The Beautiful Ghost

1 May, 1918

Hew paid off the taxi at the gate, and stood for a moment looking up the curving drive towards the house at the end. He wanted more time before this meeting: in fact he wanted it not to be happening at all. The place looked pleasant enough, the sort of country house where before the war his father might well have spent a weekend. It was probably about twenty years old, red brick and timber with a central block and a wing at each side, perhaps built for a prosperous businessman wanting a country retreat. The only hint of its present use was the modern gate at the top of the steps down from the terrace, and the wire netting either side of it, preventing the current guests from wandering onto the lawns. Now he looked closer he could see that the flower beds were mainly filled with weeds. There was a shortage of gardeners now, of course, and in any case the charity would have other priorities for its funds. His army boots crunched over patchy gravel as he began to walk up the drive, past a discreet sign announcing this to be ‘Lady Deverel’s Nursing Home for Officers’.

Of course, Aunt Rose had visited. She’d been twice, making the visits that her sister wasn’t allowed to make herself. Your father won’t have Guy mentioned, she’d written, which meant that his mother was now forbidden to mention either of her sons. He is paying the bill, though. It’s really quite a decent place. The charity does its best, I think, and the costs are very reasonable. Hew sighed, and made himself walk faster. This had to be done, so he might as well get on with it.

At the door there was a button to press for admission. A woman’s calm voice came from a speaker.

“Name, please, and reason for calling.”

“Sergeant Butler, 14th Essex Fusiliers. To visit Lieutenant Guy Butler.” He hesitated, and added “He’s my brother.”

The door clicked open and Hew went inside, holding his cap in his hand. He was in a dark hall panelled with glossy wood, much knocked about. There was no furniture apart from a table with a vase of flowers. A woman came forward. She was wearing a plain navy dress with a white collar. “You didn’t telephone ahead, Sergeant. We normally request this, so that patients can be prepared for a visitor.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I only found I was coming on leave twenty-four hours ago, and a lot of that has been spent travelling. Is it possible to see my brother? I would very much like to do so.”

She considered him for a moment. He could see that his manner and probably his accent had reassured her, and was very glad that he’d had his uniform steam-cleaned to remove the lice while he’d spent the night in the Jermyn Street Turkish Baths. “I’ll ask the sister in charge of his wing. Wait here, please, Sergeant.” She turned and hurried up the staircase.

His rank was still new enough for the word to give Hew pleasure, as did the medal ribbon on his chest, even if he avoided thinking about the day which had brought both of them as much as possible. Had she noticed the ribbon? If so, perhaps that would help too. He really didn’t want to have to come down here again, with only three days of leave left before he had to begin his return journey.

A cough from the stairs. “Sister says she thinks it will be possible for you to visit. She’s asking Lieutenant Butler if he wants to see you.”

“Thank you,” Hew said. It had never occurred to him that Guy might refuse a visit, but why shouldn’t he? They hadn’t met since 1914, and they’d never been close. Father had seen to that.

A second woman appeared at the top of the first flight of stairs below an ugly stained-glass window. She was wearing the stiff white cap and white apron of a nurse. “Sergeant Butler? Follow me, please. You can leave your possessions in the hall. They will be quite safe.” Her eyes skimmed over him. “A Military Medal, I see. Congratulations. You must be so proud.”

“Not really,” Hew said, surprised. “There’s plenty who deserve a medal more than I do.”

The nurse smiled at him. “A modest hero. How very nice. And here we are.” She jingled the bunch of keys at her waist, selected one, and unlocked a door. A man in a tight-fitting short-sleeved shirt and black trousers had appeared from nowhere, and now followed them in. He remained standing by the door.

“Hew!” a voice said. “Oh, look at you. I’d forgotten you’re other ranks now. Come on in, this is chez moi.” Guy was standing beside a narrow white bed. Hew noticed with a sudden shock that a pair of handcuffs was dangling from the metal frame. There was nothing else in the room except a washbasin, with no plug or plug chain. He’d expected Guy to be dressed in the blue jacket and trousers he’d seen other convalescent soldiers wearing, but he was in a short-sleeved open-necked shirt and flannel trousers. His tangled fair hair stood out round his head like a halo as he gestured towards the window

“Bars, you see, in case I feel like a swift dive downwards. That’s the thing about loonies like me, you see, sometimes we wake up and know we’re loonies, and then we look for a way out, don’t we, Sister? Can’t have that so they take away anything they can. Belt and braces. Shoelaces. Anything with sleeves. The lot.” He eyes slid over Hew. “Did they do that in prison, too? Oh, don’t worry, Sister, my brother didn’t do anything violent. Just fucked some boy he picked up in London. Two years in Wormwood Scrubs. Got out early for good behaviour. And now look at him.” His nostrils flared, just as Father’s did when he was working up to one of his rages. “Every inch the gallant soldier lad. At least he won’t pinch your bottom when you take him downstairs. You’d better watch out, though, Smith --” this to the silent man by the door “-- I should think he’d love to get his hands on your tight arse --”

“How are you feeling, Guy?” Hew said. It was the first phrase that came into his head. Anything would do to try and stop the appalling torrent of words.

There was a moment of silence while Guy stared at him as though he was wondering who he was. “Oh, I’m all right,” he said at last. “All right, aren’t I, Sister? Just can’t seem to settle to do anything. Bloody newspapers, nothing in them except the war. Still going on, isn’t it?” Another pause. “Can’t think why you went back for a second go, Hew. Wouldn’t catch me doing that, I can tell you. Jump off the bloody boat if they tried.” He took two rapid steps forward, and the man Smith shifted position slightly. But Guy simply seized Hew’s left hand and held it, staring into his face.

“You don’t make a fuss, do you, Hew? Never did. Just stand there with those pale eyes, staring. Never cried out. Remember when Father used his riding crop on you? He just wanted to know he’d hurt you. If you’d yelled, he would’ve stopped. Only time he tried it on me I kissed his bloody boots and sobbed my eyes out. But then, he likes me, doesn’t he? Doesn’t like you. Liked you for a bit when you were an officer. Liked you more when you got the MC. But you fucked all that up, didn’t you?” He heaved a deep sigh, and let Hew’s hand drop.

“Do you go outside at all?” Hew asked.

Guy shook his head. “No. We tried that, didn’t we, Sister? Didn’t go too well, I tried to jump over the banisters. Wanted to break my fucking neck, you see. I’m just … “ His voice trailed off, and then strengthened. “There’s no point to me, Hew, is there? What am I for? I’m just useless. They beat me up at school because I was useless.” Guy was silent for a moment, then said chattily “God, there were some bastards at Sandhurst too, you know. Threw all my stuff out of the window, threw me in the lake … I don’t have what’s needed to be an officer, you see, and they knew that. But at least I’m better than you. You’re not an officer, and you’re not a gentleman any more. Just a fucking queer sergeant. You’d have to salute me, you know, if I was out in the street in my uniform. I’m still an officer, and I’m still a gentleman, so I’m better than you.”

“Of course you’re better than me, Guy,” Hew said gently. He was conscious of an awful, wrenching feeling, a mixture of guilt and pity. He’d never liked his younger brother. They’d hardly ever played together, and when they did Father always seemed to appear, egging Guy on to snatch a toy from him, or pull his hair. Perhaps his brother had been as lonely as he was during their unshared childhood.

On impulse he put an arm round Guy’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry about the way things have turned out. I hope you feel better soon.”

Guy wrenched himself free. His face had flushed bright red. He glared at Hew and shouted “Fucking pervert! Get your fucking hands off me! God, you’re disgusting! Disgusting, disgusting!” His head went back and everything seemed to go into slow motion. Hew saw the spittle flying through the air and land on his shoulder, where it began to trickle down over his medal ribbon. The man Smith had got his arms round Guy and drawn him backwards, forcing him to sit on the bed. “Let me go!” Guy screamed. “Let me go, you fucking, fucking, fucking lump of shit --”

The nurse touched Hew’s arm. “Time to leave, I’m afraid.” Her voice was as calm as before. She led him out of the room. “Come in here, and I’ll get you a cloth to wipe yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter --”

She looked at him. “Yes, it does.”

Hew could still hear Guy’s shouts, although they were now incoherent. Another man wearing the same close-fitting clothes as Smith opened Guy’s door and went inside. A moment later the shouting was replaced by absolute silence. The nurse unlocked a door opposite, revealing a small bathroom. She took a flannel out of a cupboard, wetted it, and held it out to him. “I’d better see if I’m needed. Can you find your own way out? The stairs are just along there.”

“I’m sorry I upset him,” Hew said.

She looked at him, astonished. “Oh, I’m afraid your brother’s like that all the time, Sergeant. It was nearly ten minutes before he lost his temper with you. I’d call that a successful visit. If you feel able to write to him occasionally -- just a few lines about anything at all -- I think he’d appreciate it. You understand, though, that you won’t receive a reply.”

Hew made his way downstairs, picked up his knapsack, helmet and rifle, and let himself out of the heavy door. He felt an overpowering sense of relief that he’d not met any other residents, and an equally strong sense of guilt. They were fellow soldiers, after all. It could just as well have been him locked up here. He’d just been extraordinarily lucky to go out to the Front twice, and come back with nothing more than cuts and bruises.

He walked blindly down the drive, remembering Guy’s face, lips drawn back in a snarl, shouting abuse, nostrils flared, cheeks flaming red. He’d looked exactly like Father. A sudden thought came to him, so obviously true that he stopped dead. It wasn’t just Guy who was mad, Father was too. Why had he never realised it before?

Hew started walking again, more quickly now, automatically falling into the familiar steady marching pace. The same thought ran through his mind over and over again, gradually becoming something accepted. Father’s mad. I was a child. I didn’t do anything wrong.

There was no chance of finding a taxi out here in the countryside, and he was glad to have the three-mile walk back to the station. At the moment he’d lost any appetite for seeing anyone else, and wished he could instead make his way back to Southampton and then France, where he was one amongst millions digging trenches, standing guard, cleaning weapons, and occasionally taking his turn to fight.

Well, that wasn’t possible. People wanted to see him, and he could not disappoint them. Hew wriggled his shoulders to settle the knapsack straps more comfortably into place, and marched on. Aunt Rose was expecting him for dinner, which meant travelling back to London and then out again. At least the journey would allow him time to think about this morning’s visit.

“It’s wonderful to see you, my dear,” Aunt Rose said. “Would you like some more sardines? I’m sorry it’s such a miserable little meal, but of course, we all need to make sacrifices --” She broke off and looked round the room for a moment, before taking a deep breath and waving a hand vaguely over the table. “Or would you like more potatoes?”

“If you’re sure?” Hew said. “Can I take a couple more carrots too?”

“Help yourself, dear, if you wouldn’t mind. Doing the cooking myself, of course I only do plain food. Simple things.”

She clasped her hands together in her lap and stared determinedly at the ceiling, while Hew silently helped himself to vegetables.

As he lifted a mouthful of food towards his mouth Aunt Rose looked round at him and said “Can we talk about Harry?”

He choked, tried to swallow, and took a desperate mouthful of water. “Yes. Of course. I didn’t know whether I should --”

“Nobody knows what to say, my dear, so no-one mentions Harry at all. Do you know, sometimes I ask myself whether I ever had a son, or whether I just imagined him? I know what you’re going to say. ‘Missing doesn’t mean dead’. It does, though, Hew, doesn’t it? You know much more about it than me, of course, but if someone -- “ her voice shook, but she regained control of it and went on “-- if someone was standing, you know, right where a shell landed, well, there wouldn’t be much left of him, would there? No-one would know that he’d even been there.” She looked at him appealingly. “You see, I have thought about it logically, Hew. A very nice man wrote to me, one of his friends. He said Harry twisted his ankle, and obviously he would have held everybody up if he went on. Harry was sitting on the ground, tying a bandage so he could make his way back to get medical care. He was making jokes --” Her voice faded again for a moment. “Anyway, they all thought he’d be waiting for them back where they started --”

“Behind the front line,” Hew said.

“Yes, that’s right. But he wasn’t there. So then, his friend told me, they thought he must have fallen, perhaps broken the ankle, and they sent out three search parties. They did try, you see, Hew. They must have liked him, don’t you think, to take all that trouble?”

“Of course they liked him,” Hew said. No point in saying that any battalion always tried to find their missing men.

“Anyway,” Aunt Rose said brightly, “this friend, the one who wrote to me, he was confident Harry would turn up. ‘Like a bad penny’, he said. I mean, the Germans took a lot of prisoners this spring, didn’t they?”

“They did. I think you can write to inquire about prisoners in Germany, through the Red Cross --”

“Oh, I’ve done that. You get a reply -- from the Red Cross, I mean -- acknowledging your letter and saying it will probably be a long time before you hear anything. So that’s where I’m at, Hew, I’m in limbo. Harry may be perfectly all right, sitting in a hut somewhere in Germany playing cards -- or he may be dead. I think there was a shell, and he vanished. I think he’s dead.” She looked at him appealingly, one hand over her mouth, as though she wanted to press the terrible word back inside it.

Hew could think of nothing to say. He took her free hand in his. Aunt Rose gripped his fingers so tightly that he thought the blood might come out under his fingernails, and howled with grief.

Later, she sat with her head in her hands and Hew made a pot of tea. He forced her to eat a slice of the very plain cake she’d baked for their pudding, coaxing her to match him mouthful by mouthful. Then she said in a shaky voice that she thought she might go to bed, and he took her upstairs to her bedroom.

“If you wake in the night and you want anything, you know where I am.”

She looked up at him. “Thank you, my dear. So kind. Your mother’s right to be proud of you --” and broke off.

“Bed,” Hew said. “Have you got a hot bottle? I’ll fill it in the kitchen and bring it up.”

“Yes. I’ll get it. Dear Hew, thank you.”

In the morning it was as though nothing had happened. Aunt Rose was as neatly turned out as always, a cameo brooch fastening her blouse at the neck, a purple cardigan buttoned against the cold.

“I always wore this to our Suffrage meetings. Did you know we had a branch here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Were you the chairwoman?”

“The secretary. I’d rather get work done than make speeches.” She was silent for a moment. “I think I need to find something else to do, you know. Someone was telling me they’re always short of helpers to pack parcels of comforts. Four years ago everyone wanted to help, but now, well, it’s gone on so long, hasn’t it?”

“Those parcels are very welcome,” Hew said. “There’s more men out there than ever before --” he wondered too late if he’d said the wrong thing, but ploughed on “-- not only in France, but Italy too, and Salonika --”

“You’ve convinced me,” Aunt Rose said, and got to her feet. “Well. You’ll have to be getting along now, won’t you?”

Hew had intended to stay until the afternoon, but he could see that she was regretting the intimacy of last night.

“Yes, I suppose I should.”

“Where are you going next?”

“Oh,” Hew said. “Visiting an old army friend.”

Three hours later he was in bed at the Union Jack Club in Waterloo.

“You said I was what?”

“It’s true, isn’t it? You’re old, and you were in the army, and I thought we were friends --”

“You cheeky little bastard,” Jack Garvin said, and bit him on the shoulder. “If you’re going to insult me you’ll have to be punished, and punished severely. Turn over, Sarnt Butler --”

“We’re the same rank now, so I don’t have to obey you. “

“Long service has seniority over a jumped-up corporal who got promoted two weeks ago. Grenadier Guards fucking well has seniority over some Kitchener battalion from the arse end of nowhere. And I’m a better man than you because I can beat you in a fight with one hand behind my back …” Their eyes met, and for a moment there was silence.

“I’ve missed you,” Hew said.

“Never mind that,” Garvin said, and threw him neatly onto his stomach. “Let’s do some fucking, shall we?”

“Oh God, yes. Yes!”

Some time later they lay entangled, pleasantly exhausted. Garvin suddenly leant across and kissed Hew hard on the mouth. “Let’s get something to eat, then come back and fuck each other silly again. You want a shower first? Just down the corridor.”

The showers were like the ones at school, a row of metal heads down the side of a changing room. Hew had taken nothing with him except a towel, on Garvin’s advice. “You don’t want to get your clothes nicked, there’s all sorts in here. Now, there’s always going to be two or three blokes hanging about, eyeing you up. Enjoy it, boy, but any offers you get you’re not bloody accepting, all right?”

There was only one man in the changing room, and just as Garvin had said, he was clearly there to observe those using the showers. He was fully dressed in a bright yellow shirt and wide-legged cream trousers, a slim dark-haired man with an olive complexion who was sitting with his feet up along one of the long benches along the wall. Hew hung his towel on a hook and prayed that he would not start blushing. He turned the shower on and reached for the soap.

“You’re very nice,” a drawling voice said. “What regiment?”

Hew debated not answering, and decided that would make him look ridiculous. “Essex Fusiliers,” he said.

The voice lifted in a tone of surprise. “You’re an officer?”

“No.” He bit back the automatic ‘sir’. Surely all naked men were equal, especially when they were all here for the same illicit pleasures? “Sergeant.”

“Well. Fascinating.” The man got up and came over, his dark, slanting eyes fixed on Hew. “I’d very much like to paint you. Those black eyebrows and lashes look extraordinary with that very pale fair hair. Obviously I’d like to do other things as well, but you’d be a wonderful model --”

“No, thank you,” Hew said. He turned the shower off, and reached for his towel.

The other man snatched it from his fingers. “Just allow me a moment more to admire what you’ve got, Sergeant --”

Hew made no attempt to retrieve the towel. “I’m not interested,” he said flatly. He walked past the man and went out.

When he opened the door to their room, Garvin was already half-dressed. He looked round, eyebrows rising. “You just come back like that?”

“Somebody took my towel.” Hew took another one hanging behind the door and began to dry himself. “Said he was an artist.”

Garvin went over to the door and turned the key. “Well, we’ve all heard that one before. And we’re going to have him and half a dozen others trying to get in here in a minute.” He shook his head, smiling. “When I think of what a shy girl you were that first night … You liked him eyeing you up, though, didn’t you?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I’ve been around a lot longer’n you. Oh -- and you’re rock hard again.”

Hew dropped the towel on the floor, went over to Garvin and put his arms round his neck. “Let’s have lunch later, shall we?”

“Just let me get this lot off --” Garvin whispered.

There was a knock at the door, tentative at first, then repeated. Their eyes met, and both men began to smile.

“I’ll help you,” Hew said. He unbuttoned Garvin’s flies, and slid his hands inside. The knocking on the door was reaching a crescendo.

“Come on, lad,” Garvin said. “Let’s show them out there how it’s done. They can listen in, and be jealous …”

Sometime in the early hours of the next morning Hew was shaken awake. Garvin was gripping his shoulder. Their room was dimly lit only by the moon: the streetlights had been put out.