by M. R. Hall
‘Of course,’ Paul said.
Norton repeated his sincere condolences and left them to their grief.
The visit had proved far less troubling than Norton had feared but the image of Sarah’s stricken, tear-stained face stayed with him. She looked barely more than a girl. In a few weeks’ time she would give birth to a child who would never know its father. She was living with her intended in-laws, but in due course she would doubtless make a life with someone else and Paul and Rachel Green would suffer another form of bereavement as their grandchild grew up thinking of another man as its father. It was a sequence he had witnessed many times before. He hadn’t managed to be much of a father himself, but as soon as each of his two daughters was able to understand, he had told them in no uncertain terms that they must never marry a soldier.
On leaving the house, Norton checked his phone and found a text message from Sergeant Price informing him that Private Lee Roberts’s wife, Anna, and Private Dale Carter’s girlfriend, were both en-route to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Selly Oak, where they would be met by one of the regiment’s two visiting officers. It was a relief. Dealing with the relatives of the badly injured could often prove more difficult than dealing with those of the dead. Few young families could cope with the relentless struggle, financial hardship and emotional fallout that ensued when a previously strong, fit man found himself incapacitated for life. It left him with only one further house call to make. He checked the address he had entered in a notebook and headed for a similar street a short distance away.
Norton arrived outside a nondescript block of flats built in the years after the war, and rang the bell. While he waited for an answer, he noticed that the front door and window frames were in need of paint. Like many of the buildings in the neighbourhood surrounding the camp, it had a faintly depressing air of neglect.
Kathleen Lyons was a tired-looking woman with a face older than her years. Her first-floor flat smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke and the sickly lemon-scented air freshener she used to disguise it. After living in the open air for six months, Norton’s sense of smell was finely tuned and the mixture of odours in the stuffy room made him want to throw open a window and let in some fresh air.
They sat at the table in the small kitchen with a window that overlooked a garage on the neighbouring trading estate. Kathleen’s view from the sink was of piles of tyres and a collection of old cars in various states of dismemberment.
‘I’m not sure how much Sergeant Price told you . . .’ Norton began.
‘Very little,’ Kathleen said. ‘He’s phoned every day, but I’m still none the wiser.’
‘To be fair to him, he has only had the barest details,’ Norton said, trying to sound as conciliatory as he could. ‘But the fact is, the circumstances of your grandson’s disappearance or abduction are rather baffling.’
Kathleen listened with an expression that bordered on the sceptical as Norton outlined the events of the evening of the previous Tuesday and the following Wednesday morning. He emphasized that the post was fortified, permanently guarded and surrounded by mines, and that to leave it unnoticed was a virtual impossibility. Nevertheless, it appeared that Pete had either been skilfully abducted or had found a way of leaving which had caught them all unawares.
Kathleen absorbed every word. Norton sensed that her downtrodden exterior disguised a shrewd mind. Her eyes were sad, but she never once gave the impression that she might break down.
‘How could he be abducted with all the other men bedded down next to him?’ she asked, when he had completed his explanation.
‘It’s hard to comprehend, Mrs Lyons,’ he replied, aware of how unsatisfactory it sounded.
‘And how do you know that they’re all telling the truth?’
‘All I can say is that I trust my men with my life. They have no reason to lie.’
Kathleen folded her arms, keeping her thoughts about that to herself. ‘And so you’ve all come home and left him?’
‘Our Special Forces are still on the ground and are pulling out all the stops looking for him. Units of the Afghan National Army have already taken over the company’s former positions and are employing their intelligence network to try to make contact with whoever is holding him.’
‘Sergeant Price said it’s all an official secret – is that right?’
‘Not exactly. We haven’t informed the press in case it jeopardizes his safety. We would advise you to back us up in this until we have some more definite news.’
‘Because it looks bad, doesn’t it? The army losing an eighteen-year-old lad the day before he’s meant to come home.’ Her tone grew more defiant still. ‘I’d like to believe you, Major, I really would, but I’ve listened to all you’ve said and none of it makes any sense at all. I’m not even sure I can believe he did go missing like you say.’
‘I appreciate it must be very difficult. I’ll ask some of the platoon to make themselves available for you to talk to if it would help.’
‘Thank you. Maybe I’ll do that.’
It felt like time to draw the conversation to a close. Norton felt that whatever he said would, for the moment at least, only make matters worse. There was one last question he had to ask, however. ‘Before I go, Mrs Lyons, I hope you don’t mind my asking if you can think of any reason why your grandson might have had misgivings about coming home?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was always a very cheerful young man. The life and soul. Immensely brave, too. But I’m also aware that his family circumstances might not have been the happiest.’
‘Is there something you’re not telling me, Major?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You’re talking about him like he’s dead.’
Norton floundered for a moment. ‘I apologize. That really wasn’t my intention.’ He pulled out his notebook and wrote down his number. ‘I’ll call you every day even if there’s no news. You must feel free to call me, too. I can assure you, the search will not end until he’s found.’
Kathleen took the number and tucked it into her cardigan pocket. The wave of anger that had briefly surged through her had subsided, but having kept her feelings so tightly contained, her sadness had now escaped to fill the room. Norton experienced it with her: a sense not so much of grief as desolation.
As she rose from her chair to show him out, she said, ‘I don’t need to be sold a story, Major. I know he was just a kid. And a skinny little kid at that. If something else happened to him, even if he disgraced himself, I won’t hold it against you. Believe me, whatever the truth, it’s far better than not knowing.’
‘Your grandson never failed to do his duty to the utmost of his ability, Mrs Lyons. He was out on patrol several times a week like every other man. He more than held his own.’
She gave a silent nod and led him to the door.
Norton arrived to find the homecoming picnic in full swing on the playing field at the camp. The clouds had dispersed, the sides of the marquee had been rolled up and the late-afternoon sun shone on the happy scene. The regimental band was playing a medley of familiar tunes, excited children were bounding on several large inflatables and queues of smiling soldiers and relieved women were converging on a buffet set out on a long row of decorated trestles. Melanie was right at the centre of things, overseeing an efficient team of helpers dressed in matching blue aprons. Norton watched her from a distance, a disconcerting although not unexpected feeling of dislocation welling up inside him. He seemed to experience it a little more keenly each time he returned from a tour. His work in Afghanistan had been dangerous and fraught with difficult life-or-death decisions, yet all of that felt somehow straight-forward compared with the complexities of marriage and family life. The rules had become unfamiliar. He hadn’t spoken to Melanie since February, yet tonight they would be sharing a bed. As if responding to a sixth sense, she glanced up as she served large scoops of summer pudding. Her pretty face lit up.
‘I’ll be with you in a minut
e, darling,’ she called out, as if no time at all had passed. ‘I think the girls are on the bouncy castle.’
‘No hurry,’ he called back. ‘I’ll see you shortly.’
He made his way invisibly through the crowd. Everywhere he looked people were laughing and embracing. He reminded himself that this was what he had been fighting for. Here it was in front of his eyes: peace and freedom. He emerged from the crush of the marquee and headed across the grass in search of his girls. He picked out Emily amidst the squealing melee and waved. He remembered to smile.
Anna Roberts and a girl named Susan, whom she hadn’t met before, had been collected from Highcliffe by taxi and driven to the hospital in Birmingham. Apart from exchanging names, neither said a word during their journey along the M5 motorway. Instead, they silently endured the football commentary the driver was listening to on the radio. The previous four days had become a blur in Anna’s mind. If it hadn’t been for Melanie Norton stepping in so quickly she wasn’t sure that she would have coped. She had immediately offered to mind Leanne and had arranged for members of the WAGs Club to deliver hot food to the flat twice a day. Thanks to Melanie, there had been people in and out all the time, several visits from the padre and even a house call from the GP, who had given her some tablets to help her sleep. In fact, until the car journey she had barely had a moment to be alone with her thoughts.
Now that she did, the thought that had kept returning to her was that she was now all that Lee really had. His mum was in her second marriage and his father had gone through so many relationships they had lost count. Between them, Lee’s parents had produced seven children, with Lee the eldest at twenty-one, stretching all the way down to a two-year-old. They had both phoned to say they would be visiting as soon as they could get away, but Anna knew that both were tied down with their young families and would be of no practical help. Lee had once let slip that his mother had warned him that if he insisted on joining the army he would have to take the consequences without any help from her. When he left school, she had tried to persuade him to go to work with his uncle as a trainee plumber. That prospect had been enough to send him straight to the recruitment office.
Anna and Susan were met in the hospital’s reception area by two of the regiment’s visiting officers, whose job was to oversee the rehabilitation of the injured and to liaise with their families. Corporal Terry Matthews, a wiry terrier of a man in his early forties, took care of Anna, Corporal Hanson was attached to Susan. They were frank, brisk and brutally honest from the outset. Following polite but cursory introductions, the two women were taken upstairs to the ward dedicated to military casualties. En route, Corporal Matthews explained that Lee had lost the lower part of both legs as a result of a grenade blast. The explosion had also ruptured his left eardrum leaving him with the possibility of permanent hearing damage. He had been under heavy sedation since incurring his injuries, but the doctors had allowed him to return to consciousness earlier that day. His situation had been explained to him and, according to Matthews, he had taken it well.
Corporal Hanson followed several paces behind with Susan. Anna couldn’t help but overhear what he was saying to her. Dale Carter had been hit in the head by shrapnel which had penetrated his helmet. He was unconscious and, following an MRI scan, was awaiting surgery. The neurosurgeon gave him a 50 per cent chance of surviving the initial procedure, and even if he came through it he would suffer permanent physical and mental impairment. As he led Susan towards the intensive care unit where Dale was being monitored, Anna realized for the first time how much worse her situation could have been.
Anna followed Corporal Matthews into the ward where Lee was being treated. He was in a curtained-off bay at the far end. On the way they passed beds containing men with missing limbs and faces grossly disfigured by burns. Yet despite the horrific nature of their wounds, the atmosphere was purposeful and optimistic. The nurses greeted her cheerfully. It was the brightest, cleanest hospital ward Anna had ever seen.
‘Visitor for you, Private Roberts,’ Matthews announced, and pulled back the curtain.
Anna closed her eyes for a moment and uttered a short prayer the padre had used. She opened them again to see something she hadn’t been expecting. Lee was propped up in bed, clean shaven and dressed in a fresh hospital gown. A frame positioned under the immaculate bedclothes kept them from touching his legs. He looked a little pale and tired, and a lot thinner than she remembered, but he greeted her with a smile.
‘I’ll leave the two of you alone for ten minutes, then I’ll be back to run through your programme for the next two weeks.’
‘Yes, Corp,’ Lee replied.
‘Your husband will be kept busy, Mrs Roberts,’ Corporal Matthews said. ‘Rehabilitation is hard work and it gets harder. Every soldier is expected to put his shoulder to the wheel. All right. Carry on.’
He marched off along the ward.
Anna stood and stared at her husband, not knowing where to begin or how to behave.
She reached for his hand and clasped it. She wanted to kiss him but felt strangely inhibited by the formal military atmosphere.
‘I want you to know, I’ll be with you every step of the way,’ Anna said bravely.
‘They say they can get you walking again in a few months. I’ll try to be as quick as I can.’ He forced a smile.
‘That’s great. Fantastic. If anyone can do it, it’s you.’
He squeezed her hand, his fingers rough against her skin.
There was a long silence as Lee seemed to disappear inside himself. To Anna it seemed almost as if he had forgotten she was there. She felt helpless.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked eventually. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
Lee shook his head.
‘Do you want to talk about how it happened?’
He looked up sharply. ‘Actually, there is one thing you can do for me, Anna – never, ever ask me that again.’
‘Sorry, love,’ she whispered. She wanted to cry but managed to stop herself.
‘It was just dumb luck,’ Lee said. ‘Dumb, stupid bad luck.’
NINE
Jenny drove towards Highcliffe with Alison following behind her. The familiar, undulating patchwork fields of north Somerset unleashed a host of buried memories. Although it was less than twenty miles from the house in which she had grown up, the small town sitting almost directly on the imaginary point at which the Severn Estuary became the Bristol Channel had seemed a world away. It had been the place to which her family escaped on sunny weekends. She recalled day trips in her father’s open-topped Triumph Herald. Blue skies, warm breezes, her mother in a headscarf and Jackie Onassis sunglasses, her father with one hand on the wheel, a cigarette between his lips and his other arm around her shoulder. Jenny had thought they looked like film stars.
As they approached the outskirts of the town, she remembered the two sharp bends that her dad would delight in taking at high speed, throwing her across the back seat and pinning her against the door. Just like the waltzers at the fairground. And here they still were, every bit as perilous as she remembered them. She navigated them slowly, then as the road straightened and widened she found herself on a tree-lined avenue that led all the way down to the front. It hadn’t changed in thirty-five years. The same Victorian villas with jaunty names – Montego Bay, Westward-Ho; the same faded vacancy signs in the guesthouse windows, and here and there, sprouting from fussy front gardens, an exotic palm or two. It felt like coming home. But the comforting sights sat strangely with the purpose of her visit. This harmless, quaint little town that she had associated only with carefree family picnics and splashing in the chilly sea, had become the stage for the most daunting assignment of her career.
Highcliffe Camp was situated on high ground nearly a mile from the centre of town on its poorer, eastern edge. A short distance up the hill, the elegant houses gave way to council-built, post-war semis interspersed with blocks of flats and a scruffy, none-too-prosperous parade of sho
ps. Across the street from it, a group of bored teenagers loitered at the edge of a rubbish-strewn playground.
Jenny turned into a road named Cliffside and followed it for a short distance past more grey homes until it terminated at the heavily fortified camp entrance. A sandbagged checkpoint manned by several sentries was flanked by high fences topped with coiled razor wire. A soldier stepped out of a booth. He held himself confidently and exuded authority, but he had the smooth face and clear eyes of a boy. Jenny gave him her details. He noted them down, then retreated into the booth, from which he emerged shortly afterwards with security badges for both her and Alison. As she clipped hers to her jacket, Jenny noticed that it read, HER MAJESTY’S CORONER, MRS JENNIFER COOPER. No one had ever referred to her as Jennifer. To her knowledge, the only document which referred to her by that name was her birth certificate, and then only because a bureaucratic registrar had insisted on it. Her name was plain ‘Jenny’ – even the tax man agreed. Passing through the raised barrier and following the signs to the administration block, she pondered whether it was simply a mistake or whether she had been subjected to a detailed security vetting. And if so, who would have ordered it?
Two parking spaces had been set aside for them outside the red brick building that was as attractive as its name suggested. There it was again, on the laminated sign: RESERVED FOR HM CORONER, MRS JENNIFER COOPER. It was as if someone was trying to tell her something.
Jenny and Alison had barely set foot outside their cars when another soldier appeared to meet them. He politely introduced himself as Sergeant Steven Price and led the way to the main entrance. He was over six feet tall with shoulders that looked as if they had been carved from granite. His uniform was immaculate, his boots and brass buttons shone. The only imperfection in his handsome features was an unmoving right eye with a deep scar at its outer corner.
