1. Carl
1. Carl
August
Every morning felt like a particularly unforgiving version of Groundhog Day. Waking up early in a tent to face the stench of boots that had been worn too long. The solar bag filled with water to hang overhead as an improvised shower. The long queue for breakfast in the cookhouse.
But not this particular morning.
Standing in front of me with an empty tray in her hands, she looked lost – as if she wasn’t quite sure how she happened to have ended up here. Her uniform hung loose on her slight frame. It looked like it belonged to someone else.
She was alarmingly pretty, with flawless skin, sculpted cheekbones and yellow-blonde hair that was somehow all the colours of summer. As she took in her surroundings she absent-mindedly twirled the end of her ponytail between her fingers.
Just then a bunch of boisterous lads jostled past her, looking for somewhere to sit, and she stumbled sideways into the counter.
‘Don’t mind them,’ I said, bending down to pick up the tray they had accidentally knocked out of her hands.
She slowly straightened herself up from the counter and stared at me.
‘I’m Carl,’ I said, holding out my hand.
Her fingers, enclosed in mine, felt small and delicate and soft. I could still feel their touch even after she pulled them away.
She told me her name, but I didn’t hear it. Her quiet voice was lost amid the clash of trays on tables, the clatter of knives and forks battling it out like gunfire on plates all around us.
‘I think he’s talking to you,’ she said, nodding towards the chef.
‘Ketchup?’ he repeated wearily.
I nodded. When I looked back at her she was yawning.
‘Something I said?’
‘Sorry,’ she laughed. ‘Last night was my first in camp and I didn’t get much sleep. Is it always this –’
Right on cue a tray smashed to the floor behind us, scattering food in all directions. A loud cheer echoed around the tent.
‘Noisy?’ she said, and we both laughed.
‘Yes,’ I shouted above the din. ‘You get used to it though.’
I thought back to my own first sleepless night here, lying in my bunk listening to the sound of aircraft flying overhead, the rumble of trucks moving in and out of camp, and the constant whir of generators.
It was true, you did get used to it. The noise, the chaos. I’d been told this morning that a suicide bomber had rammed his motorcycle into an armoured column just outside the camp perimeter during the night. I’d slept right through it.
I decided not to tell her about that.
She reached forward to help herself to a carton of juice.
I noticed the red cross, mounted on a white square of fabric, stitched neatly on the arm of her camouflage jacket. ‘Medic?’ I asked.
‘Nurse,’ she said, nodding. ‘I wanted to do my bit. Look after the soldiers who are doing theirs. I worked in Intensive Care back home, thought it would give me a good grounding for the work out here.’
As she spoke, her hand reached up to touch the badge on her arm, as if to reassure herself. ‘I wanted to be part of something bigger, part of a team,’ she said.
I recognized that need to belong. It was what had driven me to sign up too. The pull to believe in something, to be able to tell myself that somehow, somewhere, I might be doing something good.
‘Sorry, I’m rambling,’ she apologized.
She smiled then, a gorgeous wide smile, and pushed the stray strand of blonde hair that danced across her face behind her ears. We held each other’s gaze. For a split second I thought I saw a spark of interest in her eyes.
I mentally rehearsed the list of reasons why this was a bad idea. I couldn’t afford to be distracted. My usual MO of one night stands might be awkward – I was bound to bump into her again around camp.
But then … there was something arresting about this girl. More than the fact she was distractingly pretty. She was clearly smart and brave, or she wouldn’t be out here.
There was something I couldn’t pin down. In the slight huskiness of her voice, in the way her hands flew through the air as she spoke, in the way she absent-mindedly pushed her hair away from her face. I wanted to talk to her, find out more about her.
‘I see you’ve met Sarah,’ a voice said from behind me.
Danny stepped past me, reaching an arm around her and stooping down to kiss the top of her head. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, babe.’
Sarah .
Danny had been talking about his girlfriend from home, who was due out here soon. I didn’t realize it was this week. Besides, I’d assumed she would have a Welsh accent, like him. Crestfallen, I looked away.
I was relieved to see Fridge and Squadron walking towards us in the queue.
‘Here,’ Fridge said, holding out a carefully folded piece of newspaper. ‘Dad said to give this to you when I’d read it. It’s a piece on the new Leeds squad. He reckons the gaffer’s on his way out – I hope so, he’s been –’
Danny interrupted him. ‘This is Fridge,’ he said to Sarah. ‘Don’t ask me why he’s called Fridge, because I honestly couldn’t tell you.’
‘Fridge …’ she repeated, looking completely baffled.
‘And this is Squadron,’ Danny continued. ‘He seems mild enough, but believe me, you don’t want to be near him if they run out of Black Forest gateau. It gets ugly.’
She shook Squadron’s hand, then darted a glance back at me.
‘And Carl I think you’ve met?’ Danny said.
She opened her mouth to say something, but then another gang of rowdy soldiers bowled past her. This time Danny nudged her out of the way, pulling her protectively towards himself.
‘I can’t believe you’re actually here,’ he said, holding her in a tight embrace. She stepped back to say something and then he drew her close again, pressing her face into his chest. ‘You’re actually here,’ he repeated, breathing her in.
Danny seemed different with Sarah at his side. While she spoke he listened carefully, nodded his head and smiled. His hand kept drifting towards her – her arm, her elbow, her thigh.
It was as if, standing next to her, touching her, seeing himself reflected in her calm green eyes, he had found something he’d been looking for. He was more relaxed, more confident.
I felt pleased for him. Truly.
That was the thing about being at Bastion that I’d never expected – how quickly strangers could feel like brothers. And Danny, unlike the others, felt like a younger brother to me.
Maybe it was the sense of family I’d never known when I was growing up – a feeling of belonging. Who knows? I just knew I cared about the lads I was with. All of them. I had their backs, like they had mine.
So, even if a part of me did feel jealous, it was good to know Danny had someone who could make him feel like that. Someone whose physical presence made him light up.
‘Bacon roll,’ the chef yelled, slamming the plate down on the counter in front of me.
I picked it up, smiled at Sarah one more time – she was twirling her ponytail again – then slowly walked away.
It was for the best. This was the last place in the world where I could afford for things to get messy.