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Button House gets cold at night. The cold creeps between the brickwork and slithers along the floor, climbs the walls like ivy and curls up in the dead embers of the extinguished fires. The past of the place nestles beside it like a lover as old souls gather to rest. The Captain swears he can hear them sometimes, the ghosts, then comforts himself with the reassurance that he’s permitted a shade or two of madness.
He watches his breath dance in an icing-sugar mist above his nose, fingers still where they rest on top of his army-issue blanket. His toes, pale and stiff, poke out of the bottom. His back is rod-straight.
Below him, the house is alive, gramophone in full swing and casting trench-deep beats across the airwaves. He can hear the men drinking and singing and dancing and shouting and whooping and… doing whatever it is they do to that poor taxidermy dog.
He releases a sigh, which becomes a tut as it leaves his lips.
“Don’t they know there’s a bloody war on,” he breathes, the ghost of his words floating up until they bump against the chandelier and disperse. He watches them swirl around the ceiling, straining his eyes to track them. Sniper’s instinct, he supposes.
“What was that?” Havers mumbles, cheek pressed against the pillow. His voice is thick with the invitation of sleep, and a decibel louder than the Captain would like.
“Nothing. Quiet now.” He hears Havers shift, hears the beginning of an exasperated chuckle on his breath. Silence as he stills. Then a pause. The Captain lets the silence rest for a moment. Then his mind raises its familiar rifle and smirks as it points it at his forehead. He swallows, then no louder than the creak of a floorboard, “Did you lock the door?”
“You know I did.”
“Yes… yes.”
Enough time passes for the chime of midnight, then one, then two.
The Captain sees a technicolour of gunfire and grenades against his eyelids, all detonating in perfect time with the metronomic beats of Havers’ sleeping heart.
A true soldier, he thinks, half bitterly and half fondly. He really can sleep in any warzone.
Just past five, he hears footsteps on the landing, thundering like Hannibal’s elephants. His breath catches in his throat. The bed and his knees creak in tandem as he swings his legs out and plants his feet on the floor. Mouse-quiet, he pads over to the door. Pushes it tentatively.
Locked fast.
He exhales as loudly as he dare, and puts his ear to the door.
Outside, he hears a whoop, then a cackle, then the unmistakable sound of a shattering beer bottle. He rolls his eyes.
“Don’t they know there’s a war on.”
Behind him, Havers rolls over and he turns to look. Early morning sunlight is falling onto his face through the cracks in the curtains, painting him the purest shade of watchmaker’s gold. His hair is splayed across the pillow and his eyelashes look like the wish-making petals of springtime dandelions.
Every nerve in the Captain’s body stands to attention, as he bites down on the inside of his cheek and rests his forehead against the door.
“A bloody… blasted… fucking war.”
***
Things One Is Trained For - An Itemised List:
- Detonating a grenade
- Shooting a gun
- Hiding from enemy fire
- Evading capture
- Facing one’s own mortality
- Harsh weather conditions
- Poor living conditions
- Scarce living resources
- Lack of privacy
- Long journeys
- Loneliness
Things One Is Not Trained For – An Itemised List:
- Feeling every bone in one’s body shatter as one’s lieutenant smiles softly at one as he hands over one’s morning tea, and allows his fingers to linger for a moment longer than could strictly be considered proper
***
“This isn’t happening, you know,” The Captain says into Havers’ mouth. His hand is not brushing the back of his neck, nor is his other rested gently on the curve of his hip, nor are they pressed together in the old grain store behind some overgrown foliage in the garden.
They are also not drunk on emergency rations of whiskey.
“Happening as much as Gunnerside.” Havers breaks away to wink, then laughs and presses his cheek against the Captain’s. The Captain can feel his grin tugging at his own cheekbone and he laughs too, high and breathy.
Havers kisses him, just left of his moustache. One of the bricks in the ancient wall they’re leaning on shudders and groans. His eyebrows shoot up and Havers laughs again.
“Careful Sir,” he says, saluting clumsily, “Walls have ears, you know.”
Above them, the old electric lamp flickers. The Captain could swear he hears a high giggle. He sniffs the air.
“Can you smell smoke?”
***
“I’m afraid I’m leaving you, Sir.”
He says it twice. Once by daylight and once by candlelight.
***
“I shall miss you, Havers.”
He says it twice. Once by daylight and once by candlelight.
***
“I miss you, William.”
That one he says a million times, in a million different lights, as the millions of air particles surrounding his head threaten to suffocate him.
***
“Show me again!”
Alison rolled her eyes. Kitty’s marble white teeth grinned at her, as she begrudgingly turned back to the first page of the holiday brochure for approximately the seventieth time that hour.
“Okay, here’s the bar… and here’s the – “
“The heart-shaped pool!”
“Yes, the heart-shaped pool. And here’s the –“
The Captain coughed. “North Africa, you say.”
Alison blinked. The Captain had been fruitlessly patrolling the house – business as usual – for the past few hours that she had been showing Kitty her holiday plans. She had no inkling whatsoever that he was even remotely interested.
“Uh… yeah. Couple of weeks.”
He hummed and shifted on his feet.
Alison blinked at him again. “Is… is that good?”
The Captain shrugged nonchalantly. “Neutral, I suppose.”
Alison nodded slowly.
“Now show me the restaurant!” Kitty squealed, clapping her hands together.
Bombs were detonating in The Captain’s veins. He swallowed thickly, and his words came out studded with shrapnel. He coughed them up quickly.
“I don’t suppose you’re going anywhere near Cairo?”
***
“Ooh, message from Alison,” Julian called.
Kitty came thundering down the stairs. “What does it say, what does it say, what does it say!”
The Captain turned away from the window, as subtly as he could. He schooled his face into an expression of nonchalance.
“Ooh, a video too. Nothing too saucy I hope, can’t be having that.”
“There was a heart-shaped pool,” Kitty giggled, swishing her skirt around her ankles.
Julian let out a throaty groan of exertion as he swiped to open the message.
“It says: ‘Hi all, having great time here! Sweltering hot, pool and food amazing. Tell cap we visited army base made into museum today – met one of his lot who can do robin’s light thing, vid attached. Don’t wreck place, tho not sure how you’d manage that. Back soon! A x.’”
Julian huffed.
“Well how bloody boring.”
The Captain found himself quite inexplicably shaking. He pressed his hands together behind his back, clasped around his cane. His voice came out high and strained.
“Could you play the video, please?”
Julian gave him a funny look.
"Why do you care?"
The Captain merely narrowed his eyes. Julian shrugged and complied.
The screen showed an inconspicuous black torch, lying on the floor. It was blinking on and off, on and off, on and off.
Julian scoffed. The Captain gulped.
“Play it again,” he said quickly, eyes beginning to sting.
Julian frowned at him. “What are you on, mate?”
“Please.”
Julian sighed and pressed repeat.
On, off, on, off, on, off.
. . / . - . . - - - . . . - . / - . - - - - - . . - / - - - - - - -
“I love you too.”