Civvy Street (46 page)

Armstrong pulled a mobile out of his pocket. ‘And I think this is yours.’

Seb nodded. ‘Good. At least now I can phone my wife and tell her Susie is safe.’

‘Who’s safe? What have I missed?’

Seb explained to Armstrong about the drama involving Mike’s wife.

‘Well,’ said Armstrong, ‘thank goodness it ended well. But no thanks to Rayner, it seems.’

‘I can’t be sure what he did was deliberate,’ said Seb, carefully.

Armstrong snorted. ‘You may not be sure. There’s plenty in the battalion who would beg to differ where that man is concerned. Seriously, if it had been Rayner who’d been swept away in the river I, for one, wouldn’t have jumped in.’

*

Susie detected a change in the motion of the helicopter and realised they were coming into land. She wondered where it would be – not that she cared, she was pathetically grateful to be in the warm and dry. The helicopter seemed to be hovering although it swayed from side to side somewhat alarmingly and then there was a sizeable bump and a jolt. Almost instantly the tone of the engine noise changed as the pilot throttled back.

One of the chaps in coveralls unclipped his harness and jumped to his feet and seconds later the big side door slid back to reveal what looked like a car park – and rain. The crewman jumped out while his colleague helped the three members of the Collins family unclip their own harnesses and make their way to the exit. Overhead the rotors still swooshed round and the engines still roared as one by one they stepped onto the narrow metal step and then down onto land. And there was Mike and flashlights popping and a mic was thrust in her face and she was asked how she felt. But she ignored that and threw her arms around her husband’s neck and hugged him, and as the two girls clung to his arms he gathered them to him while the snappers and a couple of TV cameramen recorded the touching reunion.

*

The next morning, when Maddy threw back the curtains, she could see stars in the still-dark sky and although the ground still glistened in the light from the street lamps it wasn’t raining. Blimey, she thought, and then wondered if the next thing she’d see would be a dove bearing an olive branch. Perhaps the worst of the weather was over. She padded across the landing where she could hear Rose was playing in her cot and Nathan seemed to be telling himself some sort of story. She smiled.

She attended to Rose first and deftly got her into a dry nappy and then took Nathan to the loo for an early morning wee before they all went downstairs so she could make herself and Jenna a cup of tea. She popped Rose in her high chair while Nathan climbed onto one of the kitchen chairs.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ asked Nathan.

‘Daddy’s being a proper soldier today. Daddy’s been helping people.’

‘When’s he coming back?’

‘I don’t know. Soon, I hope.’

Maddy gave the children half a banana each to eat while she took Jenna’s tea up to her.

‘Morning, Jen,’ she said as she opened her friend’s door. ‘It’s stopped raining.’

‘At blooming last.’ Jenna was snuggled under the covers, cuddling Eliot, the travel cot standing empty at the foot of the bed. ‘I’m going to have to crack on a bit this morning if I’m going to get to the salon on time. I need to get some stuff from home. Let’s face it, when I came over for lunch yesterday we didn’t plan on me staying the night.’

‘I’m jolly glad you did. Why don’t I look after Eliot while you go home and get what you need?’

‘Would you? That’d be brilliant.’

‘Just as long as you’re back before nine thirty – I’ve got to get Nathan to playgroup and then go and see Camilla, remember.’

‘I’ll be back before nine. I’ve got a salon to run.’

*

At nine fifty-five Maddy made her way along the road, with Rose strapped in her pushchair, ready for a meeting with Camilla. Jenna had been as good as her word and had zipped home to sort herself and had returned in record time and now Eliot was in the crèche, Nathan was at the playgroup and Jenna was at the salon. And Maddy had even had time to see if she could find any files regarding the community centre that Camilla thought she might have. And the answer was, Maddy was pretty certain, no she hadn’t. It still wasn’t raining and Maddy felt that after the chaos of the last couple of days, order was restored. And if it wasn’t for this meeting with Camilla, Maddy would be feeling pretty OK with life in general.

On the dot of ten, Maddy rang Camilla’s doorbell. When Camilla opened the door, Maddy was shocked. The woman looked terrible. Her hair was unbrushed and she’d obviously been crying. Maddy mightn’t like Camilla but whatever she felt about her, she was obviously suffering and Maddy wasn’t heartless.

‘Camilla, what on earth...?’

‘It’s Jack. He says he wants to resign his commission.’

‘He
what
?’

‘Resign,’ repeated Camilla. ‘He came home last night, said he hated the army, hated the people he worked with, drank half a bottle of Scotch and this morning he’s gone to see General Pemberton-Blake. He wanted a posting but that’s been refused categorically so now he’s gone to the general to offer his resignation. Maddy, if he does that what’ll happen to us?’

Maddy bit back the comment that it would be exactly the same as had happened to Mike and Susie Collins. ‘The general mightn’t accept Jack’s resignation.’

‘But what if he does?’

‘You’ll have to make a fresh start.’

‘But I couldn’t.’

Maddy couldn’t help herself any more. ‘Susie Collins did.’

Camilla bristled. ‘Don’t you dare mention that woman’s name to me. It’s her husband who is responsible for all this. According to Jack, he undermined him at every turn, he refused to respect the proper chain of command and the last straw came when he deliberately took all the credit for the operation when he spoke to the PM and implied Jack had had nothing to do with anything.’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t like that.’

‘Huh. What do you know?’

‘I know what Seb told me.’

‘Oh well... if Seb told you.’ The sneer was tangible. ‘That confirms everything Jack told me. Seb hasn’t exactly done his best to support Jack, has he?’

‘I... but...’

‘Don’t you deny it. For a start, he dragged his feet over that business with the mess. And you were no help either.’

‘Me?’

‘I don’t know what you’ve been saying about me around the patch but no one is willing to replace you on my committees.’

‘I’ve said
nothing
about you, Camilla. Nothing whatsoever. And,’ said Maddy resisting the urge to jab her finger in the air, ‘
and
, if you recall, you decided to find people to replace me without even having the common courtesy to tell me you no longer wanted my services. I heard that you’d sacked me via the grapevine. So don’t you go bad-mouthing me. I’m sorry, Camilla, I’m sorry for your troubles, but I don’t think I am the person to help you.’

Camilla looked down her nose at Maddy. ‘Typical.’

‘Goodbye, Camilla.’

Maddy almost ran down the garden path and was still trembling with anger and indignation when she got back to her own house.

Jenna was twiddling her thumbs in her salon. Business was slack. OK, Mondays were never that busy but she only had one appointment that morning and until then she had nothing much to do. And she wasn’t much looking forward to the one appointment she did have because it was that old biddy, Mrs Laycock. She wasn’t a barrel of laughs at the best of times and since she’d realised just who Jenna was she’d always managed to make some snide comment or other when she came to get her hair done. Jenna would have told her where to get off if it wasn’t for the fact that she couldn’t afford to alienate any of the few customers that she did have. She’d tidied the shelves, she’d rearranged the display of products, she’d refolded all the towels and even hoovered the floor and now... she looked about her. No, there really was nothing left that needed doing. She picked up a magazine and flicked idly through it. She’d go home if it wasn’t for the fact that she had to be here in case someone popped in to make a booking. She sighed again, put the magazine down and wandered over to the window. At least the sun was still shining, which made a change. She could hardly remember the last time it had been nice enough to take Eliot to the play park and give him a go on the swings. Maybe she’d do that when she picked him up from the crèche.

‘Excuse me.’

Jenna swung round. Blimey. ‘Chrissie.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Free country.’

‘I know... it’s just, well... I was a bit bitchy the last time I was here.’

Jenna knew a peace offering when she saw one. ‘You didn’t say nothing I didn’t deserve.’

‘Oh.’

‘Anyway, how’s Lee? I hear he’s been in the wars.’

‘That’s why I’m here. Your Dan saved his life.’

‘Then thank him, not me. I wasn’t nothing to do with it.’

‘We will, honest. But I thought I ought to say sorry to you. What happened between you and Lee isn’t any of my business.’

Jenna shrugged. ‘Except I nicked his savings – savings that I expect the pair of you could do with.’

‘Maybe. Shit happens but there’s more important things in life. What happened at the weekend taught me that.’

‘Maybe.’

‘So I’d like to make an appointment.’

‘Yeah, sure. When?’

‘Now? Can you fit me in?

Jenna looked around the salon. Was Chrissie taking the piss? ‘Not sure about that. As you can see, I’m pretty pushed.’

Chrissie looked crestfallen. ‘No, well, I can see you don’t want dealings with me. I understand.’

‘Joke,’ said Jenna. ‘I was joking. Of
course
I’ll do your hair. Cut and blow dry?’

Chrissie nodded.

When Mrs Laycock turned up for her appointment thirty minutes later she was astonished to see Jenna and Chrissie chatting like they were the best of mates.

‘And I’ll tell everyone that you’re a genius,’ said Chrissie as she paid. ‘I can’t believe how good you are at cutting.’

‘Cheers, babe. You do that.’

Maybe, thought Jenna, having Chrissie onside would give her salon the boost it needed. One thing was sure, it couldn’t do any harm.

*

Mike pulled up on Springhill Road and applied the handbrake.

He gazed at their house, trying to judge how bad the situation might be when he got through the front door, steeling himself for the worst and hoping it wasn’t going to be like that. His family really didn’t need another knock-back. But the evidence that the entire road had suffered was right there in front of him. There was a clear tidemark on the wall, about three inches above the doorstep, and their neighbours were already hard at work stacking furniture and ruined carpets outside in their gardens. No, his family were flood victims – just like so many others. And on top of everything else.

No point in just looking at it, thought Mike. He needed to know exactly how bad the damage was, he needed the file which contained the details of their house insurance and he’d promised to get a case full of clean dry clothes for Susie and the girls. The Fanshaws had been wonderful and, as soon as Maddy and Seb had heard that Springhill had suffered they told Mike to bring his family over to theirs.

‘I know you’ll get proper rented accommodation soon,’ Maddy had said to Susie who had phoned her from the evacuation centre to fill her in on the details of the day before, ‘and I know it’ll be a bit cramped, but for a few days, just while you get sorted out, we’d love to have you.’

And so Mike had left his family at Maddy’s while he’d trekked over to their house to assess their plight. And, he thought, it wasn’t looking hopeful. He turned the key in the lock and peered inside. An inch-thick slick of mud and water covered the carpets and the smell was disgusting – raw sewage, he surmised – but the water damage didn’t seem to have got above the skirting boards. He wandered through to the kitchen to see how bad it was in there. Much the same, only he reckoned the white goods were all beyond repair. As he was gazing at the freezer and considering the wisdom of opening it, his phone rang. He looked at the screen which displayed a number rather than a name but he pressed the answer button regardless.

‘Is that Mike Collins?’ said a voice.

‘Speaking,’ he said warily. He’d had more than enough calls about his PPI claim or his non-existent whiplash injury.

‘This is Guy Manning speaking. I am PPS to Leon Rochester.’

PPS – was that like PPI? Or was this some revolting spammer already trying to make money out of his misfortune with some insurance wheeze? ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mike tersely, ‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about. Goodbye,’ and he hit the disconnect button.

He’d barely put his phone back in his pocket when it rang again.

Shit, this bloke had some nerve.

‘Whatever it is, I am
not
interested,’ he snapped.

‘Mr Collins, please listen. I am ringing from the Department of Environment, Farming and Rural Affairs.’

‘Defra?’

‘Yes. I’m Guy Manning. I am the permanent private secretary to Leon Rochester.’

‘And who’s he?’

‘The secretary of state at Defra.’

‘Oh.’ Oh God, yes, he did know that, of course he did. In his defence he had more things on his mind right now than the composition of the Cabinet. Besides, what the fuck did a government department want with him?

‘Is this a good time to call?’ asked Guy.

‘To be honest, I’m standing in my house which was flooded over the weekend so it’s not great.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that and I promise I won’t keep you. The secretary of state asked me to call to find out when it would be convenient for you to meet with him.’

‘Meet the secretary of state? Me?’

‘Yes. The PM suggested he ought to talk to you – about emergency planning, flood defences, that sort of thing. He’ll want to be briefed on the whole picture from the budget to manpower management to long-term planning – the whole thing. The PM said that, while we all know that floods happen, the way the local authorities cope with the disaster is the key. He thought the Bavant valley flood was a shining example of how to get it right.’