Seacliff

Chapter seventy: Patroclus

1940

"Tell me..." Jem's fingers brushed over the tree-of-life and Cailleach around Aidan's neck. "Tell me again... about the kayak."

Aidan gave an uneasy chuckle. "All right. Um... So, after I let the Germans capture me up north, they kept me prisoner for a while, because they didn't know what to do with me. They couldn't confirm whose side I was on."

The cigarette drooped from the corner of Jemmy's mouth. Aidan squeezed his hand and Jemmy opened his eyes, pursing his lips to keep the cigarette from falling.

"So, they, um... They finally agreed to send me down to Oslo. The most nerve-wracking voyage of my life. They could have thrown me overboard at any minute. Or we could have been hit by our very own RAF. And if we reached Oslo... Maybe they were going to torture me until I actually told them things."

"Did you?" Jemmy asked meekly. Half his cigarette had burnt to ash and dropped to the ground.

"Tell them things?" Aidan guessed. "Very little. Just that I was a corporal with the Irish Guards and that the colonel himself had recruited me. I pretended that I didn't trust them, either. That my captors could very well be British spies."

"You clever toff," Jemmy wheezed. "And... the kayak?"

"The kayak, yes." Aidan reached up to dab sweat from his friend's brow. "I jumped off the ship in the dead of the night and swam to Danish shores. Then I stole a kayak and sailed to France. The end."

"Look at you..." Jemmy mustered a smirk. "A war... hero. You'll... be drowning, in medals."

"Nonsense." Aidan pocketed his handkerchief and crushed the cigarette stub. "We should get going now, Jem."

Jemmy resisted as Aidan tried to help him up. "I..." A lone tear trickled down his cheek. "I love you." He swallowed and sniffled. "I love... you. Please... please go... without me." His voice cracked. "You can make it... you can... make it... without me."

Aidan sidled up beside him, pulling his dearest friend in his arms. "Never! Never without you, never, never..."

"A..." Jemmy desperately clutched at Aidan's chest. "A, you must go... you must."

"Never," Aidan insisted, kissing the top of Jemmy's head. "Never, mo chroí."

"What... what's that?"

"It, uh... it means 'my heart'. In Irish."

"Sweet," Jem smiled, his eyes closed.

"Yes, sweet. Like you. I love you, Jem. I love you, I can't leave you. And you can't leave me. Can you hear me? You can't leave me. We're going back together. We're – Jem?"

The wheezing had stopped.

"Jemmy?"

The boy's arms hung limp.

"...Jemmy? Jemmy?!"

Aidan grabbed Jem by the shoulders and shook him, hard. The boy's head rolled back, listless, then drooped forward, his chin tucked into his chest. Aidan checked the neck for a pulse. There was none.

"No... no..."

Forced to keep quiet so as not to risk discovery, Aidan only managed to release a muted wail, which hurt his throat, his chest, his head and his eyes. It felt like his heart was bleeding inside his ribcage.

"Jem... Jemmy..."

He held onto the lifeless body, as if Jem was only taking a nap he would eventually wake up from. He held him and wept, rocking back and forth. He held him and hoped. He held him and mourned. He held him and died.

*

Moonlit waves crashed on the sand.

It hurt Aidan to be so close to the water and yet so far away from peace and freedom. The sea had always been his most trusted, tranquil refuge, but any solace he might have found underwater had perished along with Jemmy. Aidan brushed his thumb along the golden figures etched onto the black wood of his early birthday present.

Jemmy had handcrafted it, he knew.

How long had he been carrying it around? How had he snuck it into his kit? He'd taken Jem's tag and put it inside for safe-keeping, along with the other small valuables he'd possessed – the wristwatch gifted by Dr Mortimer. A family signet ring and a pendant. A couple of pictures Jem had kept in his pockets.

"What are you doing?" one of the Belgian soldiers asked.

His sneer reminded Aidan of Leary. He'd caught up with some remnants of Allied troops on his trek to the beach and wondered whether his Norway mates had made it out, after all. Whether Sullivan had. He sure as hell hoped so. Maybe Leary and Sullivan could mourn him and Jemmy over a pint of the black stuff.

"What are you doing, man?" the Belgian asked again.

Aidan had removed one boot, stuffed the box in and secured it with rope in such a way that water wouldn't get in. Or so he hoped. The other men chattered amongst themselves in French. Aidan began to undress, then all eyes were on him.

"Have you lost your mind, Corporal?"

Yeah, that was definitely a Leary sneer. Aidan couldn't help a smirk as he tied the folded boot to his belt. The belt he then fastened around his bare waist. The other men began to laugh at him.

"Do not tell me you will swim to England!"

"No," Aidan grumbled, his blank stare aimed at the inky expanse of water and night sky. "No, I'm going to swim to Scotland."