Soldiers' Wives (15 page)

She was brought back into reality with hot breath on her face and a voice yelling at full blast, ‘Whatthehelldoyouthink you'redoingyouhorriblesoldier?'

Aghast, she snapped open her eyes and stood up straight; she knew that voice. And there was the RSM, his puce, angry face inches from hers, his piercing eyes screwed up in rage.

‘Sir?' squeaked Immi, dropping her fag on the ground in shock.

‘Pick that up,' he screamed.

She did.

‘I'll have you for littering and being improperly dressed,' he hollered, his face still uncomfortably close to hers, his pace stick now being jabbed into the ground.

‘Sir?'

‘What do you think you're doing, outside, without your beret on?'

‘Having a smoke,' said Immi, before she could stop herself.

‘Are you being insubordinate? I can
see
you're having a smoke.'

‘Sorry, sir.' Immi was at a loss what to say. Tell the truth – she was doomed. Say nothing – she knew it would be even worse.

‘Dispose of that,' the RSM jabbed at the nearly burnt-out cigarette, ‘and report to my office in five minutes, in the correct uniform.' He stormed off.

Immi sagged. Jeez, just her luck. She took a last, deep drag on her ciggie, resisted the urge to light another one to steady her nerves, and returned to the office. Feeling wobbly, she grabbed her beret and made her way to the RSM's lair at the end of the corridor.

Timidly, sick with nerves, she knocked on his door.

‘Enter.'

She did, marched in front of his desk and marked time, till he told her to halt. She hoped he couldn't see that her legs were trembling as she stood rigidly to attention.

‘Cooper, you're a shambles.'

‘Yes, sir,' she answered, although his accusation made her livid. She always looked immaculate in uniform.

‘Outside, headdress off, lounging against a wall, smoking.'

OK, she'd been on NAAFI break so smoking was allowed, but she was guilty of lounging. And she hadn't been wearing her beret. But he was still well unfair.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘I can put you on a charge and your platoon commander will make a decision as to your punishment, or you can accept mine.'

Immi knew her military law. The worst she could expect was seven days' restriction of privileges, or possibly an admonition from Lieutenant Bates, whereas the RSM would award her extra duties – and she knew what that meant. With bravado belied by her shaking knees, she said, ‘I think I'd rather go in front of Sir Bates, sir.'

The RSM leaned across his desk. ‘Really. So I prepare the charge sheet and I say you told me to “fuck off”. That's gross insubordination, whichever way you look at it. And no extenuating circumstances. Sir Bates can't deal with that, can he? So then you'd be on OC's orders and it'd be an entry on your regimental conduct sheet, and that wouldn't be good for your promotion prospects, now, would it?'

Immi swallowed. ‘But I didn't say that, did I, sir?'

The RSM raised his eyebrows. ‘Got a witness?'

She was beaten. She knew where this was going. ‘How many extras, sir?'

‘Let's be fair. Let's call it four.'

‘Thank you, sir, very fair.' Immi blinked. She was not going to cry in front of this bastard.

‘So you're volunteering to be duty clerk from the twenty-third of December to the twenty-seventh. Dismissed.'

Struggling to control her tears at the absolute sodding unfairness of it all, Immi returned to her desk.

Despite the fact that, for Immi, Christmas was effectively ruined, she had plenty of events prior to the actual holiday at which she wanted to look good and the first of these was Remembrance Sunday. While it could hardly be classed as a social occasion, just about every soldier in the garrison would be present for the annual parade which was held in the huge sports hall. And if she was going to be there with around the best part of one thousand soldiers it stood to reason she needed to look her best, so she booked an appointment with Jenna. Anyway, given the timing, her roots should last for most of the rest of the party season and she could have them touched up over what remained of the Christmas break, ready for the New Year, and unless the odds were
totally
stacked against her, she wouldn't be on duty for that.

As Jenna started painting her hair with the gloopy dye mixture, Immi asked her about her quarter.

‘It's pretty minging,' Jenna admitted, ‘but Lee says that once he starts getting promoted, we can expect something better. On the bright side,' she added, leaning into Immi and lowering her voice, ‘I reckon I'll be able to run a nice little business from it.'

‘But you can't do that – there's regulations.'

Jenna stopped slathering dye into Immi's hair. ‘Don't you start. Lee and I pay rent, it's our house, we can do as we like. Especially if my customers don't go bleating to the authorities.' She stared at Immi in the mirror. ‘Anyway, I'll be able to do your roots there for half what it costs here.'

Which Immi found quite tempting. Not that she minded paying to have her hair look good, but no one in their right mind would pass up a bargain.

‘So will you work here still?'

‘I think I might have to.' She started painting the dye on Immi's roots again. ‘Dunno how many clients I can take with me. I mean, I expect my regulars to follow me.' She gave Immi another significant look. ‘I've already had a couple of plumbers in, to give me quotes for installing a backwash unit in the bathroom.'

Immi couldn't keep a look of utter bewilderment off her face. ‘But what if the battalion gets posted? I mean, you might have to move at any time, and it'll cost a fortune to put it back how it was.'

‘Pah. Move? Why would the army want to do that to us? It'll just be like a game of musical chairs. If they move 1 Herts out, someone else'll just have to be moved in here, so that'd be bonkers, wouldn't it? Anyway, as soon as I've made a decent wedge, I'm going to open my own salon proper.'

‘But what about Zoë's? I mean, if you're in competition…'

‘What about this place? Honestly, I mean, look at it. Who the fuck still thinks that wood-panel effect wallpaper is stylish?'

Immi looked around the salon. Maybe it was pretty dated, but the quality of the styling was good, which was what counted.

‘A bit of competition would shake this place up no end,' continued Jenna. ‘Just because she's got a captive market, Zoë has stopped caring. Well, I'm about to change all that.'

Immi didn't doubt that Jenna would, but she had a horrible feeling that it mightn't end well, for neither Jenna nor Zoë. She changed the subject. ‘What are you and Lee doing for Christmas? It must be quite exciting having the first one in your own house.'

‘We've got Lee's mum coming down.'

It was obvious from the look on Jenna's face that she wasn't wildly enthusiastic about this.

‘Problem?'

‘She doesn't like me – doesn't approve.'

‘That's tricky.'

‘It's 'cos Lee is an only. He could have married Pippa Middleton and she'd have still had an issue, the mean old cow.'

‘That's going to make Christmas interesting.'

‘It's going to be a 'mare. I'd have me mum over to give me a bit of support but what with her, Pete, Shona and the twins there's no way we could fit them in, not for a sit-down meal, so Christmas Day it'll be me, Sonia and Lee, God help me. Of course, we'll see my family Christmas Eve. We'll pop over to take pressies and have a drink. Anyway, nuff about my plans, what are you doing?'

‘I got spammed for extras. The RSM caught me smoking and had a go at me. It was extras, or go on a charge.'

‘The bastard.'

Immi nodded.

Jenna finished touching up Immi's roots and began peeling off her plastic gloves. ‘So, I need to leave this to develop for twenty minutes. Can I get you a magazine, or a tea, or anything?'

Immi opted for the latest copy of
Hello!
and a tea, and settled back to relax, while the dye got busy and worked its magic.

She was engrossed in an article about Kerry Katona when Jenna came back and took her to the basins to get her hair shampooed.

‘I was thinking,' said Jenna, as she began to rinse the colour out of Jenna's hair. ‘With you stuck here too, how about you coming over to ours? I mean, we can't manage another five but one person… well, I don't like the thought of you being stuck in barracks on your own. That'd be minging, and anyway, it'd be nice to have a mate to have a laugh with – I won't be getting any with Sonia. I know you're on duty, but you'd still be on the base. Would you be allowed?'

‘God, Jenna, that's sweet of you. I'll have to ask the chief clerk but I can't see anything really urgent happening on Christmas Day and, as long as all the other duty staff know where to find me and I've got my mobile switched on, there shouldn't be a problem. I'll get back to you.'

‘You do that. It'd be great to have you there. If Lee's mum starts kicking off, it'd be nice to have someone on my side.'

‘Oh fuck,' said Immi as a thought struck her.

‘What's up? The water's not too hot, is it? I didn't get shampoo in your eyes?'

‘No, nothing like that. It's just…' This was tricky. How could she ask if her mate Chrissie could come along? Christmas dinner was a pretty big deal and asking if someone who was almost a complete stranger could join in was huge. Especially when Jenna had already said space was tight.

‘Come on,' said Jenna, ‘spit it out.'

‘It's my mate Chrissie.'

‘What about her?'

‘She's an orphan.'

‘She's a
what
? You're kidding me.'

Immi shook her head.

‘Straight up? Really? No mum or dad?'

Immi didn't say
obviously, that's the definition of an orphan
. ‘Not a soul in the world.'

‘Bugger me. What, not even a brother or a sister?' Jenna stopped lathering Immi's hair and began to rinse the shampoo out.

‘No one. And with me on duty, we were going to make the best of a crap situation together.'

‘I know this Chrissie, don't I? Coloured girl, yes? The one who was having a right laugh down at Tommy's, the day Lee and I got our quarter?'

Immi nodded. And didn't add,
the one you caught Lee staring at more than he should have.

‘Yeah, I remember her,' said Jenna thoughtfully. Immi didn't ask what it was that she remembered. There was a pause then, ‘Why not bring her along too? The more the merrier. Mind you,' she added as she switched off the water, ‘I can't guarantee how the food will be. I've never done nothing like cook a turkey before.' She slopped on a palmful of conditioner and began to massage it into Immi's scalp.

Immi felt herself relax as Jenna's fingers worked the lotion deep into her hair. ‘Chrissie can cook. Or at least she says she can,' said Immi. ‘I bet, in return for a proper Christmas blow-out, she'd give you a hand.'

Jenna's hands stilled. ‘Immi, you're a fucking genius and I love you. You get Chrissie to say yes to helping and I'll provide you with your bodyweight in vodka, because if I've got Chrissie to help, I might just be able to impress Lee's mum for once! Make her think I'm not a complete dead loss.'

‘Jen, I'm sure she doesn't.'

‘Wait till you meet her. In the meantime, we have a plan.'

‘So what do you think?' said Immi. ‘Isn't it the best solution you've ever heard?' She bounced up and down on her bed in their barrack room.

But Chrissie wondered how she could break it to her friend that it was far from wonderful – in fact, it was terrible. She still felt guilty about the way she'd treated Lee, and then there was her awful suspicion that Jenna had thought that Lee fancied her. Of course it was bollocks, of course he didn't, but she still remembered that look on Jenna's face. If Jenna thought that, then spending a whole day with her and Lee was hardly going to be a picnic. But what excuse could she possibly use not to take up the invitation? She wasn't even rostered to be on duty; she was going to be stuck in barracks because she had nowhere else to go, so why on earth
wouldn't
she want to take up the offer?

‘I don't know,' she protested. ‘I hardly know them. They don't want a stranger hanging about on Christmas Day.'

‘I want you there, babe, and anyway, you're not a stranger. They've met you a couple of times. We'll have a blast, and I promised Jenna you know all about cooking and everything. She's relying on you to be there, 'cos she's never cooked a turkey before.'

‘I'm not
that
great in the kitchen. I'm called Chrissie, not Delia.'

‘I think you'll be a whole heap better than Jenna. Does she look like the domesticated type to you?'

Chrissie thought about Jenna's nails, hair extensions and false eyelashes for a nanosecond and decided that Immi probably had a point. But whether or not Jenna could cook, it didn't have any bearing on whether she could face spending pretty much a whole day with the pair of them. And if she admitted to Immi the real reason, Immi would probably wet herself laughing. Which was worse – spending Christmas with the Perkinses, or telling Immi she suspected that Jenna thought Lee fancied her?

‘Oh, come on, Chrissie. What's the alternative – us and a bunch of deadbeats in the cookhouse? The duty officer trying to cheer us all up with a few choruses of “We Three Kings”? At least this way we get to slob out, watch some TV, and pretend we're not having a crap time. And if you don't say yes, then I can't, either, because I couldn't bear the thought of you being on your own.'

Oh great, the guilt card, thought Chrissie. How could she turn this offer down now, without looking a total cow? ‘Can I think about it?'