Giant’s Bread · Book IV · II · Chapter 4 2 4

IV

Darling Nell:

Do you know I dream of you every night? Usually you’re nice to me, but sometimes you’re a little beast. Cold and hard and far away. You couldn’t be that really, could you? Not now. Darling, will the indelible pencil ever come off?

Nell, sweetheart, I never believe I’m going to be killed, but if I were, what would it matter? We’ve had so much. You’d think of me always as happy and loving you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? I know I’d go on loving you after I was dead. That’s the only bit of me that couldn’t die. I love you⁠—love you⁠—love you.⁠ ⁠…

He had never written to her quite like that before. She put the letter in its usual place.

That day she was absentminded at the hospital. She forgot things. The men noticed it.

“Nurse is daydreaming,” they teased her, making little jokes. And she laughed back.

It was so wonderful, so very wonderful, to be loved. Sister Westhaven was in a temper. Nurse Potts slacked more than usual. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Even the monumental Sister Jenkins, who came on night duty and was always full of pessimism, failed to impress her with any kind of gloom.

“Ah!” Sister Jenkins would say, settling her cuffs and moving three double chins round inside her collar in an effort to alleviate their mass. “No. 3 still alive? You surprise me. I didn’t think he’d last through the day. Well, he’ll be gone tomorrow, poor young chap. [Sister Jenkins was always prophesying that patients would be gone tomorrow and the failure of her prognostications to come true never seemed to induce in her a more hopeful attitude.] I don’t like the look of No. 18⁠—that last operation was worse than useless. No. 8 is going to take a turn for the worse unless I’m much mistaken. I said so to Doctor, but he didn’t listen to me. Now then, Nurse [with sudden acerbity], no need for you to hang about. Off duty is off duty.”

Nell accepted this gracious permission to depart, well aware that if she had not lingered Sister Jenkins would have asked her “what she meant by hurrying away like that?⁠—not even willing to wait a minute over time?”

It took twenty minutes to walk home. The night was a clear starry one and Nell enjoyed the walk. If only Vernon could have been walking beside her!

She let herself into the house very quietly with her latchkey. Her landlady always went to bed early. On the tray in the hall was an orange-coloured envelope.

She knew then.

Telling herself that it wasn’t⁠—that it couldn’t be⁠—that he was only wounded⁠—surely he was only wounded⁠ ⁠… yet she knew⁠ ⁠…

A sentence from the letter she had received that morning leapt out at her: Nell, sweetheart, I never believe I am going to be killed, but if I were what would it matter? We’ve had so much.⁠ ⁠…

He had never written like that before. He must have felt⁠—have known. Sensitive people did know sometimes beforehand.

She stood there, holding the telegram. Vernon⁠—her lover, her husband⁠ ⁠… She stood there a long time.

Then at last she opened the telegram, which informed her with deep regret that Lieutenant Vernon Deyre had been Killed in Action.