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One Last War




  Table of Contents

  Also by C.G. Buswell

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Author’s Note

  ONE

  LAST

  WAR

  By C.G. Buswell

  Copyright © C.G. Buswell 2020

  All Rights Reserved

  .

  This is a work of fiction and any characters that bear a resemblance to anyone living or dead is a coincidence. The events are imagined by the author and bear no similarities to actual events.

  Cover design and typesetting by letsgetbooked.com

  Also by C.G. Buswell

  Novels

  The Grey Lady Ghost of the Cambridge Military Hospital: Grey and Scarlet 1

  The Drummer Boy: Grey and Scarlet 2

  Buried in Grief

  Short Stories

  Christmas at Erskine

  Halloween Treat

  Angelic Gift

  Burnt Vengeance

  The Release

  Christmas Presence

  Torturous Grief

  For Fiona, Lorraine, Kate and Bravehound Lynne who have changed my life and saved me from stepping over the edge. And to my dear wife, Karla, who stopped me from leaping, thank you.

  Chapter One

  He paced his lounge like a veteran soldier from the First World War, defending his territory from an enemy attack. His windowsill was his sandbagged trench protection from his attacking foes. The net curtains were his cover from vigilant eyes, he thought that he was unseen from the outside. The carpet was well worn in the area beneath his tall windows from his constant fretting and patrolling to and fro. No furniture was permitted to be there. His defensive arcs of fire were the adjoining property grass and path. His new enemy would be coming, he sensed it as soon as the estate agents For Sale board went up, close to his four-foot walled border, by his lock-blocked front garden. No sole weed dared to intrude upon his domain, no flower of joy allowed to bloom, just as no visitor dared to open his heavy gate without prior approval. His cast iron driveway double gates were bolted and padlocked shut to keep out unwanted guests. His boundary to the council pavement had been carefully measured and was within a millimetre precision of his kingdom. His property. No-one and nothing could enter his realm without him knowing, his eight CCTV cameras strategically placed around his brick-built semi-detached house ensured that. But no amount of screen watching, seen from his bedroom and lounge monitors, could give him the assurance he so badly craved that he would be left alone and in peace; except for the infernal click-click of his wife’s knitting needles and the distracting unrolling of her ball of wool as she created yet another jumper for him to wear.

  ‘Come away from the window Simon, you’ll wear that carpet out. Stop looking out and being nosey. Come over here so that I can measure your back.’

  ‘Away with you Millie, don’t bother me now woman, I need to see them. I want to watch out for their arrival.’

  Millie rose from her rocking chair with a creak. The wooden furniture made a snapping noise like brittle bones cracking with her movement. She groaned as she stood up, her arthritic knees causing her pain. She edged carefully to him, hoping that today she would not anger or annoy him, that he would not hit her. She approached him tentatively with the knitted rectangular offering held aloft as if it were a shield against his blows. She carefully placed it against his shoulders as if gently laying a blanket over a sleeping baby to ward off the cold. Millie then quickly let her unfinished knitted jumper droop beyond his back and towards his waist and mentally calculated how many more rows she needed to complete this garment that would stave off the coming winter. She knew she should have knitted her own first because she felt the chill of the unheated home more, but as always, she had to put his needs first. ‘If only he would allow me to turn the heating on more often during the cold nights and days,’ she thought, ‘or go outside to enjoy this fine summer’s day and stock up on some heat. It is so stuffy and oppressive in here.’

  ‘Get off me woman!’ shouted Simon as he shrugged off the lovingly made garment. He quickly turned around and made to push her violently back to her rocking chair. But she was too fast for him, this time. Years of abuse at his hands had taught her to be quick on her feet, despite the pain from her joints. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy, stupid cow! Just leave me be and get back to your infernal clicking away.’ He coughed and grunted as he breathed heavily away, the exertion had been too much for his obese torso that smothered his lungs, making them work faster as if they were pumping whilst being held in a vice.

  She backed away from him, all the time keeping her eyes lowered in submission, fearfully expecting the blow that would inevitably come. Never to the face. No. He was far too clever to allow the bruises, scratches, and marks to show. Outward appearances were everything to him. His reputation in the village had to be upheld. She put down her knitting work into her basket, sat down slowly and picked up her cigarette packet and lighter and lit her fifth fag of the day. It was only 11am and he was already riled. She caught a whiff of his body odour before she inhaled the reassuring smell and savoured the taste of her favourite tobacco. How she wished he would wash and maybe even put on some antiperspirant to disguise his sweat. It was almost as if he was marking his territory with his scent like a tom cat soiling in neighbouring flowerbeds. She puffed clouds of smoke and watched them drift up to the yellowing ceiling and thought ironically that they soon disappeared as if reminiscent of her life draining away, being leached by him.

  Tilly turned slowly into the terrace and smoothly changed gears whilst admiring how pretty the rows of red-bricked houses looked as the late summer sun bounced off them. She caught sight of a zebra and what looked like a hedgehog on a nearby front door as she drove her family past a green and white for sale sign planted firmly in the grass. ‘Ha, ha, did you see the zebra kids?’ she laughed out whilst squinting ahead for the route to the harbour.

  ‘Nooo,’ yawned Gordon and Annabelle in sibling unison. They were hoping against hope that their parents weren’t taking them to another stately home to look around boring paintings and vases. Or other more ancient buildings with far too many stairs for their weary little legs to climb.

  ‘It was on the door of that house for sale that we just passed. It was on the top glass. It looked really beautiful and made a nice change from the standard flowery patterns of most front doors,’ explained their mum.

  Carl turned to his wife but could see no sense of mischief in her gorgeous hazel eyes. They didn’t twinkle and dance with light like they did when she was pulling their legs. ‘Perhaps we’ll stop on the drive back kids and you can go out and feed the zebra but watch out for the needles on the hedgehog!’

  His dad joke was awarded with laughter from the back seats as Tilly sighed and tutted. She followed through with an ‘Och,’ learnt from her Scottish grandfather years ago and retained as a nod to her Scots heritage.

  ‘Yes, we will. Then I will be proved right. It’s a bit random though, having a zebra on a front door. I wonder what that story is.’

  ‘Mmm,’ replied Carl absentmindedly, ‘I can feel one of your mum’s adventures coming on kids.’ A low moan of disapproval grew louder from the back seats as their mum ignored her children and husband and continued to drive.

  ‘Is it another castle?’ asked six-year-old Annabelle hesitantly, whilst playing with her blonde bobbed hair and kicking her feet against the fabric of the seat support. ‘My legs are still tired from climbing all the stairs of the last one. There were hundreds of them.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate sis,’ said know-it-all Gordon. ‘Dad and I counted them and there were only ninety-two steps.’

  Annabelle turned to her brother and quickly stuck her tongue out at him before her mother could see her in the rear-view mirror and tell her off. He was one year older than his sister and thought he had the knowledge of seniority. Annabelle thought him more of a show-off than a know-it-all.

  Tilly gave an exclamation of ‘Ah ha!’ as she slowed for another turn. ‘Can anyone guess where we are going yet?’

  Carl, in on the secret trip, stayed quiet, allowing their children to play the guessing game.

  Annabelle jumped up from her seat only to be stopped by her seatbelt. As her bottom landed back onto the safety of her car seat, she gave out an excited, ‘I can see the sea mummy, look, down the hill, there is a huge blue boat going up and down on the waves.’

  ‘It’s a trawler cupcake,’ said Carl using his special nickname for his beloved daughter. ‘They’ll have just left the safety of the harbour and will be going out for a few days fishing using their big nets.’
He pressed a button on his left armrest and unwound the window and gave a huge and overexaggerated sniff. ‘Can you smell the seaside kids?’

  ‘Yuck!’ howled Gordon, ‘it smells like grandma’s kitchen on a Friday night.’

  Tilly and Carl laughed out loud. ‘It’s the fish that has been landed by the other boats. The crew slice them open and throw the fish guts back into the sea. Usually the seagulls catch them and if you are lucky you might even see a seal swimming in the harbour lazily waiting for an easy snack.’

  ‘Yewww’, screamed out the children in unison. ‘I don’t want to see fish guts mummy,’ cried Annabelle in protest.

  Tilly reached out with her left hand and gave Carl a quick, but light playful slap across his thigh with the back of her hand. ‘Stop it you, or she won’t want to eat her sandwiches. Or sleep tonight.’

  Carl laughed, reached behind him and gently stroked Annabelle’s leg to reassure her. ‘Don’t worry love, the seagulls and seals will have eaten them all by the time mummy drives there.’ He smiled in awe as he saw the behemoth structure looming ahead of them. The tall red and white painted lighthouse, bright in the glorious sunshine, stood out like a beacon of hope for their new life in this area, after years of struggle and strain trying to cope with the oddities of Tilly’s family. He sighed, thankful that all those cares were many miles behind them now and grateful that Tilly had finally agreed to move to get away from her abusive parents. He had wanted to protect his children from their evil desires. He owed a lot to the counsellor who opened Tilly’s eyes to the danger she was placing her children in and was in peril of unconsciously allowing history to repeat itself.

  ‘Cor! Look at that big white building with the red stripes,’ enthused Gordon, unknowingly interrupting his father’s unhappy thoughts. ‘Is it a giant’s house?’

  Carl laughed uproariously as if to match the waves that crashed against the rocks further ahead. ‘No son, that’s a lighthouse. Do you see the big light on top?’

  ‘Yes, dad, I see it!’ replied Gordon eagerly.

  ‘Well, that lights up automatically to warn ships out to sea that they are near the coast and dangerous rocks. Otherwise they would run aground. In the olden days, there would have been several light-keepers. These men would have to light the lamps when it got dark, polish the lenses, and keep everything going. Right at the top of the lighthouse.’

  Annabelle looked out timidly from her car seat, ‘we don’t have to climb all its stairs do we dad?’ she asked seeking reassurance.

  ‘Sadly not,’ replied Tilly, regretfully, ‘I looked it up on my phone earlier and it is shut up to the public. The old keepers’ cottages are rented out as holiday homes.’

  ‘Doesn’t the light shine into their windows and keep them awake,’ asked Annabelle.

  ‘No, it’s set to shine far out to sea where all the boats are. They aren’t really needed anymore because most ships have radar.’

  ‘What’s radar daddy?’ asked a puzzled Annabelle.

  ‘It’s a bit like the satellite navigation system we bought to stop mummy getting lost in the car,’ replied Carl ignoring the withering looks from his wife who hated her driving skills being questioned. He concentrated instead on the chuckles from his children. ‘So, ships have a special computer like a sat nav, only it is called radar. It helps guide them safely around the sea. A bit like mummy and I taking you away from our old home and your school to somewhere safer. We steered you both away from the jagged rocks.’

  ‘Oh,’ replied Annabelle, impressed at her daddy who seemed to know everything and always looked after them all.

  Tilly slowed down the car and gently allowed it to come to a rest in a layby conveniently placed before a long bridge with white railings. Whilst she got out to sort out the children, Carl was busy in the boot looking out their picnic basket.

  Simon ran to his gates, in time to see the car that had slowed down to briefly look at his old neighbour’s front door artwork, make its way down to the end of his terrace. He deeply cleared his throat and spat out its disgusting package onto the pavement as if showing his disregard for the family of four. He was oblivious to the young mother and her small son who were walking to the local Post Office and who both had to quickly dart out of the way from his phlegmatic projection with a disapproving tut and a brave scowl. He looked up to his CCTV cameras and security lights, checking that they were still firmly attached to their respective walls and grunted his approval at his own handiwork. He gave one last glowering look at the car that had dared to enter his village and returned to his house to resume his watch. As he entered his front room his wife of forty years nervously asked him, ‘Would you like a cup of tea Simon?’

  ‘Of course I bloody do woman, now get out and get me something to eat too.’ He raised his arm threateningly as he approached her rocking chair. Recognising the signs, Millie jumped up, despite her painful joints, and darted through to their kitchen, only narrowly missing the punching arm that carried with it a fresh wave of offensive body odour that permeated throughout the room.

  She wished that she could hang out her washing and have something to do to fill in the hours. If only he would change his clothes more than once a week, she thought, then I could have something to fill my days and he may not smell so bad, especially at bedtime when he removed his underwear and expected her to do her duty. She shuddered as she tried to expel this thought from her mind and looked out of the kitchen window as she filled the kettle from the tap. I don’t even have the comfort of a garden to tend to or to watch the birds go about their colourful and serene life.

  Like the front garden, the rear had also been lock-blocked, not even one inch of grass grew in their concrete garden. It was not so much a garden as a continuous pavement with a lonely rotary clothes washing-line standing in the middle like a totem to the sun gods. She silently said her own prayer to God to save her from her man. She knew that this would go unanswered and wished instead that her son, Peter, a father himself and about to celebrate his fortieth birthday, could only see his father for what he was and take her to live with their family. No wonder their daughter, Victoria, had seen sense and married a soldier and moved with him years ago to Wales. She had enough sense to put hundreds of miles between her and Simon. She only tolerated their visits each New Year for her mother’s sake. How Millie missed her children, but she was glad that they were no longer beaten by their father.

  ‘Race you across the bridge,’ yelled Carl as he pretended to start to sprint, gently swaying the picnic basket for added effect. His children took the bait and rushed past him, Annabelle lagging just slightly behind Gordon who was doing his best Hollywood run – all pumping arms and short steps.

  Carl reached for his wife’s hand and gently took it in his. ‘I told you it was a great idea to move by the sea, it’s like a great adventure for these two. They’ll soon forget about their horrible grandparents.’

  ‘I know love, but I do worry that they won’t make friends and will miss their old pals. I’m so sorry I couldn’t see my parents for what they were.’

  ‘Don’t worry dear,’ replied Carl, stopping to give Tilly a reassuring cuddle. He broke it off and took hold of her hand again. Only he gently gave it a small squeeze this time, as if to reinforce his words. ‘I won’t let anyone harm us ever again. My parents aren’t exactly mum and dad of the year material, but they mean well. The kids will soon make new friends when school starts after the summer holidays.’

  ‘I’m not looking forward to that Carl.’

  ‘What do you mean love?’ asked a worried Carl.

  ‘Well, it will be autumn soon after they go to their new school and the weather will turn. I don’t fancy another year in that old draughty house we are renting. Our mean landlord just won’t go to the expense of fitting a door to the lounge nor replace the draughty window. Remember how he just hammered it shut. He did a terrible job and now its stuck halfway between open and closed. It’s fine for this August weather, but it’ll be so cold for us all in the winter winds. Please let us use the money we made from the sale of our old house to buy somewhere nice. I’ve been looking online, and house prices are so much cheaper here. We could buy a three-bedroomed house and build on in a few years’ time.’