“I’ll come with you,” she mumbled, struggling with the duvet to sit up.
“Stay where you are,” he commanded, kissing her eyelids close. “We’re not doing horribly drawn out tarahs. This, you in bed, is how I want to picture you from now until I get back. All right?”
“Bossy bastard.”
He laughed, kissing her on the mouth. The only thing, the tenuous thread forcing him to report, was being court-martialled. He really didn’t want to go. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” She yawned, slinging her arm over his lap and falling straight asleep. He tucked her back beneath the sheets and left before he asked for voluntary discharge.
He had no time to do anything other than beg his father to include Madeline on his next of kin. Before he knew it, he and his brigade were on a flight bound for Kabul. Madeline’s first letter was tucked into his pocket, between the pages of his passport, and at last he was able to read her words:
Dear Cain,
Today, you and I had our first fight. Instead of hitting you, like I wanted to, I’ve sat up to write this to you. So it’s like a diary of you and me. We both know why I got so upset, because this was in our future. Me here and you away. And words on a page. Again. You bored out of your skull. Me substituting you for a hopefully anatomically correct dildo. No, that’s a joke. About the dildo, not you being anatomically correctly proportioned. Are you? At the moment I don’t know. And I want to say thank you. For being sensitive to my needs. For being as wonderful as you are. I hope it’s good between you and me while you’re reading this. We’ve only met in person twice, and I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without knowing you. Please be safe. Stay safe. Don’t do anything overzealous or heroic (Impossible for you with your Clark Kent complex – you get it from your father, I’m sure). I need you back. I won’t argue with you about breaking up any more. I promise. I’m not even going to consider it. Because I love you already.
Yours always,
Madeline
Well, fuck, he thought, folding the letter carefully back into his passport, his actions the polar opposite of the tsunami of emotions rolling inside him. His heart had always been in his job. Unfortunately, his heart was still in London. They’d been separated once before. And they could do it again. They had to.
“All right, boss?” his lieutenant asked, concern in her eyes.
Cain forced a smile. “Never better.”
***
The interpreter was making Cain edgy. His eyes kept darting everywhere, but the local man had information on insurgents, and since everyone’s Pashtu was pretty appalling, this was what they had to deal with. The brigade had only been out for two months, and the drudgery of the days and nights was sorely testing him. All the times when he’d expended little to no sympathy for his platoon missing their families or moping, and now the roles were reversed.
He found soldiers trying to keep his spirits up, which was not the way things were supposed to be. Then again, their way of cheering him up was to rip seven shades of shit out of him.
“Do we get to come to the wedding and throw confetti?”
“No.” Cain’s voice told them clearly to shut up, but his love sickness was obvious.
“Tommy would make a great bridesmaid. Look at the tits on him.”
“Christ, Tommy, put something on,” Cain growled as the private pushed his man-breasts together into a faux cleavage. “Why on God’s green earth you would think anyone wants to have your body printed on their brain is beyond me.”
“Thought it might help.” Tommy shrugged. “Get you thinking good thoughts and that.”
Cain stared at him in disgust as everyone else rolled around in hysterics. Rather than engage them further, Cain put pen to paper and finally wrote to Madeline.
Dearest Madeline,
It’s all at once strange and wonderful to read your words in hindsight, especially considering you nearly broke my heart that night. My one night of drama with a beautiful girl who was afraid of what loving me would do. I should apologise for pulling you into a life of uncertainty and distance, the great military unknown. But I couldn’t have it any other way. Now when I read your words, I can see your facial expressions. You know when you smile, it’s upside down? The corners of your mouth go in the exact opposite direction for a smile? It’s sweet the way you laugh hiding behind your hand. The fact that thinking of your snoring helps me sleep at night isn’t the strangest thing. You wearing underwear that’s modelled on designs that are older than our parents is strange. I can still smell your perfume on the page of your letters, and I know just how much richer that scent is on your neck and between your breasts.
That night you wrote your letter, we were just a possibility, and the thought of that not becoming a reality devastated me. I know —trust me, I know—how hard this is, but don’t ever forget what we are together. To each other. What we have. I’ll be home sooner than you think, and it’ll just be us and the future. All studded with those sugar-coated jelly babies. You love a bit of sparkle. Do me a favour. Tell me about everything. The market stall, how the shop’s doing. If Caz is still as militant as ever and is still intent on reporting me to the Ministry of Defence for corrupting you. Remind me that I didn’t make you up. Sometimes I think I must have imagined you to be that happy with someone.
I love you. I miss you.
Cain.
He only felt somewhat better, and finding things to do was always useful. Except when twitchy interpreters made him unnecessarily edgy. “What?” Cain barked. “What is it?”
“Faisal says the bomb is here,” the interpreter said. “But they changed the indicator to let other Taliban know where the bomb is located so they don’t trigger it. It used to be stick-rock-rock but now... He doesn’t know.”
Cain whistled sharply through his teeth. “McTarys here now! Hurry up. Everyone else stand still! No one move, do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir!”
McTarys was a woman with nerves of steel, sweeping the detector in the vicinity. They had to find it. The villagers used the road regularly to get to the main market. Cain’s platoon used the road to speak to the villagers about insurgents. As she cleared the area behind her, Cain shifted his men back. “Slow. Go on.”
The interpreter was sweating, beads of liquid dripping from his noise. Cain directed his words to him.
“Don’t move. All right? We’re clearing the area... It can’t be anything behind us or we would have triggered it...”
The interpreter shook his head. “I don’t want to die like that!” he cried, scrambling backwards. Cain leapt to grab him as the interpreter skidded to his side. The interpreter’s foot skated over a lone rock, knocking it a yard away. Cain yanked the shaking man’s arm with such force Cain felt the socket give way, but it was too late. The IED exploded with the pressure of the interpreter’s foot, throwing them both into the air. Cain landed face first in moist dirt, softened by a bout of rain in the night. The interpreter’s screams were dulled by the explosion, and Cain struggled to push himself upright.
McTarys ran to him and patted him down. “Boss! Man down!” she screamed, and the call raced back to the men who had been filtering away from the road.
“I’m all right,” Cain said mildly, realising he could still feel his legs and his arms and, more importantly, his dick. “Jesus Christ. Check the interpreter. Where’s Faisal?”
The local man was cowering way in front of them, blood streaming over his arm. Cain sat up. “God, it’s like being bounced like a basketball. Jesus. McTarys, check them both. I’ll radio in for assistance. Where’s Tom-bo? He’s got the medic pack.”
“Boss,” McTarys said sharply. “Just stay still. For God’s sake.”
Still feeling rattled like a child’s toy, Cain struggled to his feet and radioed in for medical assistance. Within minutes, the Apache landed, medics streaming out to whisk the interpreter and the local man away. M
cTarys tried to insist on Cain going as well.
“I will not. Good God.”
McTarys pointed a dusty finger in the vicinity of his face. “Er, Boss, your eye’s bleeding.”
Ah. Was that what it was? Before he could even touch it, he was flung onto the helicopter with the other injured men and flown to Camp Bastion. Now he was angry. He and Madeline were supposed to have a well-deserved Skype chat.
“What the hell do I tell my girlfriend about this?” he asked the medic who cleaned his wound and fitted a patch over his eye.
The medic shrugged her shoulders. “Pirates are sexy? It’s a mild scratch. It’ll be healed in a week but wear that so it can get better. You take it off, I’ll surround you with flares and let the Taliban shoot the shit out of you for being stupid.”
“Harsh.”
“Necessary. Do you know how lucky you are?”
Cain raised his brows. “Very. Let me know how the interpreter is? And the local man, Faisal?”
She sighed, patting him genially on the shoulder. “You’re a strange one, Captain Goldsmith.”
“One does try.”
A few hours later, he returned to his base to raucous cheers. “Oh, shut up,” he growled.
“Boss, you flew like Superman. Never seen anything like it.” McTarys grinned.
“Glad you’re all right, sir!” someone yelled before they all started a rousing chorus of “A Pirate’s Life for Me.”
He laughed. “Fuck off.” Making his way to the lone computer, he ruffled the dust from his hair and logged on to Skype. He heard Madeline’s voice before he could see her and said, “Before you panic, it’s a small scratch.”
Her face showed on the screen and immediately she yelped. “Holy God!”
Not the way he wanted this little meeting to go at all, by any stretch of the imagination, but she was sight for (a) sore eye. He was so glad to see her. “It’s just a small scratch on my cornea. Little bit of shrapnel got me, but I’m fine. All intact otherwise.”
She didn’t say anything, just stared at him with her hands over her mouth. “Madeline,” he insisted, voice low, “I’m fine. Could have been much worse, but I’m fine. Look, sweetheart, I can’t be on here forever, you should say something.”
“I told you! I told you about heroics!”
“Well, not that.” He tried distraction. The look of distress on her face was becoming unbearable. “I can’t see what you’re wearing. Can you stand up for a minute?”
She lowered her hands and shook her head at him. “You’re not being careful.”
“It’s the first time anything’s happened around here in weeks.”
“Doesn’t that mean you have to come home?”
Cain sighed. “’Fraid not. If it was a bullet wound or the IED took out a leg, then of course.” Wrong thing to say. Madeline dropped her head on the laptop. She seemed so close he felt he was close enough to reach over and stroke those twists. Not thousands of miles away. “I’m fine. I promise.”
She lifted her head, one eye visible over her arm. “Everything’s intact?”
“Everything you like on me, yes.” He grinned. “How are you?”
“Missing you. I don’t know why, you’re so odd. Your mum came to see me.”
Cain’s eyebrows rose. “Did she really? Whatever for? More chocolate crack?”
“Yes, I gave her some more chocolates, but she sorted a meeting for me with the golf club nearby. They want the chocolates as petit fours after dinner. Nice chunk of cash for that.”
“Good old Mum. Have you seen Dad?”
“Funnily enough, I ran into him at the golf club and we had lunch there. He wanted to know if you were treating me appropriately.”
“Am I?” he asked, suddenly serious. Had his father said something? The worst thing about tours was the inevitable feeling of regret. And he had an opportunity to rectify the worst regret he had where Madeline was concerned.
She sent him a slow smile. “I just miss you. You’ve never treated me with anything than the utmost respect. Except when you yelled at me.”
“Once.”
“You always yell.”
“Army man, sweetheart. I’ve got very little in the way of volume control.”
“You’ve got a lot of control, don’t be silly.”
He sighed. “I’ve been so desperate to talk to you, and now I can see your beautiful face I don’t know what to say. Except sorry.”
“What for?”
“Worrying you. I promise I’m trying to stay in one piece.”
She nodded, looking down at her laptop and drawing a fingertip over the keys. “I know you are.” When she looked up, he thought he could see tears in her eyes, but she smiled at him instead. “Let me tell you what happened at the market stall this weekend. I think we could both do with the laugh.”
Relieved that his plans for now seemed secret, and not blurted by either of his parents, Cain leaned back in his seat. “If the Internet cuts out half way through, I love you.”
Her smile was so brilliant, it would be imprinted in his mind until his last day. “I love you too.”
Chapter Eleven
Caz had been a surprising help and let him know Madeline was working at Tutti Fruitti late that evening. He’d told a few fibs about his return date to the UK just so he could surprise her. Well, he hoped it was a good surprise or else it’d all go down like a lead balloon.
In a clean uniform, he parked a few doors away from the shop and took a deep breath. He sent Caz a text message. I’m here now.
Caz text back in a second: go for it.
He approached the shop and saw there were muted lights coming from inside. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he peeked inside and saw Madeline standing in the middle of the shop. She saw him and beckoned him inside. The door clicked open with the barest of shoves.
She had decorated the shop in red – hearts, flowers, streamers and the fairy lights blinked an intermittent red. Even her dress, with its full skirts, was a brilliant vermillion. She stood in a circle of candles, and as he stepped closer, he realised it was shaped in a heart.
“Come in,” she said softly, holding her hands out to him. “Hello, Fibber.”
“Caz told you?” He stepped over the candles to clasp both her hands. She was trembling, and he rubbed his thumbs over her skin to send calm to her. It’d been almost nine months since they’d touched each other, and if he wasn’t so intent on what she wanted to say, they’d be on the floor without much clothing on.
“Of course she did! She nearly went to Parliament Square to organise a protest against your coming back into the country.”
“Cheeky cow,” he said, half in admiration of the woman’s deceit. “This is some homecoming.”
Madeline took a breath, heavy and in preparation. Just like the breath he’d taken before he’d left the car. “You’ve...” Her voice petered out and she stared down at her shoes. “I’m sorry. This is harder than I thought it’d be.”
“Take your time,” he insisted, squeezing her hands. “I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me anything. Anything at all.”
She smiled and took another deep breath. “Okay. You’ve given me back something I thought I’d lost in Rwanda. I thought I’d never be able to truly love anyone. But you’ve given me back my compassion and my patience, and you’ve opened up my heart. I remember being so scared this time last year because I only had the faintest idea of what you’d mean to me. And I wouldn’t be without this—the way I feel about you now—for the world. And I think about how you told me ‘no,’ and I can’t thank you enough for not giving up. So... Oh, hell.” She released his hand and reached over the candles for a truffle box. “I wanted to ask...”
Madeline almost went on her knee, but Cain yanked her back up. His stomach was doing insane flips. At her words, at what she’d just been about to do. “You’re not proposing to me.”
“What? Why not? Oh, God...” Her eyes widened in growing horror. “You don’t want to marry me
, do you?”
He laughed. In relief, to stop himself from crying like a little girl, in understanding at just how perfect she was for him. “I do, you silly girl. I was going to do it first.”
She sniffed, hiding her amusement behind her hand. “You’re such a liar!”
“Sometimes, admittedly, but not about this.” He removed a velvet box from his inside pocket and placed it on top of the truffle box she held.
“That’s too big for a ring.”
“Yes. For a start, I know you’d want to pick your own ring, and my mother has a huge collection that she’s waiting for you to choose from. Secondly and more importantly, I didn’t know how much tradition you follow, but since it brought us together, there should be something symbolic of Rwanda there. On our day. If you say yes, that is. So I chose this instead.”
She picked up the box. “Well, you hold this, and I’ll open this. Swap.”
He waited for her to open the jewellery box. It was as close to African as he could find. A diamond and platinum jewelled piece that would sit on Madeline’s delicate forehead. She stared up at him over the box. “When did you do this?”
“Before I left.”
“You were with me all the time!”
He simply smiled. “There was time. Told you, I’m good at strategizing. You’re catching up, though.” He admired the shop’s transformation.
“Open yours,” she insisted.
Inside was a packet of Wotsit crisps, some yum yum doughnuts, Maltesers chocolates and his Marc de champagne truffles. “Get it?” She pointed at each item. “Will. You. Marry. Me?”
He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Very witty and delicious.”
Army of You & Me Page 8
