Page 43 of The Writer
She’s facing forward, looking at our path rather than scrutinising every word from my mouth. Somehow, not seeing her face makes it all the easier to say.
“We met in the army. Fell in love and got married. She was the only woman for me. We were fortunate that we were deployed together to Afghanistan. Her brother also served with us.” I kick the dirt, wanting a distraction from the images rushing through my mind. I’ve trained myself to avoid this memory at all costs. For so many years I’ve buried it, yet it’s right there, as if I’m recalling something that happened last week. The ringing in my ears. The suffocating dust in the air, like a thick smog choking off the oxygen. And the smell—the acrid smell of burning laced with a copper tang. I didn’t know you could smell blood in the air before that day.
The snap of a twig underfoot pulls me from my flashback and back to the conversation at hand. “It was a normal morning. We were out on patrol. Her unit didn’t usually work with us, but there was a shift in personnel. There was nothing to warn us, but the convoy rode into a field of IEDs. I watched the explosion, not registering what was happening before it was over. Four people died that day.” My voice roughens up as the harsh memories clog my throat. “Including my wife.”
Ivy’s fingers brush up against my hand, and my instinct is to pull away because that’s what I do. For years after, I pulled away, but she wraps her hand around mine and holds on tight without saying another word.
Whilst that's the most difficult part of the conversation over, I know I need to give more to join the dots up. “After she died, I was a mess. We’d planned our lives together after we finished our deployment, and without her, all that fell apart. I knew I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing. Her memory haunted me enough. So, I transferred to the Royal Logistics Corp and got the job as a photographer.” It was exactly what I needed. Something to throw myself at and focus on a new purpose, and it kept me from drowning. “I pushed everyone away after that—even Dan. And I kept pushing and distancing myself. It was a coping mechanism to start with, and before long, it just became the way I did things. It was safer.” Because I never wanted to feel the way I did after Amanda again.
I let the words sink in—for Ivy and for me. They aren’t often shared or spoken of. In fact, when I look back, I’ve avoided any situation that leads to even the mention of Amanda’s name.
“Thank you for sharing,” she says, quietly, her grip still firm around my hand.
We continue walking along, but the pace is stop-start because she keeps pausing and looking at me, as if she wants to ask me a question but doesn’t vocalise it. This isn’t a time to leave anything on the table unspoken.
“Ask, Ivy. I’ve not talked about this with anyone, and I doubt it will be something I want to revisit, so get them out.”
“How long ago did she die?”
“Nearly ten years. We were due to get out the following year.”
“Get out?”
“The army. We’d have both served eight years.”
“And this Dan is the only one who you’re still close to?”
“Yes. He’s Amanda’s brother.”
“Ohh. Right. So, he’s real family, not just a figure of speech?”
“Well, the closest I can get to a family. It’s something I’m in short supply of.”
We carry on walking, and she seems to head us in an arc, taking a worn path but still staying out of sight and hidden under a canopy of leaves.
“I can’t imagine what it would be like growing up without any siblings,” she muses.
“Well, quiet, for one. I was close to my dad, though. Really close.”
“What made you choose to go into the army?”
“A few reasons. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I studied photography at college, but that didn’t mean I had a job at the end of it. I needed a purpose, I guess. And then soon after I enlisted, Dad died.”
“I’m so sorry, Blake.”
“It’s fine. It was a long time ago. My mother still hasn’t forgiven me, though. I went off to serve and left her to deal with the loss on her own.”
“We all grieve in different ways.”
I chuckle at that comment. I know that all too well. Only mine seems to have a particular pattern to it—focus in the exact opposite direction and put it behind me. For the first time, I wonder if I ever grieved properly for Amanda. Sure, I got angry. I lashed out and pushed people away, but did I mourn her?
Ivy cuts across a log over a small stream, letting me balance her. “My childhood was filled with family—arguments, fights, gatherings, events,” she says, jumping off the end. “There were people around constantly, and sometimes it felt like you couldn’t breathe. I suppose that’s why now, as adults, we’re scattered around the globe. Even Seffi, the youngest, travelled as a ballet dancer. Only Neve lives some form of normal life. Even if she does keep everything so close to her chest. But for all their faults, and with Landon there are many, I wouldn’t be without them.”
“It’s the way you spoke about your family that made me look back. At least to my mum. She’s had to bear the consequence of my losses the most.” My feet stop, and she pulls on my arm as she keeps going, but I tug her back to me. “Look, Ivy, I know loss. I know what being on your own for so long feels like. It can make you strong, independent and reliant on your own instincts, but that’s not what I want anymore.” I take her other hand and stare into her eyes. For such a light shade of blue, they can certainly turn fiery when she wants. “There’s something between us, something I’ve not felt for a long time. Hell, I haven’t felt anything since Amanda. It was enough to pick up that phone and call you, and so far, you’ve only affirmed my decision, but I’m not about playing games. I want a commitment, and I don’t want to imagine you with any other guy apart from me.”
Her eyelashes flicker over her eyes as I keep our connection locked. I need her to know just how serious I am about her.
“So, no girl in every country?” She smiles brightly as she asks, showing all that openness and beauty that's clear for me to see.
