Chapter 2

Afghanistan/England, winter, spring and summer 2014

When I had finished reading the letter, I read it once again, smiling and laughing out loud to myself. I took a closer look at the card that enclosed the letter and could only agree with Molly's own observation that DYI cards was not her forte. Not only had the letter cheered me up, it had transferred me to that village. I could visualise it clearly, how it looked now in December, with houses decorated and everything covered in snow. I could picture the villagers, Ms. Brannigan and Mr. Dudley and the others. How they would all meet in the pub on Christmas Eve, Dave and Belinda behind the counter, Molly helping out. Here I had some trouble to imagine though. What did she look like, the author of this letter? She gave no clues. I could not even be sure about her age even if I guessed between twenty and twenty-five.

For the rest of that tour, which was pretty uneventful, I read Molly Dawes' letter at least once a day. It kept me going. Not just reading the words but thinking about what she and the other inhabitants in Snowhaven were doing now. After New Year, I imagined them cleaning away the Christmas decorations and later welcoming spring, the village turning green instead of snow white, snowdrops, crocuses and later tulips appearing. I imagined Dave and Belinda welcoming and saying goodbye to guests at the pub and B&B. I saw Molly working in the little book slash antiquities shop, maybe help some tourist find something special and I saw her help her uncle in his practice. For some reason I felt sure she was great with the patients. I could not see her face clearly but I could imagine her frowning as she focused on her task. I wondered if she had taken any step closer to her dream to study to become a nurse, or to move in with Smurf or get engaged to him. Meanwhile I hoped she would pursue her dream to study, I for some reason avoided the pictures of her with the boyfriend. In my mind she looked different on different days, but she always had this intoxicating kind smile which warmed my insides.

When the tour was over, me and my platoon were home for a couple of months. I settled in the normal routines at the regiment and saw my friends and parents in my spare time. I did not read the letter that often then, but I knew it by heart and thought of her every once in a while. Here at home I did not need her words to encourage me like I had needed them on tour, but I did not forget. At one point I even looked up where the village was situated but of course had no intention of going there.

In the summer I attended the wedding of one of my best friends, Elvis Harte, who married the girl who was the love of his life, Georgie Lane. They already had two beautiful little girls and now they finally came around to tie the knot officially. It was such an amazing day and for some reason I thought more of Molly Dawes than I had in long time. Maybe it was because the wedding was held in Reading, where Elvis and Georgie had decided to settle and when I drove there I had realised that Snowhaven could not be very far away. Maybe it was because the day was filled with so much love and affection. As Elvis bestman I was in one way very much part of it, but as single who had come there without company I also felt like I was a bit outside, just like Molly when she went out with her friends who were couples. When Elvis and Georgie said their vows and kissed as husband and wife, it was so solemn, beautiful and true and I wished I also shared something like that with someone special - and then suddenly she was there again in my head, this girl that I did not really know and who certainly did not know me at all. An elusive dream that was all she was.

Afghanistan, Autumn 2014

In the autumn I was sent on another tour to Afghan. Almost without thinking about it, I packed Molly's letter, now frayed from the many times I had unfolded and folded it, despite that I kept it enveloped in her ugly yet lovely little DYI card which was also ridiculously dear to me. I almost unconsciously knew that I needed to bring it with me, that this tour would be hard and I would need her words to keep me strong.

It all started out promising. Besides me and my section, I had friends staying in the same base. One was Elvis, who was a captain like me but leading a special forces unit who were there on a parallel mission. The other one was captain Azizi, who belonged to the Afghan National Army. We had served alongside on previous tours and become friends. I was glad to have them both with me and thought it would make this tour easier, but things had changed. They had changed. Elvis had always been a daredevil, fearless and radiating cheekiness and a sense of immortality that always cheered up everyone around him. Now he was morose, like a bleak copy of himself.

"What's up?" I asked one evening.

"I'm missing Georgie and the girls."

"Don't you always when you're on tour?"

"It's different now, it's become worse. I'm afraid of dying in a way I never was because I don't want to leave them alone. I think this will be my last tour."

"Will you resign?" I knew Elvis loved the army but he loved his little family even more.

"Or transfer to another role where I can stay home, where I don't have to keep risking my life when so much is at stake."

"For what it's worth, I think you're making the right decision. What you and Georgie have is beautiful. I must admit I envy you and hope I will find love like that one day. If there's anything worth leaving the army for, it's without a doubt that."

"Thanks, mate. Let's both just survive this tour and I'm sure you'll find yourself a gal too. Coming home in one piece for one last time is all I wish for."

Captain Azizi had changed in a different way. We had both used to believe that we with joint efforts would be able to turn Afghan into a better place. This time I found him disillusioned, doubting there would ever be a true change, that we would be able to beat the Taliban. It was quite depressing talking to him, to see that he had lost his faith and seemed willing to give up.

Many evenings, in the solitude of my tent, after talking to one or the other of the two - one longing desperately to return home to his loved ones, one longing for his country to have peace, I felt like crying. In contrast to my previous tours, this one hardly offered me any joy and like Elvis I longed to go home, even if nothing or no one specific were waiting for me. Those evenings I read Molly's letter again, and again. Let my fingers touch the paper, stroke over the letters as if it would bring me closer to her, away from the hellhole I felt Afghan had turned into. Without her knowing it, it was like she held my hand and guided my way through this.

Then came the horrible day that I wish I had not lived to see. The day when Azizi betrayed us and we were caught in an ambush. Several of my men were injured in the fire but that was not the worst of it. Elvis and his team were there with us and he went up on a roof because he had seen a sniper hiding up there. I was the officer in command and I ordered him not to go, but true to his maverick character he did anyway. I was not up there with him, so I cannot be sure what happened next, but he probably found an IED there and tried to disarm it. I do not know if it had a timer or if someone triggered it remotely, but it does not really matter. The result was the same anyway, the IED went off in Elvis' face and threw him off the roof of that building. I heard the explosion, I saw him fly through the air in what felt like slow motion and hit the dusty ground. I was by his side in seconds, tried CPR, called for our medic but the moment I saw his burnt face and unseeing eyes I knew it was too late. He would never return home to Georgie and the girls again and all I could think of was how could we possibly tell her that he would not.

When I returned to my tent that evening when Elvis had died, I brought out Molly's letter and unfolded it with trembling fingers. This time I did not read it. Instead I was telling her what had happened that day, spoke to her for a long time in the silence and only put the letter away when my tears threatened to fall on it and smear the ink. I felt like she was my lifeline this day, the one thing keeping me sane after the loss of two friends - one due to betrayal, one because he died. I blamed myself for trusting Azizi, not noticing he had turned on us and put us all in the dangerous situation that lead to Elvis' death. I had been the commanding officer, I had not managed to get everyone home safe and even if I knew Elvis strictly speaking had not been under my command as he was SF and the same rank, and never had been one for following my orders anyway, I felt I carried the weight of his death. I would miss him immensely, but that would be nothing compared to Georgie and the girls.

"I will miss him Molly, I don't know life without him. He's been my best friend for so long and it will so damn empty. And Georgie... how will she survive?"

No one answered my questions, yet I sensed a friendly presence there with me almost like receiving a hug for real.

Next day, we all returned to Bastion and I had a debrief with my CO, Major Beck.

"I think you should take some leave James."

"I don't know, Sir."

It was not that I wanted to stay in Afghan, but I felt lost and unsure how to handle a leave, which would allow me plenty of time to think and feel.

"It was not a suggestion, it's an order. Elvis was one of your best friends. Azizi another friend..."

"...so I thought."

"We all did. You have nothing to blame yourself, but you need to deal with this before you can move on. You will see a psychiatrist back home, before you return to service. That's another order."

I nodded, not agreeing really but knowing I had no say in this.

"There's also something I think you might want to do when you return home."

He put a pair of identification tags on the table. He did not have to say, I knew it was Elvis'.

"Bring these back to Mrs. Harte, will you?"

"It's the least I can do, Sir."

I picked them up and quickly bid him farewell as I feared that the lump in my throat would turn into actual tears.

England, Dec 2014

I had been home for a month and was struggling to get used to normal and to accept that normal meant a life without Elvis. It was surreal that my vivacious friend had returned in a box. I had been to the funeral, I had seen everyone crying, I had cried floods myself but none of them would come out during the funeral, not even when I hugged Georgie and remembered that the last time I did that was at their wedding, not even when she was handed the flag and I thought that was the lousiest trade ever; your love and children's father for a flag. Still I could not wrap my head around that Elvis was gone. I had followed Beck's orders, I was on leave, I was seeing a psychiatrist and would continue to do so for the foreseeable future but so far I could not say it was helping. Some days I was sad, some days furious with the pointlessness of it all, some days I felt guilt and some days I was just blank, empty of emotion. Then I brought out Molly's letter and when I read it emotions were sparked again, small seeds of happiness penetrating the numbness and, as always, curiosity awoken, wondering what was happening in the villagers lives right now.

I was beginning to get bored and restless. My parents had since long planned to go abroad for Christmas. I had been supposed to be in Afghan still, so I had no plans but to sit lonely in my parents' big empty house in Bath with too much opportunity to think depressing thoughts. I was not too keen on that.

Then I had this idea of something that would both give me purpose and keep me occupied. I had forgotten to bring Elvis' identification tags and give to Georgie at the funeral. I had told her then and we had both agreed I would not send them with mail but come visit her and the girls in Reading sometime soon and bring the tags personally. Now would be a time as good as any to go there. I made a call to Georgie to check it was okay with her, this was not the type of visit I wanted to be a surprise visit. She said they would be glad to have me, so the next day I hit the road.

Reading, Dec 18

With one week to go to Christmas, I found myself at Georgie's doorstep. I hesitated a moment before ringing the doorbell because I knew that entering Elvis' home without finding him there, would once again confirm that he was gone for real - but he would be no matter what I did so finally I pressed my finger to the doorbell. Georgie opened, the girls around her feet and we hugged for long.

"It's so good to see you." She smiled but I could see her tears were not far away, and neither were mine.

"Uncle Charlie!" The girls were hugging my legs because that was as far as they could reach. I bent down to hug them too, two little girls with the colours of Georgie and Elvis, dark hair and brown eyes and skin that looked tanned even in winter. Living reminders of him, proof that he had been here among us and never would be forgotten.

We had dinner together and I helped tuck the girls to bed. Georgie had offered me to stay the night already when I called to ask if I could come and when the girls were asleep, we sat down talking, reminiscing Elvis. I gave her the identification tags and she put the chain around her neck.

"You know he spoke about you all the time, on this tour more than ever." I told her. "All he wanted was to come home to you."

She bit her lip.

"He was supposed to be home for Christmas this year. He had started talking about leaving the army, for us. He did not want to keep risking his life, did not want to leave me and the girls alone. And now.." Her voice broke.

"Still, I consider myself lucky."

I looked at her in silent disbelief, how was she able to think of herself as lucky in this situation?

"I found the love of my life. He loved me too, we had two wonderful girls and I got to be his wife. Not everyone gets that much out of life, not even if they get to live a long one. I will always love him, I will always miss him, but I'm also grateful for what we got."

"Oh, Georgie, I admire you for being so strong. I was only his friend and I'm not able to stay that positive."

"I don't manage every minute of every day, but I try to feel like that at least once every day. I don't want sadness and bitterness to consume me. I have to be strong for my girls, they need me more than ever now."

"You're absolutely right to do that. It's just that I'm so mad and sad he died, that you're a widow, the girls have no father and I've lost my best friend. I keep thinking about if I could have done anything different that day to prevent it. If I could have known that Azizi would betray us if I had been more alert. If I could have prevented Elvis from going up that roof so he would not have been there when the IED exploded. I told him not to go up there, but I was the officer in command – I should have ordered him…"

"Charlie, stop! Don't do this to yourself. You know that Elvis didn't take orders from you, hardly from anyone, not when his mind was set on something. I don't blame you, no one else does, please don't do that. I know it's the last thing Elvis would have wanted. He would have wanted you to mourn him, drink to him, remember him but also to walk on and have a happy life, not waste yours grieving his. Will you promise not to do that?"

"But I…"

"Will you please promise not to do that? For mine and Elvis' sake. That's all I ask of you."

I nodded. I knew I still had a long way to go, many hours with the psychiatrist and my own thoughts before I would be able to let this go completely, but her words made me feel a bit lighter. Like she was giving me absolution.

"Will you go home to Bath tomorrow, to stay there for Christmas?"

"I was thinking of going somewhere else first."

She raised an eyebrow, looking curious.

"It sounds like you have a secret, please do tell."

"It's a bit stupid, really." I told her about the card I had gotten last Christmas, how it had followed me through the year and helped me in my darkest hours.

"I looked up the village once and it's not that far from here."

"You're thinking about going seeing that girl!"

"I was, but maybe it's a really stupid idea. I have absolutely no idea who this girl is, and she does not even know I exist. She might freak out if I show up there, think she's gotten herself a stalker."

"You could go there and not tell anyone why you're there. Just pass through on your way somewhere. You said she works in the pub…"

"She did a year ago, I don't even know if she lives there anymore."

"Take a chance! You have nothing to lose, just go there, visit the pub, look out for a girl named Molly and if she's there and it feels right, talk to her. Life is too short to waste. We both know that."

"Thanks for the advice, I'll think about it until tomorrow morning."

And I did, literally. I lay on Georgie's couch that night, wide awake, trying to figure out if I should go to Snowhaven or not. It was so close so in a way it would be stupid not to go, but what if I got disappointed? If I was disappointed in the village, in the villagers, in her. Then that letter would not be a comfort anymore. Could I handle life without that lifeline? Finally, I fell asleep, but it was a restless sleep and I dreamed of Elvis.

"What are you doing, mate?" he asked me. "Why are you hesitating? Go visit that Molly-girl, I'm curious too. You owe me that, since you're alive and I'm not."

Then he gave me a hug and I woke up with a warm, fussy feeling, knowing I had no choice but to go.

I hugged Georgie and the girls goodbye, wishing them a merry Christmas, promising I would return soon and that they would get to know everything about my visit to Snowhaven. It broke my heart they would spend the Christmas without Elvis, but I was glad they had each other. I tapped Snowhaven into the GPS and drove off.