Army of You & Me

by London, Billy

  “Well, if she comes dressed like that, I’ll give it a go,” Cain interrupted them. Madeline nearly dropped the dress. “Evening, all.”

  “You’re early,” Madeline whispered.

  “Bloody squaddies,” Caz muttered under her breath.

  “Madeline, why don’t you put something on over that pretty bra of yours? Me and Caz should probably have a bit of a talk.”

  Madeleine glanced at Caz, who had turned from red to purple. “Is that...”

  “We don’t want to miss our appointment.” He directed with a nod to the room behind her. She turned tail and struggled with what she was wearing. Mainly, she put her ear to the door and listened.

  “Look,” Caz started, “I’ve got nothing against you. It’s just that... It’s like you’re Simon Cowell and she’s a Blue Peter presenter. Polar opposites.”

  “Because I’m in the Army?”

  “Well yeah. And the other stuff that goes with it.”

  “Hmm.” Cain paused. “Would it help to know that I’ve had all my tests back from my medical and I’m as clean as a whistle?”

  “Er...”

  “And the closest I’ve come to a gay encounter was a wrestling match in university, and my opponent grabbed me by my gonads to throw me onto the mat?”

  “You see... Hold on. You didn’t say anything about the kinky bit.”

  “That is true. I have a sex dungeon. With nipple clamps, dildos, and stocks. Have you had sex with Madeline?”

  “What? No!”

  “Then what would you know about her sexual preferences?”

  Madeline threw open the door, her dress zipped with determination and a cardigan covering the back where it had torn from the seam. “And we’re all done with that conversation.” Caz’s face was bright red and Cain looked relaxed, leaning against the pay counter. “Caz. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Her assistant took her coat and bag. “I can report you to the Ministry of Defence,” she threatened, pointing at Cain. He barely reacted.

  “For having a sex dungeon? I think they’re a little bit busy at the moment, particularly as a good deal of them have their own.”

  Caz left virtually in a puff of smoke. Madeline locked the shop door behind the beleaguered woman. Cain was laughing when she turned to face him. “Massively over-protective.”

  “Why would you tell her you have a sex dungeon?” Madeline asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Especially when you live with your parents.”

  “She doesn’t know that. And I enjoyed the shock on her face.” He shrugged. “Aren’t you going to put shoes on?”

  She glanced down at her bare feet. “It’s silly, I know, but she’s actually a good sales assistant. Her only issue is that she doesn’t know when to shut up.”

  When she looked up, Cain was munching on something. “Bon bons,” he mumbled. “They were in reach.”

  “You can put a pound in the till for that,” she ordered, turning back into the room to pick up her Mary Jane shoes.

  “No more freebies?” he asked.

  “Not if you’re going to wind up my staff,” she threw behind her, bending to fasten the shoes. She almost toppled over when Cain’s hips bounced against her bottom. “What the...”

  His hands were hot on her waist, even through the thin cotton of her dress. He pulled her upright and turned her to face him. “Hello Madeline,” he murmured, his arms circling her body to bring her flush against him.

  Before his mouth was on hers, Madeline’s eyes were closed and her head tilted back to meet him. She had no idea if it was the feel of those lush lips against hers, the gentle rub of his stubble, or the hardness of his body enveloping her, but all of that together turned her body and mind into mush. Kissing him was unreal.

  Any moment, she’d open her eyes and he’d be gone. No one had ever reached her the way he had. Then again, no one before Cain had those big, strong arms, tightly wrapped around her. Or that hard, toned, muscular torso that she was so tightly pressed against. God, he fit to her well. He braced her between his legs and kissed her harder. Madeline could only give a muffled moan under his lips and allow her hands to sink into his feather-soft hair. Were they supposed to be doing this? They should stop, surely. Cain’s hand slowly rose from around her waist, inching to her breast... Something buzzed in between them, and Cain released her.

  “Believe that’s mine.” He extracted his phone while Madeline grappled with the reality of his kisses.

  “Hello there. Yes. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Madeline blinked, completely disorientated. What was she doing before he kissed her? He raised his eyebrows.

  “We’ve got to meet the estate agent around the corner from here. Just in the Village.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Cain patiently looked down at her feet. “You still need shoes. I’m more than happy to carry you...”

  “Oh, stop it. You came in here and kissed me,” she snapped, pushing his bulk away so she could fasten her heels. Shooing him out, she set the alarm for the shop and locked it from the outside.

  “This way.” Cain directed her to a silver Jaguar and opened the passenger door for her. “Be honest if you don’t like it. It’s the only one I’m leaning to.”

  Heading into Dulwich Village, Madeline asked, “Are you sure you want to live here? It’s London but it feels like countryside. We have fêtes and markets and boutiques, and we stage protests about chain supermarkets building in the area...”

  “And in twenty minutes, I’m in the midst of tall buildings, department stores, and drunken bankers. Perfect.”

  “Isn’t it going to be too quiet for you?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t really fancy living on the side of a motorway. This will do just fine.”

  Madeline shifted in her seat to look at him. “It took me a long time to get used to the quiet around here. When we first came to London we were in a centre, near to Heathrow. The sound of planes was reassuring. It meant I wasn’t in Rwanda. Then when I moved South... It...I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep very well. I have meditation music in my room.”

  Cain glanced at her briefly, laughter in his eyes. “You want to help me sleep?”

  Grrr. Irritating man. “I just don’t think you should waste money on a place that isn’t going to bring you peace.”

  “You’re close by,” he said lightly. “That means I have easy access to all sorts of sugary treats. Why wouldn’t I sleep peacefully knowing that?”

  She shook her head. “There’s a saying; the joker always cries the most tears.”

  “I’ve nothing to cry about, Madeline. You’re here. I’m here. The only thing that will upset me is if the agent tries to bargain a higher price if the property’s not worth it.”

  Tapping her fingers together, she argued, “That’s not really the best way to think about things.”

  “We’re having a look, Madeline. It doesn’t come with a ream of psychological issues. I promise.”

  He turned into Dulwich Village, picturesque with its bowling green, the white cricket piles, small clock tower, and little independent shops. It was a far cry from Afghanistan and Iraq. But perhaps the change was too drastic and by the same turn too similar to Cambridgeshire. The estate agent was as slick as his hair gel, immediately assuming Madeline was Cain’s wife. Cain didn’t correct him, and when Madeline tried to, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. Any protest died in her throat.

  The house itself was glorious with its large, white-washed rooms, working fireplaces, and modernised kitchen with restaurant-style features. With each room, Madeline wanted more and more to live in it. The estate agent left them alone to look through the property by themselves.

  “Look,” Cain pointed at the skylight that ran across the bedroom in the loft. “Like sleeping under the stars. Except you can’t really see them in London.”

  “See,” Madeline chided. “You’d get that in Cambridgeshire.”

  “Cambridgeshire comes
with its own set of grief papers. I’ll stick with the Greater London District. Do you like it?” he asked. “The house?”

  She sighed. “It’s a house for a family. Not a single man.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You haven’t answered the question.”

  Gazing past him, she took in the size of the room. It actually made it a five-bedroom house. “I’d live here in a heartbeat.”

  “All right then.” He crossed the room and kissed her lingeringly on the cheek. “I’m just going to have a chat with Greased Lightning downstairs and then we can go to dinner.”

  He disappeared downstairs, leaving her alone in the room. It wasn’t permanent. Nothing ever was. Eventually he’d leave - bound back to war, patrols, insurgents, and IEDs; walking in the shadow of death. Why was she even here? His career had already cost him his marriage and his heirloom. History always proved that humanity was doomed to make the same mistakes. Cain Goldsmith was only human.

  Chapter Six

  “What’s going on?” Cain asked as soon as the waitress left the uncorked bottle of red on their table and returned to the bar.

  Madeline hadn’t said much else since he’d made an offer on the house. They were sitting in a restaurant a short walk from the green, ignoring their menus. He could understand her reticence. They hardly knew each other. Well, really knew each other. He didn’t know if she squeezed the toothpaste from the middle of the tube and she didn’t know that he recycled everything down to making his own compost. Possibly, things could have been different if she hadn’t been so intent on playing Bruce Wayne and keeping her identity a secret. And now he was going to be a ten-minute walk from her shop. Twenty minutes from her own home.

  He admitted that Dulwich Village did have shades of Cambridgeshire; of course he knew it. There was no mistaking that he was actually glad for it. Dulwich’s appeal was that it had the typical English country lifestyle, but even better, it was a good travelling distance away from people who knew him. Home was the scene of his humiliation. Everyone there knew that his wife had cheated, taken up with another man, had his child, and then questioned Cain’s failings as a husband. At least in London, one had a healthy suspicion for one’s neighbours before diving into every aspect of their personal life.

  Madeline didn’t seem convinced of his choice. Regardless of sharing deep dark secrets of their past, there were things they hadn’t disclosed to each other. Obviously, their lack of full disclosure to one another was becoming a reality to Madeline, which was making him unsettled the longer she remained silent. A glass of ruby red wine was poured out for her, and he received his lemon wedge with coke. The dark liquid was barely visible for the lemon stuffed into the glass. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  She made a noncommittal sound in her throat, moving the wine glass to the other side of her cutlery. “Just thinking. When do you go back?”

  The hell? “What do you mean?”

  “To Iraq. Or Afghanistan. Or wherever it is you’re going to be stationed.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Where was this coming from?

  She sighed. “Cain... I like you. I mean, I know we’ve been in the same physical space twice. But I don’t go around just kissing anyone, certainly not in my shop.”

  “I’d bloody well hope not.” He frowned at her. “What is it? Really?”

  Closing her eyes briefly, Madeline tapped her wine glass with a nail. “I don’t... I don’t want to get my hopes up with you, if you’re going to be gone in a week or two.”

  “So, if I had another tour, you wouldn’t send me any more sweet packages? No letters? Nothing?”

  She gave a shrug. “I don’t know if I could do it. Live off my expectation. On worry of what may or may not be.”

  “No you don’t.” He refused her argument in three words. “You’re not doing this.”

  “What?”

  “From the minute that package turned up, you... Everything was you - how I wanted to meet you. Thank you. Be around you. Be near you. Talk to you. Find out every little thing about you. When I didn’t have anything new from you, I’d just read and re-read everything else I had.” He halted, shaking his head. “It’s like giving a drowning man a life jacket, then putting a fucking hole in it.” Wiping his hands over his face, he struggled to keep his world from collapsing. “You can’t do this. You can’t hook me in with my childhood, then show me that you’re clever and generous and sweet with your Pixar character big eyes and your damned bullet wound and your Grace Kelly outfits and then say that. Send me on my merry way with a ‘enjoy your tour.’ The devil is that about?”

  “I’m not–”

  “Dammit, woman. You’ve made me need you!”

  Those huge eyes of hers were filled with upset. “And you don’t think it’s the same for me?” she asked, pressing her hands to her chest.

  “Then why the hell would you say it?”

  “Because I don’t want to fall in love with you and then you go. You’re taken away from me. You die. I can’t. I just... No. Not doing this.” She stumbled to her feet, grabbing her bag and hurrying from the restaurant. Cain quickly left cash for the wine and hurried after her. For a woman in four-inch heels, she moved damned fast.

  “Come here,” he ordered, catching her by the arm and pulling her into his embrace. “Stop that and just be still.”

  She sagged against him, her breaths coming in angry little puffs until she calmed. That wasn’t happening again. He was not letting her walk away from what could be so incredible and real and wonderful between them, not when they should consider it que sera, sera. “Are you sensible?” he asked, lifting her head from his collarbone and framing her sweet face between his palms.

  “No.” Her eyes were beginning to redden. “You’ll meet someone else. Someone who can do a part time relationship. Probably easier when you get back on tour as well.”

  He breathed out before he spoke. “I’m not sure where you created this fascinating theory that I’d be alright with this ending and as soon as my boots hit foreign soil, I’ll be able to forget all about you and start trying to lift burkas. Do you really think that if we stop seeing each other, you won’t think about me or stop worrying about me?.” She opened her mouth to protest and he continued. “I get it. I do, but Madeline everyone has a sell by date. Tomorrow, I could get hit by a bus and die. That’s whether I’m a soldier or a banker or a bike courier. So could you. If anything, that should be more incentive for us to enjoy what we have, because we don’t know what’s going to happen next. But don’t... Don’t smother this before we’ve started. It’s not fair on either of us. All right?”

  “It’s just...”

  “Just what?”

  Madeline closed her eyes and turned her face into one of his palms, her lips brushing over his skin. He lifted her face so she had to look at him. “Okay.” She said eventually.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay. We’ll... we’ll carry on. But don’t buy that house.”

  “Grief. Are you sure you weren’t in the military?”

  She nodded. “Pretty sure. I’m just good at giving orders.”

  “And again proving we are meant to be.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. That wasn’t ever happening again. He was fully committed that she was more than just important to him. She was everything. “Are we going back inside, because that was a pretty dramatic exit.”

  She exhaled heavily, pulling her face from his palms and primly standing away from him. “Let’s just go to the Thai place down the road. They’re used to drama.”

  ***

  Her father told her every hour, Keep going. Move. Don’t look. Just go. She didn’t know what she was supposed to look at. The horizon was grim, littered with bodies, limbs, empty shells. When she faltered, her father yanked her to her feet and pushed her ahead of him. They were walking in the graveyard of people who were just like them. People who could have so easily been them. Walking on the weaponry that had stolen the
ir lives. It frightened her that there was hardly anyone around, but her father said they were going in the right direction. The fewer people they saw, the more bodies they saw, the better. The United Nations would come from safe Tanzania and protect them. Silence ruled where bullets had before. They’d eat whatever they could find.

  Supplies her father had packed in their bags ran out quickly. Money her father padded in his shirt was no use to anyone. There was no food to sell. Dirty water kept them going even as it poisoned them. They came to Kigali, the capital. Salvation. So close. Keeping to the shadows, they managed to avoid groups of militia, cheering and whooping their victory in trucks that rolled by.

  Madeline caught sight of them in the distance. Soldiers! Not the inhumane ones who slaughtered people like cattle. Different ones. Madeline looked up at her father, who was watching the soldiers in the distance. “Why aren’t they doing anything?” he whispered. The soldiers were standing by a tank, weapons braced against their torsos. She couldn’t see them aiming at the interahamwe. They seemed to be just...patrolling? Noise shifted behind her father and militia crossed her line of sight, brandishing their machetes.

  “Go!” her father bellowed. She ran towards the soldiers who were standing in front of the tank, the United Nations banner rippling in the wind. The shouts of interahamwe behind her spurred her like nothing else had. She was exhausted, starving, weak, but she wasn’t going to let them catch her. Not after everything her father had done to keep them both alive. Determination and her father’s voice gave wings to her feet. Screaming in French, she ran to them. The only word she prayed that would make them protect her and her father. Aider! Help! She collided into the nearest figure and said, “Don’t let them kill my daddy!”

  There were shouts in French all around her. “Step back!” Bullets were fired into the air, and Madeline couldn’t help screaming in shock. She turned her head to see the interahamwe backing off. Machetes were no match for machine guns.

  “Daddy?” she whispered, the soldier’s arms strong around her.