The Magic Wardrobe

Into the Void

Helmand, Nahr- e Saraj District, Afghanistan - June 2012

The IED (improvised explosive device) blew the army vehicle into the air and caused it to burst into flames before it hit the ground.  Corporal Lily Brooks felt the searing heat hit her full in the face.

Military hospital, Camp Bastion, Afghanistan the same day.

The doctor said that she was very lucky, all three of her army colleagues had died instantly, the landmine had only made her lose the bottom of her left leg from below the knee. "Oh!" he'd added indistinctly as if wishing he had not had to tell her himself, "And your face."  He needn't have lowered his voice as all she could hear was a roaring noise in her ears like the sound of a squadron of jet fighters taking-off.

Farewell, Beloved Bastard

I was transferred to Birmingham's Queen Elizabeth Hospital where most wounded British soldiers are tended to.  I could not assess my injuries - I couldn't see; I couldn't feel due to my hands being bandaged and for two days I couldn't hear anything except a constant ringing in my ears.  However, I could sense something - a strange, over-whelming feeling of pity which hung over my bed like a black cloud.  It was the sense of peoples' reactions to my condition - I could sense their reluctance to touch any part of my body.  It came to a head three days later when my hearing returned and I had my first visit from my fiance, Rick.  I heard him gasp at the sight of me; I sensed his effort in trying to hide his feeling of repugnance as he forced himself to look at me.  It was as if I'd been turned into a horrid insect like that thing, you know, that Kafka wrote about.

He visited me twice after that and then went completely off my radar.  No explanation, no good-byes.  Rick the prick!

Birmingham The Bull Ring June 2014

It's been two years since the explosion and I still have nightmares.  After ten operations, where skin has been grafted from various parts of my body, I still look hideous.  Yes, thanks to stem cell technology I now have my eyesight back.  I don't go out in daylight - I've developed the nocturnal habits of a vampire.  No, I don't suck people's blood I just shy away from them, ashamed of my appearance and sensitive to their comments "daughter of Freddie", "snakeskin face" and they're just the moderate ones.  I spend nearly all of my time shut away in a shitty bedsit.

A few days ago I was starting to feel a bit better and then I heard that my grandmother had died (the only person who'd really stuck by me).  She has left me her house in a remote part of Yorkshire.  I have decided to move up there because there's nothing for me here.  I've heard nothing more from Rick.

Massif Moor, Yorkshire  2 September 2014

I moved here yesterday.  The house is warm and welcoming and filled with my grandmother's little treasures.  There are lots of photographs of me, not of me now of course, but how I used to be before the incident that burned away my beauty. Yes, I'm not going to tell lies or betray anyone with false modesty, I was beautiful and I'm as angry and bitter as hell at what happened.

There's a lot of old furniture in this ancient house and one particular piece stands out the most.  It is the wardrobe in my grandmother's bedroom.  It is ornately carved with Gothic designs and, to be frank, scares the shit out of me so I haven't dared to open it yet.

I hardly slept a wink last night my face was so sore and I couldn't stop thinking of Rick, I never have.  I think that he hurt me more than the explosion.  It seems ridiculous, he's probably married with a couple of kids by now.  Is this my fate - to always be thinking of someone in my past, someone I'll never meet again?   And there was the wardrobe, dark and ominous at the foot of the bed; it seemed to be daring me to open it.  Well I shall.  This morning is bright and cheerful and what if there is a monster in there, he'd probably be more frightened of me than I'd be of him.  Why "him" and not "it"?  Am I going crazy?  Am I thinking of Rick again?  Get a grip, corporal, you're a war hero and have a medal to prove it.

I opened the wardrobe door and guess what I found - my grandmother's old clothes - not drab, old-fashioned stuff but colourful, retro fashions that would have been worn by Hollywood superstars like Liz Taylor and Marilyn Monroe.  I'd never seen my grandmother wearing such outfits, not even in photographs.

I went downstairs to the kitchen, it was eleven o' clock.  The sun's not yet even over the yard-arm but I'm headed for the drinks cabinet and pouring myself a large vodka and cranberry juice.  I put on some music - loud, VERY LOUD!!!  BEPs; Scissor Sisters, Groove Armada lots of other old stuff.  After another large drink I decide to try on the clothes.  They fit perfectly and I look into the mirror for the first time in months.  I look different, new, changed, almost attractive.

There's a knock at the door and my heart races in a panic.  I go to take off the clothes and change back into my own but something makes me move to the window and look at the person knocking on the door.  It's very strange - it's a young girl about my own age and she's wearing funky fifties clothes too.  What a coincidence.  I suddenly don't feel embarrassed and I go downstairs and open the door and we look at each other and start to chuckle - open-heartedly, unashamedly and I invite her in and pour her a drink too

We laugh and we joke and we tell each other our potted life histories and find that we have an amazing amount of things in common.  After a couple of hours we are slightly tipsy and decide to freshen ourselves up with a walk outside on Massif Moor.  The vast open expanse has no sign of life apart from a couple of rooks circling overhead. My friend suddenly produces my camera that she'd carried from the house and takes a 'selfie' of us laughing in the sunshine. However the moor has a habit of changing its temperament very suddenly and the blue, sunny sky is rapidly replaced by heavy cumulus nimbus storm clouds.  Icy rain pelts down upon our heads and stings our faces as we run the two miles back to granny's house.

Our clothes are soaking wet and so we change into fresh ones from granny's wardrobe.  I light the log fire in the lounge and we relax and bathe in its heat as we have more drinks and play more music and dance together and eventually collapse onto the settee.  I suddenly wake-up as if from a deep sleep without even realising that I'd drifted off and I have one of those panicky moments, you know, when you don't know how long you've slept for, it could have been hours or just a few seconds. 

My new friend is awake and gently strokes my cheek but instead of soothing my skin it makes it burn like hell.  I get up and run to the bathroom where I open the medical cabinet and grab my pain killers.  To my amazement my friend is at my side and has brought another bottle of vodka with her.  She takes my hand and leads me back into my bedroom and we sit on the edge of the bed and stare at ourselves in the wardrobe mirror.  She wants to try one of my pills so we swallow a few washed down with vodka and we feel good.  She picks up my camera from the bedside cabinet and we look at our photo taken on the moor and admire our strange beauty as we giggle ridiculously.