‘If this unit isn’t completely in the RAF, sir, despite your original assurances, then I presume that we don’t always have to play by RAF rules . . .’
‘Granted. That’s why you have to do what I ask you, or end up in pokey. Continue.’
‘In that case the same regulations about correspondence and telephone calls, which govern the hundreds of other poor sods lying around in tents out there, don’t necessarily apply to me?’
‘I follow you, Charlie, but I don’t follow you. I don’t see what you’re driving at, so bloody get on with it.’
‘Sorry, sir. It’s just a long-winded way of asking if I can come back here when you are having your afternoon siesta, and make a few phone calls without the War Office listening in. I thought your green telephone must be worth something.’
‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place? No, of course you can’t. Who d’ye want to call anyway?’
‘My kids first, because I miss them . . . then my office back home to find out what’s going on . . . also to a friend to ask what’s happening to my dad, and another to a business partner in Germany.’
‘And why should I say yes?’
‘Because after I have discharged those duties, I can give my full attention to whatever madcap scheme you’ve dragged me out here for, sir . . . and incidentally, after one of those calls, it wouldn’t surprise me to then be able to tell you where our Fat Man is. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘They bloody warned me about you, didn’t they? Insub-bloody-ordinate all the bloody way,’ he grumbled.
‘I take it that’s a yes then, sir?’
‘Of course it is. Where’s that bloody woman with the char?’
Daisy walked in on cue. Her KD skirt and blouse had been freshly laundered, and she looked . . . well, radiant. I was glad that it was working out for someone. She brought three mugs: one for herself.
‘The doctor has told the Wing Commander to stop drinking,’ she said, as if Watson wasn’t there. Her old fondness for him was in her eyes again. ‘He has gout in his right big toe. We’re told that gout has a tendency to make people very ill-tempered, but I won’t stand for that.’
‘You told me he wasn’t much of a drinker,’ I told her.
‘She lied.’ That was Watson. ‘I’m a drouth. It’s having to put up with people like you which drives me to it. Now finish your tea, and bugger off.’
Before I went Daisy informed me, ‘All of your uniform requisition has arrived now, Charlie. I’ve been passing it on to Mr Tobin for secure storage. Was that all right?’
‘That was fine. I’ll pop round and see him while I’m here.’
I found Tobin in our largest permanent shed. He had the wheels off our Land-Rover. His boss begrudged letting him away even for five minutes in the middle of his work. I don’t know what the others were doing: the place looked three quarters empty to me.
‘Where are all our bloody radio spares?’
‘Most of them are out in the blue, sir.’
‘Waiting for their buyers to pick them up?’
He put on a great injured face, ‘Mr Bassett, you’ve got a suspicious mind.’
He waited until we were out of earshot of anyone else before he reached into his shirt pocket, and produced what looked like a Post Office savings book with a blue RAF cover. It had my name printed onto a line on the top, and RAF Canal Zone and Arab Co-operative Bank. I had a surplus balance of fifty-eight quid already.
I asked him, ‘What bank is this?’
‘Mine sir. It operates inside any camp in the Canal Zone. I’ve taken the liberty of selling your surplus kit, sir, and crediting your account – hope you don’t mind.’
I smiled because it was too bleeding late if I did.
‘Of course not. What do you pay on deposits if I have any spare cash?’
‘Four per cent sir. I follow the official bank rate.’
‘. . . and can I draw out cash in local tender?’
‘Of course, sir. Do you need any now?’
‘No. It’s just good to know. What I do need is a clean shirt to take out into the blue.’
‘Take an old, soft one, sir: no sharp creases to wear yer skin away.’
Money or tailoring: Tobin, I thought, was your complete professional. I probably no longer had any new shirts anyway.
Daisy was out sitting on the step of Watson’s veranda with a glass of cold water that afternoon. I could see it was cold from the moist cloudiness on the outside of the glass.
I paused, and asked, ‘How do you get it so cold?’
‘We have a fridge. It works overtime. I see the alert must has been lifted. We’re either Red-Amber, or back to Amber again.’
‘How do you know?’
‘An Egyptian cobbler followed you up the road, pushing his cart. Didn’t you see him?’
‘Yes. Why didn’t I work that out?’
‘Because I’m a woman. Would you like a glass of water?’ If she came on with cracks like that I’d soon go off her again.
‘Yes, please. The boss said I could make a few phone calls.’
I didn’t lie to them. I told them I hadn’t written because I hadn’t had the time, but would attend to that as soon as I could. Dieter wanted to know about crossing the Med in a corvette, and Carlo wanted to know about the desert. I told him about camels and shite-hawks, and that I’d met both his mother and his grandmother. He showed absolutely no curiosity about them, and I didn’t quite know what to make of that. Something else to ask Susan about maybe. Both of the boys wanted Arab headdresses.
Elaine told me that business had picked up. Old Man Halton had come back with some WD contracts in his pocket, and was bidding
