Soldiers' Wives (29 page)

Later, she drove into town, to the little industrial estate in the old station yard. She found the company easily enough and parked up in the space reserved for visitors. Before she got out of the car, she checked her appearance. Perfect. After all, she was sure they didn't want mingers handing round the canapés – it would put people off their food.

Smoothing her skirt down, she sashayed over to the front door, plipping her vehicle locked with a casual wave of her key. Three minutes later, she was in the MD's office, looking at a guy with the worst case of acne she'd ever seen. Surely his skin condition had to be against food hygiene regs. Not that she knew anything detailed about food hygiene regs, but common sense said that putting him in a kitchen had to be just plain wrong.

She had, of course, prepped answers to the sort of questions she expected from Barry Carlton, which the plastic name plate on his desk told her was his name: why did she want the job, were there any dates she couldn't work, any health issues that might prevent her from working… So she was a tad surprised by the first question.

‘When can you start?'

Jenna tried not to look too surprised. ‘Erm, now?' Shit, she hoped not. This dress was dry-clean only and she had nothing to change into.

‘This evening will do.'

Phew.

‘Can you do silver service?'

Jenna shook her head. The ad hadn't mentioned that as a requirement.

‘Never mind, we can probably teach you how to do it before you'll need it. Luckily tonight is just handing around platters of food and drink.' The guy looked frazzled.

‘So what's the event tonight?'

‘Engagement party at the football club.'

‘You're leaving recruitment a bit late, aren't you?' blurted out Jenna.

Barry shook his head. ‘I was planning on expanding anyway, hence the ad you saw, but last week three of my staff went down with norovirus.'

Jenna shrugged. ‘In English?'

‘It's also called winter vomiting disease.'

‘Euw.'

Barry nodded. ‘Exactly. It's just what it says on the tin. It spreads like wildfire, so there is no way any of the staff who were in contact with the infected staff can work, until we're sure they're in the clear.' He rubbed his hand over his face. ‘It's been a nightmare.'

‘I can imagine.'

‘So, I'll give you a paid trial tonight, if you're any good I'll take you on and you'll have a contract. I pay ten pounds an hour. If the client pays a gratuity, I split it equally between everyone. I expect the waitresses to wear black, but I provide you with an apron. Your hair must be pinned up and no nail varnish, unless it's clear. Oh,' and he glanced across the desk at Jenna's feet, ‘you might want to wear flat shoes.'

‘OK.'

‘Right, follow me.' He stood up and walked around his desk, before leading her along a corridor and through a pair of double swing doors. Behind the doors was a massive kitchen, all stainless steel and huge industrial ovens. There were lots of pans clattering, but very little in the way of other noise, despite the fact that there were already five people working there. Maybe music and chatter were not allowed.

Barry moved about the kitchen efficiently, loading up a tray with glasses filled with water, which he then gave to Jenna. ‘Walk up and down the corridor a couple of times,' he ordered her.

‘OK.' She managed to shoulder her way through the big doors without spilling the drinks or dropping the tray, aware that Barry was watching her. She felt a bit like a fashion model, but reckoned he wasn't watching how she walked as she returned into the kitchen; he was watching to see how steady she was.

‘Now walk around the kitchen.'

‘But there's people rushing about here,' she protested.

‘And they'll be standing still at a party?'

Jenna sighed and began to move between the two rows of big steel counters. It was a bit like
Total Wipeout
, she reckoned, as she timed her run in order to avoid the chefs bustling about.

‘Good,' said Barry. ‘Now do it again and hold the tray on one hand.'

Fuck, what was this? She was angling for a job as a waitress, not a circus performer. Once again, she circled the kitchen, only this time one of the cooks stepped back suddenly from a stove and Jenna, dodging her, managed to tip over two of the glasses. The tray was awash with water.

‘You can't serve the rest of the drinks now. The glasses are wet and they'll drip on customers.'

‘I know, sorry.'

‘You'll probably find it easier in flat shoes, too,' said Barry.

‘So have I still got the job?'

Barry nodded. ‘Although we may just ask you to serve food. Canapés don't tip over so easily. Maybe drinks next time round.'

Four hours later, Jenna arrived back at the industrial estate as instructed by Barry. Outside the business were several vans, some designed to carry people, some to carry trays of goodies. A stream of workers were lugging boxes of glasses, cases of wine and platters of food to and fro.

Jenna spotted Barry. ‘What do you want me to do?' she asked.

‘Keep out of the way at the moment. We'll give you some proper training tomorrow. Tonight just take in the food that Karen tells you to.'

‘Karen?'

‘I'll introduce you at the venue. Now, if you'll excuse me…' and with that Barry disappeared back into the building.

Feeling like a spare part, Jenna went and sat in one of the minibuses. It wasn't her fault she couldn't help; she hoped the other wait staff understood why she wasn't.

A few minutes later the vans were loaded and ready for the off.

A severe woman climbed into the driver's seat next to Jenna. She swivelled around in her seat.

‘You must be the new girl.' Jenna nodded. ‘I'm Karen. I'll show you the ropes tonight. I expect you to listen, ask if you don't understand what I say and do as you're told.'

‘OK,' said Jenna. And nice to meet you too. But she told herself she didn't have to like these people in order to earn money; all she had to do was work for them.

Ten minutes later, they drew up at the football club on the edge of town. It was a new building which proclaimed in a large banner across the front that it had been funded by the National Lottery. Jenna wished they spent less money on stuff like this and more on the prizes so the punters had a bigger chance – she felt her finances were just as good a cause as a poxy game of football.

After half an hour of toing and froing, lugging, carrying, running back and forth, she was knackered and her feet ached.

‘Chop, chop,' shouted Karen, glaring at her, as Jenna took a breather.

‘Fuck off,' muttered Jenna under her breath, grabbing yet another box of glasses to put out on the snowy cloths on the tables ranged along one side of the big club room. By the time the father of the affianced arrived, with his wife and daughter, the room was just about ready.

Jenna stood at the side of the room, with a plate of mini Scotch eggs made from quails' eggs, while he inspected the arrangements. A tweak here, a taste of the canapés there and then he nodded in approbation.

‘He must be worth a bit,' whispered Jenna to another waitress called Helen.

‘Ex-mayor,' confided Helen. ‘His daughter's marrying a soldier.'

‘Stupid girl,' said Jenna.

‘I think it's romantic.'

‘It isn't. Trust me, it's a shit life.'

Other guests began to arrive and Helen and Jenna moved off to circulate with their trays of food. As they moved through the party, the guests swooped on their trays like seagulls, and Helen and Jenna almost spent more time going back and forth from the kitchens to get new supplies than they did handing the food out.

‘Jeez, I've walked miles,' said Jenna to Helen, as they picked up yet more nibbles. She'd only been working for around an hour, but she hadn't imagined it would be as knackering as this – which came as a surprise, considering that being a hairdresser had involved being on her feet all day. But mostly standing still, which presumably made all the difference.

By the time the party was drawing to a close, Jenna's feet were caning. She felt as if she had broken glass lining her shoes, not kidskin, and that someone was trying to saw off her little toes with rusty wire. She tried really hard to keep a smile on her face and to walk normally, but in reality it was almost impossible not to hobble or keep wincing.

‘It's Jenna, isn't it?' said a man in a sharp suit, taking a mushroom vol-au-vent off her platter.

She stopped dead. ‘Might be.'

‘Thought I recognised you. I've seen you in the Spar, haven't I?'

Jenna nodded. But it still didn't explain how he knew her name. Her face must have reflected this.

‘My wife.' He stopped and corrected himself. ‘My
ex
-wife used to go to Zoë's.'

‘Oh. Did I do her hair?'

‘She was Trudy Armstrong and yes, you did. And I'm Dan. Dan Armstrong.'

‘Nice to meet you, Dan.' But ‘ex-wife'. That was interesting. She wondered why Trudy, whom she remembered vaguely, had dumped such a hot guy? And didn't she remember Trudy had wanted her hair done specially for a dinner in the sergeants' mess. Was Dan a sergeant? If so, he got paid a pretty decent wedge. Even
more
interesting.

‘So, are you a soldier?'

Dan nodded. ‘REME.'

‘What's that then?'

‘Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers. We fix stuff. Although other people say REME stands for Reck Everything Mechanical Everytime.'

Jenna laughed. ‘I bet you don't.'

‘We try not to.' Dan gave her a slow smile before he added, ‘What are you doing after this shindig?'

Jenna grimaced. ‘Getting these shoes off.'

‘How about slipping them off in a bar somewhere?'

Jenna considered the offer. It was only a drink. Didn't she deserve the chance to go out occasionally? Lee need never know and anyway, Dan seemed pleasant. And if he was a sergeant, he could afford to take her somewhere nice. ‘Cool. I've got to go back to the company offices to get my pay and pick up my car, though.'

‘OK,' said Dan. ‘How about we meet in the Six Bells, in an hour? We're not likely to run into any squaddies there. Nothing against soldiers, but they're a bit rough for my taste.' He gave her a smile.

Did he know she was married? she wondered. Was that why he didn't want them to be seen together by guys from the camp? Or was it really that he didn't like soldiers? Either way, so what? It was only a drink, she repeated to herself. She made up her mind. ‘Yeah, great.' And the Six Bells – swanky. Her hunch about his pay was right. ‘Now I'd better get on, or the boss'll chew me out. Laters.' As she circulated around the few remaining guests with the last of the party food, her feet suddenly didn't seem to hurt so much.

The hot sun was low and the sky was turning a coppery orange as the ten-man patrol headed back to base. They were tired, the heat had been relentless – how could it have been so Baltic just a couple of weeks ago and now it was baking? – and their supplies of water were almost exhausted. It wasn't an issue: in less than an hour they should be back in the safety of the compound, tucking into their evening meal and with as much water as they could drink, but until then they were all aware that maybe it would be wise not to be too profligate with what water they did have in their Bergens. Lee tabbed along behind Sergeant Adams and Johnny, keeping his mind on the job as much as he could. Even so, every now and again he caught himself drifting into thinking about his bank account. Could he, he wondered, make it so that Jenna couldn't access it? But if he did, how would she pay the bills? Was he being unfair? After all, he was going to qualify for an end of tour bonus and that would pay off the debts. He'd planned on buying a nice Audi, but that could wait. Except why should it? He'd earned it…

Stop it, he told himself.

Up ahead, Johnny's mine detector let out the occasional squeak or squeal, as it passed over odd bits of rubbish on the dusty track that led towards the last village before the Neb Canal: cans, horseshoe nails, spent cartridge cases from other encounters, detritus you'd never normally notice, but you did now the Vallon picked it out. The pale surface was in contrast to the fields on either side, which now had thigh-high plants growing in them. Opium poppies. In another few weeks they'd be flowering, and by the time that happened it would be almost time for 2 Herts and the rest of the soldiers on this phase of Operation Herrick to leave and the new batch of troops to take their place.

Lee watched the tall green foliage swaying. It all looked quite peaceful: the neat fields with crops, the irrigation canals flanked by reeds and trees, with a few goats tethered to stakes in the ground, nibbling on the foliage. It was hard to believe how blood-soaked the soil of this country was. Lee watched the foliage move again. It was then he realised there hadn't been a breath of wind all day. It wasn't the breeze moving the plants…

The reality of what he'd spotted jolted him into action. Someone was lying in wait in the plants. Ambush!

‘Take cover,' he yelled, as he threw himself to the ground.

As his comrades followed his lead, there was the most almighty explosion. Lee, flat on the ground, felt the shock wave ripple the length of his body like a wave under a lilo. A chemical, just-lit-sparkler smell wafted past as dust, stones and other shit pattered down on his body armour and his helmet. The shock of the explosion at such close proximity left him feeling unbelievably shaky and his ears were ringing so much that the sound of someone shouting was muffled.

‘Man down, man down!' he managed to discern. He raised his head. Sergeant Adams was already up and running forward. Shit, it was Johnny. Despite feeling as though his legs weren't properly under control, Lee also raced forward. As he ran, he could see that Johnny's left leg was horribly shortened. Fear and panic nearly took control before training began to kick in.