Soldiers' Wives (16 page)

Immi looked at her, bemused. ‘Why? What is there to think about?'

‘I hardly know them, Ims. A few drinks down Tommy's don't make me and Jenna bosom buddies.'

Immi's forehead creased. ‘Don't you like her?'

No, I don't think she likes m
e, but she couldn't say that. ‘Immi, I don't know her well enough to like or dislike her.'

‘Then this is the ideal opportunity to get to know her better. I'm sure if you spend some time with her, you'll see how great she is.'

Chrissie considered her options – and there weren't any. And perhaps she was wrong about Jenna's suspicions. In fact, she was sure she was. Lee, fancy her? Of course he didn't, not when he had Jenna. ‘OK, cool,' she said. ‘Tell Jenna she's really kind. And if she wants some advice about the turkey, I'll be happy to help. Just one thing, though.'

‘Yes?' said Immi.

‘You've got to promise me not to mention to anyone that I might be off to Afghan soon. I don't want to put a downer on the day and stuff like that always does. I know I volunteered and I'm happy to be going, but that's not the point.'

‘If that's what you want, babe, that's what you can have.' Immi bounced across the room and gave her best mate a hug. ‘Ooh, Chrissie, I was so pissed off about not being able to go home, but now I think we're going to have so much fun.'

Chrissie raised a smile for her friend.

‘Won't we just.'

Jenna was in the kitchen heating up a couple of ready meals when Lee got back from a long run.

‘Hiya,' she called from the kitchen. ‘How was the run?'

‘Knackering.' He appeared in the kitchen doorway, red and sweating.

‘Get yourself showered, Lee Perkins. When you've done that, I've got some good news.'

‘Tell me now, lass.'

‘Not till you're decent.'

Lee tramped upstairs, stripped and then threw himself under the shower nozzle suspended over the bath, once again wondering why the army didn't join the twenty-first century and bung proper cubicles in their quarters. He hauled on a pair of clean trackie bottoms, a T-shirt and a hoodie, before thundering downstairs again.

Jenna was just dishing up two reheated chicken jalfrezis and rice and was opening a packet of ready-cooked poppadums.

‘So, what's the good news?' asked Lee, as he pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and plonked down on it.

Jenna pushed his plate across the table to him. ‘We're going to have a bit of a party here at Christmas.'

Lee forked up some curry. ‘Really?' he asked, before shovelling the food in.

‘Yeah. We've got Immi and Chrissie coming over. We'll have a right good laugh.'

‘That'll be nice,' he said, slightly indistinctly through a mouthful of food. ‘But I thought you said we didn't have room for visitors. I mean, why those two, if your family can't come here?'

‘Because there's only two of them and five of my lot. Anyway, do you really want Scuzzy Pete here?'

Lee chewed his food and agreed it was a better option. Although mention of her name made him wonder, yet again, why Chrissie had been avoiding him for weeks now. He'd not seen hide nor hair of her for ages and he still worried about what he'd done to upset her. It must have been something serious but he still didn't have a clue. Maybe he'd find out over Christmas.

A lightbulb moment struck him: maybe she had a bloke – that would explain it. If she was all involved with a new boyfriend, it might be difficult to explain about running with him. For a second he felt a sting of jealousy. But why should he? She was free to do what she liked. It was nothing to do with him, and anyway, he had Jenna.

‘So why are those two stuck here?' he asked. ‘Haven't they got homes to go to?'

Jenna explained their circumstances. Then she added, ‘But this is the good bit – Immi also says Chrissie can cook. She's going to help me with the lunch.'

‘Mam could do that.'

‘Your mum is coming to us for a nice break. She doesn't want to have to roll her sleeves up and get busy in the kitchen.'

Lee stared at Jenna. Well, this was a turn-up. She wasn't usually so interested in his mam's welfare. But maybe things were easing off. Maybe that weekend up in Newcastle had improved things. He hoped so.

‘She'll probably want to lend a hand, though,' said Lee.

‘Well, I insist that she doesn't,' said Jenna firmly.

Lee backed off. He loved his mam and he loved Jenna; he wasn't going to get involved. Besides, wouldn't it be better if the two women worked things out between them? ‘Just one thing, though, Jenna. I still haven't told me mam I'm off to Afghan in the new year. I don't want her worried by the news over Christmas; I don't want her upset. So let's not mention it, eh?

‘If that's what you want, hon, of course.'

‘Come on, Maddy, or we're going to be late,' called Seb from the front door where he stood, impatiently jingling his keys.

Maddy rolled her eyes and gave Philly an apologetic smile. ‘So, as I was saying, if Nate doesn't settle, just ring me. He should, his colic is so much better but…' She shrugged. ‘Honestly,' and she lowered her voice, ‘I'm not that sure I really want to go to Susie's and I won't mind if I have to come home.'

‘It'll be fine,' said Philly. ‘There'll be lashings of drink, you can be sure of that, and she's a pretty good cook.'

‘So I've heard.' Maddy sighed. ‘I'm just not sure I can bear an evening of playing competitive army wives.'

Philly giggled. ‘It's only for a few hours. Just lie back and think of England.'

‘Maddy!' called Seb again.

‘Got to go.'

‘And don't rush back,' Philly called after her, as Maddy left the house. ‘I need the tokens.'

Despite Seb's prediction that they were going to be late, the Fanshaws arrived at Susie and Mike's house at seven forty, which Seb declared was bang on time. Apparently army punctuality – five minutes early is ‘on time' – was different when it came to social occasions. As if to underline the point they could see two other couples approaching the path to the Collinses' house from the opposite direction.

‘Oh, fuck,' groaned Maddy in a low murmur. ‘Mrs Notley.' She felt Seb stiffen beside her.

‘Best behaviour, then,' he muttered in her ear. ‘No getting slaughtered.'

Fat chance, thought Maddy, knowing that on their return, if Nate awoke, she'd be the one who would have to cope.

With all three couples arriving more or less simultaneously, there was chaos in the narrow hall as coats were shed and carted upstairs and Mike tried to take orders for drinks and introduce Maddy and Seb to Alan Milward, the housing commandant, and his wife, Cath. Finally, the four couples made it into the cramped sitting room, drinks were distributed, Susie excused herself, ‘must see to dinner', and a conversation began amongst the men, discussing the chances of England in the Six Nations Rugby, and amongst the women, discussing the running of the thrift shop. After a while Maddy stifled a yawn. The conversations moved on, but still only seemed to range over boring parochial topics. Maddy pretended to be interested by injecting the words ‘yes', ‘no' and ‘really' at intervals while she wondered how Philly was getting on with Nathan, and how soon it would be possible for her and Seb to leave once they'd eaten.

Susie reappeared and announced that dinner would only be a few more minutes and suggested to Mike that their guests might like a top-up. Given the size of the gins that had been poured first time around Maddy realised that Philly hadn't been exaggerating when she said there would be lashings of drink. To be on the safe side Maddy opted for just tonic this time. She had a feeling it was going to be a long evening. After a while, Susie disappeared again and Maddy, sitting near the door to the kitchen and only half listening to the current conversation about boarding schools, heard Susie's exclamation of horror.

Oops, thought Maddy.

Susie popped her head round the kitchen door. ‘Mike, darling, there's a bit of a hitch.' She flashed a smile at her guests. ‘Nothing to worry about, just a teeny little delay. Maybe, you'd all like another drink, just to keep you going.'

Mike got the hint and reached for the gin – again. Blimey, thought Maddy, everyone's going to be shit-faced before we even sit down.

Through the gap in the door she could see Susie frantically filling a kettle and then measuring rice into a pan. The silly moo had forgotten the rice. Maddy did a swift calculation and reckoned it was going to be at least another twenty minutes before they ate. Dear God, and it was already nearly eight thirty.

Finally, when Maddy's stomach was beginning to rumble audibly, they sat down to vichyssoise. She tucked in gratefully, thankful to have something to start mopping up the gin.

Mike sloshed wine into his guests' glasses. Seb shot Maddy a warning glance which implied that they should both take it steady. Maddy thought that given the amount of gin Seb must have already drunk it was probably a bit late for him but she was happy to comply. A broken night
and
a hangover held no attraction.

By the time the stroganoff made it on to the table the steak was barely edible – although, to give Susie her due, the rice was perfect – but Maddy was pretty sure she was the only one who noticed how chewy the beef was. The number of empty bottles on the sideboard was reaching epic levels and still Mike was pouring with a liberal hand. Maddy felt her eardrums were about to bleed from the racket of the conversation which was getting more and more raucous and less and less logical or rational. By the time they got to the coffee, mints and brandy stage Maddy knew she was the only sober person in the room by a country mile – even Mrs Notley seemed to have the glassy stare and lopsided smile of the fairly pissed.

Finally, well after midnight, the party began to break up. Maddy felt almost catatonic and she could see that Seb was in a similar way – but his state was entirely caused by drink whereas hers was caused by boredom. Through the open door to the kitchen Maddy could see the chaos that reigned in Susie's kitchen and didn't envy her having to cope with clearing that mess up along with coping with a hangover. And with a panic, Maddy realised that at some stage she would be expected to reciprocate the hospitality. As she left, she glanced at the bottles on the sideboard: fifteen – and she hadn't had more than a glass or two. Bloody hell.

Once again, Maddy wondered if she was really cut out to be an army wife.

Just over a week later Maddy walked into the officers' mess in time for the post-Remembrance Service curry lunch. She'd opted not to go to the service itself, because there was no way Nate could be guaranteed to be quiet for the two-minute silence. His colic was almost completely over but he could still cry loudly and lustily if the fancy took him, which it had for most of the TV broadcast that Maddy had watched instead. But now the solemn bit was over, no one would mind so much if he was vocal at a social occasion and anyway, thought Maddy, if his cries got too much, she could just take him home. As she entered the big, red-brick Edwardian building she was greeted by a smell of curry, underlaid by a faint whiff of furniture polish and the smell of damp dogs. Army officers, she'd discovered, liked dogs and in every mess she'd been to since she'd known Seb, there had always been half a dozen lolling around somewhere. What was it with officers and their dogs? Maybe, she thought wickedly, they liked the idea that, even if their troops weren't always slavishly obedient, their pets were. Which was probably why army officers didn't keep cats.

She hung up her coat and went to find Seb, hauling Nate's buggy over the thick pile of the dark maroon carpet, past a couple of chocolate labradors sprawled under a side table and onwards towards the hubbub. That level of noise had to indicate the bar, which was where she fully expected her husband to be. This was her first visit to this mess and she felt a little nervous.

She found an open door halfway along the main corridor and the volume of noise climaxed. She peered in, looking for Seb or any familiar face. Maddy wasn't normally shy but she felt out of her depth in this gathering of uniformed officers and smart wives. She spotted Susie and – oh, bugger – Susie spotted her. And Maddy still hadn't written a ‘thank you' letter for that dinner party. Her face flared with guilt over this social faux pas. She resolved to rectify things as soon as she got home.

‘Maddy,' she called. ‘Do come and join me.'

Another order, thought Maddy. She parked Nate's buggy in a corner, unclipped his carry chair and headed over. Even as she arrived she got the distinct impression Susie was looking past her, to see who else was entering the room.

Maddy was about to gush something appropriate about the
lovely
dinner party when Susie said, ‘Drink?'

‘What? Oh, yes, please.' She would have liked a good belt of Dutch courage, but she decided that, on balance, keeping her wits about her on this first foray into the mess might be a good idea.

With a deft wave of her hand Susie signalled to a mess waiter.

He looked expectantly at Maddy. ‘Orange juice, please,' she said.

‘And your husband's mess number?'

‘What?' said Maddy.

‘For his mess bill,' said the steward.

Maddy shook her head.

‘Put it on Major Collins's,' said Susie. ‘Number seven.'

‘Very good, ma'am,' said the steward as he left.

‘As a rule, battalion officers don't buy each other drinks,' said Susie, ‘but we can make an exception in this case. No Seb?'

We?
Did Susie think she was a battalion officer? ‘He said he was going to meet me here,' said Maddy. ‘Can't think what's happened to him.' The steward reappeared with her drink on a silver salver, and she grabbed it gratefully.