A man in major’s uniform approached him: a good-looking officer with a drawn and tired expression. The major’s face lit up as he recognised Alan.
‘Alan, man! Thank God! What on earth … ?’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ mumbled Alan. ‘Do I … ?’
‘Alan, it’s me. Guy. Your brother.’
‘Guy! Good God! You look …’
‘Are you all right, old man?’
‘Yes, perfectly, just a little muzzy. How do you do?’
‘Alan,’ you’ve been in hospital, have you? Did you take a knock?’
‘Something like that.’ Alan raised his hand and fluttered it down. ‘Wheeee-BANG!’
Guy looked his brother up and down, checking for signs of obvious injury. Apart from some violently coloured bruises, there was little enough.
‘Thank God you’re all right! I’ve been worried sick. Staff haven’t heard a straight word from anyone and all I knew was your crowd was in the thick of the whole bloody shemozzle. I got word that you’d been hit, but the RAMC weren’t able to tell me where you were, let alone how you were.’
The two brothers embraced. Later on, looking back on it, Alan was genuinely surprised by the warmth of Guy’s feeling.
‘And Tom? What about Tom? Where’s Tom? Don’t tell me –’
‘Alan, old chap, Tom’s absolutely fine. He made it up to German lines – unlike most of his men – and held on to his bit of trench despite a pretty nasty counterattack by Fritz. He was relieved three days ago, completely unhurt. He’s been going out of his mind trying to find out what happened to you.’
‘Thank God. Thank bloody Jesus. Thank … Thank … Thank … and he’s hurt, you say? How badly? How … ?’
‘No. Completely unhurt, I told you.’
Alan made a face, as though ready to argue. His breath came in hard pants that hurt his lungs.
‘Don’t you think you should still be lying down?’ said Guy. ‘Why the hell did the medics let you go anyway?’
‘The whole platoon went down? The poor bloody platoon!’ Alan was upset now. He began reciting the names of the men who’d been under Tom’s command.
‘Let’s get you home.’
‘Not hurt? Not wounded?’
‘Typical of the gardener’s boy, eh? No, completely unhurt. Not a scratch. Now come on back.’
Alan giggled in relief, but his emotions were still all over the place. He was laughing but could just as easily be crying. ‘Sounds like he’s the hero once again. You must have been pleased to see him. So pleased. Soooo pleased.’
‘Mmm,’ Guy agreed, without enthusiasm. Tom’s extraordinary record through four days of intense fighting had been somewhat muddied by a blazing row he’d had with one of the brigadier’s aides on the day of his return to the rear. Tom, incensed by the massacre he’d been in the middle of, had accused High Command of butchery. He’d more or less called Haig a murderer. It had taken Guy’s intervention to prevent Tom from getting into serious disciplinary trouble. ‘He can be a damn fool, that man. Now look, old chap, you’re looking awfully queer. Don’t you think you’d better –’
But Alan’s mood had become suddenly belligerent. ‘You’re the fool, a big bloody fool. And what’s worse, much worse, you’re a bloody staff officer fool.’
Guy’s voice tautened. He could see Alan was hardly himself, but it was dangerous territory that he was entering. ‘Alan, that’s enough –’
‘Bloody staff officers. Just as Tom says. Bloody, skulking, yellow, behind-the-lines, staff bloody –’
‘Stop it!’ Guy gripped his brother’s arm, attempting to swing him back round to the village. ‘I’m taking you home. You need some –’
‘No, I don’t.’ There was a roaring in his ears and a buzzy quality to his vision. He suddenly thought of Lisette, and wanted her with a passionate longing, rejoicing in the knowledge that if Tom was alive, then everything in the whole wide world would be all right. He pushed Guy away with both hands.
‘Don’t touch me. There’s someone I need to see … I have to go.’
Guy looked at his brother with sudden acuteness. ‘You’ve got a girl, have you? You?’
‘“I’ve got a little lady by the name of Sue,”’ sang Alan. ‘Not Sue actually, Lisette.’ He was babbling. He waved at the farmhouse where she lived. ‘Lisette, Lisette.’
‘That farm? The one just there, with the red-painted gables?’ Guy’s tone was half urgent, half incredulous.
‘That farm there.’
A delighted smile spread across Guy’s face. He released his grip so suddenly that Alan tottered and almost fell.
‘Go on then. Go.’
‘I’m going.’
‘Go to your precious Lisette. You’ll see just how precious she is. Her and your beloved twin.’
And Guy escorted Alan the two hundred yards to the farm. Before they were even halfway, Alan lost his desire to go there. He wanted to see Tom and he wanted to sleep. ‘Lisette will be there for me in the morning,’ he chanted.
But Guy’s determination was fixed. When Alan’s feet stumbled and dragged, Guy lifted him bodily, so anxious was he to get Alan to the farmhouse door. When Guy finally had Alan propped against the doorpost, he left him there, saying, ‘Go on, go in. I’m sure your arrival will be a delightful surprise. I’ll catch up with you later, old man. Toodle-oo.’
The farm door was never locked and Alan let himself in. The range was warm and a couple of cakes, yellow and creamy with egg, were cooling on the sideboard, a wire net over them. Lisette wasn’t there, probably out. Alan felt too happy to think. He was safe. Tom was safe. And nothing else in the whole world mattered.
There was some old coffee cooling in a pot. Alan drank it. The smell jerked at a memory. ‘Mind the bloody coffee’ – Major Fletcher – polished leather boots on a map-covered chest – loping monkey arms – ‘Keep your own bloody head from being shot off – then nothing: just a poor sod with his left arm loose between his knees and all his precious company lying dead about him.
Alan lifted the mesh from the cakes and stole a piece. It was good cake and he ate hungrily, before noticing that the cat was eating hungrily too. He chased the cat off and replaced the mesh. Upstairs, there was a sound: a creaking of floorboards and laughter. Of course! Idiot! Naturally, Lisette would still be upstairs. Why not? It was morning. What better place to be than bed?
Alan went upstairs, using his hands as well as his feet to avoid falling on the steep wooden staircase. The sound of laughter was louder now.
‘Lisette?’ Alan bounded along a corridor and burst through a door. ‘Lisette!’
The word died in his throat. There in bed lay not one person but two. Lisette and, next to her, naked and at home, was Tom.
There was a moment’s silence. All three people were shocked. In that tiny gap of time, nothing had yet been said, no damage done, no lives ruined.
The moment didn’t last.
Alan’s emotions looped again. An indescribable fury surged through him. ‘You bastard!’ he screamed. ‘You thieving, sodding, bloody bastard!’
Alan