AFFLICTION.

Chapter 37

Pic doesn't belong to me! XX

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"Would you like some tea?" Anne asked and headed towards the kitchen.

"Yes, thankyou," I replied following her.

"Please take a seat in the living room, sorry the place is a mess, I haven't done much tidying up these last couple of weeks." She apologized.

The scent of musk and fresh mint wafted through the air as I took a seat on the couch nearby. My eyes scanned the room. It was dimly lit, with cream coloured walls which were peeling at the corners, the ceiling was low and dusty and cups and plates scattered the glass table to my left.

Moments later Anne came scurrying back with two cups of hot tea. "There you go sweetheart." She smiled handing me the beverage.

"Thank you." I replied. Anne sat down beside me and brought the steaming drink towards her lips. God, she looked so much like Harry. Her eyes, her smile, even her nose. I cleared my throat awkwardly and shifted my gaze when I realized I'd been starring for a moment too long.

"Sorry," I apologized. "It's just, you and Harry look so much alike."

She nodded. "Yes, we get that a lot." Anne sighed and attempted a smile. "Got that, a lot." She corrected herself.

We drunk our tea in silence for several seconds.

"Wait here," Anne spoke as she placed her cup down. "I want to show you something." She got up and walked through the door to our left.

She returned moments later with a piece of paper in her hand.

"Here," She handed me what looked like a letter. "Harry wrote this to me on the 7th of May from Luxembourg." She grinned sympathetically. "He mentions you in it, that's how I knew about you, how I'd know you'd come and visit me if you ever returned from France." 

I inhaled sharply and my eyes flickered towards Anne's. They suddenly filled to the brim with tears and then began to flow down my cheek. I took the letter from her hands with trembling fingers.

I didn't know if I could read it.

I didn't know if I could read his words or thoughts.

Anne reached out and placed her hand over the top of mine. "It's okay." She ran the pad of her thumb back and forth.

With great hesitation, my eyes scanned the first few words.

'Dear mum,'

I continue reading.

'I hope you are well. We've been here in Luxembourg for several days now and the weather is pretty alright, better than England anyway. 

The people here are glad to see us. When we walk through the streets the old women give us bread and fruit and the men shake our hands and pat us on the back. I hope you're not worrying too much about me, I'm quite alright. 

I've met a girl though. Her name's Lianna and she's a combat nurse. She reads me French poetry and we walk alongside the canals late at night. She's beautiful with long dark hair and big brown eyes. You'd love her.

When this war's over I'll bring her to the house and you can cook us your famous cabbage pie.

Hope to see you soon.

Love always Harry.'

Tears fell from my cheeks and onto the letter.

"He'd never even talked about girls before you let alone write about bringing one home." Anne smiled.

I turned towards her and returned the smile. I didn't know what to say, I was speechless.

"Deep down, I knew that when Harry left for France he either wasn't coming back as himself or he wasn't coming back at all." Her eyes welled up and her voice broke. "You see," She cried. "He always wrote to me," She inhaled. "and when then the letters stopped coming and I knew he was gone."

I reached over and took Anne's hand into my own. "I'm so sorry," I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "I really am."

She shut her eyes but smiled.

"Harry loved you very much, he told me," I spoke softly. "You were a good mother to him, you raised him well." 

Anne opened her eyes and turned towards me. "I want you to have something else." She got up, walked towards her purse and pulled out a photograph, she then handed it to me with a smile.

The picture was of Harry. He was dressed in his military uniform, his peaked cap tilted slightly to the side. A slight smirk played on his lips despite the obvious frown etched onto his features. I brought the image closer towards my face and sighed.

"It's comforting as a mother to know that in his last days, Harry had someone like you with him," Anne said.

We talked for another two hours until it was time for me to leave. Anne walked me back to the train station and hugged me goodbye.

"Please visit me again." She pleaded and I nodded.

"Of course," I replied.

The train ride back home was short. I spent the entire time staring at the photograph, memorizing every little detail about it. 

When I walked through the front door of my house, my mother approached me with ease and I handed her the photograph.

"That's him," I grinned. "That's Harry."

HARRY'S P.O.V

3 MONTHS EARLIER.

My throat felt dry and my head heavy.

The feel of the water splashing across my already damp and cool skin startled me as my eyes flew open.

"What the fuck." I groaned, my vision blurry and voice barely audible.

I suddenly felt an immense about of pressure on my chest. I blinked several times to discover someone above me, a nurse, pushing down on my wound, compressing it with gauzes. My chest wound throbbed and ached, I groaned and moaned. I heard the sound of metal hitting metal and furrowed my brows in both pain and confusion.

My body shook and trembled.

"He's awake!" I heard someone call. "I just got the bullet out."

I then heard several shouts and calls, all in a different language, French I assumed.

"Where am I?" I mumbled.

"You're in a red cross vehicle okay, we're taking you to a hospital, just keep your eyes on me." The nurse above me spoke calmly as she pressed against my wound.

The crunch of the gravel beneath the wheels of the truck rung in my ears. I turned my head slightly to the left where men were similarly lying flat against the floor of the vehicle, some alive, some dead.

My vision began to blur over again.

"Am I dead?" I slurred.

"No," A voice replied. "Not yet anyway."