Soldiers' Wives

by Fiona Field

  ‘Sorry, it’s bedlam,’ said Susie, looking flustered as she ushered Maddy in.

  Susie might have looked flustered but everything else about her was immaculate, from her blond hair tucked into a natty French pleat, to her beautifully manicured nails, to her crease-free linen shirt over her pressed jeans. Mrs Middleton couldn’t have looked neater or tidier. Maddy was instantly conscious that, in contrast, her appearance left a lot to be desired. Maybe she should have changed into a clean top after all, but she hadn’t bothered because she knew Nate would only dribble onto it the instant she picked him up again.

  It certainly was bedlam, though, as Susie’s sitting room was far too small for the ten or so toddlers. Surrounding them, sitting on a mix of chairs, were mothers off the patch, some of whom Maddy vaguely recognised, most of whom she didn’t.

  ‘Coffee?’ offered Susie.

  ‘Think I’ll give it a miss,’ said Maddy, wondering about the wisdom of juggling a baby and a hot drink.

  ‘It’ll calm down in half an hour. Lots of the mums have to fetch kids from the playgroup at about eleven thirty and those that don’t, go home to get lunch ready.’

  Susie clapped her hands and got some sort of order in the room, so she could introduce Maddy. The other wives greeted her with smiles and waves and some words of welcome, as Susie reeled off their names.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said one of the wives, who Maddy thought might be called Jenny – or was it Penny? ‘You’ve got ages and ages to get to know us. That’s the thing with regiments: our husbands may get posted out now and again to staff jobs but they always end up back here.’

  Back here? Constantly? Oh joy, thought Maddy, but she smiled brightly. She knew she was being unfair; there was nothing wrong with her neighbours – shit, she hardly knew them – but did she really want to spend the rest of her life surrounded by the same people, people who would judge her on her ability to throw a dinner party or chair a committee? She suddenly had a vision of lab rats scurrying round, their behaviour monitored by Mrs Notley and Susie, and suppressed a slightly hysterical giggle. She sat on a vacant chair and jiggled Nathan, who was grizzling softly on her lap, as she listened to the conversation which now resumed around her. As far as she could tell they were discussing the best way to get mud and cam cream out of combat kit.

  Shoot me now, thought Maddy, is this what life holds for me? Is this to be the highlight of my days, gathering laundry tips? She thought back to her time at Oxford and conversations she’d had with fellow students. Never once could she remember anyone swapping household management advice. The smile on her face became more forced. This wasn’t what she’d envisaged when she’d agreed to marry Seb. When they’d been dating, it had seemed to be all summer balls, dinner nights and glamorous men in uniform. Not this. Not for the first time in recent weeks she wondered if she’d made a dreadful mistake.

  Then, as Susie had predicted, the mothers pretty much left en masse to get other children from the playgroup or kindergarten, before preparing a meal for their menfolk. Maddy rose and made a move to escape. Nate had finally drifted off to sleep and was temporarily silent, and Maddy felt that if peace lasted a little longer she might get a few of Seb’s shirts ironed, before he came home for lunch.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Susie. She rummaged through a pile of papers, stuffed behind the clock on the mantelpiece. Maddy noticed the number of invitations wedged by their corners into the frame of the overmantel mirror. No wonder Susie ran the babysitting circle, she must be constantly out and, when her daughters were back from prep school, in need of childcare. Susie found what she was looking for and handed it to Maddy.

  ‘Your tokens,’ she said. ‘Plus a list of the circle members, telephone numbers, number of kids, that sort of thing.’

  Maddy opened the envelope and glanced at the sheet. If nothing else, it would be a useful aide memoire as to who lived where on the patch. She stuffed it back in the envelope.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Stay to lunch.’

  ‘That’s really kind but Seb’s expecting me back.’

  ‘Ring him. Tell him to have lunch in the mess. He’ll probably be happy to pretend he’s back there, living in.’ Susie must have seen the expression on Maddy’s face. ‘Sorry, that came out all wrong. I didn’t mean he might be regretting getting married but it’s a big step for the lads when they move out of that all-boys-together atmosphere and have to grow up.’

  Frankly, Maddy didn’t think Seb had really grown up. She still felt a nagging irritation about the way he’d abandoned her and Nate when they’d moved house and sometimes it seemed as if she was his personal scout now, the way she picked up after him, did his laundry and had his meals ready on demand. Fuck it, she thought, fuck his shirts, she would stay to lunch and if they didn’t get done, he could iron them. Even if Susie did intimidate her more than a little it would be nice to make another friend on the patch.

  Seb seemed very relaxed about Maddy’s decision when she phoned him. Then he said, sotto voce, ‘Good move, getting in with the boss’s wife. You could offer to have her round to ours for lunch, too. Never does any harm to be friends with the OC and his missus.’

  He was right, of course, but Maddy preferred to have friends just because they got on, not for ulterior reasons.

  Susie bustled about in her kitchen, which Maddy noted with interest was just as shabby as her own.

  ‘Just soup and bread. Wine?’

  Maddy shook her head. She might gag for a gin in the evening, but she tried not to drink during the day, except very occasionally at weekends. ‘No thanks,’ she said.

  Susie stopped in her tracks. ‘Just one, surely?’

  ‘No, really.’ She looked at Nate, who would provide the perfect excuse. ‘I’m still breastfeeding. Maybe something soft?’

  Susie rummaged in a cupboard which, as far as Maddy could see, was mainly used for storing tonic water, and emerged with a bottle of elderflower cordial.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Maddy. Susie poured it into a tumbler and added a couple of ice cubes.

  ‘You don’t mind if I do?’ said Susie, whisking a bottle of white out of the fridge and cracking off the screw top. She filled a large glass to the brim. ‘Now then, what can I tell you about army life and the patch…?’

  Maybe it was the wine that loosened Susie’s tongue, but after a while Maddy felt that she was hearing just a little too much gossip about the other wives. Which was frankly disturbing because it made Maddy wonder what the hell Susie would say about her and Seb. For instance, Maddy wasn’t really sure she needed to know quite what a bad influence Susie thought Caro was.

  ‘She’s very relaxed with some of the senior wives,’ said Susie. ‘Too relaxed, if you know what I mean. Doesn’t do the right thing – or she does it in the wrong way. And she doesn’t support Will properly.’

  Which made her sound more like some sort of truss, thought Maddy.

  ‘Will won’t get promoted much beyond major, with such a loose cannon in his corner.’

  But was promotion the be-all and end-all? Susie had intimated it was and that she was sacrificing everything for Mike’s future prospects, but looking at the lines of discontent etched into her face and having heard the complaints she’d already made about the moves and sending her kids off to prep school, Maddy wondered if it was really worth it. Surely, she thought, there had to be a compromise. But on the other hand she knew Seb was fiercely ambitious; she didn’t think he’d be too impressed if he found her to be more of a hindrance than a help. He’d probably cheer if she became more like Mrs N or Susie, a prospect which frankly frightened her.

  When Maddy got away she was even more worried about what she’d taken on by becoming an army wife. The previous evening, when her parents had phoned to announce their safe return from their holiday, she’d admitted her doubts to her mum, but her mum’s response had been that it was probably just a touch of the baby blues and she’d snap out of it once Nate started sleeping through the night. But what if it was
n’t just that? What if she wasn’t cut out to follow the drum?

  As she strolled home, she wondered if she could really face the next thirty years of being a regimental wife, of bracing up, getting on with it and toeing the line. Her thoughts were interrupted when a little blue Corsa screeched to a halt beside her. The passenger window wound down and the driver leaned across and yelled ‘Coo-ee’ at her.

  ‘Jenna.’

  ‘You look like you’ve lost a quid and found a penny,’ said Jenna.

  Maddy forced a bright smile. ‘No, just miles away. Honest.’

  ‘I was hoping to see you. Just been round at Caro’s cutting her boys’ hair. Anyway, I wanted to thank you.’

  ‘Thank me? What on earth for?’

  ‘We got a quarter. Lee’s just phoned and told me. And I know it was down to you.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. Truly, it must just be the luck of the draw.’

  ‘Get away with you, I know you pulled some strings. Anyway, I won’t keep you but I owe you one for this.’ And with a cheery wave and a puff of exhaust fumes, Jenna’s car zipped away.

  It wasn’t me, thought Maddy, it was just luck. If Jenna knew what Seb had said to her about being some sort of do-gooding Lady Bountiful trying to solve the soldiers’ problems she’d know that nothing was further from the truth.

  Another thing she’d got wrong, she thought morosely, as Nate started to cry once more. Crap as a mother, crap as a military wife…

  At least, though, Jenna was happy. Like she had been a few months ago. Disconsolately, Maddy wondered how long it would last.

  8

  It was about eight o’clock that same evening when Chrissie and Immi cruised into Tommy’s. Immi had decided that Baz was yesterday’s man and wanted to find a replacement. It frankly baffled Chrissie how Immi managed her love-life so none of her ex-boyfriends ended up hurt or resentful about being dumped. So far, they’d all seemed to accept that their fling with her was over and harboured no hard feelings. She had no idea how Immi handled her exes, but it had to be with fantastic skill. Respect.

  ‘And besides,’ she said, as she dragged Chrissie out of their room, ‘as you told me you’re not having an affair with anyone – your very words, Chrissie Summers, so don’t deny it – we might find someone for you. No!’ She held her hand up, as Chrissie was about to protest. ‘No one for the long term, but if you ask me, you need taking down off the shelf and giving a good dusting.’

  Chrissie laughed. ‘Not such a bad idea. I’ve got some nooks and crannies that need a bloody good seeing to.’ Besides, it might take her mind off how she felt about Lee.

  It was quietish when they got to the bar, but experience told them that it would be much busier in just a short while.

  ‘So, what are you drinking?’ asked Chrissie. ‘Lager top?’

  Immi nodded. They got their drinks and headed for a table in the centre of the room.

  ‘No point in being invisible,’ said Immi, plonking herself down in full view of both the bar and the main door. She looked about. ‘Christ, fuck-all talent in at the moment, though: spotty Jack and his mates from B Company and a bunch of baby new recruits. Still, we might as well give it an hour – see what the cat drags in.’

  ‘Jack’s not so bad,’ said Chrissie. ‘He mightn’t be a looker, but he’s good company.’ Immi gave Chrissie a very doubting look. ‘He is, honest.’

  ‘If you say so, hon.’

  A roar of laughter rocked the room.

  ‘Told you,’ said Chrissie.

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘That he’s funny.’ Chrissie picked up her drink, grabbed Immi’s arm and hauled her to her feet before dragging her mate over to where Jack was.

  ‘Hi, guys,’ said Chrissie.

  ‘Hiya, Chris,’ said Jack, his face beaming with pleasure at the sight of her. ‘And who have we here?’ he asked, gazing Immi up and down.

  ‘Someone way out of your league,’ said one of his mates.

  ‘Hey,’ said Jack, grinning, ‘I only want a name, not a phone number and a hot date.’ Despite his acne, he had a great smile and brilliantly blue eyes.

  Chrissie wondered if Immi mightn’t reassess him when she got to know him a bit better. Certainly Chrissie herself had, when they’d met on exercise and he’d managed to raise her morale after a particularly gruelling and rain-soaked day. Mind you, she thought, honours were even. Once he’d lifted her spirits out of the doldrums she managed to trade joke for joke with him.

  ‘Jack, this is Immi,’ said Chrissie.

  Jack introduced them to the rest of his pals: Doug, Bonzo and Chewbacca – who was tall and hairy – then said, ‘We were talking about weddings.’

  Immi, who had been taking a sip of her lager top, nearly choked. ‘Blokes? Talking weddings?’

  Jack looked at her steadily. ‘I know this must be an alien concept to you ladies but unless you’re batting for the other team, and something tells me you aren’t,’ he gave Immi a lewd wink, ‘you’re going to need a guy waiting for you at the altar otherwise your big day isn’t going to go exactly to plan, is it? So yes, guys do know about weddings and we’ve even been known to take an interest in them.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Immi a bit petulantly, ‘but I thought most guys would rather run a mile than get involved with any actual planning.’

  ‘So are you one of those metrosexuals, then, Jack?’ asked Chrissie.

  ‘God yes, of course I am, aren’t I, guys? Haven’t I been telling you all the importance of getting your back, sack and crack waxed?’

  ‘You have?!’ asked Immi, believing him and impressed, being a slave to personal grooming herself.

  ‘Want to see?’ said Jack, his hand starting to unzip his flies.

  Again the lads around him exploded with laughter and even Immi could see the funny side.

  As the laughter died down, Chrissie said, straight-faced, ‘Actually, I do. I’ve never seen bald balls. I’m asking purely out of medical interest, you understand.’

  Jack gave Chrissie a long look, before he tugged on his flies again.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Chrissie, as she rummaged in her handbag. ‘I just need to get my magnifying glass out.’

  Once again, the blokes erupted with laughter.

  ‘So,’ asked Chrissie, when things had calmed down a bit, ‘what aspect of weddings were you lot finding so riveting?’

  ‘It was just weddings generally. I’ve been invited to Terry Gibbons’s… know him?’ Jack asked Chrissie.

  ‘Can’t say I do,’ said Immi, trying to get involved in the conversation. She tossed her hair about a bit for good measure, to try to get the lads to notice her.

  Much as Chrissie loved Immi, she knew that her best mate was a bit put out by not being the centre of attention. Jack and his mates weren’t the sort to be swept off their feet by a pretty face, long legs and a mass of chestnut hair, they were much more into personality and wit. And, bless Immi, she was a great friend and kindness itself as well as a looker, but when it came to razor-sharp repartee she wasn’t going to be able to compete with the present company. Oh well, she’d get over it.

  ‘Terry from the cookhouse?’ said Chrissie.

  ‘That’s him,’ said Jack.

  Immi stared at Chrissie. ‘How come you know just about everyone in the battalion?’

  ‘Because I’m always sticking needles into people or checking their pulses or dishing out painkillers, or getting them to piss into bottles, or something else utterly wonderful. Your involvement with soldiers is just their names on documents and you hardly get to meet anyone. Trust me, if you worked in the medical centre you’d get to meet everyone – and get to know more about them than you really want to.’ She turned back to Jack. ‘So what about Terry’s wedding?’

  ‘Nothing really. We were just saying that’s another good bloke who won’t be allowed out to play on a Saturday night.’

  ‘You cheeky bugger,’ protested Chrissie, slapping Jack playfully. ‘Women don’t shackle their blo
kes like that and you know it.’

  ‘No, the single ones don’t but something happens when they get that gold band on their finger,’ said Jack. He glanced over Chrissie’s shoulder. ‘And here comes a case in point.’

  Chrissie spun round to see who Jack was talking about.

  A voice carried from the doorway across to where they were standing. ‘For fuck’s sake, Lee, it’s a dump. I mean, I’d rather stay with my mum, and that’s saying something.’

  Coming into the bar were Jenna and Lee. Something had rattled Jenna’s cage, and she was making it quite plain that she wasn’t happy. Chrissie felt a guilty rush of blood colour her face because given the way she’d been blanking him for days now he was the last person she wanted to see. Not, she thought, that with his wife with him he could really ask her why she hadn’t answered his half-dozen texts. No matter how innocent they were, she didn’t think Jenna would be thrilled that her new husband was busy sending messages to another woman.

  As she watched Jenna stalk across the floor she saw her turn on Lee again.

  ‘So you’re going to go right back to Captain Fanshaw and tell him it’s not good enough. I mean, he doesn’t live in a crap house like this one, does he?’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Jack in a low voice. ‘I don’t think Private Perkins is going to be getting lucky with his missus tonight. It looks to me as if she’s going to be tearing up his nooky ration book any minute now and no mistake.’

  Jenna turned back towards the bar and caught sight of Chrissie and Immi. She headed straight for them.

  Whatever was going on between Jenna and Lee, Chrissie could just tell she and Immi were going to be asked to get involved. Chrissie took a step sideways, putting Immi in direct line with Jenna, thus making it easier to escape if she wanted to.

  ‘You’ll agree with me, won’t you?’ said Jenna.

  ‘Agree with you about what?’ said Immi.