When The Drums Have Ceased To Roll

WHEN THE DRUMS HAVE CEASED TO ROLL

“Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,”
(“Tommy”, by Rudyard Kipling)

Preface

This is a work of fiction.  I have not been called upon to serve in the armed forces of either of the countries in which I’ve lived, so I have no direct understanding of the stresses engendered by conflict on troops in the front line.  But I have worked with service personnel after they have returned from duty, and I understand the huge impact that conflict can have on them.  But not only on them.  Also on the partners, family, friends and lovers who are back home hoping and praying for the safe return of their loved ones.  This is as much their story as that of the front line troops.

************************

Sergeant Dennis Parsons left the aircraft in the stinging light of a mid-summer day.  He looked around to see his wife, Jill, carrying little Sammy and waving frantically, excitedly as she saw him.  She rushed to him, hugging him and Sammy and covering his face with kisses.

“Oh god, Denny, it’s so wonderful to see you back safely.  I’ve missed you so much and it’s been hell never knowing where you were or whether you were safe.  Denny, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jill, and it’s so good to be back, but I’ve got to report to the barracks.  I’ll be home in a few days, and then we can make up for lost time.”

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” Jill fussed over her husband, partner, friend, lover like a mother hen, although he didn’t respond to her fussing and seemed to be struggling to hold himself together.

The time dragged for Jill before she heard Denny’s voice as he opened the front door and she greeted him with open arms and a big, warm generous kiss.  “Home at last, darling, it’s been so long.  Now, what do you want to do—and we’ll save the most obvious for later on,” she giggled, although Denny could only manage a pale smile.

“Jill, love, what I most need is to see little Sammy, have a decent meal, spend some time with my favourite girl and then get some quality sleep.”

Jill looked at him, her eyes brimming with love and compassion—and perhaps a few tears.  “Of course, my darling, I’ll do everything I can to help you to settle down again, and any time you want to talk, I’m a good listener.”

Denny dropped his kit and hurried to the lounge where his son was playing happily and picked him up in an enveloping bear hug.  Sammy squawked at this unexpected intrusion and started wailing at this stranger, holding him so tight.  Denny released him, looking confused, and Jill, who had heard the crying, was quickly on the scene.

“Denny, I know how important Sammy is to you, but he doesn’t know you, and to his baby mind, you’re a stranger.  It might take him a little while to get used to having you around.  Me, too,” Jill grinned, “but I know what to expect.”  She gave his backside a playful slap and giggled out of the room, expecting him to follow her and at least repeat the dose.

When he didn’t follow up, she returned to the lounge where Denny was silently watching Sammy with a strained expression on his face.  Jill realised then just how much readjustment Denny was going to require and that she would need to cut him a lot of slack.  “Why don’t you grab a shower while I fix us a meal, honey?” Jill queried, and as Denny disappeared silently to the bathroom, Jill busied herself cooking Denny’s favourite meal.

Denny spent the next couple of weeks getting used to a civilian existence in the total absence of military discipline.  Jill was loving and caring and did everything she could to help ease him back into his former life.  But it wasn’t plain sailing.  Denny tended to become uncharacteristically moody and spent what Jill thought was too much time brooding.  Even so, he became close to Sammy, taking him for walks and playing with him, rather possessively, Jill thought.

Jill also encouraged Denny to make contact with a trio of his old mates, and it wasn’t long before he was again spending Friday evenings with them at the pub, talking nonsense about football, politics, or any topic of current interest.  Not long after, they were invited to a family barbeque hosted by Don, one of these mates.  Jill was enthusiastic; she liked Suzi, Don’s wife, and hadn’t seen her for some time.

In typical fashion, the men were in the back yard cooking the barbeque and making crude jokes, while their partners were in the kitchen preparing salads and gossiping.  It was a beautiful, cool day and the wives were enjoying each others company when they were startled by shouting and swearing from the back yard.  Suddenly, Denny burst into the kitchen, his face dark and twisted.  He grabbed Jill by the wrist and yelled at her, “We’re going.  Now.”  Jill just had time to gasp a confused apology to the other women before they were in the car and heading for home.

“Denny, what the hell got into you?  They’re your mates …”

She got no further.  Denny turned his head towards her, his face still twisted in anger.  “No they’re not.  My mates are either in the barracks, in the cemetery or blown to bits in the field.  Those wankers don’t understand the first thing about what I’ve been through.  They’ve been sitting on their fat arses with nothing more to worry about other than who’s going to win on Saturday, while me and my REAL mates put our lives on the line.  Then they had the nerve to tell me that my stress is all in the mind and it’s just a question of snapping out of it.”

Jill looked closely at the man she loved, and her heart went out to him.  “Denny, this is the first I’ve heard about you being stressed.  What makes you think it’s anything that’s going to cause you long-term problems?”  Denny pulled in to their driveway and they went into the house.  “Jill, you’re a nurse; you should understand about stuff like PTSD.”

Jill was, in fact, a very highly respected scrub nurse at the local major hospital.  She worked with the accident & emergency and trauma teams and had seen more heartache and body parts than most.  She never got used to it, but had developed self-defence strategies to be able to deal with the most painful aspects of her work.  Now it seemed to be invading her personal space. 

“Yes, Denny, I know about PTSD, so please talk to me about why you believe it’s a problem for you.  Don’t bottle it up or it will become like an untreated flesh wound and start to turn septic.”  When he remained silent, Jill shouted at him, “TALK TO ME,” and to her surprise, Denny had tears streaming down his face as he turned to her.

“I’ve killed men.  You can’t possibly have the slightest idea of what that’s like.  “I’VE KILLED MEN!  I’ve stared through the sights of a rifle, pulled the trigger and seen men come apart, screaming in their death throes, all through my direct action.  That’s bad enough, then you see the bodies in the villages; little kids screaming because they have no legs, a pregnant woman eviscerated but with the foetus still twitching in the dirt and muck, men with their faces blown off..

Then there were our guys, blown to pieces by enemy action; Steve Blain died in my arms, sobbing for his mother.  My mates, the guys I’d shared beers and jokes with just the previous evening, lying dead in the gutter.  And for what?  Oh God, Jill, I can’t get those sights out of my mind.  I’m stuck with them for the rest of my life, and I’m supposed to come back here and resume a normal life as if nothing had happened.  Now tell me that PTSD is all a figment of my imagination,” He finished bitterly.

Jill took him in her arms and held his head gently into the crook of her neck.  “Denny, I can’t possibly know what you’ve been through, but I just need you to know that I’m here for you and I’ll do anything I can to help.  Honey, I think you need professional help.”

Denny jerked away from her, his face a mixture of pain and fear.  “No, I’m not going to allow those shrinks to fuck with my head and drug me until I turn into a zombie.  I’d rather be dead.  I’ll deal with this myself, in my own way,” with which he marched out of the house to his shed and locked the door.

Jill was devastated.  She talked it over with her mother, a calm, level headed woman and they agreed that some form of professional intervention ought to be tried.

Then the nightmares started.

At first, these seemed to Jill to be no more than bad dreams; Denny tossed and turned and mumbled in his sleep, but no more than that.  Until, one night, Jill was slammed awake by a harsh, piercing scream from next to her.  Denny was sitting bolt upright in bed, his eyes staring and an expression of stark terror on his face.

“Denny, love, it’s just a very bad dream.  Come here and let me hold you and chase the dream away.”

Denny continued to stare at her, and then sobbed, “The guys I killed came back to life, and they were coming after me showing the holes torn in their bodies – they wanted to send me down to hell, and I couldn’t get away.”

“You’re safe with me, honey, I won’t let the demons get you,” Jill tried to sound reassuring.

“You don’t understand, Jill – the demons won’t leave me alone.  I’ve got to try to escape from them somehow.”

Jill knew enough psychology to understand that he couldn’t outrun his nightmares, but Denny didn’t want to hear this.  He steadfastly refused to have anything to do with psychiatrists or psychologists, referring to them dismissively as “skull jockeys”.

The nightmares continued and got worse, and on several occasions, Denny’s screams woke Sammy who started crying, leaving Jill with the dilemma of which of her boys to comfort first

The situation deteriorated rapidly when Denny started to drink heavily.  He had always enjoyed the occasional beer, but Jill had never seen him hitting the booze quite this much.  Fortunately (maybe), Denny was not a violent drunk but a maudlin one, and he started returning home miserable and tearful after too much bourbon.

Jill tried to comfort and support him, but this clearly wasn’t enough; her attempts to persuade him to seek professional help were met either with blank indifference or, increasingly, with hostility and anger.  She also sought the help of colleagues in her trauma team at work, but the answer was always the same.  Until he recognises that he has a problem that he’s prepared to do something about, all you can do is be there for him.  This was the same answer she received from the local veterans support service, although this had the advantage of also providing help and support for her as she struggled with a husband she now hardly knew.

They were also able to provide the answer to a question that had haunted Jill for a long time.  “He’s an electrician,” she said, “in the electrical and mechanical engineers.  He shouldn’t have been in a combat role, so how did he come to have to shoot people?”  “Mrs Parsons,” the answer came, “being in the field means that all personnel are equally as likely to encounter the enemy.  That being so, they need to be able to defend themselves, whether they’re combat troops or specialists like your husband.”  Jill understood this, but it didn’t help her very much.

Matters deteriorated further a short time later when Jill was startled by the deep solid thrum of a motorbike.  Denny came into the house carrying a crash helmet and wearing a smug grin.  “The demons won’t be able to catch me on this little baby.  Come outside and look.”

Jill started out with a sinking feeling that became substantially worse when she saw the Harley parked in their driveway.  “Denny, what the hell do you think you’re playing at?  Haven’t you realised yet that those demons are all in your head and you can’t run away from them?  And anyway, where did the money come from?”

Denny’s expression became sullen and resentful.  “None of your fucking business, bitch, it’s my money and I’ll do what I like with it.  I need my space so I can be by myself and get away from you smothering me.  And don’t turn on the waterworks; that cuts no ice with me.”  So saying, he jammed the helmet onto his head and roared off.

Jill’s tears flowed freely.  Denny had never spoken to her like this before, and she was lost for any ideas about how to help him.  She knew from traumatic professional experience that alcohol and motorbikes were a potent and deadly mix and she feared the worst.  At that moment, Sammy set up a wail and Jill almost turned to her little son for comfort.  He, at any rate, wouldn’t call her a bitch.

Jill saw less and less of Denny as he spent more time on what she saw as the evil Harley.  When they were together, his anger and pain overflowed into aggression, including occasional violence in the form of slaps and loud shouting.  Jill knew that she didn’t have to take this abuse, but couldn’t face the possibility of abandoning Denny, and all the heartache that would create.  Besides, deep down, she loved the real Denny and wanted to help him rediscover who he really was.

Then, one night, Denny didn’t return home and Jill became progressively more worried.  Eventually she rang the A&E department at the hospital but he had not been admitted.  In desperation, she was about to ring the police when, unexpectedly, they rang her.  Denny had been picked up on his bike with a high blood alcohol content, could she come and collect him?

Jill strapped a protesting Sammy into the car and dashed to the police station where a sullen and unco-operative Denny had been bailed to appear in court on a drunk driving charge.  They drove home in silence, but that ended when they got inside.  Jill put Sammy to bed and was about to have it out with Denny when he let loose with a torrent of abuse and foul language.

“You really are a bitch, Jill and you don’t give a flying fuck about me.  ‘Yes, officer, no officer, of course, officer,’ crawling up their fucking arses trying to big note yourself.  Where do you get off sticking the knife in?”

“Denny, it’s not like that,” Jill was appalled at this attack and tried to defend herself.  “I’m just trying to help you, honey, I want you to get better—I want my old Denny back,” she wept.

“What’s the matter, you stupid cow, don’t you like this version?  Are you completely pissed off with me?”

Jill didn’t answer, feeling that silence was preferable to anything she might say.

“Well, tell me, bitch, aren’t I good enough for you?” and accompanied this by slapping Jill hard across the face.

“Denny, don’t, you hurt me; I’m trying to help you—I don’t deserve this …”

That was as far as Jill got.  It seemed to enrage Denny even more, and he grabbed her and threw her to the ground.

“Denny what are you doing …?”was all she could manage before he ripped at her clothing, tearing off her tee shirt and bra, and then forcing her jeans over her hips and onto the floor, eventually ripping off her panties.

Jill screamed.  “Oh god, Denny, no, don’t do this.  You’re hurting me, please Denny, don’t rape me …”  It had no effect; in fact her pleading may have made the situation worse, and he dropped to the floor, pinning his wife on her back.. 

“You behave like a bitch, I’m going to treat you like one.,”

“No, Denny, please don’t, not this way—you’re hurting me, you’re scaring me …”

It made no difference.  He undid his own jeans, forced her legs apart, and thrust savagely into her.  Jill screamed with the pain of the rape, the terror, the humiliation, the shame, the fear – and then additional fear as Sammy woke and started crying.

“Denny, now you’ve woken your son.  Oh god, what’s got into you?”

“Listen, bitch, if that kid doesn’t shut up, I’ll shut him up.”

Suddenly, Jill felt icy cold and focused into a narrow beam of certainty and determination.  “Dennis Parsons, if you so much as lay one finger on Sammy, I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

Denny must have heard the rage in Jill’s voice; with one final thrust, he emptied himself into her, then pulled out.  He dressed and stormed out of the door, looking over his shoulder with one final curse, “I’m out of here, bitch; you won’t be seeing me again.”

The door slammed and he was gone. 

Jill sobbed, struggling to get up from the floor to go to the now nearly hysterical Sammy.  In an odd way, his distress was reassuring to her; she knew she could bring some comfort to her son where she felt she had failed with her husband.  Jill was able to calm the distressed infant, and as she did so, she realised that she could no longer stay in the house with the possibility of a violent Denny returning at any time.

Jill gathered up her clothing, important papers and a few items of sentimental value.  Then got Sammy’s clothes and toys together, put them all in her car and headed to her mother’s place, even though it was 3.00 am.

Her bleary eyed mother expressed first surprise, then shock, then rage as Jill unfolded her story.  Her immediate response was to call the police, but Jill persuaded her not to do so, as that would only make a bad situation very much worse.  Her mother agreed reluctantly, and they settled Sammy before Jill collapsed into bed.

She slept late the following morning when her mother had got Sammy up and he was happily playing in the lounge.  Jill felt dirty and degraded, but her mother was quick to emphasize, “Jill, none of this was your fault.  And don’t start beating yourself up over what you should have or could have done.  This was Denny’s doing, and his PTSD isn’t an excuse for raping you, even though you seem determined not to have him face the consequences of what he did.”

“Mum, please leave it alone.  I don’t for one moment condone what Denny did, but I think I’ve got the faintest inkling of what’s happening to him, and I don’t want to hurt him any more.  With you and Sammy to help me, my own hurts will start to disappear.”

This was a Sunday, a day on which the family traditionally gathered together for lunch and gossip and the enjoyment of each others company.  Jill’s younger brother, Tim, arrived for lunch.  He was a respected IT specialist, and had always been close to his older sister.  They had their little disagreements as siblings always will, but Tim was very devoted to his sister.

When Tim heard what had happened the previous evening, his face turned cold and predatory, and he looked ugly and threatening.  Jill could read her brother well, and told him, “Tim, I’m warning you, don’t do anything stupid.  Denny’s a sick man and needs help, and I’d much rather you didn’t interfere.”

“It’s not a question of interfering, Sis, being sick is no excuse for rape, and he needs to take the consequences.”

“Tim, seeing as how it happened to me, don’t you think that I should be the one to decide what those consequences are?”

“I suppose so, Jill,” he replied grudgingly.  “Anyway, I don’t understand how a guy like Denny, who always seemed so sensitive, could ever go into the army.” Tim changed the subject.

“He told me it would help his trade qualifications when he got out and he thought it would be a bit of an adventure.  Some adventure.  Now, don’t change the subject.” Jill was wholly decisive.

“Okay, I suppose you know what you’re doing, but still …”

She responded, “Good, Tim, well maybe you would be kind enough to but out and let me handle it.”

With that, the conversation ended and a normal family Sunday afternoon ensued.

Jill and Sammy settled in with her mother for a few weeks until eventually she decided to take the risk and return home.  She hadn’t been back more than a day or two when she had a phone call from her opposite number on the trauma team at the hospital.

“Jill, I don’t suppose you know, but Denny has just been admitted to the hospital.  He’s taken a pretty bad beating and I thought you would want to know.”

“Oh god, Shauna, thank you so much.  I’ll get there as soon as I can.”  Grabbing a protesting Sammy, she dropped him with her mother, giving a hasty explanation and rushed to the hospital.

Denny was propped up in bed, sporting a selection of bandages and an equal collection of cuts and bruises.  “Oh, Denny, what happened?  Who did this to you?”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t know, Mrs Parsons,” the nurse said.  “The police interviewed him, but it was dark and his attacker wore dark clothes and a balaclava.  He had no way of telling who it was, and apparently the police don’t have any clues.  It was in a pretty rough part of town, so it could be casual violence or a robbery.  His wallet is missing, although apparently he had very little money.”

Jill took Denny’s hand, and with a great deal of difficulty managed to stop the tears flowing.  The nurse left the room, and when they were alone together, Denny beckoned her close and murmured, “It was Tim.  But please don’t tell the police—if you do, I shall deny having said anything, but I guess I deserved it after what I did to you.”

“Denny, I don’t know what to say—I … I … I’m so sorry, and I feel so guilty.”

“No, Jill, please just let it go.  I got what was coming to me, and I don’t want to take it any further.”

Jill drove home seething with rage at what her brother had done.  She rang him up and said in a voice as controlled as she could make it that she urgently needed to see him that evening at their mother’s place.  When Tim arrived, she let him in with a soft smile on her face, but when he was in the lounge, she let go with both barrels.

“Tim, you rotten, rotten bastard.  I told you that I didn’t want you to interfere, but you came close to wearing a murder charge.  How could you do this, you arrogant prick?”

Their mother came in on the end of this outburst, and when Jill explained the situation, she also ripped into her son, leaving him quivering and looking for a way out, any way out.  Jill sensed this and moved in again.  “Don’t try to justify yourself, Tim, you’ve destroyed our relationship.  I really don’t want to have any more to do with you after this.  Believe it or not, I don’t hate you, Tim—I don’t care enough to hate you.  So far as I’m concerned, you no longer exist; to put it crudely, I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire!”

“I … I …, Jill,” he called, but she turned on him, her face black with anger and simply shouted, “Fuck off!” before she picked up Sammy and left the house.

Back home, Jill seethed with anger, but her native commonsense started to reassert itself and she gradually calmed, again with the help of Sammy, now trying out his baby language on her in a delightful exploration of juvenile linguistic possibilities.

Jill regularly visited Denny in hospital until the time came when he could be discharged.  As his wife and a nurse as well, she willingly undertook to care for him while his injuries finished healing.  She also hoped that this incident might have jolted him out of his fear and anxiety over his so-called “demons”.

The reality was far worse than she could have imagined, although this didn’t become apparent for a few days.  After his return home, Denny’s behaviour changed again.  He sat quietly seemingly just staring into the middle distance.  Jill found it almost impossible to engage him in conversation and he answered any questions in flat monosyllables.  He had lost interest in any of his former activities, but he had not given up drinking.  Somehow, he managed to sneak bourbon into the house and his language was not infrequently slurred and he was unsteady on his feet.

There came a day when Solana, a neighbour and friend of Jill’s was visiting; as Solana arrived, Denny disappeared to his shed.  They had not been talking for long when Jill heard an odd noise from the shed and went to investigate.  As she opened the door, she screamed with terror and dread to see Denny hanging by his neck from a noose attached to a roof beam.

“Solana, call an ambulance, NOW,” she screamed and then rushing to Denny, she made a superhuman effort and took his weight in her arms loosening the rope around his neck.  By some heaven sent mischance, probably because he was drunk, Denny had made a bad job of arranging the noose and she was able to pull his head free.  They both collapsed on the ground, and Jill gave him mouth to mouth resuscitation until he started breathing properly.

By this time the ambulance had arrived and Denny was transported to the hospital.  Jill staggered into the house and collapsed into a chair while Solana comforted her and rang Jill’s mother who arrived shortly after. 

“Oh Jill, what are we going to do about Denny?  He seems determined to self-destruct, and he won’t allow anyone to help him.”

“I know, Mum, but this might just be the opportunity we need to get through his barriers.”

“I know, love, but that’s what you said after he was in hospital last time.”

“Right, Mum but there are two very different circumstances now.  Firstly, this was his choice, his behaviour, and if we can get him to acknowledge that, he might just let someone in.  Secondly … I’m pregnant.”

“Oh god, Jill, how long have you known—and when … wait a minute, this happened when he raped you, didn’t it?”

“Right again, mum, and I hate using a little unborn bub this way, but this might just be the leverage we need to get him to change.  It’s worth a try, anyway.”

Shortly after, Jill visited Denny in hospital.  He was sitting up, looking very pale and with bruising round his neck.  “He’s going to be okay,” the doctor told her, “but we’re not going to release him without a guarantee that he will get psychological help.  I can recommend psychologist, Dr Peter Craven—he’s really good, one of the best in his field, but he doesn’t come cheap.”

“No, doctor, money can’t be allowed to be an objection.  How can I get in touch with this Peter Craven?”  He gave Jill a phone number and she then turned to Denny, propped up in the bed.

“You selfish, selfish bastard,” she shrieked, much to the amazement of everyone else in the room.  “How could you do this to yourself, to me, to Sammy?”  Here she paused, “and to our unborn baby?”

“You mean … you mean you’re pregnant?” Denny asked, amazed.

“Yes, and you know damn well how it happened.  After what did happen, I thought long and hard about a termination.”  This was an out and out lie, but Denny was not to know that.

“Oh god, Jill, you’re not serious—you can’t mean that you had an abortion?”

“No, but I did think about it.  Now, listen to me, Denny Parsons, if you ever hope to see your new baby, you’ll agree to see this psychologist, Peter Craven, and you’ll co-operate willingly.  Otherwise it’s all over between us once and for all.  Understood?”

“Phew, yeah, I guess so,” Denny was taken aback with Jill’s vehemence, but couldn’t face the prospect of a complete loss of his family.  “Okay, honey, make the arrangements.”

Jill went back home and phoned her mother to tell her the story.  Her mother expressed great interest and enthusiasm and demanded to know about “this wonderful Peter Craven.”

A day later, Jill had another call from her mother, this time hesitant and guarded, as if fearing an outburst from her daughter.  “Jill, I know how sensitive this is, but Tim has begged and pleaded for me to ask if he can see you.  I said I’d ask, but I’d understand if you were to tell him to go to hell.”

“What does he want, Mum?  I’m still not keen on having anything to do with Tim.”

“He wouldn’t say, love, but he sounded desperate.”

“Okay, Mum, I’ll call round with Sammy tomorrow, but I’ll only see him if you’re there, and then only for fifteen minutes or so.”

The next day Jill arrived to see Tim’s car in the drive.  “Sis,” he started after she went inside, “Mum told me about Peter Craven.  I know something about him from a friend whose wife had serious PTSD after an assault, and he worked wonders.  I know he’s expensive, but I want to pay any costs associated with his treatment of Denny.  Please, Jill, let me do this for you both.  And for Sammy, too.”

“Conscience money, huh?”  Jill was certainly not going to let Tim right off the hook, but she appreciated the offer.  “Okay, Tim—you’ve still got to square things with Denny, and you’ve still got a long way to go with me, but I appreciate the offer.  We’ll take you up on that.”

“Thanks, Sis,” Tim’s gratitude was genuine, but in accordance with the fifteen minute rule, he left quickly.

Jill contacted Peter Craven’s office next day and spoke to him briefly.

“I’ll be happy to see your husband, Mrs Parsons,” he said.  “The doctors at the hospital have mentioned him to me.  The first and most important issue is that he must be willing to work with me, but also to realise that this journey won’t be easy.  He’ll have to recognise that he cannot change the past, no matter how painful it may be, but also that the demons he fears are all in his head.  They are only real to the extent that he gives them that reality.  They can’t physically hurt him—those demons don’t carry baseball bats, and if he has the courage to face them down, he may come out of this okay.  I should warn you, though, it won’t be quick, and for every ten steps he takes forwards, he’s likely to take nine steps back.”

“Doctor, if Denny can really climb out of the pit that he’s dug for himself, I don’t care how long it takes.  I’m just grateful that you’re able to see him.”  Jill expressed her enthusiasm.

“Okay, Mrs Parsons, I’ll put you back to my receptionist, and you can arrange a time for me to see him.”

With Jill’s agreement, Denny was released into her care on the strict understanding that he kept regular contact with Peter Craven, and that he returned to the hospital for regular checkups.

Denny agreed to this but at first being close to Jill was awkward and uncomfortable for them both, and Jill began to wonder if it would really work.  Gradually, over several weeks, she started to notice a difference.  Denny was more relaxed and able to relate to both Jill and Sammy in a much more positive way.  Jill saw this as a big breakthrough, believing that if Sammy could come to trust him, then she could do so, too.  She thought that their son could only be open and honest—he didn’t have the knowledge, experience or sophistication to create a false front.  What you see with a little child is very much what you get, and if it worked for him, she could make it wok for her.

This steady improvement continued, and one day, Denny sat down across the table from Jill and told her about what was happening for him.  “Peter Craven has helped me to understand that there are some things I can’t change and that given that fact, the only thing I can do is to accept that reality.”

“Yes, I did kill two men, but I can’t go back and “unkill” them.  Yes, I did experience the horrors of war, but I can’t go back and “un-experience” them, so the only alternative is to accept that reality and come to terms with it in myself.  I need to stop struggling with the nasties and not allow them the power to control me.  It’s not easy, honey, and I keep slipping backwards, but the nightmares aren’t as frequent or as powerful.  I think I’m slowly getting there.”

For the first time in a long time, Jill threw her arms round Denny and gave him a soft, fond kiss.  “I do love you, Dennis Parsons, and I’m so glad you’re making progress.”

“I hope so, but I do know that I’ve got a lot of apologising to do, to you, to Sammy, to your family, …”

Jill laughed, saying, “We’ll have to work on some fun ways to make that happen.”

Denny joined with Jill’s laughter and gave her bottom a playful smack that started a fit of giggles from Jill.

“Oh yes, honey, one more thing,” Denny continued.  “I’ve decide to sell the Harley.”

“Thank god,” was all the comment Jill needed.

A week later, Denny had gone to an early appointment with Peter Craven and as Jill went into the kitchen she saw, in her usual place, a single red rose, a note that said simply, “I love you”—and a receipt for the sale of a Harley-Davidson motor bike.

Jill smiled happily to herself.  She knew that her old Denny was coming back to her.

************************

Epilogue

I’m a sucker for happy endings, which is why I’ve written this story the way it is, but I’m well aware that not all such stories have happy endings.  If anyone really wants an unhappy ending, I’m prepared to write one that can be bolted on to the end.  The outline of such an ending will be something like this.

Denny initially keeps his appointments with Peter Craven, but starts to miss some.  Four weeks later, he arrives home to tell Jill that, “Craven is just another skull jockey trying to fuck with my mind.  He’s got no idea about what’s really happening.”  Jill tries to reason with him, to persuade him to continue the treatment, and then begs him not to stop.  She pulls out all the emotional arguments about their relationship, about Sammy and about their unborn child.  None of this has any effect.

Denny starts drinking and becoming abusive again, but when the abuse extends to Sammy, Jill tells Denny to go.  He does, and Jill is left in an emotional turmoil.

Denny disappears from view, but calls back into Jill and Sammy’s life from time to time, looking increasingly haggard and unkempt.  He grows a scruffy beard.

Eight months later, their daughter, Joanne, is born, and Denny again comes to stay, although Jill is very cautious and won’t allow him any latitude.  More arguments start and Jill orders him to go and stay away.

Denny now disappears for three years, during which time Jill hears almost nothing about him.  She does have one phone call from Denny’s mother; his father had died when he was young and his mother remarried.  Denny does not get on with his stepfather.  His mother told Jill that Denny was her problem and she has had to take out a restraining order to keep him away, particularly from his stepfather.  This makes Jill feel quite depressed.

She climbs out of it and starts an affair with a guy called Joe but he turns out to be weak and needy, and after two years, the relationship ends with Joe threatening to kill himself.  Jill has heard that story before, and takes no notice.  Joe disappears and is not heard from again.

Six months later, Denny appears again, this time looking smart and clean shaven.  He begs Jill to take him back, saying he has been in rehabilitation on the east coast and that he’s a new man.  Jill is cautious, but she still has feelings for Denny and agrees to take him back so long as he really has changed.  Everything goes well for three months, and Jill feels that Denny has indeed turned a corner.  Then she discovers an empty bourbon bottle in the rubbish bin, disguised in a plastic bag, and confronts Denny with the evidence.  At first he bluffs and claims it is not his, but then admits to drinking again, but “only an occasional glass.”  A short time later he arrives home drunk; he is again becoming increasingly unkempt and scruffy.  This leads to a major confrontation with Denny claiming that Jill never really wanted him back and has just been finding excuses to get rid of him.  Denny leaves, and Jill starts belated divorce proceedings.

Two years later, Jill is introduced to Solana’s older brother, John, a big “cuddly teddy bear” of a man, gentle and considerate if a bit unadventurous.  He’s divorced with grown children who take a liking to Jill, and they embark on a steady, comfortable relationship.

Jill settles into her new life, Sammy and Joanne grow and Denny is almost forgotten.  But not quite.  One warm spring morning, there is a knock at the door, and Jill opens it to discover Denny on the doorstep.  Jill is shocked; her ex-husband is gaunt, haggard, has lost most of his hair and looks quite malnourished.  There is almost nothing there of the Denny she had known and loved.

“Denny, what do you …?” Jill asks.  “Don’t you remember, Jill?” he asks in a hoarse, ragged voice.  “Today is our silver wedding anniversary.”  Jill bursts into tears and John ambles out to see what the fuss is.  He has never met Denny, but knows, almost instinctively, who the stranger is.  “I think it would be better if you left, Denny,” John says and with a lost, haunted look, he does so.

Jill never sees Denny again and loses all touch with him.  Once again, his memory fades, until idly glancing through an old newspaper; she sees a tiny paragraph about the death of war veteran, Denny Parsons, with no identifiable next-of-kin.

On making enquiries, Jill discovers that Denny died from cirrhosis of the liver and Korsakoff’s syndrome, a result of his heavy drinking over many years.  He had been living in a run down boarding house in the inner suburbs and was given a pauper’s burial.  Jill discovers his grave site and arranges for a headstone that reads “Denny Parsons”, the date of his birth and the date of his death, and then the simple words. “At Peace”.  Jill thinks that this is the least she can do for the poor tortured soul that she once loved so deeply and whose demons eventually caught up with him.

Jill continues her comfortable life with John; they are devoted to each other and live happily together.  For Jill, though, there is a tiny corner of her heart that will always belong to Denny and that regrets the loss of the life that they might have had together but for the political stupidity that sent Denny to war, and ultimately, to his death.

(6721 words)