to hide from the hail of blows. He didn’t fight back.
‘You bastard! You steal every fucking thing that matters to me! Lisette was all I had! All I wanted was Lisette.’
‘Alan, old chap – steady on – I didn’t know you were coming back.’
‘Alain, tais-toi, sois sage!’ cried Lisette, frightened and appealing for calm.
‘Everything that ever matters.’
‘Jesus, brother. There’s no need. You can have her. I didn’t –’
‘I don’t want to have her because you say I can. I don’t want …’ Alan’s attack was hardly serious now. Tom struggled to get his trousers on, keeping Alan at a distance with his stronger right arm. Lisette helped as well as she could.
‘Guy was out there, wasn’t he? Why in hell didn’t he keep you away? He knew I was here.’
‘Guy? He knew, oh yes, he knew. He carried me here. Carried me. So I would know who you were. And I know now, all right. I know.’
Tom was dressed from the waist down now and had his hands on his boots. ‘Take care, Alan, take care what you say.’
Alan steadied himself with his back against the chalky lime-washed wall. Although his face was purple with bruises, adrenaline had given him more control than he’d had with Guy. His extreme shock and nervous collapse was no longer obvious. It was easy for Tom to mistake him for a man upset, but otherwise in control of his faculties.
‘What I mean is,’ said Alan, speaking as distinctly as he was able, ‘that Guy has been right about you all along. You have some fine things about you, no doubt, but in the end you’re the sodding little gardener’s boy. Please get your hands off my girl and get out of here.’
‘Alan, for God’s sake, be careful. Some things can’t be unsaid, you know.’
‘Alan, s’il te plaît, calm down, I’ll make you coffee, I’ll explain.’ Lisette implored Alan for calm, but the situation had travelled too far.
Alan tried to pull a revolver, but he managed to snag the barrel as he pulled it from its holster, and the gun clattered uselessly to the ground. Tom snatched the gun up and tossed it out of the window into the cattle trough below.
Alan lurched to the doorway and steadied himself on the doorpost. ‘Guy is my brother. You’re a gardener’s boy who fucks my girl.’ He shook his head. ‘And by the way, I’m never going to drill in Persia with you. Why would I? As far as I know, the concession belongs to the Montague family. It doesn’t belong to the fucking staff.’
He stumbled away, slipping on the fourth step of the staircase and crashing all the way to the bottom. He dragged himself back to the village, found an empty bed and fell into it. He was asleep within three seconds of his head hitting the pillow.
And here was the odd thing.
He slept well. He slept without dreams, without pain, without fogginess or delirium. It was a strange way to sleep the day the world collapsed.
Tom buttoned his shirt. His hands were shaking violently. His face was ash.
‘I didn’t know you were friends,’ said Lisette, begging pardon from the world. ‘I didn’t know … he was such a nice man, I really adored him.’
‘Don’t worry. Not your fault,’ said Tom in French, before adding in English, ‘Damnation. I had no idea he … Dammit, dammit.’
Tom sat on the bed and tried to calm down. Guy is my brother. You’re a gardener’s boy who fucks my girl. He pushed the words away, but what Alan had said was too big to be so easily dismissed. I’m never going to drill in Persia with you. Why would I? As far as I know, the concession belongs to the Montague family. It doesn’t belong to the fucking staff. Tom breathed heavily, trying to calm himself. Alan was shocked. Alan was upset. Alan was talking rot –
‘Will he be all right?’ said Lisette, interrupting his thoughts.
‘Look, he’s just come from battle. It’s awful up there. He’s a sensitive sod at the best of times, and as for girls, he’s never … well, I don’t think that before you, he’s even –’
‘No, never. I had to teach him everything.’
‘Shit!’ Tom was doubly angry because he felt guilty. He’d known Alan was seeing Lisette and until recently he’d been careful to avoid seeing her too. But the last three days had been from hell. Tom had known that Alan had been hit, but, like Guy, he’d had no end of a time finding out where Alan was and in what condition. When he’d finally heard that Alan was essentially fine, his relief had been overpowering. In some strange way, Tom had felt drawn to seek out Lisette, the one other person who had been truly intimate with Alan. He’d gone in search of her and charmed his way into her kitchen. He’d had no intention of making love with her, but Tom wasn’t very strong-willed in the matter of sex and, in any event, with Alan safely in hospital, it didn’t seem to matter all that much. He should have known better.
They were quiet a moment. Then Lisette kissed Tom on the earlobe. He smiled and stroked her shoulder.
‘Do you go with many other men?’ he asked.
She thumped him gently on the bicep. ‘Cochon.’ Pig.
‘But really?’
‘Some. A few.’
‘For money, I suppose?’
‘Usually. Not with him. Never with him.’
‘With me?’
She shook her head.
‘He had no idea, none at all … Look I’ll give him time to get over all this. Explain it. I’d better not see you again. I won’t if it means upsetting Alan.’
‘What is that about brothers? You are or you aren’t?’
Tom explained briefly, ending by saying ‘Guy’s his blood brother, I’m his real brother. He knows that. In solemn truth, he knows that.’
‘And will it be all right?’
Tom nodded, kicking his bare feet out on the unvarnished floorboards. He was annoyed with himself for his stupidity, but he was furious with Guy for provoking things. Anger boiled inside him, hot and dangerous.
‘Well? It will be all right?’
Tom sighed heavily. ‘Yes. It’ll be all right.’
And once again, he was wrong, dead wrong.
It was getting to be a habit.
It was the following day: 19 August.
Tom was back in the support trenches when the fighting resumed. He was making a report to brigade staff, short of sleep, and stained with sweat, blood and dirt. The sound of fighting ended the brief conference. Tom excused himself, received a brusque, ‘Carry on then, Creeley,’ and raced on up the line.
It was an evil day. It felt like the first cold day of autumn, with enough rain to have soaked everything and given the air a biting edge. A wicked little breeze carried the smoke of guns over the battlefield, until everything was seen through the greenish, cordite-smelling glow. The wet chalk was slippery and unreliable. The way ran uphill and the trench bottom had become a gutter for rainwater, mud, rats, and blood.
Tom made his way up the trench, fast but with care. He passed