The Long Road From Kandahar, page 31
Ben nodded. ‘I have. I’m talking too much …’
‘Always keep talking to me, Ben …’ Fergus picked up both glasses, remembering the harrowing tours of Bosnia and Iraq they had shared together. He was glad he was out of the army, away on his boats, where a moment’s indecision did not cost a life. Where responsibility hinged on inanimate objects and instruments, with little to fear but the weather and irresponsible skippers.
‘Good night, Ben,’ he said. ‘Sleep well.’ At the door he turned back. ‘You and Hanna had loads of happy times, you know. Mary and I shared a lot of them with you.’
Ben opened his eyes. ‘I know. Really, I do. I’m okay. Stop worrying about me and get to bed.’
‘Ring me on your mobile if you need anything.’
‘I will. Now bugger off.’
‘Buggering off,’ Fergus said, weaving off into the night to Mary.
In the dark Ben could feel the painkillers beginning to work. The whisky helped. The sea rippled and slapped against the sand. Clouds raced over a half moon. The wooden beach house creaked as it cooled down in the familiar, comforting sounds of his childhood. Ben thought of Finn and Izzy next door. Of Delphi and Ian in the big wooden bed that took up most of the room. All those he loved under the same roof, almost. His heart ached, then hardened, as it must. His thoughts rested on his monosyllabic, moody, teenage son who was also hardening his heart, to endure, to survive, to go forward. He and Hanna could no longer be relied on to be either united, or to make Finn feel safe or secure. It was a harsh growing up.
Ian had fallen asleep almost before he had said goodnight to her. Delphi lay beside him, soothed by the warmth he gave out. So many suppressed feelings in this house tonight, hiding hope and expectation. Politeness that hid grief, hers. Confused, passive aggression, Finn’s. Guilt and fear for what the future held, Hanna. Pain and loss and buried hope, Ben’s.
Thank God, Delphi thought, for Ian, Mary, and Fergus who provided a quiet steady normality.
In the dark of her own room Delphi tried to banish her anguish. It was a miracle that Ben was home, sharing Easter with them all. How dare she mourn for a Ben whole and happy, standing tall and fearless on a surfboard, laughing, lucky, chasing his children; running, running, on those beautiful strong legs, his healthy body unmarked, his eyes unclouded by pain.
Delphi knew what lay ahead for him: months and months of rehabilitation as he clawed his way back to a semblance of a normal life. And it looked as if he was going to have to do it without his wife. Delphi wept in the dark, silently, as she had learnt to do. Her tears were hot and stung the creases of her eyes. But it was a relief, a searing relief to let go, to give in to her sense of impotence, of secret outrage towards the politicians distanced from danger. For the MOD who could not even make sure their forces had the right equipment to keep their soldiers safe. Was it worth it, this lasting damage wrought to a generation of men sent to fight thousands of miles from home? Would it make an iota of lasting difference?
Ben, like so many others, had gone out to Afghanistan whole, and come back mutilated. It was not just his physical wholeness Delphi wept for. It was what lay behind his eyes. That casual, joyous ease with which he had seemed to slide effortlessly through life had been abruptly replaced by something darker. Delphi did not think it would ever entirely come back. He would never be quite as he had before. Never so light-hearted, or care-free, or trusting or sure again.
Her clock said 4 a.m. Outside the sea roared. There was weather coming in. Delphi turned on her side. Oh, for goodness sake, always the dreaded hour before dawn, when all is as bad as it can possibly be. She willed herself to happy thoughts. She would pick daffodils for the table tomorrow. They would all hide Easter eggs for Izzy. Dear little cheerful soul. Izzy’s exuberance was just what they all needed. Tomorrow would be easier; everyone had been tired tonight. It was unfair to blame Hanna for abandoning Ben, wounded, when she had already left him. Hanna had put her own needs before those of her family, but her misery in doing so was apparent. Hanna was Hanna and she had ventured bravely back into Ben’s family lair for Easter and that took courage. Delphi admired her for it, but Hanna needed to build bridges with Finn. She needed to be open and honest with him, even if it hurt.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
The next morning a cold wind had whipped up in the night. Slanting rain buffeted the beach house soaking the balcony round the house and making everyone miserably cold. Delphi and Ian decided on an immediate evacuation back to the Penzance House for Easter lunch. They packed up the food and put Izzy in the car in her pyjamas with Hanna, leaving Finn to help Fergus with Ben’s wheelchair.
Delphi was worried about getting Ben down the steep steps by the gate and into the house, but Fergus, helped by Mary and Finn, managed to lift the chair down the steps without any trouble.
At the front door Ben stood leaning on Fergus and one crutch, while Finn hovered nervously holding an umbrella over him. Mary and Ian got the wheelchair over the threshold and into the house and Fergus hoisted Ben up, over the steps and back into the wheelchair. Ben was pale and shaking by the time he had been wheeled to the kitchen and placed by the Aga.
Delphi anxiously tucked a rug around him. ‘This will help you warm up, darling.’
‘Just to complete the paraplegic look,’ Ben muttered crossly, but the short journey and the effort of getting in and out of Fergus’s truck and into the house had exhausted him. They could all see how frail he still was. Even Izzy, who stood in her pyjamas holding one of his hands to her cheek.
Ben smiled at her. ‘I’m fine, sweetie, I’m just cold and need my coffee. Why don’t you go and get into your best Easter bonnet, ready for the egg hunt?’
Izzy laughed. ‘I haven’t got a bonnet, silly … I got a best red dress.’
‘Wow! Can’t wait to see.’
‘Come on, Mumma,’ Izzy called. ‘Help me with my dress. Then we’ve got the egg hunt …’ She turned worriedly to Delphi. ‘You didn’t leave all the eggs in the beach house?’
‘I certainly did not! Go on, darling, get dressed, then your breakfast will be ready …’
Hanna took Izzy upstairs and Ian went to light the fire in the sitting room. ‘Right, coffee for that officer …’ Mary said, as Delphi beat eggs into a bowl. Ben took a painkiller with his coffee and felt himself slowly begin to relax as the pain dulled and receded. He felt lulled by Mary and Delphi’s companionable chatter and amused by watching Finn happily flitting round the house hiding small chocolate eggs in inaccessible places for Izzy. Finn had, it seemed, temporarily given up being teenage cool and disdainful. Ben smiled, carefully storing the feeling of contentment in these small things, the smell of home, the old kitchen clock ticking, the sound of Ian scrunching paper for the fire. The rise and fall of muffled conversation and giggles coming from around the house …
‘Would you like a quick shave and a wash, Ben?’ Ian asked, quietly coming into the kitchen. Ben nodded gratefully and Ian wheeled Ben out of the kitchen and along the passage to the downstairs shower room. The wheelchair passed straight in. Ian smiled, pleased. ‘When we decided to put a shower in the downstairs loo, I persuaded your mother to have a wet room and a wide door for my impending decrepitude …’
Ben looked around at what had been the old cloakroom. ‘Delphi said you’d had a shower put in here … You’re as tough as old boots, Ian, you’ll see us all out …’
He manoeuvred himself to the basin. ‘I can’t tell you the relief at not having to heave myself out of this chair again …’
Ian closed the cloakroom door. ‘I can see you’re in pain, Ben. Is it your leg or stomach wound?’
‘Stomach wound.’
‘May I take a look?’
Ben pulled up his shirt reluctantly, not wanting Ian to confirm what he already suspected. ‘Sorry, Ben, but can you stand upright for a second, so I can see properly … Hold on to the towel rail …’
Ben pulled himself up, groaning under his breath. Ian washed his hands and examined the wound with gentle fingers. ‘Okay. Sit back, old thing.’ Ian eased Ben back into the chair.
Ben ran water into the basin and pulled out his wash bag. He knew what Ian was going to say. ‘Your wound is infected, Ben. I’m going to get a dressing to keep it clean but you’re going to need antibiotics. I’m retired, so I can’t prescribe, but I’m going to ring my doctor, who’s also a friend. The sooner you take it, the better. Do you know what antibiotic you were on at Selly Oak?’
Ben told him. Ian nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll be back in a moment.’
‘Ian, don’t tell Delphi, she’ll fuss and worry, and I don’t want Easter spoilt.’
‘I won’t say a thing. I’m going to make a phone call, dress the wound, then try to slip out on a pretext …’
When Ian had dressed his wound, Ben shaved and washed and changed his shirt and felt better. He looked in the mirror. God, he looked a hundred. What had happened to his eyes, they seemed to have receded into black holes. He felt strangely outside himself, as if he was watching himself behind glass. He had sometimes felt like this as a child when he had a temperature. It was odd.
Delphi was outside, hovering. ‘Are you okay, Ben?’ she asked, peering at him. Ben smiled. ‘I’m absolutely fine, Mum.’
Delphi looked at his flushed face and felt a surge of fear. He was not absolutely fine. He had called her Mum. He was feeling rock bottom low.
‘It will be hugely tiring being out of hospital for the first time, darling.’
‘It is, but I’m fine. Come on, I can hear my impatient daughter, let’s have breakfast, then she can egg-hunt …’
After breakfast Ian slipped out of the house for the prescription and Izzy thundered around the house finding the eggs, guided by Finn. Ben wheeled himself to the sitting room out of the way and sat by the fire with the papers. Fergus joined him and they sat reading out headlines to each other.
Ian came back with antibiotics and a huge bottle of sparkling water as an excuse for going out. He poured a glass and took the pills in to Ben. Ben took them with another painkiller. Fergus felt uneasy. He could see Ben was in pain and it was one hell of a long drive back to Birmingham tonight. Getting home for Easter had been a goal for Ben, although his medical team had warned him this might not be realistic. In the end they decided that the morale boost for him overrode the risk of travelling so far.
Fergus and Mary had driven to Cornwall overnight so Ben could sleep in the huge back seat of the Discovery. Looking at Ben’s grey face now, Fergus had doubts about how sensible this trip had been. He saw the physical and emotional toll it had taken on Ben. Being with his family, seeing Hanna again, had drained him.
Fergus took Ian aside. ‘What is it, Ian? My back seat’s like an armchair, but is Ben going to be up to the long drive back to Selly Oak?’
‘I took a look at Ben’s stomach wound, it’s infected. He has a temperature and he’s in some discomfort. He needs to be back in hospital, Fergus. At least you’re driving overnight and hopefully the antibiotics will have kicked in and with painkillers, Ben should sleep.’
‘Okay, but I think Mary and I will head off earlier than planned. After lunch, if you don’t mind, Ian.’
‘Of course not, I think you should. We’re so grateful to you, Fergus. You and Mary have done a wonderful thing bringing Ben all this way to see us.’
‘Pretty small undertaking in the scheme of things,’ Fergus said as he went off to find Mary.
Hanna found Finn in his bedroom. She came straight to the point.
‘Finn, we need to talk about your grades, they are terrible. What is going on?’ Finn shrugged without looking up from his mobile.
‘Please put your phone away and look at me.’ Finn sighed heavily and threw his phone on the bed. Hanna sat beside him.
‘So, are you deliberately setting yourself to fail your GCSEs on top of everything else?’
Finn shrugged again and muttered, ‘No. Just don’t see the point in killing myself over exams.’
Hanna said, exasperated, ‘For goodness’ sake, Finn, I’ve got one toddler to deal with, I don’t need two.’
Finn glared at her. ‘You’ve hardly got me to deal with, have you?’
Hanna watched him. ‘Is that the problem?’
Finn flushed.
Hanna said more gently, ‘I don’t want to fight with you. I am sorry if you feel I have abandoned you, Finn. I know how hard it must be, especially after what has happened to Ben …’
‘So, come back then. You should be here for him.’ You should be here for me, he thought silently and looked at her. ‘I don’t think you are sorry at all …’
Hanna sighed. ‘Finn, you have been in boarding school without living with me in term time for four years. There is no difference between my being in Germany or Finland, when you are in school, except what you make of it. Wherever I am, I love you, and I am always here for you, that will never change …’
‘That’s rubbish …’ Finn spat the words out. ‘Germany is where our home is … or was, before you left our quarter empty.’
Hanna was silent, shocked by his aggression, miserable about the truth of it. She could not spell out the bare facts to him. Her absence from their quarter made not an iota of difference. Everything changed in a flash, the moment Ben was blown up by an IED. Their lives, their home in Germany, Ben’s livelihood. For it was, most likely, the end of Ben’s army career.
Finn continued swinging his feet against the side of the bed, ‘You told me we would rent a house near the hospital so we could visit Ben easily. Are you going to?’
‘Finn, Ben is still at Selly Oak and wants to go through his treatment on his own, as you well know. We have to wait until he is ready to be transferred to Headley Court, then we can talk about it.’
Hanna paused, then said, ‘Don’t you think Ben has enough to contend with, without you deliberately sabotaging your exams? It is one thing to make me pay for hurting you, Finn, but you know how upset Ben would be if he knew you had stopped working …’
Izzy yelled up the stairs, ‘LUNCH IS READY. Delphi says you MUST all come now …’
Finn leapt to his feet. ‘I’m not making anyone pay. I don’t care what you do, but I care about my dad. I care about Izzy.’
Hanna stood up and faced him. ‘So, you are not glad to see me, not glad I came to spend Easter with you?’
Finn looked away. ‘I didn’t say that,’ he muttered miserably, looking at the floor. Hanna slowly and carefully wrapped her arms around his stiff and angry body. Finn did not move away.
‘Good,’ she whispered, feeling him relax ever so slightly against her. ‘Because I am so happy to see you, even if you are like an angry croc who might bite my head off any second …’
Finn tried not to smile. Hanna smelled spicy and warm and he breathed her in. She kissed the top of his head. ‘Wherever I am, wherever you are, I love you. Please don’t stop working. I love that clever mind of yours …’
Finn dared not ask the question. Hanna did not lie. They left it at that and went downstairs together.
Delphi, with Izzy’s help, had decorated the lunch table with small yellow chickens and bunches of creamy primroses. There was roast leg of lamb and apple crumble. How did she do it? Mary wondered, seeing Ben and Finn’s face light up when they saw the table, watched Izzy’s excitement as she was allowed to help light the candles. Mary understood suddenly that for Delphi, keeping all the little family traditions going, as if nothing had changed, was how she coped, how she kept a continuity and order for the people she loved.
Outside the day was dark and rain and wind hit the long casement windows making them rattle. But here in the big warm kitchen Delphi had drawn her disparate family together for Easter lunch. Around the table, there was a pause, a lull, a cessation, of all but a sweet contentment in being together and eating food prepared with love.
A meal can slide past, unnoticed, Mary thought, when often it stands, like a flash of a camera, into a sacred memory, a time and a place in the life and in the breaking up of a family.
After lunch Ben wheeled himself away from the heat and noise of the kitchen back into the sitting room. He sat looking out of the window to a grey sea beyond the garden. Waves flung themselves over the railings in great, white angry sprays. Voices and laughter in the kitchen came to him in little bursts. At lunch, a sweet happiness had crept over him as he glanced around the table. He knew how lucky he was to be here with his parents, his children, and his closest friends. His pain had receded, and he felt a strange soporific detachment, as if he was viewing everything from the wrong end of a telescope.
‘Ben?’ Hanna came up behind him. He turned from the window.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said, from habit. ‘Too many people? Feeling the strain?’
She smiled. ‘A bit. How are you doing, Ben?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘My treatment’s going well. Thanks for coming. It’s made the children’s Easter … and mine,’ he added.
Hanna watched him. He looked awful. She could feel her heart thumping as she asked. ‘Ben … would you like me to come back to England?’
Ben stared at her. ‘For Finn, or for me?’
‘Both of you, of course.’
Did Hanna think he could ever forget her reaction when she first saw him in Selly Oak? ‘Is this sudden pity, duty, or lurve?’ He had not meant to sound cynical, but it came out that way.
‘Ben, whatever you think, I care about you.’
Ben took a deep breath. ‘I know you do, Han, but it’s a commitment I don’t think you can make. I saw the horror on your face when you first saw me, and you haven’t experienced my worst days. Days when my stump bleeds and I have to stay in bed with the bloody mess that was once my leg uncovered under a cage. Days when my stomach wound is so painful, I am delirious with pain. Days when my physio makes me scream …’
‘Oh Ben …’ Hanna stood, pale and stricken.
‘I’ve got months and months of rehab … do you honestly believe you could constantly look at me at my lowest … legless and all, without turning away from the sight of me, because that would be so much worse than not having you at all …’
