Trench Rat - 6. Chapter 6

For almost an hour, I sat awake with the light on, berating myself for pushing too hard, fighting off sleep in the hope that he might return. But what could I do differently if he did? He clearly loved Patrick and felt responsible for him. And I had to wonder what had happened to his friend. Perhaps if I had pushed more gently, Alfie might have confided in me more. Had I handled the exchange poorly? I could almost hear my mother saying in her typically insensitive way that passed for humour that only I could frighten a ghost away.

Even with these thoughts swarming around, my body eventually succumbed to tiredness. I thought I had been dreaming when a coldness touched my cheek like the drop of water from the village fountain, and I woke startled. With the light still switched on, my eyes focused quickly. Alfie stood there, dressed as always in his army fatigues. My brain scrambled to rerun our encounter but to tread carefully and try not to scare him away again.

"I'm sorry, Alfie, but Patrick's not—"

He held up a hand to stop me and didn’t look frightened the way he had before.

"I know he’s not here, Robert. It’s you I’ve come to see."

And then I noticed. There was something different about him. He dressed the same way and even brought the same gentle breeze of outdoor odours, but there was a calmness about him. Without being invited, he came over and perched on the end of the bed.

"I know you were trying to help. I see that now. That’s mainly why I came back. To make sure I hadn’t hurt or offended you, especially after you’d been so kind, chatting to me and keeping me company."

"We kept each other company."

"The thing is, Robert, I’ve been offered a rare gift. To find out what happened to me."

"But that’s wonderful, isn’t it?"

Even as I spoke the words, I could see he wasn’t sure. He stared across the room, looking lost.

"You’re right, it is. I just don’t think I could—" He appeared nervous about something. "The thing is, Robert, I wondered if you might come with me."

My brain took a moment to process what he had just said. But once I understood, I didn’t hesitate.

"I’d be honoured."

He turned to look at me with mournful eyes. How could I possibly refuse?

"Are you sure? I’ll make certain you’re okay, but it’ll likely be grim."

I reached out for his hand and, for the first time, felt the warmth of his solid touch. He stood first and pulled me to my feet and his side as the stark comfort of the bedroom melted around us.

*****

A muddy rim descended into a rough dugout. A make-do shelter constructed from scorched tree boughs, planks and caked mud commanded the centre. Trench alleyways surrounded the structure and snaked off in either direction, crowned with coils of rusted barbed wire. Along one side of the bunker, a haphazard row of soldiers in tin helmets pressed their bodies flat at the top of ladders, pointing rifles into the fogbound landscape. Two men laboured together on a wooden gantry, hastily setting up a cumbersome-looking machine gun. To one side of the hut, like an augur of darkness, stood the unlikely form of a black horse, saddled but tethered to a post. The wild eyes of the poor beast matched the innate fear I experienced.

But that was all my brain had time to drink in during those first few seconds. Explosions, near and far, shook the ground beneath our feet. Rifle shots and the rapid release of machine gun fire rattled through my skull and pained my ears. An all-pervading fog or smoke in the fading light became illuminated by random white-orange flashes of exploding bombshells. All of that paled in comparison to the stench of sodden earth, animal faeces, decay and a faint but cloying stink of ammonia or bleach, a smell that seemed misplaced in the midst of the filth.

I had seen footage of the Great War, but nothing could compare to the raw, sensory experience. Alfie must have felt me stiffen beside him because he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me tightly into his side, into his warmth.

"I'm sorry, Alfie. But this is terrifying."

"You've nowt to be scared of, Robert. This is my time we're in, not yours. You don't exist here, which makes you the ghost. Nothing can harm you."

'But it can harm you.' The words filled my head but remained unspoken.

"There," said Alfie, lifting his other arm and pointing. "That's Patrick. Second ladder from the end. That's where we always took turns to be stationed—"

Everything happened in a matter of heartbeats. The back of the man Alfie pointed out as Patrick had raised his head above the ledge to fire off a shot into the mist. But before he could, his body jerked backwards from the ladder and fell into the shadowed depths of the bunker. At almost the exact moment, a living version of Alfie rushed out of the shelter on our side of the trench. Rifle in hand, he took a moment to muffle a yawn and stretch, oblivious to the fate of his friend. Around him, barked orders mingled with the cries and moans of the injured and dying, echoing from dark channels. Alfie ignored them, taking a moment to stop and check over his weapon.

A piercing whistle grew closer and closer, morphing into an unearthly scream. Along with his fellow soldiers, Alfie looked briefly to the sky before dropping to one knee and bowing his head. A second of peaceful stillness was broken by an explosion of bleached, blinding whiteness that filled the dugout, encompassing and evaporating everything.

"No," I heard myself whisper. "Please."

"It's okay," said Alfie next to me, hugging my shoulder again, his voice reassuringly calm. He had clearly come to witness his own death.

Sounds of warfare melted away as an eerie silence descended. Pieces of debris and ash fell around us like black hail. The dugout had become a crater of scorched earth and scattered fragments of shrapnel. Nothing could have survived. I scanned the area but only spied a blackened tin helmet half-buried in the soil. A cold gust of air blew over the scene, clean and refreshing, like the opening of a window on a stifling day. Clouds began to race across the sky, and very slowly, grass grew in the crater until a lone white flower bloomed, after which many more followed.

I felt bereft when Alfie removed his arm from around me but instead reached for my hand. When he spoke, his voice had changed, different from the nervous innocence of the boy I had first met. Now, there was a calm resignation to him, a coming to terms.

"Thank you for coming with me, Robert. I need to go now."

Around us, the serene pastoral setting had given way to the stark, unadorned farmhouse bedroom. I was reluctant to release his hand, even though I knew he had witnessed all he needed to.

"Please don’t go," I said, squeezing his hand. "Not yet. I wish I knew more about you, about your life."

"What is there to tell? Me life were nowt but a chapter."

"Beautiful stories don’t have to be long. Some of the best are short tales."

Alfie stared at me then with an affection that I had rarely witnessed in my life before reaching out and pushing a strand of hair across my ear. I closed my eyes for a second, longing for the feeling to continue, even if for a few more minutes.

"Will you do something for me, Alfie?" I asked. "Before you go?"

Alfie smiled and nodded as though he knew what I wanted to ask.

"Will you lie with me? Will you hold me? Just for a moment?"

We lay in the bed facing each other in silence. I felt the warmth of his arm around my waist and his breath on my cheek. I reached a hand up to touch his face, and he smiled as he closed his eyes. I was sure he had done the same with Patrick and was careful not to push our intimacy any further.

"I’m going to miss you," I said.

"No, you’re not," he said, opening his eyes again. "I’m always going to be with you now. But there is summat else I need you to do for me if you will."

"Anything."

"I feel as though I’ve asked too much already."

"Tell me."

"Bring me home for Christmas, Robert. Bring me home and close the circle."

"I’m not sure I understand."

"That’s all I can tell you. But you’re a clever bugger. You'll work out what you need to do."

"Okay," I replied, unable to find the voice to say anything more.

Alfie looked past me then as though he had heard something, and when I followed his gaze, I noticed a soft light shimmering across the room, the vague outline of a group of people, one brighter light in the foreground. When I turned back, I noticed Alfie’s face had broken into a broad smile.

"Who’s that?" I asked.

"Who do you think? Paddy and me family. He’s the one who brought us together, you and me. And he’s just told me enough with the goodbyes. He wants me back now."

"Then you should go. I’m glad you found each other again."

"But this wasn’t just about me, Robert. Remember that," he said, his eyes piercing into mine until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. Beautiful. Even in his earthly yet ethereal state, his presence humbled me. As ever, I was unable to look away, and my sadness began to dissipate. "You got a lot more chapters to write."

Alone. The thought blew through me like the cold breeze across the empty bombed-out crater.

"Cheer up, you daft ha'peth," said Alfie, taking hold of my chin and making me look at him. "You found me, didn’t you? Will you just promise to do as I asked?"

I sighed deeply and managed to smile. "How could I ever deny you anything, Alfie?"

At that remark, he pecked me on the lips then laughed, such a liberating sound which should have made me join in, except I knew instinctively that my acquiescence meant he would be gone soon.

Forever.