Falling For You (6 page)

The temporary postman makes a strange noise in his throat.

‘Are you going to help me get it back or aren’t you?’

‘Um. That text was from my girlfriend.’

Oh. Of course it was. I fold my arms and stare at my wet slippers while he gets out his sob story. He wants to go off-duty and he’ll say
anything
now to get out of this.   

‘Thing is, we’re supposed to be at this Christmas Eve gig tonight and I’m already running two hours late and …’

And what?
I look at him crossly. Just because I haven’t got anywhere to go out tonight doesn’t suddenly make me responsible for this mess.  All these things are his problem. Not my problem. My misdelivered letter is his problem too. Except he doesn’t seem to care about that.

‘I’m really sorry, Rose. Look. Maybe the Post Office
can
do something about it. Ask them.’

‘I thought you
were
the Post office …’ I begin, but he runs on.

‘It’s just that - being Christmas and all - it’d surely be quicker to get it yourself? There’d be less red tape and all that? Give your neighbours a ring first. Maybe they’d be prepared to chain up those dogs for you?’

‘I can’t. Oh, for heaven’s sake! We haven’t actually spoken to them for … for years.’ He puts his phone away, having the grace to look at least a little concerned.

‘Will you be all right, Rose?’

I stick my face in my hands and the cosy daydream I’d been having a few minutes ago disappears into the icy air. I’m on my own with this one, aren’t I? Just like I always am these days, for everything. I shake my head at him watching his face redden and then, before he can say another word, I turn on my heel.

‘Hey, Rose …’ he calls, but I ignore him.

He’s not going to help me. He’s got a gig to go to and he thinks this’ll all be sorted with one quick phone call and a reconciliatory ‘Merry Christmas’ down the line. 

If only he knew about us and the Macraes he’d understand.

The dogs are by far the least of it.

^{11.30 am      23rd December   West Camp village, Jaffna}

‘
Christ
.’ Dougie lifts up his hand as I come into the crowded tent which serves as his office area. My boss is shaking his head at me. He’s got his other hand covering the mouthpiece of his phone and he seems to be breathing unnaturally hard.

I stop where I am. To say that he looks upset would be understating it.
Fuck
. I take in the time on my wristwatch. If he’s in the middle of some other crisis right now this is going to be damn inconvenient. I need his help, and I need it now, this can’t wait. I take a highlighter pen and write in big letters on a piece of paper ‘URGENT!’ and hold it up for him to see. He just narrows his eyes at me.

‘Macrae. With an M,’ he’s saying. ‘No, not a Y. That’s c-r-a-e at the end.’ What’s that? Who’s he speaking to? I get my boss’s attention, make a pointing motion with my finger.

Me?

He nods curtly and motions for me to sit. He goes quiet then, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the phone for what seems like a very long time. It doesn’t sound good. Who could be talking to him about me, I wonder? And Dougie doesn’t look too great, either. He’s put his hand to his head as if it suddenly feels heavy, his elbow propped wearily on the table. Whoever Dougie’s got on the other end of that line, he isn’t saying much in reply.

While I wait I become slowly aware of the itch as a trickle of sweat is running down my back, the fact that my whole body seems to have become as tense as a coiled-up spring. In the silence in his tent I strain my ears to catch the odd word here and there but all I can pick up is what sounds like one very long, very angry rant at the other end. It goes on and on. Man, this
really
doesn’t sound good. It sounds like it’s something serious, whatever it is. Very serious.

I rub at my face, and my skin feels tired and grubby. I haven’t shaved yet today, I remember. I haven’t had a shower. When I left my tent at the crack of dawn this morning that felt okay. Nobody much was about, the day hadn’t properly begun and it didn’t matter. Sitting in my boss’s office with an atmosphere fit to rival an electrical storm brewing, right now, it feels like it does matter. Who the hell is that on the end of the line?

I don’t let myself think of the worst it could be.

I came away from all that years ago. I came away and I’ve stayed away. Time and distance - and constant occupation, so that the mind’s never allowed to dwell on the past - I’ve found these to be great healers. No, it won’t be
that
.

The only other thing that comes into my mind is that Aid Abroad guy who I just went to see. Could it be him? I only left his office fifteen minutes ago. A jobs-worth if I ever met one. As predicted by Lazerev’s Registrar, I got nowhere. I pressed my case, I admit it. I accused him of incompetence, of maladministration; damn it, he as much as admitted to me that there’s at least one space on that last flight out of here on New Year’s Eve. Sunny could be on that. But pen-pusher Lestat said it didn’t matter; all the forms that have to be filled in, in triplicate, have not been filled. I told him I didn’t give a damn. We’re talking about a young lad’s whole life here, but he wouldn’t budge. I know there are protocols and procedures that have to be followed - there always are. And more than that, there are logistics that have to be sorted; Sunny won’t just need a sponsor. He’ll need medical care put in place, immediate assistance for when he lands, accommodation and so forth.

But … I sit up rigid on the canvas chair that Dougie’s just directed me to, and will myself to breathe normally while my precious minutes are ticking away … sometimes protocols and procedures can be expedited. Paperwork can be pushed through at miraculous speed. Helpful and willing voluntary medical staff can be located, I know this. I’ve seen it happen before, where there’s enough goodwill and co-operation between people; miracles can happen.

I look up at my boss and the discomfort I’ve been feeling grows a little stronger.

What’s Dougie so mad at me for?

I can see his jowl wobbling from here. He’s usually this big-hearted Northerner, who can’t do enough for you, nothing’s too much trouble for him. Usually, we get on like a house on fire; he likes me because I work hard and I’m good at what I do. I’m damn good at it, actually. I get the job done and I don’t clock watch. But right now he won’t even look at me. He’s got his eyes downcast, and his mood - I can feel it - is growing blacker by the moment.

I think back a minute. I didn’t say anything so bad to that Lestat dude. I pushed it as hard as I could but I could tell fairly quickly he wasn’t going to budge, that I’d need help. That’s why I’ve come to Dougie, who’s got the clout to move things if he wants to.

Man I’m biting my nails again, and they’re already down to the quick.

‘Am I in trouble?’ I try and get eye-contact but his face is closed, his mind still on the caller. I’ve been in trouble before. If this is just about what I said to Lestat I can handle it. If it’s about … that other thing, then that’s a whole other deal. My whole life might be about to unravel if that ugly matter has somehow managed to find its way to the surface. I search his eyes for clues, but what I see there doesn’t leave me much room for hope. Dougie looks absolutely devastated. Has someone found out who I am? The police have cottoned on to where I am - is that it? I thought - I’d let myself come to believe - that nobody cared anymore. It was a terrible thing I did, I know it was. But … time moves on. I’ve put it all behind me, made a new life - what else could I do?

Finally Dougie puts the phone down. Something in his voice is cracked and broken.

‘Why did you do it, Lawrence?’ I don’t answer. Do
what
is the question? What does he know?

‘Come
on
,’ my boss stands up abruptly and he’s a formidable six foot six. Eighteen stone. And getting angry. ‘I want some answers, Lawrence, and I want them now.’

I bite my tongue. Fine. I admit I’ve lied to him about some things. At my job interview, some truths had to be stretched. Not about my experience, I’m fully qualified for this job, but about other things …

‘That man almost had my ear off do you realise? He’s doing his nut!’ I stare at the ground, at the same pink and grey plastic sheeting that looks like a carpet that graces every tent down this row and I think; a detective who was looking for me, who maybe thought he’d caught up with me after all this time - he wouldn’t be
doing his nut
.

‘Who was it?’ I ask mildly.

‘Please. Don’t come the innocent with me. You know full well who.’

I decide to take a chance.

‘If that was the Aid Abroad guy, I wasn’t rude to him. I was relatively polite. Look, the reason I’m even in here right now is to ask if you can help me with something. I haven’t got long before they operate on Sunny and if I don’t find someone who’s prepared to put in place all the paperwork for him they’re going to hack his foot off …’   

My boss wipes his hand over his brow and gives me a dumbfounded look.

‘What in hell’s name are you talking about, Macrae? I’m referring to the captain of the Sri Lankan Camp Police force whose nose you broke a couple of nights ago. His CO has just got wind of it and is demanding your immediate release into his custody.’

Fuck. I make to get up out of the chair but then, with Dougie still towering over me, think the better of it.

‘I’d forgotten about him.’

‘You had, had you? I was rather hoping th
at
was the reason for your unannounced visit to my desk this morning. Otherwise why wouldn’t you have been on ambulance duty with the rest of the crew who were expecting you, I believe, over one hour ago?’

I’d forgotten about that too. Double fuck. I cover my face with my hands.

‘You’re really losing it, aren’t you?’ I feel Dougie’s hand on my shoulder, for a moment compassionate. ‘I warned you, Lawrence. I told you at our last assessment that I felt you hadn’t been up to speed for a while now. Not your fault. I told you. We have to go off duty for a bit or we all get like this. It’s called burnout.’

‘I didn’t go missing this morning.’  Bugger it, I’m losing time here. Dougie’s still seething from the bollocking that guy’s just delivered down the phone about me, but I haven’t got time for his anger or his compassion or even his attempt at a counselling session. If we’re going to move on Sunny’s case this morning we need to do it fast.

I get the feeling that the goodwill I was hoping for isn’t going to be forthcoming, though.

‘Just explain to me,’ he pleads, ‘Why
the hell
did you do it? I know you young men - you have to witness a lot of difficult things out here. It’s no joke. But if you’re spoiling for a fight why choose a high-ranking officer to deck? You’ve got to have known there’d be consequences.’

‘I didn’t know his rank, but it wouldn’t have made any difference,’ I mutter. ‘He was knocking that girl about and someone had to stop him. No one else did.’

‘Nobody’s suggesting you didn’t do the right thing to stop him, Lawrence. You just didn’t have to break his nose. You didn’t have to pummel him into the ground and leave him for a rag doll. The guy’s due to get married in a week’s time for Pete’s sake!’

‘To
her?
’

‘Who cares who he’s getting married to?’ he glares at me. ‘The only thing we have to worry ab
out
is that this man’s daddy is one important honcho in this vicinity. He’s somewhat upset right now because his only son’s wedding pictures aren’t going to look so pretty. You can understand that?’

‘Yes, Dougie.’ I mutter under my breath. I need to talk to him about Sunny …

‘You’ve got some serious anger issues, you know that, right?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ he echoes, turning away from me in despair. ‘Issues that could end up seeing you acquainted with the inside of a jail cell. Are you prepared for that?’

I’m well aware. I put my head down and keep silent. Dougie’s rummaging around on his desk. I have no idea what for. I want to tell him about Sunny’s predicament. I’m bursting to bring it up again but I think that might just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

‘I’m going to get the staff physician to sign you off on a breakdown ticket. That’ll state you’re unfit for any further duties at present but it’ll also - with a bit of leverage - give me the excuse I need to put you on the next flight out of here before you’re required to face the charges this blasted CO is going to make. Understood?’

I stare at him for a minute. If I’m correct he’s just fired me, in the kindest possible way.

‘Dougie, I …’

‘No.’ He holds up his hand and silences me. ‘I know what you’re going to say. You broke the guy’s nose, Macrae! Forget about that boy Sunny. You can’t help him. Forget about everyone else out here, it’s all over for you. This time round, anyway. You’ve been here a year already and it’s two days before Christmas - isn’t it about time you went back to say hi to your family at least?’

‘
My family
…’ the words get stuck in my throat. Dougie doesn’t know about my family. I start to shake my head but my boss isn’t having any of it.