Chapter Text
It would be very nice to say that that saw the end of Stanhope’s problems; that his mind was cleared of all bad thoughts for the rest of his life. In reality, that night Madge was woken up by a loud yell of “OHJESUSICAN’TBREATHE!” coming from several rooms away. By the time she’d properly woken up, reassured Frances no harm would come to her, and made her way quietly to his room, Dennis was sitting at his window, watching the rain, and drinking from his flask. He had almost stopped shaking. If Madge had not been distracted with how best to comfort him, she would have probably thought him very picturesque, in a melancholy sort of way. As it was, she made her way over to join him and took his hand.
“Great big pile of dirt – thought it’d landed over me and I was falling and couldn’t get back again. Sorry for waking you up” he said, glumly.
“It’s fine;” she replied, “At least you let me get near this time.”
“Thought if sat here and watched the rain…wouldn’t need this as much” he explained, holding the flask up.
“And did it work?”
“Bit”, and then, “Wanted to stop by now. Thought it’d make you happy. Thought you’d want a nice cricket boy, not…”. This was punctuated by a half-hearted wave of the hand.
“You are a ‘nice cricket boy’,” Madge said diplomatically, “You might have some problems you didn’t before, but that’s not who you are. From what I can see, as much as you can’t, you’re still the sweet brave boy I love…ah. Right. I said that.”
“Ah, it‘s alright…love you too.”
“You do?! I mean, ahem, do you?”
“Sure…you’re all warm, like…a rabbit, and you’re kind, like…another rabbit.”
“A rabbit?”
“Yes. Or an angel. That sorta thing.”
“Well, being drunk certainly brings out the charmer in you, Dennis.”
“Then I shall never be sober again” Dennis said solemnly, and then started to splutter with laughter. Madge joined in, in spite of herself.
“See? It’s funny…It’s funny cos I’m… cos I’m an alcoholic and I’ll die! Ha! I’ll die!”
“Please – oh God, I can’t stop laughing now – please promise me you won’t die, will you? It’d break my heart.”
“Ah, anything for you.”
“I’ll help you, I really will. You don’t even need to stop straight away, just…you drink because it helps you with painful thoughts, doesn’t it?”
“Bingo. Hole in one. Wicket-maiden.”
“Well – have you tried writing it down somewhere? No one would have to read it – it doesn’t even necessarily have to be about how you’re feeling.”
“How’d I write with this arm?”
“You could buy a typewriter. I doubt they’ll have one in town – oh, that reminds me. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. Would you come into town with Frances and me?”
“Sure. Completely forgot about all that. Should probably get you a present, shouldn’t I?”
“And I’d quite like to get you a present that isn’t a packet of cigarettes, chocolate, and tinned pineapples.”
“No, no, keep the pineapples. I loved those pineapples! Always used to end up with apricots out at the Front…can’t stand apricots. Sneaky little things, can’t work up the courage to be properly orange. Huh…I can eat all the pineapples I want now. I could buy a typewriter like you said. I can make plans that don’t involve barbed wire. Funny. Didn’t really think I’d get to do that again.”
“And you used to have so many…” Madge took the opportunity to nestle next to him on the windowseat, and found he was a first-rate pillow.
“I did, I did,” Dennis responded, not seeming to mind how close she was, “And then I got out there, and…only plan seemed to be what I’d send to you when…I didn’t think I’d make it out alive. Didn’t seem to mind by the end. Didn’t have a future, really. Just planning how…how when it happened, I’d go out like a brave dead hero – and you’d be happy.”
“Why would I want a brave dead hero,” Madge asked, “When I could have one who’s still alive? And you are still alive, Dennis, you will still get a good death and I will still be proud of you – but you have to do it the long way round this time.”
“I will, I will.”
“And just think, you can get all your plans back. It was always so sweet when you used to tell me about –”
“About the little house on the country lane! Nice open lawn to play cricket in, little pavilion in the garden for summer…Oh, thanks ver’ much…”
Madge had briefly left the windowseat to grab his coat, and had now returned to tuck it over the both of them.
“I might dig up a little vegetable patch and sell a few to our neighbours,” Madge said, resting her head on his shoulder and being rewarded with a happy, whiskey-scented little sigh, “I’d quite like to keep growing vegetables, no matter how dirty my hands get. And Dennis?”
“Huh…?”
“D’you still feel like you’re falling?”
“…Can get back now…huh.”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” Madge said, and decided to keep on her current track, “I’d quite like windowboxes, as well, to put roses in – and then in the summer, when the roses were out, and this sounds silly, but there’d be butterflies…”
“Doesn’ sound silly at all…sounds lovely…butterflies fly round your hair…go on…”
And with a small, tired smile, he was asleep.
Frances Renfrew knew she was supposed to be heartbroken. The girl she could never be with was very happily in love with a man, and they were currently holding hands very tightly in a small clothes shop. But the fact was that Frances was not by nature a sentimental nor jealous woman, and though occasionally she felt slightly downcast whenever she saw Madge stretch on her tiptoes to kiss her ‘dear silly boy’ on the cheek, she invariably perked up when she was handed one of the most ridiculous hats in the shop to put on. It had a wagtail on the top. You couldn’t not laugh.
“Madge, do you know what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” Frances asked.
“No, I don’t,” Madge replied, “Dennis, sweetheart, do you know?”
“Absolutely not,” Stanhope said, “Go on then, what does happen?”
“The unstoppable force tries to get the immovable object to buy a knitted pullover. And I watch.”
“Well it’s a lovely pullover, and you need some nice new clothes.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t want to spend unnecessary money on myself.”
“The pullover will make you look terribly handsome.”
“You’ve called me terribly handsome twice already today and I wasn’t wearing the pullover.”
“I shall want to kiss you till my mouth goes numb.”
“Madge, you told me you wanted to do that to him this morning at breakfast. And the shop assistant will hear if you speak much louder.”
“If you won’t buy it, I will. It’ll be a nice Christmas present.”
“You’ll have ruined the surprise.”
Madge was defeated for just a moment, until she looked at the display in the window of the shop opposite, and figured out a way to potentially kill two birds with one stone.
“Very well. I’ll get you a present that’s a surprise…if you promise me you’ll buy yourself the pullover. You need to treat yourself better – and believe me Dennis, that’s not unnecessary at all.”
And off she went to the corner of the shop, to look at a pretty set of handkerchiefs for Mrs Singh.
“Well, the immovable object shifted,” said Stanhope to Frances, picking up the pullover, “And no surprise there. I’m always a bloody fool when it comes to making her happy.”
“At least you want to give her reason to be happy,” said Frances mildly, “Instead of taking it for granted that she’ll smile all the time.”
“Why on earth would I take it for granted? Quite frankly, I’m surprised she didn’t run a mile when she saw the state I’m in.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. For one thing, she loves you. You don’t just give up on someone in trouble, do you? I mean, don’t misunderstand me, she’s upset at what’s happened to you, I know. But she doesn’t blame you.”
“So she doesn’t think I’m a burden? She’s not afraid of me, or anything like that?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Stanhope bought the pullover without saying a word. And he kept putting his hand in his pocket – to check.
Dear Anne,
How are you? Firstly, I hope this is still your address. Mine has changed since I was called home – I’m afraid living with Mother and Father was becoming a little stifling, so I ended up catching the train to Brighton of all places (and who would have thought I would have done something so bold?), and what with one thing and another I have not had time to stay in touch. I’m sending you my address on a separate piece of paper. Thankfully, some very nice people gave me a lovely writing set for Christmas, and I intend to use it. I have been staying in the Lake District over Christmas with my good school-friend Margaret, who I might have told you about – extremely nice girl, head-over-heels for Nice Young Man, wouldn’t stop telling us, etc. Was given the honour of meeting the NYM as he and his friends (the same people who gifted me this writing set) had accidentally booked the same hotel as us (Turnmouth Arms, run by Mr&Mrs Singh, would recommend highly). There was emotional kerfuffle which I will not go into here, suffice to say it was supremely dramatic & to do with the War, as most things are these days. But they are both much happier now, and with good reason – as I was heading to my room on Christmas evening, I saw them engaged in a display of affection which I feel will probably become very familiar to me, as there was a nice big ring on Margaret’s finger. It was her best Christmas present, even better than the scarf I gave her, but no hard feelings. Display of affection was made awkward by the fact that NYM’s hand was rather busy holding a large bottle of extremely sour yet moreish lemonade, and an even larger pineapple which his friends had given him. Anyway, they hope to marry within the coming year if all goes well, and have said I can invite as many friends as I have, to counteract their parents (her mother and his father are both extremely overbearing, and what is more, hate each other’s guts). The problem being that really the only person I can think of who I consider my friend is probably you, Anne. Not that it is a problem that you are my friend. I have no doubt that you on your own will be a match for both troublesome parents, if how you spoke to the Field Doctors is any inclination. Therefore, I am inviting you to the wedding, at a date to be announced, where you can hopefully meet all the people I have just told you about. I really hope you can make the date, as we haven’t seen each other in far too long.
Yours faithfully, and Merry Christmas,
Frances Renfrew
“And Dennis, it’s OK if you decide you’re not ready for this” Madge had been talking him through ideas of what to say since they’d left Frances in the teashop by the train station, telling them not to ‘do… anything’ while they were there.
“Absolutely not! I have a duty to the man, Madge.” Stanhope responded indignantly, “I simply can’t let him down.”
“How very honourable of you,” smiled Madge, and as she kissed him, he felt warm, in spite of the cold January air.
“Now,” said Stanhope, when he had recovered himself, “I’ve got the address here – ah yes, this should be it.”
As much as he hated to admit it, Madge was definitely helping his insides not churn too much. She squeezed his hand as he pushed the knocker on the door, and he didn’t really have the heart to reminder her that was his bad arm.
A middle-aged woman opened the door.
“Mrs Osborne?...I’m…my name is…Mr Stanhope…I, ah, I served with your husband, may he rest in peace, and…oh God, ah…(not normally this bloody shy)…he was one of the best men I ever–”
Mrs Osborne pulled them both inside.