Betwixt

Chapter Four

With the car safely parked at the side of the fuel shed, Catherine and the Sergeant made their way down the little incline that led to the front door of Hollowbrook Cottage. Fumbling with the keys, she realised that her hands were still shaking with shock.

"Here, allow me," Sergeant Montague said, taking the keys from her and slipping them easily into the two locks.

"Thank you," Catherine smiled, unaccustomed to letting someone else take charge. Despite the fact that this man was a complete stranger to her, she felt as though she could trust him and her very muscles seemed to relax in his presence. Perhaps it was his army training, but he just had an air of capability about him that put her at ease.

The cottage was just as described by Mrs. Donnelly; cold, dark and damp.

"Well, at least the electricity works!" Catherine said with a sigh of relief as she flicked the switch on the wall. The glass pendant light shade cast a golden glow over the main room, where everything was exactly as she remembered it. The wooden dresser on the far wall, groaning under the weight of Blue Willow China; the lumpy sofa covered in a flowery fabric facing the large open fireplace.

"Yes, you can't beat the electric," he said, making Catherine giggle at his 'rural' sense of humour. "I wonder when they got it in?" he asked, to no-one in particular.

Suddenly, it all became a little too quiet and she started to feel slightly awkward.

"Okay, well I'll make a start on the fire, Mrs. Donnelly said the turf was in the shed," she began.

"Not at all, I'll do that," Sergeant Montague insisted, turning for the door.

"I'm sorry Mr. Montague... Sergeant, Sir, but I'm going to have to put my foot down here," she said, realising that she would have to be a bit firmer with her patient. "The only reason you're not in an ambulance on your way to Galway Hospital is because you agreed to have a sit down and a hot drink. So that's exactly what you're going to do," she said, taking his overcoat and revealing a mossy green uniform underneath.

"Very well, I know better than to argue with a beautiful lady," he said, hands raised in surrender.

She blushed then and instantly felt guilty.

Once the fire was lit, Catherine boiled the kettle and poured the steaming water into a delicate china teapot. She would never make a pot of tea at home, but in this place, it felt completely natural. The Sergeant was seated comfortably on the large armchair by the fire, his eyes staring at the dancing flames. Catherine knew she would have to keep an eye out for any signs of concussion.

"Here we go," she announced rather loudly, as she placed the tea tray on the table in front of the sofa. "Do you take sugar in your tea? I hear it's good for shock?"

"Then I think we should both have some," he replied with a sincere smile.

"I'm so sorry," she said finally, reaching for his hand. "I just didn't see you until the last minute," she confessed and quite abruptly, broke into tears.

"It's alright, it wasn't your fault Catherine," he assured her, rubbing her hand gently between his own. "Sure, amen't I in my perfect health?" he added, leaning back in the chair and puffing out his chest so she could see for herself.

"God, what you must think of me," she gasped, wiping away the tears.

"I think you are a very kind young woman, who might be, if you'll forgive me for saying so, missing her husband?"

Catherine was taken aback.

"How did you know?" she asked, shaking her head.

"Well I can see you are wearing a wedding ring and to be honest, I can't imagine what man in his right mind would let his Missus out alone on a night like this." He lifted the china cup and took a long, hard gulp of his tea.

"No, you misunderstand," she began hesitantly. "My husband, he's not with us anymore. He's... he died. Last year.

The only sound was the intermittent sparks released from the turf.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry," he said, his dark eyes holding such a depth of compassion that Catherine almost started crying again.

"Sorry," she said, stubbornly wiping her tears away again. "I shouldn't be burdening you with this," she added.

"You're the one carrying the burden," he said, taking her cup and rising to empty the cold tea into the sink. He returned and poured her a fresh cup with two large spoons of sugar.

He didn't try to smother her with platitudes, like every other well-meaning person in her life. He just let her sit there with all of the jumbled up feelings grief produced.

Blowing her nose with a crumpled old tissue she found in her jeans pocket, she looked up at him with a wry smile, "Aren't you going to tell me that it'll get easier?"

"It doesn't get easier," he said flatly. "But you get stronger."

"Wow, that's actually sort of helpful," she said, feeling slightly less awful about everything.

"That's because it's true. People say all sorts of things to try and comfort the living, but when someone you love is gone, there is no comfort. Just a readjustment to life without them."

Catherine took a sip of her tea and felt its warmth softening the chill she had felt since she met the Sergeant out on the road. She looked over at him again, sitting in the armchair, looking so official in his uniform. They were markings on a badge just over the breast pocket that she didn't understand.

"I suppose you gain a new perspective on things when you're in the army", she said.

"Well, that's true," he replied, running his hands through his smooth, dark hair.

"Have you seen much action?" She didn't know why she had phrased it that way, as if being in the army was a fun day out.

"Just recently yes. In Spain," he added, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

It was the first time since she met him that he seemed less than in control.

"I didn't realise there was any trouble in Spain", she said, uncertain of her own grasp on world affairs. The past year had been a blur outside of her own suffering.

"Trouble? Yes, you could say that," he said, his jaw-line tensing.

"Are you feeling okay? Any dizziness or blurred vision?"

He began shaking his head, dismissing her questions, but she continued.

"You know we can hop in the car and I'll have you in Galway in less than an hour," she persisted.

"What made you come to this place?" he asked, politely changing the subject.

"Oh, well, it's where we had our first holiday together," she replied hesitantly. "In fact, if memory serves, there should be a bottle somewhere..." she trailed off, looking back towards the kitchen. "Hold that thought," she said getting up to search the small galley kitchen. Nathan had discovered a loose tile at the back of the cupboard beneath the sink. He had left a half bottle of whiskey there; said it would be a nice surprise for the next guest who found it. He was always doing little things like that. 'Random acts of kindness' made life more interesting, he would say.

"Hah!" she cheered triumphantly. "It's still here," she said, waving the bottle. The wind started to pick up outside and Catherine jumped as the branches from an overgrown beech tree scratched at the kitchen window. A strong gust swept around the cottage and the lights flickered. Turning instinctively to her guest and the light of the fire, Catherine saw that the armchair where the Sergeant was sitting was empty. The lights returned and for a fleeting moment, she was entirely alone in the room. Catherine blinked and there he was again, smiling back at her. She shook her head slightly, feeling a bit disoriented and silly.