Well that wasn’t completely true. There was one exam he did need to pass. It was the BARB test, the British Army Recruitment Battery. He was worried about it. Especially given his performance during his five years at the local secondary school. But, as he reminded himself, he had been quite good at answering questions at primary school. Level 4 at the SATS tests. Not top of the class exactly, but well inside the top half.
But that had been when his grandparents had been alive. Once they’d gone and he’d been left alone with his hag of a mother, the situation had gone downhill fast. Most of his time was spent trying to stay safe, clean and fed. That was the reason for his usual mood of despondency. He’d picked up a bit recently though. Ever since he’d met with Sergeant Murphy at the local Army recruitment office.
The experienced veteran had spent a lot of time with the young boy. Going through the detail of what steps were involved in the recruitment and training process. He’d captured some of Tom’s imagination. He’d explained the risks. Emphasised all that was happening with the war. But even Tom knew about that. He’d seen the casualties being reported on the TV news. But nonetheless the Sergeant had given him a bit of hope. It was something to look forward to. Maybe even a chance to make something of his life. It was a change from the relentless torrent of negativity he experienced at home.
His main concern was this BARB test. But Sergeant Murphy had been through some practice sessions with him and told him not to worry.
“Piece of piss son. I passed it.”
The older man’s face creased into a mischievous smile. Just maybe, Tom thought there was a way forward for him after all.
He put the key in the lock of what passed for his home and opened the door. The house smelled. The usual mix of alcohol, cigarettes and dirty laundry. A few more bottles of vodka had appeared on the summit of Junk Mountain. It was his pet name for the rubbish tip that was an ever-present part of the front room’s topography.
He’d given up long ago trying to maintain any sense of cleanliness. He wondered if his mother was in. Probably pissed in bed. Tom hoped she was on her own. The rucksack over his shoulder was opened, and the few exercise books he’d brought home were added to the pile of rubbish festering in the corner. They were the last mementoes of his school career, but just so much junk to the boy.
He went into the back room where his mattress was. He slept downstairs out of the way. Fed up with the drunken arguments. Not wanting to run the risk of meeting strange men on the landing. A small pile of casual clothes was lying by the side of his makeshift bed. Tom changed into his tracksuit bottoms and trainers. He needed to stay fit. A few miles pounding round the local streets would probably lift his mood a little.
Leaving the house Tom bumped straight into Chloe. Nearly knocked her down.
“Sorry!”
He was. He didn’t want any hassle. Just wanted to get on with his run. He looked at her face. It looked a little strange. What was it exactly? Worry, nerves, maybe with even a little fear mixed in.
“What’s up?”
“We need to talk.”
Tom sighed inwardly. Then he repeated it audibly. He couldn’t go through this scenario right now. What with leaving school, his concerns about his Army test and the deteriorating relationship with his mother. In any case, Tom just felt that something had changed between himself and Chloe. And he had enough issues in his life to deal with, without exploring the ins and outs of what had happened.
“What this time?”
“I’m pregnant.”
May 2008 – Leaving School
Somehow, school just didn’t seem that important any more. It wasn’t the same anyway, now that the rift had developed between her and Tom. Chloe couldn’t even get any enthusiasm for her favourite English teacher. Recently she had found that she couldn’t even work up the energy for concentrating in the lessons, even though the books were as interesting as ever. In fact lately, Chloe had been feeling permanently tired and her appetite seemed to have disappeared.
That morning had been the last day of proper school for her class. They would be going back over the next three weeks for exams, but the lessons were over. All her mates were in great spirits, signing each other’s shirts and brimming over with giggling laughter. But Chloe felt worse than ever and just couldn’t force herself to join in. She was sitting on the small wall that marked the start of the school driveway. Looking as if she had lost a pound and found sixpence.
A few yards away, her best mate had detached herself from the demobbed crowd and was looking across with a puzzled expression. Niamh strolled over and sat herself down on the wall beside her friend.
“You OK?”
“Yeah. It’s just my stomach. Must be picking something up.”
Chloe brushed her hair away from her face. Niamh thought she looked pale.
“Are you coming on?”
“Hope so.”
Niamh looked at her a friend a little more closely.
“You’re not pregnant are you?”
Shit thought Chloe. The feelings that that she had been suppressing bubbled to the surface. Maybe she was.
An hour later, Chloe and Niamh were sat at her house, either side of the neat pine kitchen table. They were staring at a small plastic object aligned perfectly between them. It was basically all white, but with two lines on it. Two blue lines.
August 2008 – Hospital Visit
The previous week, Chloe hadn’t been happy with the way the baby was moving. The kicks didn’t feel as strong or in the same place. Her doctor had been understanding and made an appointment at the local hospital with the Obs and Gynae consultant.
Chloe was seated uncomfortably on a chair, waiting for her appointment. The waiting room was full, but she was the only one on her own. She didn’t want her mates with her, even though they would gladly have come. She had made her mind up that she was going to do this on her own. Niamh had originally been a bit upset but had eventually understood. Even Tom’s mam had been more than keen to accompany her on her antenatal visits. But Chloe didn’t want reminding that her friend had abandoned her.
She could still recall the look on his face when she had caught him coming out of his mam’s house, before he had joined up. Whether the shock or incomprehension won out she wasn’t sure. But he had made it quite clear that he didn’t want to get too involved. It had made the rift between them grow, and it seemed pretty clear to Chloe that she was having this baby on her own.
Before Tom had left for training, they’d spent a few minutes together at their place in the park. He had been adamant that he had to get out of this town away from his mother. He’d passed his test to get in the army and for once he had seen some light at the end of the tunnel. He’d promised to send money back as soon as the baby was born.
But that wasn’t what Chloe wanted or needed. She had thought that if Tom and her had ever got together it would have been good. Like Rachael and Ross. But it had turned into a nightmare. They had never even talked about what happened. But at least Chloe was relieved he’d never asked who the father was. She had told him before that she’d never had sex. And now, despite being pregnant, she couldn’t even remember it. It was kinda ironic really. She would have liked to ask Tom about it. But it just wasn’t going to happen.
Anyway, in a few months he would be off training in Yorkshire, so Chloe had little choice but to go it alone. Her thoughts were disturbed by her name being called from the doorway of the consulting room. She hoisted herself out of the chair and waddled across to the door.
The medic was an Indian lady. She had a nice, welcoming smile and made Chloe feel at home as she settled down in front of her desk. Chloe explained her concerns about the baby’s movements and the doctor moved her to the couch to be examined.
“Mmm … You were right, the baby has definitely changed its position. It’s moved to breech.”
Chloe wasn’t certain what this meant. So the consultant explained.
&nb
sp; “The baby’s head isn’t presenting as normal. Wrong way round if you like. So we have three main options. You can go into labour with the baby in this position.”
The consultant frowned.
“But that does mean a bit of a chance of the baby becoming distressed. I can try and turn it around, but many women find that a bit uncomfortable I’m afraid. Or…”
Chloe wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable with the conversation.
“Or what?”
“You can deliver by c-section.”
The doctor went on to explain the alternatives in more detail.
September 2008 – Baby Arrives
Chloe had decided on a Caesarean. But she had told the consultant there was no way that she could tolerate a needle in her back to allow her to be awake during the birth. From seeing her mother during the gruesome, final stages of her illness, Chloe had developed a serious needle and hospital phobia, and it just wouldn’t work. So her doctor had eventually consented to give her a general anaesthetic.
On that Tuesday afternoon, Chloe had just woken up. She had been conscious, after the operation in the morning, but had drifted off an hour or so later. An idea was struggling to get her attention. And then it exploded into her mind. Oh My God, I’m a mother!
The baby was lying in a transparent cot at the side of the bed. Chloe still had a drip in her arm after the operation, and was severely discomforted by a huge scar slicing across her stomach. She certainly didn’t feel like moving very much. But she could still roll slightly onto her side and look into the cot. The baby was fast asleep, with her tiny eyes firmly shut. Dark curls spreading loosely across her head. Chloe thought she looked perfect. She could remember nothing of coming to after the c-section. So it seemed to her that the baby had just arrived from nowhere. She was her little miracle.
A sudden increase in the noise level heralded the start of visiting time. The doors to the Maternity Unit swung briskly open and Chloe was delighted to see her dad was first through. A little surprised though, that Tom’s mother was right behind him.
Her dad pulled up a plastic chair on the opposite side of the bed from the cot and gripped her hand tightly.
“Everything OK love?”
Chloe smiled weakly at him and nodded. A cooing noise came from the right. Tom’s mother had picked the baby up and was rocking her gently to and fro. Could have asked, Chloe thought.
“Now, we need a name for Nanna’s little princess.”
Chloe looked over at her daughter.
“She’s Eve. Beautiful baby Eve.”
The older woman gave Chloe a quick glance. Not entirely pleasant. Almost, thought the young girl as if she had wanted to name the baby herself.
“Oh….”
December 30th 2008 – Joining the Army
Tom busied himself packing. He was nearly enjoying himself. Would have been actually, if it hadn’t been for her. She was a malevolent presence haunting the darkest corner of the room, with dark eyes that were burning into him. Cloaking the very air with a brooding, grim silence. His mam.
“You’re an absolute fucking disgrace!”
Hissed as an absolute statement of fact. No room in his mother’s mind for messy compromise. Everything was black or white. Well with him, black really.
“How can you just leave her? She’s your baby.”
He wished he could switch her off. Forever. He breathed in deeply, trying to force himself into a state of calm. In actual fact, he did feel a bit guilty about leaving Chloe with their little girl. And he was definitely ashamed that he hadn’t been any help during the pregnancy and birth. But he felt too young, only a kid himself. What good would he be to a baby? He would be no use, unless he could get something going with the army. Maybe there might be some way to build some bridges with Chloe in the future. Tom shook his head. There was no point in daydreaming.
“Look, for the last time. I’m leaving to get somewhere. To be somebody. You just want me here. On the benefits like every other loser. Well it’s not for me!”
“But your daughter.”
She was like a dog with a bone. For some reason, his mam seemed fixated on the new baby. She had even eased back on the drink. If he and Chloe had been talking, Tom even thought she might have tidied up a bit. But the way things were between them, his mam had to see the baby at Chloe’s house. It was a bloody good job he thought, that she had already signed the papers allowing him to join up. There would be no chance of getting her to do it now.
“For Christ’s sake. What sort of life would that be for her. At least I can send money back. Visit her on leave.”
“Chloe won’t let you see her. What if she doesn’t let me go on seeing her?”
“Why should you care? You couldn’t bring me up. You shouldn’t be allowed to screw up some other kid!”
She snorted, stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to make the doorframe shudder. Tom shrugged his shoulders and carried on with his packing. Five hours later he would be gone. He figured he was best out of it.
March 2009 – Training Camp
Tom was walking back to his room to get a spot of ironing done, before the afternoon drill. Well he was sort of marching really. He’d started to get into the habit of it. Bit of practice never went amiss.
The latrine block was at the end of the building. As he passed, he heard raised voices and shouting. During his forced years of attendance at secondary school, he’d walked by these incidents a thousand times. But at the camp, he’d gained a bit more confidence. And he felt a bit more involved in what was going on. So, executing a smart right turn, Tom ducked into the entrance and went in search of the commotion.
Three lads were stood in a line, outside a cubicle door. Two were leaning either side of the opening, and one blocking the exit. Over their heads, Tom could see a chubby face, framed by close-cropped red hair. The boy in the middle of the three was talking. Well snarling really, in a broad scouse accent.
“Yer fat ginger twat, what are you doing in our fucking army?”
The bigger trainee was pressed back into the rear wall, legs astride the toilet. He looked anxious, but not exactly scared.
“Well we don’t want you here, see. And we’re going to make your fucking life a fucking misery until you fuck off. Understand?”
Suddenly the boy on the left caught sight of Tom, and tapped the snarler on the shoulder. He wheeled round sharply.
“What the fuck do you want? Piss off! You’re not needed here.”
At any point in his life until now, Tom would have done as he was asked. And he would have pissed off. But something stirred within him. So instead, he took a step forwards. The three bullies changed their focus and surrounded him.
“Well I guess you’re life’s gonna become a fucking misery too.”
Tom just shrugged. There was a bit of a stand off, but he could sense there was an attack coming. He stood arms at his side, outwardly calm. The ginger lad had emerged from the stall and came to stand by him. Now he could see him properly, Tom realised he was a big guy. Maybe six three. There was a tense silence. Then a single snapped word, spat with as much venom as could be mustered.
“Right….”
Tom took a deep breath. It looked like action was going to be needed here, as well as words. Still he thought, it was two against three. The odds weren’t that bad, if the other kid could handle himself. He needn’t have worried.
As the scouser moved forward with an aggressive thrust, the other boy reacted with speed that belied his size. Stepping to meet his assailant, he plonked one of his size thirteen feet on the trainer moving towards him. Then, in a blur of red hair, he brought his forehead down and crunched it into his attacker’s nose.
The scouser crumpled to the floor. Moaning in low grunts, with his right hand clasped to his broken face. The other two Liverpudlians exchanged quick glances, turned, and made a swift exit. The big youth stepped over the prone body and smiled at Tom.
; “Thanks for your help.”
Tom laughed.
“What help? Don’t think you needed any!”
The other boy grinned back at him.
“Maybe not. But it was a nice offer. I’m Ian, from Blackpool, people call me Biscuit.”
“Tom, from Barrow”
The two boys left the bathroom as friends.
June 1209 A.D. – Outremer – Guillame de Chartres
The thirteen men had spoken and chosen the next leader of the order. The newly elected Grand Master approached the small wooden box with a little trepidation. He knew the great Templar seal was contained within. What else was contained therein was a mystery to him. He unlocked the complex triple mechanism and lifted the lid. The seal was on top of a small pile of papers. Two knights on horse back on one side and the temple of the rock on the reverse. Guillame de Chartres picked it up carefully and laid it reverentially on the table beside the box. Then he turned his attention to the other contents.
The first item, although leather bound, looked extremely old and very fragile. Opening the book, he could see it was written in Greek. Not Guillame’s best language and again he laid it carefully on the table, on top of the great seal.
The next document was written in French. That was better. He started to read. It was a letter to all newly elected Grand Masters from their esteemed founder, Hugh de Payns. His brow furrowed as he read Hugh’s message from the past. As he read the Great Prophecy, he determined that during his leadership, the Templars would be ever ready to be able to play their part.
De Chartres thought back, through the history of the Order over the last century. From the most humble of beginnings the growth had been nothing but phenomenal. The Templars’ belief system emphasised at the time of initiation remained strong and secret. The Great Prophecy was so well concealed that even he, had no inkling that it had existed until he had read Hugh’s letter.
The Furness Secret Page 9