Sorry to do it to you Jimbo but you did lead her right to me. She’s been round to see me since and I have to admit to giving her one for old times’ sake. Got to hand it to you – I thought you were on to a loser with that one when I saw who you were eyeing in the bar – so it was a bit of a surprise when I saw her sitting in the car outside the house. She called me while you were busy stuffing the rubbers in your pocket. I hadn’t seen her for a while but I knew she’d be back.
She’s different. This isn’t the Caro I remember. Some things don’t change. She’s still mad as a box of frogs but she’s gone all political. She’s telling me all this stuff and sounding like Martha – but a lot more extreme – if you know what I mean. That’s the thing about her – she don’t do things by halves. I try to shut her up but she’s not having any.
ME: I’m not interested in all that shit.
HER: You ought to be. Look what they’ve done to you!
Then she’s off again so I zone out and I’m thinking what a lucky little dog you are to pop your cherry with her. None better. This goes on for a while then she stops.
HER: Have you even been listening?
ME: No I ain’t.
Looks like she might start again – so I distract her only way I know how.
Afterwards she’s looking at my scars tracing them with her finger and asking how I got them – wanting me to tell her what happened exactly.
ME: Don’t really remember.
This is what I generally say.
HER: Course you do.
ME: Yeah – well – I don’t like talking about it.
HER: You’ve got to get things out sometimes.
I look to see if she’s taking the piss – you never know with her – but she’s acting like she’s genuinely interested and really wants to know – like she cares about me and I want her to care. Sometimes I surprise even myself.
ME: I’m keeping a video diary, y’know? Like I used to.
HER: That’s a good idea – people ought to know what’s going on, what’s really happening, from the people on the ground out there. People like you.
ME: My memory ain’t altogether reliable. Time runs differently for different people – fast for some – others see it all in slo-mo.
HER: Yeah. I understand that. How does it run for you?
I start to tell her and I’m back there.
We are out on routine patrol approaching some little shit town. The WMIK drops us and we fan out each side of the road – me and Mac on the right. The house on our side looks deserted – two small windows either side of a door like a kid’s drawing. The entrance is covered by one of those plastic curtains – red and yellow strips slightly moving – clashing softly together – like there’s a through breeze or maybe someone moving in there creating a draught displacing the air or a muzzle stirring the strips. Something’s not right about it. I motion for Mac, who’s in front of me, to go down to the side of the building out of the direct line of fire and edge along the walls. He takes one more step and I hear a series of little tiny tones like someone dialling on a mobile then a metallic click. I know what it is – the pressure plate of an IED making contact – but too late to do anything about it. I’m thrown back right up into the air. Mac’s in front of me. He takes the full force. I can’t hear anything – my head’s ringing with the blast and the dust is so thick all around us that the sun is just a smudge of light. I can smell cordite and burnt fabric and something else – like Sunday roast. It catches in my throat – makes me cough and gag as I grope towards where I think he might be – feeling with my hands cos I can’t see. I can tell he’s hurt bad. He’s lost his leg – blown right off halfway up the thigh. I get a tourniquet on to him, all the time with rounds coming in. I still can’t hear a thing but I can see little puffs in the dust and chips flying off the wall. My right leg is pretty mashed – numb and useless – but I can crawl. He can do nothing at all – I grab him by the webbing and begin pulling him back. The WMIK’s coming under heavy fire itself, the lads pinned down fully engaged laying down rounds. All I’m thinking is to get Mac back or near enough for them to come and get us – which they did.
We got him out of there and he lived. He lost one leg completely – the other off at the knee. Seemed all right last time I saw him – looking to the future. He’s coping better than me – ironic really. They gave me a medal for what I done – so I’m a genuine hero – but like someone said – medals cast deep shadows. I kept both my legs but I lost something else out there. When the thing went off right in front of us – the noise deafened me – I couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. A kind of darkness came over me and everything seemed very far away – like I was in a tunnel so full of dust it’s like the light had gone out and I couldn’t breathe. When I dream about it that’s what wakes me. I snapped out of it then cos I had to help Mac but now it’s like the darkness is back – creeping over me a bit more every day. I don’t see a future – there is no future. I have no purpose – no reason to be. All I’m doing is marking time. I got no right to feel like this. I’m still here ain’t I – with two arms, two legs, tackle intact. I think about Johnny Boy – not coming back – and Mac and I feel shame for being the way I am. I don’t feel entitled to help of any kind. If I believed in that sort of thing – I’d say I was damned. As it is I might be all right on the outside but inside I’m broke beyond anybody’s fixing. There’s no help for me.
I don’t mean to tell her the last bit. It just comes out – she don’t act shocked or surprised. She don’t say anything. She gets out of bed and goes – not even a ‘See you’. Then after she’s gone I lie there and it’s like she’s opened a valve in my head that I can’t shut off. It’s like the nightmares I have but worse cos I’m awake. My ears are ringing like after the explosion and I ache – not just my leg but my back and my arms and my head. I wasn’t even wounded there but my head hurts worst of all.