1919

The small coach is crowded but the men in here are as interested in talking as I am, so despite our proximity to each other we spent most of the journey avoiding eye contact. I'd hazard a guess and say that many are soldiers, displaced and wandering like myself. They have that look, the tension in the shoulders and the way of maintaining an exhausted sleep while staying fully alert.

Jimmy's parents mourned my leaving as though I were once of their precious sons, although they have known me so little time. Both asked me repeatedly to stay and for a moment they almost persuaded me. Almost. My parting with Ellen was brief. There was to much to say and not any of it that I wanted to hear. But of course, leaving Jimmy was the hardest of all.

We spend the entire night talking. Laughing and crying through the dark hours before dawn. I don't know when, or if, I'll ever see him again. My life has been made up of partings from those I love. I should be used to the pain of it, but I'm not. The heart is a strange thing. You can tell it not to love, to learn from lessons past, but it never does.

America. Land of opportunity. The place to forget and start afresh. Jimmy's father knows a priest who moved there several years ago and he dictated a letter of introduction for me to write and an address to present myself for lodgings.

Jimmy and I spoke of me visiting, or him visiting me but we both know that people who cross the Atlantic rarely return. My fare has taken most of my money already and by the time I have the money to return I'll be working, in no position to take leave for months on end.

The man next to me shifts in his sleep and his case digs sharply into my ribs. I shuffle along to the open back of the coach and stare upwards at the darkening sky. The English sky, dove grey, freckled with dark clouds, despite the fact it's the height of summer. The first soft patters of rain begin to thrum on the coach roof and I can't help but extend my fingers out of the open back of the coach to feel them on my skin.

Grey old England, with her short weeks of summer and long months of rain. The land of my mother and hers. Green landscapes pass in a blur of rain, fertile fields protected in their greenery by the wet air. I will miss her greatly, it's natural for a heart to always love the country that raised it.

I think of my mothers grave, high up on the hill beside Ashbury manor and I find myself hoping that Evelyn still visits her. The thought of her forgotten and alone, deep in the earth suddenly aches me.

What would she make of what I have become?

Before I can linger on the unwanted thought, the coach jolts to a lurching stop outside of a small, depressing looking inn that resides in the middle of nowhere. The driver wraps his reins around the wooden bar and clambers down.

"Firs' stop for Manchester." He grunts, looking at me.

"I thought you said you'd take me directly to Manchester?" I frown, not caring that the other passengers are beginning to stir.

"Well that was a'fore this lot got on." He gestures his thumb to the other passengers. "You're the only one who wants to go there. I've already gone out my way to bring you this far. That road there will take you there in the morning." He points to a long, uninviting looking road.

"And what am I supposed to do until then?"

"That's why I brought you 'ere." He points at the inn.

We debate this heatedly for several moments before I realise that he is not going to back down. After another long debate, during which the rest of his passengers begin to complain, he grunts and gives me a small amount of my fare back before muttering to himself and climbing back up to the front of his coach.

The rain is really beginning to pour now and I walk forwards to warmth of the inn. It's completely empty and the owner rushes towards me to relive me of my case. My never fully healed leg is aching from the cramped position I held for hours and it's with limping difficulty that I ease myself into a chair near the fire.

After a meal of broth and bread in lean back and gaze into the fire, thinking of the journey ahead. I have to be in Manchester tomorrow afternoon to take another coach to Liverpool. My meagre funds don't extend the fare for trains but despite this unexpected stop, I'll be glad of a nights rest for my leg. I've booked a third class ticket to America from the docks there.

My heart twinges at this thought as I gaze into the fire. Just two nights left in England.

Once I would have left happily. The night Evelyn told me she was pregnant I would have ran, hand in hand with her to whatever awaited us. It's strange, how love can erase fear and nostalgia for a place. In that moment I would have gladly left everything I had ever known for Evie and my child.

Adeline would have been five years old now.

I try to imagine myself as a father. In my mind I see a small girl, the image of Evelyn and it pains me that I never knew her. I think now, that was my greatest loss, the one that truly broke me. Beyond all else I would love to have known my daughter, to watch her grow, see who she became and what she looked like. It was really her death that drove me to my rash decisions, for had she lived I would never I have gone to war. I would have waited on that estate for every day of the rest of my damn life to spend a single moment with her. I picture watching Adeline grow up, visiting the estate as a young woman and speaking to me, her father, as a mere servant, never knowing who I was. It's an awful, painful thought, but I would have chosen that path gladly just to gaze upon her face.

I would have still gone back after the war, I realise. If Evelyn's letter held just a trace of affection, just a hint of desire to see me.

But it didn't.

I wonder if she knows that I love her still. That I'll always love her. Surely she believes that. My entire life was hers, there never will be another for me.

It's no use. I'm not as I was. Even though I love her, I would return to her a man that cannot sleep at night, a lost soul that screams out in the darkness at all he has seen, all he has done.

To place the healing of those wounds on her is too cruel, even if she wanted me too.

"Do you want a drink, lad?"

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I jump at the inn owners words. I nod and make to pull my wallet from my pocket before remembering that I have barely enough money to cover the next two nights lodgings. I shake my head as he pulls two glasses out from behind his little bar.

"You don't have to pay, son. I'd not see a returning solider go without a meal or drink in this place." His lined face creases into a smile as he sits opposite me.

"Is it so obvious?" I grimace at the ache in my leg as I shift in my chair.

"Before the war there wasn't many young lads who would turn up here on an evening and spend hours gazing into the fire." He smiles sadly.

I thank him as he passes me the drink. Brandy. In my head I raise a silent toast to Luke, who would surely have been more brave and excited by a journey to America than I.

"How long were you out there?"

"Four years."

"The full war?" He whistles quietly, rubbing his hand across his thinning hair. "Reckon there's not many who managed that."

I don't want to talk about the war. It's all everyone speaks about, constantly, they want to treat you as if you are a hero, when all you want to do is forget.

"I need to get to Manchester in the morning-"

"I'll take you." He offers kindly. "You'll not find another way, unless you walk, we don't get many passing through. There's only two roads out of here. There the big one to Manchester." He gestures to the unseen road outside the inn. "And the small one to Cheshire."

"Cheshire?" The shock of the name makes me pause in the act of raising my glass to my lips.

"That's right. What's the matter?" He frowns.

"Nothing." I force a smile. "I grew up in Cheshire. I hadn't realised I was so close."

"Oh yes, just 12 miles."

I nod and sip again at my drink.

"Where you off to then?" He asks genially.

I humour him. Although I wish to be left alone, I don't ignore his hospitality but as we talk over the next couple of hours, my mind is entirely on Evelyn. Just 12 miles away. The closest I'll ever be to her again.

After an hour or so he excuses himself for bed. He seems to know that there will be little sleep for me as he banks up the fire and leaves me with my thoughts, the bottle of brandy at arms length.

12 miles. Just that short distance from the place I knew all of my life. Tonight Evelyn sleeps there, not knowing how close I am too her.

Images flicker through my mind like a story. For the first time I allow them to wash over me. Myself and Evie as children, laughing under the old oak tree. Our first kiss. The night Darlington took her from me. The night I wept like a child on the floor for my lost daughter. Leaving my beloved cottage for the last time, knowing I'd never return. My first battle, the terror, the screams. The fear. Meeting Jimmy. Losing Tommy. Luke's final song.

My life plays through my head, a never ending reel that flashes before me in full colour. All that I wanted and all that I lost. Who I was and who I have been forced to become.

I sit and I remember. Tonight feels important and I don't want to miss a single second of it. I'll sit here all night with my memories and finally allow them to burst free and show themselves to me.

I don't know how I can begin again when my past is a gaping wound that has not healed.

*

"It's about half a mile up there." The inn owner frowns at me. "Are you sure you're alright to walk that far?"

"Yes, thank you. It only hurts sometimes, the walk will do it good." I rub my aching leg, feeling the indented hollow of flesh under my trousers.

"Right, if you're sure. You've got the instructions I gave you?" He waits for me to nod. "Good luck lad. I hope America treats you well."

With a last smile he turns his small cart. I watch him into the distance before turning back to the road ahead of me.

I know it well. Nothing has changed. Though this cluster of trees, through the shortcut that is etched in my mind, then the open lawns will be in front of me. I limp forwards. The day is hot, not a hint of breeze and I make my way to the coolness of the trees.

I couldn't go without this detour. Not when I was so close. I just need one last look at the estate, just one last time before I leave it forever.

I push my way through the foliage, stopping to stare at a tree with H & E inscribed into it's bark by my childish hand many years ago. My fingers trace the letters.

The stream, full of salmon at this time of year comes into view. The ancient weeping willow still trails her sad vines into its waters.

My heart begins to race. All these places, these beloved places that I have dream of every day, kept in my heart for 5 years are in front of me again. I want to run, splash through the water and lie on the banks. The twinge in my leg admonishes me, remind me that I return not as part of this place, but as a ghost that must visit and leave unseen.

Finally it's before me.

The stately manor in the middle of the grounds. Beside it, my heart lurches, my small cottage, covered in roses and honeysuckle, as though I had just left it five minutes ago. The oak tree, old and faithful, stands like an old friend waiting to welcome me home and spend an afternoon with me again.

For the first time in five entire years I feel at peace. I feel happy. I can't stay here but I stay to drink in the sight, to enjoy the golden sunlight on the lawn. One last time.

20 full minutes pass and with an aching heart I realise that I must leave. I bend to collect my backpack as the curious sensation of being watched prickles up my spine.

There, amongst the shrubbery, is a small boy, watching me curiously.

The jolt of awful recognition almost knocks me from my feet.

This could only be Darlington's son. The similarity is so great that I feel a tiny stab of fear as I look at his face.

Suddenly it all makes sense.

Evie bore Robert a son. There is no chance that this boy could be anyone else's. No wonder she never wrote back to me. My life has been stagnant for five years... Evie has been raising her son, pining for her husband.

The boy doesn't move, he merely tilts his head as he examines me.

I must leave. It's too much. This revelation has ruined what I found here. My mind clamours with thoughts but the most pressing one is to leave. I must never come back, it's no longer mine.

I grab my backpack and turn quickly, moving as fast as my leg will allow. I'm just nearing the safety of the trees when another sound comes from behind me. Unwillingly, I glance backwards. The boy is looking away from me now and I follow his gaze.

My mind cannot comprehend what I am seeing.

Evelyn.

Evelyn is standing before me.

She stares at me in shock verging on horror. I can scarcely breathe.

The air seems to still as we stare at each other.

It's truly her.

Older, much thinner, but far more painfully beautiful than my memories. I stare into the face of the woman who has haunted my dreams, ruled my life. Who I love with such passion it almost destroyed me.

She shakes her head fearfully as her trembling hand covers her mouth. Tears are thick in her eyes and I realise with urgency that I have to leave. My coming here was selfish and foolish.
I turn again, my body aching at the act of leaving her. Suddenly her voice comes breathlessly from behind me.

"Harry. Oh, Harry." The tears are running freely down her cheeks now. "You came back."

"I'm sorry." I say softly. "I'm sorry, I must leave-"

"But you came home Harry." She whispers. "After all this time."

I want to leave but I can't. After five long years I'm looking into her eyes once more. There is so much to say but I have no words to give her. We are both broken, I can see it on her face, she is as ruined as I. We are half of what we were and there are oceans between us. She is no longer my sweet, laughing Evie. And I am no longer her Harry.

"Forgive me." Her voice is a broken whisper and her eyes swim with tears.

"There is nothing to forgive Evie."

"I ruined you. I ruined us both."

With absolute horror, I see deep self loathing etched on her face. She is broken, utterly broken. Crushed beyond any of my own pain. How much has she suffered? What has caused her such anguish?

"What did he do to you?"

My horrified whisper crackles in the air between us.

She shakes her head but I can see that he has caused all of her suffering, I know the bastard too well. The fury that rises within me is so profound that it's painful. I wish he were alive so I could kill him myself.

"Forgive me, Harry. I'm so sorry."

And before I can move, she runs forwards and I hold her slight body tightly to my chest, my tears mingling with her own.