Worlds Apart (9 page)

‘Last week,’ I corrected. ‘Is it in the same building?’

He shook his head and gave me another set of directions and handed me a visitor ID badge.

‘Room 342, someone will meet you up there.’

I pinned the badge onto my coat and entered the barracks.

The courtyard was empty, but this time it was lit by floodlights so I could see the surroundings more; there were two old brick buildings stood on either side of the courtyard about four floors high. The first set
of windows was six feet off the ground so I couldn’t see inside, and there were a couple of large army vehicles parked at the far end.

The directions didn’t seem so complicated this time and I arrived at the office within minutes.

I knocked twice and entered.

‘You must be Ahmed.’ Captain Wood was sat behind a desk staring at a computer screen. He didn’t look at all as I expected; late fifties with a mole on his left cheek, wearing very large glasses that almost filled his face.

He signalled for me to sit in the chair opposite him. I did so and patiently waited for him to finish what he was doing, now realising this was the norm around here. Outside I could hear voices, all male. It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t seen a woman yet. Not that it bothered me, but it did add to the strangeness of the place.

Finally, Captain Wood turned away from his screen and looked at me. ‘I believe you came in to see Officer Crane a few weeks ago. We need admin support. Your file was passed on to me.’

I was about to correct him and say it was last week but stopped myself. ‘Yes, sir.’

I decided to follow Officer Crane’s lead and address the captain as ‘sir’.

Wood stood up, revealing an enormous waist, then leaned over to the filing cabinet and brought out a white
form. ‘When you’ve finished filling it in, let me know.’ He handed it to me and turned back to his computer.

I was a bit taken aback. I thought he would talk a bit about the unit and the roles available to see if I would be interested before handing me a form. Moreover, why did they change their minds and decide to transfer my files to this department? I didn’t even know what this department was, other than I was up for an admin post. And why has no one asked to see my CV yet? I thought.

Reluctantly I took the form, which looked fairly straightforward, and filled it out in minutes. Captain Wood swapped it for a sealed brown envelope. ‘This is for your medical, follow me.’

Medical?! I got up awkwardly and followed him out, all the time thinking about my hairy legs. He pointed towards the stairs I had just come up. ‘Go back through the courtyard, across the other side and you’ll see a door down the corridor labelled Medic.’

Why was everything so spread out in this place? I repeated the instructions in my head as I made the journey back down. Now I was really nervous. I had no idea what this medical entailed and why I needed one if I was working in the office. The last time I visited a doctor was twelve years ago and my records were still in Manchester somewhere. I couldn’t even remember which surgery or doctor they were with.

The walk to the medic room turned out to be only a few minutes long. I couldn’t help noticing how quiet it was. Not a soul in sight. I knocked on the door. No answer.

I knocked again – still no answer. I turned the knob only to be faced with another corridor.

Along I walked, noticing on the left-hand side a door open and the faint sound of a man’s voice inside getting louder as I got closer. It was someone talking on the telephone.

‘Yeah, mate … Yeah … fucking hell. Well, that’s the way it goes around here, mate.’

I hovered outside, not sure what else to do, as I needed to check if he was the person I should be speaking to. There wasn’t anyone else around.

The conversation continued.

I pressed my back against the wall so he wouldn’t see me, as I didn’t want to interrupt him but when I heard the receiver click down I quickly knocked on the door.

‘Yeah?’

I popped my head around to see a man of medium build with mousy hair. He sat behind a desk with the
Sun
newspaper open in front of him, wearing a canvas jacket and T-shirt. Surely this can’t be the medic, I thought.

‘I’ve come for my medical.’

The man looked me up and down a few times. ‘Who sent you?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Captain Wood.’

His eyes moved down to the envelope I was holding, then he put his hand out for it. I stepped into the room and gave it to him. I watched as he ripped it open and scanned through the two sheets of paper inside. I had no idea what was written on them.

Finally he replaced the documents back in the envelope, got up and walked out of the room, brushing my shoulder as he passed.

I stood in the middle of the room and scanned the bare office, clutching my handbag tight. Doubt kicked in, perhaps coming here tonight wasn’t a good idea after all. For some reason I had hoped to see the colonel again, but that didn’t seem likely.

I checked my watch. I had been here almost an hour and all I’d done was fill out a form.

‘Which unit have you come from?’

The man’s voice made me jump as he sped back in to the room, still holding my envelope.

‘None.’

‘Who interviewed you?’

‘Captain Wood.’

He turned on his heel. ‘This way.’

I followed him out and down the corridor the way
I had come in. His pace was faster than Ginger’s, making it impossible to control the clanking noise my heels were making as I tried to keep up.

We entered a room that, thankfully, looked more like a doctor’s surgery, with a metal trolley stacked with clear plastic trays and bandages. I looked around, wondering who else was joining.

He closed the door behind and turned to me. ‘Let’s start by taking off your shoes…’

A
n hour later, I was heading back up to Captain Wood’s office.

The medical wasn’t as bad as I thought. I had to accept that things were done differently here and I shouldn’t get too hung up, especially at the man’s surprise when he saw my hairy legs.

Captain Wood was stood outside his office talking to another man in uniform. They both glanced round at me as I came up the stairs and carried on talking.

I stopped a few metres away and dithered, not knowing what to do with myself except look at the floor. It felt like ages before the man walked off and Captain Wood turned his attention to me.

‘OK, Ahmed, come with me.’

I followed him back into the office, watching him go behind his desk, open the same filing cabinet and bring out two green forms.

More forms
.

‘I need you to fill out these.’ He handed them both to me and left the room.

The door was slightly ajar and I could hear faint voices outside. Suddenly a girl appeared; early thirties, tall, broad shouldered, dressed in a dark business suit and with her hair in a bob.

‘Is Al in tonight?’ she asked with a friendly smile.

‘Who?’ I asked, looking up from the forms.

‘Captain Wood,’ she corrected.

‘I think he just went out.’

The girl crossed the room to an empty chair close by me.

‘I’m Kate,’ she introduced, crossing over a muscular leg. ‘Haven’t seen you before.’

‘I just joined.’

‘Which unit are you from?’

I shook my head. ‘I haven’t–’

‘Oh…’ she cut in. ‘You’ve been doing … other stuff.’

I opened my mouth to reply but she got in before me.

‘I’m from Ops Int.,’ she continued, shuffling her chair round to face me.

‘What’s that?’

She looked at me as if I was stupid.

I was saved by a loud knock on the door and another girl appeared. This one was totally different; Amazonian build with blonde hair scraped back and biceps bulging out of her short-sleeved T-shirt. She had the most amazing physique I’d ever seen.

‘Hi!’ She waved at Kate, not wasting any time. ‘I’m Becky. What’s your name?’ Her accent sounded Australian or Canadian.

Kate looked at her with a cool expression and replied. ‘Kate.’

‘Hey, Kate! Good to meet you.’ Next she pointed at me. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Azi,’ I replied quietly, not sure where this conversation was going but pleased to see some females at last.

Becky suddenly dived into a large sports bag that was slung over one shoulder and brought out a family-size chocolate bar.

‘Hey, want some?’ she asked to no one in particular as she unwrapped half of it.

‘No, thanks,’ Kate replied, leaning over the desk and taking a copy of
Jane’s Defence Weekly
, a military magazine.

Becky pointed the chocolate bar at me, nodding anxiously for me to take a chunk.

I didn’t feel like any but felt I should out of politeness, then changed my mind again. I smiled weakly then shook my head, declining her offer.

‘Where have you come from?’ Kate asked, slowly flicking through pages of the magazine.

Becky swallowed a large piece of chocolate then broke off another before replying, ‘I’ve trained with John and David in Paras, been on climbing expeditions with Martin from here…’

What’s Paras?

‘Who have you come to see?’ Kate scanned down an article.

Becky put another piece of chocolate in her mouth and studied the back of the packet, then reeled out a few more names, none of which included Wood or Crane. Even if she had mentioned them I wouldn’t have known – she seemed to know everyone on first-name terms.

I watched the body language between them both. It was as if they had forgotten I was in the room, and by this time I had forgotten about filling out the forms. I had no idea what they were talking about or why they were here, but they definitely didn’t look like they were here for admin jobs.

There was another knock on the door and a man appeared holding a clipboard. He looked early forties,
a bit taller than me with blond hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a camouflage uniform.

‘Is Al in tonight?’ he asked Kate.

‘You just missed him.’

The man brushed past Becky and gave her a knowing nod. ‘Alright.’

Perhaps this was the Martin she was going on about. Either way, he seemed familiar to both these girls and ignored me.

‘Colonel asked me for the list of girls on female selection. Becky, you’re down for this … Kate?’ he pointed his pen at her.

What’s selection? And why is it only for females?

‘I want to find out more about it,’ Kate replied carefully.

‘Come to the meeting next week.’

Then he turned to me.

I looked at him blankly. If these girls were putting their name down, perhaps I should too. I didn’t want to give the wrong impression by saying no.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

Kate and Becky swung round and stared at me, then exchanged glances which made me feel nervous all of a sudden. What had I signed up for?

The man scribbled my name on the clipboard and asked us to report next week with our sports kit. He
then strolled out of the room, leaving the three of us in silence.

Moments later Captain Wood was back. I wasn’t sure where this left me with the admin post, and when I informed him about the selection training he made no effort to hide his amusement, saying he was sure he’d see me back for my admin post very soon.

B
EFORE THE TRAINING
began, I did manage to visit home. I performed the usual routine on the train and changed into shalwar kameez before pulling into Manchester Piccadilly station.

Dad picked me up in his lime-green Mazda. There wasn’t much conversation between us but he looked pleased to see me and stroked my head, which was a tradition the elderly did to the young when greeting them. He asked if the journey was OK. I wondered if Mum had mentioned that I had asked after him.

This visit was essential because my sister was back from Pakistan with her shiny new husband and his kid brother. I knew what the brother was here for so I
scraped my hair back, wore no make-up and planned to behave as unattractively as possible. That would include giving him dirty looks and improvising pigeon Punjabi to give him the impression that I’d become so Western I could hardly speak my own language any more. My Punjabi was fluent, of course, as I had grown up with it. Thankfully, the marriage bureau hadn’t come back with anything yet. I felt a pang of guilt thinking back to my trick with the form filling, but let it go as quick as it came.

I could feel the tension in the house as soon as we arrived. Mum avoided eye contact with me and her words were strained. I wanted the weekend to fly by so I could go back and get on with my new life in the army.

Most of my time was spent serving tea to visitors who, as expected, didn’t acknowledge me because they felt I had deserted Mum and Dad. It fuelled Mum to nag me to move back home because I was bringing shame on them. It drove me up the wall along with the Bollywood music blaring out of the TV in the background. I told her to stop talking before I said something I’d regret, but she went on to blame my gobbyness on Dad for not saying anything.

I wanted to ask why she cared what people thought; hadn’t she pre-empted this scenario before she said I could go? She herself had shocked both Dad and the
community by running her own business, but now that it came to me doing something independent she retreated because of community pressure. I did sympathise, however, because it was she who had to live with the gossip – not me. Although Dad had been through this with the community when she ran the shop and he had dealt with it by ignoring them.

I decided to let it go. I knew Mum was waiting for a reaction to let off steam, and normally she would get one, but I didn’t want to get stressed before going back to London. All of this I was managing to keep under control until the weekend ended in a flare up with Shazia. She had finally got in touch and came round to see me. Her dress sense had changed to wearing a full hijab. It was her choice and I respected it.

She was sat a distance away from me and suddenly went into lecture mode about returning home and settling down. I was so angry that she’d turned against me and taken Mum’s side.

‘What for?’ I lashed out. ‘To live like you? Anyone can get married and have kids.’

The words came out before I could stop them. I could see the hurt on her face and immediately regretted it. I wanted to apologise but, call it arrogance or pride, I couldn’t bring myself to do so. Inside I felt hollow.

I left Manchester feeling ten times worse. Not only
had I left on bad terms with my family, but I had lost my oldest friend. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried, but that night I poured my heart out on my pillow.

I soon put what was going on in Manchester out of my mind, and when I got back to London, I researched the SAS and what selection training entailed. Luckily, I was sat down. It didn’t go into much detail, but what I did find out was enough to make anyone call up and cancel. Though I wanted some physical training, the description I was reading was much more extreme than I’d expected.

The next two days at work were a drag. All I thought about was how I was going to get out of work on time to get to the barracks. I was both excited and scared. Wednesday came around, which was the weekly training evening for selection. I psyched myself up and guiltily left the office early.

Once at the barracks I was directed to one of the classrooms. I was hoping to get an agenda tonight, detailing the course, so that I could remove the fear of the unknown that was killing me inside.

‘Come in!’ a chorus from inside the room called out when I knocked.

I opened the door to some ten girls sat on plastic chairs in a semicircle. Two familiar faces: Becky and Kate.

For some reason I waved at them and walked over to
an empty chair tagged on the end. No one responded; they all sat in silence staring at a white wall in front of them. My eyes rolled around the room. In the corner there were a pile of cluttered desks, a whiteboard scribbled with notes from a previous class on some weapon descriptions, and a wooden lectern with the ‘Who Dares Wins’ emblem carved on the front. I remember reading about that quote as the signature of the SAS.

I still wasn’t sure what female selection entailed, because none of the research I had done mentioned females.

The door was flung open and in came the clipboard man from last week. He was surprisingly short, now I had a chance to see him again, very lean and slender-framed. He weaved between our chairs and stood at the front.

‘Right, ladies.’ He flicked through some papers in his hand, making a few of the girls move around in their seats uncomfortably. ‘My name is Staff Wright, and I will be taking female selection for any of you who decide to join after tonight. You all know a bit about the selection training we do here with the lads; the colonel wants to do a similar course for girls.’

Firstly I wondered why he was a staff and not an officer or captain – and what staff meant. Secondly, how did the other girls know about the training? Did they do
the same research I had or were they ‘in the know’ by being part of the military? I presumed it was the latter.

‘I’ll start off by telling you it involves a lot of physical and mental stamina, so if you don’t feel up to it you can leave now.’

He paused, enjoying the silence while the girls exchanged glances amongst themselves. I observed in confusion. It was a strange way to introduce a course, but perhaps this was the way things were done to ensure commitment.

I noticed Becky in the front frantically taking notes and wondered if I should be doing the same. I’d brought a fresh notebook with me.

‘We have no idea how this will pan out as it’s never been done before and we cannot place any benchmark on how far the training will go for you with the lads. So it’s going to be as new for us as it will be for you ladies.’

Now it made sense why I couldn’t find anything about female selection online or in the material they’d provided, but he still didn’t explain why it was taking place, except that the colonel wanted it. Was this the same colonel I’d met during my interview with Officer Crane?

He paused to reorganise his papers, which I thought were handouts for us, but instead carried on talking.

‘The information you receive tonight will not leave
this room, and that includes talking to lads in the unit, especially at the bar.’

I didn’t understand the last bit about not discussing with people who belonged to the same unit, and didn’t realise they had a bar here, but guessed that’s where the gossip started.

We listened in silence as he gave us a rundown of the training. It comprised of eight weeks, after which we would join the lads on pre-selection. Pre-selection was the initial training for the lads to test their fitness before being allowed onto the actual selection training course. If we got through pre-selection, we would go onto selection training in the Brecon Beacons.

All this was meant to be part time, but from all the evenings and weekends we were expected to do, I became concerned about how I would fit this in with running the company.

Apparently, out of the 200 or so lads that join up, only a handful get through and go on to the final part of training called continuation, which involves learning how to fight and use weapons, operate on every conceivable terrain and gather intelligence behind enemy lines. Those who got through that would go on to a two-week ‘battle camp’, after which each survivor would be presented with his SAS beret. This, he explained, was the training for the men.

Staff Wright went on to remind us we were part-timers attempting a challenge designed for the committed – for those who only had one aim in life: to be part of the most elite Special Forces unit in the world. The majority of us wouldn’t survive the training, but soon we would have to make a choice between this and our jobs. He also told us to forget what we were outside these barracks, and that we all started from the same place – the very bottom. At twenty-six, I felt old, but here I was the youngest on female selection. To my knowledge, none of the girls was married or had children and each had committed the next year of their life to this training.

‘Any questions so far, ladies?’ he asked.

Silence.

Why do we have to do an extra eight weeks’ training than the lads? I wanted to ask, but felt it was best not to say anything at this early stage.

‘Yes?’ He pointed his clipboard at someone.

‘Would female selection involve classroom work?’ a girl asked.

‘No is the straight answer. Your training with me is to assess which of you would be physically fit enough to train with the lads.’

‘How long will the whole course last?’ another piped up.

‘As I said before, we have nothing to measure against
but if any of you ladies do get to the end, it would become a thirteen-month course.’

There were a few soft gasps from his audience.

‘Ladies,’ – Wright put his hands up – ‘I’m not going to bullshit you, it’s a big commitment physically, mentally, and especially time-wise considering most of you have jobs.’ He pointed his clipboard to another girl.

‘What will we go on to do if we pass?’

‘I can’t say any more at this point. The colonel will be coming in during the course and may talk about his plans.’

There were mumbles amongst the girls. I looked around, wanting to join in, but no one was looking my way. He had confirmed what I’d read but hadn’t yet given any details of the training sessions.

‘OK, ladies,’ Wright broke in, ‘I want you down in the courtyard in sports kit in fifteen minutes.’

The girls quickly dispersed. I grabbed my bag and followed the girls out because I had no idea where the changing rooms were situated. These girls seemed to know their way around. By the time I got out they were gone.

Panic-stricken, I walked down the corridor past a few blokes who stopped and looked round at me. I asked them if they knew where the girls’ changing rooms were, but by the look on their faces I decided not to waste any
more time. I quickened my pace, then spotted one girl disappearing down a flight of stairs and went after her.

The changing room was tiny and smelt like it hadn’t been used for ages, but, surprisingly, had pink walls. Most of the girls were already changed and stood around in groups chatting about the training. I made a beeline for a quiet spot in the corner and got changed quickly.

I noticed a few girls looking round as I wrapped a towel around my skinny body and tried to get changed underneath it with my bony shoulders sticking out. I felt embarrassed by my body in comparison to their built-up, fuller bodies.

The door suddenly swung open and another girl walked in. ‘Is this female selection?’ she asked. A couple of girls nodded her way then continued talking.

She came over to where I was and put her sports bag down next to mine. ‘I’m Liz,’ she said, getting her kit out. I thought she looked like the actress who played Juliet Bravo on TV.

I was surprised by her friendliness, as most of the other girls had not acknowledged me yet, let alone talk to me.

‘Which unit are you from?’

‘I’m not from another unit.’

She was the fourth person to ask me that question. First it was the officer I registered with, then the medic,
then Kate, and now her. ‘I’m from Civvy Street,’ I replied. I had picked the term up from one of the girls.

Liz put her T-shirt on and winked at me. ‘So am I.’

I wanted to believe her but she seemed familiar with the place and had said hello to a few girls on the way in. I looked round and sized them all up. Judging from the posh accents, most were probably officers and fell into two categories: Amazonian and butch. Their legs looked like solid tree trunks, shoulders and biceps like the Incredible Hulk, and they all towered over me. I suddenly panicked; here I stood, 4 ft 11, weighing 7 stone, with no military experience. These girls were scaring the hell out of me, and I hadn’t even started training with them yet.

The girls filed out.

Liz tied the shoelaces on her trainers and followed them. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’re going to miss all the fun.’

Outside, the courtyard was dark and silent. I was stood in the back rank, copying the others; hands hooked behind my back, legs slightly apart, staring straight ahead. We’d only been out a few minutes and the tips of my fingers pinched from the cold. I wanted to tuck my T-shirt inside my jogging bottoms, but didn’t dare move and stand out like the idiot civilian.

Faint voices emerged from the building behind us.
Staff Wright’s voice getting clearer on my left, coming round the ranks to the front. He was with another trainer, Staff Taylor, who was, surprisingly, my height, bulky, with a face like a bulldog and a funny left eye. Both were wearing sports kit.

A nervous whisper passed between two girls on my right.

‘Listen in,’ Taylor growled, his eyes scrutinising each one of us. ‘Yes, you in the T-shirt, wanna share the joke? Shut up and listen!’

Silence.

I swallowed a mouthful of saliva, which I’m sure they all heard.

Taylor began walking through the ranks. ‘Over the next eight weeks I’ll be getting rid of the wasters. Half of you will go tonight.’

My heart was in my throat as he passed by me.

‘Your training will not just be confined to these walls; it will be seven days a week. When you’re not here you will be running, cycling, swimming, running … and you won’t stop until we throw you out. Got it?’