Kitty’s War. Terri Nixon

barely recognisable as the confident, cheerful boy I’d so often wanted to push into the river. He’d been allowed to shave, and his uniform was neat enough as he readied himself for this new trial, but his eyes had lost their light, and his face, always thin, now looked skeletal. I couldn’t begin to imagine how it felt to have come so close to death, and then to have been reprieved, only to face the horror of it possibly happening again.

      ‘Kitty!’ He rose from his bunk and embraced me, and, with Jack standing quietly in the back of the tiny room, we sat down to talk. Evie had only been able to give me the bare bones of the story; immediately after she’d heard it herself she’d gone to France to find Will. She had wired again, as soon as the news came through that Drewe had not died as a result of being struck by Oli, and from that moment on my brother’s life had rested in my hands.

      ‘Is Archie going to be there?’ Oliver directed this question at Jack, who glanced at me before answering.

      ‘No, his unit’s rotated forward; he’s needed in the line.’

      I felt cold all over, and Oli squeezed my hand. ‘He’ll be right as rain, Kitty; don’t worry.’

      ‘And so will you be,’ I ventured, not knowing any such thing, but wanting it so strongly it felt like the truth.

      He grinned, and seemed his old self again, in that moment. ‘I should bloody hope so, after you traipsing all this way,’ he said. ‘And just imagine how cross the parents would be if I got shot tomorrow, on their wedding anniversary. It would really put a wrinkle in the celebrations.’

      ‘Can’t have that,’ I agreed, trying not to flinch at the word shot, and feeling a faint pang at the thought of life continuing its familiar path in the house where I’d grown up. ‘Although, when the story comes out about the…the pregnancy…’ I stumbled over the word ‘…I have a feeling that will more than wrinkle things. Don’t you?’

      There was nothing he could say to that, and he simply squeezed my hand again. After a moment’s silence, Jack motioned to the door. ‘It’s time we were off, Kitty.’

      I turned to Oli and put my arms around him. He felt small, suddenly, even to me. ‘It will all be all right,’ I whispered. ‘Please don’t worry. I love you.’

      ‘I love you too,’ he whispered back, and I was sure if he’d spoken the words any louder they would have cracked.

      Jack was right; telling him my story first, in the quiet little office where only he could hear me, made it easier to speak out at the court martial. I could see people studying me intently—my dress, my shoes, my manner—and was grateful for the advice given by Lizzy and Frances. I was not slim and pretty, like Evie, my hair was a tangled mess of red curls despite my attempts to tame it, and my figure, although I’d lost weight since I’d joined up, was still more on the rounded side—I was clearly not a temptress, and therefore my words seemed to carry more weight. That shouldn’t have been the case, and it angered me that it was, but it was a relief nevertheless. I kept looking around for Archie, hoping Jack’s explanation that there was a push on had merely been preparing Oli for potential disappointment, but I didn’t see him anywhere. His presence as I gave my evidence would have given me extra strength, but perhaps my timidity also worked in my favour.

      Jack’s own evidence as to Drewe’s character was honest and raw; he told of his deep respect, and of the sadness as he’d watched Drewe slide into morphine dependency. To hear then, that that dependency had sunk deeper than any of them had realised, had shaken Jack, but the medical evidence was inarguable, and the post-mortem report bore out Evie’s suspicions; Lieutenant Colonel Drewe had been on the verge of that heart attack for a long time, and it might have happened at any moment. The verdict was delivered quickly: not guilty of murder, but guilty of manslaughter. The circumstances would now be taken into account, and we sat in frozen silence while we waited for the sentence to be pronounced.

      It did not take long. Oliver would be stripped of his commission and given a dishonourable discharge from the army, to serve a ten-year sentence in a civilian prison. Cashiered. Not shot. My heart hammered almost painfully as I felt all the strength drain out of me, and I slumped in my seat. The release of tension was making me shake, and all I could do was fix my eyes on the back of the seat in front, and listen to the chant echoing loudly in my head. Thank God, thank God, thank God…

      I felt the gentle pressure of Jack’s hand on my arm. ‘Sit up straight, love, and give him a smile to see him back to Blighty.’

      Somehow I did so, and realised Oli’s attention had been fixed on me anxiously. He nodded as our eyes met, his face pale, but he returned my smile. ‘Come and see me,’ he mouthed, as he was led away.

      Jack stood, and drew me to my feet. ‘Come on, I can think of one or two people who’ll want to hear this news.’

      ‘Are we going to see Archie?’ I heard my voice thicken as I spoke his name, and my pulse picked up in sudden hope, but he shook his head.

      ‘He really is rotated forward,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t just saying that for your brother’s benefit. We’ll wire him the verdict. What I am going to do now though, is take you back to France.’

      ‘To the ferry? Already?’ Disappointment broke over me, but Jack smiled.

      ‘To Arras.’

      The hospital at Arras, where Will was awaiting his own Blighty ticket, was an astonishing affair. Underground passages, wards and operating rooms, smartly turned out nurses and orderlies creating calm from chaos…and although the smells and sounds brought back everything I thought I’d never experience again, with them came, not revulsion, as I’d expected, or even dark memories of trembling exhaustion, but a strange and aching sweep of nostalgia. For the first time I understood what Evie had meant, when she tried to explain how it had felt to be at her glorious Breckenhall home and wanting, more than anything, to be back here.

      Tiredness was creeping over me now, and I was feeling a little light-headed and hot, but the thought of seeing Evie again, and meeting Will at last, kept me looking around with increasing interest.

      ‘Uncle Jack!’ The familiar, clear voice cut through the noise, and I turned to see Evie coming down the corridor towards us. She saw me at the same time, and gave a little cry and drew me into her embrace. ‘Skittles! How are you, sweetheart?’ Then she drew back, her breath catching as she belatedly realised why we were there. ‘What happened? Is the trial over?’

      ‘Yes, love,’ Jack said. He caught my eye and suddenly, in the midst of this madness, the relief set in properly; the smiles on our faces filtered through Evie’s tiredness, and she gave a shaky laugh.

      ‘He’s been acquitted?’

      ‘No, not quite. But he’s not going to face the guns.’ Jack gave her a brief account of what had happened, and although her face shadowed at the news he would spend ten years in prison, she understood as well as we did how close he had come to losing his life.

      ‘And what of young William?’ Jack wanted to know. ‘How’s he doing?’

      ‘He’s bright enough. Cheerful as ever. Infection was a worry for a while but it won’t be too long before he’s fit to travel. Come in and see him.’ She led the way to a crowded ward at the far end of the hospital, and we followed her to the bed halfway down one side, where a couple of nurses were standing at the foot, entranced by what they were watching.

      ‘He’s making things again,’ Evie said, her smile lighting the room. ‘People give him all the spare paper they can find.’

      The two nurses caught sight of the sister approaching from the other end of the ward and scuttled away quickly, leaving a clear view of Will, his fingers twisting with dexterous concentration and unaware his audience had changed. Then he looked up and saw Evie, and my heart clenched at the look on his face. I’d seen a battered photograph Evie carried with her, and the man who sat propped against these pillows might have been someone else—that man’s father perhaps. This man was older, thinner-faced, with deeper cut