11. Sarah
11. Sarah
February
‘Doing your dhobi ?’ Carl asked as he walked into the camp launderette.
Quickly, I shoved my washing into the giant machine. But in my haste a pair of knickers escaped and fell to the floor in all their hammock-sized, sexless navy glory. I snatched them up and threw them in with the rest of the load, my cheeks burning. Carl was the last person on that camp I wanted to see my comfy old work knickers.
He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. My God, those eyebrows had a life of their own.
‘Hey,’ he said, throwing his arms up in the air. ‘No judgement here. I’ve never been a fan of barely there, frilly, lacey, skimpy underwear. Nothing says sexy to me like a pair of pants big enough to sail home in.’
I felt almost guilty laughing. It was only six weeks since Fridge’s death, and emotions were still raw. All of us were on edge, bracing ourselves for the next loss. We didn’t know it that day, but the next loss would be Squadron – just a few days later.
‘Package from home?’ Carl nodded at the parcel sitting in my now empty laundry basket.
I nodded. ‘From my mum.’
The parcel had arrived that morning, and I’d been saving it to open later. Now we both stared at it. Something told me Carl didn’t get many care packages.
I picked it up and started to open it, smoothing out the paper, then carefully turning it over and unpeeling the sticky flap at the back and …
‘Oh my God, just open it!’ He laughed.
I obediently ripped it open. Inside were a bunch of women’s magazines – Marie Claire , Woman , Woman’s Own – six bars of my favourite salted caramel Lindt chocolate, some marmalade and a box of cigars.
‘So, you’re a cigar smoker?’ Carl asked. He whistled admiringly.
As puzzled by the sight of the cigars as he was, I read Mum’s note out loud. ‘Some Cuban cigars the Americans might like.’
‘She does know this isn’t the Second World War, right?’ he asked.
There went the eyebrows again. Eyebrows that alone were capable of breaking your heart.
There was an old CD player on the floor by one of the washing machines. It suddenly caught his eye. He looked at me. ‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.’ And he sprinted out of the door.
I watched another soldier shake a bag of washing into one of the machines. I checked on mine, which was spinning happily, and couldn’t resist a peek at Carl’s load. A tangle of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Of course.
Danny’s underpants were Autograph from Marks & Spencer. Lovely Danny. He didn’t tease me about my big pants.
I opened my copy of Marie Claire .
‘Are you reading the problem page?’
Carl was back, holding a Bruce Springsteen CD. He waved it in the air. ‘Assami’s always banging on about him. I thought I’d see what all the fuss is about. You opening that chocolate any time soon?’
Smiling, I held out a bar to him. He unwrapped it and snapped off a chunk. Then he opened the magazine.
‘“Twenty signs he’s in love with you,”’ he read from the page at which it fell open, his mouth full of chocolate.
He stopped for a moment to swallow his chocolate, then carried on reading. ‘“He brings you flowers for no reason.”’
He peered at me from behind the magazine. ‘“He wants you to hang out with his friends.”’
Another glance, this time with a mild raise of his eyebrows. ‘“He begrudgingly gets into some of your girly habits.”’
Feigning incredulity now. ‘“He makes you dinner after a bad day.”’
He looked up again. ‘No wonder I’ve never been in a long-term relationship.’
As darkness closed in, we listened to Bruce Springsteen, ate chocolate and laughed at the articles we took it in turn to read aloud from the magazines.
A stranger watching us would never have guessed that, just a few weeks ago, he’d been lying seriously injured in a hospital bed, with me standing over him while I changed his dressing, praying that he would make it.
Suddenly the room fell silent as the rhythmic thud of clothes going round and round in the tumble dryer ground to a halt. For a moment neither of us said anything.
‘How are you?’ I asked.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’
I wanted him to see me as someone he could talk to, properly talk to. Wanted him to know that, although he had lost Fridge, I was still there. And I wanted to be there for him. This sweet man with his haunted, deep blue eyes.
‘The last few weeks can’t have been easy,’ I said.
He ran his hand backwards and forwards over his shaved head.
‘No, well, I don’t think it’s been a great time for any of us.’
I thought about Danny. There had been an increasing nerviness to him since the day of the explosion. He talked endlessly of our lives back home. How I’d go back to work at the hospital while he’d join his uncles in the garage they had set up with his dad.
He even talked about the house he’d build for us and the children we’d have – a boy he’d teach to play rugby, and a little girl who might want him to teach her too.
Once upon a time I’d wanted all those things as well. The trouble was, I didn’t want them any more. Too many things had changed. But how could I possibly tell Danny?
I turned to face Carl, and our knees brushed together. We were so close to each other, I could feel his breath on my face. I longed to reach out, to place my palm on his cheek.
‘You and Danny,’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘It’s complicated –’
‘I should get going,’ he said suddenly, standing up and walking to the tumble dryer.
He rammed his clothes into a duffel bag, threw it across his shoulder and headed for the door. Just before he disappeared, he turned to look back at me one more time. He looked as if he was going to say something but then thought better of it and opened the door.
I wanted to call him back, I wanted to tell him how I really felt, but already the swirling dust outside was obscuring his face. I willed him not to walk away, willed him to turn around and look at me.
But if he did, I didn’t see. The wind kicked up a thick cloud of dust, swallowing up his shadowy bulk in seconds.