Chapter 4
Julia stood in front of the full-length mirror and stared at her reflection. Her wet tousled hair was combed back from her face and ran down her back.
Water droplets were running down all over her body and staining the carpet of her bedroom in which she stood, but she couldn't move.
She just kept staring at the woman in the mirror. Her skin was littered with scars like a battlefield but it was the scars she couldn't see that were causing her the most pain.
The woman in the reflection raised her arms from her side and ran her fingertips across her lower abdomen. A life should have been growing inside of her right now but that was just something else that Afghanistan had taken from her.
She knew that now. Doctor Barter had told them that afternoon.
Doctors Barter and Fellows had placed her scans onto the screen and pointed to the murky, distorted lines of her uterus.
'All of this is scar tissue.' Fellows had told her.
'Somehow the explosion caused you worse internal damage than we had first imagined.' Dr Barter's shoulders had deflated somewhat when he said it.
'The scar tissue is weakening the walls of your womb,' Dr Fellows explained, 'So that it can only sustain a fertilised egg for so long before they collapse and that's when you suffer your miscarriages.'
'But you are carrying for longer each time so I do not think that we should give up hope. Not yet.' Dr Barter had been quick to add.
That was easy for him to say.
As she imagined the ripped and torn muscles inside of her womb, the bedroom door opened and Marc halted on the threshold.
Jules looked at him and saw the way his eyes travelled over her body. There was a warmth to them that hadn't been there for a while and Jules's heart began to race.
She took a step towards him.
Something seemed to snap inside of Marc, and Jules. She wasn't sure who had moved first but suddenly they were clutching at each other. Jules could feel the water on her body soaking his clothes.
Marc didn't seem to care, or notice, as he mashed his lips to hers in a kiss. An angry kiss, full of teeth and tongues and bruising pressure as he pinned her arms to her side so that she couldn't move.
But Jules didn't want to move when a few moments later the kiss changed and became almost tender. Marc released her arms so that she could wind them up around his neck, pressing their bodies closer still.
She felt his hands resting on her waist, burning her flesh where he touched her.
Marc teased her mouth with his tongue, scraping along her teeth and dancing with her own as he started backing her towards the bed.
Jules felt the bed hit the back of her knees and as she went down, with Marc on top of her, she began to pull at his shirt but at the fabric left his skin, Marc came to his senses.
Marc jack-knifed it off the bed and simply stood there watching her.
Cold air rushed into the space where Marc had been. Sitting up, Julia felt the strange desire to cover herself.
"Marc?" She spoke because somebody needed to. She couldn't handle the silence that had seemed to fall over the entire street right then.
"I'm sorry," Marc choked out, "I- I can't."
"Why not?" Julia forgot about how naked she was when Marc finally began to speak, "We don't have to be trying for a baby to have sex. We don't have to try again anytime soon. I can go back on the pill and we could go back to how we were."
Marc shook his head, "No, it's not- You wouldn't be happy with that, and I can't ask you to do that."
She felt like she was losing him again when he turned and marched towards the door.
"Wait, Marc, please!"
Marc paused and looked back at her. He saw her sitting there naked on the bed, her skin warm and pink and inviting . . .
"You're right," Julia got to her feet, "I do want a baby-"
"-so do I." Marc said because she was speaking as if he was doing it only to please her. But he wanted to her grow large and round with their child just as much as she did. The first time she had mentioned it he couldn't get the image out of his head.
Jules smiled her thanks but continued, "-but I don't want to lose you in the attempt. I wasn't lying when I said that I would wait."
"I know you weren't, but it doesn't matter because you're not going to lose me."
Jules looked away because she didn't know how to say that she already was losing him. Or at least, she felt like she was losing him.
But Marc could read her and he saw the way her brows dipped slightly in the middle, "What is it?"
Julia answered far too quickly, "Nothing."
"Liar," Marc replied, "Tell me what's bothering you."
Julia looked into his eyes, the cerulean blue eyes of her husband, and lied. "We have to go back tomorrow. Can we- can we just do something tonight?"
Marc sighed, "Jules, I just said that I can't do that. Please, don't-"
"No, I don't mean that. I mean let's just go out. We could catch a movie or go to the pub like normal married couples."
Marc frowned, "You mean a date. You want to go on a date?"
"It doesn't have to be a date date but tomorrow we'll be going back to the base and it'll all be training and drills and I just want to make the most of the time we have left."
"Okay," Marc nodded, "I'll see what movies are on at the . . ."
Julia didn't hear what he said because she launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder before she could persuade herself that it was a bad idea.
Marc tensed for a moment before she felt him relax and his arms close around her shoulders.
"You should get dressed before you catch your death," Marc muttered and Jules knew that the moment was over.
He saw her face when she stepped back and knew that he had hurt her with his words.
Snatching his shirt back off the bed, Marc looked back at her when he reached the door and gave her a warm smile, "Pick you up at 7?"
Julia smiled back, "7."
* * *
After leaving the cinema, Marc and Julia made the short walk to The Sailor's Wife, a corner pub not too far out of their way.
Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her khaki jacket, they turned a corner and began to cross the street when a streamline black BMW with tinted windows and LED headlights drove into the road.
"Jules!" Marc shouted as the car preformed an emergency stop and halted a few feet from her, the tyres screeching across the road.
Julia stared into the blacked out windows, seeing nothing but her own reflection, when Marc gripped her elbow and pulled her across the road.
The car sped off the moment she had cleared its path at double the speed.
"Idiot," Marc watched the car turn the corner and disappear. "Are you okay?" He asked her.
Julia nodded, "Let's just get to the pub. I'm starving."
Marc voiced his mutual feelings and two streets later The Sailor's Wife came into view.
They had been to the pub before and Julia found its rustic old style a comfort.
It was still in independent hands and had yet to be taken over by a chain so it kept its style of fabric booths, pictures of famous people that had visited the pub on its walls and an old music system.
The only Julia did not appreciate about is that it stopped serving food at six in the evening.
They ordered themselves two pints of beer and Jules had to manage herself with a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.
When they had discussed all they could about the film they had just watched, the pair fell into silence. Julia amused herself by looking around the pub. It was a quiet evening, the barman was reading a newspaper he had spread out across the bar, not paying attention to his customers.
A group of boys who looked barely legal were huddled around two tables in the corner trying to get each other to down a pint in one go, singing some silly song as they did so.
The television was tuned to the news channel and was reporting the weather.
A girl and her boyfriend were cuddling in the darkened corner, snogging. Julia smirked as she watched them.
Marc looked over his shoulder to see what she was looking at, "What is it?" he frowned when he looked back at her.
"Nothing," Jules looked away, "I remember us doing that."
Marc's mood appeared to brighten up at the news, "You do? But I thought . . ."
After being blown up in an RPG strike, Jules had lost her memory of the time she spent in the military. A whole five years of Marc and Afghanistan.
But two years ago she had entered into a rehabilitation programme for wounded veterans. They took her back to Afghanistan in an attempt to reconcile her with her past.
She ended up being blown up once again and whether it was the trauma or the familiarity, but she had remembered some of the most prominent events which had happened to her.
Doctor Barter assured her that she would never regain her full memory but now and then something would trigger a flashback and it wasn't always of Afghanistan.
Sometimes she would see her and Marc on the beach or in Bishop's Green where she grew up. Sometimes she even remembered them stealing a few kisses around the back of the barracks when she came back late.
"It comes and goes," Jules shrugged, "Like the other day, I was cooking and . . ."Julia stopped talking when she realised that the only sound she could hear was herself and the TV.
Looking around, she saw that the group of boys had stopped daring each other to kill their livers and were staring at the front door where two young Muslim men had entered.
The pair were not much older than the boys that had been trying to drink themselves stupid but their eyes travelled over the room self-consciously.
Marc was staring at the group of lads which had begun to whisper among themselves, their eyes watching the two boy's progress through the crowd and towards the bar.
"Excuse me sir," the taller one spoke as quietly as could but his soft Middle Eastern accent travelled throughout the pub without difficulty, "Do you know where Lateridge Lane is?"
The barman had begun to tell them directions when the News Channel changed from reporting on the weather to reporting about Afghanistan.
The woman's voice cut through the room like crystal.
". . . Hostilities in Afghanistan have risen significantly since the withdrawal of British troops from the region where the number of deaths stands at 456 after two RAF personnel were among five people who died in a helicopter crash on . . ."
"Fucking Mussies!" One of the boys shouted as he got to his feet.
"Oi!" The barman shouted whilst the two men at the bar seemed to shrink into themselves.
"What d'ya fucking mean 'oi'?" The kid swore, "They could be terrorists. ISIS bastards!" The boy spat at the floor.
"I won't tell you again," The barman pointed to the boy, "Sit down and shut up before I kick you out!"
"What the fuck are you?" He sneered at the older man, "A sympathiser. These people killed our soldiers and are trying to bomb us to hell!"
The situation was growing out of control as a few of his friends were now getting up from their chairs. Jules recognised the look in their eyes as one of fear. They didn't understand and so they were afraid.
But when one of the lads picked up a pint glass and threw it across the room, the glass shattering against the bar a few feet from one of the men's legs, it was quickly growing dangerous.
"I'm not having that," Marc snapped and he rose to his feet.
Julia followed and they stood between the two men and the group of lads that were now racing to finish their drinks so that they too could throw their glasses.
The two men were trembling with fright behind her.
"I'm only going to tell you once, put those glasses down and walk away."
"Who the fuck did ya 'fink ya are?" The ringleader who had started this shouted at Marc. He was barely twenty with acne over his face and joggers nearly half-way down his hips.
"Hiding behind a woman re'ya?" The boy who threw the glass shouted to the men behind her, "Fucking cowards!"
"Walk away." Marc told them calmly. Jules peered at him from the corner of her eye and she couldn't help but smile to think that this man was her husband.
"You can't tell me what to do," The boy snapped as he wiped his nose with his arm and pulled up his joggers, "I'd flatten you in a second, boy."
Jules arched an eyebrow at his use of the word 'boy' on Marc.
"What are you protecting 'em for?" Another boy shouted from the back, "They fucking killed my brother man!"
"Who was your brother?" Marc asked, turning from the ringleader to a quiet boy at the back. He was blonde and appeared nervous now that he had spoken.
"He was a solider. He was shot in Afghanistan."
"Then what would your brother think about this? He was fighting for peace-"
"-Fuck peace, Mussies killed his brother!"
"I served in Afghanistan," Marc directed that last bit to the blonde boy at the back, "And I can tell you that not all Muslims agree with what the Taliban are doing. A Muslim doctor cared for me when I was shot and a Muslim woman nurtured me back to health."
Julia was now staring at Marc, she had not heard about him being shot but he refused to look at her.
"The Taliban are spreading the message that westerners do not care for them, that we are dangerous, and if you attack these two men then you're re-enforcing that message. Do you want to do the Taliban's work for them?"
A moment of silence passed when they seemed to be thinking but then the ringleader opened his gob and spoke.
"We are fucking dangerous and they should be scared of us."
Marc sighed with disappointment that they hadn't gotten the message, "Well, you're not going to make these two scared of you today so I suggest you leave."
"Says who?" He growled, "Some doped up army man and his missus?"
"For your information," Jules narrowed her eyes at him, "We're Marines. Not army."
The boy looked her over, "Oh, I'm really scared. Since when did the Marines let in pussies like you?"
That was the last straw for Marc who reached out and gripped the boy by the collar of his shirt and landed a punch into his jaw. The boy's head snapped to the side and blood spurted out from his lips.
His diehard friend who had thrown the glass charged at Julia.
Jules laughed as she saw how he was running at her. He flung a fist towards her which Julia dodged by leaning back slightly.
Gripping his wrist, Julia spun it behind his back before she caught the back of his head and sent him hurtling into the bar. He collapsed to her feet unconscious from where his head hit the metal edge of the bar.
Julia looked up at the other boys and smiled. They stared back and forth from their friend who was unconscious at her feet to the other that was dangling limp in Marc's hand, before they turned tail and ran from the pub.
Marc released the boy's shirt and he dropped to the floor like a rock.
Julia turned to the two men behind her, "Are you okay?"
They nodded reverently, "Th- Thank you both so much."
"No problem," Marc clapped the man on the shoulder, "Now, where were you looking for, Latteridge Lane? We could take you there if you like?"
As they walked out of the pub, leaving the barman in charge of what to do with the two unconscious lads on his floor, Julia stared at Marc's back.
Was his story about being shot and nursed by two Muslims a lie just to reinforce his story? It hadn't sounded like a lie from the way he spoke. So was it simply a memory she had lost and not recovered yet?
When she tried to ask him about it later that night, Marc just told her that it was nothing and that he was fine before he fell asleep, leaving her wide awake with nothing to do but think.