As the Crow Flies

“And you didn’t eat much dinner either,” said Charlie, guiding her out of the restaurant and into the cold night air.

They proceeded arm in arm along Chelsea Terrace and Becky couldn’t help thinking any casual passerby might have taken them for lovers. When they arrived at the entrance to Daphne’s flat Charlie had to dig deep into Becky’s bag to find her keys. Somehow he managed to get the door open, while at the same time still keeping her propped up against the wall. But then Becky’s legs gave way and he had to cling to her to stop her from falling. He gathered her up and carried her in his arms to the first floor. When he reached her flat, he had to perform a contortion to open the door without actually dropping her. At last he staggered into the drawing room and lowered her onto the sofa. He stood up and took his bearings, not sure whether to leave her on the sofa or to investigate where her bedroom might be.

Charlie was about to leave when she slipped off onto the floor, muttering something incoherent, the only word of which he caught was “engaged.”

He returned to Becky’s side, but this time lifted her firmly up over his shoulder. He carried her towards a door which, when he opened it, he discovered led to a bedroom. He placed her gently on top of the bed. As he began to tiptoe back to the door, she turned and Charlie had to rush back and pull her onto the middle of the bed to prevent her falling off. He hesitated, then bent over to lift up her shoulders before undoing the buttons down the back of her dress with his free hand. Once he had reached the bottom button he lowered her onto the bed, then lifted her legs high in the air with one hand before he pulled with the other, inch by inch, until her dress was off. He left her only for a moment while he placed the dress neatly over a chair.

“Charlie Trumper,” he said in a whisper, looking down at her, “you’re a blind man, and you’ve been blind for an awfully long time.”

He pulled back the blanket and placed Becky between the sheets, the way he had seen nurses on the Western Front carry out the same operation with wounded men.

He tucked her in securely, making sure that the whole process could not repeat itself. His final action was to lean over and kiss her on the cheek.

You’re not only blind, Charlie Trumper, you’re a fool, he told himself as he closed the front door behind him.

“Be with you in a moment,” said Charlie as he threw some potatoes onto the weighing machine, while Becky waited patiently in the corner of the shop.

“Anythin’ else, madam?” he asked the customer at the front of the queue. “A few tangerines, per’aps? Some apples? And I’ve got some lovely grapefruit straight from South Africa, only arrived in the market this mornin’.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Trumper, that will be all for today.”

“Then that’ll be two shillings and five pence, Mrs. Symonds. Bob, could you carry on serving the next customer while I’ave a word with Miss Salmon?”

“Sergeant Trumper.”

“Sir,” was Charlie’s instant reaction when he heard the resonant voice. He turned to face the tall man who stood in front of him, straight as a ramrod, dressed in a Harris tweed jacket and cavalry twill trousers and carrying a brown felt hat.

“I never forget a face,” the man said, although Charlie would have remained perplexed if it hadn’t been for the monocle.

“Good God,” said Charlie, standing to attention.

“No, ‘colonel’ will do,” the other man said, laughing. “And no need for any of that bull. Those days have long gone. Although it’s been some time since we last met, Trumper.”

“Nearly two years, sir.”

“Seems longer than that to me,” the colonel said wistfully. “You certainly turned out to be right about Prescott, didn’t you? And you were a good friend to him.”

“’E was a good friend to me.”

“And a first-class soldier. Deserved his MM.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more, sir.”

“Would have got one yourself, Trumper, but the rations were up after Prescott. Afraid it was only ‘mentioned in dispatches’ for you.”

“The right man got the medal.”

“Terrible way to die, though. The thought of it still haunts me, you know,” said the colonel. “Only yards from the tape.”

“Not your fault, sir. If anyone’s, it was mine.”

“If it was anyone’s fault, it was certainly not yours,” said the colonel. “And best forgotten, I suspect,” he added without explanation.

“So ’ow’s the regiment comin’ along?” asked Charlie. “Survivin’ without me?”

“And without me, I’m afraid,” said the colonel, placing some apples into the shopping bag he was carrying. “They’ve departed for India, but not before they put this old horse out to grass.”

“I’m sorry to ’ear that, sir. Your ’ole life was the regiment.”