by M. R. Hall
Claydon glanced at Sarah. ‘If this isn’t convenient, perhaps you’d like to continue our conversation elsewhere?’
‘She’s going nowhere,’ Rachel said. ‘I said, leave.’ She stood aside waiting for them to go.
‘Love, if Sarah wants to talk . . .’ Paul said weakly.
‘To a pair of chancers who turn up out of the blue? Were you born yesterday?’
‘I’m OK,’ Sarah objected.
Rachel ignored her. ‘Out. Now.’
White smiled graciously and motioned Carrie to come with him. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs Green,’ he said, then turned to Sarah, ‘If you’d like to call me tomorrow I’ll be happy to answer any further questions. Goodbye.’
Rachel remained standing in the sitting-room doorway while Paul showed the two lawyers to the front door. When they had gone, she turned her anger on Sarah. ‘Do you honestly think those people are out for anyone other than themselves? They don’t care about us.’
‘You didn’t hear what they had to say.’
‘I’m sure they’re full of it. I’m sure they’ll promise you the world if they think there’s something in it for them. And even if they could make you a few quid, what then? The army don’t take these things lying down. They’ll drag Kenny’s name through the mud. They’ll drag you and us with it and we’ll end up without a friend in this town. Is that what you want?’
‘You said Kenny shouldn’t have died. If that’s what you think, why wouldn’t you want to do everything you can to make sure his child gets looked after?’
Rachel’s face went through a carousel of emotions that ended with an expression of tortured bitterness.
‘Money counts for nothing. Nothing.’
‘Love. They’ve gone. You’re letting yourself get worked up over nothing.’ Paul put a tentative hand on her arm. ‘Maybe I should call in sick tonight?’
Rachel batted him away and stamped through to the kitchen, where she started noisily clanking the pans Paul had left to dry on the drainer.
Paul stood helplessly, stifling a desire to yell in frustration. He took a breath and tried to stay calm. ‘You look pale, love. You haven’t even eaten, have you?’
Sarah hauled herself out of the chair. Her head was swimming. ‘I think I’ll go out for a bit. Get something in town.’
They exchanged a look, both sharing the same unspoken thought. If it had been Rachel the lawyers were coming to see, it might have been a different story. Now it was official: Kenny wasn’t her boy any more. He was first and foremost Sarah’s – her partner, the father of her child.
‘I’ll support you,’ Paul said quietly. ‘You know that. But just be careful, hey?’
The house resounded to the sound of Rachel slamming a cupboard door. It sliced through Sarah like a knife and made the baby startle. That was it. She had to get out. ‘See you tomorrow.’ She fetched her phone and her bag and left the house.
Her call connected before the front gate had closed behind her.
‘Is that Mr White? It’s Sarah Tanner. You said we could talk elsewhere . . . ?’
Claydon said he and Carrie were just on their way to a restaurant in the centre of town. He would send his driver back to pick her up straight away.
Anna Roberts tried to sleep in the back of the taxi driving her back along the M5 motorway from Birmingham to Highcliffe, but her racing mind wouldn’t let her. She had hoped for a quiet afternoon with Lee, a chance to talk, but instead they had barely had a moment alone. Although it was an NHS unit, the patients were all soldiers and it was run in military style. Anna learned that Lee was woken before seven a.m. and told to shave himself, even though his hands shook and the whole procedure took him nearly half an hour. Then he was washed and changed by nurses, and after breakfast inspected by a sergeant, who would make him shave again if he hadn’t done it properly. A nurse explained to Anna that the discipline helped the men recover. They were expected to get themselves well, mentally and physically, and as soon as possible. It was part of their job as soldiers.
Dr Thurlow, the surgeon who had operated on Lee, met with them both to discuss his injuries. The good news was that there had been enough leg left on both sides for him to amputate through the knee. This meant Lee had been left with longer stumps and would eventually be able to walk with relative ease on prosthetic legs. He then produced a photograph album and took them through the stories of many soldiers who had passed through the unit, plenty with injuries far more severe than his. They had all had similar journeys: from wounded, traumatized patients struggling to see a future for themselves, to smiling, confident men with new lives and careers. By the end of their session with Dr Thurlow, Anna had almost been left believing that having his legs blown off was one of the best things that Lee had ever had happen to him.
Shortly afterwards, they were visited by one of the men who had featured in the album. Corporal Sam Taylor was a handsome, mixed-race man with eyes that sparkled with life. A former paratrooper, he was now a military liaison officer at the hospital. He told them how he had lost his legs when a rocket-propelled grenade aimed at a nearby armoured personnel carrier had literally knocked them both off on the way to its target. The impact with his body had been enough to steer the grenade off course with the result that it missed the vehicle and the lives of three soldiers inside were saved.
‘I give thanks for my injuries every day,’ he said. ‘And everything I’ve seen in this place convinces me that it’s the strongest who are called on to make this sacrifice. The way I see it, your life is a gift to you, and the way you live it is your gift back. Make up your mind to be an inspiration right now, and you will be. You have the opportunity and the power to make everyone who knows you proud. That’s some privilege, Lee. Treasure it.’
Corporal Taylor’s words had made Anna cry. He had made her feel as if she and Lee had been chosen to do something special. She could see a future in which they raised money for charity and devoted their lives to the sick and poor. Suddenly she had felt like someone with a purpose in life. A mission.
Several nurses arrived to lift Lee out of bed and into a wheelchair for the very first time. Corporal Taylor then took them to see the physio facilities. There, they met two other soldiers who had lost legs. One had been a patient for two months, the other had been there for nearly four and was about to be discharged. Both were strong and healthy and optimistic for their futures. One was remaining in the army, the other was going to train to become a PE teacher. They promised Lee he would get better and more confident every day. They were living examples of what Corporal Taylor had been talking about and Anna had found herself yet again shedding tears. It was strange: they were almost tears of happiness. She had never met people filled with so much positivity and hope.
The only down note had come towards the end of her visit when they had finally had a few minutes together. Lee had become quiet and pale. Anna could tell there was something he wasn’t saying, but he insisted he was fine. When the nurses came to take bloods and carry out their observations, she went to have a word with the sister, a motherly woman named Angela. She told Anna that Lee was going to be seen by the psychiatric nurse in the morning as they had a few concerns about him. He insisted he had little or no memory of the incident in which he’d lost his legs, yet he was shouting a lot in his sleep and suffering nightmares despite heavy medication. Angela thought that he could remember the incident very clearly, but couldn’t yet bring himself to talk about it. He would have to learn to do so, though. Talking was a vital part of getting well.
Before she left, Anna whispered to Lee that she thought he could remember more than he was admitting and that he had to speak to the doctors about it.
Lee had looked at her with dead eyes, and said, ‘I remember nothing. And that’s how it’s going to stay.’
She knew it was early days, but that look he had given her left her with a deeply uneasy feeling. She wanted to believe that he would soon be as cheerful as Corporal Taylor and the others,
but there was something dark and self-destructive in his expression that frightened her.
The other thing playing on Anna’s mind was the message from the woman at the coroner’s office saying that she wanted to speak to Lee about what had happened in Helmand. She wasn’t sure exactly what a coroner did, but it sounded official, like the police, and she was scared that Lee would get into trouble if he didn’t tell them what he knew. Anna was fond of Sarah Tanner. She and Kenny had looked so happy together at their engagement party. A dream couple. The thought that Lee might not do everything to help troubled her. She would have to work on him. He had a phone now – she would send him an email as soon as Leanne was in bed.
Melanie Norton was as kind as always when she handed Leanne over, but seeing her nice clothes and glimpsing through the living room window her two daughters sprawled on a cream-coloured sofa watching a huge, cinema-style TV, Anna felt as if she were trapped in a colder, crueller world.
‘She’s had plenty to eat,’ Melanie said. ‘Lasagne, salad, French bread.’
‘And chocolate ice cream,’ Leanne chimed in.
‘Plenty of that, too.’ Melanie smiled. ‘Any time. You know she’s always welcome.’ She touched Anna comfortingly on the arm. ‘If you ever need to talk, just call. Any time.’
‘Thank you.’
As the taxi drove them the final few minutes to home, Anna felt Leanne’s disappointment at leaving the leafy streets and Melanie’s cosy, comfortable house behind. It pained her that she would never be able to compete, that Leanne would grow up feeling jealous of the kids who had more. But that was just how it was. You got what you were given and had to make the most of it.
It was almost nine o’clock when they pulled up outside their block of flats. Anna thanked the driver and helped a sleepy Leanne out of the booster seat. She was scooping her up in her arms ready to carry her to the front door, when she noticed the big, sleek BMW parked nearby. The rear doors opened and Sarah Tanner climbed out along with a man and woman who looked as if they had stepped off the cover of a magazine.
Sarah came towards her. ‘Hi, Anna. How are you?’
‘OK . . .’ She glanced past Sarah to the two approaching behind her.
‘These are my lawyers,’ Sarah said. ‘They want to get me compensation for what happened to Kenny. I told them about Lee. They’d like to talk to you.’
‘What for?’
‘If I’m entitled, you might be, too. Can we come up?’
‘I don’t know . . .’ Anna felt panicky. She didn’t feel able to handle this by herself. ‘Maybe I should talk to Lee first? Leanne needs to go to bed . . .’
Sarah stepped in closer and put a hand on her arm.
‘Please. You and Lee need this as much as I do . . . Look, I know money’s just—’ She glanced away and wiped tears from her eyes. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Anna, but this is huge. They’re talking about a million pounds.’
Anna glanced again at the two strangers, noticing their expensive suits and the chauffeur-driven car.
‘OK,’ Anna said, nervously. ‘You’d better come up.’
THIRTEEN
Melanie was becoming anxious. It was getting late, the girls were in bed and Chris still wasn’t home. She had given up any hope of them having dinner together and gone ahead and eaten her lasagne alone. He had been home for nearly five days and they had hardly spoken. He always had an excuse. He was too busy. Too tired. Too caught up with compiling all the reports and inventories that had to be filed following a return from tour. He had spent the entire weekend in his office at the camp and most of his time at home hunched over a laptop. It was a familiar pattern, but this time it seemed worse. She knew the reason: for the first time since he had joined the army there were no more wars to fight.
The kitchen clock ticked past ten p.m. Melanie tidied the last stray items and polished the worktops until they shone, all the while trying to fend off the irrational fear that something had happened to Chris. He had a mobile phone, but she didn’t like to call him in case he thought her foolish. Over the years they had developed an unspoken agreement not to indulge in unnecessary communication. It had developed as a sort of superstition – no news is good news – and taken hold. Phoning him except in an emergency would be a show of weakness that would violate the rules that underpinned their marriage. Even so, she felt he was leaving her little choice. It had gone half-past.
Melanie was reaching guiltily for the phone when she heard the key in the lock. She hurried to the doorway feeling a rush of relief.
It was him.
‘There you are. I was getting worried.’
‘Sorry about that,’ he answered in clipped tones. He hung his cap on the peg. ‘Mountain of paperwork. Actually, I wish it were paper – nothing worse than staring at a screen all day. Have we got any aspirin?’
‘I’ll find you some.’
She had hoped for a kiss, or at least some small show of affection, but he just smiled stiffly and kept his hands firmly at his sides. She went to rummage in a kitchen drawer and told herself not to worry about the fact that he had hardly touched her since he’d arrived home. It was only to be expected. He had been camped out, living on his wits for six months. It was still early days.
She filled a glass with water and handed him two pills.
‘There’s some lasagne left if you’re hungry.’
‘I had sandwiches at the office. Sorry.’
‘It’ll keep.’
She watched him swallow the aspirin. His face was so thin. Even bone visible beneath tightly stretched skin. He invariably came back from tour several stone lighter than he’d left, but she had never known him quite so skeletal. It scared her.
‘I was minding Leanne Roberts all day,’ Melanie said. ‘She’s ever so sweet.’
‘I’m sure,’ Chris said distractedly. He slotted the empty glass carefully into the dishwasher.
‘No one’s told her what’s happened to Lee yet. I heard her saying to the girls that her mum had gone to see him in hospital, but she doesn’t know what’s wrong.’
‘Difficult,’ Chris said. ‘No easy answer to that. I expect she’ll be all right. Children adapt.’
They looked at each other, their eyes meeting almost by accident. He managed another awkward smile.
‘Drink?’ Melanie asked. ‘There’s some white wine open in the fridge.’ Chris had never been much of a drinker, but when he was at home he had always joined her in a glass at the end of a long day.
‘I think I’m about ready to turn in. I’m sure you must be exhausted.’ He sensed her disappointment. ‘You go ahead. Don’t let me stop you. Just a bit out of the habit.’
‘I’m really not bothered, either,’ Melanie said, although if the bottle had been in front of her she could have drunk it all. ‘You’re right. I am tired. Still, only another week and the girls will be back at school. I might manage a few moments to myself again.’
There was an uncomfortable pause. Chris met her gaze, then dropped his eyes to the floor.
‘Don’t think I take any of your efforts for granted, Melanie . . . I really don’t. Truly.’
He reached out a hand, and without looking at her, clasped her shoulder. The nearest he had come to an intimate gesture since his return.
Melanie put her hand on top of his. ‘I know this bit’s difficult for you. I understand . . . And you know that if there’s anything you want to talk about—’
‘Yes. Of course,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘Thank you.’ He closed his eyes briefly as if consciously curbing his abruptness. ‘Shall we go up?’
They climbed the stairs without speaking. The silence stretched into the bedroom as they each undressed on opposite sides of the room. Melanie couldn’t tell if it was the silence of emotional paralysis or of anticipation. They took it in turns to visit the bathroom and climbed woodenly into bed, she dressed in loose pyjamas and he in a white T-shirt and boxers. They lay still for a moment, a foot of empty space between them as there had been e
very night. Melanie agonized over whether to reach out and touch him, if only to reassure him that she wasn’t being chilly, that she was there as a comfort if he needed her.
She glanced over and saw that he was staring at the ceiling. The novel he had been reading lay closed on the bedside table. The dim light exaggerated the taut lines and hollows in his face. Despite the dark suntan he looked a ghost of himself.
‘Shall I turn out the light?’ she whispered.
He didn’t answer. His eyes remained fixed and unfocused, staring into empty space.
‘Chris? Are you all right?’
After a moment, he said, ‘It’s a bit like being a polar explorer. You get used to being cold. Sensation takes a while to return.’
‘I understand . . . I do.’
He turned his head towards her. ‘Shall we . . . ?’ The words stuck in his throat. ‘Shall—’
‘Sshh.’ Melanie pressed a finger to his lips, then dared to kiss him.
Her hand travelled over his body. He was nothing but taut knots of muscle, sinew and bone. She stroked his skin, gently massaging his shoulders and back. Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt him begin to unwind. His dry lips softened and moved against hers. His hands – cold, despite the warm evening – sought out her flesh. He was clumsy and nervous but she felt the passion rise in him and the heat slowly return to his skin.
In a moment, the walls that had held him in seemed to fall away. He tore off his clothes, knelt over her, tugged off her top and pulled down her pyjama bottoms using both hands. He stared at her nakedness as if surprised and frightened by it. For a moment she feared he might recoil, but driven by impulses she could no longer control, she pulled him towards her and drew him in.
Afterwards, they lay breathless side by side, their fingers touching, their bodies slick with perspiration. For a long while neither spoke, both of them happy to bask in the afterglow. Melanie felt like a prisoner released from heavy shackles. Her fearful thoughts had melted, leaving her hopeful and relaxed.
‘Feel better?’ she whispered.