Queen of the Lost Cause.
He limped through the arrival lounge. Automatically starting to scan the crowd, looking for his parents, hoping for anyone. He did so half-heartedly though as he struggled with his kit bag and the crutch. He didn't deserve their time.
The whole tour had been a mess, and he had returned home early. Partly his choice, mainly the Army's. He did not know how much his parents knew, but he knew that they knew enough.
They knew that his marriage to Molly was over.
They knew that he had injured him himself, once again, escaping.
They knew that he had advised the rest of the platoon to jump. Had listened to the wrong person, rather than his instinct. That he was too involved with someone who wasn't his wife. That he had fucked things up, spectacularly, again.
What they didn't know, was what he knew in that exact moment of the fall, the clarity of it very real, in just how far he had sunk. How his life had gone to hell in a handcart, and he had no one to blame but himself.
How, it was he who had spent the night with Georgie. How, it was she had robbed him of every single modicum of common sense, of decency, which would lead them both to make one bad decision after another. How he simply had messed up the best thing he had in his life. Molly.
And so, it was because of those bad decisions, he was unsure whether his parents were meeting him at all. Their anger over what they did know, obvious. Their response about needing to be collected, cold and vague.
They knew about the accident, but he was unsure whether Molly knew. Unsure that if she did, he doubted if she did, or if he even had the right to want her to know. Certain though that if she did, he doubted whether she would any longer care.
So here he was alone. Sent home early. The Army's version of gardening leave. The Army knew, and his actions were being 'considered'. Treatment and counselling offered, started, no longer any option this time to refuse. They now saw all and were wanting to right his many wrongs.
On the flight back he had considered this; his wrongs. He hadn't told her. He didn't need to. The last conversation they had had was putting their marriage out of its misery. It's what he thought he wanted. It's what he thought she had wanted. So, he agreed. No fight, no hesitation. That surprised him, unusual for her not to rage, and so he just agreed. Little did he know though, once those words had been spoken, his journey to personal and professional destruction began.
To say he acted foolishly was an understatement. To say he regretted it all was indescribable. To ache with remorse was consuming. The guilt and disgust physically hurt.
He wanted to stop the clock, get off the crazy ruinous ride, and make it right. He knew that. What he didn't know was a way of achieving it.
Time ticked by. It was obvious. His parents were a no show. No message explaining why. He was alone. The other passengers filtered through, definite, places to go, people to meet. He had none of that.
His leg was hurting. He dropped the kit bag onto the floor, slumping down next to it. Obscured from the other passenger traffic and consideration. He was weary. The physical injury to his leg, the bruising of his values, pride, the admittance that he was lost, all weighed down on him. The dependency on his missed dose of painkillers also became apparent. He felt his eyes growing heavy. He was slow, and battered, he needed to rest. He needed to consider his options.
He was unsure how long he'd been there. Surprised though he had drifted off. He woke with a hand, gently shaking his shoulder.
"Charles?"
He whipped open his eyes and stilled. "Fuck. What you doing here?" He punched out. Unsure if he was truly awake.
"Sort of wasn't what I was expecting." That was all she said. Standing expressionless looking at him.
He scrambled to his feet. "Molly?" He looked behind her and saw no one else.
"Thought I'd come and get you. Spoke to your parents. They told me what happened, the flight time and all that." She bent down to his kitbag, but he stumbled after it and attempted to swing it on his shoulder. He wobbled dangerously on his crutch.
"Let me." She reached over and pulled the kit bag away from his unwilling hands.
"Why?"
"Cause you ain't going to be able to manage with a crutch and the bag." She looked at him noting the dark circles under his eyes. "Besides, you look dead on your feet."
"No, I mean why? Why are you here?" He hadn't expected this. He'd hoped, but truly believed that he'd never see her again. That he'd never have the chance to look into her eyes and explain. "I never thought... I mean after the phone call."
"I don't think we should talk about that now." She turned and started to walk away.
He didn't follow her though. He stood rooted to the spot. "I need to know" he said stubbornly.
She turned back and looked at him. "Because I needed to." She saw him nod his head and start to move. "I just simply needed to" she reinforced. "Come, but only if you want to." Then quietly turned around and lead him off to the car park.
They said no more. She silently placed his bag in the back of her car, while he walked round to the passenger side. There was no conversation as to their destination. Yet he hoped. He hoped it would be home. Their home.
The journey began, and he appreciated the comfort of the car. Finally, though he spoke. "I don't understand Molly?"
Her only reply. "Will talk about it later."
Those words shut down any further conversation. It was two hours of total silence before they reached their home. She pulled silently onto the driveway, turning off the engine and simply got out. Walking to the front door which she left opened. He noticed she hadn't gone to the boot to get his kit bag. She had left it for him to sort. Instead, she walked to the front door. Fearful if she had deviated, she might not have gone through with it. He bravely followed, and was surprised to find her standing in the hall. Waiting.
"Do you want to stay?" Simply asked, so he simply nodded.
She drew in a shuddering breath but her face still unreadable. "I take it you'll want something to eat? Guess though a shower first?"
He then tried to half grab her arm, but released it instantly as though his touch burned her. She turned and looked at him with fire in her eyes. Yet he needed to ask. To understand. "Why Molly?"
Again, she didn't answer, but he knew he couldn't keep on pushing. She had made a move, a gesture, he should be content with that. All she did was help him up the stairs to their bedroom. Then left him alone.
He moved slowly around the room. Surprised to see so little of his existence there. The en suite though still held his shampoos. Clothes of his still hung in the wardrobe. He quickly showered, and then took moments to linger in the marital bedroom. It was a room he knew, but didn't feel comfortable in anymore. Pulling out clean clothes he realised he hadn't for a long time. Physically maybe present, but, he knew, never mentally.
Changed now into jogging pants and a T-shirt he moved downstairs to find her in the utility room sorting through his kit bag. She straightened her back as soon as she heard him behind her. Turning and cutting him off before he could ask any more questions. "Cup of coffee?"
He nodded, and waited for her to present him with his first decent cup of coffee in a long time. He did not deserve this kindness from her. Typically, though she was giving it. Typically, he was accepting it. She pulled a chair out around the breakfast bar and he took the one opposite. She noticed the struggle he had lifting himself onto the highchair.
"Do you need any painkillers for that?"
And all he did was shake his head. He was desperate for some painkillers and the numbness they gave him. Yet he was afraid to show her his true weakness still.
He was halfway through his cup of coffee before she finally spoke to him again. "Want something to eat?"
"I want to talk first" and he saw a painful convulsion across her face and a bitter laugh followed.
"Talk?" She spat out. "That's a good 'un."
"Please Molly," he reached across the breakfast bar to her free hand, but she pulled it back immediately. "Can we talk?" She stared emotionless at him. He asked again. "Why? Why come? Why come and get me?"
"Cause I'm not ready to give up." She glared and watched a horror register on his face. "And I know you aren't either. You ain't right. This is ain't right. Now it's not the time to end it, to lose it. To lose us."
He dipped his head and swallowed hard. The guilt burned in his gut. He'd been unfaithful. He had in that one stupid moment lost them for good. The tears rolled down his face without a moments warning. "It's too late" and he looked at her. "It is simply too late to save what we had."
He thought she would run with those words. "No, it isn't" she said back, shaking her head determined.
"I've done things that you can't forgive."
She just looked at him, "Georgie?" Just saying that girl's name was like a horse kick to her chest. She had heard. Army jungle drums beat quickly and loudly. The news reached her ears within days. "I know."
Charles was too confused. Too ashamed. "How? Who?" He was unaware that anybody else knew of his stupidity. Yet he had feared that there had been talk.
"Does that matter?" She said shortly.
He shook his head. He didn't break eye contact with her now. "I'm so sorry."
She downed the last of her tea, slamming the empty cup down on the table. "Not as sorry as I am." And then drew her breath in an attempt to remain calm.
"So, if you know; I still don't understand why?"
"However much what you did hurts. I figure it can't hurt any more than all of this. What we are now." She motioned with her hands.
"I'm sorry. I hurt you." He lent across the breakfast bar. Successfully he grabbed her accepting hand.
"You hurt me a long time before that. Before you shagged her. The Georgie thing, it was just another pain I got in all this mess." The tears were so close. She wished she was close to shouting, showing her rage, hurting him for his actions. Instead, she remained calm, because calmness after all the emotions of the past months was the one emotion that took the least effort. "We need to talk. We need to start at the beginning. We need to go back as to why, how all this happened. How we went wrong."
"But you wanted to put the marriage out of its misery. You ended it." He simply said.
"No, I didn't. Charles, you did. You ended us with your actions. I merely said it out loud," She shot back at him. Then tried to explain more. This made little sense to her, so she appreciated why he was confused. "I don't mean what you did with Georgie. I mean what you did before Georgie, before you left…after Elvis. When we both lost Elvis."
He whispered. Not really wanting the following words to be said out loud. "I'm sorry. For Georgie. What I did. I just don't know why. I'd lost you. And then she was there, it was just sex." He grabbed tighter onto the hand that still allowed his hold. "Believe me it was just sex."
"Do you love her?" She paused. Waiting.
"No." he said with utter shame and regret. Yet with total truth.
"Did you think you loved her?"
"I think I thought she needed someone to love her. I thought maybe that should have been me…. after Elvis. But I didn't. couldn't, but it was too late. I'm sorry."
She nodded. "Don't make it any less painful, or forgivable though. Does it?" She understood though, his confession. What he meant. Before Charles, maybe she wouldn't have. Before everything that they had together.
Before Charles she'd never made love. Only had sex, and she had never made love with anybody since. She even had found herself, on a drunken night out, not too long ago, almost having a revenge shag herself. Justifying the act of allowing herself to be taken home by a stranger, telling herself she was free, that the marriage was over. Yet she stopped. She needed love for sex, and she knew Charles did. Whatever he'd had with Georgie, she knew it was not love.
She didn't move. It was all still too raw for her. She didn't say anything. She just watched him. Eventually, she needed to break the silence. Moving away and reaching into the fridge grabbing the food. Silence remained. Charles tried to stop his tears. She did not comfort him, or acknowledge them.
As she went about making bacon sandwiches, she studied him. The weight loss, the haggard face, the bitten finger nails, the lanky greasy hair. She noticed it all and her heart broken again. Wondering where her man, the person she loved, had gone? When did he become a shadow of the brilliant person she had first met and loved? She didn't ask herself though when she had lost him, because she didn't think she had. They merely misplaced one another. Loved him still. He was lost, but she wasn't going to lose him. Not if he didn't want to be lost any more.
Suddenly she needed him to know that. To see it. "I still want it all. With you." He looked at her, partially scared by her outburst. His hands roughly dragged across his face. Drying his face. Preparing himself. "I still want it all. I want the good times and bad times. I want the Sunday morning lie ins. I want the arguments over whose turn it is to do the dishwasher. I want shouting and screaming. I want the giggles and laughter. I want you, me, and Sam. I want the comfort and safeness you gave me. The love. I want it all back. That's why."
She waited. Hopefully. Finally, he spoke.
"Ditto."
The old familiar sinking feeling hit her gut with those words. "That might have been cute once Charles put it ain't anymore. I'm gonna need more than that."
Since he'd first seen her at the airport, he had been unsure, on the back foot. His desperate need for control vanished. Robbed from him. He knew what she was asking, she wanted him to start giving. Something he had stopped doing. He was unsure how to start. "I don't know how. I just don't understand."
"Then you just gonna have to learn, to sort it out. Cause I can't tell you. I can't show you. I've tried but it hasn't worked. If you want this" she waved her hand in between them "then you're gonna have to be the one to help yourself. "
"They've made me see someone. The Army that is. I'm on leave. Being investigated. With regards to when, if, I'm fit for the job."
"Is that the only reason?" She placed the bacon sandwich in front of him "For the Army? That's why you're gonna try?" She quickly turned away. She had made herself vulnerable. Only ever having done that once before with him. Right at their start, and it had paid off. She had never needed to again. Now she was so much more unsure. He'd cheated on her mentally before the physical act. Although not truly understanding it herself, she was not ready to throw away what she had with Charles. Still, she prepared herself from hearing that maybe this was not what Charles wanted. For the first time in days, the tears started. She didn't want that. She didn't want pity, she wanted him to love her because he loved her.
"No! I'm doing for you. For me. Even though I'd lost everything, or at least I thought I had before today. That's why. I want to do this for us. "
She moved quietly to sit opposite him, placing fresh cup of tea next to their plated food. "It nearly was. Lost that is." She explained. "I can't guarantee that it ain't. That this trying isn't pointless. What you did. Shit Charles what you did…" The tears prevented her from finishing. She heard rather than felt the chair being pushed back, and then his arms grabbing onto her as he moved next to her. Automatically, she allowed her sobbing body to sink into his. Treacherously enjoy the warmth and scent of him again.
They stayed holding each other for precious moments. She noticed how he shifted in his chair, and pulled away to watch him. He was in pain. She could see that in every fibre of his body. She turned and reached the kitchen cupboard, offering him painkillers she had unpacked before. "I take it these are what you need."
He grabbed them greedily and took them. "Thank you." He looked directly at her "and I don't mean just for the painkillers."
She nodded and retrieved the plates and moved to the sink. Her back towards him. "Will they start working soon? Make you more comfortable? Make you sleep?"
"Yes. I guess. Sleep, maybe. Well, it's just."
She cocked her head. "What?" He looked ashamed.
"I just have a dressing" he started explain. "On my leg. It got wet, in the shower, needs to be changed. Feels wrong. I don't think I can get it done until tomorrow."
"I'll do it."
"Are you sure?" She gave a slight nod, but it was enough and he moved towards the stairs. He felt her once again behind him. Supporting him. Making sure he didn't mis-step. It was then, at that moment, he felt that however hard this was for him, he had to try. She was all he really and truly ever wanted, and still was. "I'm going to try Moly. Really try. For you. For us. Because I love you."
"That's all I can ask." She followed behind him, step-by-step, slowly and considered. "All I can do too. Try. But I can't promise you anything."
He reached the top of the landing, and she gave him back his crutch to help him limp to the bedroom. "I know. I'm just so grateful" he said as he sat down on the bed, "and lucky."
She didn't reply. He felt more and more embarrassed as she moved around the bedroom, grabbing the dressings that she would need. She then stood in front of him, dipping her head down and signalling to his belt. He felt his face flush up as he slowly stood and started to lower his trousers.
She hesitated ever so briefly. Watching him bare, familiarity curled between her thighs. "You and this bloody leg" though was the only thing she muttered as she started to remove the wet mattered dressing from his skin.
She was all practical, and that gave him some ease. Unsure about talking as he felt exposed and vulnerable.
"So, you really jumped off a bloody cliff?" She eventually asked.
At this he gave a little chuckle. "Certainly did. As you can see. Didn't do a good job in the landing either." The wound was nasty, deep. It would take a while to repair. "You don't have to do this every day. I'll make an appointment at the med centre."
She lifted her head up from inspecting the wound and looked at him. Her gloved hand pointing the blue forceps at him. "No that's ain't right. It's not that bad. I don't mind. I'll dress this for you. Every day. Twice if need be." Her voice was gentle and there were tears in her eyes.
"Thank you." And he chuckled again. "I seem to be saying that a lot, don't I? That and I'm sorry."
"Yeah? Well, it's kind of nice to hear it. I am too. Sorry and that." She dipped her head back down to the dressing. However, she kept on talking. "I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have put you in that position. It wasn't fair. To take away hope, to turn your life upside down when you had no chance to fight back. I was wrong."
"Do you really believe that?" In all of this he'd never once considered that she had done wrong. He saw her slowly nod. "Well," he began softly. "Not wanting to start an argument, but I disagree."
She snapped her head up and smiled. A genuine smile. "An argument? Well actually that would be nice."
"What do you mean?"
"At least it's something. We stopped talking. We haven't even argued for months. So, I guess even an argument would show you still care."
"Course I still care Molly" he said and his hand, through memory, reached out and stroked her cheek. She didn't pull away. Infinitesimally she leaned into him. "I love you I just don't know why I stop showing you."
"Yeah, well me neither." The dressing was now in place and she snapped off the apron and her gloves. "That's done until tomorrow." She tidied away the rubbish, half watching while he pulled up his trousers back on. Looking at him oddly she sat down next to him on the bed. "I just thought?"
"What?"
"Oh I just thought… I don't know. Sorry. Got it wrong," She paused. "I mean, I just thought you'd be knackered, that you would we be going to bed now."
"You want me to stay? The night?"
"I asked you when you got here. Didn't I?"
"Yes you did. That still alright? After everything?"
"Yes. Think it's the only way. Don't you? Spare room mind you." She gathered up his belongings and moved them into the spare room.
Within half an hour, he was settled in bed. More comfortable than he dared to hope. She had brought him a glass of cold water, a hot water bottle and then closed the door softly behind as she said good night.
He wasn't ready for bed. He wasn't ready to sleep. He wasn't sure what he was ready for. All he knew was the solitude in the bedroom was welcome and frustrating. It gave him too much time to think, too much time to consider, too much time to question everything and hope for nothing.
Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow was a day filled with hope, and challenges. Tomorrow was another day, and that single thought filled him with anxiety about its arrival.
There were no promises, and no easy fixes. There was just him, finally accepting the help he needed. There was just her, her big stubborn heart, that was teaching him that second chances were possible. Not easy, but doable.
There was Molly still unrivalled in being the Queen of the Loss Cause. Meaning that however slim there was still hope for them. There was still a chance.