‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Just wondered. We don’t have any Meaghers on our players list.’
‘Maybe there are one or two running about under different names,’ he said, aware that was not the smartest thing to say, even in jest, but it was harmless enough with Aggy.
‘It does make you think though, doesn’t it? Maybe we are wrong,’ she said.
‘That it does.’
‘And then they put a bomb in a pub or blow up a street full of innocent people just for the publicity and you realise they’re not right either.’
‘As far as they’re concerned it’s a war. In war civilians suffer along with the armies.’
‘Do you think Meagher would’ve done something like that?’
‘Of course not. But who knows what he would’ve done if he’d been born today.’
‘I don’t see any honour in it,’ she said.
Bill kept quiet.
‘What do you think you’d have done if you’d been born Catholic? Would you have joined the IRA?’
‘No,’ he said, avoiding her look.
‘You joined the British army.’
‘And I’ll be happy when I’m out of it.’
‘You’re leaving?’
‘That’s the plan.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Soon I think.’
‘Why?’ she said as she took a mouthful of food.
‘Had enough. Getting a bit bored. I have time enough for another career.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ he said and stood up. ‘I have to go.’ She looked up at him, confused. ‘Oh?’
‘To the loo to sort out my bloody underpants. I’ve been sitting on my balls since I got here.’
She laughed and covered her mouth. His eyes lingered on her, enjoying her, then he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. She allowed him to.
‘That’s just my hello kiss you owe me.You’re a beautiful girl, and do you know what I wish from you?’
She looked into his eyes, afraid he might say something that would spoil the evening.
‘I hope to God you’ll tell me your real name soon because I can’t stand Aggy.’
She grinned as she watched him walk away towards the toilets, shifting a lump in the back of his pants. Her smile remained even after he was out of sight.
Kathryn sat on the couch in her living room staring into space. She couldn’t remember ever having been this bored. The room was as sparse and unwelcoming as the day they had moved in, as was the rest of the house. The plain walls and mantelpiece were empty and not a picture or ornament to be seen. She had brought over some framed family photos but they were in a box in the garage. Kathryn had done nothing to make the place look lived in and couldn’t find the motivation to make a start. Hank would be angry when he got home this time. He had been patient so far but they were into their third week. He would soon want to host his own barbeque and invite colleagues over. She tried to make a start that morning and paced the room several times, thinking of colour schemes and furnishing but it only fuelled her anxiety. She thought about asking Hank if they could find a different place but it was only a smokescreen for not having done anything to this one and he would see through it.
She checked her watch again. In another three hours she could pick up the girls from school. They would keep her occupied until she put them to bed then it would be back to gloom and boredom before it was her turn to climb the stairs and end yet another day. Hank was going to have to make some kind of a compromise with her. She thought about negotiating her stay to a year. It wouldn’t do his career any harm. They could always say her mother was ill. A year apart might even do them some good. She would talk to him about it as soon as he got back. She needed something to look forward to, something less than seven hundred and fifteen days to go.
She glanced at the phone, debating whether or not to plug it in and call one of her friends in Virginia. Most of them would be up and about and getting their kids ready for school. She had spoken to most of them several times each in the past week, racking up hours of long-distance charges. Without that contact she felt she would go nuts a lot sooner. She still deliberately left the phone unplugged in case one of the wives called. Joan had telephoned three times and two other wives once each the first week, inviting her to tea and offering to show her around the shops in Bournemouth. After some hastily contrived excuses that must have sounded lame she had decided to avoid contact altogether. There was the risk that shutting off the phone might prompt one of them to call around. In fact someone had the evening before but she didn’t answer the door. After a minute she heard them walk back to a car and drive away. But having the phone turned off also meant Hank couldn’t call. The truth was she didn’t much care to talk to him either. All he talked about was the damned job; how the SBS do this and we do it just as well and maybe better but we could learn this off them and so on and so on.
It did worry her, the way she was feeling about Hank these days, or the lack of feeling. Most times she didn’t care if he came home at night or not. She put it down to the frustration of being stuck in England. It wasn’t this bad back home. The only thing stopping her from packing up and taking the kids back to Virginia was the certainty that it would cause a serious turn in their relationship and she wasn’t ready to face that. Not yet anyhow. She sighed heavily and got up and plugged the phone into the wall socket.
She sat back down on the couch, reached for the receiver, and then paused to decide who to call first and what to talk about. Her friends had heard in great detail every complaint she had to offer about her current life in England and she was concerned her constant negativity might be turning them off. She would not mention it unless specifically asked and keep the conversation about their own daily lives. As she reached for the phone it rang.
She snatched her hand back and watched it. It rang for a long time, far too long to be polite. It had to be Hank. They had not spoken for several days. He normally called every day when he was away if he could, which meant he had not been able to. He knew how much she hated answering the phone. The longer it rang the more certain she became that it was him. As she reached for it, it stopped. She immediately regretted not picking it up and felt guilty. It wasn’t Hank’s fault she was unhappy. This wasn’t about him. He was just doing his job and did not deserve her petulant moods. The phone rang again. She picked it up but then said nothing, just in case.
‘Hello,’ a man’s voice said. It wasn’t Hank’s and she did not recognise it. ‘Hello,’ he said again.
‘Who is this?’ Kathryn asked.
‘Is that Mrs Munro?’ the man asked. He had an American accent.
‘Yes,’ Kathryn said.
‘This is Commander Phelps, spec ops. I’m calling from Washington DC.’
The name meant nothing to her and she relaxed knowing it was for Hank. ‘My husband’s not here,’ she said. ‘He’s at work - at the base.’
There was no reply but she could hear his muffled voice, talking to someone in the background, as if he had his hand over the phone. ‘Hello,’ she said, but he did not reply right away. She was miffed by his rudeness. ‘Hello,’ she said again.
‘Mrs Munro. I’m sorry . . . em. No one’s called you . . . the Brits . . . from the base?’ he asked. There was a hint of trepidation in his voice. Kathryn could detect it. He sounded unsure of what to say or how to say it. As a result a mild flutter of alarm kindled in the pit of her stomach.
‘Called me? About what?’ she asked. Again he did not answer right away reinforcing her fear.
‘I’m sorry that we’re having this conversation on the phone,’ he said. ‘Someone should have come to see you by now.’
‘Is there something wrong?’ Kathryn asked, suddenly sure that something bad had happened to Hank.
‘Can I first stress that we believe your husband is okay.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.‘What’s happened? Where is he?’
‘Mrs Munro. I can’t really talk about it over the phone.’