Page 35 of One More Time

‘You two go.’ Her father looked from her to Hope, love and pride written all over his face. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘Okey-dokey.’ Grace leant in and hugged him. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, Gracie.’ He tapped Hope on the end of her nose. ‘And love you too, my little pumpkin.’

The rest of the afternoon flew by in a flurry, leaving nothing but sugar-high children on a downward crash and exhausted parents trying to wrangle them into cars. By the time Grace said her final goodbyes, twilight was descending on Moonflower Acres. Leaving Charlie and her parents to finish with the cleaning, she led a very tired Hope upstairs. Stripping her out of her clothes splattered with food and god only knew what else, she put the plug in the bath and turned the taps on before grabbing the hairbrush. Grimacing at the state of Hope’s hair, she got to work on the bird’s nest.

‘I’m sorry I got sherbet in there, Mummy.’ Hope pressed her hands over her face as Grace tried her best to detangle. ‘But it really wasn’t my fault that Johnny thought it would be funny to tip it in there when I wasn’t looking.’

‘I know, sweetheart.’ Grace stifled a chuckle. ‘He should have known better than to do that.’

Hope pondered this, then said, ‘Boys can be really silly sometimes.’

‘Yes, they sure can be.’ With Hope’s hair in a somewhat more manageable order, Grace turned the taps off and checked the temperature of the water. ‘Your bubble bath awaits, my little princess.’

Hope got in with her help, laughing hysterically when Grace plonked a handful of bubbles on top of her head while pulling a silly face. ‘You’re so funny, Mummy.’

‘You clever girl! That rhymed.’ Grace grabbed a handful of bubbles, but this time plonked them on her own chin. ‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded lightheartedly.

Hope pointed at her. ‘You are, Mummy, because you look like Santa Claus.’

Enjoying the uninhibited laughter for a little longer, Grace finally gathered herself and got back to more serious motherly duties. ‘Come on, let’s get you smelling like a bunch of roses.’

Hope stood, ready to be bathed. ‘I want to smell like lollies and fairy floss.’

‘Well, they are two of my favourite things! Other than you, my sweet girl.’

Washed, dressed and tucked into bed, Hope listened to a short story about a bear and his magical slippery slide before it took all of sixty seconds for her to be fast asleep with her teddy cuddled to her. Captivated by her daughter, Grace sat there for a little longer, overawed with undying love.

Deciding she better get downstairs to spend some quality time her parents, before they headed back to the UK tomorrow, Grace padded out of the room and toward the cheery chatter carrying from the kitchen.

Her father was right – she needed to stand by her husband, for better or for worse, with the faith that they would one day be lucky enough to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary, with their children and grandchildren alongside them.

Pausing at the bottom of the staircase, she ran her gaze over the collection of framed photographs. Front and centre was her favourite picture from their wedding day; the look of adoration in her eyes as she gazed up at a smitten Charlie was one she knew was still there, deep inside her, hiding behind the harsh reality of what they’d been through. Beside that was one of her and Charlie on the day they’d brought their baby girl home – Charlie looked so delighted with Hope cradled in his arms. Another was of them as newlyweds, honeymooning in Bali, their smiles brighter than the sun shining upon their faces. She couldn’t wait to be able to travel with him again, with Santorini at the top of her list. The next was Hope riding a bicycle with training wheels, and another of all three of them huddled over a birthday cake, with four candles lit and ready for Hope to make a wish. So many happy moments, so many fleeting memories. Some were bittersweet reminders of what their marriage was now lacking, but others made her hopeful for regaining that joy and friendship.

CHAPTER

11

1984

Night had begun to envelop Charlie and his men. The scent of rain threatened a heavy downpour, the suffocating humidity pressing down like a heavy blanket, but the weather was the very least of their problems. Raising his head out of the dirt, he bellowed orders to his brothers-in-arms as the Viet Cong fired their weapons in the far-flung distance.

Crawling along on their bellies, he and his men successfully surrounded the enemy village. Then they stopped. Waited. Some prayed. Others had no faith left after what they’d seen. There was sudden movement only ten metres away. Charlie’s muscles tensed and the hair rose on the back of his neck as he positioned his rifle at the ready. He signalled to hold fire. It was a good call. The clock was ticking. Fifty-eight seconds to go. He didn’t want to go too soon and blow their cover.

Way above, the echoes of choppers reverberated as the blades sliced through the thick air. Bullets whizzed and pinged overhead, the wind altering their trajectory. The blasts of bombs detonating nearby sent shockwaves along the ground. Charlie was all too aware that they were balanced on the edge of hell; one wrong move and they’d end up in the fiery pits.

He checked his stopwatch again. Twenty-five seconds.

His heart raced faster. His palms became sweatier. He took a calming breath, quickly followed by another. His comrades were depending on him. He had to keep his wits if he was to keep his men safe. Not a single soldier was going home in a body bag. But the enemy was silently closing in, fast. He could feel it deep within his bones. And he could do nothing about it.

In the best position they could be, given the terrain, he and his men were as ready for battle as they’d ever be. Beads of sweat built on his forehead and rolled into his eyes.

Ten seconds to go.

He tensed. Exhaustion gripped him. So did adrenaline. It was a wild combination. Could send a man crazy.

Five.