‘And have everyone talking about me and sniggering? How would you like that? I told you; most people will say it’s my own fault.’ She looked out of the window and carried on speaking almost as if I wasn’t in the room. ‘Anyway one of them came back later, and apologized. He said they couldn’t help it, because I was lovely and they hadn’t seen their girlfriends for over a year . . . something like that. He said how sorry they were, and even offered me money. He asked if I was all right; he was very concerned.’
‘I’ll bet he was. What did you say?’
‘I said I was all right, and asked him to go away. They weren’t brutal with me, Charlie. One just held me down while the other had me.’ Then she started to cry again, but very quietly – like a whisper, if ever a cry can be a whisper. ‘They held a hand across my mouth so I couldn’t even say anything . . . so it was almost as if it wasn’t happening to me.’
I found that I was almost whispering as well. ‘Tell me who they were.’ And at precisely that moment something odd occurred: I remembered something similar happening to a woman at RAF Bawne during my bombing tour . . . and I remembered how badly the Boss class had dealt with it then.
‘Why?’
‘So I can do something about them.’
‘No . . . oo . . . o.’ It was an odd, drawn-out sound. ‘That will make it worse.’
Anyway I took a chance again. I went round the desk, and stood closer to her. ‘Please trust me. Just this once, please trust me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m not sure what to do either.’ I took her small nod for a yes, and made a decision on the strength of it. I had told her the truth: I didn’t know what to do, but you’ll remember the old advert, I’m sure – so perhaps I knew someone who did. I picked up the telephone. The person I was looking for wasn’t at work, but they gave me an alternative number. It was the number of her quarter.
I said, ‘Hello Haye with an e. It’s me, Charlie.’
‘I knew it. You sound like Charlie.’
‘I have a problem, Haye, and I need your help . . .’
I had noticed before that Watson was much more assertive by telephone. When I answered it, he barked, ‘Where’s Daisy?’
‘She’s not well,’ I lied smoothly. ‘I sent her up the road to the hospital at Abu Sueir. They didn’t have the right people down here.’
The sharpness went out of his voice. ‘What’s up with her?’
Bad choice of words maybe, but then mine was worse. I’d promised not to tell anyone else. I wasn’t sure it was a promise I was going to completely keep, but I thought it covered the boss.
‘Women’s problem, sir.’ That’s right, I thought numbly, sometimes men are women’s problems.
‘Oh God! How long’s she going to be out of action?’
‘Possibly a couple of weeks, sir.’
‘Who’s running the shop?’
‘Me and M’smith. Nancy’s giving us a hand. The army has another scheme planned for a week’s time: out into the sand in the northwest this time.’
‘Get yourself sorted out for it then.’ Then he paused and asked, ‘Should I send her something?’
‘That would be a good idea, sir. She wouldn’t let us alert you – didn’t want to worry you.’ I wondered where he’d find a bunch of flowers in camel-dung country.
‘Silly woman – so you don’t tell me, and as soon as I find out I’m worried sick!’ I thought she’d like to know that, but doubted he’d ever tell her. ‘I could always come back via the hospital, I suppose.’
‘That sounds like a good idea to me, sir, but you had better probably check with them first.’
‘Good thought. Anything else?’
‘Yes, I have a bone to pick with you about this last trip, sir.’
‘. . . and that can bloody wait . . . you got a three-day swan out of it, so don’t be an ungrateful little swine. Stop bellyaching.’ And then he put the phone down on me. When you’re my height, they can’t resist saying little. I try not to let it get to me any more. Sometimes I understand why other nations aren’t all that keen on the Brits. I put my feet up on his desk and resolved to drink him dry before he returned. Then I decided to keep my options open with the SWO, and volunteered for a night as duty officer.
Chapter Thirteen
Blues my naughty sweetie gives to me
I was surprised the SWO was there to bat me in. Usually a guard commander just got what they called ‘the hand-over’ from his predecessor. I’d borrowed a pushbike, and ridden around the compound in the afternoon. As the sweat dripped off me I told myself that it was doing me good – my skin even felt hardened enough to try it without a shirt. Daisy was right; I was vain. I just wanted to be the same colour as all the old-timers. Flying had been shut down because of the heat of the afternoon. It was nice to be somewhere you couldn’t fight a war because it was too hot. At one of the runway run-offs a corporal was drilling a squad of defaulters. They looked half dead. He saluted as he doubled them past me, and I wondered how he knew the half-naked fool on a bicycle was an officer. Maybe I had the look. I hoped to Christ I hadn’t.
At its best, the camp perimeter consisted of a ditch in the fucking desert surmounted by a high fence of barbed-wire strands, followed by a second internal ditch. A patrol would have to be careful not to fall into it at night. Rubbish
