Chapter 13
By November, the fighting at the Somme had finally ended, and the Surreys were sent to rest in billets near the town of Albert, where huts of corrugated iron had been used to construct permanent barracks. Ashley hoped they would protect them from the worst of winter’s chill better than tents.
The first night, however, B Company crowded into a barn to watch Oliver Twist projected on the wall in living motion.
Ash wanted to savor every second, grabbing the shred of normalcy with both hands and pretending it was real, but smothered by the warmth of too many bodies and Rook’s heady bergamot scent, she drifted off to sleep before Oliver had even been introduced to Fagin, and she slept through fitful dreams.
The next day, the lads wanted to go into town, and so with Sergeant Major Chapman’s blessing, off they went—the runners and Ash, with Rook and Dusty in tow, as Max trotted along at Stewart’s side.
Cooper and Tom were fairly jubilant over the outing, but an eerie sort of stillness penetrated the ravaged town and settled into Ashley’s bones.
After months of fighting, Albert looked completely different than when she and Tom had first stepped off the train, and yet there were markers that reminded her she’d seen it all before.
Even the boys grew solemn when they passed the basilica. Where the once-proud golden statue of Mary had raised the Christ child to the sky, now the holy figures swooped at an alarming angle, frozen mid-dive towards the earth.
“Fucking hell,” Blake whispered, and Dusty crossed himself, but Ash just stood there, mouth hanging open, staring at the Virgin and the Lord.
“Come on, Ash,” TomTom said, nudging her to keep walking. “She survived it, and so did we. That’s what matters.”
Ash swallowed and moved forward, glancing back at Rook who still stared up at the statue as if in silent prayer.
Despite the damage to the streets and many of the buildings, shops were open for the British soldiers to spend their hard-earned sou.
Rook watched in skeptical amusement as Blake and Dusty bought cheap wine, dropping his own coin on cigarettes and chocolate, while Ash was only interested in bread and cheese.
She picked out savory packets of Mimolette and Camembert, along with a nice fresh baguette that made her mouth water.
The seven of them ambled from shop to shop, miming what they wanted and making poor attempts at rudimentary French. But when they passed a group of fancy women in an alley, the goods on offer required no translation, and Cooper jostled Blake’s shoulders in delight.
“Now this is what we came for,” he said, peeling off towards the women.
“You coming?” Blake asked the rest of them, as he trotted after Coop.
“About to be,” Dusty said with a lusty laugh as he elbowed Tom.
“I’m in,” Stew agreed. “My gran says this will all be over by Christmas, so why not?”
Ash began to panic. Would they all spend time with the working girls? And what would they think if Ash stayed behind? Would this be the moment that finally caught her out? Should she go and pay one of the women to sit and have a cup of tea?
TomTom glanced her way, pushing his hair up in front, almost as nervous as she was, and her cheeks burned as she willed him to just act normal.
“Come on now, don’t be shy,” Cooper cajoled them.
Rook shook his head and stepped back. “Had my fill when I was out on leave,” he said. “With those I knew wouldn’t give me the clap.”
“The clap?” Ash repeated.
“They look clean enough,” Cooper said, sliding his gaze over the women once more. Two of them waved. “Ash?” Cooper invited, growing restless to join them.
“I don’t want the clap either,” she said.
TomTom seemed to nod at her, relieved, before turning to follow the others.
“Just you and me, I suppose,” she said uncertainly to Rook, glad he hadn’t joined the boys but not quite sure she understood why.
His lips quirked up in a tiny smile, and he nodded once like he understood far more than she did.
For a moment she teetered on the verge of telling him everything. She was desperate for him to know the truth—know her—but he turned back down the pavement before she could make up her mind to do it.
Anyway, it was dangerous enough with only TomTom knowing.
The last letter she’d received from home said there was still no sign of what had become of darling C, which meant he could still be found.
It would be a lonely Christmas for her mum without him.
Ash wondered how he’d found the restraint to stay away so long.
They stopped to gaze into another window, this one selling embroidered silk postcards. A sample right in front featured a bluebird in flight over a spray of forget-me-not flowers, and Ash couldn’t stop staring at the pretty thing, so out of place in the middle of a war.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, forgetting herself for a moment. Then glancing up at Rook she licked her lips and added, “Don’t you think our mothers would agree?”
Rook shrugged one shoulder and said, “I suppose.”
He waited while Ash went in to buy the colorful card, along with a black and white photographic one for herself, and she couldn’t stop staring at the embroidery as they turned back towards the camp.
“I think she’ll love it. You don’t imagine yours would?” she asked him. “I suppose she was delighted to have you home on leave.”
He shrugged again.
“Do you not get on with your family?” she asked, a tragic thought, when he’d easily become her favorite person in all the world.
Rook cleared his throat. “Like Macduff, I was ripped untimely from my mother’s womb. She didn’t survive the night.”
“Oh, Rook, I’m so sorry,” Ash whispered, feeling like a magpie once again for all her prying chatter and trying to imagine a life without her mum.
His smile was a little sad. “I’ve had a good long time to get used to it. My old man did his best to be both mother and father, and when he passed, my organ teacher took me in.”
Ash wanted to ask more questions, but it was starting to make sense why he preferred to work alone. Perhaps he’d always had to.
“Back to the circus,” he sighed as they passed into camp and made their way towards their Nissen hut.
“Ashley, mail!” another private, Billy Merle, called, tossing her a parcel before continuing on to the next hut.
Ash turned it over curiously. In addition to letters, her mother had sent only one parcel, filled with sweets and extra bandages, but the address wasn’t written in her mother’s tidy hand.
Inside the hut, she sat cross-legged on her bedroll, carefully untying the string before folding back the paper. Out fell a pair of woolen mittens and half a dozen paper-wrapped pastries. The accompanying note ready simply, Happy Christmas.
“Croissants?” Rook asked.
Ash shook her head, a broad grin spreading across her face as the fragrant cinnamon and honey reached her nose and filled up her soul. “Franzbrotchen,” she whispered. He cocked his head at the unfamiliar German word.
She held the parcel out to him, and his eyes softened as he selected one of the precious treats. Ash picked one up too and held it aloft like a toast. “To mothers, and surrogate mothers and fathers, and happier days,” she said before biting into the delicious pastry.
Rook mirrored her. “Sweet Mother Mary,” he gasped, closing his eyes and savoring the buttery taste of heaven and of home.