Until we meet again (A war romance) (#Wattys2015)

Part 2

Diana wanted to cry, oh she wanted nothing else other than to let it all out, but her tears stayed at the back of her mind, and she remained silent, her mouth formed in an ‘O.’ Eventually, she found her voice.

“No,”

“I’m sorry, Di, I really am, but I have to go.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, or to anyone, everyone knows you are kind, and brave, and loving…”

“That’s just it, Di! If I don’t go, I am none of those things. I do have to prove I am the man you know. If I don’t go, what will I be? A coward?”

“No,” Diana whispered softly, “You’ll be my Matthew.”

And then he was kissing her, his hand holding her face, and only then did she cry. She wanted it to be raining, to be cold, and miserable, for only those conditions could possibly suit this situation. They broke away from each other.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said, his voice shaking, “but I have to go.”

“I know.”

They didn’t speak any more; they didn’t even look at each other. They didn’t walk together, but went their separate ways. As soon as she was out of sight, she broke into a sprint, her dress flying behind her in a struggle to keep up with her legs. She nearly fell a couple of times, as she would step on the bottom of the dress. Damn her mother for making her such long dresses so that she wouldn’t look ‘indecent.’ Her mother was awake when she returned home, and opened the door as she neared, ready to lecture her, her face stern- but Diana just pushed past her and ran upstairs to her room, where she flung herself down onto her bed, and wept.

She woke. Had she really fallen asleep? Her pillow was a wet mess, and her bed felt hard beneath her. She sat up, looked around. She glanced at her looking-glass on her wall. She sighed; she looked a mess. Her hair was tangled, and her eyes were red. Tears stained her cheeks, and her dress was muddy from where she had stepped on it. She felt strangely dull, as she changed her dress, and combed her hair. She felt like she wasn’t quite whole, wasn’t quite there. “This isn’t real,” she murmured, “this can’t be real.” She jumped as her mother knocked on the door, disturbing her thoughts.

“Di, Darling, are you alright?”

“Yes,” she croaked as loud as she could muster. Her mother took this as an invitation to enter without closing the door. Apparently, Diana’s room was her mother’s to come and please whenever it suited her.

“Darling, what happened to you?” she suddenly saw Diana’s muddy dress strewn across the floor, “What happened to your dress?!”

Diana ignored her. “Is it true that we are at war?”

“Well it’s hardly a secret anymore; it’s all in the papers!”

“They want boys to sign up, to fight?”

“That’s what it says. Has something happened?”

“Matthew is… going off, oh!” she tried to stop herself, but a tear rolled down her cheeks onto her nose. Her mother was across the room in a second, holding her close.

“Hush now, it’s alright. They’re all saying it’ll be over by Christmas anyway…”

“You don’t even care, do you?” Diana cried, pushing her mother away, “Because you don’t care about him!”

“Well, I’m sorry for wanting only the best for my daughter!”

 “Well, what if it was Dad, you would be upset then, wouldn’t you?”

The silence that followed was long, and bore down on them like a weight slowly getting heavier, with every second, or was it a minute, or even an hour? It went on forever, and then her Mother broke from the room. Diana knew that had been a cruel card to play; she knew her mother had been fragile ever since her dad had died, but she didn’t care, not right now.

“You didn’t shut the bloody door!” she cried, and slammed it. She sat down, feeling strangely light headed. She had never fought like that with her mother before, but now that she looked back on it, this fight had been coming for a while. Diana had always hated her mother’s need to criticise everything she had ever done, including falling in love with Matthew. Her thoughts turned to him, and she sat alone in her bedroom, worrying that the next time she would see him, may be the last.