43. Carl
43. Carl
When I wake up, Sarah is still asleep beside me. For a few minutes I let my body rest against hers, listen to the gentle rhythm of her breathing, and allow myself to dream of what it would be like to wake up like this every morning.
They say love makes you vulnerable. Lying here naked in Sarah’s arms, I understand what that means. I have never opened up to anyone like I did to her last night. Never felt like I feel this morning.
There have been other women of course, but none like this. They were only ever possibilities of love. If I’m honest, they weren’t even that. Always carefully chosen so they wouldn’t want anything more than one snatched night of affection.
Sarah is so much more than a possibility. For the first time ever, I’ve found myself wanting to talk, really talk, to a woman. I’ve felt able to be myself. As if being myself just might be enough.
I see how lonely I’ve always, always been. And how exhausting that loneliness is.
Carefully, I unlace Sarah’s fingers from my shoulder and stare at her sleeping face on the pillow beside me. At the dark bruises under her eyes and the vivid pink scars on her forehead.
I couldn’t stand to lose Sarah. It’s the only way I can square it with what I’ve done to Danny. Knowing what he did to her – surely, whatever loyalty I once felt for him is cancelled out by his actions?
But then, maybe the reason he is what he is, did what he did, is down to me too. Should I have spotted it when we were in Afghanistan? Should I have taken better care of him?
Last night we talked about so much, but we didn’t talk about him. Still, no matter how much I try to block him out, his face keeps creeping back into my consciousness.
Is it possible that I was so destroyed by the deaths of Fridge and Squadron, so desperate to get back on to the battlefield, to wreak my revenge on the enemy who had taken them from me, that I didn’t look out for the kid standing right next to me?
I’ve always told myself that I kept my promise to him – I got him back to Sarah. But I never considered what state I brought him home in. Should I, could I, have been more careful?
I creep out of bed and pull the curtains back a chink to marvel at the silent, glistening white world outside. The snow is still falling, like little feathers floating past the window.
People bundled up in colourful scarves and thick winter coats pick their way along the street below, delighted by the crisp, untouched snow beneath their feet. I long to get out there with them. To lace up my boots and stride across the moors. I know that’s the only way I can get my head together. Properly order my thoughts.
Somewhere in the corridor a door opens and closes, footsteps tread quietly past our room.
‘What time is it?’
I turn, watch Sarah rub at her eyes, then I pad back to the bed and sit back down beside her. I put my arms around her, kiss the top of her head. I know I should talk to her about Danny but I just can’t bring myself to.
Because what if it is my fault? What then?
‘Early,’ I say. ‘It’s just gone seven.’
She sits forward and grins. ‘Fancy breakfast in bed? I’m starving.’
We order full English breakfasts with extra toast and croissants on the side, fresh orange juice and coffee.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ says Sarah, biting into a slice of thickly buttered toast and marmalade.
‘It’s hard to take you seriously when you have marmalade on the end of your nose.’ I laugh, reaching forward to wipe it off.
She wrinkles her nose adorably and I can’t help but kiss her.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she says again, ‘and I have no idea where we’d start, or if it would even be possible, but could we look into finding out what happened to Assami’s family? To Habiba and the kids. And if we find them, maybe there’s a way we could bring them over here?’
My heart feels as if it has skipped a beat. Does she mean it? Does she think that’s actually something we could do? How?
Sarah reads my mind.
‘I’m not exactly sure how, but I have all this money sitting in an account that I never use. Dad sends me a ridiculously generous cheque every Christmas. Guilt money, Mum calls it, for never spending any time with me. Anyway, I never wanted to use it. It didn’t feel like it was mine somehow. But ever since he came to see me in the hospital, I’ve been thinking about him, about us.
‘Dad went to one of those fancy schools where everyone always knows someone who can help. He’s a lawyer with lots of powerful contacts. He asked me to give him a chance to help. This could be it.’
I let all this sink in. Sarah would do all this for me. Well, not for me, for Habiba and her children. But yes, for me too.
After Assami died, I had so wanted to look for them myself, but I didn’t know where to start. I had no money, no contacts. I talked to the reporter and he told me that without resources, without government backing, it would be almost impossible. But now, with Sarah’s dad, maybe …
‘But it’s your money,’ I tell her. ‘I have some savings, but not much.’
She waves her hands dismissively. ‘It’s never felt like my money, which is why I’ve never spent it, but I can’t think of a better way of using it. And I don’t have to feel guilty about it, because Mum’s finally made up with Dad too.’
She takes a gulp of tea. ‘In fact, I was actually thinking of setting up some sort of charity to get families in danger out of Afghanistan. Ever since I heard what happened to Assami, I’ve wondered what happened to his children, to Habiba. I remember that time she came to the camp and brought you biscuits. Caroline gave one to me later, said how lovely she seemed. Carl, what if we can help her? And if not Habiba, then we could at least help other families who are living in hiding from the Taliban. What do you think?’
Excitement floods through me at the prospect of being able to do something for those families. People the rest of the world seems happy to forget. And to be doing it with Sarah too.
‘I think it’s an amazing idea!’ I tell her.
‘That’s settled, then,’ she says, reaching forward and helping herself to another piece of toast.