Soldiers' Wives (19 page)

‘You took your time,' she added, coming downstairs with an armful of bedding. ‘And I've been thinking, before you bugger off to Bastion, you can buy me a washing machine. I won't have time to muck about in the garrison launderette, when I'm on my own.' She dumped the washing at the foot of the stairs.

‘Yeah,' said Lee, ‘good shout. We'll get one organised, as soon as the shops are open again. We might even get a bargain in the sales.'

‘So how was your mum?'

Lee had promised Jenna that he'd wait till he took his mam to the station before he broke the news about his posting. ‘She cried.' Jenna rolled her eyes. ‘Jenna, it's not as if she hasn't had to face this before. Dad went off to the first Gulf War and didn't come back.'

‘Then she shouldn't expect lightning to strike in the same place twice.'

Did she mean to sound quite so heartless, or was she trying to be optimistic? It was difficult to tell sometimes. He gave her the benefit of the doubt. ‘I promised her that if you heard bad news, you'd ring her first.'

‘Don't talk like that, Lee, and stop being such a drama queen. Loads of soldiers come back in one piece and you know it.'

Lee bit back his retort that loads didn't – but then he realised that Jenna was trying to show him she was going to be strong while he was away and he wasn't to worry about her. Actually, it was a comfort to him that he was pretty sure she'd cope. Lots of soldiers' wives did, he knew that, but then there were the stories of the ones that didn't. You didn't want to be worrying about how your loved ones were doing, when you really ought to be keeping your mind on your own safety.

‘Anyway,' he said, ‘she wasn't happy, but she was well pleased I didn't spoil Christmas by telling her earlier. And she said thank you for giving her a nice break and such a grand Christmas and a lovely feast.' OK, that last bit was a lie, his mother had said to thank Chrissie about the turkey, but Lee wasn't going to make matters worse between the two women in his life by giving Jenna yet more ammo to fire at his mam.

A week later, the washing machine was bought and installed, and Lee was getting ready to go for a week's pre-ops training, before his deployment from RAF Brize Norton. He had his kit packed in his Bergen, his helmet was strapped on top, his day sack was ready and all he had left to do was to report to the Q stores to be issued with his body armour and dog tags, and then he was straight on the transport to the exercise area in south Wales, where his training course would take place.

Jenna was waiting for him as he came out of the stores, hefting all his kit. He was surprised at seeing her there.

‘Jenna, I thought you'd be busy at the salon. And anyway, we said our goodbyes this morning.'

‘I couldn't let you go without a last kiss goodbye,' she said, throwing her arms around Lee's neck and kissing him long and hard.

The Land Rover driver, waiting to take Lee to his pre-ops training, leaned on the horn.

‘Come on, mate, I ain't got all day,' he yelled out of the vehicle's window.

‘Gotta go, hon,' said Lee, disentangling himself.

Jenna stepped back. ‘You just make sure you come back in one piece, Lee Perkins. Love you.' There was a tear glistening in her eye.

‘Love you too, Jen,' said Lee, as he threw his kit in the rear of the Rover and then climbed in the passenger seat.

As they drove out of the barracks he saw Chrissie standing near the medical centre chatting to someone. He longed to ask the driver to stop so he could say goodbye to her too, but then realised he was being ridiculous. She'd made it quite plain over Christmas that she didn't want anything much to do with him – so why would she suddenly care now? Even if he was going to Afghan.

Maddy looked in the mirror and realised that the neat bob Jenna had given her had now almost grown out and her hair was looking a mess again. Despite the fact that she knew Jenna would come to the house, the thought of getting away on her own for a bit of pampering for an hour was more appealing. Predictably, when she'd asked Caro to babysit, she'd offered to look after Nate for nothing.

Jenna seemed to be looking pretty chipper, which surprised Maddy. Seb had warned her that Lee was about to deploy to the Middle East any day now.

‘How are you doing?' Maddy asked solicitously.

‘Fine,' Jenna said happily, as if she didn't have a care in the world, helping Maddy into a gown and sitting her down in front of a mirror.

‘How's your husband?'

‘Oh fine,' she said airily. ‘Now, about your hair.'

Maddy was a bit stunned. But then, perhaps Jenna didn't want to talk about it.

For a couple of minutes the two women discussed exactly what Maddy wanted, and then Jenna took her over to the basins for a shampoo before she got busy with the scissors.

‘I've got the plumber coming round in the morning,' said Jenna, chattily.

‘Poor you,' said Maddy, tucking in the towel a little more firmly to stop an errant drip trickling any further down her neck.

‘Why poor me?'

‘Well, it's always a pain when something's wrong with your heating, or hot water, isn't it?'

‘Oh, nothing's wrong. I'm having that backwash unit I told you about put in my bathroom, so I can finally get my own business up and running.'

‘You're what?!'

‘Like a proper salon. I'm having it done properly. It's not a lash-up and it's costing a mint. Of course I couldn't do it when Lee was around. He kept stressing about rules and regulations and such. I mean, like anyone'll really care.'

They probably will, thought Maddy, when they find out. The housing commandant, for one, would certainly have an opinion, and Maddy didn't think it'd be favourable. There was no way the authorities wouldn't find out, especially if Jenna touted for business, which she'd have to do if she wanted any.

‘So what are you going to say to Lee, when he gets back and he sees what you've done?' Maddy was agog to know how on earth Jenna thought she could get away with her plan.

‘It'll be a done deal by then. Besides, I reckon I'll be making enough money for him not to care.'

Again Maddy bit her tongue. Once Lee was back, and assuming Jenna hadn't already been evicted, the army would probably expect Private Perkins to get his wife to toe the line. And if he couldn't get her to behave, Maddy didn't think Lee would have much of a career – if he had any career at all.

While Jenna carried on washing and then styling Maddy's hair, Maddy tried to thrash out the problem of whether or not she should tell Seb about Jenna's scheme. By the time she was paying her bill, she decided that she was going to pretend she knew nothing about it. She didn't want to be involved and, if anyone asked, she was going to deny Jenna had ever told her a thing about it.

Chrissie looked at her movement order as she stood on the concourse of Oxford station. In her multicam and with her Bergen, day sack and helmet, she drew the odd curious stare, but she was too busy checking how she was going to get from Oxford to RAF Brize Norton to notice. She didn't mind having to make her own way to the airbase. The Army had sorted her out with travel warrants and details of what trains and buses she had to catch, which made more sense than tying up a vehicle and driver for a whole day just for her. Anyway, as a private soldier travelling alone, there was no way she would have rated such luxury. She read the piece of paper again and then asked a member of the station staff the way to Gloucester Green – which was where her bus to Brize left from.

He took her to the entrance and pointed her in the right direction.

‘Going overseas then, love?' he asked. Just about everyone in Oxfordshire knew that the RAF base was where most of the air-trooping happened.

‘Afghanistan.'

The railway employee gave her a kind smile. ‘Then you take care,' he said, with genuine feeling, as she hauled the heavy load onto her shoulders, trying not to stagger as she did so.

She made her way down the steps, across the taxi rank, past the hundreds of parked bikes and up the road towards the main coach station. Dusk had long since fallen and a brisk wind cut through her uniform, making her shiver despite the exertion of lugging her kit.

There was a bus waiting at the stand when she got to the right stop and gratefully she climbed aboard, handed over her travel warrant and then dumped her baggage in the luggage rack. Wearily, she slumped into a seat. She might be fit, but she wasn't powerful, and her military kit weighed almost as much as she did.

Mindlessly, she watched the other buses come and go from the coach station until, with a throbbing roar, the engine started and they were off. They made their way along the roads of Oxford, past the pretty and ancient stone fronts of the colleges, the pavements packed with students, off for an evening out with their mates, hurrying, heads down against the January weather. Then they drove out through the residential outskirts and onto the A40 towards the Cotswolds and the air force base. Once on the open road, the bus rattled along at a cracking pace, speeding along through the monochrome countryside, lit by a nearly full moon, between the ploughed fields and bare winter trees, past bedraggled livestock hunching miserably in their meadows, with their backs to the chill wind that blew down from the north. Chrissie wondered what it was going to be like in Bastion. Immi had told her it was miserable in winter. But wasn't it in a desert? Weren't deserts hot?

When Chrissie saw the sign off the dual carriageway to RAF Brize Norton, she felt a frisson of apprehension. As the bus slowed and turned off the slip road, the reality that in a few hours she would be heading off to a war zone kicked in. She knew her training was good, she knew she was up to the job, but she couldn't help wondering how she would feel after months of dealing with desperate traumas. Her very recent weeks of pre-ops training had made Exercise Autumn Armour look like a walk in the park.

Once again, amputees had acted as casualties, with lashings of theatrical gore and raw meat applied to their stumps to simulate terrible injuries. Added into the mix this time, though, were pig carcasses with appalling gunshot wounds for the trainees to treat, while, as before, bullets and explosions cracked off around them. What with that, darkness, driving rain, bone-numbing cold, and the soldiers' realistic screams for help, the training had morphed into some ghastly, Dante-esque vision of hell that had left Chrissie feeling physically and emotionally wrecked. Thankfully, she'd not once thrown up at what had confronted her but, the instructors told them, the pressure of their training was
nothing
compared to the experience of a real battlefield.

She'd heard stories about people who had suffered mental illness as a result of their tours. Not for the first time since she'd volunteered, she wondered if she would be strong enough to cope. Suddenly she felt very alone and very scared. What had she got herself into?

And then the bus passed the sign that said
Repatriation Car Park
and her heart missed a beat as she thought about all those poor soldiers who had wound up being carried off the back of a C17 in a flag-draped coffin, watched by grieving relatives. She gave herself a shake – her job was to do her best to prevent that from happening. She was going out to save every life that it was possible to save. And as long as she did her best and worked her hardest, then she mustn't blame herself for those whom she couldn't help. She had to hold on to that thought: it might save her sanity.

The bus driver obligingly dropped her at the main gates and, laden once more, she staggered over to the guardroom to show her ID card.

‘How far to the terminal?' she asked, already feeling knackered.

‘About half a mile, love.'

She smiled to cover up her sense of despair. Half a mile! She put her ID card back inside her combat jacket, shrugged her Bergen higher up onto her shoulders, grabbed the rest of her kit and set off. She wasn't going to give anyone, let alone the RAF, the satisfaction of seeing her beaten by the distance, or the amount of kit she was carrying. However, when she reached the car park in front of the terminal and found a luggage trolley, she nearly wept with relief.

‘Thank fuck,' she muttered, rolling her Bergen off her back and letting it fall with a crump onto the trolley. For a second she felt as if she were floating, but then the ache in her spine and shoulders kicked in as she straightened properly and eased them. She was absolutely knackered and even the
thought
of pushing her bags was too much for the moment, so she sat next to her luggage while she got her breath and her strength back.

An unmarked white coach rolled to a standstill a few yards away and began disgorging thirty or so soldiers. Efficiently, some of the men unloaded their own Bergens and bags from the coach's hold, while others brought over trolleys and formed a human chain to load them up.

‘You all right?' one of the guys called over to Chrissie. ‘Want a hand?'

‘I'm fine,' she lied and stood up to prove it. She began to push her own kit towards the huge, hangar-like terminal.

‘Chrissie?'

She stopped dead. She knew that voice. Slowly she turned around. ‘Lee?' She stared at him, her heart thundering.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?' he asked.

Chrissie stared at him, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was this someone's idea of a sick joke? She had volunteered for Bastion to get away from complications like Lee and here he was. All the same, she felt a kick of happiness: his friendly face meant she might still be scared, but at least she wasn't alone any more.

‘But…' Her mind and feelings were in such a muddle, she could barely string a sentence together. She stopped, then a thought struck her. ‘What do you mean, what the fuck am
I
doing here? More to the point, what the fuck are
you
doing here?'