‘Do you want to travel back with them?’
She still looked out of the window, not at me. ‘No. I always go home with the man who takes me to the dance, Charlie. One of my rules.’
‘OK. Shall we walk up and get the car?’
‘I already asked the corporal to recover it.’
‘I have the key.’
‘Don’t worry, he’ll manage.’
Then I remembered that she’d managed as well. She had been in the car when I had come down that morning. That morning: it seemed like weeks away already.
I drove her back, tailing the small convoy. We had had to wait for an armed one-tonner to crawl up into the hills and back, recovering Pat’s body, which meant, of course, that we finished the journey in the dark. As we settled into the bench seat of the battered Humber she said, ‘I can’t quite believe what’s happened. It wasn’t long ago that we were all drinking with Pat – it seems like months ago – don’t you remember?’
‘No.’ It was my turn.
‘A party at Pat’s place. After that stupid girl was brought back.’
‘Did I behave badly?’
‘No, I think you went to sleep. Pat was very happy that night. He was a good organizer.’
‘What did the civvy police want him for?’
‘Loads of things – sleeping with the enemy.’
‘Christ, was that all? We all do that sooner or later.’ The faces of all the women I’d known went briefly and bitterly through my mind. It didn’t take long, because there weren’t that many of them. But, then again – maybe she’d meant something different.
‘Did Collins send you up here to kill him?’
‘No, of course not. It was an accident. I saw the gun and reacted the way I’ve been trained. I would have helped you to get him out if I could.’
‘Will you get into trouble?’
‘Mm . . . I expect so. Court-martial job.’ She didn’t sound all that concerned. ‘Some smart little boy from the Solicitor General’s office will try to prove I’ve got finger trouble . . .’
‘Sorry?’
‘Trigger happy. Even if I get away with it they’ll send me home.’
‘Then don’t argue with them. Anywhere’s better than here.’
She laughed, and I asked her, ‘What’s so funny?’
After a pause she said, ‘You ever been to Aldershot, Charlie?’
I expected her to get off at Wayne’s Keep with the rest of them, but she stayed put, and on the road back to Famagusta we were flagged down by a cop car. The British policeman who walked back to us sounded like a west coast Scot. Firm, prepared to be friendly, but not prepared to take any shit. He explained that the lights on the Humber did not pass muster. We’d lost the driver’s-side front wing and its lights with it, and the one on Thirdlow’s side was flapping up and down like a WAAF’s sneakies.
‘We were in a shoot-out with EOKA, Constable. The car got hit.’
‘Then you should have left it where it was, laddie, and found an alternative means of transport.’ The last few words came out as if he had learned them by rote. Then he started writing me a ticket. Life must go on, I suppose, even when you’re in the middle of a bloody civil war.
The RAF regiment corporal in charge of the gate detail at the RAF compound gaped when he saw the state of Watson’s car. I knew I’d get it in the neck in the morning. Wasn’t that stupid? I had already forgotten about Pat, and was worried about the car. We unloaded the small arsenal we seemed to have collected into my hut.
Thirdlow said, ‘I’m going to bunk here tonight, but don’t get any ideas. OK?’
‘Too tired for ideas. I want a shower, and I want to go to sleep, and wipe today from my memory.’
‘That sounds good. Do you have anything to eat?’
‘Pete usually keeps something in his locker for emergencies.’ I pointed out Pete’s bed. It still hadn’t been slept in. She found a tin of Fray Bentos, and we split it. Then I showered. When I came back into the bunk room she was already in Pete’s bed. Her shirt and skirt were folded neatly on a chair, and her dirty shoes were tidily beneath it. I turned out the light, and unfurled the mosquito net around my bed. Then I did hers: maybe they didn’t have insects on her part of the island. As I climbed into my bed it creaked, and she said, ‘Thank you.’
I turned on my side so that my back was to her even though we were fifteen feet apart. ‘Goodnight, Ann.’ Using her first name sounded odd, but I was too tired to talk about it. I wondered if Watson already knew what a hash I’d made of things this time.
‘Goodnight, Charlie.’
I had an odd final thought that I was sleeping in the same room as a mass murderess, which was quickly replaced by the realization that anyone who knew what I’d been up to over Germany in 1944 probably felt the same about me. The fan on the ceiling clicked. It moved the mosquito nets as if people were brushing past them. I went to sleep, and dreamed that I was on a sunny slope somewhere, lying down alongside my lioness.
Chapter Twenty
Last Orders, Please
Watson handed me a hefty glass of cheap Greek brandy. I’d glimpsed over his shoulder: he had at least a dozen bottles in his cupboard, and I asked myself where they had come from. In case you’re wondering, it tastes like silver polish. Thinking about it, being handed a glass of something heavily spirituous by Mr Watson had been the prelude to most of the good or bad events of my life. But it was barely 0830, and this was going it some, even by his standards.
‘Sit down, Charlie.’
I
