Page 41 of One More Time

A few tense hours passed until Grace was wheeled back into her room, after a final round of tests. The pain had eased now, and there’d been no sign of bleeding.

Standing near the window, Charlie waited for the nurse to get Grace settled, and then came to her bedside. ‘How did it all go?’

Grace felt such anger and hurt, she could barely look at him. ‘The doctor wants me to have lots of rest leading up to the birth. He says I’ve been overdoing things.’

Charlie’s hands came to hers. ‘I’m so relieved everything’s going to be okay.’

‘Okay?’ she echoed. ‘Really, Charlie? Nothing is okay right now.’ Grace shot a glare at him. ‘We almost lost our babies and once again, you were too drunk to be around to help me.’ Unable to look at him any longer, she turned her gaze back out the hospital window. ‘If you don’t pull yourself together, I’m going to leave you.’ She choked back a sob. ‘Our children need a stable home, with stable parents. Please don’t leave me with no choice.’

Dishevelled, but sobered up, Charlie dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘I understand.’

His lukewarm response made Grace angrier. Why didn’t he want to fight for them? Why couldn’t he do whatever was needed to make things right? She wanted to scream at him, to hit his chest so he could harbour some of the hurt she carried within hers. She so desperately wanted to be free to love him, free of all this mess and hurt. Instead, she zipped her lips shut tight. She needed to try to stay calm – her unborn babies were all that mattered right now.

‘I’m sorry, Grace.’ The dark stubble shadowing Charlie’s chin grazed against her cheek he leant in and kissed her. ‘I love you.’

Biting back tears, she remained silent. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him – it was that she loved him too much, and she was afraid she would never be able to walk away from him.

* * *

Bullets flew through the darkness, fired from a gun a million miles away. Desperate to protect his family, Charlie raced against the revolving world, over wide oceans and sparse stretches of land, seeking the enemy out. A bomb detonated, spewing earth skywards and limbs of men sideways.

He awoke, shaking and drenched in sweat, thankful to be alive, but forever in the grip of those who no longer were. Rolling to his side, he willed himself back to sleep. Ten frustrating minutes later, he gave up. There’d be no more sleep for him tonight.

He carefully climbed from the bed so as not to wake Grace, and tiptoed out of the bedroom, avoiding certain timber floorboards. Many nights over many years had taught him which ones creaked.

Although he’d got a firm hold over his days, ten long years after leaving the army, nights were still his weakness. When awake, he had control over his mind, especially at the prison, where he needed to be on point, but asleep, it was completely out of his hands. There was unfinished business hiding in the shadows of his subconscious. But what in the hell could he do to put an end to it?

Padding into the bathroom, he flicked the light on and splashed cold water over his face. Catching his reflection, he grimaced. Bleary-eyed and unshaven, he looked a right mess. He had to find a way, once and for all, to put all his broken pieces back together. But it was way easier said than done.

Heading outside, he found a dark corner of the backyard and sparked his lighter. He took an impatient drag of his cigarette and, thinking better of it, stubbed it out beneath his slipper. Then clawing tension had him lighting another. Angling his head, he sent the puff of smoke skyward in spirals. He was so tired of feeling perpetually lost, exhausted from the fact that all that waited for him on the other side of slumber was another nightmare. But after coming close to losing their babies, and not being in a state to help Grace in her greatest time of need because he’d been drunk, he wasn’t about to try and drink the haunting images away this time. He was going to hit it head on, and one way or another, he was going to make himself whole again. Dread tightened his throat and twisted the pit of his stomach as Grace’s words from three nights ago circled his mind like a vulture flying above its next meal.

If you don’t pull yourself together, I’m going to leave you … don’t leave me no choice.

She’d never threatened to leave him before, and the thought of losing her was more terrifying than the nightmares his past brought into his present.

This weekend, he would put on his Sunday best, and join her at church. Having given up on god years ago, maybe it was time to return to his faith. It was the only thing he had left, a last resort. Grace had given him no choice, and he was glad of the fact. It was time to become the man he’d always longed to be, for her.

CHAPTER

13

December 1988

It was a typical Sunday morning in the Wilson household, with both Charlie and Grace trying to beat the clock to take some precious time out together. Charlie had long ago given up begging. There just weren’t enough hours in the day, as Grace had always reminded him, and if there was the rare opportunity for an interlude, she was simply too exhausted to enjoy a stolen moment of intimacy. Charlie did his best to understand. He believed it was imperative to their relationship to retain some level of private tenderness, but he wasn’t about to pressure her – he didn’t want to be another thorn in her side. But god, how he missed their unbridled moments. Their date nights had become virtually non-existent since the birth of their unexpected, cherished fourth child, Ava Lilly. Hell, half an hour spent chatting over coffee was unusual.

Taking a few minutes out in the only room where he got a smidgen of privacy – the upstairs loo – Charlie flushed then quickly veered into the bathroom. He needed to get a move on or Grace would be cross. Again.

The children’s happy squeals carried upstairs and Nugget’s incessant barking from the backyard only compounded his smashing headache. Sticking his head out the bathroom window, he watched three of their laying hens race along the fence, tailed by the playful golden retriever. Charlie gruffly told their beloved family pet to stop being a scallywag and behave himself before heading over the sink to wash his hands and rinse his mouth out with some Listerine. With no handtowel in sight, he resorted to wiping his wet hands on his shorts.

Catching his reflection in the vanity mirror, he grimaced at the black bags beneath his red-rimmed eyes. If only he could enjoy a sleep-in … but life didn’t allow for such luxuries. One day, he kept telling himself, when they were older and less under the pump, they’d be able to turn their focus back to one another.

‘Charlie, are you coming back downstairs anytime soon?’ Grace’s soprano voice carried up to him. ‘The washing doesn’t take that long to grab, and as you know I’ve got my hands full down here.’

Charlie popped his head over the banister, meeting her frazzled gaze. ‘Yes, sorry. I’ll be two minutes.’

‘You said that five minutes ago.’ Her reply was curt. ‘I could do with some help down here, right now.’ She disappeared again.

Charlie sagged against the banister. He’d had a tumultuous night shift, spent trying to apprehend three prisoners who’d started a brawl in the mess, and stabbed another inmate with a homemade shiv. His father and husband roles shouldn’t seem so hard by comparison. He heaved a weary sigh and made his way down the stairs to the laundry. Dumping the basket of dirty clothes he’d gathered from the children’s bedroom floors into the washing machine, he tipped a capful of liquid and the same of softener into the designated ampules and turned the cycle to start.