Man Down

by Nathan Burrows

  ‘You be careful, pet,’ she said. ‘And call me or e-mail when you get there so that I know you’re okay.’

  ‘Okay,’ Emma replied. ‘But you have to let me know the minute you hear anything from the hospital.’

  ‘I will, pet. Promise.’ Emma looked at her mother, trying to work out — as she had been doing for most of the week — whether the results had already come through and her mother wasn’t saying anything so Emma wouldn’t worry. That would be just like her. As if she could read Emma’s thoughts, her mother continued, ‘Don’t give me that look, young lady,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘I promise you’ll be the first to know when they come back.’

  Emma just nodded in reply before picking up her bag and heading out of the lounge to the front door. Opening it, she walked down the small path to the taxi. When she reached the car, she turned and waved at her mother, who was standing in the doorway, still clutching her tissues in one hand and waving with the other. Emma opened the car door, threw her bag onto the back seat, and climbed in.

  ‘Brize Norton is it, love?’ the taxi driver asked from the front seat.

  ‘Yes please,’ Emma replied, before bursting into tears as the taxi slowly moved away. A few yards down the road, the driver stopped the car and turned around, handing her a small packet of tissues.

  ‘There you go, take these.’ He smiled at her, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes showing her that he didn’t mind smiling. For a brief minute, he reminded Emma of her dad, even though the driver didn’t look like him at all. Apart from the easy wrinkles when he smiled. ‘You’re not the first person to start crying in my cab, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she sniffed as she took the tissues. ‘I’m sorry.’ The cab driver pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he replied, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. Emma could see from his eyes that he was still smiling. ‘You blub away, love. Let it all out.’

  Despite herself, Emma smiled at his comment. She dabbed the tissue to her eyes and watched as the grey terraced houses of the council estate she lived on sped past. After a few minutes, she’d managed to compose herself a bit and reached forward to put the half-empty packet of tissues on the passenger seat.

  ‘You done?’ the driver asked. ‘Feel better for that?’

  ‘Much better, and thanks for the tissues,’ Emma replied. ‘It was my mum’s fault, she started it. She knows I hate goodbyes at the best of times.’ The driver laughed, a deep rattle courtesy of the half empty packet of cigarettes Emma had seen on the passenger seat. Maybe he was like her dad after all.

  ‘I’m guessing that you’re heading away, then?’ he asked her. ‘I would ask if it’s anywhere nice, but I don’t think that the planes that go from Brize Norton go anywhere nice, do they?’

  Emma laughed. ‘Sometimes they do, but I’m heading back to Afghanistan,’ she said. In the rear-view mirror, she saw his eyebrows go up in surprise. ‘I’m a nurse, working in the hospital out there.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ he replied. ‘That makes sense.’ He paused before continuing. ‘You been back for a break, then?’

  ‘Yep, only a week’s R&R, though. Not long enough.’

  ‘Get up to anything interesting?’ he asked. Emma thought back over the brief few days she’d had at home. Shopping one day, out with some friends another, but apart from that, she’d not done much at all. There was one interesting evening at a nightclub where she’d ended up kissing a particularly cute guy at the end of the night, but other than a new phone number, there was nothing else in it. Smiling at the memory, she wondered if he would call her when she got back from her tour. Her smile faded when she realised that as she’d only offered up a kiss, he probably wouldn’t.

  ‘Not really,’ she replied. ‘It was nice, not having to do anything.’

  The taxi driver nodded, before changing the subject. It was almost as if he’d realised that Emma didn’t really want to talk about home, or Afghanistan, or anything.

  ‘Watford signed a new defender at the weekend,’ he said. ‘Some lad called Powell. Got him on a free from Charlton.’ He continued chatting for a few minutes while Emma half listened, making what she hoped was the right noises in the right places. The driver, whose name was Adrian but was known as Ade — he explained the history to his nickname in some detail — went on to recap the entire football season for Emma’s benefit. Emma couldn’t stand football but was more than happy to listen to him talking as she watched the miles pass by through the window of the taxi.

  By the time they reached the gates of Brize Norton over an hour later, Emma knew everything there was to know about Ade. He’d gone from football and Watford’s promotion to the Premier League through his entire family, before finishing with an extended one-way conversation about how he thought the bloke who had the allotment next to his was poisoning his giant courgettes. They pulled up outside the doors of the main terminal a few minutes later, and Ade stopped the taxi.

  ‘There you go, love,’ he said, turning round to look at Emma. ‘Safe and sound.’ Emma opened her bag to get her purse to pay him. ‘Er, I wouldn’t worry about that, pet.’ She looked up at him, surprised.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t worry about the fare. I’ll cover it.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Emma replied, finding her purse and opening it to get the money she’d got out of a cash machine earlier. ‘It’s over sixty miles. The quote from your firm was £100.’ She looked up from her purse at the taxi driver. He was chewing his lip but smiled when he realised that she was looking at him. The wrinkles were back.

  ‘When you get back, use the cash to take your mum out for a decent meal. Or your boyfriend, whoever.’

  ‘Ade, please?’ Emma said. ‘Let me pay you. That’s not fair otherwise.’ The taxi driver shook his head.

  ‘Nope, not having it,’ Ade replied, his smile broadening ‘Now get out of my taxi before I throw you out.’ Emma paused, a lump returning to her throat at this stranger’s kindness before she opened the door to the taxi.

  ’Thank you,’ she said as she climbed out of the taxi, dragging her bag behind her. With a wave, Emma walked towards the foyer of Gateway House — the down market RAF version of a Travel Lodge hotel that was used to house military personnel waiting for flights. Her heart sank as she realised how busy it was. All she wanted was a room for a couple of hours so she could freshen up and have some time on her own. Emma walked up to the reception desk and spoke to the bored looking civil servant who was sitting behind it.

  ‘Corporal Emma Wardle, flying to Kandahar later today. I don’t suppose there’re any rooms spare, are there? I only need it for a couple of hours, just to have a shower and sort myself out.’ She watched silently as the man ran his finger down a list in front of him, before looking up. To her surprise, he gave her a broad smile showing off a set of teeth that, if it wasn’t for the nicotine staining on them, could be dentures. Mind you, she thought, stifling a grin, they could just be nicotine stained dentures. He had to be sixty at least, almost certainly holding out for his pension.

  ‘Yep, Room 223,’ he said, putting a key on the counter. ‘You know the drill, don’t you? I remember you from last week.’

  ‘Sure, don’t lose the key, don’t make a mess.’ She smiled back at him. ‘Thank you so much. I can’t believe how busy it is.’ He looked back down at the list for a second before replying.

  ‘I know. The trooper’s packed. Lots of people going out.’ His smile was starting to waver, and Emma felt a twinge of sadness as she realised that some of the people he was booking in wouldn’t be coming back again, and he knew that.

  ‘Okay, no problem. What time’s the bus?’

  ‘Wheels are at half two, check in starts at three.’

  Emma looked at her watch. It was just gone ten in the morning, so she had plenty of time for a shower before meeting her cousin.

  ‘Thanks again for sorting me out a room,’ she said to the civil serv
ant behind the desk. ‘I promise not to keep it tidy.’ He smiled at her briefly, already busy with another new arrival.

  Emma found her room on the second floor and dropped her bag on one of the beds. She looked at the threadbare sheet and tattered blanket which were folded up on the end of the bed and picked them up, putting them on the table to make room for her sleeping bag. Shower, she thought, then a power nap. In that order. She could have showered at her mum’s house but hadn’t wanted to waste any time that she could be spending with her before leaving.

  In the cafeteria a couple of hours later, Emma queued up at the servery to get some lunch, which was sausages and chips, or sausages and chips. She found a spare table and sat down to eat, hoping that the food tasted better than it looked. Emma was about halfway through her lunch when she heard a voice ask her a question.

  ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ She looked up to see a military policeman standing in front of her. She looked around to see if there were any other spare tables around, more to make a point to him than anything else, but in fairness, the cafeteria was pretty busy.

  ‘Er, yeah,’ she said. ‘Sure.’ She carried on eating, eager to finish her meal as soon as she could. Between bites, she looked at the policeman sitting opposite. He was in his mid-twenties, had corporal stripes on his shoulders, and wasn’t the worst thing in the world to look at. He looked back at her and waited until she had finished her mouthful.

  ‘Name’s James, by the way,’ he said, a slight grin playing on his face.

  ‘Hi James,’ she replied, deliberately staying poker-faced. ‘I’m Emma.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Emma,’ he said. ‘You heading out for the first time, or going back from R&R?’

  They chatted for a while as they ate. When James found out that Emma was going back out to Afghanistan, he peppered her with questions about what it was like, whether the food was any good, was it really as hot as everyone said it was, and so on. In a few short minutes, James had managed to give Emma what sounded to her like pretty much his entire life story. He was single, been in the RAF for six years, and was going out on his first operational tour. Although he didn’t say anything to Emma, she knew that he was as nervous as anything. Emma didn’t really give him anything in return, but instead dodged around his questions.

  ‘So is it true that it’s dry out there, then?’ James asked Emma when they’d both finished their meals.

  ‘How’d you mean, dry?’ she replied. ‘It’s the middle of the desert, so it doesn’t rain much if that’s what you mean?’

  ‘Er, no,’ he laughed and pointed towards the closed bar in the next room. ‘I mean, is it dry?’

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ Emma said. ‘Yep, completely dry. Not even a two can rule.’

  ‘But surely there must be some booze somewhere? Some illicit still somewhere brewing up sugar and potatoes or something?’

  ‘Er, no. Even if there was, I wouldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Why not?’ James asked.

  ‘James,’ Emma looked at him, not sure if he was trying to be funny or he was just thick. ‘You’re a copper.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ James looked at her with a grin.

  ‘Sorry, James,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting my cousin, so I’m going to have to run. Nice to meet you.’ Emma got to her feet and picked up her tray from the table.

  ‘Maybe we could meet up for a coffee, or something?’ James said as Emma was walking away to take her tray back.

  Over my dead body, Emma thought, with her back to the policeman and a wry smile on her face.

  32

  Lizzie sat on an office chair in an office on the top floor of RAF Akrotiri’s airport terminal. Outside it was a typical summer’s day in Cyprus — sunny and hot — although not as hot as it would be back in Afghanistan. She looked out of the large windows, keeping her eyes open for the Hercules transport plane that Adams had hitchhiked a ride on from Lyneham. It was due in at some point within the next few minutes, and Lizzie had spoken to a friend back at the RAF base in Wiltshire who had confirmed that Adams was on the plane.

  She brushed a strand of her freshly tinted and cut hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Lizzie was wearing a summer dress which came down to just above her knees, and while she waited she inspected her tanned legs.

  ‘Your mate’s Fat Albert is on finals now, Lizzie,’ the flight controller whose office she had borrowed said from the door.

  ‘Thanks, Flight,’ Lizzie replied. She turned to the window and looked towards the end of the runway to watch the plane coming in. Just above the horizon, she could see the distinctive shape of the Hercules transport plane silhouetted against the blue sky.

  As soon as Lizzie saw the puffs of smoke from the large green plane’s wheels as it touched down on the runway, she picked up her bag and went down the stairs into the main terminal building. With a wave to the Corporal sitting behind the terminal desk, she sat near an air conditioning unit to wait.

  About ten minutes later, Lizzie saw Adams walking through the door that led to the air side of the terminal, his day sack slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Hey, Adams,’ Lizzie said, with a broad grin on her face as she walked across to meet him.

  ‘Lizzie!’ Adams replied, putting his bag on the floor and hugging her. ‘Thanks for coming to meet me.’ Lizzie started to reply when Adams pushed her away from him and interrupted her. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Look at you. You look very...’ Adams was looking at her with his eyebrows raised, ‘... different.’ Lizzie’s face fell, and she tried to hide her disappointment.

  ‘Well, thanks very much,’ Lizzie said. ‘If I had known you were going to be that complimentary, I would have left you here at the airport.’

  ‘But how come you’re not in combats?’ Adams asked. ‘We’re supposed to be flying out this afternoon, aren’t we?’

  ‘Not anymore,’ Lizzie said. ‘The plane has been delayed by a few hours. The new departure time is just after midnight, but you know what crab air is like. Could be any time in the next few days.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Adams said, looking at his watch. It was just after two in the afternoon.

  ‘I know, it’s an arse,’ Lizzie said. ‘But it does mean that you’ve got some extra time in Cyprus. Just imagine it — a whole ten hours with me!’

  ‘I’d better get some accommodation sorted in case it gets delayed even more,’ Adams said. ‘I’ve not got much stuff with me, though,’

  ‘I’ve already booked you a room in the transit block,’ Lizzie said. ‘I mean, it’s a dormitory, but it’s better than trying to sleep in the terminal if the plane doesn’t end up going.’

  ‘Are you staying there as well?’

  ‘No, I’ve managed to get an extra night at my hotel in Limassol just in case,’ Lizzie said. ‘But I thought what we could do is go back to the transit block so you can get changed, and then head to the strip for the afternoon.’

  ‘Well, that’s certainly better than hanging around in Akrotiri,’ Adams replied. The strip was a row of shops of varying quality that lined the beach at Limassol. Lizzie’s face brightened, and she smiled at him.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and book in so we don’t have to mess about later, and then we can do one. I’ve got a car outside.’

  A few moments later, having booked in for the flight and received their boarding cards, Lizzie and Adams walked through the glass doors of the terminal building. As they walked into the Cyprus sun, Lizzie felt a wave of heat wash over her and regretted sitting so close to an air conditioning unit while she was waiting in the terminal.

  She led Adams towards a small red car parked outside the building and pressed the key fob to open the doors. Adams threw his bag into the back seat while she climbed into the driver’s seat and put on her sunglasses.

  ‘So, how was your week?’ Adams asked Lizzie as she started the car.

  ‘It was great,’ Lizzie replied. ‘I
’ve done absolutely bugger all, except lounge around and pamper myself.’

  ‘So you didn’t miss Emma too much, then?’

  ‘Not really,’ Lizzie said, looking across at Adams. ‘Well, maybe a bit. I get why she went home though, what with her mother being unwell and everything.’

  ‘Any news on that?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  Adams leaned around to get his bag from the back seat. As he did so, his hand brushed against Lizzie’s bare shoulder. She flinched, but if Adams noticed, he didn’t say anything.

  ‘So, how was your week, anyway?’ Lizzie asked him. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘What did who say?’

  ‘Sophie. Did you ask her?’

  Adams took a deep breath before replying, avoiding Lizzie’s eyes as he did so. ‘I didn’t ask her in the end.’ Lizzie looked across at him, her mouth open.

  ‘Why ever not?’ she asked, shocked. Adams was rummaging in his bag for something, which meant she couldn’t see his expression. He pulled his sunglasses from his bag and put them on. When he looked back and she saw his frown, she looked away and back at the road in front of them.

  ‘Lizzie, please,’ Adams said. ‘I just didn’t, that’s all there is to it. I don’t really want to talk about it.’ Lizzie glanced back at Adams, who was now looking out of the passenger window.

  ‘Okay,’ Lizzie said, a million questions in her head.

  They drove on in silence for a while before reaching the temporary accommodation block, a squat single-storey building painted off-white. Underneath every window was an ancient-looking air conditioning unit, but none of the fans were whirring.

  ‘Here you go,’ Lizzie said. ‘How long do you want to get your stuff sorted?’

  ‘Give me half an hour or so, I’ll have a quick shower and meet you out here.’ Lizzie looked at her watch.