The Black Path (10 page)

A few weeks later, she’d invited Rebecca back to her house for tea. Frank had arrived home early from work and was sitting at the kitchen table with a can of lager. Helen had tried to hurry Rebecca upstairs to her room.

‘Not so fast,’ Frank said. ‘It’s not often you bring friends home. What’s your name then, love?’

Rebecca tossed her hair and pouted her lips. ‘Rebecca. But you can call me Becky.’

Frank slapped his thigh. ‘What do you think, Amanda? Can we call this young lady Becky?’

Helen’s mother was standing at the kitchen sink, noisily filling the kettle. ‘I’ll make us some tea. Or perhaps Rebecca would prefer squash?’

Rebecca wound a lock of hair around her finger. ‘I’d rather have a can of lager.’

Frank chuckled. ‘You’re a bit young for that.’

‘Then just a sip of yours?’

Another chuckle. ‘How about a shandy? What do you say, Amanda? A glass of shandy for the girls?’

Her mother looked flustered, twisting a tea towel in her hands. ‘I’m not having children drinking in my house.’

‘C’mon, Amanda. A glass of shandy won’t hurt.’

Rebecca giggled. ‘Your dad’s a right laugh!’

‘He’s not my father!’ Helen shouted, before running upstairs to her room and slamming the door. She sat on her bed fighting back tears. Why did her father have to die? Why did Frank have to be here? By the time her mother had coaxed her back down, her new friend had gone.

Helen hasn’t thought about Rebecca Green in years. Picturing her now, it suddenly strikes her that Rebecca bore a striking resemblance to Siân.

She’s stepping out of the shower when she hears the key in the door and Siân’s voice call up the stairs.

‘It’s only me. Sorry I was a bit longer than I thought. Give me ten minutes and we’ll have you on the mend.’

Helen wraps herself in her dressing gown and wipes the condensation from the bathroom mirror. A ghost face stares back at her.

Great
, she thinks.
If my mother could see me now
.

But Siân had been telling the truth. There’s no blistering, no serious burn marks, just a redness to her cheek. It could have been a lot worse. It scares her to think what might have happened had Siân not appeared when she did. But she had, and that’s all that matters. Think positive. Put on a brave face.

There are dark circles under her eyes. She applies some moisturiser and concealer. It seems pointless to bother with make-up, but suddenly she finds herself reaching for some foundation and then pencilling in her eyebrows. Some mascara goes on next, and a hint of blusher. Then, when she’s satisfied that she no longer resembles the living dead, she pulls on a pair of jeans and a black top and heads downstairs.

Siân is standing at the hob, stirring a pan of milk. She turns as Helen approaches. ‘Wow! What a transformation! You look stunning!’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Helen says. She’s never been very good at taking compliments. And there’s something disconcerting about seeing another woman cooking in her kitchen. She feels like a guest in her own home.

‘Seriously,’ Siân insists. ‘You look great. What was her name? Helen something. They made a film about her – with Brad Pitt.’

Helen looks at her blankly.

‘That’s it!’ Siân says. ‘Helen of Troy. The face that launched a thousand ships!’

Helen blushes. ‘More like the face that launched a thousand chips!’

Their eyes meet. Then Helen starts laughing, gently at first, then louder as she finds confidence in that fact that she just cracked a joke – and not just any joke, but a joke about something so traumatic, she really shouldn’t be laughing at all. This isn’t her usual way of coping with things. This isn’t her. Yet she finds it strangely liberating.

Siân looks startled, then she starts laughing too. Soon they’re both doubled over in fits of giggles. They laugh until their faces are flushed and tears roll down their cheeks.

Siân holds up her hands in mock surrender. ‘Enough!’ she says. ‘Stop!’

Helen wipes her eyes and grips the back of a chair to steady herself. She can’t remember the last time she laughed like this, so hard that she can barely catch her breath.

‘We shouldn’t laugh,’ Siân says. ‘That old cow could have really hurt you.’

‘I know,’ Helen replies, remembering the women closing in on her and the absolute terror she felt.

Siân stares at her solemnly. ‘But you’re okay?’

Helen nods. ‘I am.’

‘You never told me what you were doing out on your own. Wouldn’t your husband mind?’

‘I was with friends. But they disappeared.’

Siân raises an eyebrow. ‘Some friends.’

‘Well, they’re more work colleagues really.’

Helen thinks of Angela. She seemed so sincere when they had that talk in Cardiff. How could she have just abandoned her like that?

‘I don’t really have friends,’ she hears herself say.

Siân grins. ‘You do now.’

Helen smiles, looks up at the window, sees that it’s just starting to rain.

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘Hey, Corporal! Wait up!’

Owen is just leaving the cookhouse. He doesn’t need to look round to know who the voice belongs to.

‘Are you alright?’ Collins asks as he falls in beside him.

‘Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘I meant after what happened earlier, at the gym.’

‘What are you getting at, Collins?’

‘That rocket attack. It was pretty hairy.’

‘I’ve lived through worse.’

‘Exciting, though.’

There’s that cocky grin again. Part of Owen wants to wipe the smile off the lad’s face, but part of him feels obliged to smile back. What Collins did had taken guts. Owen owes him, if not his life, then certainly his respect. He stops in his tracks. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure. Shoot away.’

‘Is it true?’

‘Is what true?’

‘What Jackson said. About you being, y’know…?’

Collins holds his gaze. ‘Would it make any difference to you if it was?’

‘Your personal life’s your own business. But I wouldn’t go round making a big deal about it if I were you. Some of the other lads aren’t so open-minded.’

Owen wonders how open-minded he is himself, really. He can’t deny that he’s intrigued by Collins, even flattered by the attention. But the fact that he’s flattered also makes him uneasy. What does it say about him? Any fool can see that Collins is good-looking – broad shoulders, strong jawline, piercing blue eyes. But is that the same as finding him attractive? Owen has never looked at another man in that way before, so he has no way of knowing. He wants to end the conversation there, but Collins won’t let it rest.

‘Why are you asking me this now?’ he demands.

‘I’m just trying to warn you to exercise a little caution.’

‘You want me to pretend that I’m not gay?’

Embarrassed, Owen looks around.

‘It’s okay,’ Collins whispers. ‘Nobody heard.’ He smiles. ‘You can say the word, you know. It’s not catching.’

‘Very funny. You’re not the first gay person I’ve ever met.’

‘So why be so coy about it? You could have said something when it all kicked off. Why didn’t you ask me then?’

‘I didn’t think it was any of my business.’

‘And now it is? Why? Because of what happened at the gym?’

Owen recalls the weight of the young man on his back and feels himself colouring. ‘Nothing happened at the gym.’

Collins raises an eyebrow. ‘Seriously? You call that nothing?’

‘The rocket didn’t explode.’

‘You had a narrow escape, you mean.’ Another knowing smile.

Owen bristles. What’s the lad’s problem? He seems determined to make an issue of this when, really, there’s nothing else to be said. He’d shown courage. There’d been a certain level of physical intimacy between them. But it was no more than one would expect under the circumstances. It doesn’t mean anything.

‘Listen, Collins,’ Owen says. ‘What you did back there – it was brave, and I’m grateful. But that’s all it was.’

The lad nods. ‘If you say so, Corporal.’

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Around them, men are filing in and out of the cookhouse. Owen is relieved to see that Jackson isn’t among them. The last thing he needs now is an audience. Still, it’s better to have this conversation out here in the open than be caught with Collins somewhere more private. He knows how quickly rumours can spread, especially where someone like Jackson is concerned. Already there are murmurs about Armstrong being gay, despite several men testifying to the fact that he’d left behind a grieving widow and child.

‘I’d stay out of Jackson’s way if I were you.’ Owen lowers his voice. ‘I know him. He’s trouble.’

‘He doesn’t scare me.’

‘He should. He could make life very difficult for you.’

Collins opens his mouth to say something but Owen cuts him off. ‘I know what it says on paper. I know what the official line is. But that doesn’t mean shit out here. If someone like Jackson wants to stir up trouble, there’s not a lot I can do to protect you.’

‘I wasn’t asking you to,’ Collins replies. ‘But it’s good to know you care.’

‘Don’t push it,’ Owen says. Christ, the lad’s annoying. It’s a wonder he made it through basic training in one piece. Owen can only begin to imagine what someone like Collins must have gone through to get where he was today.

‘Why the army?’ he asks.

‘It wasn’t so I could throw myself at guys like you, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Owen feels himself flushing again. ‘I wasn’t,’ he says. Or was he? He swallows. ‘So why then?’

‘Same as everyone else. It’s a job. And I needed to get away.’

‘From your family?’

‘From my boyfriend.’

‘Oh.’ Owen lowers his eyes. ‘Right.’

‘Aren’t you going to ask me why?’

‘Not if it’s personal.’

‘It’s no more personal than you talking about your wife,’ Collins says. ‘You do talk about her, don’t you? Only the other lads go on about their wives and girlfriends all the time. I’ve hardly heard you mention yours.’

‘I’m not like those other lads.’

‘I didn’t think you were.’ Again, that knowing smile.

‘You know what I mean,’ Owen snaps. He pauses. ‘So what about this friend of yours?’

‘Boyfriend, you mean. What about him?’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Nothing like you. Though there is a certain physical resemblance.’

‘Very funny. You said you needed to get away from him. Why?’

Collins shrugs. ‘He was too clingy. I need my own space. But you’d know all about that.’

‘Would I?’

‘Why else did you join the army?’

Owen glares at him. ‘To serve my country. Or didn’t they teach you that in training?’

‘Relax!’ Collins grins and punches his arm. ‘I’m just messing with you.’

‘Yeah, well, leave it out!’ Owen looks around. There are still a few soldiers milling about, but nobody is paying any attention to him and Collins. They’re too preoccupied. This morning’s mortar attack is still fresh in everyone’s minds. There were no casualties, but nerves are on edge. There’s a heightened sense of awareness as men who’ve been bored out of their skulls for weeks await orders. Already there’s talk of stepping up desert patrols.

Collins must have read his mind. ‘Looks like we’ll finally see some action.’

‘Looks like.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ He gives a sharp nod and turns to walk away, then stops. ‘And Corporal?’

Owen sighs. ‘What?’

‘About that boyfriend. He’s history.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘The weather’s clearing,’ Siân says.

Helen looks up.

They’re seated on opposite sides of the kitchen table. Outside the clouds have lifted and sunlight sparkles on the tiny beads of rain still clinging to the window.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Much better, thanks.’

‘I told you that porridge would do the trick. It’s good you threw up last night. At least the worst of it was out of your system.’

Helen’s scalp prickles. ‘I vomited?’

‘Don’t worry. It wasn’t in the taxi. It was when we got home. I held your hair for you as you chucked your guts down the loo.’

Shame burns Helen’s cheeks and she buries her head in her hands. ‘I don’t remember that.’

‘We’ve all been there,’ Siân says. ‘The important thing is that you’re feeling better. Now, do you fancy doing something?’

Helen shrugs. ‘I suppose I should get some food in.’

‘No need. I saw your cupboards were empty so I picked up a few extras for you at Sainsbury’s. There’s some chicken breasts in the fridge, and a few bags of mixed salad.’

‘But you shouldn’t have.’

‘It’s no bother.’

Helen reaches for her handbag. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘You don’t. It’s a gift.’

‘But that’s not right,’ Helen protests.

‘Rubbish,’ Siân says, pushing her chair back. ‘I’ll tell you what’s not right. It’s not right that your so-called friends dumped you last night. It’s not right that those old slappers attacked you. There’s plenty of things in life that are not right. This is just someone doing something nice for you. Accept it for what it is.’

‘But you’ve already done more than enough for me,’ Helen says. ‘I feel awkward accepting things from –’ She nearly says ‘a stranger’ but catches herself just in time. ‘From someone I’ve only just met.’

Siân grabs her jacket, which is hanging on the back of a chair. It’s made of soft black leather and looks expensive. From one of the inside pockets, she produces a wallet and opens it to reveal a thick wedge of notes.

‘I don’t need you to pay me back,’ she says. ‘I’m flush, see?’

Helen’s first instinct is to ask why anyone would carry so much cash around. Then she remembers her mother asking her father the same thing. ‘What do you need all that money for, Richard? What about these bills? Richard! I’m talking to you!’

Siân smiles. ‘If it makes you feel better I can always come back later and help you eat it.’

‘Why? Where are you going?’

‘I’m not. We are. We should get you out of the house for a bit. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air in your lungs.’

Helen hesitates. ‘Don’t you want a shower first? And some clean underwear?’

‘I showered earlier, while you were sleeping. And I always carry a clean pair of knickers with me.’ Siân winks. ‘You know, just in case I get lucky.’