The Kingdom of Night (Book 3)

Uncertainty

Now: Alfred. He was a little harder to write for, just because he didn't get much character development. I would also say he was a little harder to develop because believe it or not, he was my first gay character. But I would like to believe that what I've written is a pretty accurate description of the hardships that gay men experienced in the first half of the 20th century. As I mentioned before, if you've seen Downton Abbey, you'll know what I mean. And oh boy, the ending was hard to write.

Above: Jeremy Irvine in War Horse.

Spring 1920

Alfred

These blasted crutches were going to be the death of me one day. At the home for injured servicemen, where I'd been since the war ended, they expected me to try out my new prosthetics every day for at least an hour. There was one problem, and that was getting them to move like legs and not hooves. Which was why I found myself pitching to the ground again with a growl of frustration, when a voice came from above me.

'All right there, soldier?'

I propped myself up on one arm, squinting up at the form of an officer blocking out the sun. 'I seem to have fallen down again.'

'I can see that,' said the officer, bending down and offering his arm. 'Take my arm, and we'll get you back up.'

I did, and it seemed to take a bit of grunting and sweating to right myself again. 'Bloody things aren't working as well as I thought.'

'Fake legs never do, when you've had real ones.' The other soldier shrugged. 'Had a lot of complaints like that, with the war ending and all.'

'Where were you posted?' I asked.

'Belgium, for a while. Then France.' We stopped at a row of wicker wheelchairs. 'Any of these look like yours?'

'Whichever one I sit in.' I cracked a grin and winked.

'Joker, aren't you?' I saw him make the same gesture, and unexpectedly, my heart thudded against my ribs.

'I try.'

||

A week later, my sister and her husband came to see me, with the new baby in a pram. I remembered getting the letter from her as she was recovering, telling me that the birth had been troublesome. The baby came early, and was a breech. The doctor ended up having to surgically remove him. Needless to say, Grace lost a lot of blood and energy that day.

But today, as the nurse helped me into my chair, and wheeled me down the hallway to the outside terrace where we visited during the warm months, I was looking forward to it. Peter Haywood had once been a boy I fancied, turning into a soldier I fought alongside and now a man I regarded as one of my oldest friends.

'Alf!' Grace saw me first, on her feet before Peter and reaching me in less than three strides. She pulled me into a tight embrace before speaking again. 'How nice to see you again.'

'Lovely as always, Grace.' I gave her a grin as she pulled away. 'How've you been?'

'Back on my feet, at least,' she said, rubbing at her temple. Now that I thought of it, she did appear a bit pale.

'Is that Alf?' Peter said as Grace took over from the nurse and pushed me up to their table. The baby's pram sat between them.

'Unless my sister has made a very grave mistake,' I said, but it was hard to keep a straight face. Seeing him again was a relief in itself.