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Soldier's Daughters

Page 18

by Fiona Field


  ‘Morning, OC LAD,’ she said into the receiver.

  ‘Sam, it’s me.’

  Michelle. Sam felt her shoulders droop. Not again. OK, she’d wanted a distraction from her mundane task but maybe not this distraction. She was so bored with the Maddy–Seb–Michelle triangle and yet she felt hideously disloyal for even thinking it.

  ‘Hiya, ’Chelle,’ she said, making a brave attempt to sound pleased. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Crap. Beyond crap. How do you think?’

  Sam paused. What was she supposed to say: Oh, dear? You’ll feel better soon? Move on? She sighed. ‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Michelle. Truly.’

  ‘Why do I feel as though it’s my fault, Sam? I mean, it’s not, is it? I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?’

  ‘No, Michelle.’

  ‘How could he have done this to me? I thought he loved me.’

  ‘I don’t know, Michelle.’ Sam gazed at the reports, which suddenly looked tempting.

  ‘I need him to know what he’s done to me. It’s not fair that I’m the one whose life is ruined and he skips off back to his family.’

  Sam bit back a comment that Maddy didn’t deserve to have her life ruined either, which was the flip side of the scenario.

  ‘Well, it isn’t, is it?’ demanded Michelle, when Sam didn’t answer.

  ‘No.’

  ‘When am I going to see you again, so we can talk properly? I suppose you’ll be spending Christmas at your grandparents, with your dad.’

  Fuck. But she couldn’t lie. Not to her best friend. ‘Well, yes. But not with Dad. He’s going skiing again, like he does, on his own.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Michelle with indignation.

  ‘You know what Dad is like,’ said Sam. ‘It’s hardly out of character, is it? Anyway, I’m going to Gran’s on my own and I’ll get outrageously spoilt so I don’t really mind.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was a pause and in it Sam could almost hear the cogs of Michelle’s brain whirring. ‘So your gran’s other spare room is free.’ Sam could detect the hope in Michelle’s voice despite the miles and miles that separated them.

  She suppressed a sigh. ‘Unless she’s suddenly decided to take in a lodger.’

  ‘You don’t suppose…’

  Sam shut her eyes as if in that nanosecond of thought some perfect reason not to invite Michelle would materialise. ‘Yes, I’ll ring Gran. I’m sure she and Grandpa will be cool and would love to see you again.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so perfect,’ squealed Michelle. ‘I don’t have to see Dad and the WSM and we can have a proper catch up and it’ll be wonderful, you’ll see.’ Sam felt that Michelle wasn’t even considering whether her father mightn’t want his daughter to spend Christmas with him. Oh, well… ‘What do you think your grandparents would like me to bring as a Christmas present? And I can bring some supplies. I’ll get on the internet and order a hamper perhaps. And booze. I’ll bring lashings of that…’ And as Michelle rabbited on about her plans to make Christmas ‘just wonderful’ Sam wondered what she could plan to fill the rest of the block leave so she’d have a legitimate excuse to tell Michelle that she could only stay a few days. She loved Michelle, she did, but a little went a long way. Even if it meant living on her own in the mess for half her leave, she thought that it would be preferable to non-stop Michelle for three whole weeks. The thought of going over and over the doomed relationship with Seb for that long was more than Sam could bear. So she lied and said she’d been invited to James’s for the New Year, fairly certain that, considering how obsessed Michelle had been with her own love life, she wouldn’t have a clue about what was going on in Sam’s – which, thought Sam, was diddly-squat, although she was happy with that. She liked being just good friends with the guys in the mess. It was comfortable and happy and unless there was some monumental coup-de-foudre moment between her and one of her fellow mess-mates she couldn’t see the situation altering any time soon.

  As Sam put the phone down the ASM appeared at her office door.

  ‘Have you got a moment, ma’am?’

  Sam nodded.

  The ASM approached her desk and put the Christmas duty rota, that Sam had just published, on her desk.

  Sam looked at it and then at the ASM.

  ‘So?’ she said.

  ‘So, Sergeant Armstrong is on call over Christmas.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘He was on call last Christmas.’

  ‘And he volunteered to do it again this Christmas.’

  ‘It’s not fair.’

  ‘But he volunteered. He’s not going away, he doesn’t have kids, he’s happy to do it.’ She was trying not to sound exasperated but the ASM was trying her patience.

  ‘I think you should find someone else to do it.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then, may I suggest, Mr Williams, that until you’ve got another volunteer you don’t muck up a perfectly serviceable duty roster.’

  Mr Williams looked sullen. ‘I was just trying to protect his interests,’ he said truculently.

  ‘I think, from what I know of Jenna, if she isn’t happy with this arrangement, Sergeant Armstrong wouldn’t have dared put his name forward.’ Sam stared at the ASM and willed him to contradict her. ‘Anything else?’ she asked pointedly.

  The ASM picked up the duty roster and left her office. Sam felt inordinately proud of having stood up to him, even though, having done so, she was left feeling wrung out.

  Andy Bailey watched Immi Cooper pick up the pile of files from his out-tray and sashay out of his office. There were very few people who could look sexy in combat kit but Cooper was definitely an exception. He tore his eyes away from her rather gorgeous rear and applied himself to the citation he was writing to try and get the battalion’s RSM in the honours’ list before the man retired from the army. Besides, he told himself, he could hardly bitch about Gilly mooning over that bloody Raven-war-correspondent-bloke on the TV if he was ogling another woman.

  He put down his pen. Of course! The perfect person to escort Raven around the exercise area would be Corporal Cooper. She was going to be a complete waste of space out in Kenya, that much was obvious, and yet there was no reason to leave her behind with the rear party, as the families officer and his team had that base perfectly adequately covered.

  Andy jumped up and went to tell his boss his idea.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Colonel Notley. ‘Go and tell her.’

  Andy went back to his desk and pressed the intercom button.

  ‘Come to my office for a moment, would you, Cooper?’ he ordered.

  Immi returned a few seconds later. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Got a job for you when we go to Kenya.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. What would that be?’ She sounded wary.

  ‘There’s going to be a reporter from the media covering the exercise. The CO and I would like you to escort him around, make sure he doesn’t get in the way or annoy anyone, that sort of thing. You’ll have a vehicle and a driver so all you’ll have to do is keep this guy from sticking his nose in where we don’t want it or getting himself into danger. You can do that, can’t you?’

  He saw Cooper swallow as she digested the task she’d been given. Then she nodded. ‘OK, sir. How long is this guy going to be with us for?’

  ‘The duration, as far as we know. The MOD will be sending us more details in due course.’

  ‘That’s fine, sir.’

  ‘So, you’re relatively happy about this?’

  Cooper shrugged. ‘Can’t see there’s anything to be unhappy about, sir. I mean, I’ve got no choice about going so I suppose it’ll be better to be out and about with this reporter bloke than stuck in the comms tent, watchkeeping on the graveyard shift.’

  ‘Indeed. Think of it as your very own personal safari.’ But even as he said it Andy didn’t think Cooper looked the intrepid traveller sort. He reckoned her idea of exotic would be a fortnight at Sharm el-Sheikh.

 
Sam was beavering away again on her dreary reports, head down, concentrating hard in order to banish some very un-Christian thoughts about her ASM, when she was interrupted by someone knocking on her door.

  ‘Yes,’ she called grumpily, not looking up.

  ‘Sorry, you’re busy. I’ll come back later.’

  Sam put down her pen and smiled. ‘James, I’m sorry. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Nothing really.’ He shut the door. ‘I was passing and thought I’d pop in a see if I could cadge a cuppa.’

  ‘Of course.’ She got up and went to the counter where the kettle lived.

  ‘You look pissed off,’ said James.

  ‘Sorry, I am a bit. Not with you, though,’ she added quickly.

  ‘Let me guess.’

  Sam gave him a rueful smile as she filled the kettle. ‘Mr Williams has struck again.’

  ‘What’s he done now?’

  ‘Something pathetically trivial, only it’s got on my tits.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t use that phrase,’ said James.

  ‘Sorry.’ Sam dropped two tea bags into two mugs.

  ‘So, what did he do?’

  Sam told James. ‘And I stood up to him. He’s not happy.’

  ‘Well done, you.’

  ‘Don’t you start patronising me.’

  ‘I wasn’t, I mean it. The more you don’t take any stick from him the less he’ll try it on.’

  ‘All I’ve got to do now is to get Blake to cheer up and stop looking like he’s some sort of volcano on the brink of exploding and everything here will be fine.’

  ‘You think Blake is about to go off on one? Have some sort of episode?’ James sounded genuinely worried.

  ‘God, no, nothing as dramatic as that.’ Sam finished making the tea and passed James his mug. ‘No, he just sort of smoulders, casts a bit of a cloud around him.’ Sam didn’t tell James he always seemed perfectly happy in the company of others, in case it made her look either paranoid or a bit needy. After all, she was Blake’s boss, not his friend, and he didn’t have to look cheerful in her company.

  ‘Then ignore him. If he wants to be a wet blanket and a miserable git as well, let him. Now then, I have another reason for my visit – other than blagging tea. Given what you’ve told me about your dad and knowing how you tend to stay in the mess because you don’t have bolt-holes to disappear to at weekends, what are you doing about Christmas leave?’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Ah?’

  ‘I’m going to my grandparents with Michelle for Christmas itself.’

  ‘Michelle? The one you told me has boyfriend trouble? Doesn’t sound like fun.’

  Sam nodded. ‘It’ll be fine. She’s still my best friend. We go way back.’

  ‘And New Year?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Nothing really. I’ll probably come back here and watch the fireworks on the telly. Get a pizza in, a bottle of wine, live the high life.’

  ‘Or you could come over to my folks’ for a few days and on New Year’s Eve we could jump on a train to London and watch them live.’

  For a second Sam wondered if James had tapped her phone or was clairvoyant or something. How did he know that’s what she’d told Michelle? She stared at him, bewildered.

  ‘Sorry, you think it’s a crap idea,’ said James. ‘And I’m not, honestly, doing a clandestine meet-the-parents-thing. It’s just a suggestion. I mean, I like you but we’re not dating or anything; we’re just friends. And they have a big house and several spare rooms and if I’ve got a mate staying I’ve got an excuse to go out and…’ He tailed off. ‘Well, the offer is there.’

  ‘No, no it’s fab. I’d love to.’

  ‘Really?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Really.’

  Michelle also had a pile of reports in front of her to complete. Her recruits were nearing the end of their training course and what she wrote about them could have serious implications on their first few years as serving soldiers. The reports were important – not to say urgent – but Michelle was staring at them blankly. Instead all her thoughts were directed to her meeting with Seb the previous Friday.

  What had she done wrong? she wondered. Why had Seb, or Bas, or whatever his blasted name was, dumped her? Why her? Why not that dull mouse that he was married to? What the fuck had Maddy got that she didn’t have? Could she have engineered the situation to get a different outcome? Could she get him back? And it was that last question that really exercised her mind. Surely there had to be a way. The trouble was, now Sam knew exactly what was going on, there was no way she was going to get an invitation to the barracks at Warminster.

  Still, on the positive side, she knew where Seb and his family lived. Once again, she clicked on Google Earth and zoomed in on his quarter.

  On the first morning of block leave and twelve hours after most soldiers had already charged off out of the barracks, Immi thumped her case down the stairs of her accommodation block and then dragged it down the road towards the bus stop on the other side of the security barrier. She had just passed the guardroom when a navy-blue Ford pulled up beside her.

  ‘Want a lift?’

  Immi bent down to see who was offering and when she saw, her heart gave a little skip of delight. ‘Luke! I’d love one but only if I’m not taking you out of your way.’

  ‘Where you headed?’

  ‘Station.’

  ‘Hop in, then.’ Luke jumped out and popped the boot. ‘Give me that,’ he said, and with a deft heave he picked up Immi’s case and stowed it away, next to his holdall.

  ‘This is kind of you,’ said Immi as she slid into the passenger seat. ‘Nice motor.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Luke put the car in gear and pulled away. ‘Going home?’

  ‘Yeah. I thought about taking off yesterday straight after work but it would have been a push to get the last train… Anyway, you don’t need to know about my travel arrangements. So, where are you off to? You going home too?’

  ‘No,’ said Luke shortly.

  ‘Aren’t you seeing your folks over Christmas?’ probed Immi, innocently, trying to elicit any scrap of information that might help her work out what made Luke tick.

  ‘Not if I can possibly help it.’

  That’s me told, thought Immi. She dropped that line of enquiry. ‘So where you going?’

  ‘Skiing.’

  ‘That’s very glamorous. Where are you doing that, then?’

  ‘Austria.’

  ‘Nice. I’ve always fancied skiing, me. Never had the bottle to learn.’

  ‘I don’t remember learning,’ said Luke. ‘I started when I was three.’

  ‘So did your parents teach you?’

  ‘My parents,’ Luke spat out the word, ‘dumped me in ski school and ignored me. A succession of ski instructors got the job.’

  ‘So you don’t get on with them – your parents, not your ski instructors, I mean.’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Luke gave her such a withering look that anyone less tough than Immi would have shrivelled.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Shit happened,’ said Luke.

  And even Immi realised that she’d pushed him far enough. She changed the subject. ‘You know that exercise…?’

  ‘I’m assuming you’re referring to Askari Thunder.’

  ‘Well, yeah. There ain’t any others happening this side of summer leave, are there?’

  Luke rolled his eyes.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Immi, ‘it looks like I’m going to be having a better time than I first thought.’

  ‘So you’re definitely going? You’re not throwing a sickie?’

  ‘Not now. There was me thinking I’d be stuck in some tent or armoured vehicle, sweating like a pig ’cos there’s no air-con or nothing, and having to log-keep or act as a runner or something, but now it turns out I’m going to be the personal escort to some Fleet Street type.’

  ‘Oh? Who?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Suddenly Immi felt a bit foolish that she hadn’t asked
his name. Not, though, she reasoned, that she’d know it. When was the last time she’d picked up a daily?

  ‘You’d best hope you’re not in charge of someone who wants to dig the dirt about the army; find soldiers who are racist or anti-human rights or who want to bleat about being bullied. If that’s what they want in the way of a story, and you let them find it, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.’

  ‘There’s reporters like that?’ Immi was genuinely stunned. Everyone liked the army these days, didn’t they? Wasn’t it all ‘our boys’ and ‘Help for Heroes’ and welcome-home parades and everything?

  ‘I think so,’ said Luke. ‘There’s people out there dead against the army and everything it stands for. I’m not saying this reporter’ll be like that but you need to be aware.’

  They drove the remainder of the way to the station in silence. Immi was wrapped up in thoughts about the way things had suddenly shifted; her role had gone from being some sort of Girl Friday to a rather glamorous media type to some sleazy hack’s patsy. So her view of exercise Askari Thunder was back to where it had been before: six weeks of heat, hard work, vile conditions and dodgy critters, only now she was also responsible for some guy who might be out to have a swipe at the army and who could ruin her career if he did. Well, thanks very much.

  Luke pulled up in the drop-off point and got Immi’s suitcase out.

  ‘Thanks for the lift, Luke. Hope you have a blinding holiday. You’ll come back from all that snow and we’ll all be straight off to Africa.’ And then my career might be straight down the tubes, she thought disconsolately. But she wasn’t going to show Luke how rattled she was by what he’d said, so she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and leaned in to give Luke a kiss on the cheek before he could dodge out the way. ‘See you in a few weeks,’ she said as she grabbed her case and began to tow it away.

  18

  ‘I think,’ said Maddy to Nathan as she surveyed the piles of clothes and presents stacked neatly in the two suitcases on the spare room bed, ‘that is everything.’ Nathan struggled in her arms and reached out to try and grab the bright, shiny wrapping paper on the presents. ‘Sorry, hon,’ said Maddy, plonking a kiss on the top of his head, ‘you’ll have to wait a few more days till you can open that little lot.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Hurry up, Seb,’ she muttered. He’d dashed into town that morning first thing and still wasn’t back.

 

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