The Songbird and the Soldier (6 page)

“I haven’t got any Plasticine,” Sam said.

“Call yourself a teacher? You’ve got to have some Plasticine somewhere?”

“Yes. At school.”

“Oh well, we’ll improvise.” Kate searched around Sam’s room for inspiration and started looking through her music collection. Various sounds of dismay and disbelief were uttered as she sifted through the stack of CDs. “At last. This’ll have to do. At least it’s recent and not miserable to listen to,” she said and she popped on some Pussycat Dolls. Kate jumped up and started singing along with the tunes. “Come on. Up you get!” she said and dragged Sam reluctantly to her feet.

The following day Sam wrote again.

So few words on such a large piece of paper; but Sam found she couldn’t bring herself to say any more.

The days lumbered past, filled with housing and its demands, leaving the affairs of the heart in second place. Then one day, not long after Sam had got in from school, the phone rang. Her mum answered it on the landline in the living room. She called Sam urgently to the phone. Sam ran in and cautiously took the phone. A man’s voice answered from a long way away.

“Is that Sam?”

“Yes?” she said.

“Good. Sam, it’s Andy.”

“Andy? Good God!”

“Now listen carefully, because I haven’t got long. I’ve sent you a letter explaining everything, but I couldn’t let you sit around thinking the worst of me. I only did what I did to protect you. You have to believe me. I care about you too much to ever hurt you. You mean more to me than you can ever know.”

Mrs Litton was concentrating hard on her daughter’s face, searching for any clues as to what was going on. Sam’s lips spread wide into a happy grin and her hand jumped up to her lips. Mrs Litton breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“Sam?”

“Yes,”

“Do you trust me?”

“…Yes.” Sam’s heart filled with joy.

“Good.” Andy sounded relieved. “Look, I’ve got to go, but read my letter, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Bye, Sam.”

“Bye.” The phone went dead and she put down the receiver.

“Well?” her mum asked.

Sam’s smile spread across her face. “It was Andy. Everything’s all right.”

“Are you happy again now?” her mum asked folding Sam in her arms and Sam nodded and hugged her tightly.

That evening Sam was desperate to write to Andy again and make up for the lost time, but it seemed silly to write before she had read his next letter. Instead she thought of all the things she would say to him now. He had rung her. From across the world, in the middle of a war zone, he had thought her opinion of him so important that he had rung her. She tried to wipe the smile from her face, but it was no use, she was too happy.

Finally, the letter arrived. Sam ran up the stairs two at a time, leaving poor Humphrey trailing in her wake, to the privacy of her bedroom, where without the usual reverence she ripped the envelope open and began to read.

Sam’s hands were trembling. He had poured his heart out to her and what a wonderful heart it was. She could barely believe that this amazing man was so besotted with her. Dean’s hold over her was gone and she was Andy’s now. Sam quickly pulled out a bluey to open her heart in return.

The days that followed could not pass quickly enough for Sam. She was hopeful and happy. In school she was lenient and fun. Her nesting for her new place was coming on swiftly, with each new purchase silently assessed for Andy’s approval. But the days wandered past: nine and ten, eleven days and then twelve. Sam started to watch every news bulletin she could for the words she never wanted to hear. It crossed her mind that the whole thing could have been a cruel joke on her. Maybe he was out there right now, laughing with the lads at her expense? Surely he would not be that cruel, would he? But then hadn’t Dean done much the same thing?

The day of the move came and Sam walked into her new house with nervous anticipation and there on the mat lay a blue envelope. Sam quickly scooped it up and folded it away in her jeans pocket. She longed to be free to read the words Andy had written, but this was neither the time, nor the place. Her parents were helping her move in and there was a lot to be done before the end of the day.

As the hours passed, opening the letter began to take on almost ceremonial importance, so much so that by the end of the day, when her parents had said their goodbyes and driven off in the box van they’d hired for the day, Sam found herself barely able to move. Instead, she made sure everything that needed to be done, was done. She even got herself ready for bed before she finally felt able to open the letter she had waited so long for. She took a deep breath.

Sam read the letter through again. It was real. He did still like her. The poor guy had been ill and working hard. He was nothing like Dean. She had been foolish enough to follow her childhood fantasy and had been quickly caught up in the abundant charms of Dean. But his attentions hadn’t lasted long and now she had the chance to get it right. Andy had come to mean more to her in the short time since they had been writing to each other than Dean had ever been. And now he was about to walk up to her front door and be there in the flesh.

She looked over at the picture of Andy, in pride of place, beside her bed in her new bedroom. Andy was coming here to see her, to her tired old house, badly in need of an injection of colour and life. Sam looked at the calendar – eleven days. She shifted nervously. How she hoped it would go well between them. It could so easily be awkward. He may be a rubbish kisser, she thought. No. She could be a rubbish kisser? Yikes, that was a far worse thought. What if she was a disappointment to him? How awful would that be? It was the scariest first date ever.

Sam decided to think logically. He liked her. He had seen her and met her and spent a little time with her and he still wanted to see her again. And she liked him. She may not have given much thought to the guy before they were deployed, but she was increasingly aware that she was falling at considerable speed for the man in the picture, whose words had melted her heart and whose distant voice had turned her body to jelly.

Now it was her turn to plan a military manoeuvre. She had to be looking her best. She checked again. He was due a week on Friday. What if she found him on her doorstep when she arrived home from school all sweaty and helmet headed? No. It would be the end of half term. Oh why couldn’t he come earlier, then she could spend half term with him? No matter, she thought, at least that gave her a few clear days to prepare.

Sam walked into the room that would one day be her office; until then it was a box room that was certainly living up to its name. She cleared the desk and opened up her laptop. Damn, she remembered she had no internet access for a few more days. School would be all right to send an e-bluey, she thought, and so she wrote a note that she would never need, to remind her to send a message in the morning. And then she wrote a letter too, for good measure, ending it with:

Returning from a patrol, Andy found a group of his men back from a secondment after a joint operation. The lads reunited with friendly banter and talk of their various encounters.

Spike saw Dean first. “Romeo, how’s it hanging?”

“Ready as ever.”

“You don’t know anywhere round here I could get a burger and fries, do you?”

“Sorry, mate, but we did get some fresh supplies in today, so who knows? Is Evans with you?”

“Yeah. He’s over there with Miller and the Prof.”

“I’m glad to see you kept my space warm for me,” Dean said, having found his old spot still free.

“It’s right where you left it,” said Spike.

They walked into the building inside the compound and Spike laid down his kit underneath several very suggestive pictures of a blonde woman. Dean sat down opposite and picked his photos off the little ledge in the wall where they had been balancing.

Spike lifted an eyebrow. “What’s up, Romeo? Trouble in paradise?”

“Bloody women,” Dean said. “Had the two of them nicely simmering, waiting for my R&R and they go and fucking meet up, don’t they?! Turns out they’re only half cousins or some shit like that.” He made the sound of a bomb exploding and then shrugged. “Oh well. Fuck it. I’m young, free and single again. Lock up your daughters, gentlemen, Romeo is coming home… one way or another.”

That evening when all the men were sorted and resting back in their compound, Dean asked where the Prof had got to. Lofty, six foot six and fair-haired, was sat across the way, hunched over a deck of cards and about to deal out. He told Dean that if you couldn’t see the Prof, he was normally in his pit, writing to his woman.

Dean was surprised. “The Prof’s got a woman?” he asked.

It had been a good while since he had seen Andy hooked up. It had been all over Facebook when his ex had been doing the dirty on him. Andy probably would have found out sooner if he had taken more interest in the world of computers instead of reading all those books he had hanging around his house. It was only when he upset some slapper at a do months later by rejecting her drunken advances, that he heard what had been going on.

Dean looked around the room. He looked over at the photos above Spike on the wall. For a moment he thought he recognised the girl. He got up and walked across and asked to see one. Spike handed it over. “Not bad, eh?” he said, quietly proud of his blonde bombshell.

“How did you get hold of her?” Dean asked.

“Prof’s woman,” Spike said and took the photo back. “Why don’t you ask him to get one for you?”

Dean was not amused. He kicked the door open and stormed out of his room and across the compound in search of Andy. He found him on his way back from a briefing with the CO about their upcoming operation. “Hey, Sarge.”

“Fletch, heard you had come back to play with the big boys.”

They walked side by side across the compound to Andy’s little room. There was just enough room inside for a couple of rolls and Andy’s was the closest to the door. Dean hovered in the doorway. He quickly scanned the area for the evidence he was after. He spotted the corner of a photo poking out from the pages of a book. He snatched the book up and deliberately dropped the photo out. He picked it up and saw the face of Sam. “So it’s true,” he said. “I wondered how you could get yourself a woman out here.” He passed the photo to Andy. “You didn’t. You nicked mine.”

Andy put the photo safely away and turned to Dean.

“You never wanted her. If you’d really felt anything for her, you wouldn’t have had two other women on the go at the same time.”

“Well maybe I want her now.”

“Too late, Romeo. That ship has sailed. She’s mine now.”

“And you’re happy with my cast-offs?” Dean asked. “Not at all worried about whether you can fill my boots?” Andy glared at him and Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, all’s fair in love and war.”

“Was there actually something you wanted, Corporal?” Andy said, with great restraint.

“Nope. Not a thing, Sarge.”

Andy watched him until he was gone, then took a deep breath and took out the photo and smoothed the surface and reverently placed it back in his book. She was his now, his and no one else’s. Three more days in this hellhole, he thought. Just three more days and he would be off on the long journey home and back to Sam.

He tried to imagine the moment when they would meet. Would she actually like him when push came to shove? Would she remember him? He wanted her, of that he was certain. She said she wanted to see him, he had got the message. All he had to do now was make sure he didn’t blow it.

Two days later, he got her letter. She had been worried about him. He smiled. She had asked if there was anything he would like to do while he was on leave with her. Was she kidding? Absolutely. Several things actually, but he couldn’t put any of that in a letter; she would probably run a mile. He chuckled to himself at her worries of being a disappointment to him – fat chance! But those last three words had him by the guts: ‘Come home soon.’