she had experience of opening up herself. She wondered if it was the loss of a life-long dream that upset her most or walking out of her job. No money coming in, no purpose.

She recalled her dad’s serious expression when he’d sat her down to tell her of his idea about her coming to Doullens to renovate the farmhouse. She couldn’t help wondering if her dad had wanted her to come to France for her own good, or simply to appease her mother and get her out of the house.

She had always been the cuckoo in her parent’s love nest and it stung whenever anyone joked about a baby being a mistake. She assumed most won their parents around to be cherished in the end, but Gemma wasn’t sure what that must feel like. She shook her head, enough wallowing. She was a strong, independent woman and renovating this place was going to prove it to herself as well as her parents. You had to reach the bottom to rise again, didn’t you?

Gemma folded the two letters she had been reading back into their envelopes. She slipped them at the back of the bundle, to keep everything in order, determined to savour every one. She was determined not to miss out any of Alice’s letters by getting them muddled.

Tom had been right, she thought as she washed her mug, she did have a lot to read. It would keep her mind off everything that had happened in Brighton and her parent’s rejection. She felt like she had made a new friend in Alice, albeit one she would never meet. She couldn’t wait to discover more about the woman’s life.

Gemma tidied away her letters and washed the kitchen floor. Hearing Tom working outside, she couldn’t think of a reason not to go and speak to him. When she found him, he was up the ladder checking the roof above the barn. Gemma opened her mouth to speak, when Tom reached forward to test a tile and the bottom of his trouser leg lifted revealing a prosthetic right ankle.

Gemma covered her mouth instinctively with her hand, not daring to make a sound. She didn’t dare distract him, frightened he might fall. Stunned by her discovery, she stared briefly before deciding to go back into the house. She’d only walked a couple of steps when Tom dropped a cracked tile onto the cobbles. Gemma glanced up. She noticed Tom watching her and blushed.

Desperate to cover up what she’d done, she forced a smile. “I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help,” she said, aware how guilty she sounded.

He narrowed his eyes. “Is there something wrong?” he asked before carrying on with what he’d been doing.

“No, nothing. I’ll be in the house,” she added, retreating.

Hoping Tom would come in to speak to her, which he usually did at the end of each day, Gemma kept herself busy by cleaning. Her mother loved preaching that keeping busy was good for clearing the mind, but Gemma had never believed her until now. Putting her energies into scouring the landing floor was doing little to calm her though.

How had he lost his leg? Had he been in the Army? Gemma dropped the scourer into the grimy water as a thought dawned on her. Was that why he’d reacted as he had earlier when she’d been droning on about injuries sustained during wars? Of course, he must have spent time in a trauma unit.

“I’m such an idiot,” she groaned to herself.

“And why would that be?” Tom asked, her giving her a fright.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said playing for time. She knew she had to broach the subject of his leg, just in case he had noticed her looking earlier.

“Sorry, I should have knocked.”

“Not at all,” she said, mortified. “Look, I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she said, nervously. “I noticed you have a prosthetic ankle.”

“Leg, actually,” he said. “But only the lower half.” Tom laughed. It was a sad laugh, filled with pain. Gemma could see he was trying to put on a brave face. “Sorry, I never really know how to react when people bring it up. It’s fine, though Gemma, really. I don’t want you to feel awkward.”

“I don’t,” she fibbed. “I didn’t know you were an amputee, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” he looked towards the golden glow of the sun streaming through the bedroom window onto the wet floor.

Gemma cringed. What a stupid thing to say. She wondered how many times Tom must have had to deal with idiots like her who stumbled over their words. “I mean that seeing you work, well, it isn’t obvious.” Damn. That still wasn’t right. “That is—”

Tom leant forward and placed his right hand on hers. “It’s fine. I know what you mean.” He shrugged. “I am a little sensitive about it sometimes,” he looked down at his right leg. “I can still do everything that I did before,” he said. “In civilian life, at least.”

“You were in the Army then?” So, she had been right. “Is that where it happened?” She couldn’t help being intrigued.

“I was,” he said, his voice distant. “For seven years. And yes. I lost this, and three friends when an IUD exploded in front of our patrol in Kabul in 2013.”

Gemma wished she hadn’t brought the subject up hearing such pain in his voice. She needed to put her professional head on, what there was left of it, to try and salvage the awkwardness between them. “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

“Me, too.” He let go of her hand. “They were good men; good friends. They didn’t deserve to die.”

“You didn’t deserve to suffer in the way you’ve done either.”

He walked over to the window and rested his palms on the sill. “I didn’t think I was lucky initially,” he confided. “The prospect of not being able to stay with my unit was unbearable at first. I missed the camaraderie, and the friends who’d been killed.”

She stared at his broad shoulders, drooping as he stared out at the garden, his back still to her and her heart ached for him. “Had you always wanted to be in the Armed Forces?”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “My grandfather had been a soldier and I’d never considered a life on civvy street, but after this, I was left with no alternative.” He looked down at his hands. “It was a lot to take in,” he said quietly. “I still have a brother in the Army. I’m envious of him and worry about him in equal measures.”

Listening to his experiences made her feel doubly guilty for dwelling on her own loss of purpose. “Was this why you chose to come and live in France?”

She hoped he didn’t think she was over-stepping the line between them. They didn’t know each other well, but she hoped to learn more about him. She was aware that it was a strange question, but it was her life taking an unexpected turn that had led her to being here, maybe Tom’s reason was due to what had happened to him? Maybe, she thought, he was here because it was easier to move away from all that was familiar in England and those who only knew him as a soldier?

“Partly,” he said mysteriously. He sighed heavily and gave her a tight smile. “Basically, I just needed to get away and be somewhere away from anything that reminded me of that time.” He turned to face her. “Right, I’d better get going. I’ll leave you to your letters,” he said. “See you first thing tomorrow.”

“Thanks for everything you’ve done today, Tom,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

“No worries.” He gave her a brief nod and left.

She suspected he wasn’t used to sharing his feelings. Then again, she hadn’t ever shared her thoughts with anyone either. Apart from maybe her first boyfriend, and he now lived on the other side of the world. Another decision she hadn’t been brave enough to take. Gemma tidied away her bucket and scourer. She wondered what her life would have been like, if she’d chosen to go with him when he emigrated and not stay behind and continue with her nursing training. But it was too late to regret that decision now, she mused.

Gemma took the bucket downstairs and tipped the dirty water down a drain outside the kitchen door. She and Tom had been relaxing with each other more every day, now though, she sensed something in their relationship had shifted, and not in a good way.

A log dropped from the fire and sent a lump of charcoal onto the floor in front of her chair. Running over to grab the small shovel at the side of the fireplace, she quickly slid it under the burning ember and flicked it back into the fire. Noticing a burn mark left behind on the wooden floorboard, Gemma slumped down on her armchair and began to cry as a sadness gripped her. Sadness for her own situation, but also for Tom and the pain he had suffered.

Waking hours later, she rubbed her puffy eyes gently. The fire was low, and she was cold. She banked up the embers thinking how her mother often insisted that a good cry was a release of pent up emotions. After her faux pas earlier in the day, she was glad to be rid of the accumulation of emotion inside her since her arrival. Deciding she wasn’t going to be any use in the morning if she didn’t get some proper sleep, Gemma went upstairs.

She washed and changed into her pyjamas. Then, cleaning her teeth, she looked in the mirror and hoped that her eyes would look less swollen in the morning. She didn’t want Tom to think she felt sorry for him. That would be the worst thing she could do. She hated what he had been through, but he had found a way to cope with a life-changing injury and she admired him for it. He was a strong man physically, that much was obvious when you looked at him, but now she knew that he was mentally strong too.

She lay in bed staring at the moonlight shining through the small gap in her curtains. Gemma thought back to the letters and couldn’t help wondering how Alice had coped a hundred years earlier. The nurses at most casualty clearing stations didn’t have the luxury of a building to sleep in. How brave she and other women like her friend Mary, must have been to volunteer. The horrific wounds and traumatised soldiers would have been bad enough, but Gemma found it difficult to imagine dealing with such pressure day after day, year after year. No antibiotics or penicillin to help battle infection, far more basic implements than she was used to having at her disposal. She could only imagine how exhausting it must have been.

Working in a trauma unit, she’d seen many injuries that would forever be engraved in her mind, but never in the numbers that Alice and her friend Mary would have faced. Their food, sleeping quarters and being far away from their families, only increased Gemma’s admiration for them and the other medical staff.

“And I’m lying here feeling sorry for myself,” she said to the moonlight. “I need to focus on this farmhouse.” After all, she wasn’t having to live in a tent and this work would get easier and more enjoyable as the weather warmed up.

And Tom. What about him? She pictured his navy-blue eyes, always twinkling, having to deal with the unwelcome changes in his life. There was something about him; maybe it was the cheeky look he gave her, or maybe, the way he helped her without her having to ask him first. It was as if he was in tune with her. It wasn’t something she was used to and despite her resolution to stay man free, she had to admit that she quite liked him. She was glad that he had been lucky enough to have modern medicine to help him survive being blown up. Unlike so many men that Alice must have helped look after.

She plumped up her two pillows and tried to make herself more comfortable. She was desperate for sleep and for her mind to stop whirring and tormenting her. She hated it when her mood was low, especially when she acknowledged that she had very little to be miserable about. What was it about Alice’s letters that had upset her, she wondered? Probably the fear that came across in them. The fear of losing loved ones, as well as the uncertainty that the war didn’t seem to be coming to an end.

“When did you come here, Alice?” she whispered, aware that she would have died of fright should anyone reply. Had she just visited and hidden her letters, or had she lived here? She hoped Alice had been happy here at the farm.

Eventually, Gemma contemplated getting out of bed and going down to the living room to read more of Alice’s letters. She tried to fight against getting up but, unable to sleep, threw back the covers and slipped her feet into her trainers. She pulled on her dressing gown, grabbed the blanket from her bed and carried it over her shoulder.

She was going to look like hell in the morning, she thought, tying the fleecy belt as she walked down the stairs. She made a tea, added a few sticks of wood to the fire, with a larger log on top and turned on the light. Opening the black tin box, she gazed at the two batches of letters inside. She was tempted to go to the last one and read it, she never had much in the way of patience, but these letters were too fascinating to read them out of order.

Sitting down, she made herself comfortable and read the next letter.