Sleeper in the Valley

4.

"Nora?"

"Mm?". I turn from the sink, startled from staring blankly into the backyard.

"You've burnt your hands dear" Nicola says, her voice kind.

"Oh"

Nicola walks over and quickly turns off the tap. Steam rises from the sink and my hands are bright pink and stinging. Funny. I couldn't feel it before.

"Sit down and I'll make you a cold compress" Nicola says and I do as she tells me, slightly dazed.

I had been thinking about Tom again. I never really stop. It's hard when I see him everywhere. In his chair by the fire, guitar resting against the arm; the wood pile, axe buried in the log, just as he left it; the little green shed at the end of the backyard, tools carefully organised and polished, now gathering dust.

I see him when Nicky smiles at me, all gums and drool, auburn curls flopping haphazardly around his head. When I open the closet and see his suits resting next to my dresses, neatly pressed and waiting. I even imagine he's beside me in bed, and I reach out to hold him but I just find emptiness.

Nicola is looking at me, holding a cold cloth to my burnt hands. Has she said something?

"Sorry?" I ask.

"Nothing dear. I'll get him". Nicola leaves and it's only now I can hear Nicky crying.

He's woken up from his nap. He'll be hungry. I worry that Tom isn't getting enough to eat. He did get the biscuits I sent though. And I did send him another package for Christmas, though if it arrives in time is debatable. More socks, a jumper and another pair of gloves, with some mince pies, biscuits and a picture of Nicky and I.

Nicky is not happy, his face scrunched up as he wails, his hands reaching for me, clutching at air. Ignoring the pain in my hands, I take him from Nicola and settle him to my breast. He grunts with satisfaction, a fist clutching at my dress. Nicola sets to finishing what I had started.

Bless her. She's been coming over more and more. I know she's worried about Tom and the twins, though she tells me that Sam and Harry aren't as close to the frontlines as Tom is. Patrick is getting up to trouble in his brothers absence, and Dominic is struggling to find work.

I can see the burden of it all on her shoulders, which are becoming hunched against the constant storm of her worries; I see it in the lines that now surround her eyes. I see my own struggles reflected in her, and I know that she comes over for more than just to play with Nicky. She comes over for a reprieve from everything, to find peace and comfort away from the mess at home.

She doesn't know I'm pregnant, though it's becoming harder to hide my growing bump. I haven't had the courage to tell her. I don't want to tell anyone except Tom, but I can't bring myself to write the words. I don't know if I can manage without him.

I look down at Nicky and try to block out the negative thoughts that threaten to consume me. His eyes are half closed, his cheeks no longer angry red but a soft pink, plump and sweet. I brush his curls from his forehead and pray for the millionth time that Tom will return home to us.

**

Letter to Mrs. Nora V. Holland

My Love,

Why, oh why did I leave? Tell me why! Tell me why I was foolish enough to believe that this war would be quickly won and that I would be home for Christmas. My sons first Christmas and where am I? Stuck in the trenches, frozen stiff and miserable.

How glorious it would be to be warm next to you in bed as Nicky wakes on his first Christmas Day. I would give anything to be home with you two.

I am sorry, my love. I do not mean to make you feel any guilt about our separation. It's certainly not your fault, and I know that this war is hard on you as it is me. I am simply feeling melancholy and piteous. Thank you for the gifts, especially the photograph; what a marvellous surprise it was!

Whenever I am alone, I take it out and look at you and Nicky. I keep you both safe in my breast pocket, right over my heart. It is a wondrous comfort to touch my chest and know that you two protect my heart, which beats for only you.

I must go my love, but I vow to write to you soon.

Forever yours,

Tom

**

Diary of Thomas S. Holland
Private in His Majesty's British Expeditionary Force

My fears of becoming immune to the horrors of war are coming to fruition. I have seen far too many men perish, and not just from injuries or infection. I've gone to wake men for their sentry duty only to find them forever asleep, stiff as a board.

I no longer jump at the sound of gunfire or bombs. The click of guns being cleaned is almost as comforting as the lullaby's Nora sing's to Nicky. The sight of barbed wire is as friendly as a warm summers day, and in the flash of gunfire I see Nora's face, her eyes bright, mouth open as if to call my name.

But when I sleep, my dreams are of misshapen heads, flaking skin and rotten teeth. They are filled with the sounds of the dying, the putrid scent of death heavy and smothering. I jerk awake to see nothing but snow flakes falling lazily before me and I touch my chest where their photograph rests and recite my vows, anchoring myself in reality and not my nightmares. I focus on Nora and Nicky, safe and warm and waiting.

God, I hope she is waiting for me.