He gave a wan smile. “You couldn’t have known. I went a bit mad. I’m sorry I caused you to miss your flight home.” He paused as if looking inwards. “I don’t know why I made such a fuss.” Dot gave him a puzzled look.
Alan recovered physically over the next few days, walking as much as he could within the confines of the fort. When he felt he was strong enough, he joined in the daily game of football that had been started in the yard, as a way of getting some exercise. He noticed with amusement that the guards stopped at the gates to watch and shout encouragement. He started socialising again, but Dot worried, for the spark seemed to have gone from him. He was occasionally quiet, then a sad look would come into his eyes as if he was lost.
The group listened to the British and American broadcasts on their radios and discussed the latest news avidly, arguing about whether there would really be a war or if Saddam Hussein would retreat from Kuwait. They heard the general in charge of the combined forces, General Norman Schwarzkopf, being reported as saying that the gulf war could be as bloody as Vietnam. There were descriptions of allied troops exercising in the desert and a seemingly inexorable build-up of tanks, artillery, ships and planes.
While playing football in the yard, Alan was near the gate when he recognised the soldier who’d clubbed him. They eyed each other, then the soldier looked away, shamefaced. Alan felt sympathy for the soldier who could easily have carried out his orders and shot him, instead of firing a warning shot over his head. He smiled, and received a tentative smile in return. On impulse, Alan stepped just outside the gate and held out his hand which the soldier clasped. Somehow, they were in each other’s arms and the soldier was pounding him on the back and calling him brother. Alan learned his name was Alwan and he came from a village south of Baghdad. They parted smiling, and Alan had many conversations with him and was shown photographs of his wife and children.
Towards the end of September Kirsty finished working in the shop and decided that she needed a holiday as she would be starting university soon. Katie had invited her to Skye, so she decided to accept. She asked Claire if she’d like to come, but she had declined, Kirsty suspected because she didn’t want to be away from Frank. There might be an announcement soon, she reflected as she’d seen the way they looked at each other, the way their eyes softened, and their voices changed when they were together.
Claire’s shocking experience had changed her and left her vulnerable. Frank’s protective instincts were aroused, and he loved the new Claire. Sensing this and delighting in his growing gentleness towards her, she had begun to reciprocate his feelings and to respond.
Kirsty travelled via Inverness to Kyle of Lochalsh where she caught the ferry for the hundred yards or so of water to find Euan together with Katie and Ciara waiting on the other side. Their house, a two-storey villa was another hour’s drive away. She enjoyed the holiday and helped Katie with Caira, who took to Kirsty and was always trying to climb onto her lap with a big cheeky smile, that Kirsty couldn’t resist.
She had a wonderful peaceful holiday, talking for hours to Katie about Alan, babies and the preparations for birth. She thought of Alan often, mentally touching the place inside herself, feeling his faint presence and wondering if he was thinking of her. She watched the television and saw the mighty force assembling and exercising in Saudi Arabia, and the armada of ships collecting in the gulf. She felt the inevitability of the approaching conflict and couldn’t conceive of such a force just packing up and going home, even if Saddam agreed.
When she returned, she found Claire bursting with her news. Frank had proposed, and she had accepted. Kirsty started university and found that she enjoyed mixing with students her own age again. To her annoyance, she was pestered by some of the males despite her engagement ring, and the gradually circulating story of her fiancé being trapped in Iraq. She was in Marc’s class for Zoology three times a week and he took to chatting to her, and she noticed him looking at her occasionally.
She read in the paper that Ted Heath was in Iraq and was to meet Saddam Hussein. Filled with hope, she spent that Sunday glued to the television and was eventually rewarded when a picture of Ted Heath shaking Saddam’s hand was shown, and it was announced that several hostages would be released. A few days later. Kirsty’s excitement turned to frustration when she learned that only thirty-eight sick and elderly hostages were being released. With the faint hope that Alan would be among the sick hostages, she watched the television pictures, as they were helped from the plane, but again she was disappointed.
She attended a staff, student social evening and found herself wishing she hadn’t been quite so friendly to Marc. He’d evidently been drinking and always seemed to be at her side. She talked to Professor Grant and his wife for as long as she could, just to keep out of his way. Later, wilting from the stuffiness, she strolled out into the garden. To her dismay Marc joined her.
“Feeling lonely?” he asked.
Kirsty tried to keep her voice steady. “It was a bit too hot in there, but I’ll get back now.” She tried to get past him. but he put his arm out to stop her.
“What’s the hurry Kirsty?” he asked.
“Let me past please,” she pleaded and tried to get around him, but he curled his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
He bent his head down and tried to kiss her. Kirsty turned her face away and tried to push him off. She tried to get around him again, but he curled his arm around her and pulled her close.
“I know you want me,” he murmured throatily.
“Don’t be silly Marc!” Kirsty struggled. Her voice shrill, with panic. “Alan will kill you for this.”
“I’ll worry about that wimp when he gets back,” Marc slurred. “I’ll show you how a real man treats a woman.”
He pulled her close again and held the hair at the back of her head. As he bent his head again Kirsty felt hypnotised by his sheer overwhelming masculinity. She felt like a rabbit facing a snake. She couldn’t move. She felt his lips on hers and his hand sliding down to her hips. The thought slithered up from somewhere.
‘What would it be like with another man?’
Kirsty’s fury flared out. She pushed herself far enough away, so she could bring her knee up with all her force between Marc’s legs. He bent over with a strangled moan.
“You, filthy animal!” she hissed.
“You bitch!” Still bent over, he tried to grab her.
She pushed him away, and with her other hand, raked his face with her nails, trying to get at his eyes, but Marc covered his eyes with his hand to protect himself.
“I’ll enjoy taming you!” he snarled.
Kirsty knew that she should run back to the hall, but anger overruled her caution. She saw Marc straighten up with a look of pain in his face. She sensed his rage, but she sneered at him.
“You know the fatherly way Professor Grant looks on me. What’s he going to say when I tell him about this?”
“Fuck Professor Grant. There are plenty of other jobs. It will be worth losing a lousy job to sort you out, you stuck up bitch.” He raised his hand.
Kirsty held her cheek up. “Go on you bastard, hit me. Make a nice mark for the police to see. You’ll be going to jail for trying to rape me anyway.” Mark stopped.
She saw the sudden wariness in his eyes.
“I didn’t do anything,” he blustered.
Kirsty smiled, loving the feeling of power. She piled it on.
“Who is a jury going to believe? An older man trying to rape a young pregnant girl, whose fiancé is held hostage in Iraq? When I turn on the tears you’ll be lucky to get less than ten years.”
“I didn’t know that you were pregnant.” Marc tried to sound confident. “It will be my word against yours. You’ve no proof, no witnesses, and you led me on.” He moved towards her again.
He stopped, puzzled by her smile. Kirsty lifted her dress right up to her waist and watched the change in his face, the way his eyes narrowed as his eyes travelled up her legs to
her pants. She could almost feel the heat in his gaze. She laughed and there was something in the laughter that made him afraid. she saw the alarm in his eyes.
“NO PROOF? I’m going to rip my pants and start screaming blue murder. There won’t be much left for the police after the men in the hall are finished with you.” She opened her mouth wide.
There was naked fear in his eyes now. He waved his arms helplessly.
“I’m sorry Kirsty, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Kirsty felt a flare of satisfaction, that was almost sexual, she had him grovelling. She didn’t know how to end the farce.
“Well I am going to go home and discuss this with my sister,” she promised. She left him looking suddenly old and somehow shrunken.
She collected her hat and coat and left to catch her bus.
“You loved that didn’t you!” she muttered to herself, recalling the feeling of power. “Well why not” she grimaced. “I really scared him shitless. It served him right.”
Her bus arrived, and she boarded, still buoyed up with adrenalin. She tried to justify her actions to herself.
‘It makes a change from being such a goody, goody all the time. I like being a bitch, well now and again. And not with Alan,’ she thought. She felt his faint presence inside her and smiled.
She jumped off at her stop. It was only when she was walking up the road to her house, that a reaction set in and she saw her conduct in a different light.
‘You didn’t need to do that to him,’ she told herself silently. ‘He had too much to drink, and he was only trying to kiss you.’ She didn’t say anything to Claire.
At her biology class later in the week, Marc wouldn’t look at her and she felt sorry when she saw the scratches on his face. When she was leaving, he called, “Kirsty”, and when she stopped, he apologised.
“I’d downed too many beers, I don’t know what came over me.”
Kirsty felt a pang of remorse. “Well maybe I overreacted. Let’s just call it quits and keep any relationship on a professional basis from now on.”
She saw a look of relief on his face to be quickly replaced by what she thought was admiration.
He shook his head. “Alan’s got himself some woman,” he murmured.
She smiled and continued smiling to herself as she left.
She settled into the university routine. To her relief, the male interest in her dwindled away as the swelling in her midriff became more noticeable, which she thought with an amused smile, was probably the way that nature intended it to be.
Alan’s birthday arrived. At dinner that evening he was presented with several home-made cards. Dot looked thoughtful and later she came to his room.
“May I see Kirsty’s letter?” she asked, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.
Alan gave her a surprised look then rummaged around in his kit bag, found the letter and handed it to her. She read it carefully then gave it back,
“Would you read it again Alan?” she requested. He obeyed without much interest. “Do you notice anything strange?” she asked. He shook his head. “Kirsty is now eighteen and you were twenty-three today?” He nodded. “Then why does she stress that she’s fallen for someone younger than you?” He saw what she meant. He remembered it was Claire who’d objected that he was too old for Kirsty. He made the connection.
“It was Claire who wrote the letter,” he gasped. Dot had expected him to be overjoyed but he seemed merely pleased, and thanked her for pointing it out. She looked at him, puzzled. She’d noticed already that his emotions about Kirsty seemed to be suppressed. He would talk freely about her but with the air of someone relating events without being part of them. She had felt sure that the discovery that Kirsty hadn’t written the letter would have cured him. She shook her head.
Towards the end of October, the hope that had flared in the British group with the meeting between Ted Heath and Saddam Hussein died, as radio reports informed them that only a handful of sick and elderly people were to be allowed to leave. Excitement mounted again however when they learned a few days later that all French nationals were being released. A flurry of letter writing took place. Alan wrote long letters to his parents, Katie and a letter to Kirsty, saying that he believed the last letter had come from Claire. He told her what had happened to him and described what they were doing in the fort. There was no expression of feeling in the letter. It was as if he was merely writing to an acquaintance. Alan felt the wrongness but didn’t know what to do about it.
To heartfelt goodbyes from the group, Paul and Irene Moreau left for Baghdad promising to post all the letters as soon as they arrived in Paris. The rest of the party were subdued, as they’d become close during their captivity and the Moreaus was very popular. But in one way their departure raised the remaining members’ spirits, feeling that the repatriation had now begun, and their own turn would surely come soon.
Kirsty came home from university to find a letter from France, and got a shock when she opened it and found it was from Alan. She sank onto the settee and read slowly. Happy that Alan had realised that she hadn’t written the fateful letter, but she felt bereft at the lack of feeling. She sat thinking for a long time after reading the letter again, vowing that when he came home she would rekindle the absent emotion. Not long afterwards, Isobel phoned to say she’d had a letter from Alan as well. They built up each other’s hopes that Alan would soon be home.
About two weeks after the Moreaus left, Dot was told she would be leaving the next day on a plane with Willy Brandt, former chancellor of West Germany. She was reluctant to go, but Alan and Andrew persuaded her, assuring her that their own turn would come soon. So again, there was a flurry of letter writing. The next morning Dot and Alan embraced and said their goodbyes.
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” Dot insisted.
“I won’t,” Alan promised. “Thanks for taking care of me Dot.”
They promised to meet in Britain when Alan got home. As she was driven off in an army Land Rover waving goodbye to the group she prayed that Alan would soon return home safely.
On Sunday the fourth of November it was announced that Saddam Hussein had invited the families of the foreign “guests” to come and spend Christmas with their loved ones. Kirsty immediately began planning for the journey, but on the Monday, when she realised she didn’t know how to go about it and tried to contact anyone who might be able to help, it became obvious the statement was a cruel ploy as Iraq was subject to a complete blockade and there was no way she could enter the country.
Less than a week later, Kirsty’s hopes were again raised when she read that former German chancellor Willy Brandt had met Saddam and was leaving Iraq with a planeload of hostages, some of them British. But her expectations were dashed again, two, days later however, she got a letter from Alan postmarked London. Her excitement soared sky high as she opened it, but to her disappointment she found it had been posted by Dot, who Alan mentioned in the letter was being released. It was a chatty letter but again it was as if he was writing to an acquaintance rather than a lover. He didn’t even say that he hoped to come home. The next day when she arrived home from university, she was hailed by a dark haired tanned woman getting out of a car.
“You’re Kirsty?” the woman asked her face grim.
“Yes,” Kirsty answered uncertainly.
“I’m Dorothy Williams, I was with Alan in Iraq”
“Oh!” Kirsty overcame her shock. She almost fluttered around Dot. “Come in, come in. Alan talked about you a lot in his letters. Have a seat,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried through to the kitchen. “I’ll just put the kettle on.”
Dot was glad of the respite to recover from the shock of finding Kirsty pregnant. “The poor girl,” she thought. She was glad she hadn’t torn into Kirsty right away. She remembered the softening of Kirsty’s face when she’d mentioned Alan’s
name.
‘I’ll have to be careful,’ she thought.
Kirsty
returned, sat next to Dot and to answer her questions Dot told her of her journey to Germany, then Britain. Kirsty thanked her for coming to see her and asked about Alan.
Dot suppressed a sigh at the longing in Kirsty’s voice.
“He’s recovered physically.” She took in Kirsty’s sad look. “But emotionally …” She went on, “Before, when he talked about you, his face and voice changed, and his eyes would almost glow. I’ve never seen a man more in love, but afterwards he would talk about you as if you were part of a dream.”
Kirsty excused herself, muttering. “I’ll make you a coffee.” She returned a short while later with sandwiches and two mugs of coffee on a tray. Dot could see she’d been crying and tried to comfort her.
“He realised eventually that you hadn’t written the letter.”
“How?” asked Kirsty. Dot trod carefully.
“When he came out of hospital, he noticed that the letter had said that you had fallen for someone younger than him. He thought this strange, then he remembered that it was Claire who thought that he was too old for you.” Dot lied a little. “I noticed a big improvement by the time I left. I think in a few weeks he will have recovered completely.” Kirsty looked grateful.
“It was Claire who wrote the letter wasn’t it?” Dot Queried. Kirsty nodded and told Dot of the misunderstanding that had led to the letter and the subsequent events.
Dot spent the next hour answering Kirsty’s questions, censoring events she thought might cause Kirsty pain.
“Before I left he promised not to do anything stupid. I’m sure when he comes back to you, everything will be fine.”
She decided that she’d better leave before Claire got back. She gave Kirsty her phone number, asking to be told if she had any news. Kirsty wrapped her arms around her thanking her for her help. Dot hugged her back. At the front door Dot had a last long look at Kirsty before she left and again asked her to let her know when Alan returned. Kirsty, her eyes misty, promised to keep in touch. Dot jumped into her car and drove off with a final wave.
Love Patterns Page 35