If you asked Mary what color she thought suited Matthew, it was red. He looked more handsome in red. She recalled that red scarf he'd been wearing the first time she had met him. Red made his eyes impossibly brighter.
He had his army jacket, the red one, laid out on the bed. A symbol or ordinates, to provide an illusion that the war had been less horrible than it actually had been.
She saw that his hand was shaking as he ran it over the fabric.
"Do you want me to help with that?" Mary asked from the doorway, the sound of her voice he slightly jumped, stiffened, then relaxed.
"I can dress myself, you know. I'm not a complete invalid."
"You don't have to go to the dinner."
"Can you hand me my crutches? I need to maneuver myself onto the bed, it's easier to put on a shirt then sitting in the chair.
It took a moment for her to eye the crutches from across the room, next to the bed. He would need them for awhile, before he could move on to a stick. He could not stand for a lengthy period 's all he was able to do for now, used the crutches for leverage to stand or get in and out of bed. It must be dragging on for him for ages. She could tell he was so eager to start walking again, and ditch the crutches. It wasn't as simple as that. It was the reality. It was always something else, an obstacle they had to tackle. She feared he was becoming too confident in the independence he had regained. He would be able to walk again but it was still uncertain just how much. At this time they were in a sort of limbo, ,and he was trying to make his way out of it. He believed he'd get better, that's what they had told him, if he believed and accept. But was believing enough?
She was more than overjoyed at his improvement but at the same time felt a sense of loss, the dependency that he had needed. She helped him get the jacket on anyway. He didn't refuse her. He shrugged so that he could get his arms in to the shoulders.
They had given Williams medal to him. She saw him hand it to Mr Mason at the soldiers dinner, half way under the table, when he thought no one was looking.
She went to fetch him a blanket for the next bit. They'd be going to the cemetery. It had gotten chilly out. As she wheeled him over some loose cobblestones, the blanket around his legs had come loose.
He had barely said a word at all most of the night. She thought that conversing with the soldiers, there had been many in wheelchairs like him, young and old be good for him. She didn't see what he had to complain about. He was probably doing it mentally. His outward brooding was now silent so she wouldn't have to see it. Didn't he not know that she wasn't blind to it? She saw right through him. Sometimes. Sometimes he'd be far off. Like he was now.
No. Something wasn't right. This was different. What do I do? I want to help him. How do I? Maybe if I talked to him?
She spoke to him as she fiddled with the blanket.
"I don't need it." He said. He was back with her. Or had he always been, and was just staring off into space, wanting not to think, wanting be be anywhere else but here?
"It's cold out."
"I don't feel it. What's the point?"
"They still get cold."
He covered his mouth with his fist. An absent minded gesture, it seemed.
He still never talked to her about the war. She had stopped asking him. He would sometimes be somewhere else, staring blankly. They would be talking and he'd stop, resume the conversation or start a new one. She couldn't tell anyone or they'd think he was losing his mind.
Matthew
He doesn't remember most of that day. He handed the medal to Williams father. It was cruel not letting his father have it, his own family. He didn't deserve it. They stopped at Williams grave. Mary fiddling with that infernal blanket. It had become the baine of his existence, apart from the crutches. No those actually helped. It made things a bit easier.
Daniel helped him back to his room. That's all he remembers. He doesn't want to alarm Mary or his mother. He had had trouble concentrating. He found himself wondering what he had thought about through out the ceremony. His mind drew a blank. He'd been half there, half somewhere else, able to give off short few responses. He loved his and Marys banters. He had wanted to smile. He could feel it start. He had covered it with his fist. How inappropriate it would have been. He didn't want to look like a lunatic. But he couldn't argue that fact that his mind had been somewhere else. He couldn't recall where. He had never been so scattered brained. He always remembered every minute of his day, well almost. If you remembered every detail you'd go insane. Had he gone blank to simply block out the memories of war, that he was sure had been about to flood in? Nothing was ever simple. There were still some details he couldn't recall about the war. What else is there? He recalled most of the worst of it. He had gone off somewhere. An escape. While they were saying things, nice things about the ones that would never come home.
Where had he been? Through all of that? Perhaps no where. In no mans land...
"Shell!" Someone yelled.
He was back there. William jumping in front of him.
"No. No. No. No." He could hear him self shout it, over the blasts. It was a chant over and over. He felt like he couldn't breath, like he was suffocating. Trapped in the trench, the boards had caved it over him. He had to get out. He had to get to William. He had to. But some force was preventing him. "William." His eyes snapped open. The name hung in the air as the walls of Downton entered his vision, his mind still in a fog but he was able to know, that he hadn't been back there. It had all been a dream. He slowly came to realise what the pressure was. What had been restraining him.
Someone was holding him, shushing him. He didn't know who it was. But it was a woman. She spoke to him. His mother? No. The voice belonged to someone younger. Tally? Ethel? A hand soothed back his hair as his body still shook. He held onto her and her grip held fast. He closed his eyes, not looking.
His breathing relaxed, not caring for the moment. He wasn't alone.
AN: I'm not going to tell you who it was. That's the mystery. But I can tell you it wasn't Mary. A long over haul of chapters but I wanted to get them done before the Christmas Holiday. A Christmas present to my fellow readers and writers. Have a happy Christmas and an awesome New Year!