Army of You & Me (7 page)

She gave a shrug. “I don’t know if I could do it. Live off my expectation. On worry of what may or may not be.”

“No you don’t.” He refused her argument in three words. “You’re not doing this.”

“What?”

“From the minute that package turned up, you... Everything was you -  how I wanted to meet you. Thank you. Be around you. Be near you. Talk to you. Find out every little thing about you. When I didn’t have anything new from you, I’d just read and re-read everything else I had.” He halted, shaking his head. “It’s like giving a drowning man a life jacket, then putting a fucking hole in it.” Wiping his hands over his face, he struggled to keep his world from collapsing. “You can’t do this. You can’t hook me in with my childhood, then show me that you’re clever and generous and sweet with your Pixar character big eyes and your damned bullet wound and your Grace Kelly outfits and then say that. Send me on my merry way with a ‘
enjoy your tour
.’ The devil is that about?”

“I’m not–”

“Dammit, woman. You’ve made me need you!”

Those huge eyes of hers were filled with upset. “And you don’t think it’s the same for me?” she asked, pressing her hands to her chest.

“Then why the hell would you say it?”

“Because I don’t want to fall in love with you and then you go. You’re taken away from me. You die. I can’t. I just... No. Not doing this.” She stumbled to her feet, grabbing her bag and hurrying from the restaurant. Cain quickly left cash for the wine and hurried after her. For a woman in four-inch heels, she moved damned fast.

“Come here,” he ordered, catching her by the arm and pulling her into his embrace. “Stop that and just be still.”

She sagged against him, her breaths coming in angry little puffs until she calmed. That wasn’t happening again. He was not letting her walk away from what could be so incredible and real and wonderful between them, not when they should consider it
que sera, sera
. “Are you sensible?” he asked, lifting her head from his collarbone and framing her sweet face between his palms.

“No.” Her eyes were beginning to redden. “You’ll meet someone else. Someone who can do a part time relationship. Probably easier when you get back on tour as well.”

He breathed out before he spoke. “I’m not sure where you created this fascinating theory that I’d be alright with this ending and as soon as my boots hit foreign soil, I’ll be able to forget all about you and start trying to lift burkas. Do you really think that if we stop seeing each other, you won’t think about me or stop worrying about me?.” She opened her mouth to protest and he continued. “I get it. I do, but Madeline everyone has a sell by date. Tomorrow, I could get hit by a bus and die. That’s whether I’m a soldier or a banker or a bike courier. So could you. If anything, that should be more incentive for us to enjoy what we have, because we don’t know what’s going to happen next. But don’t... Don’t smother this before we’ve started. It’s not fair on either of us. All right?”

“It’s just...”

“Just what?”

Madeline closed her eyes and turned her face into one of his palms, her lips brushing over his skin. He lifted her face so she had to look at him. “Okay.” She said eventually.

“Okay?”

“Okay. We’ll... we’ll carry on. But don’t buy that house.”

“Grief. Are you sure you weren’t in the military?”

She nodded. “Pretty sure. I’m just good at giving orders.”

“And again proving we are meant to be.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. That wasn’t ever happening again. He was fully committed that she was more than just important to him. She was everything. “Are we going back inside, because that was a pretty dramatic exit.”

She exhaled heavily, pulling her face from his palms and primly standing away from him. “Let’s just go to the Thai place down the road. They’re used to drama.”

***

Her father told her every hour,
Keep going
.
Move. Don’t look. Just go.
She didn’t know what she was supposed to look at. The horizon was grim, littered with bodies, limbs, empty shells. When she faltered, her father yanked her to her feet and pushed her ahead of him. They were walking in the graveyard of people who were just like them. People who could have so easily been them. Walking on the weaponry that had stolen their lives. It frightened her that there was hardly anyone around, but her father said they were going in the right direction. The fewer people they saw, the more bodies they saw, the better. The United Nations would come from safe Tanzania and protect them. Silence ruled where bullets had before. They’d eat whatever they could find.

Supplies her father had packed in their bags ran out quickly. Money her father padded in his shirt was no use to anyone. There was no food to sell. Dirty water kept them going even as it poisoned them. They came to Kigali, the capital. Salvation. So close. Keeping to the shadows, they managed to avoid groups of militia, cheering and whooping their victory in trucks that rolled by.

Madeline caught sight of them in the distance. Soldiers! Not the inhumane ones who slaughtered people like cattle. Different ones. Madeline looked up at her father, who was watching the soldiers in the distance. “Why aren’t they doing anything?” he whispered. The soldiers were standing by a tank, weapons braced against their torsos. She couldn’t see them aiming at the
interahamwe
. They seemed to be just...patrolling? Noise shifted behind her father and militia crossed her line of sight, brandishing their machetes.

“Go!” her father bellowed. She ran towards the soldiers who were standing in front of the tank, the United Nations banner rippling in the wind. The shouts of
interahamwe
behind her spurred her like nothing else had. She was exhausted, starving, weak, but she wasn’t going to let them catch her. Not after everything her father had done to keep them both alive. Determination and her father’s voice gave wings to her feet. Screaming in French, she ran to them. The only word she prayed that would make them protect her and her father.
Aider! Help!
She collided into the nearest figure and said, “Don’t let them kill my daddy!”

There were shouts in French all around her. “
Step back!”
Bullets were fired into the air, and Madeline couldn’t help screaming in shock. She turned her head to see the
interahamwe
backing off. Machetes were no match for machine guns.

“Daddy?” she whispered, the soldier’s arms strong around her.

“It’s all right,” the soldier said in French. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

She pushed him away to find her father. Oh, god, she couldn’t see him! “Your father’s there,” the soldier said to her in French. He pointed to where her father was, surrounded by the UN soldiers. Her father went on his knees and started to pray, weeping in his relief. Madeline looked up at the kindest, most unusual eyes she’d ever seen, darkened by the brim of his helmet. “You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here.”

She nodded. His tone was reassurance in itself. And that allowed her, for the first time in weeks, to close her eyes and sleep.

Five times, Madeline asked Cain to turn the car around and take her home. Each time, Cain told her, “Sweetheart, why don’t you pull up those vintage-style panties I’m sure you’re wearing and sit tight.”

She told him he was lucky he was driving the car or he’d be sporting a black eye.

“Anti-violence, Madeline,” he reminded her.

Their house hunting had been almost two months ago, and she’d spent more time in Cain’s company than she had with any man in a very long time. He’d done what Caz termed “courting,” taking her out to dinner, the theatre, going for walks, sending her huge bouquets of flowers. Kisses weren’t as charged as the kiss he’d given her in the shop’s back room. They were respectful and chaste and made her want the passion back.

He’d also used each opportunity they were together to ask her to visit his father in Cambridgeshire. Madeline refused not just because she was essentially dating her hero’s son, but she had wrapped up Major Goldsmith in so much gratitude and expectation, and God only knew if the man wanted to put the whole sordid incident behind him. The genocide in Rwanda had been horrific for those who had witnessed it. Madeline had only ever talked about it with her therapist and again with Cain. What if Major Goldsmith felt as if he had to defend his actions there and threw her out? How would that affect her and Cain?

Finally, a few days ago, Cain had asked her to come to Cambridgeshire, after dropping her at her front door. The only reason she’d said yes was because his talking got in the way of her much-deserved goodnight kiss. And now she was being driven to her fate on an early Tuesday morning.

“Stop it,” he said suddenly, making her jump. “I can see you worrying away. There’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her, taking one hand from the steering wheel to capture hers. “He’s really looking forward to seeing you.”

Madeline looked to the back seat at the cigars, several boxes of truffles, flowers for his mother, and a bottle of vintage Armagnac brandy wine. “I just didn’t know what else to bring. My dad and I survived because of him. I met you because of him.”

“Good subject change, but like I’ve told you, it’s fine. More than fine.”

They drove into the small village that was all England’s green and pleasant land, then into a mile-long drive to his parents’ home. The manor loomed into view, the kind of stately home that had convinced Elizabeth Bennet to marry Fitzwilliam Darcy. “I’m sorry, are we coming to watch
Downton Abbey
being filmed?” she asked in awe.

Cain laughed. “It’s been scouted as a location before, because it’s a listed building, but the folks said hell, no. Look, there’s my dad.”

Standing outside his mansion was Major Goldsmith, dressed in cricketing whites. Madeline got out of the car before Cain even brought the car to a halt and just as she had almost twenty years ago ran to Major Goldsmith. And just as he had before, Major Goldsmith embraced her. He even smelled the same.

“Hi!” she whispered tearfully.

“You’re heavier than you were!” he teased, holding her back to look at her. Of course she looked different from the hacked, bloodied, and dirty mess that had run at him in the centre of Kigali. She must look even more different from the child who was on a drip at the hospital for a day before he and three other soldiers marched her to the border of Tanzania. He had barely aged. Only the lines around his eyes had deepened, as if he’d spent the intervening years amused.

“You’re the only good thing I did there,” he said suddenly, his eyes reddening. Madeline hugged him again, not wanting to hear any more.

“Dad, let go a minute and we can sit down.” Cain’s booming voice interrupted them, and Madeline hurriedly wiped her eyes.

“Sorry, I left you with everything,” she apologised, seeing his hands were full with her gifts and her handbag.

“Come in, come in!” Major Goldsmith took her arm and ushered her inside the impressive house. “You’ve had quite a drive, I’m sure.”

“Cain did all the driving,” Madeline explained, looking up to admire the Tudor-style ceiling coving and dark oak panels.

“So he should,” Major Goldsmith snorted. “This is my wife,” he introduced when they finally arrived in the huge glass conservatory.

Mrs. Goldsmith rose on elegant, long legs to clasp Madeline’s hand with both of hers. “Lovely to meet you. Nathaniel has said nothing but wonderful things about you and your delightful little shop.”

Whether it was a sly dig or not, Madeline didn’t give one. “We...well, I brought some chocolates with me.”

Mrs Goldsmith’s face brightened. “Have you really? Do tell. Are those flowers for me?”

“Yes, and other things.” Madeline took them from Cain and practically shoved them into Mrs. Goldsmith’s midriff in panic.

“How sweet of you. Let me put these in some water. Sit, sit! Please!”