Another Life

by Sara MacDonald

  The announcer said, ‘The tension is palpable here at the Incirlik American air base in Turkey. There has been a complete news blackout for the last twenty-four hours but journalists based here believe there has been a huge British and American covert operation to find and airlift all the missing soldiers to safety. The dangers involved do not need to be illustrated. It is probable that the Special Forces unit that the Lynx helicopter had been deployed to airlift out of Northern Iraq when it came under hostile fire has been crucial in finding three of the missing helicopter crew and airlifting them back to the American base here in Turkey …’

  The announcer suddenly stopped and cried, ‘News is coming in now … We believe the last missing British soldier has been found and picked up … We think the last British soldier is out …’

  Gabby was watching and dialling Simon at the same time.

  ‘Tell me exactly what you are seeing and hearing!’ he said excitedly. ‘You are getting the news by satellite faster than we can access it.’

  Gabby repeated every word to him as it was coming over on the television.

  ‘What can you see now?’

  ‘Nothing. The picture is fuzzy and dark … just Land Rover lights and soldiers rushing about or huddled in groups … Everybody is waiting. Please, Simon … you must be able to verify this. Is Josh safe? Has he been picked up?’

  ‘I can’t confirm it. Sorry, Gabrielle.’

  ‘But they wouldn’t say it and film it if it wasn’t true.’

  ‘I will ring you back.’

  Gabby replaced the receiver. ‘Simon won’t confirm it,’ she said to Nell and Charlie.

  ‘It’s happening! … Look, we’ve seen the military waiting, Gabby,’ Charlie said.

  ‘I believe they’ve picked Josh up, I really do, Gabs,’ Nell said.

  Marika rang. ‘I’m sure it’s true, Gabby … it’s got to be.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gabby said, but dared not hope yet again.

  They had the radio and the television on at the same time. In the sitting room ITV ran; in the kitchen the BBC. None of them dared take their eyes off the screen in case they missed something. Elan came panting in with a bottle of good whisky which he and Charlie made inroads into. Ten o’clock came, and still Simon had not confirmed any rescue.

  There is a lot of argument going on as to who is going to travel in the Land Rover with the captured British. Mr Nice Guy is definitely in charge.

  Andrew leans towards Josh. ‘Don’t look at me. Listen. If I or anyone yells at you to do something unexpected, do it. Don’t question it. Just go, go, go. OK, Josh? Now stay on the ball.’

  The Land Rover speeds jerkily out of the village and into darkness. Mr Nice Guy sits in the front, gun across his knees. Two of his fierce-looking henchmen stand watching out of the back, equally armed to the teeth.

  Tiredness is making Josh feel as if he is somewhere a long way away from this surreal journey through barren desert. Mr Nice Guy suddenly shouts an order to the driver and he slows down. The nervous tension of the four Iraqis in the vehicle alerts Josh. He glances at Andrew and sees he is watching Mr Nice Guy intently. The latter speaks rapidly into a handset and then turns and yells at the two Iraqis behind them. All at once both Josh and Andrew see lights behind them and the Land Rover speeds up again. Mr Nice Guy turns and looks at Andrew.

  ‘British, when Land Rover slows again I give word. You jump and then follow me quick, very quick.’

  Andrew nods, glances at Josh. Josh can feel his heart thumping, all tiredness suddenly gone. Both men move to the edge of their seat, place the weight on the balls of their feet. Mr Nice Guy speaks quietly into his radio and then touches the driver’s arm. The vehicle does a sudden circle facing the way it has come and Mr Nice Guy yells, ‘Now!’

  The two guards at the back jump out of the way. Josh and Andrew leap out. Mr Nice Guy is already running and they follow, pounding after him into the darkness. There is the sound of gunfire behind them and more vehicles converging. Josh and Andrew keep running but it is hard-going on sand. They slowly become aware of other shadowy figures moving with them in the dark. Josh is glad now he kept his running up, but he sees Andrew is beginning to lose pace and watches horrified as he stumbles and falls. Josh rushes to help him up, but two shadowy Arab figures appear. One pulls Josh away and on and the other bends to Andrew. Josh hears shouting and gunfire and he tries to turn back, but the figure beside him yanks him firmly onward and suddenly there is a vehicle ahead and he is thrown into it, and the man leaps in after him as it shoots away. They scream through a village and on and on through darkness as Josh crouches, miserable, worrying about Andrew.

  His rescuer is shouting into his radio and the vehicle suddenly stops, turns back and drives towards an abandoned village where it parks inside a derelict building. Suddenly Josh hears the sound of a helicopter and his hopes soar. He sits up. It has landed somewhere near. He looks at the Arab eagerly and points to the sky.

  ‘British?’

  ‘American.’ The man shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, points out into the darkness. ‘No good. Saddam soldiers. Too late, helicopter.’

  Suddenly the helicopter is airborne again, its lights disappearing into the darkness. Josh has never felt so alone in his life.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asks the frightening-looking man beside him.

  ‘No like Saddam.’ He makes a realistic cut-throat motion. ‘He kill family.’

  He is driven further into a village consisting only of men, and given an Arab costume to wear and water with dry biscuits.

  Josh tries not to think of home, tries not to feel abandoned. The Arab lies on the straw near some chickens and promptly falls asleep. Josh sits there, determined to stay awake and alert, but tiredness overcomes him.

  He is woken abruptly and yanked upright. A hand is clamped over his mouth from behind. The Arab is awake and pulling out a knife. The man holding Josh says something quietly in Arabic to the Arab and he nods. There is shouting outside and the sound of a vehicle arriving and men jumping out. Footsteps come towards them. The Arab rises silently in one movement, knife in hand, and flattens himself against the wall. The footsteps start to go away and then stop, turn, and start to come back. Josh can feel his heart thundering, sees a uniform briefly as a man comes into the building lighting a cigarette, then the Arab’s knife flashes and the intruder is eased to the ground in absolute silence. Josh shakes with shock and the man holding him says, ‘OK, boss, we are going to have to move fucking fast now.’

  He lets Josh go. Josh turns to look at a dark man dressed as an Arab.

  ‘No time for introductions …’

  He says something to the Arab, who is peering out into the darkness. All the men are round the vehicle at the other end of the village.

  ‘Right. Out and behind this building, quickly.’

  They move quickly and silently round the broken wall and begin to run, still in darkness. Josh runs as he has never run, keeping pace with the two men. After twenty minutes he wonders how long he can keep this pace up.

  ‘Five minutes, boss,’ the man beside him says. ‘Keep going. They are going to find that dead man any minute.’

  He talks quickly into a handset and two more men appear out of the blackness and move with them. They can hear vehicles behind them now, but something else, too, the clatter of a helicopter overhead. And then there it is, a great big dirty American Black Hawk dropping from the sky a hundred yards ahead of them.

  Hope flares. Josh, almost sobbing with relief, makes his tired legs fly. Ignoring the pain in his side, his eyes are on the opening door. He can see faces and uniforms … just ahead, so near … please … so nearly there.

  Suddenly before them on the screen, in a darkness they could not see through, there was a huge helicopter landing and a rush of activity. The Land Rover with the Red Cross on it sped towards the helicopter.

  An excited journalist shouted, ‘We think this is it! The army pilot is out! We believe the last British soldier is saf
ely out!’

  But on the screen there was nothing to see except the blur of vehicles. Gabby rang Simon who answered on the first ring.

  ‘We’re watching, too, Gabrielle …’

  ‘He’s out! They’re all out. The young helicopter pilot is out and safe!’ the announcer yells. ‘This has been an incredible combined British and American rescue mission …’

  ‘Simon!’

  ‘I can’t confirm, Gabrielle. I can’t confirm. We don’t have satellite.’

  The trucks were turning and whizzing away now, back along the road to the base, flags flying.

  ‘They are all out. Josh must be out,’ Charlie yelled. ‘The trucks are leaving. They would not dare to announce it if they were not absolutely sure.’

  ‘Yes!’ Nell agreed. ‘Gabby, they are safe. Josh is safe.’

  Gabby nodded. She thought so, too, but she could not quite believe it until the voice she had come to rely on confirmed it. She hovered by the phone and they switched channels repeatedly to see the same thing over and over again to convince themselves.

  Josh was safe.

  The phone went. Simon was laughing with relief. ‘Gabrielle! I can confirm Josh is out. All British servicemen are now out. Josh is out and safe!’

  ‘Oh!’ Gabby sank to her knees, relief literally making them give way.

  ‘Expect a call from your son very soon.’

  ‘He’s really all right?’

  ‘Yes, but very shaken. I am so happy and relieved for you all. This is such a good result.’

  ‘Simon, thank you so much. Thank you for everything!’

  ‘My pleasure. Sleep well.’

  Gabby, Nell and Charlie stood with Elan and held each other without speaking. Then, Nell, suddenly overcome, needed to be alone and went back to her cottage. Charlie and Elan went back to the whisky bottle. Gabby sat by the phone.

  When it rang she snatched it up. ‘Josh!’

  There was silence then a faint sound that tore her heart. ‘Mum.’

  ‘Josh … Josh …’

  She could hear him fighting for control.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, ‘it’s all right, Josh.’

  ‘I didn’t think I was going to make it home.’

  ‘Oh, Josh.’

  ‘I … all so quick … I …’

  ‘You don’t have to talk, darling. You’re safe, that’s all that matters.’

  Charlie came in and Gabby handed him the phone.

  ‘Hi, son. How are you? God, you gave us a fright …’

  ‘I’m OK, Dad. I can’t talk long because other people need the phone …’

  ‘You take care, Josh. It’s so good to hear you, boy. We’ll talk soon. Get some rest. Here’s your mother again.’

  ‘Mum, I’ll try to ring you tomorrow when I’m back in Kuwait. Some really brave guys got me out and they need to phone their families too.’

  ‘All right, darling.’ Gabby was reluctant to let him go. ‘Josh, are you really OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, Gabby.’

  ‘What will happen now, darling?’

  ‘De-brief. Have a shower! Then go to thank the Yanks. We are invited to their mess. Then bed. I’m too tired to talk to Nell, will you give her my love?’

  ‘Of course I will. Sleep well. Oh Josh …’

  ‘I’m OK, Mum, don’t worry.’

  ‘Love you, Josh.’

  ‘Love you too, Mum.’

  Gabby went into the kitchen. Charlie smiled at her and Elan got up and kissed the top of her head. ‘Go to bed, child, and get some rest.’

  Charlie was so relieved his son was safe that he was on a high, and certainly wouldn’t sleep. Gabby saw that he and Elan were going to get pretty drunk.

  She walked across the yard to see Nell. Nell had been crying. They sat with the cats in Nell’s sitting room and both nursed a brandy.

  ‘Nell, Josh has never called me Mum before. His voice was so small, as if he was a child again for a second. It seared me. How could we have borne it if something had happened to him?’

  ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about. Josh has had the most frightening experience, Gabby, and it will undoubtedly affect him for a while. Will they send Josh and the others home?’

  ‘I think he would hate to be sent home, Nell. His colonel said they would probably have a short leave to see their families. It will probably be up to them.’

  ‘But surely he won’t be flying over Iraq again?’

  ‘Nell, I don’t know. Knowing Josh, he will want to go on flying.’

  Nell sighed. Gabby saw suddenly that Nell was beginning to grow old. Somehow she had aged so gently over the years it had not seemed noticeable. Now it was becoming so. Gabby got up and gently kissed her forehead.

  ‘Nell, stop worrying. Get some sleep. Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’ Nell snorted.

  ‘Always being there.’ Gabby smiled.

  ‘Gabs?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You did awfully well, small person, as Elan would say.’

  Gabby smiled and went out into the dark. She looked up at the stars. At this moment she could light a candle to thank God. Shadow slunk from the darkness.

  ‘Where have you been, girl?’ Gabby asked. ‘I know, you’ve had no walks, have you? Tomorrow we’ll go down to the cove, I promise.’

  She said goodnight to Elan and Charlie who were eating bread and cheese and making no sense, and after a hot bath she got into Josh’s bed where she would not be disturbed, and she dreamt strange dreams of loss.

  Mark was torn. He should fly home. The girls had rung and told him Veronique had a breast lump and was going into hospital for a biopsy. He should be there. Of course he should, in case the news was bad.

  Yet to leave England now would feel like abandoning Gabriella. It made no sense for there was nothing he could do here. She was with her family. He could neither comfort nor sustain her. He understood her silence, how could he not? All the same, he had been glad to have Lucinda’s phone call.

  He would decide that evening. He had no lectures for a month as he was concentrating on finishing his book. He was still behind and having difficulty focusing on what he needed to do. A deadline seemed unimportant in the light of the tragedy looming for Gabriella and her family.

  Mark had some research to do and decided he would go to the Guildhall Library before meeting his publisher for lunch. For the past three days he had paused in front of every television shop, blindly watching the news unfold. The newspapers didn’t help his dreadful sense of unease, either.

  Both his and Gabriella’s lives were starting to unravel, as if fate had been waiting, watching for an opportunity to shit on them from a high place. If Veronique had cancer … If, God forbid, Josh died … it would be the end of their brief life together. Neither love nor happiness could be snatched at any cost. Mark knew that neither he nor Gabriella would or could turn their backs on the innocent.

  He also knew that Gabriella would never be the same again if anything happened to Josh; and he would be helpless, thousands of miles away, unable to love, cherish or coax her back from the brink.

  Mark walked over the bridge and stopped and watched the muddy water flow beneath him. I am going to lose Gabriella. I might already have lost her. For even if Josh came home safely, and please God that he did, Gabriella would have re-learnt the powerful pull of family. As he would, if the woman who had borne him five daughters and who he had shared a long married life with was threatened by cancer.

  I suppose, Mark thought, life is dictating our future. We are losing each other, for I could never turn my back on a smitten Veronique. She has been such a huge part of my life.

  I shall have to fly home. I will book this evening.

  He looked up at the sky. All this fever about the eclipse. Everybody moving ritually and instinctively towards the ocean. How small we are in the scheme of things, he thought, and how often we need to be reminded.

  Chapter 54

  We meet down in the cove at t
he end of each day. Sir Richard is due back in St Piran any day now. Our days together have an unreality about them, like this heatwave that goes on and on like a dream; yet they seem truer to Isabella and I than real life. We lie naked with wonder and ease with each other. We talk and sleep and love on our deserted and lonely beach and look no further than the end of each day.

  Daniel Vyvyan has not yet returned from the south of France, and Isabella takes me to the cool of her father’s garden. We trespass and she shows me the hidden places where she used to play as a child.

  Lisette is grieving for her mother and is much less of a guard dog. Morwenna is to be buried in the Methodist chapel. The village stops work for the funeral to pay their respects. Lisette’s father had been a French fisherman who saw Morwenna and never returned home. Both he and Morwenna were loved and respected.

  Only those working on the Lady Isabella return to work that afternoon, in order to finish the small outstanding jobs before Sir Richard’s return. The village love a wake and it will go on long after the sun sets.

  I go down to the quay with my father and we make the final adjustments to the figurehead. My calculations were accurate and I am mighty relieved. The figurehead looks, as she should, part of the ship. She is now ready to start her voyage through the oceans.

  It had not been easy getting her down the hill. It had taken eight of us, four each side of the cart to steady her, for she was heavy and unwieldy.

  My father and I stand side by side, viewing her. It is the first time my father has had the chance to look at the figurehead properly.

  ‘It is skilfully carved,’ he says. ‘The best carving thou hast ever done.’

  But something in his expression as he stares at Isabella’s face disturbs me, as if I have somehow given him a glimpse of our secret.

  ‘Sir Richard should be well-pleased, son. Thou hast done a good job.’

  I stare at the face I am beginning to know better than my own.

  ‘I would not have finished her, Pa, if you had not freed me to work on her full-time. You have done well to finish the schooner in three months.’