2. Sarah
2. Sarah
Walking from the canteen to the hospital that first morning, I was struck by the lack of colour. Row after row of canvas tents, bomb-proof barriers, and storage yards paved with endless slabs of concrete. As far as the eye could see across this vast rubble-strewn camp, everything was beige. Even the sand I walked on.
It had been the same in the cookhouse – a sea of camouflage, the bodies all blending into one as the soldiers queued for food or hunkered down over tables to eat.
Maybe that was what had made the blueness of his eyes so striking. Steel blue.
‘Sarah, are you okay? You’re miles away.’
Danny had stopped walking and was staring straight at me.
‘Sarah?’ he asked again.
‘Sorry, I’m just tired.’ I smiled at him.
It was true. I’d been too nervous to sleep on the flight out from Brize Norton. And I’d been feeling on edge ever since the pilot announced that our approach into Camp Bastion would be in total darkness and we should put our body armour on.
I listened now to the rotor blades of helicopters thumping away in the sky above us. To the message being broadcast on the camp tannoy, calling all emergency medical teams to the hospital.
‘It just all feels a bit of a shock, being here … the reality of it.’
He smiled and put his arms around me. ‘I remember that feeling, but you’ll be surprised how quickly you acclimatize.’
It was so good to see Danny, to know he was safe, to breathe him in after being apart for so long. He smelled of soap and mints, as always. But something was missing. The smell of the Welsh countryside that was usually on him from the hours he spent outdoors, playing, practising or watching his beloved rugby.
As I stood back to look at him I noticed the signs of strain – the lines etched around his eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d left. In the canteen earlier he had seemed agitated when he introduced me to everyone. I realized now he’d been talking non-stop, with a febrile, nervous energy, all the time we’d been walking.
‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I am, now you’re here,’ he said, kissing me. ‘I hated not being with you, I’ve missed you so much.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘I’ve missed all of you, I miss home. This place …’ He trailed off.
Danny had always been so sure about wanting to join the army. His dad had trained as a mechanic with the RAF, and Danny worshipped him – or the memory of him. His dad died during a routine operation when Danny was just six years old.
He was so desperate to be like his dad, to feel his dad would have been proud of him, I don’t think he ever questioned whether being in the army was actually what he wanted. It never even occurred to him.
He enlisted during our last month at school and begged me to do the same, so we could stay together. But I was set on a career as a nurse. It was only after I’d started my training, when one of the other student nurses mentioned being a member of the Territorial Army, that I considered joining up.
She talked about combat operations and peacekeeping missions and highly charged training weekends, and it all sounded so vital and exciting. Besides, I missed Danny. Being in the TA felt like a way of being closer to him.
I’m not sure I ever actually expected to see action, but then I found myself loving my part-time army life. I learned about leadership and management and, as I grew to be more direct, becoming firm in my decision-making, so I grew in confidence too.
Until then, I had always thought I was so lucky to have met Danny when I was young. While my friends were desperately searching for ‘the one’, love had already found me. All that angst they went through – worrying about whether they would meet someone, and if they did, whether that person would like them in return – it passed me by.
But I started to see that, wonderful as Danny was, being with him had held me back too. I’d been co-dependent for so long, I hadn’t learned how to be me. To have faith and confidence in who I was.
By the time the opportunity came along for me to deploy to Afghanistan, it was no longer about Danny, about wanting to be out here with him, although people assumed that it was.
No, going to Afghanistan was about my career. It was about sixteen-hour days, seven days a week. Becoming the best nurse I could possibly be.
‘I thought I’d love it out here,’ Danny said, pulling me into a tight embrace. ‘And I do – well, parts of it. I just didn’t expect to miss home so much. The little things, the boring routine you take for granted: the pub on a Friday, rugby with the lads, Sunday lunch at Mam’s –’ He broke off and we both fell silent.
A heaviness crept over me. I realized then that I didn’t miss that old world. Rather, I couldn’t wait for my new life to begin.
‘And you,’ Danny whispered into my ear. ‘I missed you the most.’
How could I possibly tell him that now, when we were finally together again, I craved independence, the chance to prove myself on my own terms.
‘Come on, you,’ I said, gently peeling his arms away from me. ‘You’re meant to be showing me the quickest way to the hospital. I don’t want to be late on my first day.’
Danny resumed his nervous chatter as we carried on walking across the camp, but for the first time in our five years together the sound of his voice, the familiar gesture of him reaching for my hand, no longer made me feel anchored.
We were walking side by side, but with every pace it felt as if the distance between us was getting wider.
If we’d known then what we were walking towards, would we have walked a little more slowly?
Turned back, even?