War Torn (56 page)

Jamie shuffled round so his back was to the wind. Dave waited. Jamie’s lean face looked dark. It wasn’t the tan and it wasn’t the facial hair or even the sand. His face was shadowed the way rooms get dark when you close the curtains and shut the doors.

‘Is it Agnieszka?’

Jamie swung to look at him.

‘What have you heard about her?’

Dave tried to appear startled by this question. He shrugged innocently. ‘Jenny’s in hospital so I’m not getting any gossip. Have people been telling you things?’

Jamie sighed.

‘No. But Niez’s changed. She’s sort of . . . cut herself off from me.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘She might just be pissed off with me being away. Seriously pissed off. Or she might have met someone else. Or both.’

‘Got any evidence?’

‘Not really. It’s just the way . . . Well, she used to be really pleased to hear from me. You could tell by the end of the call she felt better about everything. And now it doesn’t make any difference when I ring. That’s how it feels.’

There must be rumours flying around camp, Dave thought, about Agnieszka and this bloke. And the rumours must have reached Jamie.

‘We have to trust our wives,’ he said. ‘Because that’s all we can do.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jamie miserably. ‘Yeah.’

‘I wish I could ask Jen to go over and talk to her . . .’

Jamie looked embarrassed. ‘Your problems are worse than mine. Jenny’s ill and she’s having a baby and you can’t even phone her.’

‘Know how I cope with that one?’ asked Dave. ‘I don’t think about it. I could worry about Jen all day but what’s the point? There’s nothing I can do and worrying about it’ll mean I can’t do my job properly here. That’s what a professional soldier has to do, mate, and you’re a professional soldier. He has to leave home behind.’

Jamie gave the ghost of a smile. ‘It’d be easier to leave home behind if we had a bit more to do here. I mean, I can understand why Angry keeps seeing flipflops under every boulder. At least that’d mean there’s a chance of some action.’

They finished the duty in silence. Dave was thinking that, despite his claim, he hadn’t managed to cut Jenny out of his thoughts. At any random moment in the day, no matter how busy he was, he would suddenly hear, as though in a dream, their last phone call, punctuated by her sobs. At night he tried not to give in to the panic he felt because he was in the middle of the desert, unreachable, while Jenny and the baby lay in hospital in a life-threatening state.

When they came down from the tower, Dave was about to busy himself with his next sand stew when the OC called him over. Boss Weeks was already there, smiling. Dave hadn’t seen him smile since his pretty friend from Intelligence had sat at the front of the Vector bawling him out.

‘Good news,’ announced the major. ‘I’ve had word from Bastion that Broom and Connor were stable enough to leave Afghanistan yesterday. They’ll be landing shortly in the UK.’

Dave smiled too.

‘They wouldn’t have sent them on stretchers if they thought they could hang on and send them in body bags!’ he said.

‘Exactly!’ The OC was beaming. ‘There are so many long faces around here that I’m hoping it’ll cheer everyone up.’

BEN
BROOM
HALF
OPENED
HIS
EYES.
THERE
WAS
A
STRONG
POSSIBILITY
that he was dead. He did not try to remember the event that had led to his death but images floated through his mind. A blue, blue sky, the colour burned away to one side by the white heat of a massive sun. His mates shouting to him but never coming near him.

There were other, darker images, of people standing over him and talking to him. But he didn’t know any of these people. They weren’t in his platoon or in his family. No one he loved was there. So death was full of strangers.

A stranger was standing over him now.

Broom thought that probably the dead didn’t speak to each other but he decided to try anyway. He was surprised by the sound that emerged, of a wheezing, clanking old motor.

‘Come again?’ said the man.

‘Am I dead?’ repeated Broom.

‘Nah. You’re not dead. This isn’t heaven. And I’m no angel.’

Broom stared at the man and gradually he felt his life and his past taking shape inside him. He had been blown up in a minefield and taken here to Bastion where the surgeon had told him he’d lost the lower part of his leg. He felt sad as the weightlessness of not-knowing left him and was replaced by the burden of this knowledge.

‘Funny, you look like a bloke I used to know.’

‘Who would that be then, Ben?’

‘He was in our platoon. But he got casevaced back to England.’

The man grinned. ‘You don’t say.’

‘His name was Steve.’

‘That’s a coincidence, then,’ said the man. ‘My name’s Steve.’

‘Steve . . . Buckle.’

‘Fucking incredible! The same! That’s my name too!’

Broom blinked. He raised his eyebrows so they disappeared somewhere under the cover of his bright red hair.

‘Hello, Steve.’

‘Hello, mate.’

‘So . . . did they fly you back out? To pick up your leg from the cookhouse?’

‘My leg! In the cookhouse! Now you’re really talking crap, mate. They’ve had you drugged up to the eyeballs. They didn’t fly me back to Afghanistan, they flew you back to England.’

Broom looked at him trustingly.

‘Where am I then, Steve?’

‘Selly Oak. Just look at the telly and you’ll know you’re in England.’

Broom did not move but his eyes swivelled to the screen. Two glittering bodies, strangely linked, cavorted in unison across a lit stage.

‘I was watching it while I waited for you to wake up,’ said Steve. ‘And know what I was thinking? Could I be the first amputee on
Strictly?
’

Broom’s eyes moved from the TV, with its swirling, complete human beings, to Steve Buckle.

‘Must be Saturday then.’

‘You’ve got it, Ben! I’m at Headley Court now but they brought me up here for a long weekend to see the docs and to see you and a bloke called Ryan Connor who took over a gimpy after I got blown out of the platoon.’

‘Ryan’s really been poorly,’ said Broom.

‘Yeah, right. Not like you, Ben, you picture of good health, you.’

‘The bottom half of my leg got blown off by a landmine. Fuck me, Steve, am I going to be explaining that to people for the rest of my life?’

‘Yeah. See, it’s not, like, a temporary thing.’

Broom felt his eyes go wet. He had lost a leg. He had lost it for ever.

Steve Buckle sat down.

‘Go on then, cry. I fucking cried, mate.’

Broom’s arm was bandaged and so was part of his face. He was lying flat and had no idea how to move. He lay crying quietly until Steve placed a tissue in his good hand. This was a revelation. Broom had forgotten he had a good arm. Very slowly he closed his fingers on the tissue, bent his elbow and aimed the tissue at his nose.

‘Well done, mate,’ said Steve.

‘Oh, fuck it,’ said Broom. ‘What’s going to happen now? What’s happening with my bird?’

‘Your mum’s outside with the bloke from BLESMA. He’s getting her prepared to see you without your leg.’

‘What about Kylie?’

‘Dunno,’ said Steve dully. He had heard about Kylie from Leanne.

‘Is she out there?’

‘Dunno, mate.’

‘Shit, what will I do now? What can I do without my leg?’

‘Well, it took me a long time to understand this, or maybe a long time to believe it. But you can do pretty much everything. And it’ll be easier for you than me because I’ve got a short stump and it’s a fucker for fitting a socket. Yours came off below the knee. That’s much easier.’

‘I won’t be good enough for the Paralympics. I won’t be good enough for anything. I won’t be good enough for my bird. Buckle, why did I have to be in that minefield? There are a hundred and twenty men in R Company, I don’t see why it had to be me.’

Steve switched off the TV.

‘At least you admit it. I spent more than a month telling everyone my leg was still there. I could feel it, see. Can you feel yours?’

Broom looked thoughtful.

‘I can’t feel anything at all. I’m sort of numb. I hope I don’t pee in the bed.’

‘You’re on a catheter, probably. And you can’t feel anything because of the pain relief. But you will.’

Broom stared at him.

‘Does yours still hurt?’

‘Yeah. And I mean it’s sometimes excruciating. That’s where there’s no leg any more. Explain that if you can. The doc can’t.’

‘Can you walk yet, Buckle?’

‘Just wedge yourself up on your good elbow and watch me. I’m not very good yet because we’re having trouble with my socket.’

Broom, with a supreme effort, raised himself a couple of inches from the bed and leaned on his elbow. Steve Buckle, a big, tall man and one of the platoon’s dominant personalities, shuffled, very slowly, with intense concentration, along the side of the bed. He did not speak until he had sat down breathlessly on the chair.

‘See? I mostly use a crutch but I’ll be throwing it away soon. I’m getting a leg for running, maybe a couple of them. And there’ll be a leg for walking. Then I could have a very smart leg which looks like the other one. A leg for the shower . . . probably even more legs than that. But I’ve got to learn to walk first.’

‘You’d turn into a fucking spider if you tried to use them all at once.’

‘You’ll have that too, Broom. You’ll have a leg for every occasion. We’ll start feeling sorry for those poor buggers with only the two.’

Broom remained propped on his elbow but closed his eyes.

‘Buckle, you didn’t look ready for
Strictly
just then.’

‘Listen, mate. I don’t know about dancing but I do know about fighting. And Afghanistan is the best fucking fight for years. I’m getting used to the idea that I’m missing this tour but I’ll tell you something: I’m not going to miss the next one.’

Broom kept his eyes shut.

‘Get real.’

‘You feel that way now because you’re still at the beginning. You’re at the bit where you think your life’s over. But it’s not. It’s all a big challenge but challenges are what we joined up for, mate. And I’m going to get back to the frontline. That’s my biggest challenge yet.’

‘You’re married,’ said Broom. ‘Got kids?’

‘Twins. Boys. They’re not two years old yet. I’m going to be outrunning them until they’re at least twenty-one.’

‘What about your wife then?’

‘What about her?’

‘Does she fancy you any more?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Haven’t you seen her then?’

‘She visits me in Headley Court. Just a few hours at a time.’

His tone was indifferent. Broom looked at his big face and saw he was angry.

‘So, how is she with it?’ he persisted.

‘With what?’

‘You having one leg.’

Steve shrugged.