by Kate Bradley
And he’d decided he’d put his resignation in on Monday. A pre-emptive strike.
He didn’t have much left, but he could save his dignity. The next services he’d come to, he would make the calls. Perhaps he’d even call Steve Wichard and resign on the spot.
Another cold tear tracked down his face.
Friday
18:31
Jenni
‘Can I have something to eat?’ asked Destiny, twisting in her car seat to face me.
My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Destiny! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think. Have you been suffering in silence?’
‘Only for a bit,’ she admitted.
‘Anything, anything you need, Destiny, you must ask. I’m not used to looking after people – outside of school hours, anyway.’ I checked the sat-nav. ‘There’s a major services coming up in a minute.’ I felt relief – how could I forget? But then the next thought chased it – what was I going to eat? Damn it. I thought of the tuna steak in my fridge. My diet was strict – no one could compete and win the Ironman competitions without supreme discipline, including over their diet. Tension needled into my shoulders. There would be fast food only, or sandwiches. I started to calculate how many carbs I could eat. I was so distracted by the thought of needing to eat, because now I was suddenly starving, yet not wanting to consume anything rubbish, that I nearly missed the turn-off.
I turned off into the services, and saw all the usual signs of Wimpy, McDonald’s and Starbucks. I wondered if I should confess to Destiny that I was on a strict diet, despite my need to model a healthy balanced lifestyle to a vulnerable girl now in my care. Guilt versus need meant I didn’t hear Destiny’s question.
She repeated it. ‘I said, can I have a McDonald’s?’
I parked and gave what I hoped was a relaxed-sounding yes.
Before we got out, I checked Destiny’s appearance. Now she was dressed in her new jeans and hoodie, she looked different to the description that might have been put out about her. But her hair was the same and I realised we’d forgotten to get her a hat. ‘Destiny, what can we do about your lovely hair?’
‘I don’t want to cut it!’ Her eyes rounded with fear.
I put my hands up in what I hoped was a calming measure. ‘At the shop you had your hair in a bun. Could you please do that again?’
She twisted her long hair into a ponytail and then into a knot.
‘Thank you. Better. Would you possibly consider wearing my reading glasses? The lenses are incredibly weak and you’d only have to wear them for a bit. And if they hurt your eyes at all, then take them off.’ I reached in the glove box, trying not to notice the way Destiny shrank away from me as if she thought I might hurt her. I handed them to her. ‘If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s not a problem, it’s only an idea. I don’t want you to be picked up on the CCTV, because I bet service stations are passed all the reports of missing people and we don’t want the police on our tail, do we?’
In answer, Destiny took the black-rimmed glasses and put them on. She flipped down the sun visor and looked at her image in the small mirror. She then looked at me. I was surprised how much her hair twisted out of the way and the slightly too-large frames, made a difference to her face. She looked androgynous; younger, more fragile. I nodded, satisfied. We are going to be safe. ‘Let’s go and get you as many burgers as you can eat!’
Friday
18:44
Jenni
The McDonald’s area was in the far corner of the dining area; it was the busiest, but there were still plenty of empty tables. Destiny trailed behind me. Again, I felt like there were a hundred eyes on me. But of course there were, I reminded myself, CCTV was everywhere. I controlled my breathing; we were fine, I told myself. Destiny looked completely different and if they were looking for her, they were probably expecting her to be with a group of men.
Besides, she had to eat.
I looked at the menu and knew I couldn’t eat any of it. I felt sick. But looking after Destiny had made me feel something and I wanted that again. It would be lovely to sit and eat with Destiny, to share a meal with her at her choice of restaurant with her choice of food.
We were next in the queue. ‘What do you want?’ I asked her, already pulling my card from my wallet. I paused, then put it back, swapping it for a twenty-pound note. Cash was my friend right now. I knew I was traceable but I didn’t have to make it easy.
‘What can I have?’
‘Anything you like.’
‘I’ll have a cheeseburger then, fries, a strawberry milkshake and an apple pie. What will you have?’
‘I don’t really eat at McDonald’s,’ I said, looking at the menu and seeing only carbs, sugar, salt and saturated fat. Poison, poison, and more poison. I could feel the drum of my heart.
‘You’ve got to eat something, you’re driving such a long way.’
I continued to study the menu, desperately searching for the right option. The wraps and salads could be a possible. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as I feared. ‘I tend to eat a very strict diet because of my training.’
‘I don’t want to eat on my own.’
The server smiled a practised beam at me and Destiny looked at me with something like hope. I stared at the menu, looking for something. Tension stabbed my shoulders; I felt my cheeks burn. I had never ordered fast food before. ‘The filet of fish please?’ a fish portion could be very nice. I almost asked her to hold the bun, then had a rethink – I could do that myself. ‘Make that two, please?’
‘That’s cooked to order so we’ll bring that to your table. Would you like fries with that?’
‘No, thanks. I’ll take the milk to drink, please.’
‘That only comes as a children’s size.’
I wanted to check its fat content, but I clenched my jaw against the question. ‘Give me two. And a black coffee.’
‘Anything else?’
‘The fruit in a bag. What’s that like?’
‘Apple slices, grapes.’
‘Pre-cut?’
‘Yes.’ A shadow crossed Destiny’s face and she stepped away from me. I tried to think of that rather than what it would’ve been washed in. But it was a struggle – my body was a highly functioning machine; as a gun needed to be oiled and cleaned, my body needed to be kept free of irritants like chlorine. I breathed, focusing on Destiny. Like a good corporal, I needed to keep her needs in my sights. ‘OK, two bags,’ I said, doubling my order to emphasise how OK I was with fast food. ‘That’s it,’ I added, wanting this torture to end.
She read back the menu items and I paid.
In the far corner, an older man sat reading a newspaper. There was an overweight man in the other corner, scrolling through his phone. There was a family of five, two young kids squabbling and a toddler in a highchair throwing food on the floor. It looked safe, benign. ‘Sit anywhere you like.’
Destiny choose a table in the middle and we sat down.
We’d spent the whole afternoon side-by-side, me busy with the driving, her playing on her phone. Now we were sitting opposite each other, it felt uncomfortable. She bit into her burger and I realised the last time I had eaten a burger was with Billy. I remember him biting into it before passing me a photo of a girl.
*
We’ve only been in Iraq two days, when Billy shows me a photo of a young blonde woman with freckles that cover her face. Her eyes are green, her nose is small and turns up a little. ‘She’s pretty,’ I say.
‘Her name is Maddie.’
We’re sitting in the NAAFI. It’s hot and the air is so thick with beer and sweat that you can almost chew it. His pale skin is flushed red. It’s noisy too – there’s a gang shouting karaoke, arms round each other, yelling to finish each other’s words. I look at them, their camaraderie, and feel determined to finally integrate Billy with them. This is the first stage – starting with me. Billy’s new to action. Now he’s eighteen, he’ll be joining us on the tour. As a start, I’m trying to get to know him. It’s
my job to give him support and leadership and I take that seriously.
Billy’s a kid, really, young and very sweaty: the heat has swept a sweat tide mark into his ginger buzz cut. His cheeks pink easily too, and they flush now when he leans across the table, flicks a furtive glance over his shoulder before he says, ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’m not sure if you’re not supposed to ask this kinda thing, but I gotta know, so . . .’
‘Ask away.’
‘Are you . . . do you feel . . . ?’ The hesitation always means the same. Particularly this close to the tour starting.
‘Scared?’ I finish for him. When he nods, I continue, ‘Of course. Your trouble is that you’ve been waiting too long to see action.’
He nods enthusiastically. ‘It’s true – two years. I joined on my sixteenth birthday. But now it’s here and . . .’
‘Why did you sign up so young?’
He shrugged. ‘Why not? Good to have a proper job, innit. It’s a career.’
‘I served in Desert Storm.’ He understands this explanation. His eyes widen and he drinks greedily from his pint, my experience a flare to his interest.
‘Not in a combat role though, obviously,’ I say, gesturing vaguely to my chest area.
His body sags. Like that, I’ve lost his interest.
‘I would’ve loved to have heard about what Iraq was like then. I bet it was hell.’
He probably thinks I was cooking. ‘I saw action, though. I’ve been a combat medic.’
He’s back in, I can tell. I carried a gun and I was on the front. That’s the respect in his eyes I was looking for.
‘That’s a tough one. Did you see a lot of . . . stuff?’ He winces at the word, no doubt thinking of limbs missing, guts tumbling from torn bodies, lifeless, staring eyes.
‘Yes. Lots and lots of stuff.’
‘What did you do? Tell me what was it like.’ He bites his lip as if to stop himself from going further.
He is scared, I think, proper scared. ‘It was tough. But it was my job. The perfect training ground.’
‘So now you’re combat?’
‘Now I’m combat.’ I nod. ‘Now my gun isn’t only to defend.’
I grab our glasses and go to the bar. Elbows out I get through the throng, and hold my height, glad I’m taller than many.
Back at the table I slide Billy’s pint towards him.
‘So . . . not long now till we go home,’ Billy says. Pause. ‘Not long now at all.’
We’ve only just got here and I tell him that. His face sags and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. I try again. I know what he is talking about. It’s what we all talk about. I realise that Billy is a boy of long pauses when he has something on his mind.
‘How does your family feel about you going off on tour for the first time?’
His cheeks flush deeper. ‘Yeah, my Maddie is not happy but . . .’ he shrugs. ‘I’ll be back before she knows it.’
He looks at me, unwavering, blue eyes locked on mine. In them, I can see emotion, I can tell he’s feeling something, but I can’t respond, because I can’t guess at what I don’t know. I don’t want to say the wrong thing again. Instead, I clink my glass against his and repeat his words: ‘Back before you know it,’ I agree.
*
I blinked, confused. The McDonald’s server had brought us the rest of our food on a tray. Destiny accepted the order and put mine in front of me. Then she looked at me as if she was trying to figure something out. Right then, when I thought of Billy, it was more like I was with him than where I actually am. I haven’t thought of him since I left the army, but now . . . now my memories are so real, it’s as if I’m back there. I blinked again, returning to the present, with Destiny watching me closely. I wonder what Dr Hartley, my psychiatrist at Headley Court would say. Probably PTSD I reckon, but of course, anyone treating soliders would see so much of that, it’s probably the first thing they reach for. But if it’s more than that, then I don’t want to know. I’m on my own now. He couldn’t help me, the army couldn’t help me, but . . . I missed them. I missed being part of something bigger than me.
I opened my milk and reached for something to talk to Destiny about.
We had school in common, but I was sure she had no desire to talk about a place which she hoped she’d left for ever.
What we also shared was the loss of our mothers, but that wasn’t dinner chat. I wanted something light-hearted and fun, but light-hearted and fun were not in my skill set.
Destiny spoke first. ‘Tell me more about your Ironman competitions.’
I smiled, surprised that she was able to rescue the situation. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘I remember you showing us photos in assembly; it looks harsh. Is it as hard as it looks?’
‘It’s very tough. Everyone who competes is at the top of their game when it comes to endurance and strength, but it’s great to be able to compete against such amazing athletes.’ I removed the fish from the bun and forced myself not to scrape the sauce off it. ‘I know this may seem odd, but when you’re competing, you have to be very careful about food.’
‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’
I shake my head. ‘But unless you’re an athlete, a balanced diet is a good thing.’ I felt the responsibility of being a good role model.
‘I’ll eat it, Miss,’ she said, taking a huge bite out of it. ‘I’m starving,’ she explained through her mouthful.
I was glad I hadn’t put her off or seemed too weird to her.
‘You look very strong,’ she said, munching away. ‘You win, don’t you?’
I smiled more naturally now. Perhaps this was not going to be the most awkward of social situations. Destiny had her own talents. ‘I’ve won three times.’
‘How do you fit it in around teaching?’
‘With difficulty. I don’t work Wednesdays, which helps me spread the load. But it’s still a challenge as many of my competitors compete as their full-time job. And teaching, as you know, well, you probably don’t, but it’s a massive job, and even on only four days, I still work forty hours a week. But I get up early to do a short run and—’
‘What’s a short run?’
‘About seven miles.’
She sucked on her milkshake nosily. ‘That’s a long run.’
‘I alternate after school with either a weights routine or a longer run. On my days off, I really go for it. Swimming, fifteen-mile runs, weights, the lot.’ I realised I was showing off, but it was my favourite topic and it felt good to talk in an easy way with her. I finished the fish and opened the next one. I passed her the bun.
‘Thanks, Miss.’ Destiny watched me. ‘Is that the only reason you’re funny about food?’
I smiled. ‘Well, actually, I think everyone else is funny about food and I’m the normal one.’
‘What do you mean?’
Destiny was fifteen; I decided it was OK. ‘Take what you’re eating, for example. It’s full of additives and sugar and probably trans fats and lots of stuff your body doesn’t want or need. Yet you eat it anyway.’
Destiny sucked nosily on her straw again. ‘It tastes bloody nice.’
I let the swearing go. ‘But it’s not good for you.’
‘But it tastes bloody nice.’ She gave me a hint of a smile.
‘My body, my fitness, is important to me. It’s like a car – how can I expect to get the best speeds and distance from it if I fill it with—’
‘Shit?’ The hint became a grin. She’d read my mind and knew it.
I decided to shrug off a layer of my usual self. After all, it was a bit late to pretend things were still the same, now I was sitting in a service station halfway up the M1 with a minor in a disguise so the police didn’t find us. ‘Shit,’ I agreed, ‘is the right word because it is bad for you. Some of it is actually poison to your body.’
Destiny’s eyes twinkled. ‘But it tastes so—’
> ‘Good,’ I finished for her, enjoying the joke. ‘I know, I know.’
Actually, my fish did taste good. But that was fat and salt for you.
‘What’s it like winning, Miss?’
‘It’s not the winning that’s important.’
Destiny raised a challenging eyebrow.
‘No, really. I used to be in the army, and I missed the training, the structure, so I do it for that. I need something to aim for, the burn, the endurance and I need . . .’ I paused, aware of how strong my need was coming across. ‘I like the challenge.’
Destiny put down her cheeseburger. ‘Did you used to fight and . . . you know?’
I had made a decision not to talk about the army in my assembly presentation. George had wanted me to, and he was right, because in many ways I wanted to share what I considered the best job in the world. It had built me, saved me even, and it was an honour to serve Queen and Country. But I still couldn’t talk about it. I would’ve loved to encourage the pupils to consider signing up, to learn a trade and have the opportunity to travel the world, to keep peace where others couldn’t . . . but I couldn’t because when I thought about it now, all I could remember was my failure. My shame. And I couldn’t share that with anybody.
‘What’s the matter, Miss?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, attempting to sound light-hearted, but instead I only sounded stiff. ‘Nothing,’ I tried again, this time successfully softening my voice.
She took another bite of cheeseburger, chewing and looking at me with an expression I didn’t understand. ‘Did you kill anyone, Miss?’ she asked eventually.
I paused. She could be my pupil again one day. I said that to her.
Her expression changed instantly. Mostly people’s emotions were lost on me, but it was like watching the sky change from sunny to storm clouds. But still I didn’t know what she was feeling – just that it was bad. She mumbled something about how she’d rather die than go back.
‘Don’t make light of dying,’ I told her.
‘Who said I was?’ she retorted
‘Yes,’ I said then. It deserved the truth.