Devotion and Duty

A letter from the grave has life-changing consequences for a grieving husband and devoted sister.

"Thank you for agreeing to help me with this Victoria. I don't think I could do it by myself, but I guess it's time."

"You don't need to apologise for anything, Frank. I know it's difficult, and it's only been two weeks since Jessica... well, it's not been a long time. I'm glad to help." Victoria took Frank's hand as they entered the bedroom. It had been the master bedroom, but as her cancer got worse Jessica's insisted Frank move into the spare room so he could get some sleep rather than listen to her all night. They both glanced at the bed, almost expecting to see Jessica's frail and pale figure popped up on the pillows. Now there was just the fresh bedding.

"I haven't been able to sleep in here since she went. I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep in here again, Victoria."

There was nothing she could say, so she just squeezed his hand. "Come on Frank, let's make a start." Victoria has agreed to help him dispose of her sister's belongings.

They were down to the third drawer of the dresser before they found a big envelope addressed to them both. They could not face opening it yet, so they carried on sorting Jessica's clothes. Now there were four neat piles. Things Victoria wanted to keep; things Frank wanted to keep; stuff for the charity shop and stuff for the dump. They'd run out of excuses.

The large white A4 envelope lay face down on the mattress. When Victoria turned it over, she felt a shiver, as if someone had walked across her grave. It was the handwriting on the envelope that did it. Jessica had to send them a message from the grave. In her neat hand, the front of the envelope said:

To Frank and Victoria.

If you find this while I'm still alive, please don't read it until after I'm gone.

I love you both dearly.

Jessica xx

They looked at it and at each other. "I'll do it," said Frank, plucking up courage. He took a penknife from his pocket, but his hand shook as he went to slide it into the flap. Victoria put her hand on top to steady his and he opened it. There were two envelopes inside, one for each of them and a covering letter. It said:

`Dear Frank and Victoria.

Thank you for waiting until I am gone before opening this. Before you read anything else, I want to remind you that you are the most important people in the world to me and I would not do anything to hurt you on purpose, but when you read your letters that will be what I've done. I have to tell you the truth, even though it will upset you and will change what you think of me. But I don't want some false sainthood, and I don't want you to waste time before finding happiness. That's the only gift I can give you now. It's the only saving grace from the whole awful situation. Please read your letters by yourselves before you speak to each other. Victoria, your letter is longer so Frank will have to wait awhile. I love you both and I hope you will forgive me.'

Jessica xx

The sister and the husband took their individual envelopes, fearful of its contents. There would be no going back once they read what Jessica had wanted to keep secret until she was gone.

"We don't have to do this Frank." Victoria was trembling and clutched his hand for support.

"We'll never be able to rest without knowing, Vicky. We won't be able to get on with the rest of our lives." Frank put his other meaty paw on top of hers and squeezed it gently. "I'll go next door. Tell me when you're ready to talk." He picked up his envelope and left the room.

Victoria stared at her envelope. For a while she considered just burning it, but over the years she had been conscious of times when Jessica had wanted to tell her something but had stopped short, somehow wishing that Victoria could know what it was without her having to say. Perhaps this letter would provide those missing words. She had a premonition the news would be bad, so she breathed slowly, waiting for her anxious feelings to subside.

Frank had a different attitude. His career in the Army had taught him to face his fears in combat and in everything else that had happened since. He tore open the envelope and plunged in.

`Dear Frank,

I'm sorry what you will read will hurt you. I wish I could undo it all and make things different, but I don't have that power. My gift to you is that you can now follow your heart and find happiness for the rest of your days.

The whole mess started eight years ago when you were on your second tour in Iraq. Things are better now, or at least more honest. But back then there was no post-traumatic stress disorder, just Gulf War syndrome, as they called it. It was a stigma, a symptom carried by those who were not fit for war. Back then, the way soldiers and their families coped with the stress was the way they had coped since the Napoleonic Wars. Keep quiet, drink too much, argue and show violence to yourself and to the people who try to help you. That doesn't excuse what I did, but I hope it explains my unhappiness.

We'd only been together two years, and half that time you were on a tour of duty. I was 23, and you were nearly 30, and we were still trying to find out what our life together was all about. If you remember you came home from that second tour withdraw and uncommunicative. You could not show or receive any tenderness. Love to you was just sex, often rough and painful. I was sorry when you went back on duty, but also relieved. Sometimes I didn't know if the worst news I could receive was that you had been killed or that you were coming back.

As you know, I'm not from an Army family and could not confide in the other Army wives who supported each other. Widows-in- waiting, one of them joked darkly at one coffee morning. I did not want to find comfort in enduring the situation; I wanted to escape it, just for a while at least, just until I knew whether you would come back.

I guess was a prime candidate for an affair. Young, unworldly, isolated and desperate for happiness. When he appeared it was by accident, but I did not put up much of a fight. I'm sorry I should have valued us more, but I was at a low ebb. He did not have to try too hard. Just a smile and make me laugh and feel interesting and wanted as a human being. I think it was the third time we met when we had sex. He just turned up on the doorstep, I opened it and he stood there. He did not have to say anything, we just knew. I let him in and we went upstairs and that was the start.

There were many things wrong with him as I was to discover later, but back then at the beginning he was a skilful and considerate lover. He made me come often with his mouth and his hands and his cock. Like most young woman I romanticised his enthusiasm as him loving me. I could not be honest and just admit that I enjoyed the sex as much as he did. My guilty conscience said there had to be more, even though he did not suggest he felt the same. I continued to see him after you came back for good, even though I vowed I wouldn't. You were a sick, broken, angry man, Frank. You were in denial about the horrors you'd seen, and you could not accept help from me or the professionals who were finally addressing these problems. He was my safety valve in dealing with you.

I remember when it all changed. We'd watched that Panorama programme on Gulf War syndrome and how there were thousands of men like you suffering in silence and their families were suffering too. You said nothing but later that night, but I woke up and you were not in bed. I went downstairs and found you crying in the dark on the couch. You said you could not do it by yourself. I said you did not have to; I was there to share the load with you. That was when you broke down and clung to me. At that point, I loved you more than I had ever loved you before Frank. It was the day you really returned from the war. The start of you becoming the man I've loved and admired for the rest of my life.

I ended the affair, and thought that was it. You started therapy, and I was there for you, please believe me. But there were tragic circumstances which led to the affair starting up again, against my will. I'm ashamed of what happened during that period, but thankfully it ended after two horrible years. Frank, in all that time, despite what I did, I never stopped loving you. When it was over and I was free it was wonderful, but who knew we had such little time? They were the four best years of my life.

There were several times before I became ill that I wanted to tell you everything, to confess and throw myself on your mercy. But there are other people, people who we both care about who would have been hurt by my selfish need to purge my conscience. So, I kept quiet. Then the cancer came, and that changed everything. My courage failed me, could not face the thought of losing my husband and my sister. I've had to wait until now to make my peace with both of you.

You can see that I've omitted much of the detail in my confession; that is to spare you unnecessary pain, because I hope that it will help you find happiness with someone I know you love and admire. Victoria knows the full story, so I'll leave it to her judgement about what she tells you. My dying hope that you can find each other and enjoy the happiness you both deserve. Don't let any feelings of impropriety delay you. If your feelings for her are reciprocated, as I think they will be, then you owe it to yourselves not to waste time. You have my full blessing for whatever that's worth.

I love you both. Please be happy now.

Jessica xx'

Franks tears fell on the page, smudging the ink. He carefully put the pages on the bed. He thought he should be angry, but what he felt was a profound sense of relief. He suspected over the years there had been someone else. At the time his initial reaction was anger and jealousy, but he could not confront her over it. He could not deal with incontrovertible proof of Jessica's adultery, because he feared she would leave him. Instead, he fought fire with fire, sneaking around and fucking other Army wives as if that evened the score. When he felt guilty about their husbands, he would use the whores who hung around the base. Then he stopped. His breakdown was the turning point. The therapy and support he'd received showed him how lost he was. Jessica had been right there for him, and she had taken the brunt of his anger and confusion.

He did not begrudge Jessica her occasional escape from him. Pressure valve was the right description. In the years when he was recovering, he hoped that it was over and he ignored any feelings to the contrary. He was glad she confirmed it had ended by the time he felt they were at their best. She was right; the four years before she became ill were genuinely happy years for both of them.

Frank read the letter again, this time conscious of how carefully Jessica had censored herself to protect someone else. He realised it was Victoria. `What have you done that is so bad, Jessica? What have you said to Victoria that you want her to decide if I should hear it?' His mind was racing with possible answers. He was glad that Jessica saw his feelings for Victoria were honest. Her attempt to match make with her dying breath was a genuine act of devotion. He would ask Victoria. He would take that chance for himself and Jessica. Frank put Jessica's letter back in the envelope and went downstairs to make a cup of tea. He would wait for Victoria's signal. He would wait for the start of the rest of his life and he would thank Jessica for the opportunity.

Frank's heavy tread on the stairs brought Victoria out of her trance. She looked at the clock on the bedside table and realised she'd sat frozen in fear for over half an hour. She knew at some point he would be back to ask what was in her letter, and that gave her the courage to open it. Victoria's hands shook too much to hold the paper, so she put the pages on the dressing table and sat on the chair in front of the mirror. The chair Jessica had sat on to do her makeup for all those years. Victoria had to sit on her hands to get them under control, then she took a deep breath and read.

`Dear Victoria.

Please remember whatever you read; I did not intend to hurt you. If I did not think knowing what I'm about to say could improve your life, I would take my secret to the grave. It's my deepest hope there will be no misplaced eulogising about me and that you will have a happy future with a man I know you like and who admires you very much.

Now I'm here, it is difficult to know how to start, so I guess I'll start at the beginning, just like I wanted to start this conversation with you so many times over the years. I have always admired and looked up to you Victoria, even though you are my younger sister. You were one with the brains and determination to go into nursing and when you joined the Navy and put yourself in harm's way to help others; I was so proud of you. I felt so inadequate with my safe little job at the building society. I was glad to know there was at least one hero in our family, and I'm happy mum and dad were overjoyed.

I used to tell them I did not have a problem with them singing your praises to all and sundry, because it was a big deal, and I knew they loved us both. That is the truth, I was not saying it just make them feel better. When you ended up on a hospital ship, treating wounded servicemen from the same Gulf War Frank was fighting, I felt we were all connected and that Frank would be okay because you were there to make him better if he got injured. I know it sounds stupid to think in such simple terms, but that was my way of making sense of it all. Army wives don't see the big picture how politicians want people to. They just want to know their husbands will come home safe, whatever the merits of the cause they are fighting for.

When Frank came home from his first tour, he did not come home whole. I remember when the ship docked there was a cordon holding back the families on the viewing platform. The women I was standing with were nervously passing a pair of binoculars between them. `Why do they keep us so far away?' I asked one of the older wives who looked at me and said, "They do it so you can prepare yourself before he sees you. So you can get ready for the things he can't tell you in his letters." I heard a woman behind me cry out in joy when she spotted her husband's face in the crowd. Then I heard her groan of anguish as the crowd parted and she could see his arm in a sling and his hand was missing.

What should have been a joyful homecoming became tinged with anxiety and fear. I got the binoculars from her and scanned the disembarking crowd for Frank. There he was, all his arms were and legs were there. I broke down in tears and gave thanks to God for that. But what I could not see through the binoculars was how damaged Frank was inside.

Back then we didn't have the internet where ordinary people could share their experiences. So, no one openly discussed the stresses and strains of war, and the MOD were quick to shut you up if you asked questions. They feared the impact on morale, so these men suffered in silence. Then TV programmes started talking about Gulf War syndrome, or as they call it now, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The Army belittled it at the time as something unreal, like man flu; something to pity rather than accept and treat.

Frank became withdrawn, prone to losing his temper at the slightest thing I said. He wanted to make love, or rather have sex all the time, as if to prove he was still alive. But even in that, he was angry and rough almost to the point of abuse. I asked him to talk to me about things and he said I was not there so I could not understand. It sounded like some clichéd line from a Vietnam War film. But it was true. We bumbled along for the next six months, and when he said he was going back for another tour, I took the news with equal measures of fear and relief. I'm telling you all this Victoria so you understand the frame of mind I was in for what happened next.

I've never got on with the other Army wives, Frank was 30 and I was 23 when we met. Many of his comrades were older than him, veterans of other campaigns, and so were their wives. I felt inadequate because I could not take things in my stride like they seemed able to. At some gathering, one of them made a crack about widows-in-waiting, and the others laughed at this black humour, but I could find no comfort in it. I needed something outside of Army life to help me deal with the pressure.

With hindsight my affair seemed inevitable. A scared young Army wife missing love and affection. Easy prey for an experienced charmer. I first met him when he came to fix the faulty central heating. He was a civilian contractor working on the base, repairing the dilapidated housing stock. He was only a couple of years older than me, and had a cheeky grin he knew went down well with women. He did a temporary repair, then cadged a cup of tea.

"There you go love, another running repair until the MoD to replace these ancient machines. I'm always fixing old boilers on this estate," he said suggestively.

"You cheeky sod, I'm only 25 and I don't need any fixing, thank you very much." It was nice to have some banter with a man who was not involved in war.

"Ok love, but just in case there's anything else, this property is on my patch. I'll make sure I deal with any problems, personally. You can't trust those other cowboys." He gave me his card.

A week later I reported a leaky tap. He came round and did a double take when he saw me. I was wearing a nice dress and makeup. "I'm going out soon," I explained. He just smiled because he knew it was for him. He talked for an hour while he pretended to fix something under the sink so he could sit on the floor and have a good look at my legs.

The third time he came to fix a whistling noise from the cooker. He did not even get into the kitchen. I closed the front door behind him and as I turned around, he took me into his arms and kissed me. I didn't put up a fight and his kisses were tender and passionate and I responded to him. This was something I'd missed for so long. My head was spinning and by the time I took stock of the situation my dress was open and his hand was in my knickers and there was no point in stopping even if I wanted to. He was a skilful lover, and he made me come many times. He put me into positions I never knew existed, and I loved it all.

Afterwards he showed me his wedding ring, which kept in his trouser pocket. "So it doesn't get caught on anything while I'm working," he said. His story was his wife was a nurse working in Dubai, making a lot of money. When she came back, they would buy a big house and start a family. I thought it made us equal, we both had something to lose, and we were just giving each other comfort until our loved ones returned. We met off base after that; away from the nosy parker neighbours. Most of the time it was in his pokey bedsit, or his car. Sometimes we would brave the outdoors if we were feeling adventurous.

When Frank came back after his third tour, I told him we had to stop. But Frank was even worse than before, and I knew he would explode again. I'm sorry to admit it, but I could not be around him all the time waiting for it to happen. It was only two weeks later when I phoned my lover, asking to meet him again. I realised by this time the relationship was more than a bit of fun and casual sex to me. I thought he felt the same. How could he spend so much time fucking me he if he did not care about me, right? I knew it gave him a kick that we were meeting behind Frank's back, but I could tell he was uncomfortable with me getting serious about him.