Walking Wounded Page 6

  The waitress brought their food, plates heaped with eggs, potatoes, sausage, fried tomatoes, and toast. That delayed conversation for a time and gave him a chance to mull over what John had said—as well as some things he’d not said. Could he have stayed with his regiment, fought the charges, embarrassed the government even further—and come back to Johnny afterward, acknowledged him as a partner?

  Not likely. He hadn’t even had the nerve to try. He might never have had the nerve. He probably would have let the job eat him alive and accepted that the task was worth the sacrifice. However ugly and stupid the politics might be, he still had no doubt whatsoever that the job was worth doing. Many of their missions had been tiny moves on a massive chessboard, but one of them had been straight out of a Stephen King horror tale, and they’d made a happy ending of it. He and his team had saved at least a million lives when the Russian mafia tried to bring a dirty bomb into the heart of London. And he had been a part of stopping that. Johnny was right. He had made a difference, one he could be proud of. Maybe it really was all right to let it go now, and make a life for himself.

  The food, even the sausage, was absolutely delicious.

  Chapter 6

  FINALLY THE plates were cleared, and they decided on one more pot of tea for the road, to give them time to write a grocery list. John dug a crumpled envelope out of his pocket, some kind of advert that had been in his mailbox when they’d left his flat.

  “Right, then,” he said, printing BREAD in neat letters at the top of the list. “How long can you stay?”

  The seemingly innocent question hung in the air between them. Kevin found himself at an uncharacteristic loss. Not knowing what his reception might be, he had not made any plans. Truth be told, he had been running on instinct, with very little higher function involved. He had been shell-shocked and going to ground.

  “I—indefinitely, Johnny. As of yesterday noon, I’m more or less a free agent. How long do you want me?”

  John’s eyes got very big, and he drew a long, careful breath. “Would it sound too treacly romantic if I said ‘forever’?”

  Kevin swallowed, picking up his own cup to steady himself. He’d half expected that answer; he’d hoped for it. He didn’t know how to respond.

  And then John added, prosaically, “But I do have an important exam on Tuesday. Statistics.”

  Kevin sputtered, and half a mouthful of tea went up his nose. “Sorry!” he said, mopping his face. “That’s not romantic at all.”

  John passed his own napkin across the table. “You’d be surprised. At least you’re not running for your life at the idea.”

  Running toward life was what it felt like, but for the moment, he had no words.

  “Something to think about, anyway,” John said, and moved on to something he probably thought was less fraught with emotion. “Where are you living now, in Hereford?”

  “Yes. It’s a secure flat, owned by the Army. If I accept the consulting offer, I could stay there….” His throat tightened.

  “You don’t want to?”

  “I—I can’t. It feels cowardly, but I can’t do it. There’s too much gone, Johnny, even walking through the door—” He could feel his heartbeat picking up and tensed against the impulse to get up, get out, forced his body to obey his will, just as he had in the courtroom.

  “I know,” John said. He shifted his hand slightly so his warm fingers rested over Kevin’s cold ones. “It’s a piece of your life that isn’t yours anymore. I felt that way when they gave me a desk job, after I got out of hospital.”

  “I didn’t even go back,” Kevin admitted. “I meant to spend yesterday boxing my things, then go find a new flat. But I couldn’t go back. Got in the car and started driving. Halfway here I realized I’d better not just show up on your doorstep, I might not be welcome.”

  “You knew where I was?”

  The redirection startled him out of his funk. “Yes. I always have. Just didn’t have the nerve to call. I’m sorry.”

  “The phone works both ways.” John gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Let’s go. We can finish the list in the car.”

  Kevin nodded, and by the time they were back on the street, he felt more at ease, even in the light drizzle that had begun while they were inside.

  “So you’re going to stay for a bit,” John said.

  “I’d like that, yes. And I can tutor you for that exam.”

  John blinked. “You could, couldn’t you? I forgot how handy you are outside of bed!”

  “Oh, thanks!”

  “Anytime. But as to food—I’ll just figure on provisions for a week and double the quantity. Any special requests?”

  “You’re out of tea.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s in that jar in your fridge? Some kind of biology experiment?”

  John made a face. “Mrs. Herbert’s marmalade. It’s horrible. Her memory’s wonky—I think she forgot to add sugar, but she always asks if I still have it, and I’m afraid she’ll make more if I say it’s gone. I think next time I’ll ask her to show me how it’s done, so I can make sure she gets it right. You didn’t actually eat any of it—?”

  “No. Just curious. I wouldn’t mind strawberry jam, then. And, Johnny—you’ve paid the rent, let me get the groceries, all right?” He’d always been a little better heeled than John, though when they’d been together before, living on identical salaries, it had never been an issue. Now, if Johnny was scraping by on a pension, Kevin was pleased that his money would come in useful. “Anyway, I had a lot of unused leave due, and since I resigned instead of waiting to be thrown out, they paid me for it. And there’s the deposit I’ll get back from my flat—”

  “You’ll need that for a new one, though.” John pointed to a cross street. “Is it the car park up that way?” Kevin nodded. “I’m not joking, Kev. If you want to stay with me, you’re welcome for as long as you like. The place might be small for both of us, though—” He laughed. “Sorry. I don’t want to push. I sound like one of Pat’s jokes.”

  “Pat?”

  “Massage lady. Do you know what a lesbian drives on the second date?”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever dated one. What would she drive?”

  “A rent-a-van.”

  Kevin didn’t catch the joke at first, then chuckled. “This is hardly our first date, Johnny. I doubt if there’s anyone in the world who knows me better than you do. But we have some catching up to do.”

  “And a lot of decisions to make. You, especially. But the funny thing is, from the minute I opened the door yesterday, every time I think about the future, it’s got you in it—as though whatever the future holds, we’ll face it together.”

  His words had an almost physical resonance. “That’s how I feel, too,” Kevin said slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so certain about anything. It’s strange. Part of me is saying, yes, go on, this is right, but I don’t want to—” He shook his head. Given a task, he could simply focus on it and decide on tactics. This situation, where his real goal was unclear, was as difficult as anything he’d dealt with in the SAS. “I don’t want to say yes to you, and find out in six months that it was just some sort of reaction.”

  “Reaction? To being cast adrift, you mean?”

  “I suppose so. The unit was full of conflict, but it was a unit. A kind of belligerent, dysfunctional family. I don’t want to use you as a lifeboat and risk hurting you later.”

  “Mm.” They walked in silence for a few steps. Finally John said, “Kev, I’ve seen your reactions. Unless you’ve changed a lot, your instincts are usually good. You may not know exactly why you choose one thing over another, but it’s generally the right choice. Yes, this last one, too,” he continued quickly before Kevin could contradict him. “Based on what information you had, you made the best decision you could. The communication problems—hell, the politics—that was all outside your control.”

  Kevin shook his head. “That’s not the point. I can handle the mistakes I made there. I
’m not happy with the results, but it was the job, and we all knew the risks. The risks with you….”

  “Are half mine.” John turned and met his eyes. “My God, Kevin—I lost you once. Do you think I don’t understand the risk? I do, perfectly well—and it’s my choice. You’re worth the risk to me. Worth any risk.”

  Kevin had to look away at that. He hadn’t expected such a naked declaration, such total trust. He didn’t feel worthy of it.

  Johnny didn’t seem to expect a response. “You only have to take responsibility for your half,” he said. “Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.” Kevin ran a hand through his hair and was surprised at how much water flew off. “Keep reminding me, Johnny. I probably need to hear it.”

  “Speaking of family, though, what did the Brigadier have to say about all this?”

  He could have wished John hadn’t brought that up, but now was probably as good a time as any. “Enough. When he got through swearing, he agreed that my resignation was probably the only thing that might save the situation. And after congratulating me on having the balls to face it, he asked me how the hell any son of his could have made such a mistake, and why did I have to ruin myself in public where it would cause him maximum embarrassment.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It went better than I’d expected, actually. At least he didn’t give me a loaded pistol and leave me to take the gentleman’s way out. And in a way, I honestly wonder if he wasn’t pleased. He never made it into the SAS, you know. He applied—and failed the screening. That was part of why I went out for it. A stupid reason, I know that now. But it was one of the few things he hadn’t done better than I ever could.”

  “And you did pass.”

  “For all the good it did me. I got farther than he did, but his failure wasn’t so public. Anyway, I reminded him the family honor wasn’t resting solely on my shoulders—he still has Edward and Marian. She married Mark two years back, and they’ve just produced the first grandson, so his military dynasty is secure. The Brigadier has already started a trust fund for the kid’s tuition at Sandhurst. Poor little sod.”

  “How did your brother and sister react to the mess? And your mum?”

  “Ned was embarrassed, said he was sorry I’d had such bad luck—but he reckons the public has a memory shorter than the interval between elections, and he’s glad I’m out of the war zone. Marian and my mother want to resurrect Nelson so he can tackle the colonials and do it right this time.” He had to smile at the memory of the distaff Kendrick opinion on England’s allies and what passed for their intelligence service. “I think there is currently a family boycott on imported goods. And by the way, my mother did ask whether I ever saw that nice Lieutenant Hanson anymore, and said I should feel free to bring you by for dinner if I did. I think she guessed about us, Johnny. Probably the way I kept looking at your bum that time she met us for lunch in London.”

  “And your father?”

  He sighed. “I spoke to him a week before I gave my testimony. I haven’t heard from him since, and I don’t give a damn what he thinks. I’m sure my mother hasn’t said anything to him about you, and neither have I. It isn’t worth the energy.”

  “Do you think you ever will?”

  “I suppose so, if it’s important to you.” He knew he had to say it, but he hoped mightily that John wouldn’t ask that of him.

  John shrugged. “Not especially. He may be your father, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s none of his business. He’ll probably figure it out sooner or later, and we can deal with it if and when.”

  Kevin shook his head. “If he knew, it would only confirm all his worst fears, give him an easy explanation for my failure—he’d say you can’t expect a queer to be an effective officer. He’d probably claim my mother got me off the mailman, never mind I look so much like him it’s pitiful. That’s one thing I suppose really is for the best.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The reality check. There I was, in the worst moment of my life, and all he could think about was how my disaster lost face for him. Nearly thirty years, and I finally saw the situation clearly. I spent my whole damned life trying to make him proud of me, and now that I know it’s impossible, it’s actually a relief! No more jumping at a hurdle that moves every time I try. I’m going to live the rest of my life so I’m satisfied with it myself, and if it’s not good enough for him, too damned bad.”

  “You didn’t fail, Kev. You made a decision and caught the world’s worst luck.”

  “I was in command. And I did fail. But it isn’t the end of the world.”

  “You survived it. So did most of your men.”

  “You said that before.”

  “Because it’s important,” Johnny said. “If I had to go into the field under your command or your father’s—who do you think I’d pick?”

  “That’s not a fair question. You can’t stand my father.”

  “There is that.” John grinned. “I hope to be ‘serving under you’ as soon as we get home, and I wouldn’t spend time in the same room as your father if I could avoid it. But seriously, love, do you know anyone who hasn’t failed at something, or at least made huge mistakes?”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “I’m sorry—I’m not trying to put words in your mouth. But what you’re saying reminds me of how I felt when things started falling apart, and I needed help to figure it out afterward. When every decision can mean life or death, the responsibility becomes intense. It’s a burden, but it gives you a little sense of security, too. You tell yourself that if you do everything just right, your team will be safe. It’s an illusion, of course—no one can do everything just right, and even if you did, the enemy has a nasty habit of changing the program. And you feel the weight either way.” He laughed suddenly. “Sorry. This is basic stuff about control issues. If I have to remind you not to be too responsible, you should remind me not to lecture.”

  “I will, but only when you stop making sense.” Why had no one ever mentioned that in training? Had they been banking on his sense of responsibility, his expendability? But he had no cause for complaint, or even surprise. Why someone did something mattered only insofar as it was a way of eliciting performance. Individuals in the Army were supposed to be interchangeable—interchangeable, and, when necessary, expendable. That was how the system worked.

  And he felt, for the first time, a deep sense of relief that he was no longer an interchangeable, disposable part of that system.

  “The car’s over there. The little blue job.”

  The drive to Sainsbury’s and the shopping expedition itself were uneventful. Kevin made a point of replacing the beer they’d wiped out the night before, and steered toward the deli section for what amounted to a picnic lunch. John protested at first, but saw the sense in Kevin’s argument that it would be better to spend the rest of the day in bed than in the kitchen. The staple items—milk, eggs, bread, and the like—were supplemented by a few more exotic ingredients that Kevin had plans for. All in all, the trip was a peaceful, successful reprovisioning foray.

  It was on the drive home that things began to get complicated.

  Kevin had just negotiated a tricky turn, complicated by the presence of a white van whose driver had apparently won his license in a lottery. He’d gotten the car straightened out on the wet road when Johnny shouted, “Stop!”

  Chapter 7

  COMBAT REFLEXES made for interesting driving. The car skidded and fought him as he braked and steered onto the shoulder. The van’s taillights were disappearing in the distance, and there was no one else on the road, which helped.

  He asked, “What is it?” but John was already out of the car and sprinting back down the road. Lovely. He set the emergency blinkers going and followed, hoping Johnny hadn’t spotted a corpse or something equally awful.

  “Poor little bastard,” John said when he got close.

  “What? Is someone hurt—oh Christ.”

  It wasn’t a body—or, rathe
r, it was a body, but not a human one. A brown-splotched cat had apparently tried to cross but had been no match for tons of motorized steel. Which was a pity, but hardly worth stopping for—except for the kitten huddled against its mother’s body, standing on wobbly legs and squalling its indignation to the world.

  “We can’t just abandon it,” John said.

  “I suppose not, but what will you do with it?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m not going to leave it to be squashed. Watch for traffic, would you? I don’t want to frighten him into the road.” John got down on all fours, dignity forgotten, and crept toward the little beast, who was either too frightened, too overwhelmed, or too bloody-minded to flee from the big hands that encircled him. “Got you! Oh, damn!”

  Monitoring the road, Kevin glanced down briefly. “What?”

  “There’s two of them. Mother’s dead for certain. Cold. Come on, love… that’s right, I’m only here to help….” He stood up with his prizes—two damp kittens. The screamer was marmalade with a white apron, the timid one a little black-and-white job.

  Kevin accepted the second, holding the soggy infant against his body to keep it warm. “Now what?”

  “We’d better look around, I think. Two kittens isn’t a very big litter.”

  “Big enough,” Kevin said, but he made no objection to searching the roadside. By the time they’d covered half a mile or so, though, the rain had picked up and there was no sign of life. “Johnny, if she’s raised ’em feral, these may be all that survived. Foxes, owls, dogs…. That might’ve been why she was moving them.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He looked around one last time. “Let’s get these little orphans out of the storm. Do you think they’re weaned?”

  “God, I hope so!” He handed the second kitten over to John so he could concentrate on getting them back home in one piece. “Now what?”

  “Well, they’ve got teeth. I suppose that means they’ve started eating solid food. Um, dry ’em off, get some warm food into ’em. Would you mind very much going back to Sainsbury’s?”