The Poppy Field. Deborah Carr
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