4

Sally sat alone in her kitchen at the dining table, wearing a black dress and staring through unfocused eyes at a pile of sympathy cards and letters, most of them from members of Special Forces units around the world.

She was numb, and unhappier than at any time in her life. Her world had been thrown on its ear and it was only in the last couple of hours, since Jack’s ashes had been poured onto the gently lapping waters of Poole Harbour from a jetty on the Hard, the landing point used by the SBS down the road from their headquarters, that she had begun to think beyond this day. She was surprised by how clearly she could suddenly see the way ahead once she turned her attention to it and how obvious it was what she needed to do. She wondered if the clarity was some kind of illusion but her plan, which was arguably extreme, was in character and she would stick with it unless a better one presented itself.

The doorbell rang but Sally didn’t move other than to blink her red-rimmed eyes. She didn’t want to speak to anyone else that day. The funeral had been bad enough. It was the small talk that was so frustrating. She’d hated the colonel’s eulogy, going on about how great Jack was. She knew that better than anyone but all it did for her was to prolong the pain. There was nothing more to say as far as she was concerned. Jack was dead, gone from her life for ever and her son was fatherless. Those were the cold facts and although she would miss him terribly nothing would bring him back.

Josh had been quiet during the ceremony but otherwise normal until he saw Smudge with tears rolling down his face. Then he started to cry and so did she. It was horrible and she couldn’t wait to get home and be alone.

The doorbell went again. Sally got up and walked to the window but the visitor was out of sight in the small alcove. She wondered how long they would keep pushing the bell before they got the hint and went away. Then, as if he had heard her thoughts, Stratton stepped backwards into view and looked at her. She would never have been so rude as to wave anyone away once they had made eye contact but Stratton was probably the only person she would genuinely welcome inside. He was different and practically family, away all the time, it seemed, but when he was home he always came to visit and always had a gift for Josh who loved him.

She went into the hall and opened the door. Stratton stood looking at her, wearing a dark suit and looking unusually tidy.

‘Why aren’t you at the mess with everyone else?’ she asked, forcing a smile.

‘I was on my way … Can I come in? I won’t stay long.’

Sally stood back to let him in.

Despite their close relationship he felt awkward as she closed the door behind him. It was a different world inside the house now and Sally was a different person now that Jack was gone. As she stared at him it was as if his presence had finally broken the dam she had built in her heart. Her expression changed suddenly as the tears began to well up in her eyes. She fell into his arms and sobbed like a child.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to brave it out all week but I can’t any more.’

‘It’s okay,’ Stratton said, feeling uncomfortable with the closeness. It was this kind of emotional contact that he had difficulty with. Whenever he indulged it felt insincere though it was not. It was the physical display that he had trouble with. That had always been the main problem behind his unsuccessful relationships with women. Sharing this moment with Sally should have been different, it should have been natural despite the circumstances. But it was not.

She pulled away as if sensing his discomfort. ‘Right. No more tears,’ she said, wiping her eyes and heading back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

Stratton followed, wanting to say something to comfort her, but he couldn’t think of anything intelligent. Not that it would have made much difference. Sally was a tough and stubborn woman and would do things her own way, even more so now that she was without Jack’s soothing common sense.

Stratton sat on one of the stools at the island breakfast bar and watched her make the tea. His gaze wandered around the room, to the cards on the table and the toy basket in a corner. ‘Where’s Josh?’ he asked.

‘Downstairs, watching TV, but he’s not really watching it. Poor lad. I don’t think it’s truly sunk home yet that his dad’s never coming back.’

‘Maybe he’s tougher than you think.’

Sally hoped that Stratton was wrong, though she feared other -wise. The truth was she didn’t want Josh to be that strong, like his father, or worse, void of emotion like his godfather. She didn’t want him to become a soldier like them. It suddenly dawned on her that her plan was based on that very fear. She didn’t want Josh to grow up around soldiers any more or be influenced by them.

‘We’re leaving Poole,’ she said matter-of-factly, pouring the milk into the cups.

Stratton detected something in her tone that suggested there was more to the statement. ‘Going up north?’ he asked.

‘No. Well, for as long as it takes to sort out things with my mum and dad. Then we’re leaving the country.’

Stratton masked his surprise.

‘We’re going to the States,’ she went on. ‘I’ve got a cousin in California. They’re always asking us over.’

It sounded to Stratton she was talking about more than just a short break.

Sally took a moment to put her thoughts in order while filling the mugs with tea, placing one in front of Stratton. ‘I want to get away. I mean, really away.’

‘Sounds like a good idea,’ he said, saying it for the sake of talking but not sure.

‘I’m going to sell the house,’ she said. ‘My dad’ll take care of everything.’

Stratton sipped his tea. Sally was not one for making idle statements and he did not doubt her sincerity.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘Josh won’t be able to see you.’

‘I’ll always visit.’

She looked at him and smiled. A part of her wanted Stratton to remain in their lives but she could never begin to tell him her fears about that. It was counter to what Jack would have wanted and although that made her feel guilty she believed she was doing the right thing. Anyway. Much as Stratton might want to visit as often as he could she doubted he would make it to somewhere as far away as California very often. They saw him little enough as it was, even living in Poole.

‘When are you leaving?’ Stratton asked.

‘Soon as I can pack everything into boxes, pile them in the hallway for my dad and pack a couple of suitcases … Will you keep that to yourself ? I couldn’t take fifty service wives beating on my door … I’ll call our close friends when I get to my dad’s.’

‘Sure … I’ll give you a hand.’

‘I’d rather do it alone. There’re a lot of things in this house that are going to be tough to say goodbye to.’

Stratton understood and got to his feet. ‘Can I go to see Josh?’

‘Sure. I need to make him something to eat,’ Sally said, standing up and going to the fridge. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No, thanks.’

Stratton left the kitchen and walked along the corridor and down the stairs lined with framed family photographs, one of which included him. He stepped quietly into the living room.

Josh was seated on a couch, watching a cartoon show, and did not look at Stratton as he sat down beside him.

‘Hi, Josh’

Josh moved closer to Stratton without looking away from the television and leaned against him. Stratton put an arm around him and they sat for a while, watching the TV.

Stratton eventually moved forward to face the little boy. ‘I have something for you, Josh. It’s a present from your dad,’ he said as he opened his hand to reveal the little camel.

Josh took it and examined it, instantly appreciating the strange smirk. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Is there a story with it?’ he asked.

The irony of the question struck Stratton. So many of the gifts he had brought back for Josh over the years were accompanied by fictitious tales of derring-do but he could not tell the boy the truth behind this one.

Stratton made a move to get up but Josh took hold of him. Stratton held him close and kissed his head. ‘I’m going to go and see your mum,’ he said, pulling away and getting to his feet. ‘I’ll see you later. Okay?’

Josh slouched forward as if to study the camel but he was actually hiding his disappointment.

‘You look after that, Josh. It’s a very special little camel.’

Stratton left the room.

As he walked back into the kitchen Sally was busy cutting up vegetables into a saucepan. He picked up his tea and took a sip, unsure what to say to her, then saw her mobile phone on the counter and picked it up.

‘You can use it in the States.’

‘I know. I’ll take it with me in case of emergencies until I can sort something out over there,’ she said.

Stratton punched in his name starting with three ‘A’s and followed by his number. ‘My number’s at the top of your phone list. You call me if you need anything. Any time of the day or night. Okay?’

‘I will.’

He stared at her, unable to hide his sadness. ‘I’m gonna go, then … I’ll call round tomorrow.’

‘I want to leave first thing in the morning,’ Sally said, wiping her hands and coming over to him. ‘Dawn if I can get Josh to wake up that early.’

Stratton looked into her tired, reddened eyes, the pain clearly etched in them. He placed his arms around her and they held on to each other in silence for a moment before he released her and stepped back.

‘Let me know when you get there,’ he said.

‘I will.’

‘Promise?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ she replied, unable to hold his gaze as firmly as she would have liked.

Stratton walked out of the room and a few seconds later the front door closed.

Sally watched him through the kitchen window as he headed down the gravel path and wondered when or even if she would ever see him again. ‘If ’ seemed like a strange notion but she could not help thinking it.

Stratton drove directly to the sergeants’ mess in Poole Camp, which was crowded with practically every current member of the service who was not on operational duty and even more retired hands who, although many of the old and bold did not personally know Jack, had turned up to pay their respects. He spent an hour chatting to various people and before slipping out cornered his Squadron Commander to ask for two weeks’ leave, effective immediately. Under normal circumstances the operations officer would have had to be consulted in case there was anything that had come up on the boards. But considering that the request came from Stratton – bearing in mind, too, the circumstances, and the fact that he was owed several weeks’ leave from his previous two operations – the OC granted it.

Stratton returned to his cottage in Lytchett Matravers on the outskirts of Poole and the following morning packed a bag and drove his Jeep to the ferry terminal in Poole Harbour where he caught a boat to Cherbourg. He had planned nothing more than a drive across Europe. Where, he cared not. East sounded appealing, across France, Germany, perhaps the Czech Republic, then down into Austria, and perhaps further still.

But he would reach as far as Salzburg in Austria when a cry for help would send him tearing six thousand miles west to face a conflict he could never have imagined.