48. Sarah
48. Sarah
The towering inflatable Santa outside Danny’s house lurches from side to side and raises his enormous swollen hand, as if in greeting, as I push open the front gate.
When we first moved to Wales, that first Christmas we spent here – and all the others since, apart from the one when we were both in Afghanistan – that enormous Father Christmas has always welcomed me into Danny’s home.
Looking at it now makes me feel unbearably nostalgic – for who Danny was back then, who we both were, and for what we had. Because in spite of everything that has happened since, there is no denying how much we meant to each other.
I remember teenage Danny flinging open the door, the first time I came here, the grin on his face as he pulled me inside. I looked around in wonder. We lived just three streets away, in an identical terraced house – yet our homes could not have been more different.
At ours, everything was tasteful and pared back; sprigs of holly carefully arranged in front of the rows of bookshelves, a Christmas candle burning on top of one of the antique tables. A stylish wreath, freshly made by the local florist out of mixed spruce, eucalyptus and ivy berries, was hanging on the front door.
At Danny’s house, the wreath on the front door was made of brightly coloured pompoms that he and Joanna had made when they were little. Inside, there were neon reindeers, and stars, and strings of lights and tinsel on every available surface – even the TV had tinsel draped around it.
It was, by some distance, the most welcoming house I had ever set foot in.
On Boxing Day, it felt as if the whole town dropped in for drinks, with a constant trail of happy, tipsy guests squashing themselves into the living room and drinking a glass – or two, or three – of Danny’s uncle’s famous punch. Helping themselves to food from a table groaning with leftover turkey, reinvented in pies and curries and a coronation salad, along with home-made mince pies and heaving tins of chocolates.
It was our second Christmas, my second as Danny’s girlfriend, when Mum splashed out and bought Annie a karaoke machine. She wanted to do something generous for this woman who had made her – and me – feel so welcome.
Annie was over the moon, not that she got her hands on the mic that day, because Danny immediately claimed the karaoke machine as his. He spent all day belting out songs, making people dance around the living room with him, insisting they join in.
Where did he go? My gentle, generous Danny? The boy with the enormous heart who never wanted anyone – me, his aged aunts or his elderly neighbours – to feel left out.
I stare at the front door now. I don’t want to give Annie the bad news that I haven’t managed to find him. That no one has seen him in any of his usual pubs. The landlords were all sympathetic but busy. No, they hadn’t seen him. Yes, they would keep a lookout for him. Yes, they would definitely call if he came in. I smiled and left them to serve the hordes of Christmas revellers pressing against the bar.
A sudden gust of wind catches the inflatable Santa again. I take one last look at his face, pray that his talismanic presence will guide Danny safely home, and ring the bell.
Annie flings open the door, just as Danny did all those years ago. But there is none of the happiness that spilled out from inside her home then.
Her face falls when she sees I’m not Danny. ‘Nothing?’ she asks.
‘Nothing.’ I close the door behind me, take off my wet coat and boots.
Annie shakes her head.
‘We’ll find him,’ I tell her.
I think of Carl promising to find him for me, that night in Camp Bastion, and realize just how long it is that poor Danny has actually been lost. Alone in a hostile world, crippled by PTSD.
I tell Annie to put the kettle on. ‘You make tea, and I’ll make a list of all the places we’ve checked between us, and then we can start driving around the ones we haven’t. Sound like a plan?’
She bites her lip and nods.
‘Mum’s on her way, she’ll help too.’ I hold out the present I wrapped for her. ‘And this is for you, to put under the tree.’
‘You shouldn’t have,’ she says, and starts to cry. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I know we have no right to ask anything of you, not after what happened. Thank you, Sarah. It means the world.’
I hug her. ‘I’ll always be here for you, Annie.’
She squeezes me tight. Over her shoulder I see Joanna hovering in the kitchen doorway. She smiles when she sees me looking at her.
‘Joanna! It’s so good to see you. How’s university?’
Poor Joanna. She looks wrung out with worry too. She used to be such a wild teenager – all red hair and school detentions and inappropriate boyfriends – but ever since Danny got home, she’s gone out of her way not to be another cause of worry to her mother.
She started to work hard at school and got into university to study psychology. Last time I saw her, she told me that she wanted to do her dissertation on PTSD, become a therapist.
‘Uni’s good,’ she says before nervously going back to chewing her nails.
‘Right, then,’ says Annie. ‘Let’s make a start on this list. There are some freshly baked Welsh cakes in the kitchen too.’
Of course there are , I think to myself sadly.
The phone rings in the hallway, and suddenly we all freeze.
Annie looks at me. She looks terrified.
I put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Go on,’ I urge her. ‘I’m right here.’
She picks up the receiver. I hold my breath.
‘Yes, this is she.’
Every inch of me goes cold.
And then Annie grins.
‘Thank God,’ I hear her say. ‘So he’s okay?’
She nods at me and the world that, just a moment ago, felt as if it was on mute bursts back into glorious volume. Much as I hate Danny for what he did to me, and as scared as he has made me feel, I don’t ever want anything bad to happen to him. We have shared too much. For good, for bad, a part of me will always love him.
‘Where is he?’ I ask, the second she puts the phone down. ‘Who was that? Is he okay?’
‘The hospital,’ she says. ‘He was brought in drunk, with no ID on him. He’s only just woken up and told them who he is. They’re keeping him in overnight, for observation, but we can go and visit.’
Even as she says this, she is reaching for her coat. I watch Joanna tug off her slippers and shove her feet into a pair of boots, but I find myself unable to move.
Danny is in the hospital where they took me. Much as I want to know he’s okay, I can’t … I can’t go back there. It’s too soon.
‘Are you okay?’ Joanna asks. She has learned to read faces for clues to people’s moods. She looks concerned.
Annie spins round, takes one look at me, and gently pulls me down on to the bottom of the stairs. She squeezes in next to me and puts her arm around me.
‘I’ll get a glass of water,’ Joanna says and disappears into the kitchen.
I turn to look at Annie. ‘I don’t think I can go and see him in there,’ I tell her. ‘I’m so sorry. It will just remind me …’
Annie hushes me, clasps my hand in hers. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ she says. ‘I totally understand.’
Joanna appears in front of us and holds out a glass of water.
The glass trembles in my hand, and when the doorbell rings I jump so violently that water spills on to my legs.
‘Sweetheart!’ says Mum, sweeping into the hall and falling to her knees in front of me. ‘Are you okay?’
Mum and Annie talk, then Mum leans down and scans my face with concern. ‘Come on, let’s get you home,’ she says, hoisting me to my feet.
The last thing I hear Annie say to Mum as we leave is, ‘We’re fine. Really. You’ve both already done so much. And besides, for once we know exactly where Danny is. He’s safe. We can all get a good night’s sleep tonight.’
Outside, the air is crisp and cool. I feel freezing and yet somehow hot at the same time.
‘Is everything okay?’ Mum asks.
I look at her anxious face and see the same vulnerability I saw in Annie’s. The vulnerability that comes with loving someone. All this time I’ve been worrying about Danny. But also, without realizing it, I’ve been worrying about Carl.
Because I really, really couldn’t stand to lose him.