One Thousand Stars and You Page 13

‘Wow,’ was all Alice could manage as a response.

  ‘I know, right? As if anyone would be crazy enough to marry me,’ he said, clearly entertained by Alice’s instant ‘oi’ of disagreement. ‘Me and Faye were childhood sweethearts, but she found it hard with me being away so much. In fact, I later found out that she was cheating on me long before that IED went off, and then afterwards she stayed out of guilt, rather than love. When I became unbearable to live with any more, she walked out. I guess I don’t really blame her now, but at the time it was a shock. I knew I could either spiral down even further with the drinking, or I could use the break-up as a catalyst for sorting myself out. I chose the latter.’

  ‘It must have been awful,’ Alice said, mentally drawing comparisons yet again between Max’s situation and her own. She had been through a dreadful time after her injury, but it barely registered on the scale when put up against his.

  ‘It was actually Jamal who stepped in to help at that point,’ Max continued. ‘He put me in touch with a charity called Blesma, which supports limbless veterans like me, and through the people there I found help, and a network of men and women that I could talk to, people who were going through the same thing I was – or worse. They were a real light at the end of my tunnel for a good few years, and I’m still in regular contact with them now. If it wasn’t for Blesma, I would probably still be where I was eight years ago – sitting in my bedroom feeling sorry for myself.’

  ‘I think you’re entitled to feel sorry for yourself,’ she argued gently. ‘What you’ve been through, it’s just—’ She stopped abruptly, surprised by the sudden emotion that had collected in the back of her throat.

  ‘You sound like my mum,’ he replied, looking out of the window. They were surrounded by thick forest now, on both sides of the train, and Alice could smell the moist scent of the trees through the open window.

  She pictured her own mum, leaning over the side of her hospital bed, sobbing as she took in the damage inflicted by the greenhouse roof. It had alarmed Alice at the time, and later, as she grew up, it had made her feel increasingly guilty for being the one who had worried her own mother to such an extent that she wept tears of fright. Both she and her mum had ended up traumatised for different reasons, and it occurred to Alice now that neither of them had ever really moved past it.

  ‘Your poor mum,’ she said to Max, her knuckles white as they gripped the top of the seat behind his head. He had taken off his baseball cap now, and was turning it over in his hands.

  ‘I know.’ He turned to face her, his expression grim. ‘I think that’s actually been the worst thing of all, you know, seeing my mum upset. She never stops worrying – it feels like I can’t breathe with the guilt sometimes.’

  Aware that she’d inadvertently hit a nerve, and struck by just how similar the two of them were, Alice steadied her feet on the carriage floor and crouched down until her eyes were level with his.

  ‘It’s not your fault, you know,’ she said, attempting to put a hand on his arm, but being thrown off balance by another lurch of the train and grabbing his left knee instead.

  Max stared at her hand unseeingly.

  ‘I chose to join the army,’ he said simply. ‘My decision.’

  ‘So what?’ Alice braved a laugh. ‘I chose to wake up today – does that mean it’s my fault if I trip over a loose paving slab and break my nose?’

  Max raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK, so that was a terrible example,’ Alice exclaimed, repositioning the balls of her feet. ‘But didn’t you tell me yesterday that you wouldn’t change the past, even if you had the chance? You could sit there all day trying to trace back who was really to blame for what happened – was it you, or the insurgents who planted the bomb, or the army, or the government, or the people in charge before them, or before them? You’ll drive yourself mad doing that.’

  ‘I very nearly did,’ Max admitted, and Alice thought her heart would break at the solemnity in his eyes. She hated that he felt this way and would have said anything to alleviate some of his misguided guilt, but she also knew that she was being a hypocrite to even think it – after all, wasn’t it guilt about the aftermath of her own injury that had kept her own wings clipped for so many years? Didn’t she carry the weight of it around like a wet blanket?

  ‘You know what, I’m full of shit,’ she said, and it felt so good to say it that she laughed – really laughed, letting go of the tears that had been lurking and wiping them off her cheeks as Max gazed at her, clearly perplexed by her reaction.

  ‘I think you might be mad,’ he allowed with a sideways grin. ‘But you’re not full of shit, Alice.’

  Alice couldn’t speak, so instead she just shook her head.

  ‘Most of the people I meet just pity me,’ he went on. ‘Some are full of morbid curiosity and want to hear all the gory details, then there are a few who just act as if nothing has changed, like my oldest mates from school. I can see why they do it, and I appreciate the sentiment, but the thing is, I have changed.’

  Alice had stopped laughing. She could feel her knees tightening and knew she would have to stand up soon.

  ‘But you,’ Max said, his hand coming to rest on her upper arm. ‘You are the first person, probably since Jamal, actually, to call me out on some of this stuff. You’re very …’ He frowned as he searched for the word.

  ‘Honest,’ he said. ‘That’s it – you are the total opposite of being full of shit. That’s why I can talk to you so easily.’

  Alice swallowed. If only he knew. Honest was not a word that she would use to describe herself, but then she was different with Max. There was a zero-bullshit aura around him that she respected and – she understood now – admired. Really admired. It was refreshing to be able to speak openly and without fear, and she loved that he had recognised that in her. Why was it so easy to be honest when she was with Max, when she could not do it with Richard, or her family, or even her best friends?

  ‘I do enjoy talking to you,’ she said, beginning to stand so that Max’s hand fell away from her arm. The brakes of the train were squealing in protest as they pulled into another station, and the Sri Lankan family sitting closest were getting up to retrieve their bags.

  Max waited until the curious man beside him had moved towards the door, then he glanced up at Alice and patted the empty seat.

  ‘Come and talk to me some more, then.’

  The train continued to trundle along, the rhythmic sound of the pounding pistons blown in through the open windows by the thick, wet air. Alice could smell pine, woodchips and smoke, and her T-shirt clung to her back, which was pressed against the seat. Maureen had joined them not long after they left the last station, half-cut and giggly from her share of the Jack Daniels. Steph and Jamal, meanwhile, were sitting in one of the train’s open doorways, their legs dangling down side by side and their hands knotted together in Steph’s lap. Alice had gone to see if they wanted two of the spare seats inside the carriage, but both assured her they were quite happy on the floor.

  In normal circumstances, Alice would have been jealous of their plum position, but today she didn’t mind. Mostly because, she admitted guiltily to herself, she had enjoyed having Max all to herself for a time. He was different when the others were around, and as far as Alice could tell, he seemed to save his serious conversations for her.

  While Max turned over the domino pieces he carried everywhere in his hands, Maureen filled them both in on the anecdotes she’d heard from her new friends, all of whom were now slumped asleep in their seats further down the carriage, backpack straps twisted around their legs for safety. Not that anyone here would be likely to rob them, Alice thought. She hadn’t felt under threat at any point since they arrived, except perhaps from the crazy traffic in Kandy.

  ‘Baz, that’s the ginger one, he says that Unawatuna is the best place to go on the south coast. There are bars all the way along the beach there, apparently.’

  Max smiled politely, pretending not to notice th
e small belch Maureen only just managed to muffle behind her hand. Alice couldn’t believe her friend had let herself get tipsy this early in the day. It was a bit much, even for Maur.

  ‘I heard it’s touristy,’ Max replied, turning to Alice for confirmation. She had read the same thing, but didn’t want to pop her friend’s party balloon quite yet.

  ‘There are loads of little places all the way along the coast,’ she said pragmatically. ‘We can just go from one to the next until we find an area we like.’

  The train lurched.

  ‘I don’t feel well,’ muttered Maureen, and Max caught Alice’s eye.

  ‘Here.’ Alice unzipped her daypack and retrieved her bottle of water.

  ‘Urgh, it’s warm!’ moaned Maureen. She was being uncharacteristically whingey, and Alice suspected that the whisky was to blame.

  ‘Take it or leave it,’ she told Maureen simply, and Max coughed away a laugh.

  Maureen took it, only to complain that it was like drinking bath water. Over her grumpy friend’s hunched shoulders, Alice watched as more trees flashed past beyond the large windows, and then suddenly the landscape dropped away and a deep valley appeared below them, as lush and green as Middle Earth. Max, who had also seen it, made to stand up.

  ‘I’m going to go and have a look out of the door,’ he said, limping slightly as he moved away, and Alice fought the urge to spring up and race after him. She expected Maureen to leap in and start giving her the fifteenth degree about what she and Max had been talking about, but her friend had gone unusually quiet now – she really must be feeling ill.

  ‘We should be there in less than an hour,’ Alice said brightly, and Maureen responded with a limp half-smile.

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Alice asked. ‘You seem a bit, well, not yourself.’

  Maureen avoided her gaze and pulled a face.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Have I done something?’ Alice pressed, wondering if her friend was annoyed with her for monopolising Max. ‘If I have, I’m sorry.’

  Maureen frowned.

  ‘Do you think you’ve done something?’

  ‘Um, no. Not really.’ Alice laughed nervously.

  ‘Well, then.’ Maureen flicked a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t apologise. You say sorry too much, that’s your trouble.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Alice said again, laughing as her friend groaned with exasperation.

  ‘Ladies.’

  Alice looked up to see Max, back from his little trip to the open doorway. He was holding his phone and baseball cap in one hand.

  ‘There you are,’ Maureen said sweetly, all trace of her strange mood gone. She copied what Max had done earlier and patted the seat next to her.

  ‘Come and sit next to me – I feel like I’ve barely seen you today.’

  Alice knew he would look at her, so dropped her eyes quickly to the floor of the train. She didn’t want to antagonise Maureen when she was in this weird mood, and she sensed that Max paying her any direct attention would almost certainly wind her friend up. She was convinced Maureen had been lying when she said that nothing was the matter. Alice could see dishonesty in others as clearly as she could feel it smouldering away inside herself – she was an expert. But that still didn’t explain what had soured her happy mood from the morning, or why she was unwilling to tell Alice the truth about it. If it was to do with Max, why didn’t she just say so? It was very unlike Maureen not to speak her mind, and it was this that troubled Alice the most.

  She spent the rest of the journey staring quietly out of the window, waving back at the small children who stood in clusters beside the tracks, waiting for the train to pass. There were always so many smiling faces here, everywhere you looked. Being on this rattletrap of a train reminded Alice of watching The Railway Children as a kid, her and Freddie with their bare scuffed knees side by side under a blanket, and smells of baking coming from the kitchen. Whenever Alice pictured her mother from those days, she would always be wearing an apron, the smears of flour and butter as much a part of her as her soft, lined hands and her stern expression. Even then, Alice had felt like she was playing a part, agreeing to help mix the batter for some cookies and then pretending to enjoy it, when she would much rather have been crouching by one of the ponds down at the water meadows, trying her best to capture a frog, or simply watching in awe as a water boatman skidded across the surface.

  Alice often went on family picnics when she was young, and she could still remember how she would slip away to lie in the long grass as soon as she was able, daring herself to stay as still as possible, until she almost became part of the landscape. She would feel a thrill as passing insects walked across her bare arms, their faces so close that Alice could make out the intricate patterns. On one occasion, she had wriggled on her tummy all the way across the meadow in pursuit of an army of ants, only to tumble accidentally down the muddy banks of the river. When her mother summoned her back to the blanket, and a wet Alice ventured sheepishly towards her with stains all over her dress, her mum had thrown up her hands in despair.

  ‘Oh, Alice,’ she had said, casting around for something she could use as a towel.

  ‘Why must you always get yourself into trouble?’

  This was years before that fateful day when she toppled off the roof, and Alice could still recall how confused she had been. Freddie was always getting mud on himself. He had even waded into the water and let it flow over the top of his wellington boots, and he still hadn’t got told off. If Freddie’s behaviour wasn’t deemed to be troublesome, then why was hers?

  Right up until her accident, Alice had ignored the scoldings that her mother dished out on a regular basis, and continued to get herself into all sorts of trouble. She probably would never have stopped, either, if it hadn’t been for those slippery roof tiles. How different would her life have been? Would she have grown up to become a deep-sea diving instructor, or a soldier, or even just someone who lived a bit closer to the edge? The idea of it thrilled and frightened her in equal parts.

  ‘I think we’re here,’ she heard Max say to Maureen, and her imagined life splintered into pieces as she blinked and turned, finding a smile waiting on her new friend’s lips. Maureen was already on her feet, her face flushed.

  As much as she had enjoyed this journey, Alice was keen to begin the next leg of their trip, and as soon as the brakes began to squeal, she stood up and reached for her bag, only to find that the straps had got caught in the luggage rack. She was still trying to untangle them when a high-pitched scream rang out through the carriage.

  23

  Maureen had landed on her back, her rucksack thankfully breaking her fall and preventing her head from smacking against the concrete floor of the platform. She had climbed down the train steps backwards, ironically to help her balance more easily, but slipped and managed to get her ankle caught in the process. It was the pain of that, rather than the fright of the fall itself, that caused her to cry out. Jamal, who had already been standing on the platform but had not managed to catch her in time, was now crouched at her feet.

  ‘Does this hurt?’ he asked, gently bending her left foot to one side.

  Maureen yelped.

  ‘OK.’ Jamal slowly lowered the injured foot on to his knee, then moved his fingers around the joint, glancing up to gauge Maureen’s reactions. She winced but didn’t scream again, and eventually Jamal let go and helped her up into a sitting position.

  ‘I don’t think it’s broken,’ he told her, looking up at Alice, Steph and Max, who were all peering down at the two of them in concern. ‘Badly sprained, for sure, but we won’t have to amputate.’

  ‘Very funny!’ Maureen swiped at him as Max laughed, and again Alice marvelled at the two men’s rather macabre sense of humour.

  ‘Luckily for you, I have these,’ Max said, pulling his retractable crutches out of his bag. ‘My comfy sticks, here to serve in times of need.’

  Despite her obvious pain, Maureen managed to s
mile at him.

  ‘My hero,’ she simpered, and then, ‘I’m so embarrassed.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ they all chorused, and Jamal moved to help her shrug off her backpack. The crowd of people that had gathered around them immediately after the fall had dispersed, and they were now alone save for a few curious locals. Alice couldn’t be sure whether it was the mildly pissed, slightly hysterical girl on the ground they were staring at, or Max’s leg, but she appreciated that the five of them had made quite an entrance.

  ‘Are you sure you can spare those?’ she asked Max, remembering the way his hand had kept straying to his leg on the journey.

  Hatton was only the first stop on their way to Adam’s Peak – from here they would somehow need to get to Dalhousie.

  ‘She needs them more than I do at the moment,’ he assured her, glancing away as Jamal headed off in search of a taxi.

  ‘I’m sure there are some tree branches we could fashion crutches out of if we had to,’ Alice said.

  ‘You don’t need to use me as an excuse if you want to go scampering up trees like a monkey,’ he told her, a smirk playing around his lips.

  ‘Me?’ Alice feigned surprise. ‘I’m a proper lady, don’t you know?’

  ‘Well, in the army, all the proper ladies can climb trees,’ he countered. ‘And I’d be willing to bet you’re more one of those than the other sort.’

  ‘Other sort?’ Alice enquired.

  ‘You know.’ Max pulled a disapproving face. ‘All fake nails, strings of pearls and shoes you can’t walk in.’

  ‘Strings of pearls?’ Alice exclaimed. ‘This isn’t the eighteenth century.’

  She stopped chuckling when she saw the look on Maureen’s face.

  ‘How is it?’ she asked quickly, kneeling by her feet.

  ‘Painful,’ came the reply.

  Steph looked at Alice.

  ‘I’ve got some ibuprofen in my pack,’ she said. ‘As soon as Jamal gets back, we’ll get you some water so you can have some. I’m sure it will feel better in no time.’