It had taken me well into the following week before I'd come to terms with Becky's little present. It wasn't that those videos of my mum had affected me dramatically. It was just a gnawing sense of loss that had popped its head into my firing line; a gnawing sense of loss that had become dulled over the years but had never really gone away.
It had been an awkward few days as well, Becky and I dancing around each other; both of us unconsciously on tenterhooks. I think she was feeling a little bit guilty that she'd brought some of my bad old memories back, and I was desperate to show her that I was nothing but grateful for her thoughtfulness.
We'd sorted it out though, dinner at her favorite Italian restaurant on the Wednesday night proving the catalyst for us to actually talk about things. She'd asked me directly, over the starter, about how I was feeling, and to my surprise, I'd found it very easy to talk to her about it. It was good to talk, and it cleared the air between us and allowed us to move forward, the awkwardness disappearing over dessert and on our walk home.
I'd watched a few more of those tapes during that week, listening to my mum giving me advice on subjects as diverse as going on holiday and the things I should and shouldn't do at a job interview. It was funny to hear her talk of such mundane things, it was funnier still to realize that I'd ignored most of her advice without ever knowing it; some things never change I guess, I'd been ignoring her most of my life. It was also quite good that I was a lot older. I knew an eighteen year old Freen would have scorned the advice, whether it was on a tape or face to face; a twenty-six year old me saw something in my mother's words, something valuable, something to cherish.
There had been two sayings that I'd lived my life by up to this point, and they both came from my mother, it looks like they weren't going to be the last; I had hours and hours of stuff to listen to, when the time was right, hours and hours of her little suggestions and insights that she had loved me enough to want to share from beyond the grave. The trouble was, as fantastic as it was to 'see' my mother again, it had opened the floodgates for a lot of other issues, and it was on a warm but wet Thursday evening that poor old Joanna got drowned.
"So tell me, Freen, do you still see yourself as personally responsible for these deaths?"
"Sort of," I admitted nodding my head.
We'd spent the last hour going through my jumbled thoughts, issues to do with the deaths of my mother, Whitey, Thomas, Laffiete, Adams and even Grouch. She'd helped me to shuffle the memories around and place them into some sort of structure to help me break them down; and break them down we did, each death analyzed in detail to determine exactly why I felt some associated form of guilt.
"Do you know why you still feel guilty?"
"Not really," I answered.
This was a strange feeling. For years, I'd felt guilty about the deaths that occurred around me, blamed myself for everything that happened. We'd spent a while in our sessions discussing how I felt and why, Joanna seeing my mother's death as a larger trigger for all that came after. We'd established that I'd felt guilty because of mum's death mainly because I'd smoked around her at home and because I'd been a total bitch to her for so long. I felt guilty about Whitey because, well, I still had the feeling that I should have gone first, even though that illusion of mine had been burst.
I felt guilty about the boys in Grishk because I should have done better, I should have advised the Captain to get us air cover. Even with our examinations of the events themselves, for some reason, the guilt was still lingering in the background of my mind, though my need to blame myself was beginning to fade away.
"When you say not really, what do you mean?" Joanna asked, her fingers twitching.
"I mean I don't really know..." I paused as she looked at me, taking a sip of the ever present herbal tea. "I think, at least, it's a bit easier to hang on to what I know, does that make sense?"
"That's an interesting observation, Freen, and most unlike you if you don't mind me saying. Did Becky tell you that by any chance?"
"No," I defended myself, before deciding to come clean. "It was something my mum said on one of her tapes, she said I tend to hold onto things. Though she said it was mostly grudges when I was growing up."
"She told you that?"
"Yeah, gave me a bollocking from beyond the grave. Bec thought it was funny, she said mum was right, that it was just like me."
"Becky knows you well, how are the nightmares right now? Have they got worse since you saw the tapes by any chance?"
I thought about it for a second before shaking my head, I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a nightmare. I certainly didn't remember the last time I'd woken up screaming anyway.
"I think your mind may be forgiving you, Freen," she said when I confessed my ignorance of the very thing that sent me here.
"I think it's Becky," I said honestly causing her to raise an eyebrow. "I don't think I've had a nightmare since we, well, since we..."
"Started sleeping together," Joanna finished for me. I simply nodded in reply.
"Well, we have discussed this before I think, Becky's ability to bring you out of the pain, is that what you think is happening?"
"Maybe," I admitted. She was right, we had discussed it over our time; the fact that it had been Becky's voice that had twice dragged me from the nightmare, that it had been her touch that took away the pain.
"Well, I think there's more to it than just that. I think you've been making real progress yourself as I've said; massive progress, in fact." She paused for a second as if thinking and then leaned forward to stare at me before speaking again.
"If you think you're ready to, Freen, I'd like you to take another step towards dealing with your past."
"What's that?" I asked, a ball of ice forming in my stomach; a ball of ice that steadily turned into a glacier as she explained what she'd like me to do. Just like the last time, when she'd asked me to go and confess my feelings to Becky, the thought of her little project filled me with dread but she was right, it was long past time to do what needed to be done.
-----
"Are you sure you want to do this, Freenky?" Becky asked as I climbed into the passenger seat of the Range Rover she had commandeered for us once again.
"No," I admitted, "not at all. But then I wasn't sure the last time she gave me 'homework' either, remember?"
"Yeah," she said clicking her seatbelt in place firmly, adjusting the shoulder strap until it was comfortable. "But that worked out pretty well." Her hand snaked across the centre console and touched my arm, the fingers squeezing gently. "At least I thought it worked out pretty well... we can stop any time you want to, you know, any time at all, you don't have to do this if you think you're not ready."
"Yeah, I know," I said starting the engine and putting the car into gear. "She's right though, this is something I need to do. I need to deal with my past and stop putting things off because they're hard to do. I'm glad you're with me though, Bec, I'm not sure I could do it without you."
"Sure you could," she said smiling as we pulled out into the early morning traffic, "you're my big brave CPO."
I grinned despite myself and flicked on the car's music player, Becky's choice of music filling the car as I drove out towards Enfield and the M25. An hour later, we were pulling up in the car park of our destination. Becky continuing her singing, this time to my choice of songs. It didn't seem to matter that she didn't actually know any of the words, she just seemed happy to sing along. It was fun and it took me away from the reality of what I was about to do, if only for a little while.
"Are we here already?" she said suddenly shutting up and becoming sombre as she looked out of the window.
"Yeah, we're here," I replied, looking out at the large granite stone carved with the words 'Chelmsford Cemetery'. "We just need to find the grave now."
I rooted around in my small shoulder bag and drew out the print off of the e-mail I'd received to my request. Helpfully, the person had sent it had included a map with a small circle that indicated the general area in which the grave I was searching for could be found, and that would make our search easier. As we made our way across the site towards the south corner, I was reminded how much I hated these places.
This was only the second cemetery I'd been to in my life, mums grave being the only thing that had ever given me the courage to enter one before. I'd hated the idea of cemeteries since I was a young child, from the first time I'd asked mum what the crosses that lurked behind the wall we walked along on our way to my school meant and why there were so many of them. I'd stared in horror at the stone markers that identified the holes filled with the dead as mum walked me by, unable to drag my tear filled eyes away. We never walked that way to school again, I couldn't face it; mum understanding my childhood fears.
I'd seen so much death since then, from the quiet slipping away of my mother to the brutal annihilation of man, woman and child in Iraq and Afghanistan. Death held no fears for me any more, but I still didn't like the idea of the cemetery; though I didn't have to like it to come here, didn't have to like it to do the right thing.
"OK, babe?" Becky asked as she grabbed my hand, her presence as soothing as the cool breeze that was cutting through the heat of a scorching day.
"Yeah," I replied noncommittally, squinting through the bright sunlight at the rows of gravestones that filled the area on my map. There was no 'X marks the spot' here though, no pirates treasure to discover. Only a sad marker for a person that didn't deserve to die, a man that I had and still did think of as my friend.
We walked through the rows, hand in hand, silently searching for the one stone that would identify Paul's grave from all the others, scanning for his name. We finally found him in the far corner, in a quiet spot that was close to the boundary wall. It was funny, I thought, it was probably the last place he would have chosen for his final resting place, yet in a way it seemed perfectly fitting; it was a nice spot, he deserved a nice place to sleep.
I knelt down and ran my fingers across the name that was carved into the stone. 'Paul Mark White' the name really didn't do him justice though. He was far more than just Paul Mark White, he was 'Whitey', he was my friend and to see him reduced to just three words on a stone hurt me more than I imagined it would; hurt me so much I could feel my chest tighten as I traced each and every one of the letters, the physical reaction to my mental pain a familiar feeling.
"Do you want a minute alone?" Becky said as I squeezed her fingers and let them go, laying the bunch of flowers I'd brought with me down onto the grass, absently picking off some dead leaves and putting them to one side.
"If you don't mind," I said she rested her hand on my shoulder, "I think I might need one."
I took a deep breath and prepared myself, mentally building up the defenses that I knew I'd need to survive this assault on my memories. One big trench to stop the feelings overwhelming me, a roll of barbed wire to stop the regrets rushing me and one small minefield to make sure the guilt couldn't retake my camp.
I dug myself in and prepared for the pain that I knew was to come, holding on to Becky's touch to strengthen me.
"I'll be over here then," Becky said gesturing behind us to a shady tree.
"Would you mind going that way, Bec?" I asked gesturing towards the wall and a bench situated in a secluded nook that was well within my eye line, "where I can see you, just in case?"
"Of course," she said squeezing my shoulder, "I'll wait over there then, call me when you're ready, okay?"
"I will, thanks," I said, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she walked over to the wall, pulling a book from her bag as she sat down.
"That's my girl, Paul," I whispered as I moved around my flowers, spreading them out across the grave as neatly as I could. "If you could see her, I'm sure you'd tell me that I'm still batting above my average, you know?"
I sighed as the memory of our last conversation popped up in my head unbidden, a chat about another girl, a chat we never really got to finish, interrupted by a sniper's bullet.
"Look, mate, you know I think all of this sort of thing is bullshit, you know that I was never convinced with this whole 'talking to the dead' thing. The truth is I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be talking to you. I'm sure I'm really supposed to be talking to me; my therapist thinks I need to come visit you, seeing as I never got to do it when they put you here."
I sniggered to myself as I said the words, knowing that if he were alive, he would be rolling on the grass pissing himself laughing at me and ripping me apart. It was a nervous kind of laugh though, an awkward one...fitting really.
"Yeah," I said finally as I pulled myself together, "I know mate, me with a fucking therapist, stupid, isn't it? It's all your fault though, you twat, if you hadn't tricked me that day then you wouldn't have been shot and I wouldn't need a fucking therapist; so you can shut the fuck up wherever you are."
I caught Becky look up at me as I spoke, her eyes hidden behind her huge shades, the hint of concern in her face of telling me all I needed to know. I winked at her and waved, getting a smile in return as her head returned very obviously to her book; her movement telling me clearly that she was giving me the space she knew I needed, but her actions proving that I wasn't really alone.
"See what you did, you idiot," I muttered through a smile, "you made Becky worry about me. I really wish you'd been around to meet this one mate, she's worlds apart from Amanda, bizarrely she actually seems to like me for who I am."
I paused and took a breath, suddenly feeling the need to talk to 'Paul' in the same way I talked to 'Mum', share the things that had happened to me. The way I saw it was that they were a channel for me to get things all lined up in my own head, no different to talking to myself, or a pet, or a therapist.
"Amanda and I didn't last for much longer after you died, Paul," I said to the cold stone, "but then I did tell you I wasn't happy being with her. We lasted about a year, and most of that I was stationed away from home so I hardly saw her. In the end, though, I gave her the opportunity to call it off, I re-upped and got my orders to go back to Afghanistan; well you can imagine what happened then, you know how much she hated me being in the army. So anyway, as soon as she found out what I'd done she told me to fuck right off. I guess I got what I wanted in the end, it was a blessing in disguise really and I got to look after someone a whole lot better as a result."
I glanced around myself, making sure there was no one was approaching Becky that I needed to worry about, reminded abruptly of my duties, before sitting down on the grass, careful not to encroach on that invisible square.
"Look, mate, I'm sorry I've not been to see you since, well, since... I didn't get back from tour until after Jill had you buried, and when I went to see her, she really... well let's just say I wasn't invited in for dinner. I think she blamed me as much as I blamed myself and after that I just kept making excuses, you know? So yeah, I'm sorry mate, I'm a shit, I should have been here sooner; I always was a lousy best friend, wasn't I?"
I paused for a second, closed my eyes and tried to regroup, blinking back the tears that were now falling freely; adding a few more rolls of razor wire to my stricken defenses in a desperate attempt to keep out the pain of my loss. As I sat back and closed my eyes, searching for the void where I could be safe from emotion, I got the uneasy feeling of being watched.
I carefully opened my eyes, careful not to give anything away and saw Becky watching me, staring at me while doing all she could to make out she wasn't. She had a lot to learn about surveillance, bless her, her obvious studying of her book telling me more than anything else that she'd been looking out at me from behind those designer shades, watching me cry, making sure I was ok. It was a good feeling to have someone that cared about me like that, it was a good feeling to be loved; I wiped my eyes, closed them once more and took another deep breath, centering myself before I continued.
"Look, mate," I said, finally feeling calm and safe behind my barriers, "I don't really know why I'm here, like I say it's not like I believe in this type of thing. I've only ever done this with mum's grave, but then you knew that already. So I'm going to go now mate, I'll try and make it back sometime, bring some more flowers or something I guess. Perhaps I can let you know what my therapist wanted me to get out of this little chat, because I'm fucked if I know. Perhaps we can have a laugh together, or perhaps you can just laugh at me as usual if you really are listening."
I stood up, brushing the dirt from off my jeans as I rose. I took a deep breath and sketched a smart salute at the headstone. "See you Whitey," I said as I dropped my arm sadly, "I really do miss you mate, I miss you every day."
Joanna's "homework" complete, I walked over to the bench where Becky was sat waiting for me, her book already tucked away in her bag. She took off her large dark glasses and looked at me as I approached, her eyes filled with concern.
"You ok baby? You all done?" she said as I sat down next to her.
"Yeah, it was just a bit odd, you know? He's not here so I've no idea who the fuck I was talking to. I really don't understand why Joanna suggested I come out here in the first place."
"It's a closure thing, love," Becky said leaning her head on my shoulder. "I can't say for sure but that would be my guess."
"Closure," I snorted, "sounds like cheap psycho-babble to me, didn't expect anything like that from Joanna."
"Well sometimes even psycho-babble has its place, babe," she said squeezing my hand, "how do you feel?"
"If I'm honest, pretty fucking stupid actually", I said my voice filled with false bravado, "all I really want to do is get out of here. If you really want to, we can talk about it on the way home."
She looked at me appraisingly, her brow furrowed, "You sure you're ok, babe? You seem a bit off?"
"I'm fine," I said throwing another sandbag onto the brow of the foxhole I'd been hiding in, "I just don't get this sort of thing, you know? Plus I really hate these places, and this talking to dead people, well, it's not really me. Can we just go home now, d'you think?"
"If you're ready to love, then yes, of course we can. Unless you want to stop off somewhere on the way back? It's a lovely sunny day, seems like a shame to waste it. We could make a day of it, go somewhere and have some food, and some fun."
I could hear the lightness in her voice, a lightness that I knew was for my benefit. She was worried about me, worried because of how I was behaving; the trouble was, I felt like I couldn't do anything about it.
'Suck it up and drive on soldier,' I told myself firmly, 'stop being a fucking twat.'
"Sounds like a plan, babe," I forced myself to reply cheerily, standing up and holding out my hand, "cockles on Southend sea front or jellied eels in the East End?"
"Fucking neither," she replied pulling herself to her feet and wincing at the thought. "They both sound fucking disgusting. I do know a good pub we could go to for lunch though. The Horseshoes, it's not that far from the M25 so it's technically on the way home."
"...and you just happened to think of it, eh?" I interrupted as we walked arm in arm along the gravel path towards the car park, her ploy just slightly obvious. "That's convenient."
"No, not really," she admitted casually, "but I do think it would be a really nice place to go for lunch and have a laugh, fuck knows we need it."
"Got an address?" I asked as we made our way out of the rows of graves and into the memorial garden.
"Naturally," she replied patting her handbag.
"Then it's a date, Ms Armstrong, as long as you're buying, all these places you like are far too expensive for my meagre grunts salary."
"Not a chance," she repeated as she squeezed my arm, bumping me with her shoulder, "it's totally your turn. Besides," she added happily, "it's a pub, it's not that expensive."
"Expensive enough, I bet," I grumbled good-naturedly as my mood started to lift, "ok then I'm buying, I'll use some of my winnings to pay for it, or I'll put it on expenses."
"That's the spirit," she said relaxing as I spoke, I could feel the tension leave her arm as we walked, presumably relieved that whatever I was doing to worry her had stopped. "I'm looking forward to a good lunch, I'm starving."
"You're always starving, babe."
"Not always, Freenky," she replied defensively.
"No, that's true," I affirmed as we approached the car, "sometimes you're asleep."
"Shut up and take me to lunch, Sergeant Sarocha," she said with a broad fake scowl.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, the banter making me feel far better than I had all morning. "Lunch it is."
I didn't get my lunch that day, well not where Becky had planned to go anyway. Our afternoon plans were thrown awry by a single voice that rang out across the car park as we walked up to the car, a voice that ended my good mood with one single shouted word.
"Snowy?" the voice called, causing me to freeze in my tracks. "Snowy, is that you?"