Forget-Me-Nots in September (7 page)

Jude nodded. “Someone did mess up once. They discovered the name of a soldier who'd died before it was officially released by the MOD and put it on social media.”

“
What?
” His eyes darkened. “
You are kidding me?”

She shook her head. “They posted his name, rank and unit along with an RIP on their status and tagged him in it. The problem was his wife saw it before she was informed by the MOD.”

Bev looked away, sighing heavily, his eyes clouding. “That's just horrible. I'm surprised they still let you friend us.”

“We can't tag you in anything. I can like, comment, but have to be careful what I write. So a status saying that Bev King's squaddie box is on its way to BFPO blah blah blah isn't going to happen. But I can say squaddie box posted. So long as you don't like that particular post.”

He clicked his fingers. “Darn. Actually if you did send it to BFPO blah, blah, blah I'd never get it because I'm not based there.” He finished the cake. “That was really good.”

“So, which one was the packet mix.”

Bev scrunched up his nose in thought then pointed. “The green one.”

The doorbell rang. “That'll be the locksmith,” Jude said.

Bev stood. “I'll deal with him. Just tell me, was I right?”

She grinned. “No, it's the yellow one. Should I be insulted?”

He blew her a kiss on his way to answer the door. “Yes. Probably. I think. I'll have to have another piece to test it again.”

She shook her head as she cleared up, hearing him chatting to the locksmith in the hallway. She could get used to having him around. But his leave wouldn't last forever and this was only the second time she'd seen him.

6

Sunday morning, Bev sat with Jude and Gran. As the service finished, he smiled. Jude had been right about not being able to sing, but he didn't care. “Are you busy today?”

She shook her head. “I was planning a microwaved ready meal for dinner, so no. Why?”

“Gran's off to the manse for the day, so do you fancy coming out with me?”

She smiled. “I'd love to. Where did you have in mind?”

“The beach.”

Jude laughed. “Really? The beach and sand? A busman's holiday or what? But, yes, I love the beach.”

“Then let's go. We can be back in time for the evening service, or we can find a church down there.”

“The latter,” she said.

Bev drove down the motorway to the coast, his mind whirling. It had only been five days since he'd met her. Was that all? He'd seen her every evening and she was the most amazing woman he'd ever been fortunate enough to meet. If this bloke was still hanging around, they hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. Perhaps he'd backed off since the locks had changed.

Or perhaps it was because Jude was being chauffeured to and from work for now. Her car had been fixed, but she wasn't objecting to Bev driving her in each day. It hadn't just been the tires, the brakes had also been cut, although he hadn't shared that snippet of information with her when he'd arranged for the garage to come and collect the car.

“Which beach are we going to?” Her voice cut into his thoughts.

“Bournemouth. We can park in town and walk down through the gardens. Figured we'd have ice cream on the sand. We might have to stop at the service station to eat though. I'm starving.”

“That will cost a bomb…I mean a fortune,” she corrected.

“Nah, it'll be fine. It's my treat today because you paid last night.”

“So long as you let me buy the ice creams.”

“Deal.” He drove for another hour and then stopped at the busy services. He led her inside and after a pit stop, walked with her to the eating area. “Go and find a table, and I'll get the food.” He watched her head off as he joined the queue. He decided on a roast and got bottles of soda with straws to go to accompany the meal. That way they could take the bottles with them if they didn't finish them.

He paid and then picked up the tray, looking for Jude in the packed seating area. He spotted her by the window and carried the tray across. He set it down on the table.

“That looks good,” Jude said. “My stomach's decided it's hungry after all. I got cutlery. Unless you don't want to use any again.”

He chuckled. “Today I will.”

“I thought it was Sunday not cutlery-day.”

He laughed as he sat down. He set the tray against the table leg. “Oh, we could have sundaes for dessert. They did have some over there. In those really tall glasses.”

“I haven't had one of those in years.”

Bev gripped her hands for a moment as he said grace. Then he let go and shook out his serviette. “We created our own sundaes in our stainless steel mugs once, with whatever we had to hand.”

“Was it any good?” She began eating.

“Crushed up ginger biscuits, cold rice pudding, more crushed biscuits, chopped up jelly and marshmallows on top.” He paused. “What do you reckon?”

Jude scrunched up her nose. “Ewww.”

“Yup.” He took a bite of his meal. Jude was so easy to be with. His heart thrilled to be around her, the thought they had the whole day together caused his spirit to sing
. Is she the one, Lord? I'm normally so useless around women, with no idea what to say. I'm clumsy and basically what the lads call a blithering idiot. But with Jude it's so effortless. It's like it's meant to be. Two halves of the same whole.

“What are you thinking?”

He realized he'd been staring at her as he ate and swallowed, covering his lapse by picking up his drink. “How much I like being with you.” He may as well be honest, rather than just making something up.

Her smile lit her eyes and sent ripples running through him. “The feeling's mutual.”

“It…it is?” He stumbled over the words, not quite believing what he was hearing.

She nodded. “You're just like your letters. Cute, funny, dashing.”

Bev's cheeks burned. “Don't let my unit know you think I'm cute,” he managed. “I'll never live it down.”

Jude grinned. “Next letter comes addressed to Lt. Col Cute then.”

He rolled his eyes. “It'd never get delivered, fortunately.”

“What I meant was, there is nothing false about you. You're a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of a bloke.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” He gave her a half salute.

She grinned. “Whereas me—?”

“You, Miss Jude, are nothing like you think.” He interrupted her firmly.

“I'm not pretty. I'm not thin, despite being on a constant diet. I'm no singer.”

“There are more important things to be and looks…” He paused, not wanting to mess this up and have his words come out wrong. “While you are quite pretty, looks are only skin deep. It's what's on the inside of a person that counts. I mean, you can be a size six, skinny as a rake, with blonde hair, or be a page three pin-up, but have a foul mouth and temper to match.” He held her gaze. “You have the most amazing eyes, did you know that?”

She blushed.

“And you may not think you're pretty, but you are.”

“Pretty plump,” she muttered.

“No, you're not,” he countered. “And it's time you realized that numbers are irrelevant.”

“My numbers aren't irrelevant. They are too large.”

“Sizes vary from shop to shop. Some places I'm a medium and others I need a large. I just buy things that fit, feel comfortable and ignore the labels. I had this amazing leather jacket once, that fitted to a tee. But because it was an XXL, I cut the label out so no one else would know.” He ran his gaze over her and smiled. “Looking at you, honestly all I see are curves in all the right places. You should dress to flatter them.”

“You think?”

He nodded. “Definitely. That outfit with the flowers on you wore the other night was stunning. Made you look amazing.”

“Amazing,” she repeated. “Is that the only descriptive word you know?”

He tilted his head.

“That's about the fifth time you've used that word since we left home.”

“That's because I can't think of another word to describe you. I want to get to know you better. Find out who the real you is.”

“And when you find the real me doesn't exist?”

“Then I'll have to be committed to an asylum because I've just spent the entire meal talking out loud to myself. I'll go and get those sundaes.”

She looked at him. “Unless you want me to be sick in the car, make it one sundae and two spoons.”

He grinned. “That sounds quite romantic actually. Be right back.”

~*~

Jude walked on the beach, the sand warm under her toes. Her shoes were in Bev's rucksack. She wasn't sure when he'd taken hold of her hand, but she wasn't complaining. His skin was warm and only slightly calloused, but not uncomfortable. What would it be like to be held in his arms? Was he as strong and firm as he looked? Or were looks deceiving and he was as gentle as the forget-me-nots he'd brought her every evening when he'd come over?

Bev squeezed her hand. “There goes the lifeboat.”

She watched it bouncing on the water. “What would you normally be doing today?”

“Usual stuff. Patrolling, reports, going to the service on the base. It's a totally different world out there. A quiet Sunday or a day of rest just doesn't happen.”

The waves crashed onto the sand by her feet, dousing the tips of her toes in cold water. “I can't imagine what it must be like.”

“We can't let our guard down for a moment, but then it is a war, no matter how the papers here term it. We're out there to fight, not have a picnic. And you don't want to imagine it. Some parts of my job are best not talked about. And of course some of it, I can't talk about, not even to Gran.”

She glanced at him. “Do you carry a gun?”

“All the time,” he said. “Usually two. A rifle and hand gun. And a knife.”

“Have you used it?” As he hesitated, she covered quickly. “Sorry, shouldn't have asked.”

“It's part of the job,” he said quietly. “Along with stripping and cleaning it, knowing how to unjam it and so on.”

“You ever think about doing something else?”

“Some days. What about you?”

She kicked the sand and then dipped her toes in the water. “Sometimes, yeah. Just sell up and vanish. I'm not sure anyone would miss me. I'm barely making enough of a profit for the shop to be worth all the hassle.”

“What would you do instead?” he asked curiously.

“I don't know. Work as a barista somewhere. Or clean floors in an office block.”

Bev laughed. “A cleaner?”

“Yeah, there's plenty of anonymity in that. Or I could be the person who collects the twenty pence pieces in the public loos on the station forecourt. After all, someone's got to do it.”

Bev turned her to face him. “Do you ever think about the future seriously?”

“In what way?”

His gaze searched hers. “Where do you see yourself in ten or twenty years' time—other than a public loo on Kings Cross Station?”

“I don't think about that at all. Since Jayden was killed, I've learned firsthand how short and unpredictable life is. The only certainty is God and His love for me.”

“I know that one,” he agreed. “But don't you ever wish there was more to our lives on Earth. Like a spouse, children, a dog.”

“Chesterfield would not like a dog in the house.”

“Chesterfield?”

“My cat. You didn't see him the other night because he likes being outside.”

“OK, forget the dog. I'm a cat man anyway.”

Jude giggled. “Is that your superhero name? Should I try sending letters to Lt. Col. Catman?”

Bev laughed. “Actually, Catman is my internet name, funnily enough.”

“I'd like kids one day,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “But who'll want me?”

Bev lifted his free hand and cupped her face. His touch was warm and sent shards of something she couldn't name running through her. “You need to stop putting yourself down,” he told her firmly.

“Everyone else does it.”

“Not everyone. God doesn't and neither do I.”

“You?” Hesitancy filled her eyes.

“Yes, me.” His fingers caressed her neck, catching in her hair. Then he pulled out her hairband, sending her dark locks cascading over her shoulders. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Your hair is amazing. It suits you like that.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. His face was inches from hers. Would he kiss her? She had no idea how to kiss anyone. Her heart fluttered, her stomach clenched and an irrational bolt of fear charged through her. What if she messed it up? Just as his lips were about to touch hers, she turned her head. “What's that?”

Bev turned to look, once more taking her hand. “That's a transport ship. They're huge.” He pointed to the jet skis. “Now that is something I've always wanted to try.”

“Then do it. There was a sign on the pier saying ‘hire me here.'”

“Want a go?”

She shook her head. “No, but I'll happily sit and watch you.” Ten minutes later, she sat on the sand, his bag by her side, watching as Bev, now clad in a wet suit which left precious little to the imagination, climbed aboard the jet ski for a quick lesson. Then, he was gone.

She opened the bag to pull out her bottle of water. A camera lay at the bottom. She picked it up and smiled. It was a decent one, zoom lens, state of the art SLR. She focused the lens, taking several shots of Bev as he rode the waves. Photography was a passion and had been since school where she'd learned how to develop the film. Not that anyone did that much anymore, but she'd always wanted a studio of her own.

She put the camera down as Bev strode across the sand towards her. She realized she'd probably taken around a hundred pictures of him and the beach and surrounding dunes and cliffs. At least he could delete them off the card. She took one last one of him, eyes aglow and cheeks read. “Looks like you had fun.”