Soldiers' Wives (11 page)

‘No, it wasn't. Truly, it must just be the luck of the draw.'

‘Get away with you, I know you pulled some strings. Anyway, I won't keep you but I owe you one for this.' And with a cheery wave and a puff of exhaust fumes, Jenna's car zipped away.

It wasn't me, thought Maddy, it was just luck. If Jenna knew what Seb had said to her about being some sort of do-gooding Lady Bountiful trying to solve the soldiers' problems she'd know that nothing was further from the truth.

Another thing she'd got wrong, she thought morosely, as Nate started to cry once more. Crap as a mother, crap as a military wife…

At least, though, Jenna was happy. Like she had been a few months ago. Disconsolately, Maddy wondered how long it would last.

It was about eight o'clock that same evening when Chrissie and Immi cruised into Tommy's. Immi had decided that Baz was yesterday's man and wanted to find a replacement. It frankly baffled Chrissie how Immi managed her love-life so none of her ex-boyfriends ended up hurt or resentful about being dumped. So far, they'd all seemed to accept that their fling with her was over and harboured no hard feelings. She had no idea how Immi handled her exes, but it had to be with fantastic skill. Respect.

‘And besides,' she said, as she dragged Chrissie out of their room, ‘as you told me you're not having an affair with anyone – your very words, Chrissie Summers, so don't deny it – we might find someone for you. No!' She held her hand up, as Chrissie was about to protest. ‘No one for the long term, but if you ask me, you need taking down off the shelf and giving a good dusting.'

Chrissie laughed. ‘Not such a bad idea. I've got some nooks and crannies that need a bloody good seeing to.' Besides, it might take her mind off how she felt about Lee.

It was quietish when they got to the bar, but experience told them that it would be much busier in just a short while.

‘So, what are you drinking?' asked Chrissie. ‘Lager top?'

Immi nodded. They got their drinks and headed for a table in the centre of the room.

‘No point in being invisible,' said Immi, plonking herself down in full view of both the bar and the main door. She looked about. ‘Christ, fuck-all talent in at the moment, though: spotty Jack and his mates from B Company and a bunch of baby new recruits. Still, we might as well give it an hour – see what the cat drags in.'

‘Jack's not so bad,' said Chrissie. ‘He mightn't be a looker, but he's good company.' Immi gave Chrissie a very doubting look. ‘He is, honest.'

‘If you say so, hon.'

A roar of laughter rocked the room.

‘Told you,' said Chrissie.

‘Told me what?'

‘That he's funny.' Chrissie picked up her drink, grabbed Immi's arm and hauled her to her feet before dragging her mate over to where Jack was.

‘Hi, guys,' said Chrissie.

‘Hiya, Chris,' said Jack, his face beaming with pleasure at the sight of her. ‘And who have we here?' he asked, gazing Immi up and down.

‘Someone way out of your league,' said one of his mates.

‘Hey,' said Jack, grinning, ‘I only want a name, not a phone number and a hot date.' Despite his acne, he had a great smile and brilliantly blue eyes.

Chrissie wondered if Immi mightn't reassess him when she got to know him a bit better. Certainly Chrissie herself had, when they'd met on exercise and he'd managed to raise her morale after a particularly gruelling and rain-soaked day. Mind you, she thought, honours were even. Once he'd lifted her spirits out of the doldrums she managed to trade joke for joke with him.

‘Jack, this is Immi,' said Chrissie.

Jack introduced them to the rest of his pals: Doug, Bonzo and Chewbacca – who was tall and hairy – then said, ‘We were talking about weddings.'

Immi, who had been taking a sip of her lager top, nearly choked. ‘Blokes? Talking weddings?'

Jack looked at her steadily. ‘I know this must be an alien concept to you ladies but unless you're batting for the other team, and something tells me you aren't,' he gave Immi a lewd wink, ‘you're going to need a guy waiting for you at the altar otherwise your big day isn't going to go exactly to plan, is it? So yes, guys
do
know about weddings and we've even been known to take an interest in them.'

‘I
know
that,' said Immi a bit petulantly, ‘but I thought most guys would rather run a mile than get involved with any actual planning.'

‘So are you one of those metrosexuals, then, Jack?' asked Chrissie.

‘God yes, of course I am, aren't I, guys? Haven't I been telling you all the importance of getting your back, sack and crack waxed?'

‘You have?!' asked Immi, believing him and impressed, being a slave to personal grooming herself.

‘Want to see?' said Jack, his hand starting to unzip his flies.

Again the lads around him exploded with laughter and even Immi could see the funny side.

As the laughter died down, Chrissie said, straight-faced, ‘Actually, I do. I've never seen bald balls. I'm asking purely out of medical interest, you understand.'

Jack gave Chrissie a long look, before he tugged on his flies again.

‘Hang on,' said Chrissie, as she rummaged in her handbag. ‘I just need to get my magnifying glass out.'

Once again, the blokes erupted with laughter.

‘So,' asked Chrissie, when things had calmed down a bit, ‘what aspect of weddings were you lot finding so riveting?'

‘It was just weddings generally. I've been invited to Terry Gibbons's… know him?' Jack asked Chrissie.

‘Can't say I do,' said Immi, trying to get involved in the conversation. She tossed her hair about a bit for good measure, to try to get the lads to notice her.

Much as Chrissie loved Immi, she knew that her best mate was a bit put out by not being the centre of attention. Jack and his mates weren't the sort to be swept off their feet by a pretty face, long legs and a mass of chestnut hair, they were much more into personality and wit. And, bless Immi, she was a great friend and kindness itself as well as a looker, but when it came to razor-sharp repartee she wasn't going to be able to compete with the present company. Oh well, she'd get over it.

‘Terry from the cookhouse?' said Chrissie.

‘That's him,' said Jack.

Immi stared at Chrissie. ‘How come you know just about everyone in the battalion?'

‘Because I'm always sticking needles into people or checking their pulses or dishing out painkillers, or getting them to piss into bottles, or something else utterly wonderful. Your involvement with soldiers is just their names on documents and you hardly get to meet anyone. Trust me, if you worked in the medical centre you'd get to meet
everyone
– and get to know more about them than you really want to.' She turned back to Jack. ‘So what about Terry's wedding?'

‘Nothing really. We were just saying that's another good bloke who won't be allowed out to play on a Saturday night.'

‘You cheeky bugger,' protested Chrissie, slapping Jack playfully. ‘Women don't shackle their blokes like that and you know it.'

‘No, the single ones don't but something happens when they get that gold band on their finger,' said Jack. He glanced over Chrissie's shoulder. ‘And here comes a case in point.'

Chrissie spun round to see who Jack was talking about.

A voice carried from the doorway across to where they were standing. ‘For fuck's sake, Lee, it's a dump. I mean, I'd rather stay with my mum, and that's saying something.'

Coming into the bar were Jenna and Lee. Something had rattled Jenna's cage, and she was making it quite plain that she wasn't happy. Chrissie felt a guilty rush of blood colour her face because given the way she'd been blanking him for days now he was the last person she wanted to see. Not, she thought, that with his wife with him he could really ask her why she hadn't answered his half-dozen texts. No matter how innocent they were, she didn't think Jenna would be thrilled that her new husband was busy sending messages to another woman.

As she watched Jenna stalk across the floor she saw her turn on Lee again.

‘So you're going to go right back to Captain Fanshaw and tell him it's not good enough. I mean, he doesn't live in a crap house like this one, does he?'

‘Uh-oh,' said Jack in a low voice. ‘I don't think Private Perkins is going to be getting lucky with his missus tonight. It looks to me as if she's going to be tearing up his nooky ration book any minute now and no mistake.'

Jenna turned back towards the bar and caught sight of Chrissie and Immi. She headed straight for them.

Whatever was going on between Jenna and Lee, Chrissie could just tell she and Immi were going to be asked to get involved. Chrissie took a step sideways, putting Immi in direct line with Jenna, thus making it easier to escape if she wanted to.

‘You'll agree with me, won't you?' said Jenna.

‘Agree with you about what?' said Immi.

‘About my crap house,' said Jenna.

She was stopped from going into detail by Lee asking a little sheepishly if it was OK to join them.

‘The more the merrier,' said Jack. ‘And it's your round, by the way.'

Lee rolled his eyes. ‘Fuck off, Jack,' he said, with no malice. However, he turned to Immi and Chrissie. ‘Another drink, girls, while I'm getting one for me and Jen?'

‘We're good, thanks,' said Chrissie, feeling horribly awkward, and taking another pace away.

Immi gave Lee a wink. ‘Actually, we're not good, we're sensational,' she joked.

‘Aren't we all, hon,' said Jenna. ‘Wasted on soldiers.' She gave the boys in the group a cheeky smile.

‘In which case,' said Lee, ‘you can get your own.'

‘Only joking,' said Jenna, hastily. ‘I'll have a rum and black.'

Lee turned to the bar to get the drinks for himself and Jenna. Chrissie used the opportunity to escape completely and resume her conversation with Jack. She really didn't want to spend the evening with Lee, when she'd spent the past week or so doing her utmost to avoid him.

‘So, Jack… Terry's wedding?'

Jack shrugged. ‘Actually, nothing much to tell. I just don't know why people go to all the fuss and expense of a big full-on church do when you can nip down the register office and be out in time for when the pubs open – job done.'

‘And I thought the last of the romantics had already died,' said Chrissie, shaking her head.

The group laughed. Chrissie saw Lee cast an envious glance in their direction. Talking about his new house obviously wasn't pressing his buttons. Poor guy, she thought.

‘Chris has got you bang to rights,' said Jack's mate, Doug.

‘Look, all I'm saying is that weddings cause a lot of hassle all round and they cost a mint and not everyone enjoys them. I was at one a month or so back and my stepdad's nephew bawled and yelled so much that he had to be taken outside till he calmed down.'

‘Didn't he want to get married?' asked Chrissie, deadpan.

Once again the bar erupted and once again Lee glanced longingly across at them.

‘You don't sound happy, Jenna,' said Immi, ignoring the hilarity behind her. ‘What is it that's crap, exactly, about your house?'

Jenny blew down her nose noisily. ‘Pah! Everything. We got a message from the housing commandant today that we've finally got a quarter. So I go and have a look at it, only from the outside, of course, but even just looking at the front I could tell the place is a dump.'

‘Really?'

Jenna shook her head. ‘The garden is a mess, the outside paint's all flaking and when I looked through the windows the curtains and carpets are vile. I mean, they're orange. Orange! Honest, Immi, if you paid me I wouldn't want to live there.'

‘It can't be that bad, surely?' said Immi.

Jenna wrinkled her perfect brow. ‘You have no idea.' She listed several further inadequacies to do with the house which included the size, the lack of garage and the fact that the neighbours had small children.

‘I dunno,' said Immi. ‘I've got a few friends who live down on the patch and their houses aren't so bad. And you've got to accept there's going to be kids. Run a strimmer round the garden, put up some nice pictures, a couple of rugs and some cushions—'

‘I know how to decorate a house,' said Jenna cutting in. ‘I'm not stupid. But this one needs knocking down, not tarting up.'

‘That's me told,' murmured Immi to herself.

‘So,' said Jenna, ‘I want Lee to go to Captain Fanshaw and get it sorted out, but he won't. And we've been told that if we refuse the quarter we go to the bottom of the waiting list again. I mean, where's the justice in that?' She glared at Immi, daring her to contradict.

‘I know some of the quarters aren't exactly show houses,' ventured Immi. ‘But they're a start.'

‘Not the sort of start I want. I mean, I've seen Caro Brown's house and Maddy Fanshaw's and they're OK. Well, not what you'd pick for yourself, but at least they're nothing to be ashamed of. But ours… gah.'

‘But they're officers' houses,' said Immi.

‘What difference should that make?' she countered, angrily.

‘Hel-
lo
,' said Immi, ‘but have you seen the officers' mess? Silver candelabra, oil paintings on the wall, mahogany dining table – and look at this.' Immi waved her hand around to indicate Tommy's Bar. ‘Fruit machines, laminate floor, plastic chairs. Officers are toffs and we're peasants.'

‘Well, I'm not standing for it. I'm as good as them.'

‘Please, Jenna,' said Lee. ‘Please don't cause trouble. It won't be for ever and, as Immi said, it's a start. At least we get to live together. And the longer we're married, the more points we get, so the next time we move we'll qualify for a nicer house.'