cancer.’
‘What sort?’
Still Jamie wouldn’t look her in the eye. But she saw his face twitch as he spoke. Heard the catch in his voice. ‘At the end,’ he said, ‘everywhere. Started in the lungs. Spread to the . . . Oh, I don’t know. Ask a fucking doctor.’
Kelly’s wide eyes blinked; she felt herself holding back tears. She squeezed his shoulders gently, not knowing quite what to say. Only then did Jamie look at her. Kelly could see the hurt in his eyes.
‘Took her about six months to die. Painful. They put her in one of those places for the last couple of weeks . . .’
‘A hospice?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘A hospice. Gave her liquid horse on a drip.’
‘You mean morphine?’
‘Same thing. She had this button, you know, to give herself more if she wanted it.’
They sat in silence and for a moment Kelly felt closer to him than she ever had. She too had seen a loved one die in this way – an aunt. She knew something of what he was feeling.
‘How old were you?’ she asked.
Jamie looked down. ‘Seventeen,’ he said.
Seventeen. Barely a man. It all sounded so terribly sad.
‘What about your dad?’ she asked.
Jamie sniffed. ‘Army.’ He stood up, leaving Kelly’s hand to fall to her side. ‘Actually, special forces.’
‘What,’ Kelly asked, ‘like . . .’
‘SAS,’ he interrupted. He pulled gently on the lobe of one ear. ‘Never really talk about it,’ he added. ‘Dad didn’t. Just got on with the job. Know what I mean?’
Kelly didn’t know, but she nodded anyway.
‘How old were you when he . . . ?’
‘Thirteen.’ He spoke quickly, as though he were trying to get it over with. ‘Out on operations. Northern Ireland. They never told us exactly where or how.’
‘Jamie, that’s awful.’
Jamie shrugged for a second time. ‘It’s the life, isn’t it?’ he said, as though he were talking to someone who had undergone the same experiences. ‘You know the risks when you take it on.’
‘But you were just thirteen. A little boy.’
‘No point crying about it.’ All of a sudden he seemed to have closed up. Kelly stood and stepped towards her boyfriend, wanting to give him a hug. But as she approached, Jamie walked into the bedroom. When he returned he was carrying his coat. ‘Where are you going?’ Kelly asked with concern.
‘Out.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yeah,’ Jamie replied. ‘Now.’
‘Oh, Jamie. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset. Just want to be by myself.’
‘But I’m cooking dinner.’
‘Not hungry.’ He headed towards the door.
‘Don’t go out, Jamie. Please. I want to talk.’
Jamie Spillane turned to look at her. ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Well I don’t. I’ll be back later, all right?’
Kelly looked at him, her eyes full of sympathy and confusion. ‘All right,’ she replied weakly.
And with that, Jamie walked out of the flat. Kelly sat on the sofa for a good long while after that, staring blandly at the silent TV screen. The supper she was cooking went uneaten; all she could do was think about what Jamie had told her.
His mum.
His dad.
And how alone he really was.
*
The Lamb and Flag had an old-fashioned pub sign swinging outside. That was its only concession to tradition, however. Inside it lacked any of the trappings of comfort to be expected from a more appealing hostelry: this was a place designed for drinking, not socialising, and the few punters were mostly on their own doing just that. There was a bar with three pumps of lager – one weak, one strong and one cheap – and five optics of spirits on the wall behind it. You’d need to drink the lot, Sam reflected as he approached the bar, in order to start harbouring romantic thoughts about the barmaid. She had a thicker neck than most of the boys back at base and a smile that made the Taliban look like Blue Peter presenters. The best that could be said of her was that she didn’t share the fanatics’ taste in facial
‘What sort?’
Still Jamie wouldn’t look her in the eye. But she saw his face twitch as he spoke. Heard the catch in his voice. ‘At the end,’ he said, ‘everywhere. Started in the lungs. Spread to the . . . Oh, I don’t know. Ask a fucking doctor.’
Kelly’s wide eyes blinked; she felt herself holding back tears. She squeezed his shoulders gently, not knowing quite what to say. Only then did Jamie look at her. Kelly could see the hurt in his eyes.
‘Took her about six months to die. Painful. They put her in one of those places for the last couple of weeks . . .’
‘A hospice?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘A hospice. Gave her liquid horse on a drip.’
‘You mean morphine?’
‘Same thing. She had this button, you know, to give herself more if she wanted it.’
They sat in silence and for a moment Kelly felt closer to him than she ever had. She too had seen a loved one die in this way – an aunt. She knew something of what he was feeling.
‘How old were you?’ she asked.
Jamie looked down. ‘Seventeen,’ he said.
Seventeen. Barely a man. It all sounded so terribly sad.
‘What about your dad?’ she asked.
Jamie sniffed. ‘Army.’ He stood up, leaving Kelly’s hand to fall to her side. ‘Actually, special forces.’
‘What,’ Kelly asked, ‘like . . .’
‘SAS,’ he interrupted. He pulled gently on the lobe of one ear. ‘Never really talk about it,’ he added. ‘Dad didn’t. Just got on with the job. Know what I mean?’
Kelly didn’t know, but she nodded anyway.
‘How old were you when he . . . ?’
‘Thirteen.’ He spoke quickly, as though he were trying to get it over with. ‘Out on operations. Northern Ireland. They never told us exactly where or how.’
‘Jamie, that’s awful.’
Jamie shrugged for a second time. ‘It’s the life, isn’t it?’ he said, as though he were talking to someone who had undergone the same experiences. ‘You know the risks when you take it on.’
‘But you were just thirteen. A little boy.’
‘No point crying about it.’ All of a sudden he seemed to have closed up. Kelly stood and stepped towards her boyfriend, wanting to give him a hug. But as she approached, Jamie walked into the bedroom. When he returned he was carrying his coat. ‘Where are you going?’ Kelly asked with concern.
‘Out.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yeah,’ Jamie replied. ‘Now.’
‘Oh, Jamie. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset. Just want to be by myself.’
‘But I’m cooking dinner.’
‘Not hungry.’ He headed towards the door.
‘Don’t go out, Jamie. Please. I want to talk.’
Jamie Spillane turned to look at her. ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Well I don’t. I’ll be back later, all right?’
Kelly looked at him, her eyes full of sympathy and confusion. ‘All right,’ she replied weakly.
And with that, Jamie walked out of the flat. Kelly sat on the sofa for a good long while after that, staring blandly at the silent TV screen. The supper she was cooking went uneaten; all she could do was think about what Jamie had told her.
His mum.
His dad.
And how alone he really was.
*
The Lamb and Flag had an old-fashioned pub sign swinging outside. That was its only concession to tradition, however. Inside it lacked any of the trappings of comfort to be expected from a more appealing hostelry: this was a place designed for drinking, not socialising, and the few punters were mostly on their own doing just that. There was a bar with three pumps of lager – one weak, one strong and one cheap – and five optics of spirits on the wall behind it. You’d need to drink the lot, Sam reflected as he approached the bar, in order to start harbouring romantic thoughts about the barmaid. She had a thicker neck than most of the boys back at base and a smile that made the Taliban look like Blue Peter presenters. The best that could be said of her was that she didn’t share the fanatics’ taste in facial
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