Unexploded Love

by Paul Gait

  ‘Of course,’ she added, pink spots of embarrassment appearing on her cheeks, realising she had made a wrong assumption.

  ‘Knife and fork?’ he asked, smiling broadly, enjoying seeing her embarrassment.

  She reached under the counter and presented him with the cutlery neatly wrapped in a white paper serviette.

  ‘I hesitate to ask if you want anything else?’ she said, ‘knowing where your mind is.’

  ‘My heart and mind are yours, you know that,’ he said falsely, ‘but could I have some salt in the meantime, please?’

  ‘Is the job going to be long?’ she asked putting the salt pot from under the counter in front of him, keen to change the subject.

  ‘Yeah, a couple months I reckon,’ he muttered his mouth full of BLT and spraying a few breadcrumbs as he spoke. ‘Oh excuse me, ‘he added, ‘I’m spitting my food at you.’

  ‘Well, he has some manners after all,’ she thought. ‘You’ll get indigestion if you gobble your food like that.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ he mocked. ‘Bloody hell, is that the time? Talking to you time stood still. I got to get back to the job otherwise my partner will be whinging.’

  He took a handful of chips and stuffed them into his mouth.

  ‘Why so long if you’re not actually building anything?’

  He swallowed the chips quickly. ‘The place was apparently bombed during the Second World War and we’re checking the bomb survey to make sure it’s all safe.’

  ‘Oh, so does that mean I will have to put up with your cheek for all that time.’

  ‘If you’re lucky and play your cards right,’ he said, draining his pint glass.

  He got up off the stool and made his way purposefully to the door.

  ‘See you tomorrow…Elizabeth,’ he added, beaming.

  ‘So long as your boots are clean,’ she shouted as he closed the door. Disappointed that a bright part of her day had just left. She cleared up his empty plate, bowl and pint glass. The place suddenly felt depressing.

  CHAPTER 3

  Afghanistan

  ‘Make us a brew Smithy,’ William asked his number two as they returned from a shout. ‘I’m parched.’

  The officer gently put the large clear polythene evidence bag on the table and gazed at the components of the Improvised Explosive Device (IED) he’d just defused.

  ‘You know, I think we’ve got a new bomb maker on our patch. I’ve not seen one like this before,’ he shouted to his assistant.

  ‘I swear it’s getting hotter out there you know,’ he added, as he removed his helmet and body armour. He unpeeled his sweat soaked tee shirt and wiped his back and chest down with the soft material.

  ‘Boss, there’s a message for you,’ Smithy said, handing his officer a folded piece of paper.

  William took the paper and looked at it briefly. ‘Oh good, Pete’s coming over for a chat. That’ll be just right to discuss todays little find,’ he said, looking at the contents of the bag. ‘We need to catch this one before he gets too confident.

  Pete was William’s mentor, also an Ammunition Technical Officer (ATO). He had years of IED experience and had taken William under his wing as soon as he arrived in Afghanistan. They’d spent many valuable hours together to bring William up to speed on the tactics and anti-tamper methods that the bomb makers used.

  ‘We’ll do the forensic report later, Smithy. Go and take five.

  ‘OK boss. Let me know when you want to reconvene.’

  The sergeant left the tent and headed back to his own.

  ‘He’s a good man,’ thought William. ‘He should make a good ATO.’

  William’s tent served as a home, office and his bedroom. He had a few personal items around but kept Liz’s picture in a drawer which he only looked at occasionally. ‘No good pining for what you can’t have,’ Pete had advised. ‘She’s already in your head and presumably in your heart so don’t compromise your life by thinking about her on ops.’

  William had taken his words to heart and removed all reminders of home from sight.

  Today, however, he took out the photo and gazed at the smiling face. He lay on his cot still holding the framed picture and was immediately transported back to the day he had taken it.

  They were on honeymoon in the warm West Indies island of St Kitts. It was nirvana with the clear blue sky, white sand and the azure blue sea. They had been drinking rum cocktails starting just after breakfast. They were not drunk, just blissfully happy. The world outside had stopped. They were in paradise. Her beautiful smile lit up her face and undermined his normal stoic emotions. His heart fluttered. He was in love. He was so lucky. She was his partner, his wife, his life.

  Suddenly there was a voice.

  ‘Had a busy morning, William?’ the gentle voice asked.

  William stirred. He had dozed off, still holding the photograph. Quickly realising what he was holding, he slid it back into the drawer and swung his feet off his cot.

  ‘Hello Pete,’ he said standing, and vigorously shaking the others hand. ‘Not particularly, no. Sit down. I’ll get you a brew. Mine’s probably cold now.’

  The other did as he was bid and sat next to the ‘office’ table.

  ‘It’s nice to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?’ William asked busying himself making his visitor a cup of tea.

  ‘Thought we ought to have a catch up with things and I’ve got some news.’ Pete said in his soft West Country accent. His gentle sing-song voice pervaded peace and calm which made him appear to be ‘laid back’ and able to handle any amount of stress when others around him were panicking. His team had even pinned up a banner in his ‘office’. ‘When others around you are losing their heads, you obviously don’t know what the f… is going on.’

  He’d laughed when he saw it, modestly acknowledging that he had stopped a few people from losing it, in times of stress, usually under fire.

  ‘I see you’ve bagged another toy,’ Pete said, picking up the evidence bag and turning it around to examine its contents through the plastic. ‘Usual components I see. Ah now that’s interesting,’ he said bringing the bag closer to his face

  ‘What’s that? I haven’t started the forensic report yet,’ William informed him, putting the two large mugs of tea on the table.

  ‘See the way he terminates the wire before he solders it?’ Pete said, lifting the bag to William’s face.

  ‘Yes. It’s wound around the tag twice and then overlapped before being cut off,’ he added looking at the other. ‘Neat job!’

  ‘I’ve seen this on a few that I’ve done recently. It looks like we’ve got a new ‘factory’ churning these out.’

  ‘Got any fingerprint or DNA results back yet?’

  ‘No nothing yet. Although usually it’s not the maker’s anyway. He’s too clever to be caught like that. Uses rubber gloves I expect. No. Any prints we get are usually from the ‘cannon fodder’ that has the job of laying them.’

  Pete put the bag gently back on the table.

  ‘Well, pretty soon we won’t be caring anyway,’ he said, picking up his mug of tea.

  ‘Why’s that?’ William asked, puzzled.

  ‘We’ve got the dates for our final withdraw.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. End of the month.’

  ‘Really! As soon as that. I know that they’ve been shipping the stuff off for months now, but I thought we’d be here until all our guys were out.’

  ‘No, the Ruperts have decided.’

  ‘Or is it politically motivated?’

  ‘Well, yes you’re right. It’s the politicians that pull the strings after all.’

  ‘So we might never know who matey, the new bomber is then?’

  ‘No. But then again the Afghans have to take on our role. Most of them are pretty good. Unfortunately, those that aren’t, are not ATOs for very long. Sadly the mortality rate is pretty high,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes, and, they’ve lost some good people too.’

  ‘Well
I’ll miss this,’ Pete mused reflectively. ‘I shall have to go back to playing chess instead.’

  ‘Chess is a damn sight less dangerous though. I’ll go back to my Regiment and back to civilian clearance I expect.’ William added.

  He thought about the contrasts between Afghanistan and the UK. Here it was new, cutting age technology with components mostly in prime condition in the baking heat. Whereas, at home, it would be muddy holes with rusty corroding ordnance with an unpredictable handling outcome. Both still required nerves of steel and a high degree of respect for their designers.

  He would miss his injection of daily ‘excitement’. Still, some of the World War Two bombs could be challenging, although there was a greater tendency to explode them in situ if possible.

  ‘What were you dreaming about when I arrived? You were smiling inanely, wherever you were,’ Pete asked.

  ‘Well I never dream normally. But I was back on honeymoon in the West Indies.’ William replied.

  ‘Obviously time for you to get back home and see the wife then.’

  William smiled. He was already thinking of their reunion.

  CHAPTER 4

  Liz had finished her lunch time shift early as there were few customers. As she was in no great hurry, she drove the back roads from the Flying Machine to her home in Cheltenham skirting the bottom of Churchdown Hill, enjoying driving through the blossoming spring countryside. She was glad of the air conditioning as her dashboard display indicated an unseasonably hot 24 degrees outside.

  The traffic was light until she entered Cheltenham. However within twenty minutes of leaving the pub she arrived in Lansdown Crescent where she lived. After parking her car in her designated spot she descended the worn stone steps to her basement flat and unlocked the door. As she stepped in she was greeted by the relative coolness that the basement flat provided. She threw her car keys on to the small shelf by the door and picked up the mail from the floor. As she straightened up she caught sight of herself in the long mirror on the far wall and gazed at the reflection that stared back at her.

  She swivelled around and admired her left side profile, checking the lines of her 34 inch bust flowing down to her flat stomach, her long legs and the contour of her pert bottom. She then pirouetted the other way and re-checked her right side profile. She liked what she saw.

  ‘Mmm, well perhaps I am trim for a thirty five year old,’ she said, piling her long hair up and pouting at the mirror. The encounter with Frank had really buoyed her flagging self-esteem.

  She examined the mail. There was no envelope bearing William’s neat handwriting. No anniversary card then. She opened the door to see if she had overlooked the bouquet that he normally sent. Nothing.

  Disappointed, she stepped back in to the flat and spotted the flashing message light on the answer machine. Perhaps William had called to wish her happy anniversary instead. She pressed the play button in great anticipation but was saddened not to hear his voice. It was instead her friend Mel asking if she fancied going to a dance. She decided she would call her back later.

  Understandably, William had asked her not to call him ‘at work’ unless it was a dire emergency. Instead, he said he would initiate the call when he wanted to chat to her. But the occasions were few and far between.

  She tried to down play her disappointment. ‘It wasn’t an important anniversary anyway,’ she thought. ‘I’m sure he’s doing something important.’

  Rather than dwell on the missing call, card and bouquet, she decided to go for a run in spite of the mini ‘heatwave’, unusual for May. Quickly she slipped out of her ‘day clothes’ and donned her running kit.

  As she exited the flat she again checked herself in the mirror. She looked good dressed in her fashionable short sleeve black running top with matching black three quarter length tights, both trimmed with pink side flashes. She felt confident about herself and looked every bit a plausible athlete.

  She recalled Frank’s comments about her long legs. The black tights certainly made her legs look even longer. He had been right about her being a dancer, for choreography had been an integral part of her university drama course.

  She put her hair in a ponytail and tamed it further with a stylish broad pink headband edged with black, matching her top and tights.

  Finally she grabbed her strange looking elliptical drinks bottle which always reminded her of a large plastic knuckleduster and filled it with cold water from the tap.

  She had started running at University, initially because she fancied William and it was a way of getting to know the quiet individual. However during her post degree days she maintained her interest in William and running. Subsequently they got married and she had become a running junkie taking to the streets at least three times a week. It also kept her weight down and her overall fitness up.

  Her normal run from home was just less than 7 kilometres around the pavements of Cheltenham, which usually took about 45 minutes. It was an almost flat street run which she enjoyed, although waiting to cross the roads disrupted her routine and sometimes added up to fifteen minutes to her time.

  However, she felt relaxed and safe in these genteel tree lined roads and harboured no fears of running around the beautiful Regency town.

  Liz checked she had locked the front door and put the key in a small Velcro pocket of her running top. Pulling herself up the short metal railings that guarded the drop into the basement, she climbed up the stone steps.

  She crossed the road into the park area opposite and using the small wooden bench and picnic table, did her routine of warm up stretching exercises.

  Finally, she started her run through the park where thousands of daisies formed a random pattern in the carpet of manicured grass.

  Her run took her along the semi-circular tree lined road in front of the massive convex shaped four storey structure of the Lansdown Crescent.

  The frontage of every honeycomb terraced house was identical with wide stone steps leading to the ground floor flats. At the top of the steps, supported on four massive Cotswold stone pillars were decorative stone porches.

  An intricate necklace of wrought iron railings ran along the face of the building providing safety barriers for first floor balconies.

  Geometrically aligned sash windows adorned the front of the terrace, each with twelve square panes providing light into the small flats. Sub dividing most windows, a cascade of neatly tied net curtains provided a tantalising glimpse into their inner sanctum.

  Like Liz’s, each property also had small self-contained basement flat accessed down a short flight of stone steps. Metal railings guarded the six foot drop into the basement.

  A five foot manicured privet hedge bordered the periphery of the whole convex sweep of the colossal building.

  Liz emerged from the quiet crescent to cross the busy main road by the ornamental lamp standard with its triple drop globe lamps and made her way into Montpellier Terrace. She could see marquees for an outdoor exhibition laid out between the lovingly tended flower borders of the large park area in Montpellier Gardens and could hear the excited squeals of children in the play area.

  She had never thought of becoming a mother, for with William’s occupation as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal officer it was a topic they didn’t even discuss.

  The much disliked 161 feet of the 1960’s high rise lozenge shaped multi-storey Eagle Star building came into view. It had been a contentious building throughout its history; certainly a blot on the landscape and totally out of place in the low rise area of Cheltenham.

  Jogging on the spot, waiting to cross the busy A46 Bath Road, she saw the brown tourist sign for the Everyman theatre. Like the Cheltenham playhouse she frequented both theatres, often building scenery, helping back stage and occasionally ‘treading the boards.’ Although she had a drama degree she enjoyed dancing more than acting and rarely went for auditions.

  Finally the lights changed and she ran across into Sandford Road with the Cathedral looking Cheltenham College chapel
set back on the corner. She always felt good when she saw the ancient buildings, a source of permanence in an uncertain world, proudly claiming to have been educating young people since 1841.

  Further along Sandford road she heard the sounds of a busy grass cutting machine and behind it the quaintly English sight of men in whites playing college cricket. The sound of leather on willow echoed across the field above the industrious grass cutter.

  Her run took her past the side of the strange mix of rectangular and colonnaded buildings which housed the west wing of Cheltenham General hospital. This always reminded her of the dangerous occupation in which William was involved. They had spoken many times about his choice of work. The risks of him being killed or severely injured were always foremost in her thoughts. She doubted she would have the courage to cope with the demands of a severely injured husband.

  Their discussions always came back to the same point. He enjoyed the buzz and excitement of beating the enemy’s effort to kill and maim.

  ‘It’s like a deadly game of chess and I have to win, otherwise…’ he never said the words but they both knew what he meant. ‘You worrying won’t help me. You’ve just got to put my welfare to the back of your mind.’ He’d always said to placate her.

  She shook her head to erase the black thoughts.

  Initially, she’d lived in fear of the dreaded ‘knock on the door’ by uniformed personnel, harbingers of bad news. It had taken time not to get tense when someone called at the door. Eventually she’d come to terms with it. However, sadly, their loving relationship lost the closeness of their early romance as a result.

  She really enjoyed being outdoors in May. Everything was bursting into life.

  Although the fresh leaf cover made the overhanging branches heavy forcing her duck under them as she ran, the new foliage waving a greeting as it swayed gently in the warm light breeze. Even the tall hedges lining the pavements wore their new spring ‘clothes’.

  Liz felt good as she approached the sign that said Cox’s Meadow, Oxford A40. She took a swig out of her drinks bottle resisting the temptation to drop into the Meadow café for a cooling ice cream. Here too was another reminder of why she loved living in Cheltenham for in front of her was another wide swathe of manicured parkland behind which the beautiful outline of the Cotswold escarpment glowed in the afternoon sunshine.