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‘We left you a plateful – it’s on the side,’ her mother said mildly, without a hint of reproach. How could they be so forgiving? It almost made her angry all over again.
‘Not hungry,’ she muttered. ‘Going to bed.’
‘Sleep well, sweetheart,’ they chorused, to her departing back.
In the morning nothing was mentioned until she was alone in the car with her mother on the way to the train station.
‘Forgive me, darling, but do you think you might need some help?’ her mother said, pulling out onto the main road.
‘What do you mean, help?’
‘Adjusting to life back home. I know it’s hard.’
‘Leave it, Mum. I’m fine.’
‘Except you’re barely sleeping, drinking way more than you ever used to and losing your temper at the drop of a hat. We’re worried about you, love.’
They arrived at the station just in time and she kissed her mother on the cheek. ‘See you soon,’ she said, ‘and don’t you go worrying about me. I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself.’
The following Sunday evening was the Pinot incident.
As she drank her way purposefully through the bottle, Nate said barely a word and she was too angry to engage him in conversation. Next thing she knew, she was shocked awake by her phone. She peeled open her eyes and squinted at the numbers: 06.00. He must have set the alarm for her, knowing that she had to catch the train in time to get back for a nine o’clock clinic.
She slumped back onto the pillow with her head swimming and throbbing, realising that a) she was still fully clothed and b) she was still drunk. For a few minutes she contemplated calling in sick, but ingrained Army discipline got the better of her. She forced herself out of bed and took a cold shower to shock herself into consciousness. Nate was curled up asleep on the sofa and she crept out of the flat without waking him.
By the time she got back to the barracks she was feeling truly awful. ‘Nothing for it,’ she said to herself, opening the drawer where she stashed the whisky bottle. ‘Hair of the dog.’
The clinic was full of the usual Monday morning complaints: sprained ankles and bruised knees from football games, black eyes and cut lips from knuckle fights. For once, she was grateful to have nothing too testing to deal with, feeling proud of herself for holding it together and making some reasonable diagnoses. Her boss didn’t seem to notice a thing, even though she’d felt so nauseous that at times she’d had to rush to the toilet.
It was almost certainly the lad with the ear infection who gave her away, the little bastard. He must have smelled it when she’d leaned close to look down the otoscope. Not long after, the medic in charge had popped his head around the door.
‘A word, Lance Corporal. My office. Now.’ She stood to attention as he bent to bring his face within inches of her own and sniffed loudly, several times. She breathed as lightly as she could without passing out.
‘You stink of booze. Are you drunk, Corporal Merton?’
‘I don’t believe so, sir. Not at eleven o’clock in the morning. Sir.’
‘You certainly smell of alcohol, and I can’t have you on duty if there’s any chance of it. You are dismissed for the day. Report to me here, eighteen hundred hours.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She spent the day sleeping it off, and arrived at her boss’s office fully sober but with her head pulsing with pain that even heavy doses of Co-codamol hadn’t managed to shift.
‘I can’t have my medics drunk on duty, you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ve had it reported to me that you are overdoing the booze in general, is that a fair observation?’
The anger started to swell as she wondered who could have grassed on her. ‘I wouldn’t say so, sir,’ she muttered, through gritted teeth.
‘How are things with you generally? Adjusting to life back home? Preparing for civvy street? Things okay with the boyfriend?’
How dare he bloody snoop into her private life? She could feel her cheeks flushing now, her breath stopping in her chest as she tried to control the fury.
‘Well, Lance Corporal?’
Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth.
‘It can be tricky, I know,’ his voice droned on. ‘If you need to talk to someone, of course we can lay it on.’
The nausea was rising again and she could feel her stomach turning over just as it had on Remembrance Sunday all those weeks back.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ was all she managed to say, before rushing into the corridor and puking all over the shiny linoleum.
‘I’m sorry I was such a bitch last night,’ she said to Nate on the phone later that evening.
He didn’t reply, not at first. Then he said, ‘Look, I can’t deal with this right now. I’ve had a rough day at work and I just want to chill out and not have a row with you.’
‘I haven’t rung you to have a row,’ she said, trying not to sound defensive. ‘I’ve rung to apologise and tell you that I’m going to cut out the booze completely, for a while, just to get back on an even keel.’
‘Sounds like a plan, Jess.’
‘Look, can I come and stay with you this week? I could catch a train tonight.’
There was a surprised pause at the other end. Then, ‘It’s Monday night. What about work?’
‘They’ve given me the rest of the week off – they’re calling it sick leave, but I think they just want to keep me out of their hair. I’ve only got five weeks to go now and they don’t want me causing any more trouble.’
‘What trouble?’
She told him about the ticking off, but not about being sick in the corridor.
‘The timing’s not great, to be honest,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘I’ve got a heavy week. There are rumours that Ofsted might come calling, I’ve got two parents’ evenings and a football trip on Thursday. Won’t be back till pretty late most nights.’
‘I’ll shop and clean and cook you delicious meals,’ she pleaded.
He went silent at the end of the phone and for a fleeting, frightening moment it occurred to her that he might be about to tell her it was over. Oh God, please no, she prayed. I love him, can’t do it without him.
Then, at last: ‘Okay. See you later. But Jess …’
‘Yes?’
‘What you said about quitting the booze? You’re serious?’
‘I promise.’
Each evening as she waited for Nate to return from work, she could feel her body shouting at her that it wanted alcohol, any alcohol, that nothing else would satisfy it. Several times, passing the off licence on the corner of his street, she sensed her feet pulling towards the door. Just one little drink. The feeling was almost irresistible but she marshalled her willpower and managed to hold it at bay, knowing that one would surely lead to another, and then several more. She drank cans of cola instead which made her burp unattractively and failed to satisfy the craving.
Without the sedative of alcohol she found it hard to sleep, sensing Nate’s every movement, hearing each little snore, and blasted to open-eyed wakefulness by any police or ambulance siren within half a mile. When she finally slept, the nightmares returned, but subtly altered. These were not of the breath-stopping panic, of torn flesh and limbs, nor the visceral howls of boys in pain, but of the aftermaths of those terrifying moments, of feeling so exhausted that her limbs would not move, of the heat which seemed to suffocate the air out of her lungs, and the dust storms that whipped her face as the rescue helicopter rose into the air taking the injured men to safety. And, always, the gut-wrenching anxiety that perhaps she could have done more to save a limb, or even a life.
One night she woke with her bladder aching and made it to the toilet just in time. She had been dreaming that she was back in the compound where the squats cabin was located twenty yards away. The men just pissed against the outside wall, the girls had to risk a scary dash in the dark across open ground. That, or pee discreetly into a yellow sharps container and hope the sound didn’t wake anyone. Either way it was enough to make you go easy on your intake of liquids after sunset.
She also dreamt of the poppy, just the once: not of the flower with its silky red petals gently fluttering in the breeze, but of the headless green stem, trembling and twitching like a dying man.
After dinner on the second evening, Nate said, ‘Tell me what’s going on, Jess?’
‘Going on?’
‘Those nightmares of yours.’
‘They come and go,’ she said. ‘It’s getting better.’
‘Doesn’t feel like that to me. Last night you started shouting and then you sat up in bed and seemed to be fighting someone off. You nearly clocked me one.’
She laughed. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll try and keep my arms to myself tonight.’
‘Are you sure you don’t need to get some help?’
‘Quite sure. It’ll be fine once I’m out of the Army. Only a week now.’
She rose exhausted each morning but found that she could not sit still for more than a few minutes. Trying to use up her restless energy, she went for long walks or jogged round the local park, observing the yummy mummies so distracted by their gossip that the babies crawled into flowerbeds to eat soil. Their pampered pedigree dogs ran out of control and, she hoped, were having unprotected sex with all the wrong species. Planning her life ahead with Nate, she visited a couple of letting agents and viewed four flats in the area; more spacious, two-bedroomed places that cost a fortune in rent.
On Friday evening he returned in high spirits, having been to the pub with his mates to celebrate the end of a tough week, and ate two helpings of her carefully-prepared lamb tagine with appreciative enthusiasm. Sitting beside him on the sofa, watching television with a mug of tea in her hand, she imagined that this was what their lives might be like forever. She felt more at peace than she’d known for months.
‘I’ve invited a few friends from school round tomorrow evening to meet you,’ he said, out of the blue. ‘Hope that’s okay?’
‘So they can approve me?’ she said, feeling wary.
‘No, you idiot, just to meet you. To celebrate.’
‘Celebrate what?’
‘Your safe return, the end of your contract? I dunno. Do we need a reason?’
‘Can I invite a couple of my friends as well, to even the balance?’
She rang Vorny, who accepted eagerly, and her brother Jonny, who at first said he was busy and then, when she pressed him, admitted that he’d promised to spend the evening with his new girlfriend.
‘Bring her too. What’s her name?’
‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘Oh, okay then. She’s dying to meet the Afghanistan heroine, so I s’pose tomorrow’s as good a time as any. Be gentle, won’t you?’
‘You know me.’
‘Only too well.’
On Saturday morning she brought Nate toast, coffee and the newspaper in bed and headed off to the supermarket for party provisions. When she reached the checkout she discovered that, along with the crisps, nibbles and soft drinks, the boxes of wine and beer cans, she’d slipped a bottle of whisky into the trolley. She could barely remember doing it, but was too embarrassed to give it back to the cashier. At the flat, she hid it in the back of a drawer and tried to forget it was there.
I will not drink tonight, she promised herself.
But, getting ready that evening and finding herself unaccountably nervous at the prospect of meeting Nate’s work colleagues, her resolve crumbled and, with trembling hands, she took a couple of slugs to steady her stomach. It worked a treat. Vorny arrived early – they’d planned it that way – and they had a couple more discreet glasses together.
Nate’s friends were two couples, Matt and Louisa, Benjamin and Aleesha, and his head of PE, Mary, a tall, rangy woman of about forty. Jess submitted herself to their scrutiny: ‘Good to meet Nate’s mystery woman, after all this time’, and, ‘so you’re the tough girl who went to the front line in Afghanistan?’ She enlisted Vorny to help with the inevitable interrogation, which ranged from the benign: ‘Did you actually volunteer to go out there? You must be so brave, I’d be terrified,’ to the incredulous: ‘Did you really have to carry guns? Even as medics?’
They were nice enough people, but conversations with civilians always made her feel like a stranger from another planet. It was impossible to explain, or for them to gain any understanding beyond the most superficial level, what being on tour in a country like Afghanistan is really like.
The arrival of Jonny and Sarah was the excuse she needed, and she left Vorny fielding questions while she opened more bottles of wine and took the opportunity to slosh a whisky top up into her innocent glass of coke.
Sarah was a tall, slim girl with a dark-eyed seriousness about her – quite a contrast to her sturdy blond brother, whose open face was always ready with a joker’s smile. Jess could tell immediately that she was different from her brother’s previous girlfriends – less glamorous and self-absorbed, more poised and alert to the world around her. From their secret smiles and his soft looks it was clear that this relationship was the real thing, and she was glad for him.
In the past, to the anxious bewilderment of their parents, he’d dropped out of two university courses in consecutive years, and seemed to be settling for a life of minimum-wage drudgery. Then, with the help of a string-pulling uncle, he’d landed an IT post in a law company. The boss had recognised his potential, sent him on several training courses and promoted him twice. It had been the making of him, as their mother liked to say.
She’d never thought of her brother as much of a looker, but his new sense of self-esteem had magically given his features clearer definition, helped by the fact that he seemed to have lost weight and revamped his wardrobe. He’s quite a catch, Jess found herself thinking.
It turned out that Sarah was a teacher too, so it became a party of two halves: the school gang having a heated conversation about education, while Jess joined Jonny and Vorny sneaking a clandestine smoke in the tiny patio garden. Away from Nate’s sharp eyes she drank steadily and happily, sharing old jokes, enjoying the way her brother and her best friend sparred with each other. Everything was going perfectly.
The rest of the evening passed in a flash, until everyone had made their excuses and left, except for Vorny, who was staying the night, and Matt, a short and slightly balding man with an incipient beer-belly whose girlfriend had fallen asleep in the bedroom. Jess and Vorny sat in a happily intoxicated blur on the sofa, half listening to the boys having a rambling, slightly drunken discussion about politics.
Without warning, Matt turned his unsteady gaze towards them. ‘What do you Army girls think we should do about Syria then? Are we just going to let them go on killing each other till there’s no-one left except crazy radicalised religious zealots?’
You Army girls.How could Nate be friends with such a plonker? Neither seemed willing to reply until Vorny piped up in a quiet, reasonable voice: ‘There’s no right answer of course. It’s a tragic situation but it’s really complex, and I don’t think there’s much we can do to resolve it without creating even more trouble for the future.’
That should shut him up, Jess thought gratefully.
It didn’t. ‘What, shouldn’t we be riding in on white chargers this time, ready to implant the blessed gift of peaceful democracy? Like we’ve done in Iraq and Afghanistan?’
It was a deliberate challenge; Jess felt sure he’d been waiting all evening for the opportunity. She dug her fingernails painfully into her palm and tried to take a deep breath but her chest felt as though a large pair of hands was crushing her lungs. The anger flowed like a dangerous fire through her body, making her head ache, blurring her eyesight, cramping her stomach.
‘Let’s not go there, Matt,’ she could hear Nate cautioning, but it was too late.
A voice in her head warned her to stop, but it was easily ignored. Her tongue loosened itself and the words spilled out, without consent from her brain. ‘I suppose you’ve travelled widely in these countries, talked to many experts?’
‘Jess, don’t you think …?’ she could hear Nate trying to intervene, but she talked over him. ‘So, have you? Have you? And if not, then I’m just wondering what gives you the moral authority to prognosticate about the impact of military intervention in these countries?’
His piggy eyes stared back, widening with alarm. ‘I was just asking your opinion. From two people who have been there.’
Nate was now sitting upright, on high alert. ‘Enough, Jess. Lay off the dogs. This has been a nice evening. Don’t ruin it.’
‘I don’t think for one minute you were asking for our opinion,’ she heard her own voice, low and dangerous. ‘You were giving yours. And you think you have the right to have an opinion, in your safe little job a million miles away from any conflict, having probably never even had a single conversation with an Afghan or an Iraqi, and certainly without an iota of understanding about what we have been trying to achieve for them out there. Or of the fact that good people, much better people than you will ever be, have given their lives to help free the people of those countries from oppression. And you have the nerve to take the piss.’
Matt rose unsteadily to his feet.
‘I’m sorry to have offended. It’s time we were going home.’
Jess stood too. Discovering that she was, in her heels, slightly taller than him made her feel invincible. She could have floored him with a single blow.
‘Is that it? You run away, the moment anyone challenges you?’ she snarled. ‘What a great example you must be for your students. A pathetic, clever-dick, know-it-all little …’
