by Daniel Birch
‘Moon walking.’
‘So, do you dance?’
‘Yeah, usually, but I can’t with my dodgy foot.’
‘Where are your friends?’
‘Everywhere,’ he said as he looked and couldn’t see anybody. He then laughed. ‘Nowhere.’
‘Ha, why me? There are loads of girls in here.’
This is when his lines came out.
‘I don’t know. I looked at you and thought she’s like the wind.’
He could barely keep a straight face.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah, hey you wanna grab some food. Got hungry eyes you see, then maybe after I could give you the time of your life.’
I was laughing out loud, he was funny, and silly, and lovely all in one. I went with him to get some food, good job too because he said if I refused he was going to say nobody puts Tommy in a corner.
I told him I actually preferred the film Ghost to Dirty Dancing, and he replied ‘ditto’. We had such a good night.
He was the bad boy, he was cool, also devilishly funny, but inside he was amazing. It took me a while to get to see the inside, but once his barriers came down he was an amazing human being. He was the one.
I loved telling Sarah about Tommy. She knew I did. She had heard my stories about him a million times over these past months, but I couldn’t stop talking about him. I tried over the hard times to get into my work. I was on maternity leave but still tried to finish a paper. I was committed to writing for a youth development program.
I looked at my bump and the tears started again. I couldn’t live without him, and it was breaking my heart.
Chapter Twenty One
After a few weeks of interviews, interviews and more interviews, the powers that be decided that I could go home. I have to say that after I told my story to the Military Police and some other high ranking suits, they just wanted to cover it up and keep me quiet.
With all the shit on the news about soldiers doing wrong and all the other bullshit about the war, the last thing they needed was me creating a shit storm, and I got a nice sweetener too in the form of much needed cash into my bank account. I didn’t want to go on TV and slag the army, not at all.
It was Trigg I had a beef with.
During my weeks at Camp Anaconda, between all the interviews with countless officials, the doctors really took care of me. They give me food and medicine, and I was checked for everything. I lost two of my fingers on my left hand. They had been broken when I’d been tortured and had got infected. I couldn’t feel them anyway so I wasn’t really bothered. Besides, I volunteered for some medical trials and apparently in a year’s time I’m trying out some super-cool new technology where they can give me new fingers, like robot ones or something. How fucking cool. I’ll be Tommy Vader!
Anyways, like I said, they had built me up. I had three to four protein shakes a day, my hair had grown back, I had gotten a shave, was eating warm food, I’d took a shower. It is amazing how life’s simple pleasures seem so fucking unreal when you haven’t had them in so long. But for me the best had to be taking a shit in a normal toilet, not having to worry about a scorpion or something biting your arse or your friend trying to push you in the hole you were shitting in, or someone throwing a flare whilst you were crapping. The list was endless. But sat on a toilet, with a lock on the door, with proper shit roll, I tell you…amazing.
Joey took the flight home with me. He had stayed with me until I left Camp Anaconda. We talked and talked. I had missed him, he was my bro. He told me how Emma was and that he checked in on her all the time. He told me he was getting a divorce from his crazy wife, which didn’t surprise me. Joey’s wife was a money driven bitch. Ok she had the ass of a goddess but she was still a crazy bitch. I was glad he was getting shut of her.
I told Joey everything, about my history with Trigg which he knew about anyway really, about X Company, who Joey knew was always trying to get ex-military lads joining up with them. I also told him about the night, about how I was betrayed, fucked over by one of my own. I told him about the torture, and I told him how I got out.
I think the most surprising feeling for me came when I first saw her.
She didn’t know I was coming. I wanted to wait until I was clear to leave the army until I saw her, or even got word to her because even though I had got free, I wasn’t taking anything for granted anymore. I wanted to wait until I got on home soil before celebrating.
We had got word to Sarah, Emma’s really close friend, that she had to wait at home. Sarah quizzed my friend, Private Blumforth, but he never gave anything away. He just said that someone was coming to see her, and it was about Tommy. Sarah called him a bastard and demanded to know what it was about.
Having just got within a street away from Emma’s house, Christ, my house I guess too, I had Blumforth stop the car. Joey was with me in the back.
I got out. I couldn’t breathe.
Joey got out of the car and came round to me.
‘Hey, what’s up big man? Nearly home. She’s at your home. Tommy.’
‘I know man, I know. It’s just…’
‘Just what, Tommy?’
‘I don’t want any fuss man. I must have put her through hell, Joey. It’s all my fault, man, I shoulda listened to her. I shoulda listened to you. I fucked everything up, man, everything.’
Passing me a smoke, Joey wasn’t having any of me blaming myself.
‘Listen, we have all made fucked up choices. Look at me. Supposed to be Mr Brains and I go and marry a dumb bitch like her. Damn, I more or less married her for her ass!’
‘Ha-ha, I know. You always were an ass man, Joey.’
‘Damn right.’
‘But the thing is, I still feel guilty, Joey.’
‘You shut up, now. You haven’t done shit wrong, Tommy. You have a woman there who loves you. Do you realise how special that is? Tommy, you’re going to be a dad, mate! A fucking dad, ha-ha!’
‘I am aren’t I?’
I felt better after Joey reminded me of that. We both threw away our cigarettes and jumped back in the car.
‘Get ya foot down, private,’ I yelled as Blumforth sped away down the street, then into Emma’s street.
We parked on her drive. I got the flowers I had picked up on the way. I got out of the car. I was so scared. I just hoped inside she looked at me the same, that’s all I wanted, that look off my Emma.
‘Go get her, tiger, go get your girl,’ Joey said as he and Blumforth smiled on. They stayed in the car. Christ I was so nervous.
Chapter Twenty Two
‘Sit down, Emma,’ Sarah said seriously, ‘I have news.’
Those were her words. They brought me neither comfort nor consolation, and I prayed.
I prayed they wouldn’t bring me closure.
I tried ringing Joey but still no answer.
Was he alive? Was he dead? They were the two questions in my mind, as bold and to the point as you can get. No doubt there could be a million questions I could ask, but at that moment, when Sarah had said she had been contacted by a Private Blumforth, the only question was if Tommy was alive or not.
It had been three hours, three hours from the phone call.
Those three hours seemed like three years, three lifetimes even. I couldn’t help visualizing. I tried to stop. The images in my brain went from bad to good, good to bad. I saw a man in my mind coming to my door with a flag and a letter like in the movies. I heard the speech about how Tommy was brave and so on. I saw myself crying and crying and screaming. I also dared to dream of Tommy standing there, not a mark on him, looking at me the way he did, like it was the first day we met. Looking at me with his big smile. I held on to that glimmer of hope, that whisper of maybe…maybe.
‘Emma!’ Sarah shouted. ‘Car.’
I felt as if my legs couldn’t move. I was sat at the kitchen table with a photo of us. The photo of the last time I had seen him. I clung to it as I took a deep breath.
‘Come on, hone
y.’ Sarah wrapped her arm around my shoulder as she helped me up.
‘Come on, you have to go to the door. I will be right here.’
I walked. My breathing was slow as I braced myself. I remember thinking if it was a soldier with a flag I was just going to slam the door in his face.
I opened the door and looked downwards at my garden path. I daren’t look up. I could hear footsteps coming closer, slowly, then I saw them. There was a person standing next to me and they grabbed my arm. It was then and only then that I realised I was shaking and crying. My eyes slowly moved up the person’s body as I trembled in a state of panic. I saw beige sandals, my eyes went further up, blue jeans, then flowers…
‘Babe,’ the voice said.
I looked up to his face and saw him there, his eyes were squinting as he fought back his tears the best he could, but he was smiling too.
We wrapped our arms around each other and he kissed me a million times over, we laughed, we cried, we couldn’t get our words out quick enough and it was like an explosion of feelings all coming to a head at once.
He held my face softly with the palm of his hands.
‘I love you. I missed you,’ I said as he looked at me.
Smiling back, Tommy held me again and whispered in my ear ‘If it was hard missing me, you should try missing you.’
We headed into the house where Sarah was going mental screaming with joy. Both Joey and even the driver, Private Blumforth, joined us as we all laughed and cried. I wonder what I would have done if he hadn’t been stood there, if that Private had brought me a flag instead of my Tommy.
The truth is I don’t know, and I don’t wanna know.
People talk about love and I know there are many theories. I’m not saying mine is right or wrong, it is just mine. I believe that when you have a love, such as the one I share with Tommy, that it is so full, so warm and beautiful, that whatever holes there are in your life it doesn’t matter, because that love is always there, in the light and in the dark, it is like an invisible pillow you can always rest on, and when it isn’t there, I don’t think it matters what you have, because compared to true love, nothing will ever be enough.
I have friends who look at me like I have two heads when I talk about my feelings for Tommy, and to those who have never had such feelings I guess I can forgive them for thinking I’m mad.
Some may call it mad, I call it love.
Chapter Twenty Three
‘Yeah I know, I heard already,’ Trigg snapped as he took yet another call, which was to inform him that Tommy was home. A few of the bar staff looked at Trigg on the sly, wishing he would calm down because his swearing out loud was bad for business. Everyone in the bar could hear Trigg as he cursed on the phone.
‘Do you think I didn’t know? What the fuck am I supposed to do? No, you tell me? Am I supposed to kill the fucker on his first day back? Well what you ringing for then, to do me fucking nut in with this shit? I’m fucking busy, doing deals ’n’ shit, making the deniro. It will be dealt with, but dealt with when the time is right. In the meantime I don’t need to be notified whenever he is spotted. Yeah later, fuck face!’
Standing at the phone behind the bar in the popular pub/club and daytime eating venue ‘Rocco’s‘, Trigg found himself getting more and more agitated. It seemed the more he tried to ignore the subject, the more it grated on him.
Trigg was at Rocco’s on business. He had just sorted a deal out with the owner, Paul, that gave Trigg the contract to supply the booze and cigarettes. It was a huge deal worth a lot of money. Both parties were happy and it was also a victory for X Company because it meant that most of the top-earning clubs in Hull were now in bed with them.
Now X Company was supplying most of the top-earning clubs; the plan afterwards was to go after the betting shops and casinos.
After slamming down the phone again, Trigg made another call on his way to the cellar underneath the bar. He had decided to call Tommy. It rang but it went to answer phone. ‘You’re fucking dead,’ said Trigg amongst the crackles as the cellar wall defeated the signal.
Down in the cellar was where Paul, Samson and Mario had been sorting out a few finer points about their new arrangements.
Walking down the little steps and into the cellar Trigg lit up a cigarette in an attempt to chill himself out.
‘Look Paul, hate to tell you what to do in your own place, buddy, but your gonna have to fuck off for a bit. I have shit to talk about with my boys and I’m borrowing this cellar for an hour or so.’
Not complaining one bit, not that he would either, Paul got up and headed for the stairs.
‘Oh, and Paul, get them tarts behind the bar to cook us up some fucking chow. I’m so hungry I’m fucking farting fresh air.’
‘Er, Trigg, the chef isn’t in until 12 o’clock, buddy, and the girls don’t cook so …
‘I guess your cooking it then, Paul, ’cos I’m fucking starving here - so get to it, times a wasting.’
Hurrying off up the stairs Paul made himself scarce so Trigg and boys could talk.
‘I can’t believe people aren’t supposed to smoke in pubs ’n’ shit,’ commented Mario as he stretched back with his cigarette in his mouth.
‘Fucking ri-di-culous, mate’ laughed Samson. ‘The thing is they’re taking away everything. You can’t do or say shit no more. Fucking PC do–gooder fucks make me wanna puke. We can’t say shit no more.’
‘Such as?’ laughed Trigg.
Cutting in, Mario was itching to make a point. ‘Ok, Trigg, take me for example. Now I’m from Italy, ok. I was raised here but my dad, God rest his soul, was a thoroughbred Italian. We’re grease balls.’
‘Wops,’ laughed Trigg
‘Goombahs, Meatballs, Dagos, Olive-heads,’ added Samson.
‘Ok, ok, ok, we’re a whole bunch of names. Thing is, you think I give a fuck? You know what? I heard you can’t even say jewboy now.’
‘No fucking way!’ Samson’s raised his eyebrows as he spoke.
‘It’s correctness gone mad. I mean you guys have to describe me when talking to other guys. Let’s just say there’s two Marios known about town, wot ya gonna say? You’re gonna say ‘Yeah, it was Mario, Mario the wop’. I tell you fucking shit people say you can’t do. Way it’s going, it’ll be illegal to wank soon.’
‘You know what gets me too, lads?’ asked Samson.
Both Trigg and Mario sat smiling as Samson continued adding fuel to the debate.
‘We fucking go to war with the fucking Iraqis and Afghan fucks, we go to war for the people, the same fucking people who say we can’t say shit. We’ve fucking earned our right to call people whatever the fuck we want. Now the Yanks, they call them Hadjis, which you have to admit is pretty fucking funny. We have always called them Pakis but obviously, due to more ’n’ more Pakis in our community, now we had to change our nicknames for them, so we call them Rag-heads. Now what the fuck is wrong with calling a Rag-head a Rag-head?’
‘Beats me, Samson,’ laughed Trigg. ‘Fucking Rag-head’s a Raghead to me, always will be.’
‘Same here,’ agreed Mario.
‘It’s like Niggers,’ continued Trigg, ‘now how the fuck can a Nigger call a Nigger a Nigger but we can’t say Nigger? Anyone explain that fucking shit to me. You get fucking Niggers on TV saying ‘I’m black ’n’ I’m proud ’n’ all that shit. Could you imagine a white boy coming out ’n’ saying that shit? They’d string us up lads, I tell ya. Fucking Niggers sitting there taking the fucking moral high ground as ’n’ when it suits them. Fucking Niggers, I tell ya. It’s like I said to Rochelle, y’know Rochelle, that little black bird with the tits and arse to drool over ….?’
‘Yeah, I know her. Fucking nipples like sugar dummies,’ laughed Mario.
‘Yep, that’s the one. I was trying to explain to her one night. I ses ‘Bitch, just because I asked you if both your parents were Niggers doesn’t mean I’m racist. I fucked you didn’t I’? I mean you seen her, she’s black but not black, not a fu
ll bourbon but more like a coffee cream. I just assumed one of her parents must a been white. I told her I wasn’t a racist. I mean we have fucking Black Ricky working the markets don’t we - good little earner too.’
Samson outed his cigarette as Paul came down into the room with the food.
‘Three full English breakfasts, lads, how’s that?’
‘Fucking tops,’ smiled Trigg as he rubbed his hands together. After serving Trigg, Samson and Mario with their food, Paul asked if he could get anything else for them. Trigg grabbed Paul’s arm just as he walked past.
‘Yeah, ok, well just a question actually. Where do you stand on Niggers?’
‘Niggers?’
‘Yeah Niggers. Well not just Niggers, Paul, but the whole racial names thing. What’s your take on it?’
‘Well, I guess I just kinda think that whenever you get into an argument, and let’s say things get heated, you will use the first thing you see.’
‘Explain,’ asked Mario as he tucked into his food.
‘Ok, let’s say I’m arguing with a big fat guy. Now if me and him get heated over whatever, and he starts calling me names, you better believe I’m gonna refer to his weight. I’d be like ‘shut the fuck up you fat fuck’. Now let’ take another. I’m arguing with some big nose fuck, what am I gonna say ‘Hey you big nose fuck’, catch my drift?’
‘Yeah, so your saying that if you argued with a Nigger ….?’
‘Yeah, ‘you stupid fucking Nigger’, that’s my point. I don’t think it’s racial. I aren’t gonna go fucking running around with white sheets on my head. I have some good friends who are black and I don’t give a fuck what colour people are, but you upset me, whether you a Coon or a Kike, you’re gonna get fucking verbalised.’
Munching into his bacon as he buttered his toast, Trigg realised he had lost his train of thought.
‘You know all this talk of ‘can do’ and ‘can’t do’, fucking Niggers and Wops and shit, it threw me off – which is good because I was in a fucking foul mood earlier. I got another phone call lads, another ‘guess who’s in town’ phone call.’
