Soldiers' Wives Part 23

Jenna looked stunned. 'Free?'

Immi nodded, her forehead creased. 'But haven't you been sending him goodies?'

Jenna looked a bit shamefaced. 'I've been busy, you know, setting up the hairdressing. Fat lot of good that was, though.'

Immi remained silent. Everyone sent little parcels of treats out to the soldiers, didn't they? Even complete strangers sent boxes addressed to 'a soldier'. How long did it take to wrap up a couple of mags or some Pot Noodles or a jar of peanut b.u.t.ter and pop them in the post? And in all the weeks Lee had been out there, Jenna hadn't sent him anything? She just hoped Lee's mum was making up the shortfall, and maybe other friends were too. Immi made up her mind to send him a few bits and bobs. Everyone loved receiving surprises, didn't they, and if Jenna wasn't doing the biz well, it was up to everyone else to rally round, wasn't it.

Jenna pushed the mags back towards Immi. 'Kind thought, though.'

So she wasn't going to send them; she just couldn't be bothered. And Lee was her husband, for f.u.c.k's sake!

Immi pushed her irritation back down. Lee and Jenna's marriage was none of her business, and how Jenna behaved was entirely between herself and Lee. She sipped her drink moodily, while she wondered why she was letting Jenna's selfishness get to her. Because Lee deserved better, that was why. She might have met Jenna long before she met Lee, but it didn't mean she was blind to Jenna's faults. Immi didn't feel like talking, so she sat and simmered and wondered if Jenna would get the hint that she was bang out of order.

Jenna broke the uncomfortable silence. 'Think I might have to go and get myself a job. Don't know what I can do, though. I can't work at Zo's no more, can I?'

Immi shook her head; no, she couldn't. She'd dug herself a f.u.c.king great hole and jumped into it, and now she was stuck good and proper. She softened. 'There's loads of things you could do if you're not picky. How about something like bar work? I did it before I joined up and it's dead easy. It helps that you're a stunner.' Jenna shrugged. 'No, seriously, it does.' Immi jumped up and went over to the rack in the comer of the bar and picked out the local paper amid the jumble of TV listings magazines and tabloids. 'Let's see if there's anything in here.' She licked her finger and flicked through the pages. 'Here we go.' She turned the paper inside out and folded the page. 'Situations vacant.' She ran her finger down the column. 'Care home a.s.sistant?' she read out.

'No way. Wiping other people's b.u.ms? I don't think so.'

She had a point. Immi looked at the next ad. 'Receptionist, busy local garage?'

'Maybe.'

'Basic knowledge of cars essential.'

'No. I can start one and drive one that's me lot.'

'Teaching a.s.sistant?'

'Kids,' said Jenna with a dismissive snort.

'Truck driver?'

Jenna just raised an eyebrow.

'Perfect,' said Immi with a whoop. 'Look at this one. Waitress for local catering company.'

Jenna took the paper out of Immi's hand. 'It's a possibility.' She scanned the ad. 'Irregular hours well, that won't matter being all by myself. No transport required. Better and better, means I won't have to fork out for petrol.' She ripped the page out of the paper. 'I'll get the drinks in and then I'm going to ring them.'

'Now?'

'It's a catering company I bet they're working. Stands to reason, evenings will be their busiest time. Same again?'

Immi knocked back the last of her Bacardi and handed her gla.s.s over. 'Please.'

'And I suppose, if I work for a civvy firm, no one will care how I get on with the army or my neighbours. What a result that'd be.'

26.

Maddy got the meal out of the oven: lasagne, Seb's favourite. It looked and smelt delicious. She glanced at the kitchen clock; six thirty. Across the kitchen Nathan was in his high chair, bib on, waiting for the pureed vegetables he was getting for his supper. So, she wondered, was she going to be eating on her own, or would Seb deign to make an appearance? Not that she had much of an appet.i.te; worry about the rocky situation between her and Seb was making her feel quite sick. What if... what if he didn't come back? What if he moved back into the mess permanently? After he'd gone, she'd discovered he'd taken his Rapid Reaction kit the kit he kept packed, in case the regiment was deployed in an emergency. He had enough kit in that bag to last him for weeks. Maddy couldn't bear to think about what that might mean. She'd sent a text, apologising, but there had been nothing but silence. Had she gone too far? Had Seb been forced to decide between his career prospects and her and decided on his career? Maddy felt another wave of nausea lurch through her.

A key clicked in the lock of the front door. Abandoning her cooking and Nathan, she raced to the door and flung herself into her husband's arms.

'Oh, Seb, oh, Seb,' she cried. 'I was so afraid you mightn't come home.' She realised that she had two tears trickling down her face. She dashed them away. Relief and love flooded through her, in a huge surge of emotions.

Seb gave her a big hug and kissed the top of her head. 'Shhh. I'm sorry, maybe I overreacted.'

'And I'm sorry, I was stubborn.'

'I missed you,' said Seb, moving back a step so he could look at her.

'The bed was too big without you.'

'And Nate, did he miss me?'

'Sorry.' She gave him a watery smile. 'I'll have to disappoint you there.'

'Where is he?'

'In the kitchen, waiting for his supper.'

On cue, there was a squawk of protest. The pair moved into the kitchen, where Seb hunkered down by the high chair. 'Hey, buddy. Did you miss me?' In response, Nathan bashed the tray of his chair with a plastic spoon. 'I'll take that as a yes.' Seb smiled at Maddy. 'That was a horrible twenty-four hours.'

'It was. But you're back now.'

Seb nodded. 'Let's not fall out again like that. I promise I won't b.i.t.c.h about who you keep as friends. Not even Jenna Perkins.'

Maddy rolled her eyes. 'She isn't my friend, I keep telling you, but let's not talk about her.'

'No, fine. I wouldn't mind about her, if she'd just caused trouble for her poor b.l.o.o.d.y husband, but she caused trouble for us, too.'

'Yeah, well, as I said...'

'He's well out of it.'

'Not sure being in Afghanistan is better than living at home with his wife, even if his wife is Jenna.'

Seb snorted. 'Personally, I think it would be.'

Maddy let the subject drop, as she zapped Nathan's vegetable puree in the microwave. 'There's a bottle of white in the fridge,' she told Seb, bustling about her kitchen.

Seb took the hint and opened the wine, pouring it into a couple of gla.s.ses.

The microwave pinged. 'Feed Nathan, while I dish up,' said Maddy, starting to cut the lasagne into squares, then taking a slug of her wine.

Seb tested the temperature of the green mush and settled down to feed his son.

'And I did some thinking over at the mess. Maybe I'm expecting too much of you. What you said about being an army wife... I know it's not easy and I know some of the other women can be pains in the a.r.s.e, and I know you feel you live in a bit of a goldfish bowl, with Susie and Mrs N peering in at you. Maybe you should stop stressing quite so much about my career and let me worry about that. You just get on with being Nate's mum and being yourself. I love you and anything you do is just fine by me.'

'Oh, Seb.' Maddy felt another surge of love for him. 'Thank you. And I promise I'll try hard not let you down. Truly. And even if I'm not the perfect military wife, I'll do my best.'

'I know you will. That's why I adore you.'

'Lee. Lee.' Johnny shook his mate's shoulder.

'Sorry, mate, I was miles away,' said Lee.

'I could tell that. You had your thousand-yard stare on. Thinking about the missus again?'

'Can't help it, Johnny.'

'Well, you'd better start trying to help it. Listen to me: going out on patrol with your brain somewhere else'll do no one any good, least of all you. And, frankly, I don't want you with us if you aren't concentrating.' Johnny gave his mate an angry glare. 'Understand?'

Lee nodded. He did. Going out on patrol was teamwork, and everyone relied on everyone else. He had about twenty minutes to get his head in the right place. He stood up from the table, where he'd been loading rounds into magazines, and went to his bed s.p.a.ce to get ready. Like many soldiers, he had his rituals rituals that had no rhyme or reason, but which he believed were the reason he'd been kept safe so far. Them and the bear. He fingered the little teddy which still hung on his dog-tag chain. Maybe he'd be better off thinking about Chrissie than he would about Jenna.

No. He needed to think about going out on patrol. Period.

He stripped down to the skin and began to put his military kit on. First up, his bomb-proof pants. Well, they were supposed to be bomb-proof, although Johnny reckoned they weren't up to much. He said he'd already shredded his with farts. But then that made sense that time he'd let rip in the ops room Johnny had been warned by Sergeant Adams that he was in breach of the Geneva Convention on chemical and biological warfare. Given the toxicity of Johnny's wind, Lee reckoned he had a point; even Kevlar would be hard-pressed to survive close contact with it.

Having got his pants on, he put on his socks, first the left then the right, then his T-s.h.i.+rt and jacket, then his trousers, then his boots, left then right and laces tied in a double bow, and finally his body armour. He picked up his belt kit and fastened it round his middle and then clipped his combat nappy into place. There, he'd got dressed in the right order to keep the luck good. He knew he was being irrational, he knew it was mad, but it kept him sane. s.h.i.+t, he had more than enough to worry about, without stressing whether his luck was about to run out. He grabbed his Bergen and his helmet and made his way over to the old s.h.i.+pping container they used as an armoury. He signed out his weapon and made sure it was still squeaky clean, before going over to the table and helping himself to half a dozen magazines of bullets. He clipped one into his rifle and put the rest in his ammo pouches. Finally, he shoved half a dozen plastic bottles of water into his Bergen. He was ready.

Ten minutes later, he and the rest of the multiple, minus the guys left behind to guard their patrol base, made their way out of the big metal gate for the umpteenth time. Lee had lost count of the number of patrols he and the rest of the guys had made. Five dozen, six? He didn't like to think that, with every patrol, their luck was being spread just a shade thinner. He tried to think more positively: that they were getting more experienced, less likely to get caught out, but it was tough keeping upbeat. Only the week before, Op Minimise had been activated twice: once for a Canadian soldier who'd fallen foul of an IED out on patrol, and another for a Mastiff armoured vehicle that had been blown up. Luckily the guys inside had mostly been all right just superficial injuries but the Canadian had died and it had sobered everyone up. But it wasn't just the death that had been a worry; the Mastiff had been on the main supply route and, given how that was guarded and patrolled, the fact that the Taliban had managed to mine it was a real worry. If they'd done that, where else could they manage to plant IEDs?

Once out of the gate, they tabbed along the berm before they raced across the bridge over the ca.n.a.l, their boots clattering on the metal surface of the prefabricated span. The sun was even hotter today and Lee could feel the sweat trickling down his back under his heavy body armour as he ran. And they all knew what hot sun meant, apart from the fact that the patrols would become ever-more knackering. The snow on the pa.s.ses would be melting, and as soon as it had gone and the rivers in the valleys began to dry up, the fighting season would start in earnest. The Taliban based in Pakistan could come down from their winter quarters and back up their Afghani counterparts, bringing with them new supplies of explosives and ammo and, more importantly, replacement fighters. Soon, thought Lee, they wouldn't just have the local bandits to cope with; they'd have a whole bunch of reinforcements, plus one-hundred-degree heat. Between the heat, the Taliban and Jenna, his life couldn't get much more s.h.i.+t.

Jenna pressed 'send' on her phone.

Got interview. Fingers crossed.

She hoped Immi would be as pleased as she was. The catering company wasn't her idea of perfect, but it was a job and, frankly, any job would be welcome. And anyway, as a lot of the work would probably be in the evenings, she could do hairdressing if anyone wanted her to during the day.

Brill, Immi texted back.

Now all Jenna had to do was think about what she ought to wear. When she rang about the position the guy who had answered the phone had sounded quite young, so should she go looking hot and s.e.xy, or neat and tidy? Jenna pottered upstairs to the spare bedroom and began leafing through the clothes hanging on the rails. Maybe she could do a combo of both looks.

Later, she drove into town, to the little industrial estate in the old station yard. She found the company easily enough and parked up in the s.p.a.ce reserved for visitors. Before she got out of the car, she checked her appearance. Perfect. After all, she was sure they didn't want mingers handing round the canapes it would put people off their food.

Smoothing her skirt down, she sashayed over to the front door, plipping her vehicle locked with a casual wave of her key. Three minutes later, she was in the MD's office, looking at a guy with the worst case of acne she'd ever seen. Surely his skin condition had to be against food hygiene regs. Not that she knew anything detailed about food hygiene regs, but common sense said that putting him in a kitchen had to be just plain wrong.

She had, of course, prepped answers to the sort of questions she expected from Barry Carlton, which the plastic name plate on his desk told her was his name: why did she want the job, were there any dates she couldn't work, any health issues that might prevent her from working... So she was a tad surprised by the first question.

'When can you start?'

Jenna tried not to look too surprised. 'Erm, now?' s.h.i.+t, she hoped not. This dress was dry-clean only and she had nothing to change into.

'This evening will do.'

Phew.

'Can you do silver service?'

Jenna shook her head. The ad hadn't mentioned that as a requirement.

'Never mind, we can probably teach you how to do it before you'll need it. Luckily tonight is just handing around platters of food and drink.' The guy looked frazzled.

'So what's the event tonight?'

'Engagement party at the football club.'

'You're leaving recruitment a bit late, aren't you?' blurted out Jenna.

Barry shook his head. 'I was planning on expanding anyway, hence the ad you saw, but last week three of my staff went down with norovirus.'

Jenna shrugged. 'In English?'

'It's also called winter vomiting disease.'

'Euw.'

Barry nodded. 'Exactly. It's just what it says on the tin. It spreads like wildfire, so there is no way any of the staff who were in contact with the infected staff can work, until we're sure they're in the clear.' He rubbed his hand over his face. 'It's been a nightmare.'

'I can imagine.'

'So, I'll give you a paid trial tonight, if you're any good I'll take you on and you'll have a contract. I pay ten pounds an hour. If the client pays a gratuity, I split it equally between everyone. I expect the waitresses to wear black, but I provide you with an ap.r.o.n. Your hair must be pinned up and no nail varnish, unless it's clear. Oh,' and he glanced across the desk at Jenna's feet, 'you might want to wear flat shoes.'

'OK.'

'Right, follow me.' He stood up and walked around his desk, before leading her along a corridor and through a pair of double swing doors. Behind the doors was a ma.s.sive kitchen, all stainless steel and huge industrial ovens. There were lots of pans clattering, but very little in the way of other noise, despite the fact that there were already five people working there. Maybe music and chatter were not allowed.

Barry moved about the kitchen efficiently, loading up a tray with gla.s.ses filled with water, which he then gave to Jenna. 'Walk up and down the corridor a couple of times,' he ordered her.

'OK.' She managed to shoulder her way through the big doors without spilling the drinks or dropping the tray, aware that Barry was watching her. She felt a bit like a fas.h.i.+on model, but reckoned he wasn't watching how she walked as she returned into the kitchen; he was watching to see how steady she was.

'Now walk around the kitchen.'

'But there's people rus.h.i.+ng about here,' she protested.

'And they'll be standing still at a party?'

Jenna sighed and began to move between the two rows of big steel counters. It was a bit like Total Wipeout, she reckoned, as she timed her run in order to avoid the chefs bustling about.