The Songbird and the Soldier Page 5

  “No. I think you can do it online. I looked into it when Dean first went out there.”

  “What do you think, Chlo? Are you up for it?”

  “Absolutely! Right, I think that’s enough exercise for me for one week.”

  The girls clambered their way down to the boot kiosk and released their aching feet. With their faces rosy from exercise and their eyes bright with excitement, the girls laughed and joked as they walked back to the car and, picking up a burger on the way, they hurried home to get the ball rolling.

  Sam sat on Kate’s bed while the other two got ready. She wondered how their plan was going to work. “You know he may not know any single guys for you to write to,” she warned them.

  “Course he will,” Kate said. “Who wouldn’t want a bit of this?” She pulled a sexy pose. Sam rolled her eyes. “Just tell him to get me one with big muscles, all right? And preferably, this time, someone who’s not madly in love with you.”

  “He is not!” Sam protested.

  “Yeah? Well, we’ll see. Muscles, remember.”

  “I’m not guaranteeing anything,” Sam said, amused at the silly way her two friends were acting that night. “Smile.” Sam took some shots. “You’re both barking mad. You’re loons.”

  A couple of days later the welcome blue post dropped onto the mat again after Sam had arrived home from a stressful day at school. Parents’ evening was coming up and there was a lot of paperwork to see to before she was ready. She had spent half the afternoon trying to get the classroom in order, but what with Jimmy’s gluing calamity and Rochelle, the new girl in class, in a state over wetting herself on her first day in school it was a bit of an uphill struggle. It was almost five o’clock before she got home. As soon as she took off her bike helmet she saw it there. It was lying on the dresser, just inside the kitchen door. Sam smiled. She hurried inside and grabbed the letter, calling out a greeting to her mum as she swept in and out again and off up to her room. She ignored the whimpering of Humphrey at the bottom of the stairs, wanting to be carried up, and raced up the stairs to open the letter. It was long.

  Dear Sam,

  Happy Birthday!

  I hope you have a wonderful day. It was so good to hear from you. Life here is pretty basic. I seem to spend half my time out and about getting covered in mud and dirt and the other half trying to wash it off again. Why is there never a Hotpoint around when you need one? I tell you, you wouldn’t want to sing in our showers – you wouldn’t reach the end of the first chorus and the water would have run out. Although I have no objection to you trying if you should feel so inclined.

  What do we do out here? Well much of our task these days is diplomacy. We still have to patrol contentious areas like schools and clinics and keep roads clear for safe access, but more and more there is a limit on what we can actually do and more emphasis on assisting the local forces. Which I guess is how it will have to be if we are ever going to get out of here, but it’s a little frustrating for the men. There has been far less contact with the Taliban than the last time I was out here, which has its pros and cons. At least in a face-to-face fight you know who your enemy is.

  Try not to worry; we don’t have it too bad out here. We have a laugh when we can. Anyway, enough seriousness. Back to those peculiar foibles of yours!!! I’m shocked. I thought you were a normal girl!?!

  I promise never ever to mention the middle name (although I fail to see why it’s so bad?) and in compensation for this spectacular show of faith I will also admit to one thing the guys must never, EVER find out about me: I am a big fan of bird watching. There, I’ve said it, I’m a twitcher, but if you speak a word of this to anyone else, I will have to shoot you!

  So, bagpipes, huh? We’ll get back to that one later.

  Sam turned over the page.

  Okay… the Sellotape… I was badly traumatised as a child by a mother who wrapped every exciting present I ever had with rolls and rolls of Sellotape, leaving not a single edge to help me in my quest to get to the prize beneath. I’m still having counselling about that one. As for middle names? No. Not one that can be mentioned.

  Write soon, with photos.

  Andy

  Sam picked up the photos that had dropped out of the letter. She looked at them. The first one was of Andy with the lads standing in T-shirts and combats, posing in front of a mud wall and the other was of Andy by himself. Sam gazed at the photo. Yes, that’s what he looked like. He was gorgeous. Why hadn’t she noticed before? He was lean, his arms were well muscled, his hair was dark, almost black and his eyes were…she couldn’t tell what colour, and he had a kind smile. She gently stroked the picture and bit her bottom lip. He reminded her a little of someone, but she couldn’t think who.

  Sam placed the photo at the back of her desk, facing her and looked at the other. She flipped it over. ‘The lads,’ it said. Underneath, in small writing, Andy had written the names of all the soldiers in the picture. ‘Spike, Miller, Harding, Lofty, Zippo, Baker, Evans and Me. And the one in the background unaware he was being photographed is Lt Durbin’. Sam looked closely and noticed the tiny figure at the back that looked like he was picking his nose. She laughed and placed the second picture alongside the first.

  She wrote straight back.

  Dear Andy,

  I was so sad to hear about your tragic childhood. I hope the therapy is doing some good. Sorry to disappoint on the ‘normal’ front, but at least we will always have Marmite! As for our feathered friends? Your secret is safe with me.

  I am enclosing photos of two of my best friends. Kate is the blonde one. She is also 24. She’s bubbly and always popular with the boys. Chloe is the one with dark hair. She’s 21 and the more reserved of the two, although the photos may suggest otherwise. The point is they are currently without boyfriends and were wondering if there were any nice single guys out there who would like to write to them. Oh yes, and Kate requested someone with big muscles. I’m sorry, you can’t take her anywhere. Do you think you could help?

  Surely any middle name you could come up with couldn’t be worse than mine? I’m intrigued. What are we talking about here? Bartholomew? Alfred? Lesley?

  Thank you for your photos. They are up on my desk, looking at me as I write.

  What are the children like out there? Are they very different from over here?

  What do you miss when you are away?

  Write soon,

  Love, Sam

  Sam looked at the ending: Love Sam. Should she have put that? Was that too much? He might just see it as friendly. She drummed her fingers on the desk. Her stomach tightened and she folded up the letter and walked it down to the post box already anxious about the reply.

  Chapter 4

  Andy was out on patrol. They had been given the task of maintaining a presence at the local bazaar. He walked along the street, alert and vigilant. The enemy, he knew, could be anywhere and anyone. The sun shone down without mercy. Despite this, he felt like this was a good day. The local people seemed relaxed and happy. Children smiled and waved as traders went about their business. Days were not always like this. Some days Andy had been out patrolling the same ground and muted faces had stared back, afraid. Children looked on in silence and people hid away. These were the days when anything could happen. In Afghanistan, people who looked scared always had good reason.

  A small group of boys kicking something that looked like a dried up old fruit started to walk along beside him. Andy smiled at them. The patrol stopped and Andy shook their hands, still very much aware of what was going on around him. He got the order to move off again and signalled to his team. One of the boys kicked the makeshift ball out into his path by mistake, and Andy deftly back-heeled it to them as he passed, winking as he did. It was the little things like this that made his day.

  Back safe in the compound when the patrol was over and everyone was at ease, Andy was handed his mail. His face struggled hard not to give away his delight, as he removed himself to a shady corner and carefully opened his l
etter.

  He read, too quickly. He should not be so rushed. He read again, word by beautiful word. She had written some more about herself and Andy needed to know. He needed to know everything about her. He remembered little from before. They hadn’t spent much time talking about the past, only the present, their holiday and what they were going to do in the future. He looked at the photos. You stupid girl, he thought fondly to himself. I didn’t want pictures of your mates, I wanted them of you.

  He rummaged around in his things for the means to reply.

  Dear Sam,

  When I asked for pictures, I meant pictures of you! Don’t worry, I have a couple of chaps in mind for your friends and if I’m wrong, it won’t be long before I find some willing volunteers. But I won’t let them see the photos until they agree, or I could have half the platoon wanting to write to them, and a lot of them are married!

  You asked about children out here. We frequently come across groups of children and mostly they are very friendly. They smile at us and shake our hands, but the more unsure ones just watch us with big round eyes. I’ve learned a few words from our translator that help to break the ice, but we see little in the way of bad behaviour. Maybe you should try carrying a rifle around at school and see if your kids’ behaviour improves!?!

  I like the sound of Humphrey. How long have you had him? Is he yours, or your family’s? Do you think he would like me?

  He paused, unsure of how to go on. Should he let on a little of how he felt, or would that just scare her off? Maybe if he was light-hearted about it?

  Back to your list of likes and dislikes – Do you have any idea how many letters I receive every week? Maybe you think I have hordes of mail. A good-looking chap like me, of course I do. Actually, no. Apart from my mother’s ramblings once every couple of weeks, telling me just how wonderful my brother is, there is only you. Shocked? I know, it’s unbelievable! Then you must be able to see how dangerous it is to write the words ‘shower’ and ‘fresh linen’ so close together in a letter to a soldier on a six month tour… Beautiful woman, shower, bed… Bagpipes, bagpipes, bagpipes! Okay. I’m all right again now.

  Tell me about the kids you teach and about the parks in bloom.

  Send me a picture, please.

  Your lonely soldier,

  Andy

  PS Middle name? – Not even close!

  Was that too much? Andy almost screwed it up and started again. But he stopped. Faint heart never won fair maid, he thought, and sealed it up and wrote her address carefully on the front.

  He wrote the name, age and address of both the girls on the back of their photos and shoved them in his pocket then folded up Sam’s letter, placing it neatly away with the others he had hiding in his things. Deed done.

  Sam read Andy’s next letter and blushed. She had never intended to be provocative. It had been an honest mistake. Well, not a mistake, but she had never even thought how her words might make him feel. ‘Beautiful woman’ he had said. Her? He was picturing her. Sam’s stomach clenched. What was this she was feeling? She looked at the photo smiling at her from the back of her desk. But there was Dean. So how should she reply?

  Dear Andy,

  I’m not sure where the school stands on teachers carrying arms in class, but I shall certainly look into it.

  Humphrey is mine. I’ve had him about 18 months and he’s adorable. But would he like you? Probably not. He’s not very good at sharing my attention, but don’t be afraid, he’s not the kind of dog to savage a man. He might lick you to death, but apart from the odd yap, he’s completely harmless.

  I bike through a beautiful park on the way to school and back every day. The grass is very green at the moment because we have had quite a bit of rain. The borders are full of colour and the pond is dappled with quacking ducks. A weeping willow hangs lazily on one side and I have to duck down under its branches on my way through. I know I shouldn’t be riding through the park, but there’s no one around at that time of the morning, so don’t tell, okay?

  What do you get up to in your time off? Do you get time off? I’m sorry; I’m a bit of an idiot when it comes to knowing anything about the army.

  It got up to 22 degrees over here today. How hot is it with you?

  I’ve got parents’ evenings coming up this week - ugh! - So long days and lots of work for me. I need my pillow.

  Write soon,

  Your weary schoolteacher,

  Sam

  PS gargoyles don’t keep pictures of themselves! I could describe myself if that would do?

  PPS Heathcliff?

  Three days later a small terraced house came up for sale on the edge of town. It was an old place, but it had been well kept and updated over the years. It had one good-sized bedroom, a little room and a bathroom upstairs and a living room, cloakroom and kitchen downstairs. Sam took her mum and dad along to see it, hoping for their approval and she wasn’t disappointed. Sam had been left a large amount of money by her grandmother a few years before and had been saving as much as she could ever since to afford a place of her own. So when the next letter arrived, she had plenty of news to tell.

  Dearest Sam,

  You obviously still have no idea how many times I read your letters. Can I just say that your turn of phrase is destroying me? How is a guy supposed to concentrate on killing all the bad guys when the words ‘lick to death’, ‘hot’ and ‘pillow’ are swimming around in his brain? What are you trying to do to me?! And if you think you’re going to get away without sending me a picture of you, you’ve got another thing coming. Gargoyle, indeed! You’re beautiful. I have met you, remember. If you can manage to look at a picture of my ugly mug and still put pen to paper, I’m sure I can look at you. And no, a description will not do. Unless it is in the style of a hot Mills and Boon novel, of course? Ahhh! Bagpipes! No, I couldn’t take it!!! Nuns. Nuns. Okay.

  I take it this is a pushbike you ride every day? You’re not a Hell’s Angel, are you? The park sounds wonderful. What I wouldn’t give to walk barefoot around the soft green grass in that park right now.

  Yes. In answer to your question, we do get down time. Some guys play cards, some listen to music. There is time to write letters and re-read old ones. The mundane things that back home would take a matter of minutes take a lot longer out here, as everything has to be done by hand, so that fills up a bit of time too. Guys like Spike tend to keep fit - tell your friend Kate to expect a letter very soon – and others like Karl – Chloe’s guy – just top up their tans. My hidden talent, it seems, lies in poker. I’m getting pretty good, even if I do say so myself.

  The weather out here is hot, with intermittent bouts of scorching sun to break-up the monotony. It got up to a balmy forty three today! I’ll send you some over if you like.

  Write soon, WITH PHOTOS!

  Yours,

  Andy x

  PS Still no!

  Sam had reached a watershed. To go on now would be to admit there was more to this relationship than just friendship. Friendly banter had gone and flirtation was now definitely on the table. Was this really what she wanted?

  For the first time, Sam decided not to write back straight away. She understood this would mean the reply would also be delayed because of this, but it was important to be sure of what to say. She pushed the letter to the back of her desk and looked hard at the handsome soldier who smiled back at her from there. She rang Kate and arranged to go out the following night and then went downstairs to see her mum.

  After a while, her mum said, “You’re not your usual self tonight, love. Is anything wrong?”

  Sam shook her head.

  “Only you’re usually full of the joys of spring after you’ve had a letter.”

  Sam thought about this. “Just a tiring day, I guess.”

  “But the house is still going ahead all right, isn’t it? No problems there?”

  “Oh yes, fine.”

  “Right then. Lasagne and chips okay?”

  The following evening, Sam met Kate a
t a pub in town and confided her dilemma. Kate had few reservations about what Sam should do. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’re worried that you might be two-timing a guy who may or may not be bothered about writing to you and was basically a bit crap when he was around anyway, with a dark brooding horny Adonis who thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread? And you are hesitating because…?”

  “You’re probably right, I know. But what if Dean really is in the back of beyond? What sort of a woman would that make me?”

  Kate took a big swig of her drink. “You’re thinking way too much about this. Just go with it. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not exactly life or death. I say screw Dean and go with Andy.”

  “Put so eloquently, now I see perfectly what I need to do.” Sam sagged. “Oh, why are men so complicated?”

  “They’re not. They’re very simple. It’s basic science, Sam. Effort equals results. Andy is the one making all the effort. He should be the one getting the result.”

  “You were awake in Science class. I’m impressed.”

  Kate thumped her playfully.

  “Still,” said Sam, “it would be nice to know, one way or the other.”

  When Sam did eventually write back she felt it was important to maintain a holding position of friendliness. Not dismissive enough so as to put him off, but nor should she give him any reason to hope. She crafted her letter very carefully, giving herself more time to think, but still keeping the lines of communication open between them.

  Dear Andy,

  Great news: I have found a house. I put an offer in on a little terraced house a week or so ago and it has been accepted. It is all systems go at the moment, so keep your fingers crossed that it all goes well. I’m hoping I can move in over half term week. Mum and Dad will probably hold a party to celebrate finally getting rid of me – not really! I think Mum will secretly be sad to see me go. Who will she cluck over when I’m gone? Dad? I’m not sure he’s ready for that.