What do you think? he wanted to say. But what came out was, ‘If you want to know the truth, I have no recollection of anything until I woke up here, after the operation.’

Nurse Moore nodded, taking it in. ‘So that wasn’t what your nightmare was about?’

A picture filled Sam’s mind. Looking down the barrel of his gun, that face in his sights, white with fear. His finger curling, squeezing the trigger, then the recoil of his rifle butt against his shoulder, and the sound – sometimes a volley, sometimes a single shot – and the thud of a body, dropping like a stone …

‘No,’ he said.

‘What, then?’

He stared at her. She was tidying away the washing things, piling them up on the trolley, her head down. Not listening.

He changed the subject deliberately. ‘I haven’t seen much of Dr Logan on the ward recently.’

That got her attention. Nurse Moore looked up sharply, her eyes flaring. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Just an observation, that’s all. I suppose he’s busy on the new ward.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘That new ward. You know, the one for the shell shock patients.’

‘What’s that got to do with Dr Logan?’

‘He’s going to be running it, isn’t he? Or that’s what I heard.’

He enjoyed a brief moment of satisfaction, seeing the surprise on her face. Nurse Moore’s hands stilled for a moment, then she carried on briskly.

‘You’ve got it wrong. Dr Carlyle is running the new ward.’

‘With Dr Logan. Turns out he’s a qualified psychiatrist as well as a physician. I’m surprised you didn’t know that, since you take such a close interest in him?’

He saw her mouth purse with annoyance. Then, without another word, she yanked back the curtains and was off, her trolley clattering down the ward.

Sam felt slightly ashamed of himself as he watched her go. What kind of man had he become, he wondered, that his only enjoyment came from baiting Nurse Moore? She was just a kid, a vain, self-centred little girl. It was none of his business if she became infatuated with a man.

He shifted his weight, and flinched as pain lanced through him, like a red-hot bayonet blade. A sudden and shocking reminder that he had more important things to occupy him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A week later, Grace was packing up the contents of Lance Corporal Frost’s bedside locker. He watched her from the chair, fingers gripping the arms for dear life.

‘“It’s a long way to Tipperary …”’ he sang through chattering teeth.

In between snatches of song, he asked the same question, over and over again. ‘Why are they s-sending me away, Nurse?’

‘No one’s sending you away, Lance Corporal,’ Grace explained patiently yet again. ‘You’re just being moved to a different ward, that’s all.’

‘B–but why? Wh-what have I done?’

Grace paused in her packing, a pair of socks in her hand. ‘It’s a special place, for men with shell shock.’