Marx Girl

The doorbell rings.

My eyes widen. It’s him.

He’s here!

I run to the door and swing it open.

There, in front of me, stand two soldiers in full uniform. They hold their hats over their chests, their faces solemn.

My face falls.

“Bridget Marx?

“Yes.”

“My name is Corporal Stuart, and this is our chaplin, Corporal Donohue. May we come in?”

Oh, no.

My heart starts to beat hard. “What’s wrong?” I whisper.

They exchange looks. “Can we come in?” the chaplin asks again.

I stand back and they walk past me into my living room. I close the door behind them.

My eyes search theirs.

“It is with our deepest regret to inform you that your husband, Ben Statham, has been killed in the line of duty.”

My eyes instantly fill with tears. “W-what?” I whisper.

“He died a hero, Miss Marx, but he was killed when a landmine exploded just outside of Syria yesterday.”

I stare at them. No.

No.

No.

I hear my heart pounding in my ears.

The tears break free, and roll down my face.

“Can we stay with you until you call someone, please?”

“He’s dead?” I croak, looking between them.

“I’m afraid so. We hope you take comfort in knowing that it was quick and he suffered no pain. He died a hero, and saved thousands of lives in his nine deployments.”

I step back from them as agony rips through me. “He’s dead?” I whisper.

“We’re so sorry, dear. Can we call someone for you?”

I stare at them as my whole world crashes down around me.

“Where is your phone?” the chaplin asks.

I point to the table and he goes and retrieves it, bringing it back and passing it to me. “Can you unlock it please, Bridget?”

I stare at him through my tears, unable to process his request.

“Please…”

I press the code on autopilot.

“Who shall I call?”

I grab onto the back of the chair to hold myself up. “My… my… mother.”

He dials a number and I feel my chest constrict.

“No answer. Another name?” he asks.

“Brock.”

I shake my head. It can’t be. No… it can’t be.

No.

No.

“Hello, Brock.” He listens. “This is Corporal Stuart and I’m with Bridget Marx.” He listens for a moment. “Her husband has been killed in the line of duty and I was wondering if you can come over immediately to care for her, please?”

He listens for a moment.

“Thank you.” He hangs up.

The tears continue to run down my face as I stare at this stranger’s face.

Is this really happening?

“Take a seat, dear, and I’ll make you some tea,” he says.

I drop to sit on the lounge, staring into space.

He’s not coming home.

The baby… he didn’t know about our baby.

I drop my head. No.

They talk, but I can’t hear anything they say because I’m miles away.

I’m with Ben… in Syria.

My eyes rise to them. “Where is he?” I ask.

“He’s in a morgue in camp in Syria.”

I screw up my face in tears. “He’s in a morgue?” I whisper. I get an image of him, injured and cold in a morgue… alone.

Alone.

They drop their heads.

“Get out,” I cry. “Get out of my house!”

They both stare at me, their eyes filled with sorrow.

“Get out!” I scream as I jump from my seat.

The door bursts open and it’s Brock. His face falls when he sees me, and he scoops me up into his arms and holds me tight. I cry out loud.

“No, no, no,” I cry as I pound his chest. “Get them out of my house.” I fall to the floor as he battles to keep me upright. “No, Brock. Nooooooooo.”

I stare at the wall in my bedroom. It’s been twenty hours now. The wallpaper has a strange pattern in it, one that I’ve never noticed before.

I wonder, did Ben notice that pattern?

My stomach growls from hunger, but I’m too weak to feed it.

I’ve got nothing left.

Abbie, Brock, and Mum haven’t left my side. Mum and Brock have temporarily moved in.

The house is silent.

The sky is grey.

Every breath is a struggle.

They’re talking and the television is on, but it’s just white noise.

Nothing matters anymore.

Because he’s gone.

Ben never got his happy ending.

I couldn’t save him.

And I’m mad.

I’m mad at the universe because, out of everyone I know, he deserved it the most.

How will I go on?

“Hey,” I hear Mum call from the kitchen.

“Where is she?” I hear Natasha’s voice, and my face instantly scrunches up as my tears threaten to fall.

They have arrived from L.A.

“In her bedroom,” Brock answers quietly.

Then I see Tash standing at the door, and I feel so sad that I don’t think I can do this.

“Baby,” she whispers as she rushes to me.

I curl into a ball, the pain too raw to deal with, and she lies down next to me and holds me while I weep.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispers through her own tears. “We’re here with you.” She kisses my hair. “We’re here with you, baby.”

“Didge?” Joshua says softly. “We have to talk about the funeral. The arrangements need to be finalised.”