Soldier's Daughters (21 page)

‘You ready?’ he asked.

‘Just about.’ Sam put down her mascara wand and swivelled round.

‘The belle of the ball,’ said James, appreciatively.

Sam stood up, smoothing down her short velvet frock. ‘Will it do? I wasn’t sure what I ought to wear. This is my first corporals’ club do and I don’t want to get it wrong.’

‘I’m no expert,’ said James, ‘but you look perfect to me.’

‘Aw,’ said Sam. ‘You are kind.’

‘Hey, I’d tell you if you didn’t, trust me. I’ve got standards, you know.’

Sam giggled. ‘I do. I can imagine the last thing you want is to walk into the room and have the corporals recoil in horror at your choice of date.’

‘That was
precisely
what I was afraid of. But on this occasion I think I’ve avoided that by the skin of my teeth.’

Sam laughed more. ‘Carry on like that and I won’t make the effort next time.’

‘Who says there’s going to
be
a next time?’

Still exchanging banter, they left her room and made their way across the barracks to the club.

Immi tried hard not to smirk as she sat with Luke and the other committee members at the central table in the corporals’ club. She knew she looked a million dollars in a gold lamé dress and with her hair, freshly dyed blonde, streaming down her back. Her friends had told her she looked ‘dead classy’, which was exactly what she’d been going for. Luke wasn’t like other soldiers and she didn’t think he’d appreciate her normal, more obvious look. She still didn’t understand why he had joined as a squaddie, not an officer – especially as with all those GCSEs he obviously had the brains to be an officer – but she didn’t want to frighten him off by looking a bit tarty. Well, very tarty, because Immi had more than enough self-knowledge to know how she could often come across, which was perfect for pulling most soldiers, the ordinary squaddies, but not Luke, no way.

She was tapping her feet along to a Killers song and longing for Luke to ask her to dance. If her date had been with anyone but Luke she might have thrown in the towel and either told him to get his arse in the dance floor or found someone else to bop about with under the flashing disco lights. But as Luke intimidated her slightly and she was desperate to make their relationship – such as it was – a bit more permanent, she was trying hard not to rock the boat. She was even watching how much she drank; she didn’t reckon Luke would approve if she got shit-faced. She was about to take her first sip of her third white wine – she’d given up on red because, try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to like it – when she saw Luke stare at the door. She followed his gaze: Captain Rosser and Luke’s boss, Captain Lewis, were coming in. Immi sighed; Capitan Lewis looked fantastic in an above-the-knee, midnight-blue, velvet dress and a wonderful sparkly bolero jacket to complement it. Suddenly her own gold lamé seemed rather tawdry in comparison. Bollocks. She looked back at Luke. Bigger bollocks. Immi stared at him. The way he looked at Captain Lewis sort of confirmed what she’d suspected down at the guardroom. She felt a sharp little stab of jealousy. How unfair was that! Immi’d known all along that Luke was out of her league but she’d never expected to have to compete for him with Sam Lewis.

‘Something the matter?’ said Luke.

‘No, why should there be?’ She covered up how hurt she felt. Captain Lewis had the looks, the brains, a natty little sports car, which Immi coveted, and now she had the attention of Luke, who she wouldn’t even want, not with her being an officer and everything. Bleakly, Immi wondered if she’d get Luke on the rebound.

‘You don’t look like nothing’s the matter,’ probed Luke.

‘I was just wondering what that pair are doing here,’ she bluffed.

‘He gets an invite,’ said Luke, ‘because he’s OiC of the club. And I suppose he asked Lewis along as a “plus one”.’

‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ said Immi, thinking it was anything but. ‘As long as the officers haven’t decided to gatecrash our party. And can you imagine what would happen if we did the same back to them? You’d be on a fizzer for insubordination before you could say “guilty as charged”.’

Luke snorted. ‘Like I’d want to gatecrash the officers’ mess.’

Immi recalled his low opinion of all officers and kept quiet. She had a ridiculous ambition to one day be invited in there to be a part of a proper officers’ ball or dinner night; she knew it was unlikely but, hey, a girl could dream. Although, given the way things were going with her ambition to get Luke to date her, any other dreams she might have were probably going to go the same way – down the toilet.

The newcomers came over to their table, where the chairman of the corporals’ club committee leapt to his feet and found a couple of chairs so the pair could join them. Luckily, they sat down right at the far end of the table, about as far from Immi and Luke as was possible, but it didn’t stop Luke from flicking disparaging looks in Rosser’s direction. And Immi sat next to him, her feet tapping and head bobbing as she listened to the music and longed to be invited to dance. Then she saw the two officers stand up and make their way over to the dance floor. She sighed – shitting hell, even Lewis was getting a chance to have a bop.

She watched them stroll into the middle of the parquet floor, where they began the standard army officers’ military two-step: shuffle-step-shuffle-together-shuffle-step-shuffle-together. She was vaguely thinking how nice it would be if Luke took her for a stroll around the floor too, even if it was for such a crap sort of ‘dad-dance’, when he grabbed her wrist and hauled her upright.

‘Now listen,’ he said as he propelled her forward, ‘trust me, I know what I’m doing. Relax and follow me.’ And with that he put her in a proper
Strictly Come Dancing
hold, thrillingly tight against his body, and then… well… frankly, fireworks, thought Immi after. She had no idea what her feet were doing, nor did she care, but she didn’t seem to be kicking Luke’s shins or tripping him up and yet she was being spun around, she was twirling – yes, actually twirling – and every eye in the club seemed to be on her. Luke was managing to give her signals through the position of his body and the pressure of his hand on her back, which meant instinctively she knew which direction he wanted her to move in, and as she shimmied across the floor she felt like a million dollars. Talk about being the centre of attention.

Sam and James headed back to the mess at around eleven o’clock, having stayed long enough to be sociable but not so long as to outstay their welcome. Besides, if they’d stayed any later there was every likelihood that one of the soldiers would have got drunk and thrown a punch or said something out of order, and it was always best if the officers had left prior to witnessing such an event – or, worse, getting caught up in it, which would only make the subsequent disciplinary action more complicated.

‘So, what was all that about?’ said James as they walked slowly but companionably across the barracks.

‘What was all what about?’

‘That dancing display put on by Blake and Cooper.’

‘Dunno. Impressive, though, wasn’t it? And it begs the question: just
who
was he trying to impress?’

‘I don’t think it was Cooper,’ said James. ‘I think he was showing off to you.’

Sam laughed. ‘Me? Bloody hell, James, why on earth? Maybe he’s planning to apply to
Strictly
and thinks a reference from me would help.’

‘Maybe. But, seriously, where on earth did an oik like Blake learn those moves?’

Sam felt oddly riled by James’s description of Blake. ‘Blake may be an oddball but he’s not an oik. Did you know he’s got a Latin GCSE?’

James stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Latin? Latin! You’re joking.’

Sam nodded. ‘Nope. He really isn’t your average grunt and very far from being an oik. I did try to ask him about his past when I first arrived in the LAD, but he clammed up completely. He’s a dark horse.’

‘Corporal Cooper likes him, though,’ said James.

Sam laughed. ‘She was a bit obvious, wasn’t she, the way she kept looking at him? I think she fancies him but I’ve got a feeling it’s not reciprocated.’

‘No. She’s definitely punching above her weight there.’

It was her phone ringing that woke Sam the next morning. ‘Yeah?’ she said groggily as she picked it up, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

‘Sam?’

‘Oh, hello, Michelle.’

‘Oh, Sam.’ There was a muffled sob.

Sam swung her legs out of bed and padded across her room to where she kept the kettle and the mugs. If she was going to have to provide a shoulder for Michelle to cry on, she needed caffeine. She was only half listening as she spooned granules into a mug and boiled the kettle but it didn’t matter as Michelle was on transmit rather than receive.

‘And,’ said Michelle, her voice almost ultra-sonic with rage, ‘did I tell you that the bastard asked me what I’d been playing at? Me?’

‘Bastard indeed,’ said Sam as calmly as she could. Shit, not the retelling of the phone-call-after-that-lunch-party-encounter
again
? And each time Michelle retold the story her voice seemed to get shriller. Sam reckoned that at this rate she was going to be lucky to escape without hearing impairment. Honestly, she thought, it was like some awful Groundhog Day, only without the cute critter. If her English tutor at uni had been subjected to this, no wonder he’d threatened her with the law. But, thank God, Michelle was only phoning her and not anyone else… like Seb’s wife.

‘Well, I told him straight, didn’t I? But yesterday he tried a different tack. Yesterday he said he wants us to part as friends,’ she sneered. ‘Like I am ever going to be friends with that git. Part as friends? My arse! He must think I’m Mother fucking Theresa because you’d need to be a saint to forgive him for what he’s done. God, his poor wife is welcome to him. If you see him and can bear to talk to the slimy creep, you can tell him that I never want to have anything to do with him ever again. And he can shove rowing and his fucking boat where the sun don’t shine.’ Then her voice cracked and a shuddering sob reverberated down the line. Sam waited silently till her friend regained her self-control. ‘Who am I kidding, Sam?’ she whimpered. ‘I love him. I keep wondering if I’m stuck in some awful sort of nightmare. I’d take him back in a moment.’

‘No,’ said Sam. ‘Never. You must never do that and you mustn’t tell him that’s how you feel. Besides, he’s not worth it. He’d only do it again.’

‘But, Sam, I’m so miserable. I want him so much.’

Sam rolled her eyes. This was a worse mess than she’d thought. She’d hoped that Michelle’s rage was a sign that she’d accepted what an unprincipled toe-rag Seb was and would want to keep as far away from him as possible. The last thing she’d envisaged was that Michelle would still hold a candle for him. Bugger. Somehow she didn’t think this boded well. On the positive side all she had to do was keep Michelle away from Warminster and Seb until after Christmas and then Seb would be off to Kenya for weeks and weeks. Hopefully, by the time he got back it would all have blown over and Michelle would have moved on.

‘Come in, come in,’ said Maddy, throwing the door wide to let in Jenna and her box of products and hairdressing equipment.

Jenna stepped quickly. ‘I feel like some sort of spy,’ she said as she took off her headscarf, which covered up her startling platinum hair.

‘A very glam one,’ said Maddy, thinking Jenna looked not unlike a blonde Audrey Hepburn in her scarf and Burberry trench coat.

Jenna shook out her hair. ‘Right, where are we going to do this?’ She began to unbutton her mac as she looked around. ‘Better quarter than the last one,’ she commented.

Maddy, balancing Nathan on one hip, helped her out of her coat and put it over the banister.

‘Not as lovely as your sunny little flat,’ she said.

‘Still, you’ve got it arranged nice,’ said Jenna.

‘Thanks,’ said Maddy. ‘You try and make it look as much like the last place as possible – try and keep that feeling that it’s home, even when it isn’t really. Now, I thought it would be easiest to wash my hair in the kitchen – and cut it there too. I can strap Nate into his high chair, give him some toys to play with and, if he really kicks off, bribe him with sweeties.’

‘’Eeties,’ said Nathan, waving his hands about.

‘He’s talking,’ said Jenna as she followed Maddy down the hall.

‘Up to a point.’ Maddy plonked Nathan into his chair and snapped up the harness. Then she got some stacking beakers off the counter and handed them to her son. Instantly he dropped them onto the floor. Maddy bent down to retrieve them and Nathan repeated his trick.

‘Nathan,’ she said. ‘I won’t pick them up again.’

Jenna got busy opening out her big plastic box and took out the top tray, containing brightly coloured curlers, and put it on the counter by the high chair. Instantly Nathan reached for them.

‘No, Nathan. Those are Jenna’s.’

‘Genna’s,’ said Nate.

‘Jenna,’ said Jenna.

‘Genna.’

‘Think that’s as good as it’s going to get at the mo,’ said Maddy.

Nathan began to wail about not being allowed the curlers.

‘I don’t mind him playing with a couple,’ said Jenna, ‘if you don’t. They’re all clean.’

‘He’ll chew them,’ warned Maddy. ‘He’s teething again.’

‘They’re only curlers.’ She handed a red one and a pink one to Nathan. He grasped them eagerly and stuffed one straight in his mouth. However, silence reigned.

Maddy slipped on the gown Jenna gave her as Jenna put the shower attachment onto the kitchen taps and, while Nathan was happily diverted by the curlers, they got busy.

‘So what did you say Seb was doing?’ asked Jenna as she massaged shampoo into Maddy’s hair and lathered it up.

‘Last-minute rowing training.’

‘He does a lot of rowing, doesn’t he?’ said Jenna.

‘He does,’ said Maddy. ‘Every weekend.’

‘Every weekend?’

‘Uh huh. It used not to be that bad but suddenly… I don’t know, it seems as if army rowing has taken over his life.’

‘He must be bloody good.’

‘He used to be. Nearly rowed in the Boat Race.’ Even Jenna would have heard of that, reasoned Maddy.