The weekly update. Reviews are adored, as always - thanks to those who are reading and enjoying, and to the amazing venis-envy for betaing this.


Chapter 4: The Mission

The next fortnight passes in a blur, and I barely even register it when we are told that it's over. But the one person I should be sharing that moment with isn't there, and so I feel cold and empty. I'm grateful when the military board rules that I'm able to return home on priority. They cite the length of my continuous service, my apparently stellar leadership skills and conduct in battle, and of course, the death of my best friend and the need to tell his wife what has happened. I realise how lucky I am, although I wouldn't really use that word. And not just for the chance to avoid the painfully slow process of demobilisation. I've heard tell of the spread of a virulent illness known as Spanish influenza, and I know that many men in France have already died of it. The demobilisation camps are a haven for disease, and indeed, I do count myself lucky to have escaped that. Perhaps it is a mercy that Edward was granted a quick death by gunfire, rather than a descent into a burning fever that kills. I need to make my way to his parents' house on the hill to deliver the dreadful news, but I also know that I have to tell the mother of his child first. Eventually, I find myself staring at a blue front door above a neat, scrubbed set of steps. There are flowers in the window boxes, and the net curtains hanging in the window are gleaming. It's a cheerful little house, and I almost can't bring myself to shatter its quiet serenity.

My hand hovers over the doorknocker before I wrap my fingers around it and rap on the door; once, twice. Knots twist in the pit of my stomach as I wait for someone to answer. I hear the click of locks being hurriedly unfastened, and it's Bella. I've obviously caught her in the middle of housework, for her hair's tied up in a net and she's wearing an apron. Even though her clothes are loose, I can see the soft swell of her belly. She's pretty and pink-cheeked and radiant, having lost the yellowish tinge that the munitions work gave her skin. I can hardly bear to destroy that. There is hope in her eyes, but as soon as she sees it is me, that dies right then and there. I almost can't bear to tell her what she's known from the second she saw my face.

She blinks. "Jasper?"

"Bella, I..."

She cuts me off. "No. No...Don't tell me." Her breathing catches, and she slumps forward, collapsing. I catch her by the arms, holding her upright. I'm concerned about what effect this sort of news will have on a woman in her condition, but I know that I had to tell her. I put my arm round her and steer her into the kitchen, helping her into a chair before I sit opposite her. I take my hat off and run my hand over my eyes, trying to dislodge the tears that are falling. "I was expecting a letter from him," she adds, and dissolves into hysterical sobs once more. I shift my chair round and pat her awkwardly on the back, not sure what to do.

"It was very quick," I tell her, and that is no lie. "He was shot."

"You know, a week ago, they were ringing out the bells that declared peace in the town. And all I could think was that he was on his way back to us." Her hands drop to her belly and she sobs.

"I apologise that you didn't know sooner. That's all my doing. The War Office would have sent a telegram, but I didn't want you to find out like that. I wanted to be the one to tell you." I'm stumbling over the words, for I just don't know what to say. "I was lucky they sent me back, it's going to take months to demobilise us all."

"I know," she said, looking up at me from beneath tear-soaked lashes. "Thankyou for that. I'd rather hear it from someone who actually knew him, not just from a faceless telegram."

"I don't know what we're going to do now," she cries. "Oh Lord, and I just don't know what my mother's going to say. She's round a friend's house for tea now, you know, her arthritis has actually been a lot better of late. Just when I thought things were getting better..." Bella's talking nineteen to the dozen, about anything, it seems, just to distract herself from the terrible news I've given her. I stay with her for the next few hours, alternately letting her talk and kindly patting her on the back when she breaks into a fresh spate of sobs. She protests once or twice that she feels guilty, as I have suffered a great loss too, but for now, I feel as though her grief should take precedence. Eventually, her mother and sister return home and immediately flock to her side. I quietly slip away, not wanting to disturb her family's comforting of her, but Bella thanks me for coming again. I have an even worse task next – making my way to Edward's family home to tell his parents.

...

When I tell Edward's parents, I can't imagine anything worse than what I just told Bella, but then, I don't know if anything is worse than hearing your only son is dead. Elizabeth, his mother hugs me and cries, and his father, Edward Sr, stands stolidly, showing no emotion, but he shakes my hand and thanks me for coming to tell them. Elizabeth asks if I'll come back and see them sometime, and I tell her I will. I promise to tell her some stories about Edward and I. She gives me another hug, and I breathe in her scent of lavender soap, thinking of my own mother with a pang. How she would have loved to see me come back a war hero, even if that isn't how I feel at all.

I leave their house with a mind to have an early-evening walk through the town to clear my head. It's so long since I've been here – over two years since my last furlough – and yet I still know my home town like the back of my hand. Every winding cobbled street and alley is familiar to me. I decide to make my way to the East Pier, one of my favourite places to go and think. I'm still in the fatigues I travelled in, and that attracts some attention as I walk through the town centre. I smile at those who address me, but I feel uncomfortable with their praise. A little girl even runs up to me and hugs my knee, refusing to let go until her smiling mother comes and removes her. I tip my hat to the girl as I leave, although, again, I surely don't know why she thinks I'm a hero. There's nothing heroic about the past four years of my life. I hear it's already being called the 'Great War', but there is nothing great or honourable about such bloodshed. This is not an opinion I voice freely, but it is one that I know is shared by many of my fellow ex-serviceman.

It's a chilly November day, and as I reach the pier, the wind billows through the boards I walk on. They're not so different from trench duckboards, really - just cleaner. Unsurprisingly for a day like this, the entire length of the pier is deserted. I lean on the railings at its front and look our over the forbidding, choppy sea that batters the supports of the pier each second. It's a strangely peaceful place, even if the sky is darkening. I don't even feel cold. I guess the muddy, icy French winters will do that to a man. I've barely allowed myself to think of Edward since it happened, but it all comes flooding back. I'm standing here, alone, and my best friend and comrade; the person I've known since we were both five years old is gone. My fingers grip the cold metal almost painfully, and in this private setting, I allow myself to weep for what I've lost. I watch the waves crest and fall, the sea spray on my face blending with my tears. For one mad moment, I entertain the idea of climbing the railings and dropping myself, letting the sea take me, but something stops me. It's the promise I made to Edward that I'd look after his wife and child, and I can't let him down. Perhaps I wouldn't feel so bad if I knew I had somewhere to go back to. There's little comfort to be found even in the freedom of the sea.

The deeds for my mother's house passed to me when she died, so at least I have a place to go. I know Mrs Rivers, the neighbour, has been keeping the place up, but I'm not sure I feel like going there just yet. It's too lonely to think of being in the home I spent my childhood in, where the kitchen always smelled salty and the wind off the sea would rattle the windows at night. But now both my parents are gone, it's not a home, it's just a house. An empty shell of a house filled with happy memories I almost wish I could forget.

Having given her some time with her family, I feel as if I should stop in at the Swan house again and see if there's anything I can do for Bella.

My second knock on this door is different, and yet I'm no less nervous. It's opened this time by Bella's mother.

"What do you want?" she says suspiciously, holding the door open a little way.

"Major Jasper Whitlock, ma'am," I say, removing my hat. "I came to see Bella earlier. You must be her mother. Glad to meet you."

"Oh!" Comprehension dawns on her face. "I didn't know it was you – sorry, I didn't really notice you earlier; you disappeared so quickly. I apologise, I just don't want anyone else bothering her right now. It's difficult enough for her as it is. And yes, I am her mother. My name's Renée."

I hover on the step awkwardly, unsure whether I should come back later, but she pushes the door open.

"Well, come in, lad, for goodness sake!" she says in exasperated tones, ushering me inside, and I comply. There's a kettle boiling on the range, and the kitchen appears serene. All the same, there's a shadow cast over the house, a despair that has seeped into every picture frame and fleck of paint missing from the ceiling. "I am sorry about that," she adds. "But you know, I don't want anything upsetting her more, it's so close to her time. She needs to be resting right now."

"Of course," I agree. "How is she?" I ask, thinking that I might as well just come out with the inevitable question

"You know. She's up and down. She goes from talking about the baby to crying her eyes out. She's upstairs with Rose, her sister. Rose is a sensible girl and won't let her wallow. I'm sure she'll be alright with her. Her husband Emmett's still garrisoned over in France, you know. It's going to take months before he can come back." I feel uncomfortable about the fact that I was allowed to return when so many others haven't been, and I think Renée knows this. She's currently busying herself with pouring the tea, but she looks up and addresses me.

"It was kind of you to tell her yourself. It can't have been easy getting them to let you come back this soon."

"It wasn't," I say, gratefully accepting the steaming hot mug of tea she hands me. I cradle it in my cold hands and take a sip, feeling the warmth begin to thaw my frozen insides.

"We're going to have a memorial service at St Mary's soon. There are so many of them being held these days. I take it you're a Methodist, Jasper?" That last part is directed rather sharply at me, and I confirm that while wondering why it's even important.

"I am. That's where they married, isn't it?" I ask, and she nods, her features stretching into a wistful expression.

"Yes," she says sadly. "It was such a lovely day, despite being so early in the year it wasn't even windy. She seemed so happy, they both did. It's been hard for my girls, you know. When my Charles died of scarlet fever, Bella was only fourteen, and Rose was sixteen. My widow's pension wasn't enough for us to get by. I worked so hard at the mill in Manchester trying to provide for them that I got arthritis in my fingers. A year or two after that I moved us out here. The sea air's better for my health, and I wanted them to have a chance for something better than me. I'm not sure you've met Rose, but she's my beauty - with those blonde hair and blue eyes the lads were always clamouring to court her. She married Emmett when she was eighteen, but then of course, soon after, he got shipped to France. Bella's a sweet girl, but bless her, she's a little plain, and quiet. I was happy when she got her job in the factory that paid ten bob an hour, it was a great help to us all. I just wasn't sure how she'd ever meet a decent husband."

I think it best not to say that I wholly disagree with her statement, and I drink my tea in silence as I wait for her to continue. Bella has a radiance and calm about her that only adds to the beauty of her soft features, and I saw it from the first moment I met her. She isn't as obviously pretty as some girls, but in my opinion, her looks are very pleasing. I know very well why Edward thought her worthy of him, when he was certainly in demand among the Whitby girls. "Not that I mean that in a bad way, you understand," she adds hastily. "I just remember thinking that she'd done well for herself to get a lad like Edward. What happened to me – I didn't want that for her. I wanted her to have a husband who'd be around for her. And now, well that's gone up in smoke."

"He was a good man," I say, feeling my jaw tense up at having to mention him. The memory is still raw so soon after, and I'm afraid that she can see my red-rimmed eyes in the dim light of the oil lamp.

"You'd been friends since childhood, she tells me, and he was in your company. I'm so sorry. That must be terrible." The heartfelt nature of her words surprises me, and when she reaches across the table to kindly squeeze my hand, I fight to keep the tears back. I'm reminded so much of my own mother, who had a brisk manner but always let me know that she cared, even if those moments of tenderness were fleeting. It's plain to see that Renée is a woman hardened by the trials that life has given her, but I can tell that she deeply cares about her two daughters, and wants the best for them.

"Sometimes, it doesn't even feel real," I admit, and for the first time, she isn't just prattling on – she's listening to my every word. "It's like a horrible dream that I wish I could wake from, but I can't. He should be here."

"It's a cruel thing, something that takes our young men like that, isn't it? And now so many are dying of that awful influenza. Sometimes I think it's like the end of the world. Even if the war's over, it's going to take everyone a long time to get back to normal."

"Yes." I privately wonder whether I'll ever be normal again, and I'm not so sure I will be. The word is so alien to me already. I feel separated from this world after so much time spent in a frenetic atmosphere of death and destruction, and I'm not sure if I can ever come back.

I drain the last of my tea and get up to leave. "I think I'll go home – Bella needs her family right now. But if I can do anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask me. I promised Edward I'd make sure she was alright."

"That's very nice of you, Jasper. I'll tell her you stopped by." Her face has softened, and I'm pleased that I seem to have made a good impression on Bella's mother. Otherwise my promise to look in on her would be rather more difficult to keep.

...

I reach my house and I see that Mrs Rivers has helpfully left the key under the mat for me. I resolve to thank her tomorrow morning for her trouble as I silently let myself in. As I make my way down the hallway I marvel at how every part of this place remains so familiar to me. It's two years since I've been here, and yet everything looks just the same. However, there's a sombre quiet that it's never had before. This house is steeped in loneliness from the floorboards to the ceiling, and holds none of the warmth it did in my childhood. I spot our few photographs, and in the parlour, the set of smart, stiff-backed furniture my mother was so proud of. The kitchen looks neat and tidy, and upon investigation, I find that Mrs Rivers has also stocked the pantry for me. There's ham and bread and cheese, and my stomach reacts with interest as I haven't eaten all day. It's certainly better than the bully beef we were forced to eat at the Front when the Red Cross food parcels were delayed. I won't make supper just yet though, I decide. I feel a yearning to see my old room, even if it may hold none of the comfort it held for me as a boy. I ascend the stairs slowly and carefully turn the handle on the first door I come to.

As it creaks open, I see that it's as if time has stood still in this room. Its beige carpet, with a mark in the corner from when I spilt blacking on it trying to clean my father's boots at the age of seven; the walls in a faded shade of lemon and the old bed in the corner with its white eiderdown. Knowing what I'm looking for, I pull up the corner of the sheet that hangs down to the floor, and my hand closes on smooth wood. It's my old toy box. I pull it out, and lift the lid. They seem a little dusty, as it's a long time since I opened the box, but the toys are still in surprisingly good condition considering the amount me and Edward played with them when we were children. Although, a lot of our games were imaginary and would involve elaborate characters and subterfuges. I couldn't help but recall a vivid memory of a favourite of ours: German Spies...

...

I was hidden under the bed, behind a box of books. Mother was outside cleaning the yard, and she shouted up a few times for us not be so loud when we clomped up and down the stairs. We were playing what was essentially an exaggerated version of I Spy. Except, in our version the seeker was required to carry around a magnifying glass – or 'spy glass', as we called it.

Edward was peering, holding up the magnifying class as he roamed around, trying to see where I was hiding. It amused me to see that he didn't seem to suspect my hiding place at all. That was why I'd chosen to closet myself under the bed – it was so obvious, he wouldn't even bother to look there.

"You're a Jerry spy!" he yelled, seizing me by the collar of my shirt and dragging me out from under the bed.

"You missed the time!" I retorted, sticking my tongue out, and he scowled. "I win this time. Now I get to keep your Victory puzzle cards."

"Not fair!" He folded his arms across his chest but then nodded with a sigh. "But, okay. If we agreed."

"I want to be a spy one day," I announced, still buzzing with the excitement of winning the game. "Or a soldier. It'd be so exciting to be in a war, don't you think?"

"Yes," he replied dreamily, sitting on the floor next to me and propping himself up with his elbows. "Although, when I play soldiers, father frowns and says things like 'war is futile'. I don't really know what that means, but I think he doesn't like war. Mother just sighs and tells me to stop wasting time on silly games."

"I'm not sure what my Dad would think of war," I said, frowning. "But then, I suppose I can't ask him." It had been just a year since I lost my father, and already I didn't even think of him much. That made me sad.

"Sorry," Edward says, and we didn't speak of it any more. He got his Victory cards out and offered to let me have them for an extra week, an offer which I gratefully accepted.


It made me sniffly writing this chapter, but it's the start of everything changing for Jasper. You'll see. Reviews are always welcome, and I will reply to them. Thanks for reading! xxx