by M. R. Hall
‘I won’t be a minute, love.’
As the grizzling rose to sporadic sobs, Anna hurried from room to room checking that she hadn’t missed anything. Freshly ironed sheets and a new set of towels lay folded and waiting in the airing cupboard. Lee’s casual clothes and shoes were neatly arranged in the wardrobe and, hanging on a separate section of the rail, his parade dress was pressed to perfection. Neatly arranged beneath, his boots gleamed like mirrors. In the bathroom, she had laid out fresh razors, soaps and toothbrush, and, knowing that the first thing Lee would want to do would be to take a long, deep bath, she had placed scented candles on the side of the tub. The only thing that needed attention now was her. After Leanne had settled for the night she would spend a self-indulgent hour or two making herself smooth and silky and polishing her nails. Tomorrow she would get up extra early to see to her hair. She hoped he liked her new style: she had let it grow past her shoulders and had tried for a sexy, tousled look copied from pictures of Cameron Diaz she had spotted in a magazine.
Leanne’s sobs grew louder and more insistent. If she wasn’t fed soon Anna knew she’d have a full-blown tantrum on her hands.
‘I’m coming, Leanne! I’m coming!’
Not long now, Anna told herself as she dashed to scoop up her daughter. This time tomorrow the three of them would be back together again.
Leanne ate her macaroni cheese and broccoli with gusto, but Anna could barely manage a few mouthfuls. Nervous anticipation and excitement combined to tie her stomach in knots. She gave what she couldn’t eat to Leanne and opened one of the bottles of beer she had bought on special offer. She wouldn’t usually have dreamt of touching alcohol until after Leanne was in bed, but tonight was an exception. She needed it to calm down. After a few sips she began to feel more like herself again. The anxious feelings melted away. She decided that she would spend some of the evening phoning a few of her friends to offer some moral support. She was sure they would all be going through the same emotions, even Melanie Norton. Probably her more than most. Melanie worked so hard to put on a brave face for everyone else that she seldom got a chance to share what she must be feeling. Everyone knew that Major Norton had dodged so many bullets that the men joked that God must have mislaid the one with his name on it.
Having polished off a double portion of macaroni, Leanne devoured a large bowl of chocolate ice cream. Full and content, she happily succumbed to being bathed and changed into her pyjamas without any further protest. By seven thirty she was lying beneath the covers sucking her thumb while Anna read to her. Shortly afterwards, she was asleep.
Anna took a minute to savour the peace before heading out to tidy away the dinner plates. She loved her daughter dearly, but the moments after she had settled for the night always brought with them a sense of profound relief. There were still a few short precious hours left in the day to be something other than a mother. She eased Leanne’s bedroom door shut, tiptoed across the corridor to change into her dressing gown, then retreated to the bathroom armed with a basket of creams, lotions, files and tweezers. With the radio playing quietly, she set to work.
The doorbell rang at a particularly bad moment. Anna was midway through showering the depilatory cream from her legs and her face was smothered in a thick, gooey mask. She hoped whoever it was would go away. No such luck. They rang again.
Damn! She rubbed the last of the cream from her calves, pulled on her dressing gown and ran along the passageway to the door, trailing wet footprints on the carpet. She lifted the receiver to the intercom and held it away from her face.
‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Roberts?’
‘Yes.’
The intercom had been playing up for weeks and the caller’s voice was contending with a loud crackle.
‘It’s Steven Price. Sergeant Price. Could we have a word, please?’
Price. The Notifications Officer. Anna felt her heart thump against her ribs. Her head span. She reached out a hand to stop herself from falling. She tried to speak but her tongue refused to move.
‘Mrs Roberts? Are you there? I’m with a colleague. It’s best if you buzz us in.’
‘No.’ She whispered. ‘No . . .’
There was a pause. Then Price said, ‘Lee’s alive, but he’s been injured. There was a skirmish. He’s been medevac’d to Bastion. I really think you should let us in.’
‘No.’ Anna gasped for air. ‘How bad?’
Another pause. ‘I really should be saying this to you in person . . .’
‘Tell me,’ Anna pleaded.
He hesitated, then seemed to accept this was how it would have to be done. ‘I’ve been told he’s lost both his legs. That’s all I can tell you for now. Of course, I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything else. I’m sorry. He’s a good man.’
Anna stood in silence, staring emptily into space.
Sarah Tanner had followed Melanie’s advice and attempted to clear the air with her future mother-in-law, Rachel, before Kenny’s return home. In case things escalated she had wanted Kenny’s dad, Paul, to be there when the moment came. Paul was working night shifts at a delivery depot a forty-minute drive away in Avonmouth, so the only opportunity Sarah had to catch them both together was after he arrived home at breakfast time. Unfortunately, Rachel was not a morning person, and with the added pressures of Kenny’s homecoming and the imminent wedding, she was touchier than ever.
On most days, Sarah ate breakfast early and attempted to remove all traces of her presence in the kitchen before Rachel appeared to commence her daily search for things to grouse about. A few stray crumbs on the counter or grounds in the sink were all it took to start her off. This morning Sarah had made an extra effort to pass inspection, but even so, Rachel managed to convince herself that the milk had turned and that Sarah must have left it out overnight. It wasn’t a good start. Things grew rapidly worse when, moments after Paul walked through the door, Sarah suggested that instead of complaining about perfectly good milk, Rachel should say what was really bothering her. In the brief silence that followed, Paul’s already washed-out features grew even greyer.
Sarah braced herself for a string of objections ranging from her poor housekeeping to the tattoo on her shoulder bearing the name of her first boyfriend (she had promised Kenny she would get it lasered as soon as she could afford it) to the main issue, which was Rachel’s belief that Sarah had deliberately become pregnant in order to trap her son into marrying her. ‘Used goods,’ was one of the more hurtful expressions she had overheard Rachel use to describe her.
Sarah would have been the first to admit that she had a chequered past. She had left school at sixteen and the home of her long-suffering foster parents in Taunton soon afterwards. In the two years before she and Kenny met at a nightclub in Bristol, she had led a chaotic life working behind bars and living in squats with a collection of colourful and unsavoury characters. But when the two of them got together, everything changed. Falling in love with a real man, a soldier, she realized how shallow and empty her life to date had been. It was true that the pregnancy was unplanned, but these things happen. And besides, it was just as much Kenny’s responsibility as it was hers.
Rachel didn’t take up Sarah’s invitation to voice her churning emotions. Following a period of deathly silence there were melodramatic tears of hurt. Mopping her flooded cheeks with a square of kitchen roll, Rachel said to Paul that she didn’t know what she had done to deserve such a suspicious and ungrateful daughter-in-law, and retreated upstairs to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. And there she remained, emanating toxic waves of self-pity that radiated throughout the house. Paul made a half-hearted effort to try to talk her out, but to no effect. He took his sleeping pill, drank a few beers in front of the TV and later in the morning made up a camp bed in the glazed lean-to at the back of the house which Rachel grandly referred to as ‘the conservatory’.
Hours passed. Rachel refused to show herself. Sarah’s frustration vied with guilt as she wondered if all families
behaved this way or whether she was the problem.
When evening arrived and Rachel had still failed to emerge, Sarah concluded that her future mother-in-law must despise her even more than she had feared. The daylong sulk had, though, served one good purpose: it had made up Sarah’s mind that if she and Kenny were to stand a chance, they would have to change their plans. Continuing to live with his parents while they saved for a deposit on a flat was no longer an option. After the wedding, preferably straight afterwards, they would have to move into rented married quarters in camp. Buying their own place would have to wait.
Paul woke shortly after six thirty in the early evening and trudged up to the shower. He looked tired and haggard and moved stiffly. Sleeping on the camp bed had done nothing to improve the sciatica which was the latest addition to his list of ailments. In an effort to make amends, Sarah quickly rustled up a microwave dinner, making sure there was enough for three.
She was setting the small table in the kitchen when she heard Paul come back downstairs.
‘I’ve made us cod and chips. Would you like peas or beans with yours?’
‘Peas would be nice.’
Sarah turned in surprise at the sound of Rachel’s voice. She was dressed and made up and offered a friendly smile.
‘Thanks for cooking, love – you’ve saved my life. I promised Melanie I’d pop down and help with setting up in the marquee this evening.’
‘Oh,’ Sarah was nonplussed. ‘Do you think she’d like me to help, too?’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t say no, if you feel up to it.’
Paul appeared dressed for work. He glanced apprehensively between the two women, as if expecting fireworks at any moment.
‘Sarah’s made dinner. Isn’t that nice of her?’ Rachel said, filling the water jug from the tap.
‘Great.’ Paul shot Sarah a nervous glance as he took his usual seat at the table. ‘Thanks.’
‘Sorry about this morning,’ Rachel said breezily. ‘I woke with one of my migraines. It’s taken all day to shake it off.’ She touched Sarah lightly on the arm, her eyes seeming to beg forgiveness.
‘Poor you,’ Sarah said.
Rachel mouthed a meaningful ‘thank you’ and ferried plates to the table.
Sarah ate in virtual silence, hiding her confusion at Rachel’s dramatic turnaround and what it might mean for her carefully reconfigured plans. Rachel, meanwhile, chatted enthusiastically about the plans for the homecoming party. Apparently tensions in the WAGs Club were running high as they scrambled to get the picnic catering finished in time. Several women who had made promises of help had failed to deliver, heaping yet more burden on the shoulders of the same few who always bore the brunt on these occasions. Melanie had sent out a desperate email pleading for someone to produce half a dozen quiches before she resorted to buying them from the supermarket. It would mean slaving over the stove for half the night, but Rachel had volunteered. The very least the returning boys deserved was some proper home cooking. Paul nodded and agreed with everything she said. Bright, optimistic moods like this were rare, and he was not about to do anything to upset it.
Rachel was clearing plates and Sarah making Paul a final cup of tea before he headed out for his shift when the doorbell rang.
‘I’ll go,’ Rachel said. ‘You sit there.’
Sarah and Paul exchanged a look as she bustled out of the door. Paul shrugged and shook his head. Words failed him.
‘I think I ought to go with her tonight,’ Sarah said.
‘Probably best,’ Paul agreed. He brought his tea to the table and sat next to her. ‘You’ve been great,’ he said quietly. ‘Really. I know it’s not been, well, you know . . .’
It was as close to heartfelt emotion as he could manage, but Sarah appreciated it nonetheless. She had always liked him, despite his ups and downs. In his good moments he had the same mischievous sparkle in his eyes as Kenny.
The sound that emanated from the front hall was barely human. It was neither a wail nor a scream, but something far more horrible and shocking. Paul leapt up from the table and ran out to Rachel. Sarah felt the muscles in her stomach spasm. She forced herself to follow him to the door. There she came to a sudden halt. Standing on the front step at the far end of the hall was the unmistakable figure of Sergeant Price, and next to him a female corporal staring uncomfortably at the ground in front of her feet. Sergeant Price lifted his gaze from Rachel, who was weeping into Paul’s shoulder, and met her eyes. He tried to speak, but his lips refused to move.
It was Paul who delivered the news to her. ‘He’s dead, love. Kenny’s dead.’
Sergeant Price fought hard to get out the words. ‘You all have my deepest condolences. All of you.’
It wasn’t much, but it made all the difference. New curtains and a bedspread in matching blue transformed the tiny spare bedroom in Kathleen Lyons’s flat into one that looked almost like it belonged to a young man. She hadn’t been able to stretch to new wallpaper, but she hoped Pete might be persuaded to redecorate while he was on leave. In fact, she had a list of jobs that she’d been saving up while he was away, but she would try not to bother him for a day or two. The wives and mothers she knew all said that soldiers found it especially hard to adjust to home life after their first tour of duty. Melanie Norton had also warned her that she may take a while to get used to him herself. The boy who left Highcliffe only days after his eighteenth birthday would have transformed into a man.
Kathleen felt every one of her fifty-five years as she settled down for ten minutes in an armchair before thinking about heading out again to help at the WAGs Club. Her back and shoulders ached from a long day on the till and the arthritis in her fingers was causing them to throb. The pills the doctor had prescribed made little difference, so she dosed herself with cheap whisky. Two inches in the bottom of a tumbler and a few cubes of ice was enough to numb the pain and make her feel human again. As she sipped, she glanced over at the numerous photos of Pete that sat on the shelf behind the TV charting his growth from baby to soldier. Right from the moment of his birth, Kathleen had always been more of a mother to him than her daughter had ever managed to be. Since he was nine years old, he had lived with her more or less full time. Kathleen would have taken him on even sooner, but until then she had been living with Trevor, a jobbing builder who had no time for, or interest in kids. Looking back, it had been a mistake not to leave him sooner, but having suffered the pain of divorce she had been determined not to give up easily on another relationship. If only she had known how much better off she would have been living alone. No arguments. No complications. No one keeping you awake at night snoring or pawing at you. Kathleen wasn’t exactly happy with her life, but she was as close to content as she had ever been. Her only ambitions now were for her wayward daughter to re-emerge from wherever she had fetched up in London and for her to make her peace with her son.
There was a small picture of Holly nestled among the others – the only one Kathleen possessed that showed her and Pete together. It had been taken on the beach at Weston when Pete was six years old and Holly twenty-three. Her daughter looked young and pretty, though distinctly bored by motherhood. She had always refused to name Pete’s father. Kathleen suspected that the truth was that she didn’t know who it was. Still, it was probably better that way. There was a lot to be said for not having much in the way of family – fewer people to let you down or tell you how to live your life. Pete was free to become his own man and she would do her best to help him on his way.
Kathleen had finally started to get comfortable when the telephone rang. She sighed and pushed up from her chair, feeling a painful twinge in her lower spine. Hobbling slightly, she crossed the room and reached for the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Kath, it’s Phil. Sorry to call you like this but Kayley’s just rung in sick. Don’t suppose you could stand in this evening?’
Despite the politeness of the inquiry from the store’s deputy manager, Kathleen knew that she had no cho
ice. It was no secret that management had been asked to trim the workforce and she didn’t want to give them any excuse to cull her. Twenty years’ service and the fastest till speed in the store weighed in her favour, but her age and sagging features didn’t. Given the choice, supermarkets preferred their customer-facing staff as young and attractive as possible. She felt bad about letting Melanie Norton down but it couldn’t be helped. Besides, Melanie had a husband bringing a wage in.
‘Of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ She tried to sound cheerful at the prospect.
‘Thanks, Kath. See you in a while.’ Her deputy manager sounded genuinely grateful, as if she had saved his neck.
Kathleen downed the rest of her whisky and steeled herself for another four hours on the till. It was the last thing she felt like.
The weather had turned stormy. Dark clouds had gathered and a damp, warm wind was blowing in across the Bristol Channel from the west. Kathleen felt the first spots of rain on her face as she hurried along the main road. She had forgotten her umbrella and had come too far to turn back. There was no choice but to speed up and hope she made it before the heavens opened. There was a low rumble followed by a crack of thunder and a chillier gust of wind. The spatters became a shower. Kathleen pulled her mac up over her head and broke into a run.
The car horn sounded behind her as she approached the junction with the main road. She glanced over her shoulder and saw two figures inside, one male, one female, both in military uniform. The driver was waving to her. It was a face she recognized but couldn’t put a name to. He pulled up alongside her and climbed out, pulling on his cap. He was tall and muscular with one dead eye that didn’t move. His colleague followed.
‘Mrs Lyons?’ he said.
‘Yes . . .’
