Deborah Carr - The Poppy Field

“That’s probably cold by now.”

It was, but she barely noticed. “It’s fine, thanks,” she said, not wishing to lose her chance to share her excitement with someone. “I don’t know why these letters were hidden here,” she looked around the room, trying to picture how is must have looked one hundred years before. “I assume Alice must have lived here at some point?” When Tom waited for her to continue, she added. “When I said she was a nurse, she really was a VAD.”

Tom shook his head. “Volunteer?”

She motioned for him to take a seat. “Yes, a VAD was a voluntary nurse in the Voluntary Aid Detachment. The women who enrolled had to be at least twenty-three. So far, I’ve discovered that Alice was stationed at one of the casualty clearing stations near Doullens. I don’t know where exactly, but I believe there must have been a lot of them around, as it’s near to the Somme area.”

“It is,” Tom said. “She must have been a brave lady,” he added staring into the flames of the fire.

“Very. They all were.” Gemma took another sip of her tepid drink. “When you think of some of the horrendous injuries they came across, on a daily basis, too.” She thought of some of the horrors she had been expected to cope with at the trauma unit. “I’ve seen some devastating injuries in my time, but I think war is another matter entirely. The injuries would have been far worse and back then there was a constant stream of injured men needing medical treatment.” She shook her head thoughtfully. “It doesn’t get any better either, I don’t think.”

“Hmm,” he swallowed and stood up. “I’d better get on. I don’t want it to get dark before I’ve had a chance to really make some headway today.”

“Okay, sure,” Gemma said, aware his mood had slipped, but unsure why. As she watched him go through to the back of the house, she had a feeling that the letters had disturbed Tom in some way. Was there a reason talking about the war or her work made him uneasy? She never failed to be impressed by the almost magical differences doctors made to some patients, even those in the trauma unit since she’d began working there. However, she was aware that some people, most, probably, didn’t like to think of such things.

Gemma watched him go outside and close the door behind him. She finished her drink and thought back to two months ago and her last day at work. She still felt sick when she recalled her shock at discovering that the man she’d thought herself in love with had not only lied to her about being single but was in front of her on a trolley, dying. One day, she hoped to discover her lost love of nursing, but she couldn’t see it happening for a long time yet. If ever.

Gemma swallowed the lump forming in her throat. All her yearning to be a nurse followed by years of training, dashed away. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to deal with traumatised people. It wasn’t as if she had experience of opening up herself. She wondered if it was the loss of a life-long dream that upset her most or walking out of her job. No money coming in, no purpose.

She recalled her dad’s serious expression when he’d sat her down to tell her of his idea about her coming to Doullens to renovate the farmhouse. She couldn’t help wondering if her dad had wanted her to come to France for her own good, or simply to appease her mother and get her out of the house.

She had always been the cuckoo in her parent’s love nest and it stung whenever anyone joked about a baby being a mistake. She assumed most won their parents around to be cherished in the end, but Gemma wasn’t sure what that must feel like. She shook her head, enough wallowing. She was a strong, independent woman and renovating this place was going to prove it to herself as well as her parents. You had to reach the bottom to rise again, didn’t you?

Gemma folded the two letters she had been reading back into their envelopes. She slipped them at the back of the bundle, to keep everything in order, determined to savour every one. She was determined not to miss out any of Alice’s letters by getting them muddled.

Tom had been right, she thought as she washed her mug, she did have a lot to read. It would keep her mind off everything that had happened in Brighton and her parent’s rejection. She felt like she had made a new friend in Alice, albeit one she would never meet. She couldn’t wait to discover more about the woman’s life.

Gemma tidied away her letters and washed the kitchen floor. Hearing Tom working outside, she couldn’t think of a reason not to go and speak to him. When she found him, he was up the ladder checking the roof above the barn. Gemma opened her mouth to speak, when Tom reached forward to test a tile and the bottom of his trouser leg lifted revealing a prosthetic right ankle.

Gemma covered her mouth instinctively with her hand, not daring to make a sound. She didn’t dare distract him, frightened he might fall. Stunned by her discovery, she stared briefly before deciding to go back into the house. She’d only walked a couple of steps when Tom dropped a cracked tile onto the cobbles. Gemma glanced up. She noticed Tom watching her and blushed.

Desperate to cover up what she’d done, she forced a smile. “I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help,” she said, aware how guilty she sounded.

He narrowed his eyes. “Is there something wrong?” he asked before carrying on with what he’d been doing.

“No, nothing. I’ll be in the house,” she added, retreating.

Hoping Tom would come in to speak to her, which he usually did at the end of each day, Gemma kept herself busy by cleaning. Her mother loved preaching that keeping busy was good for clearing the mind, but Gemma had never believed her until now. Putting her energies into scouring the landing floor was doing little to calm her though.

How had he lost his leg? Had he been in the Army? Gemma dropped the scourer into the grimy water as a thought dawned on her. Was that why he’d reacted as he had earlier when she’d been droning on about injuries sustained during wars? Of course, he must have spent time in a trauma unit.

“I’m such an idiot,” she groaned to herself.

“And why would that be?” Tom asked, her giving her a fright.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said playing for time. She knew she had to broach the subject of his leg, just in case he had noticed her looking earlier.

“Sorry, I should have knocked.”

“Not at all,” she said, mortified. “Look, I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she said, nervously. “I noticed you have a prosthetic ankle.”

“Leg, actually,” he said. “But only the lower half.” Tom laughed. It was a sad laugh, filled with pain. Gemma could see he was trying to put on a brave face. “Sorry, I never really know how to react when people bring it up. It’s fine, though Gemma, really. I don’t want you to feel awkward.”

“I don’t,” she fibbed. “I didn’t know you were an amputee, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” he looked towards the golden glow of the sun streaming through the bedroom window onto the wet floor.

Gemma cringed. What a stupid thing to say. She wondered how many times Tom must have had to deal with idiots like her who stumbled over their words. “I mean that seeing you work, well, it isn’t obvious.” Damn. That still wasn’t right. “That is—”

Tom leant forward and placed his right hand on hers. “It’s fine. I know what you mean.” He shrugged. “I am a little sensitive about it sometimes,” he looked down at his right leg. “I can still do everything that I did before,” he said. “In civilian life, at least.”

“You were in the Army then?” So, she had been right. “Is that where it happened?” She couldn’t help being intrigued.