by Andy McNab
The couples rearranged themselves and now Binns saw Gerry McKinley and his missus, her long red hair, which had been piled on her head, beginning to escape its clasp. Sol and Adi were pivoting slowly under pale lights, murmuring to each other while they danced. Steve and his fat wife were energetically proving to everyone that three legs were as good as four, while Si and Tiff Curtis, shifting their weight awkwardly around his plaster, hadn’t yet mastered that art. Tiny Hemmings, the new sprog, who had been invited even though he had only just joined the platoon, was trying to dance with a woman who wasn’t much higher than his waist. The other new sprog, Slindon, was clasping some woman, probably from the oil company, a lot closer than she wanted him to.
Alison was right. They were all of them different people when they were out of uniform, when their tight fighting unit suddenly broke up into a series of domestic circumstances.
‘Shit, Alison,’ Binman heard himself say suddenly. ‘It might never be this good again.’
She flicked back her neat hair and stared at him.
‘It’s lovely, Jack. But it’s just a party.’
‘I don’t mean now. I mean the last tour. It was amazing. Everything that happened was sort of intense. When I was out there, I just lived it. I wasn’t thinking that I’d remember it for the rest of my life. But I will. Every day was exciting. Every day was real. Every day was intense. Maybe nothing’s ever going to be that good again.’
Alison looked at him with incomprehension. But Streaky Bacon had overheard him and understood. ‘Binman, I know what you’re feeling. But just you remember something, dude. We’re going back there, man. We’re going back on fucking Monday! And we don’t know what’s going to happen but it might be just as mad as the last tour. So stay cool, Binman, we’re getting back on the roller coaster for another ride.’
Chapter Fifteen
THE MORNING A company left for Afghanistan was a grey and leaden Monday. There was no snow any more to make the camp seem brighter and disguise the dirty gutters and prettify the rows of dull army housing. In front gardens just a few shapeless, half-melted snowmen remained.
Dave opened his eyes early, before the alarm went off, and Jenny rolled over in bed to face him, as though she had been waiting for him to wake. It was dark but somehow he could still see her sad going-away face.
‘It’s not for long,’ he said softly.
She curled her body up against him.
‘It might be.’
‘The MoD says it’ll probably be two months.’
‘That could mean six.’
‘I’m not spending more than two months in Afghanistan with Chalfont-Prick or I’ll be shooting him instead of the Taliban.’
‘Maybe you’ll like him when you get to know him.’
Dave snorted. ‘He only gets to know the other officers. Stands around laughing with them, goes to the mess for a drink with them. He never has anything to do with his men, and that includes me.’
‘Maybe he’s scared of you and the lads.’
‘Nah, he’s just up himself.’
‘That’s really dangerous.’
‘You think he’s so far up himself he could do some internal damage?’
‘No, idiot. He’s dangerous in theatre. Not working closely with you and the boys.’
‘Yup. That is dangerous.’
‘Try and like him. Otherwise I’ll worry.’
‘You’ll worry anyway.’
‘I’ll worry more if I know you’re a human IED waiting to explode in the face of the boss.’
‘I won’t explode.’
‘You will, Dave. I know you. I know how you put up with things and keep it all in. Then, out of the blue, you just erupt.’
‘Erupting’s not professional. Not in theatre. I wouldn’t do it.’
Jenny rolled on to her back and studied the ceiling, her face anxious.
‘Please try to get along with him. Please. For me.’
He put his arms around her.
‘OK. For you.’
‘And ring me more often. And if you can’t ring, write.’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’
‘Don’t just say yes. Do it.’
‘You sound like me talking to my platoon.’
‘Promise me, Dave.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll be phoning and writing and emailing you whenever I can. OK? I promise.’
Jenny turned back and they studied one another’s faces, consuming every detail, each storing the other’s features with the urgency of hoarders who knew that a famine was coming.
She said: ‘I bought you a going-away present.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I love you.’
She turned on a light, got up and opened a drawer. Then she sat on the side of the bed and handed him a small package.
‘What is it?’
‘Open it. I didn’t wrap it. I just put it in a canoe bag.’
‘Is it a canoe?’
‘Open it.’
Inside the bag was a camera.
‘Shit, Jenn, I need one of these!’
‘There’s a spare memory card and all the stuff you need to take lots of pictures. Then when you get back you can show them to me. And I’ll try to understand.’
He put an arm around her.
‘Not sure you ever can.’
‘I want to try.’
‘Why the canoe bag?’
‘In case it gets wet.’
He grinned at her in the dark. ‘I’m going to the desert, Jenn. My camera won’t get wet.’
She shrugged. ‘Isn’t there a river there? And canals? Well, you might fall in.’
She took the camera over to his Bergen, which had been sitting in the corner of the room all night like a threat. She opened the Bergen and saw his night-vision goggles.
‘I’ll put them in the canoe bag too, then you’ll have dry goggles and a dry camera.’
‘Always a good idea in the desert, waterproofing your kit to keep it dry,’ he said.
She made a small sound like laughter and she was back in the bed before he realized it was a sob.
Jenny did not go to the square to see Dave off. Some of the women, Leanne for example, waited while the men threw their stuff on to the buses and gave them a final kiss goodbye, and then waved frantically as the buses drew out of the camp square. She posed with some of the other wives for the photographers who were going to document Steve’s journey.
Jenny, however, was not one of those women. She hugged and kissed Dave in the hallway and watched, biting her lip, while he lifted Jaime high in the air and then swung Vicky around a few times before hugging and kissing her again. And then he was gone.
She hated the way the door slam was followed by such a deep silence. It was the kind of silence which hung around like a bird of prey hovering. You couldn’t do anything in that silence. You just had to observe it.
Vicky and Jaime were both watching her. She knew that if she gave way to tears they would cry too.
‘Right then!’ she said as soon as she could, her voice as firm as she could make it. ‘Today you can help me make some lemony biscuits, Vicky. And then we’ll take the biscuits over to Adi’s and you can share them with Adi and the other children for a few minutes while Mummy goes out.’
‘Where Mummy going?’ demanded Vicky, beady as ever.
‘Tinnington,’ Jenny told her airily.
But when the time came to leave for Tinnington, Vicky did not want to let her go. Jenny had tried on half of the clothes in her wardrobe before she had found a sensible combination. She had applied her make-up carefully.
‘You look terrific!’ cried Adi. ‘All you have to do is get out of the car and they’ll give you the job.’
But now here was Vicky, her fingers sticky with lemony biscuit, her face smudged by tears, her mouth a caricature of itself, grabbing Jenny’s cream blouse and blue jacket and refusing to release her.
‘Please, Vicks, Mummy has to go,’ said Jenny. But Vicky only wailed more.
> ‘Just leave!’ Adi ordered her.
Jenny managed to extract herself and run out of the front door, the sound of both her crying daughters chasing her down the path and into the car. This is what working mothers had to do. Did she really want to be one of them?
She had already rehearsed the drive to Tinnington. It was only a couple of miles from the new nursery but whichever way you went there were winding back routes involved.
The village had modern houses on its periphery and stone cottages lining the lane at its centre. A sign said Tinnington House and she swung into a gravel drive. It went on for at least half a mile. It felt like driving up to Buckingham Palace. A large, solid, ivy-covered house was visible at the end.
As she drew closer, Jenny began to feel intimidated. Where was she supposed to park? Right outside the house? Surely that was only for people who lived here and the curtains alone told her that people did live here. Maybe in the yard by the side? It was surrounded by stables and barns and was probably where stable girls parked. Then she saw a car against a wall just before the house and she pulled in next to it.
She looked at her phone. Five minutes early. Dave’s plane would be taking off from Brize Norton about now. She dialled his number but Robot Woman invited her to leave a message. So he was probably already in the air. She said another small farewell to him inside her head, checked her make-up in the mirror, switched off the phone and climbed out, her feet crunching on the gravel. Her stomach was doing strange, violent somersaults.
She looked around and felt as though she was in another world. A world of trimmed lawns and tidy views and gnarled, ancient apple trees and wooden fences. Then an Apache flew low overhead. Helicopters were always flying over camp. She looked up, feeling the strange warmth of familiarity at the sight of its rocket pods and the sound of its beating rotor.
She was standing by the car, smoothing out her skirt, when she saw a man walking towards her. He was tall and his white hair at first made him seem aged but the vigour of his walk and unlined face told her when he was closer that this was not such an old man.
‘Mrs Henley?’ he asked, his arm outstretched. ‘Thanks for being on time. You’re the only applicant to manage that today.’
Jenny held out her hand and tried to shake his firmly. She nodded and smiled. But instead of words she simply swallowed.
‘Most people seem to have had trouble finding the place,’ said the man.
Jenny wanted to reply but a strange, rasping sound emerged from her throat. She coughed. ‘I did check the route a few days ago, actually, otherwise I probably would have got lost too.’
He nodded approval.
‘Good preparation, well done. I’m General Hardy.’
Jenny said: ‘Oh!’
Although this was a military area and probably full of retired generals and a large ivy-clad house here might be expected to contain one, she was still astonished to find that the job had any army connection.
They walked towards the house together.
‘My husband’s a sergeant,’ she said.
The general was interested in this, and asked about Dave’s regiment and commanding officer.
‘But don’t they have a company going back into theatre this week?’ he asked.
‘Today,’ said Jenny.
They were inside the house now, walking down a long hallway. There were rugs on the floor which might be from Afghanistan and the whole place smelled of polish and dogs. An old sandcoloured Labrador strolled out amiably to be stroked. Jenny obliged and saw the dog’s hairs settle on her blue skirt. No time to pick them off; she was being led further through the house. She glimpsed rooms with high ceilings and tiled floors and large paintings on the walls.
‘But your husband didn’t leave for Afghanistan today?’ demanded the general.
Jenny nodded. ‘First thing this morning. I think he’s in the air by now.’
‘I’m surprised you’re here!’
‘I’m glad I’m here. I hate the day he goes away,’ she admitted.
‘Well, if you’d cancelled the interview I would have understood,’ he said. ‘I very much appreciate your coming.’
He sounded as though he meant it.
And now they were in a large office. One entire wall was almost nothing but window. It looked across fields in which were grazing a couple of horses wearing brightly coloured rugs on their backs.
‘Oh, this is lovely!’ said Jenny involuntarily, and then wondered if it was OK to comment. But the general looked pleased as her eye swept along the wooden desks, the oil paintings, the nest of tall, jungly plants in one corner and the noticeboards thick with photos and lists.
‘This is where you’d be working. It’s a bit dusty at the moment because Linda’s on holiday. She cleans and does practically everything around here. Usually you can expect it to be cleaned at least twice a week. That’s my desk. And that’s my assistant’s desk. Please, sit down.’
She didn’t feel nervous any more. The room was warm and brightened by the weak winter sun which had suddenly emerged through the grey clouds. The general was friendly. In fact, he sat shuffling through papers now in a way which suggested he was more nervous than she was.
‘Er, well then …’ Shuffle shuffle shuffle. ‘What have you been told about the vacancy, Mrs Henley?’
‘Nothing. I’d got hold of the idea you’re an IT company. But now I don’t think you are.’
He laughed.
‘Ha! IT company! Ha! One reason you’re here is because I’m baffled by IT. Although my daughter says I’m baffled because I want to be.’
‘I wouldn’t say I’m brilliant with technology myself,’ said Jenny. ‘Tell me what the job involves and I’ll tell you if I think I can do it or not.’
‘Well, don’t laugh … I’m writing my memoirs.’
Jenny didn’t laugh.
‘I’ve had an interesting career and I think it sheds light on some political and military problems. Don’t suppose anyone will publish it but if my grandchildren all have a copy I’ll be happy. Anyway, I write in longhand and I need someone to type that up. In addition, I’m on a defence committee which reports to Parliament. And a few other committees as well. That’s what they do with old buffers like me when we leave the army: they put us on committees. I’m always getting emails and I can open them and read them but my typing’s very bad and very slow because I have slight arthritis in one hand. So it’s hard to reply. And then all this report stuff has to be typed and submitted by email. I do have other things, letters, form-filling, the usual. And my personal accounts are quite straightforward but I haven’t had a chance to do them for ages and the taxman’s getting annoyed with me. Oh, and the filing. I’ll be honest. I’ve just been chucking it all into that box there and someone really needs to sort it out.’
Jenny watched his face as he spoke. He was hardly the old buffer he pretended. But he did look very despondent.
‘So … things have got into a bit of a state …’ he concluded, looking at her helplessly.
‘Is there any particular reason for that?’ she asked gently.
His face looked ever sadder.
‘Well, it’s since my wife left. I’ve been completely saturated in divorce stuff. And memoirs. But now I’ve emerged from under the ruling, everything else is in a mess.’
‘Right,’ said Jenny. ‘Well, I think I can do all that.’
‘Can you really?’ asked the general. He sounded as if this might be too much to hope for.
‘Yes, I think so. If you were patient with me at first.’
‘Something which is very important is confidentiality. I would not want you to talk about anything you type or read in this house with anyone outside it, especially not anyone in camp. And I’m afraid that includes your husband. I know that’s a big ask.’
‘It wouldn’t be a problem for me.’
‘Even if your husband wanted to know things?’
‘He wouldn’t. There’s a lot of stuff I don’t ask and he do
esn’t tell me about work. So we’re used to that.’
The general watched her. She thought that he had a kind face.
‘Why are you applying for jobs, Mrs Henley?’ he asked.
Jenny was ready for this one.
‘I’ve got a three-year-old and a baby. My husband’s always going away and I’m always at home. I do love being with the girls but I’d like to get out of the house and use my brain a bit. I’ve managed to put some good childcare in place.’
‘I dare say the money would come in handy, if you’re on a sergeant’s pay.’
Jenny hadn’t meant to but she found herself explaining why Vicky had left the camp nursery and telling him about the new nursery and how her earnings would be spent.
‘I know that nursery. It’s near here and my daughter sends my granddaughter there. She speaks very highly of it. But isn’t there a huge deposit?’
Jenny nodded. ‘Yes. It’s going to take me a while to earn that much.’
‘But it would be ideal if you could drop your child off at the nursery and come on to work here …’ said the general, thinking. He took a pen and wrote down some swift calculations while Jenny looked around the room. There were a few pictures, in frames, of an attractive blonde woman. The ex-wife, it had to be.
‘Right, Mrs Henley,’ he said, looking up at last. ‘May I call you Jennifer?’
‘Everyone else calls me Jenny.’
‘Ah, but I’m not everyone else and I think Jennifer is a pretty name. Would you mind if I call you Jennifer?’
Jenny felt herself reddening slightly.
‘Not at all,’ she said.
‘Well, I’d like to offer you the job for twelve hours a week as my assistant. I’ve been seeing people all day and you’re the applicant I’d most like to work with. I’m going to propose that I loan you the money to put down your deposit and secure a nursery place for your child. I’ll deduct it in small amounts from your pay over the next six months. Here are the sums: take a look.’
