Soldier's Daughters (15 page)

But Luke stared at her and then strode away.

Immi stamped her foot. ‘Fuck, shit, bollocks,’ she muttered.

‘Oops,’ said Des, directly behind her, making her jump. ‘That wasn’t part of your plan, now, was it.’

‘Fuck off, Des,’ snapped Immi, as she stormed off too. ‘And mind your own sodding business.’

Things were going better at Eton Dorney, and Michelle, despite having a dislike of wet and cold conditions, was so thrilled to be in Bas’s presence again that she was even prepared to overlook the fact that for the whole week the weather had been far from ideal. For the past five days she’d been training with the other potential rowers and had come on, in ability, vastly in the time. Over and above the improvement in her technique, her fitness – which hadn’t been too bad to start with – was on a different level entirely. She knew that her leg and arm muscles were in a whole other league from when she’d done the original trial a fortnight earlier, and although she was just as knackered at the end of a one-kilometre time trial it was because she was rowing considerably faster. She was now rowing in a single scull, which she rather liked. She didn’t have to worry about anyone but herself and she knew that if her performance time improved it was entirely down to her; no one else could take any of the credit.

The only fly in the ointment was that, living as close as she did to Dorney Lake, the Army Rowing Club hadn’t bothered to book her into the Aldershot garrison mess with all the others and so she dipped out on the evening socialising. She’d rung the mess herself in an effort to rectify the situation but had been told there were no spare rooms left. Oh well, shit happens.

‘Well done,’ said Bas, as Michelle sculled her tiny craft up to the pontoon at the end of the lake and prepared to get out. She was even finding that much easier and was able to get into and out of the fragile, narrow and hugely unstable little boat with hardly any rocking or danger of capsizing at all – a change from her first few attempts, which had all almost ended up with a dip in the lake. ‘You looked really good out there.’

She beamed up at him as he crouched down so he didn’t tower above her so much.

‘Thank you,’ she panted. She was bushed. It had been a tough session and she’d pushed herself as hard as she could to impress Bas. His opinion mattered a ridiculous amount to her and she was determined that he would be proud of her.

‘No, I mean it. You’ve worked the hardest of anyone here.’

Michelle felt herself glow, despite the nippy breeze that was ruffling the calm water. ‘Aw,’ she said. ‘You’re really good at motivating us.’

She used one of her sculls to steady the boat against the pontoon and then levered herself out onto dry land.

‘I’ll give you a hand with that,’ said Bas, as Michelle bent down again ready to lift the boat out of the water.

‘It’s all right. I can manage.’

But Bas leaned over too and the pair collided. Michelle wobbled dangerously, teetering, as she was, at the edge of the landing stage. He put his hand on Michelle’s shoulder to steady her and once again she experienced the same reaction. Some powerful surge shot through her and she didn’t know what had caused it – chemistry, magnetism, biology? All she did know was that it made everything shift, like she’d been over the epicentre of a tiny localised earthquake. She jumped and stepped away from the edge, staring at Bas. He was still kneeling, looking at the water, and then slowly he turned his face towards her.

Out on the lake, his other protégés were still practising; the pair were alone on the pontoon and the noise of the other rowers and crews, the creak of their blades on the riggers, their shouts of encouragement to each other, the splash of the water all faded and drifted into silence as the pair stared at each other, both of them with dark, dilated pupils.

Suddenly Bas seemed to return to his senses and broke the spell.

‘Right,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Let’s get this thing out of the water.’ With a fluid movement he reached out, grabbed the riggers with both hands and swung the little craft up, out of the water and on to the staging.

Michelle longed to ask him if he’d felt what she’d felt but she knew it didn’t need confirming verbally. She knew instinctively that he had. Now what? she wondered.

She carried her oars over to the boat shed, to the racks that Eton College was allowing them to borrow for the fortnight, and stowed them. She was about to turn to go out again when the light in the shed changed and she saw Bas enter, carrying her boat. Carefully he stashed it and then turned to her.

‘How about dinner tonight?’ he said.

‘Well… yes, I’d love to.’

‘And I could book you into the mess. Save you having to drive back to Pirbright.’

‘But I’m commuting because I was told there was no room.’

‘Maybe not during the week, but there’s always spare capacity at the weekends – trust me.’

Michelle stared at him, wide-eyed. Was he suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? No, she was being daft. He was trying to make life easier for her.

‘Um, I suppose…’ she said. What she really wanted to say was please do it now, before the staff at the garrison mess say the mess is fully booked, that it’s too late, or find some other damned excuse to scupper the plan – but to say that might look a bit desperate. Instead she replied, ‘If you want.’

‘OK,’ said Bas. ‘I’ll ring the mess.’ He gave her another long stare. Michelle wondered if he was thinking about kissing her; she was certainly considering kissing him.

There was a clatter from outside the door and some loud swearing.

‘Careful,’ shouted one of the male rowers.

Bas moved away and busied himself with making sure the scull was firmly on its rack. Michelle sighed. Another time – maybe later today.

Once again, Sam was sitting in an empty anteroom in the officers’ mess, on a Friday tea-time, reading the paper. At the end of a long week she was feeling tired and more than a bit fed up, and she was whiling away an hour or so before dragging herself up to her room and working out how she could fill the weekend. Her mobile began to play ‘Lillibullero’, the REME regimental march, which also doubled as her ringtone. She glanced at the screen: Michelle. There were rules about taking mobile calls in the mess’s public rooms but, frankly, seeing she was the sole mess member around to enforce them, she felt she could make an exception in this case.

‘Hiya, ’Chelle. How’s the rowing?’

‘Good, thanks.’

‘How’s the rowing coach?’

‘Sen-fucking-sational.’

‘Still gorgeous, then?’

‘Uhuh.’

‘And you’re rowing all weekend?’

‘I certainly am.’ There was no mistaking the smug note in her friend’s voice. ‘What about you? What have you got planned?’

‘Nothing much. Most of the livers-in seem to bugger off to see relies or girlfriends at the weekends so, once again, I’m Norma No-mates.’ This wasn’t strictly true because James, Will and Ben often stuck around at weekends but Sam was very wary of hanging around looking lonely and thus making them feel beholden to ask her to join in with their plans. If they had bloke-ish things to do it was more than likely they didn’t want a woman tagging along and cramping their style. ‘Are you sure you’d rather be rowing with Bas than spending the weekend here with me?’ she wheedled, hopefully.

‘Erm, how can I answer this… yes!’

‘Cow.’

‘Because Bas has not only invited me out to dinner and but he’s also booked me into his mess so I don’t have to drive afterwards and you know what that might mean.’

Sam did. And she was happy for her friend, although there was a bit of her that was more than a tad jealous.

James, Will and Ben barrelled in to the room, chatting and laughing, and Sam had an instant rush of guilt at being caught, red-handed, breaking mess rules.

‘Listen, Michelle. I can’t talk. I’m in the anteroom and I shouldn’t be on my mobile.’

She saw James and the others gesticulating wildly that it was OK, and mouthing that they didn’t care, but somehow Sam felt she’d heard enough about Michelle’s love life and would like to change the record. ‘Bye, hon,’ she said, and pressed the ‘end call’ button before Michelle could lodge any objections.

‘You didn’t have to do that,’ said James.

‘Listen, I’m a REME officer, not an agony aunt, which was what my mate wanted me to be. And, besides, I’d heard quite enough about my bessie’s love life. In fact, I don’t want to hear about anyone’s love life or problems or hang-ups… If people want to talk to me I’d really prefer it if they just want a bit of a gossip or an exchange of views on the weather.’

The three guys exchanged a significant look.

‘Who rattled your cage?’ said Ben.

‘Sorry,’ said Sam, knowing she’d gone a bit far. ‘Sorry,’ she repeated, and shrugged. ‘Long week,’ she offered by way of explanation.

Will and Ben both grabbed a cup of tea and a slice of cake and headed for their rooms, muttering about personal admin, leaving James and Sam on their own.

‘Want to talk about it?’ said James.

Sam sighed heavily. ‘You don’t need to hear my problems.’

‘A problem shared and all that crap.’

Sam put her cup and saucer on the table. ‘It’s just…’

‘Just?’

‘It’s a guy at work.’ She paused. ‘I may be imagining it, but he seems to chuck spanners in the works at every opportunity. Whatever I suggest, whatever I say, he argues against me.’

‘That’s not good,’ said James. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s the ASM. But then there’s Corporal Blake, who seems to resent me and despise me in equal measure. Every time I look up and see Blake, he’s staring right back at me. I mean, does he do that
all
the time?’

‘So, how often do you look at Blake, if you think he’s
always
staring at you?’

Sam frowned and wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t get you.’

‘It’s not unreasonable that you
would
look at Blake. I mean, I’m not a woman, but I’d say he was very good looking.’

‘Is he?’

James gave her a disbelieving look.

‘OK, maybe he is, but I’m surprised you’ve noticed – or even know who he is come to that.’

‘He and I are on the corporals’ club committee,’ said James in explanation.

‘Oh. But his looks do nothing to alter the fact that, between them, Williams and Blake are getting right on my tits.’

James smiled.

‘Yeah, I know…’ said Sam ruefully, glancing down at her boobs. ‘You don’t have to say it. We all know they’re big enough.’

James sucked in his cheeks. ‘Sam, I wouldn’t have dreamed of making a comment.’

‘You thought it, though.’ She grinned.

‘No comment.’

‘I’m being a wuss, aren’t I?’

‘Well…’

‘That’s a
yes
.’

‘You’ve got to grip them. You’re the boss. You’ve got to deal with this: haul Williams into your office and say if he isn’t prepared to work with you, you’ll be happy to arrange a posting for him so he doesn’t have to. I bet that’d do it. I can’t imagine Mrs Williams would be happy if her old man got short-toured and she’ll give him a much harder time than ever you could.’

‘You think?’

‘It’s extreme but it’d work. And as for Blake, tell him to stop bugging you or he’ll be packing up his belongings too.’

Sam felt her eyes widen. Could she really be that confrontational? It certainly went against her people-pleasing tendencies.

‘It’s up to you,’ said James.

She nodded. He had a point about getting a grip and she needed to think about how to handle it. Maybe she’d run a bath and mull over the problem while she had a long hot soak.

She grabbed the paper and stood up.

‘Thanks for the pep talk.’ She meant it. ‘See you at dinner,’ she said.

James looked a bit disconsolate. ‘You off?’

‘I need to think about your suggestion, and I’m going to do it in the bath. It’s a good place to address problems.’

Fifteen minutes later she was semi-submerged in Crabtree & Evelyn bubbles, trying to think of an alternative way of dealing with Williams and Blake while controlling the temperature of the bath with her toe on the hot tap. OK, so being stuck in the mess over a weekend might have its downsides, but an endless supply of hot water and an uninterrupted soak went some way to compensate. Sam sighed and turned her attention back to how confrontational she dared to be with her ASM. Blake was a different matter. What was it with him? she wondered, yet again. He simmered, he brooded, he had this air of total superiority to everyone, even herself, and yet…

No, there was no
and yet
. He was a corporal and a pain in the arse, full stop. And he was a pain in the arse because whenever she asked him to do anything, issued him with any sort of order, his attitude implied that he was obeying her as a favour, that he was patronising her, that he was helping her out before she made the most almighty fool of herself. Arrgghh.

There was a thunderous bang on the bathroom door. She jumped and water sploshed over the side of the over-full bath

‘Oi, Sam, you in there?’ It was James’s voice.

What now? She called back, ‘Yes, what is it? I’m in the bath.’

‘It’s me, James.’

Yes, she knew that.

‘Will and Ben and me are going to the flicks in Salisbury. There’s that new spy spoof on and there’s a showing at eight. We could have a quick pizza first. But don’t feel you have to join us. It’s just we’d like it if you’ve nothing better on.’

It was a
much
better option than a solitary dinner in the mess and then mouldering in her room for the evening. She felt a surge of happiness that she was really beginning to feel included. OK, she might not have a boyfriend like Michelle, but she had friends. Lovely friends. It went a long way in making up for feeling undermined by her ASM and Blake – she’d think about them tomorrow. ‘Give me five minutes,’ she yelled back. ‘I’m definitely up for that!’

Immi stood at the door to the guardroom, in the queue of soldiers waiting to book out for the weekend, and watched Luke, the duty guard commander, sitting behind the desk. She didn’t think she’d seen anyone look quite so bored in her life. He was tapping a tattoo on the desk with a pencil, staring at the screen of his iPad and yawning intermittently. Immi grinned to herself. He might think he was a cut above all the other grunts in the battalion but he still had to do the same crap duties as the rest of them. All those GCSEs didn’t bestow on him any special favours now, did they? And then, at the end of the evening, just like everyone else who did guard duty, he’d have to deal with all the sozzled soldiers returning from a night on the piss. There were bound to be a few lairy ones who would try and throw a punch because the guy on the gate had looked at them oddly, or they’d misinterpreted a comment, or they just felt like it because that was what drunk infantry soldiers tended to do. Immi had been in the company of enough of them to know what the score was. She edged nearer to the booking-out sheet. Ahead of her were a couple of guys who obviously intended one heck of a night to judge by their plans for a pub crawl. More than likely they’d return on the verge of being dead drunk; the ones who would vomit on the RSM’s parade ground or the guardroom steps, and Luke would have to clean it up. Well, not him personally – he’d dick a subordinate to do that – but he’d still have to oversee the job, make sure it was done properly. Yeah, like you really need a physics GCSE to do that, thought Immi as she reached the desk.