with clean running water, a TV with DVD player and plug sockets that had power. Plus, central heating! I leant my bum against the radiator enjoying that slightly too hot feeling that I'd almost forgotten. Log fires are nice, but give me a boiling hot radiator any day of the week.
After Sanders left me alone I went to the communal bathroom at the end of the landing, drew myself a hot bath and soaked all the aches away. Sanders had scraped together some toiletries from somewhere, so I washed my hair, soaped myself clean, shaved my legs, plucked my eyebrows, waxed my top lip, and did all those things I used to take so completely for granted. When I was all done, I lay back in the water and watched the steam rise and curl as the stitches in my cheek throbbed in the heat.
I closed my eyes and imagined I was at home, that Gran was downstairs making tea, and that after I'd dried my hair I'd go downstairs and eat her corned beef pie with mash and we'd watch trashy telly.
It was a nice, warm daydream.
I felt safe for the first time in two years.
When I woke, the water was tepid and night had fallen. The light was off so the bathroom was dark. I suppose that's why Sanders hadn't found me and dragged me off to karaoke. I looped the plug chain around my big toe and pulled it out, then I rose, pulled my towel off the hot radiator and wrapped it around me. Back in my billet I found that Sanders had left me some clean clothes, bless him, and although the short black dress he'd chosen for me was perhaps not quite what I'd have opted for, I decided to indulge him, and myself. There was fancy underwear as well – nothing crass, just good quality – and the shoes were nice. He'd almost guessed my size right in all respects.
When I was all dolled up, I put on some slap and looked at myself in a mirror. Bathed, well dressed, made- up. Nothing out of the ordinary a few years ago, but the woman staring back at me seemed like an old stranger, someone I'd known very well once upon a time but had lost touch with. I was glad to see her again, but I knew she was only visiting briefly
I looked like Kate.
Well, no matter. I was about to walk into a room full of soldiers, looking pretty damn good, if I said so myself. It had been a long time since I'd turned any heads, and I was looking forward to it.
Pulling a coat around my shoulders, I left the room, turned off the light and walked downstairs, listening to my heels clicking on the lino. Again, a sound from the past – high heels on a staircase. One small detail of a forgotten life, once commonplace now extraordinary to me.
I opened the door and stepped outside. The camp was dark, but the roads were lit with orange sodium lights. I stopped and listened. From somewhere off in the distance I could hear a chorus of drunken voices singing Delilah. I followed the sound, enjoying the sensation of once again being able to walk alone at night without fear.
Which is why it was such a surprise when the man dropped out of the sky on a parachute and landed on the path in front of me, and hands grabbed me from behind, muffling my shouts, dragging me into the shadows.
Chapter Twelve
I kicked and struggled, but the man holding me was too strong. I'd have bitten his fingers off if he hadn't been wearing heavy leather gloves.
I was pulled off the path and into the bushes, where I was pushed down on to my knees and held firm.
'If you do exactly as I say, you won't be harmed,' said a soft voice in my ear. The accent was unmistakeably American, an exotic twang after two years of Kentish brogue. I felt cold metal at my throat.
'If you cry out, I'll slit your throat, Limey bitch. Understand?'
Limey? Who the hell called Brits 'Limeys' anymore?
I nodded gently. He removed his hand from my mouth.
I've been in worse spots before, but I was completely unprepared for this. I was in the safest place in Britain, in my bloody party dress! So unfair. Anyway, I was more scared than I'd been in a long time and I momentarily lost my cool. My terror, I'm embarrassed to admit, made me compliant. I didn't make a sound.
'Good girl,' said my captor. 'Now, which way to the main gate?'
'I only got here today, I'm not sure. I can't direct you. I could probably walk you there, though.'
He tightened his grip. 'Not good enough.'
He fell silent, thinking it over. As he did so the bushes rustled and another man, the parachutist, joined us. He was dressed entirely in black, almost invisible. It was only when I saw his thick leather gloves that I realised that both men had fallen out of the sky. My captors shared a brief, whispered conference.
'All right,' said the new guy, also a Yank. 'Here's what we're going to do. You're gonna walk us to the gate. We'll stay in the shadows, but we'll be watching you. If you try to shout out or run, you're dead.'
To illustrate the point he pulled out a handgun and slowly screwed a silencer into the barrel.
'Joe's a really good shot,' added the man holding the knife to my throat, and I could hear the smile in his voice. 'You should remember that. Now go.'
He withdrew the knife and released me. I knelt there for a moment, composing myself, then I got up and walked back to the path, brushing the dirt from my knees. So much for karaoke, I thought, as I stood in a pool of orange light, rearranging my dress and getting my bearings. I didn't doubt the ruthlessness or ability of the men who were threatening me. Plus, they'd bloody parachuted here. I'd not seen a contrail in two years, so that implied all sorts of things. I decided to play along until something clever occurred to me or an opportunity presented itself. Which it did almost immediately.
'There you are,' boomed a voice to my left. I turned to see Sanders striding towards me wearing shirt and jeans, a bottle of lager in his hand. 'I wondered what was keeping you. Lost?'
I nodded. Shit, would they just kill him? Sanders walked up to me and held out his arm. I slipped mine through his and said 'let's take a walk.'
He seemed unsure, eager to get back to the singing, but his guard was down, he wasn't expecting trouble, and a woman wanted to spend time with him. He smiled. 'All right,' he said. 'But there is no escape, sooner or later you get to hear my Ace of Spades.'
'I've already seen your ace in the hole, Sanders. It wasn't all that.'
'Hey!'
As we began walking, I caught a tiny flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, a shift in the shadows, black on black. We were being stalked.
I gripped his arm way too tightly and increased the pace. He gave me a curious look and I tried to signal with my eyes that something was up. But it was dark and he was slightly drunk. Sanders the soldier was off duty, this was Sanders the boozed-up Motorhead fan. I wondered how long the two Yanks would allow this to continue before they got trigger happy. I needed to stall.
'Let's take a walk to the medical centre,' I said. 'I want to look in on Caroline.'
'Okay,' he replied, giving my arm a squeeze of sympathy.
'It's by the main gate, isn't it?' I asked, slightly too loud.
'Um yeah, it's this way,' he answered.
He led the way and we walked in silence for a minute or two. I caught no hint of our pursuers. They were good, whoever they were.
'You look beautiful,' said Sanders as we passed a row of silent tanks.
'Well, thanks for the clothes and stuff,' I said, lamely.
'You're welcome. You wear them well.'
For the love of Mike, Sanders, you dope.
We ambled on a bit more, then I had an idea. If I pulled him into an embrace the gunmen would know I was up to something. But if he pulled me close they wouldn't be sure, and I could whisper in his ear.
'Well,' I said, as if suddenly shy, 'I'm only wearing them for you.' I moved my hand along his forearm and laced my fingers through his. He looked down at me, surprised, as I stroked his thumb gently with my index finger.
'I'm honoured,' he said, smiling but a little awkward.
'You should be. It's not every day I make such an effort.' Oh this was painful. I was spouting bad dialogue
