by Fiona Field
‘She isn’t being viewed as a total dead loss though, is she? Not like me.’
‘And feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to make things better.’
Mike stared at her. ‘No? You apply for one job – one miserable job – and you waltz straight into it and I... how many applications? Dozens? Scores? And I’ve had three interviews. And don’t tell me that these things take time or any other crap platitudes. We both know it’s because I’m not good enough.’ He got up and stormed out.
Susie watched him bleakly as he slammed the front door behind him. Should she have stopped him? Should she have handled things differently? She pulled out a chair and slumped down onto it. God, she wanted a drink.
Chapter 11
Mike stormed through the patch, angry with the world, angry with Susie and angry with himself. If only... if only... But wishing things were different wasn’t going to alter anything. Whatever Susie had said the other night he knew he’d fucked up somewhere along the line and now he was paying for it. Along with his family. He couldn’t bear the idea that they were going to have to live on that tip of an estate in that appalling house. The place was a dump. It didn’t matter that the village centre was pretty, because where they were going to live was anything but. And he dreaded to think what the neighbours were going to be like – out-of-work layabouts with addiction issues. The irony of his assessment wasn’t lost on him. He was going to be out of work and he’d had his own battles with drink in the past... but he was an army officer. He wasn’t exactly a contender for The Jeremy Kyle Show.
His mind roamed over and over the general unfairness of life as his footsteps took him through the patch and towards the barracks. When he looked up and took note of his surroundings he realised he was walking towards the mess. He knew he should keep on going, he knew that he shouldn’t go in, but what the hell? His life was in such a shit state it couldn’t get any worse. Besides, one drink wouldn’t hurt.
He walked into the bar where many of the living-in members were enjoying a post-work-pre-supper drink.
‘Hi, Mike,’ said a number of them as they saw him.
‘Hi,’ he returned. ‘Dawkins, get me a large gin, please.’
He ignored the surprised look he got from both the mess barman and the other officers present and he also ignored the subsequent awkward silence.
Dawkins pushed a mess chit and pencil over with the drink so Mike could sign for it but Mike ignored the slip of paper and grabbed, greedily, for his gin. He took a large slug before he picked up the pencil and scribbled his name.
‘That sort of day, was it, Mike?’ said James.
Mike took another gulp and nodded. ‘Pretty much.’ He drained his drink. ‘Same again, please.’
The officers in the bar exchanged glances and Sam Lewis looked at her watch. She might have arrived since Mike and Susie had both gone on the wagon but she was still aware of their past – pretty much everyone was.
‘Think I might go and grab a quick bath before dinner,’ she said. She put her glass on the bar and disappeared. There were other mutterings and mumblings from the others about things they needed to do or phone calls that couldn’t wait and in another couple of minutes the bar was empty except for Mike and Dawkins.
Mike looked around him. ‘Just call me Mr Popularity.’
‘Sir,’ said Dawkins.
‘It’s all right, Dawkins, you don’t have to stay and talk to me, just because the others have high-tailed it. I imagine they’re thinking that failure is catching – like the flu.’
‘Sir,’ said Dawkins again.
‘But before you go back to your cubbyhole, I’ll have another one. I’ll ring the bell when I want you again.’
‘Sir.’
*
Susie’s phone rang. She stopped mashing the potatoes for a shepherd’s pie and picked up the handset.
‘Susie? It’s James here.’
‘Hi, James,’ said Susie, putting on a cheerful voice. James didn’t need to know how grim things were for her right now. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Look, this is a bit tricky and I may be out of order but Mike’s in the mess and by the looks of things he’s on a personal mission to see how fast he can get through a bottle of gin.’
Susie shut her eyes and leaned against the counter. Dear God. Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse... ‘Thank you, James. No, you’re not out of order at all, and I’m glad you told me. I’ll come over.’
‘It might be an idea to bring the car. He’s pretty far gone.’
‘Thanks. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Susie grabbed the car keys and raced out of the house. Part of her wanted to cry and the other part of her was seething with anger. How could he? How could he? Like getting shit-faced was going to make anything better. Barely checking the mirror and before doing up her seatbelt, Susie backed the car out of the drive and then scorched up the road towards the mess. Breaking the rule about not parking near a building, left over from IRA car-bombing days, she abandoned her vehicle bang in front of the entrance and raced up the steps. James was waiting for her.
‘How bad is he?’
James raised his eyebrows.
‘That bad, eh?’
James nodded. ‘He had two doubles in short order before I left the bar to do some admin. When I got back he was still drinking and I don’t think he’s slowed up any.’
‘OK,’ said Susie. ‘Let’s get him home while he can still walk to the car.’
She went into the bar. ‘Come on, Mike,’ she said quietly. ‘Supper’s almost ready.’
‘Shusie,’ Mike slurred. ‘Wha’ you doin’ here?’ His face was flushed and his eyes were bleary. ‘You fanshy a drink too?’ He waved his glass at her, slopping the gin over the side.
‘No thanks, Mike.’
‘Go on. Don’t be such a shpoilsport.’
‘I just think it’s time you came home.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve had enough,’ said Susie.
‘Of coursh I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of you, I’ve had enough of not getting a job, of being on the fucking wagon...’ He waved his glass around again and spilt gin over James’s sleeve.
‘That’s enough, Mike.’
Mike leaned towards Susie. ‘Don’t you tell me what to do.’ He prodded a finger at her. ‘Jusht because you’re so bloody clever and you got a job, doesn’t mean you wear the trousers now.’
‘Mike... come on,’ Susie pleaded.
‘Do as Susie says,’ said James. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘Yeah, and so would you be in my position.’
‘Maybe, but we both know it doesn’t help matters. Time to go home, Mike.’
‘I tried being shober,’ said Mike. ‘Look where it got me.’ He lurched off his bar stool. ‘I know you don’t want me here. I’m an embarrassment. A drunk and a no-hoper.’ His eyes filled with maudlin tears.
‘Come on, Mike,’ said Susie, gently. ‘The car’s outside.’
Mike allowed himself to be led away. He and Susie got as far as the entrance hall when he stumbled and sagged. He was a dead weight and Susie could just about support him but she couldn’t propel him forwards and getting him down the steps and into the car was going to be impossible. Once again, James came to her rescue. Taking the bulk of Mike’s weight he was able to help get him out to the car and then hold Mike up while Susie got the passenger door open. James bundled and folded Mike into the front seat and then got in the back.
‘You don’t have to, James,’ said Susie, squirming with embarrassment at the situation.
‘And how are you going to get him out again and back into the house?’
Susie looked at him and sighed. He was right, of course.
‘Thanks,’ she said as she got in and started the engine. She drove the few hundred yards back to her quarter. ‘Thank God the kids aren’t home,’ she muttered as she went to open the front door.
James managed to haul Mike out of the
car again and between them the pair managed to half drag, half carry Mike indoors. He was not completely out of it – he was just conscious enough to mumble incoherent words now and again but he didn’t seem to have a clue about what his surroundings were or what he was doing. They managed to get him as far as the sofa in the sitting room and into the recovery position. Wordlessly, Susie went to the kitchen and returned with the washing up bowl which she placed on the floor beside him. James had wedged Mike with cushions to stop him rolling onto his back and had loosened his collar.
‘Thanks, James. I owe you.’
‘Any friend would have done the same.’
‘Maybe.’ She looked at the floor. ‘James, can I ask you another huge favour? Can I ask you to have a word to any witnesses and ask them to be discreet? Things are bad enough without...’
‘Without this being the hot topic of the day?’
Susie nodded. ‘We all know what the mess and the patch can be like.’
‘Consider it done. And if it’s any consolation, Dawkins is the soul of discretion. I dread to think what he’s witnessed in his years as the mess bar steward and I’ve never known him say a word.’
Susie felt huge relief. It would be bad enough if all the officers knew about Mike’s bender but if the soldiers did too... Not that it really mattered, as they would soon be out of that world altogether.
*
James returned to the bar and to judge by the sudden silence as he walked in the topic of conversation had probably been exactly as Susie had feared. The mess members, having fled rather than witness the embarrassing scene, seemed only too happy to pick over the bones of it now the source of their discomfort had gone.
James passed on Susie’s request. ‘And,’ he said, turning to Dawkins, ‘I know I don’t need to say anything to you.’
‘Sir,’ said Dawkins by way of acknowledgement.
‘You probably know where more bodies are buried than the gravedigger at Highgate Cemetery.’
‘Sir.’ Dawkins chest swelled.
‘Of course we won’t say anything,’ said Sam. ‘Not to anyone who wasn’t here.’
‘Not to anyone at all,’ said James, firmly. ‘It’d be too easy to let something slip.’
Sam shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
The others nodded in agreement and there were murmurs of ‘none of our business, anyway’ and ‘you’re probably right’.
James wasn’t sure if the genie had been put back in the bottle but he’d done his best.
*
Maddy saw Camilla check her watch and gaze around the table in the dining room of the ex-brigadier’s quarter and now soon-to-be-converted communities centre and at the wives she’d coerced or co-opted to be on her committee. The room was chilly, despite the fact that it was the beginning of July, and there was a faint smell of damp. It would be different when the building was in proper use again and the sooner that happened the better it would be for everyone in the battalion. If this meeting was going to move things along then Maddy was all in favour of it – even if she knew it was going to mean a shedload of unpaid work.
Camilla pushed an A4 pad of paper and a pen in Maddy’s direction and said, ‘And I’m sure you don’t mind taking the minutes, Maddy, do you?’
Maddy was tempted to counter that she blooming well did, but instead she picked up the pen and quickly listed the names of the attendees she knew. There were a couple who she had to get to introduce themselves and then she was done.
‘Right,’ said Camilla. ‘Shall we get on?’
There was a definite inference, thought Maddy, that she had deliberately held up proceedings by trying to do a proper job with the minutes. She resisted the temptation to hand the job back to Camilla but, instead, she sighed and gritted her teeth.
‘As you know,’ said Camilla, ‘we’ve received funding from various sources and the garrison commander has approved the conversion of this house in principle, but before anything can go any further we need to be in agreement of what we all want from this amenity. I’ve had a number of suggestions and now I want to see if the wives, whom you represent, agree.’
The wives around the table, who had been drawn from a cross-section of the battalion, nodded. In addition to the wives, the regimental admin officer was present as he also had the role of paymaster for the battalion and if businesses were run in this centre he would need to oversee the accounting and auditing.
‘So,’ said Camilla, ‘here are the proposals.’ She ran through the ideas for a coffee shop and a crèche, both of which would be open every morning from nine o’clock till twelve thirty, plus the hairdressing salon upstairs, open for the same hours, and the general space where groups like the choir and the book club could meet which would be available to interested parties right up to ten in the evening. Then she showed them rough plans as to how the house would be divided up to accommodate them. There were nods of assent. ‘All we have to do now is to find some lovely willing volunteers to run these facilities,’ trilled Camilla, looking expectantly and significantly at those assembled around her.
Instantly the wives looked in any direction but Camilla’s.
‘Come on now,’ she cajoled.
‘I think I might have someone lined up for the crèche,’ said Maddy.
Camilla nodded in approval before saying, ‘How about the hairdresser? Any talented wives here?’
Still not catching her eye, heads were shaken.
‘I think,’ said Maddy, ‘we ought to put an ad in the garrison newsletter. We may not have anyone who would like to do it from 1 Herts but I bet someone in the garrison could.’
‘I’ll leave that with you, Maddy, then.’
The saccharine sweetness in Camilla’s voice made Maddy’s toes curl.
‘I’ll get on the case.’
‘And you’ll talk to your childminder friend, too? She needs to see the regimental admin officer to get the paperwork sorted.’
Maddy nodded. ‘It’s Caro Edwards. She’s the wife of B Company’s new 2IC but she’s not here yet.’
‘Well, talk to her anyway. You don’t mind, do you?’
This might be Camilla’s committee and Camilla would get all the praise from the brass for setting up the community centre, but it seemed to Maddy it was she who was doing the donkey work. Ho hum.
*
Caro picked up the phone before Josh could get to it. The four-year-old thought it the best fun to shout ‘smelly poo pants’ followed by shrieks of high-pitched giggles to whoever the poor unsuspecting caller was. Of course, if it was some spammer Caro couldn’t care less, but on a number of occasions it had been someone who mattered and who hadn’t been amused.
‘Caro, it’s me, Maddy.’
‘Maddy! How lovely to hear from you.’
‘How’s the move going?’
‘Don’t ask,’ said Caro with a heartfelt sigh. ‘But I’m getting the cleaners in. No way can I bring this place up to snuff with the kids underfoot. While it’s going to be great for Oliver to change school in the summer holidays it doesn’t make life easy for me.’
‘No, I can imagine,’ said Maddy. ‘Anyway, I have a proposition for you – a job here.’
‘I haven’t been dicked for something already with the battalion? I haven’t even left this place yet!’
‘You guessed it, but it’s a good dicked.’
‘There is never a good dicked.’
‘You’ll get paid.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s different. What is it?’
Caro listened while Maddy told her about the new community centre and the proposal for a crèche and that Camilla Rayner thought that Caro was the perfect person to run it.
‘So, this is going to be on a proper commercial basis?’
‘Yes. The profits will go back to the battalion welfare fund – if there are any – but you’ll get paid a wage. I don’t know all the nitpicky details, the regimental admin officer is dealing with that side of things. I can let you have his number if you’d like to go o
ver that aspect with him. And there’s lots of form-filling to do, as you can imagine. Oh, and I’ll email you the plans for the rooms being converted for the crèche. You may want to check they contain everything you’ll need – you’re getting a little bathroom and loo and a tiny kitchenette so you can heat up food and milk and stuff but I’m no expert as to what else you’ll need.’
‘Thanks, I’d like that – and that phone number. I have to say this is a first; to have a job ready and waiting for me. Are you thinking of going back to work?’
Maddy’s sigh gusted over the connection. ‘Honestly, what with the kids and one thing and another it just doesn’t seem possible. Luckily, we don’t need the money so much now since Seb’s prom—’
But Caro didn’t hear why Maddy didn’t need the money because Josh chose that moment to fall backwards off the arm of the sofa and was screaming blue murder.
Caro said goodbye to Maddy hastily as she rushed to see how badly Josh had hurt himself. After a cuddle and a biscuit Josh decided he was feeling sufficiently better for Caro to resume what she’d been doing before; working out the kit they’d need to have with them in the car for the trip to their new home and what could be packed by the removal men. Why, she wondered, didn’t moving, even after half a dozen times, ever become any easier?
*
Susie was also thinking about packing but, unlike Caro who was looking forward to her move, Susie was dreading her own one. It wasn’t just the hassle of the move, it was the change in lifestyle, the massive drop in income, the effect it was going to have on the twins, to say nothing of what it was doing to Mike’s state of mind. Since his ‘lapse’ he had been completely down; beating himself up about getting so drunk, being a loser, being a burden... Susie tried to be cheerful, tried to be supportive, but the reality was she couldn’t keep shouldering everything all the time. Him moping and moaning about how life wasn’t fair was getting her down too, and she didn’t have the time or the energy to waste on bitching about it or, alternatively, trying to look on the bright side to stop herself from wanting to take a leap off Beachy Head. Someone had to spit on their hands and crack on because Mike didn’t seem to be able to.
