Poppy Day (31 page)

‘Can you go and see him?’ He narrowed his eyes, anger finally getting the better of him. ‘What do you think this is, Poppy, a cottage hospital? We don’t have visiting times as such; there isn’t a nurse’s station for you to drop off flowers and chocolates! This is an operational theatre where people are engaged in combat. This is a bloody war zone!’

‘So does that mean I can see him or I can’t?’

Anthony balled his fingers into fists and took a deep breath. ‘How did you get over here, Poppy?’

Poppy had already decided that her best option was to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Lying had got her into too much trouble already. ‘I came over on an army flight from Brize Norton, a few days ago, maybe a week ago now, I’m not entirely sure, time seems to have gone a bit fuzzy.’

‘You came over on an army flight from Brize Norton?’

She nodded.

He looked at the others in the room, who looked at him and then looked away. ‘So, let me get this straight, you just pitched up and said, “Hi, I’m Poppy Day, here is my passport and I would like to get on this flight to Afghanistan please”?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Not exactly?’

Poppy wondered if he was going to repeat everything that she said. ‘No.’

‘Enlighten me, Poppy; tell me why “not exactly”?’

‘Well, I didn’t have a passport.’

‘You didn’t have a passport?’

She shook her head and thought about saying, ‘Anthony Helm is a dickhead’, to see if he would repeat it. ‘No, I didn’t have a passport because I don’t own one.’

‘What ID did you have then, if not a passport?’

Poppy knew before she spoke that he wasn’t going to like her response. ‘I had my library card and my bank card.’

He almost spat the words, ‘Your library card?’

She nodded.

‘You used your real name, your real details, you showed your library card and they let you get on the flight?’

‘Well, yes kind of, I was crying. I was very upset. I think the guard at the first security desk felt sorry for me…’

‘Jesus H. Christ!’ Once again he looked at the others,
scanning
their faces, wanting someone to blame; again they averted their gaze.

‘I didn’t get straight on the plane though, I made out that I was a Danish journalist whose passport had been stolen and the other guard at the second check let me through.’

‘Did you cry for him as well?’

‘No.’

He was visibly twitching at having to control his anger. ‘And then, Poppy, once you had arrived, how did you get into the camp and where did you stay?’

‘I got on the army bus and I have been staying in the media tents.’

‘In the media tents?’

Here we go again… ‘Yes, the media tents.’

‘But that’s where I stay.’

‘Hey, we’re neighbours!’

Someone in the room laughed; this sent him over the edge. As he spoke, spit flew from the corner of his mouth. His accent was the strongest that she’d heard it, as if he couldn’t do angry and voice control at the same time. ‘You seem to find this whole episode extremely amusing. Let me assure you, Mrs Cricket, that there is nothing vaguely funny about what you have done. If you had been killed, can you imagine the conversation that we would be having now?’

Poppy couldn’t help it, she knew she shouldn’t have said it, but she did, ‘…well we wouldn’t be having one, would we, if I had been killed?’ Her inner monologue was screaming ‘Oh my God, shut up, Poppy!’ This was Martin’s boss after all.

‘I can see that there is no point trying to engage you with any kind of logic, but just what did you hope to achieve? Why could you not sit back like every other army wife that I have ever met and let us handle the situation?’

‘I am not “every other army wife”. I couldn’t give a shit about coffee mornings and convention! I told you why once before; my exact words were that I had a lack of faith in you and your army, which started on the day that my husband was failed by you and taken hostage while doing his bloody job! That was further compounded when, over a week later we still had no idea where he was and you were no closer to getting him back. With that in mind, I decided to go and get him myself. I didn’t believe that you could do it and I was right. As for the question, what did I hope to achieve? I hoped to get in front of Zelgai Mahmood and to negotiate the release of my husband.’ Poppy swallowed as a picture of the ‘negotiations’ swam into her head. ‘I am happy to report, Anthony, that I achieved both.’

This time everyone looked at her. ‘You met with Zelgai Mahmood?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you negotiated Martin’s release?’

‘Yes.’

The major walked backwards and sat on a swivel chair. He placed his head in his hands as though this final piece of
information
was too much. ‘Jesus H. Christ.’

Poppy noticed that this was the second time that he had said this, what was he asking for? Help? Divine inspiration? She almost felt sorry for him, having been looking for both herself only recently.

Everyone was looking from him to Poppy and back again. The tension in the air was tangible. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, seeming to reach a conclusion in his head. ‘OK. OK. Enough. I don’t know how you managed to achieve what you did, Poppy, and I can see that what you have done could be interpreted by some as a great success, but it was reckless,
dangerous
and could have meant loss of life for a lot of innocent people had it all gone wrong. That aside, what we are left with is potentially a public relations disaster on a monumental scale, and I am left in the unenviable position of having to ask you for your help.’

He had her interest now. ‘Of course I will help you. I will help you in any way that I can. I didn’t want to cause trouble for you, Anthony, or anyone else, I only wanted my husband back.’ Poppy meant it, she really meant it. His smile looked genuine; it was his turn to be relieved.

When Martin awoke he was lying on a trolley in the medical centre.

‘Hi there.’ The medic was staring at him, as if she had been waiting for him to wake up.

‘Hello.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine,’ Martin lied. He felt weak and more than a little bit confused.

She bent over and shone a light into Martin’s eyes. ‘You’ve got badly bruised ribs, a knackered finger and your cheekbone is cracked. You have other severe bruising and a nasty case of conjunctivitis, but other than that you are doing all right. You fainted with dehydration, that’s why we have you on a drip. We will leave you hooked up to the IV for a little while longer and then we can move you somewhere more comfortable. If you need anything just shout.’

Martin nodded. ‘Where is my wife? Where’s Poppy?’ As the question left his lips, he felt fearful that he might have imagined the whole thing, that the medic might say, ‘Your wife? Oh mate, you’ve had a bump on the head…’

She didn’t. ‘Ah yes, Lara Croft. We haven’t seen her down here. I expect she is being debriefed, we can probably get a message to her if you like.’

‘Yes, can you tell her…? Can you tell her…?’ Martin couldn’t speak through his tears, she was real; he hadn’t imagined it. What did he want to tell her? There were no words that he could say to his amazing girl, nothing to begin to describe his gratitude. He would try to tell her in his own time, when they were alone, when they were home.

All personnel had been asked to go, leaving Anthony, Poppy and a Colonel Blakemore. Someone had given Poppy a cup of tea; it was the sweetest nectar, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten, drunk or slept in a very long time. It also reminded her of home. She thought about her nan, sitting in her little room with the telly turned up too loudly.

Anthony took control. Poppy hated the way he spoke to her as if she were stupid. She hated that from anyone, more than anything. ‘We find ourselves in a very delicate situation, Poppy. It is, of course, wonderful that Martin is back safe and relatively unharmed, that was always our sole objective…’

Poppy bit her tongue, said nothing.

‘…however, the British Army is so much more than its daily activity and its soldiers. Do you understand what I mean by that?’

She shook her head, thinking, ‘Sorry, Major; once again you’ve lost me.’

‘We have a reputation and it is our reputation that precedes us in every campaign that we enter into, every deployment we undertake. Our reputation is everything.’

Poppy nodded to show understanding; gotcha so far, Tony.

‘This war against terrorism and terrorists is different to any other war that we have been engaged in. On 9/11 our world changed, your world changed and what we have now is rarely a physical battle, but much more a battle of wits, if you will. It is a matter of intelligence and counter-intelligence, covert activity and high-tech endeavours, specialisms if you like. Gone are the days when brute force and who has the biggest guns equalled success. Above all, Poppy, it is about perceptions and belief…’

She was still listening.

‘… it’s not only about what our soldiers in theatre, and what the public at home perceive and believe, but also what our enemies perceive and believe. I cannot begin to describe the damage that your foray could do to our reputation and peoples’ perceptions if it were to become public information.’ Anthony was quiet, awaiting her response.

‘I can see that it would put you in a difficult position. If it was known that the Special Forces operation to rescue Mart failed because you got the wrong house, yet me, a twenty-two-year-old hairdresser, managed to breach every aspect of your security and meet with the head of the ZMO to bring my husband back. I guess it wouldn’t do much for your fearsome reputation and the perception that your force is a force of excellence.’

‘Quite.’ She noticed that a nerve twitched below his right eye.

‘So, what are you suggesting?’ Poppy wasn’t being clever; she was genuinely struggling to see where he was heading with his argument.

‘When we get back to the UK, there will be a press
conference
to announce that Martin is back and safe. We would like to confirm that it was a Special Forces operation after weeks of negotiation that made it possible. How do you feel about that?’ He looked at Colonel Blakemore.

Poppy watched them nervously awaiting her response. She was quiet for a while, thinking it through. She was tired and this made thinking about anything difficult. She closed her eyes and rubbed them with her fingertips. ‘I don’t really care how you say he was brought home. I don’t care because to me it isn’t
important
. I was only ever interested in getting him home, not in showing up your army, or for any personal glory.’

They both sighed, visibly relieved to hear this. ‘That’s good, Poppy. It would have been terrible for Martin to get home, only to have you imprisoned for the many violations that you have committed. The breaching of two countries’ immigration laws alone carries a custodial sentence, without even looking at the penalties for trespassing on an MoD airfield and stowing away on a military aircraft…’ Anthony finished on the threat, letting it hang in the air. The bastard.

It was some hours later before Martin was well enough to scan the out-of-date newspapers that someone placed in his hands. He couldn’t believe what Poppy had achieved. She was on the front page, asking for his release! He read every word over and over, wanting all the detail. It felt very strange to be reading about a situation that felt like a story, an awful, sad story, but just that. When he stopped to think about the fact that it was his story, their story, with Poppy’s picture staring back at him, it was surreal.

Poppy made her way to her tent. The little cot was there, just as she had left it. She ran her hand over its surface; it was a
different
person that had laid her head there so many hours before. She had been so preoccupied that she had managed to push what had happened out of her head, but as she sat on the end of the little bed all alone, she broke her heart. She thought about what Zelgai had done to her and she sobbed. Her skin prickled in revulsion and shame. What had she done? What on earth had she done?

A figure entered the tent. She sat up and tried to stop crying. It was Miles. Poppy was delighted to see him, delighted to see anyone at that point. She needed the comfort and reassuring presence of another human and she was so glad that it was him. Jumping up, she threw her arms around his neck and carried on crying. He held her close against him. She felt safe, protected and was so glad to see him alive and unharmed.

‘Oh Miles, I am so glad to see you! I had imagined all sorts. Jason told me that you were safe, but I knew that I wouldn’t be happy until I had seen you!’ Poppy looked up to see that he was crying too. ‘What’s the matter with you, you silly sod?’

Miles removed his glasses and pinched his nose as was his habit, trying to pull himself together. ‘You’ve been worried? Jesus, Poppy, you have no idea! I begged them to let me stay with you. I had no clue as to what they were going to do with you and it was entirely my fault. I took you there; I put you in that danger; I didn’t think it through. I was arrogant and selfish. I am so, so sorry…’

‘Don’t be daft! I insisted on you taking me with you; you gave me the solution! You have protected and helped me all the way along, Miles. I couldn’t have achieved anything without you. None of it would have been possible. I’d still be stood like a silly cow, trying to hitch a lift back to London from Brize bloody Norton, wherever that is. It has all been possible because of you, all of it, and I will never ever forget what you have done for me, what you have done for us!’

‘I could never have forgiven myself, Poppy, if anything bad had happened to you…’

Poppy shook her head and lied to her friend, her dear friend, ‘Well, Miles, nothing bad did happen to me so you are in the clear, mate, off the hook!’

He rubbed his palm over his stomach, trying to settle the swirl of emotion, a hurricane at his very core; it was relief and something else too. Miles recognised the stirring of a deep and unrequited love. He knew that the object of his desire was forever bound to a greater man than he. Their future and their history had been scripted and sealed, long before he arrived.