This was something that was going through my head after the ending of last Tuesday's episode. I apologise it's another sad one but we all know how it ended so… I hope I've done their friendship justice. Once more the story is complete, only 5 chapters this time so I'm just going to post one after another. Kat
The hammering at the door brought him violently out of a deep dream filled sleep, reaching automatically for his gun before realising that he was in his own house, in his own bed, not in a tent in the middle of some godforsaken war zone. Rolling upright he reached for the combats he'd taken off not two hours earlier. A quick glance at the clock showed him it was 03.48 and whoever was still hammering at his door was seriously pissing him off. Taking the stairs two at a time he yanked the door open with such force he had to grab at it to stop it from crashing in to the wall to the side "What?" he demanded in a surly tone, peering out in to the cold dark night. He hadn't slept for seventy-two hours and he was not in the mood for kids messing about, although what kids would be doing out at that time his tired brain couldn't fathom.
He hadn't bothered to switch a light on in his haste to stop the incessant banging and the street light hadn't been working when he arrived home shortly after 01:00 which left him peering blindly into the darkness. A sudden movement to the side triggered the security light, illuminating the front step, revealing the disheveled figure of a fellow soldier. Barely able to recognise his friend, his combats, pips and insignia were the only things he did recognise. The man standing before him was totally wasted, hardly able to stand, his hair falling over his forehead and into his bloodshot eyes. Stubbled darkening his jaw and blood trickling from a graze on one cheek was the only colour in his face. He was shaking as he stumbled forward in to the hallway.
"Charlie?" "Elvis?" He made a grab for his friend and brought him to sit on the stairs while he took care of the door and switched the light on. "She's gone, she's fucking gone! Just… gone!" The smell of whisky was strong on his breath, a pretty good indicator as to the cause of his current condition. Sliding an arm around him, Elvis eased Lieutenant Charles James of the Royal Regiment Of Fusiliers on to his feet and down the short hallway in to the sitting room where he deposited him non too gently on to the sofa before going to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water which he handed to his friend.
"What the fuck are you talking about, mate? How did you get here? I hope you didn't drive in that state?" Swaying precariously on the edge of the sofa, Charles stared vacantly at his friend. "Wha…" he began only to be distracted by something in the side pocket of his combats. Getting unsteadily to his feet he reached in and produced a set of house keys. "Ah ha." He studied the keys carefully as if they held the answer to everything before stumbling backward and landing with a thud back on the sofa, legs splayed out in front of him.
Shaking his head in total bewilderment Elvis decided the best plan of action would be to get him, somehow, up the stairs and into the spare room to sleep it off. Hopefully then he would be capable of taking part in a coherent conversation. "I've bin in Afghanishantan ye know. Bloody Afstan for months and months and no drink." As if coming to a decision he staggered once more to his feet. "Need a drink, ye want one?" he generously asked placing the glass of water on the side table as he attempted to wend his way into the kitchen, bumping into walls and doorways until Elvis took him by the arm and steered him towards the stairs. "I think you've had enough for both of us mate. The only thing you need to drink now is a gallon of water." Nodding in agreement Charles stumbled forward, landing on hands and knees partially up the staircase. "This is going to be bloody fun." Elvis muttered to himself as he moved to the side trying to manoeuvre Charles back on to his feet without him falling backwards.
Fifteen minutes later after a lot of cajoling, numerous threats and sheer brute force he got Charles to the top of the stairs. "Bloody hell mate, I don't know how whisky you sank but you're gonna feel it in the morning." "Don't feel enthin, she said I don' feel enthin. Bloody do. Feel sick." He slurred lurching forward. Quickly steering him across the landing and into the bathroom, Elvis stood to one side while he fell to his knees and paid homage to the great god of avocado porcelain. "Your toilet's avocado." he pointed out to Elvis. "An' your bath. Is this the 70s?" sniggering to himself at his joke. "I'slike Abigail's Party. Hey tha's a good idea. Le's have a party. I need a drink." Attempting to get to his feet, his stomach revolted at the abrupt movement and he once more bent his head over the toilet.
Seeing he wasn't going to get to bed any time soon, Elvis nipped back into his bedroom and donned his top, quickly wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale sweat. He'd been wearing the thing for 72 hours, was it any wonder it stank. Hearing what sounded like weeping coming from the bathroom he walked back through to his friend. Charles was sitting propped against the bath, his head down onto his raised knees, his arms wrapped around his legs. He moved his head from side to side as he snivelled, wiping the snot and tears on his trousers. Elvis was never very comfortable with emotion and wasn't really sure what to do so he eased himself over and sat on the edge of the bath gently patting Charles on the shoulder.
"She's gone, you know. Said she would and she has. Gone, just gone. Took Scamp with her. Just took him." His voice was becoming horse from the tears and vomiting but he continued, "Think I'm pissed you know. I'm pissed and she's gone gone gone" he began to list sideways with the last words before jerking to the side and once more investigating the inside of the toilet bowl. "Oh fuck it." growled Elvis, again leaving the bathroom, this time to head down the stairs, returning s few minutes later with a bucket, plastic bin liner, bottle of water and a glass. Grabbing a towel from the bathroom as he passed he headed into his own bedroom. Spreading the bin liner down the bed and pillow he covered it with the towel, strategically positioned the bucket at the side and put the water and glass on the unit on his own side of the bed.
Looking pitifully down at his friend, he reached out to pull him unsteadily to his feet and guide him through into his bedroom, "Come on mate, time for bed. I'd much rather you dossed down in the spare room but I'm knackered and I need some sleep. I'm not going to get that if I'm worrying about you choking on your own vomit and moving on down the line. So, you're sleeping here. But I'm warning you… no funny business. I know I'm gorgeous but you're not my type." Having manoeuvred him on to the bed and pulled off his boots and jacket he let him fall back onto the pillow and pulled the covers over him. "Try and get some kip okay. We'll talk in the morning."
He walked round to his own side and slipped under the covers, fully dressed, just too tired for anything else.
Wanting desperately to Charlie's lead and go to sleep his mind refused to shut down, going over and over what Charlie had said. 'She' obviously meant Rebecca but where and why had she gone. Wherever it was, of course she'd take Sam, he was a baby for God's sake, barely two years old. She wouldn't just leave him, even the ice queen wouldn't sink that low. To be fair though, she really did love that baby. So, back to the question of where she'd gone and for how long. Had they been planning a holiday for his return and she'd gone without him? Don't be so bloody stupid his mind said. Charlie wouldn't be that upset or that pissed over a holiday. You know damn well what he was saying. She's left him. So, has she gone to another bloke? Back to her Dad's? Or just pissed off on her own with Sam? He couldn't see her doing the latter. She liked her comforts did Rebecca and she liked Charlie's money to pay for them. As well as his Army Captain's pay, Charlie had an income from investments made by his Grandfather James and a trust fund set up by his mother's parents. All in all he was pretty well off.
Elvis could remember the first time he met Rebecca. They were raw new recruits at Sandhurst and somehow he'd ended up in the same accommodation block as Charlie. Despite the differences in their backgrounds they became good mates, helping each other through the various aspects of their training to the point of making a pact to always be there for each other no matter what. He remembered Charlie laughing when they said that and singing a few lines from the Friends theme tune, 'I'll Be There For You'
One weekend they had been in Camberley having a few drinks when they got chatting to a group of local girls. Rebecca was part of that group and had made a play for Charles who, despite his good looks, money and cracking sense of humour had absolutely zilch confidence where women were concerned. Each time they ventured into Camberley for drink she was there, chatting to Charles to the point where Elvis was beginning to think she was stalking him. Turned out she was the landlord's daughter and had a 'thing' for the officer cadets from the Academy. It didn't take long until they were an item. Elvis was wary, there was just something about her he didn't like. Charles, however, was smitten so when she pulled him to one side one evening and told him she was pregnant he immediately suggested marriage. Elvis in keeping with their pact was his best man.. He and Rebecca maintained a healthy dislike of each other, spending time in each other's company only when absolutely necessary. Two months after the wedding Rebecca suffered a miscarriage, leaving both of them devastated.
From Sandhurst they went first to Aldershot and then to Catterick, Charles taking his little family with him. Rebecca wasn't happy but when he rented a beautiful four bedroomed house and gave free rein in decorating it she settled down. When they went on their first tour of duty to Afghanistan Charlie was the happiest Elvis had seen him since their early training days. He loved it, this is what he was born to do, he told Elvis. Second Lieutenants James and Harte returned to the UK six months later having had a successful tour, the entire platoon returning unscathed. Charlie was on a high, he was doing a job he loved, married to a woman he loved and when she told him she was pregnant again it felt like his life was complete.
Elvis rolled onto his back and glanced across at his sleeping friend. He was snoring loudly and reeked of whisky, sweat and vomit but other than that seemed to be doing okay. He turned back onto his side and reached for the bottle of water, not bothering with the glass. Taking a few good swigs he put the bottle down on the unit and lay his head back on the pillow. Smiling, he thought about Sam, Charlie's little boy. He worshipped that baby and if she tried to keep him away from his dad she'd have a major battle on her hands. Elvis thought back to the day he was born. They had been out on exercise on the Yorkshire Moors, out of radio contact for several hours. When they finally got the message that Rebecca had gone into labour Charlie had totally lost the plot so it was down to Elvis to drive hell for leather to the hospital, letting Charlie out at the door before going and parking the car. Unfortunately he could have jumped every red light en route and broken every speed limit and he still wouldn't have got them there in time, which Rebecca had held against him ever since. Samuel James was in a hurry to be born and pushed his way into the world 42 minutes before his father's arrival.
With promotion to Lieutenant came a move down to Aldershot which again hadn't gone down well with Rebecca especially as they got news they were to be deployed two months after arriving, leaving her home alone with a 20 month old baby in a place where she had no friends and knew no one. Her communications with Charles becoming more and more terse as the months passed.
It was during a fire fight on this tour that Elvis had decided to apply for Special Forces selection. Charlie loved what he was doing but Elvis liked being on the edge, dealing with major situations. They had arrived back at Brize Norton at 19:00 the evening before and Elvis had left his friend with a slap on the back to go and retrieve his car and head home to the fixer upper he'd bought just before deployment. Charlie was waiting for Rebecca to pick him up in the family car. Now, here he was, past out in the other half of his bed snoring fit the wake the neighbours. Looking at his watch he pulled the pillow over his head and tried to shut off his thoughts.
Elvis was sitting at the kitchen table searching for bathroom suites on the internet when Charles eventually made it downstairs. He'd showered and was wearing the sweats and t-shirt Elvis had left out for him, but he still looked like he'd gone nine rounds with a premenstrual grizzly bear. The cut on his cheek had scabbed over and the surrounding area was beginning to bruise and his eyes had more red lines than a map of the London Underground. Without speaking he made his way to the kettle, flicking the switch and took a disparaging look at the jar of instant coffee sitting next to it. "This all you've got?" His voice was husky and his throat hurt from the vomiting but that was nothing compared to the team of navvies with pneumatic drills currently at work inside his skull. "Any pain killers?" Taking pity on him, Elvis guided him to a seat at the table, produced two pills, a large glass or water and a mug of very strong black coffee. Looking at the pitiful sight he made he shook his head before rejoining him at the table.
"Okay, come on then, what was all that last night? You were pretty rat arsed when you got here, not making much sense." Charles lifted his head from his hands and looked balefully at his friend. "She's left me, Elvis. Cleared out while I was gone. Taken Sam and gone back to her parents, according to the lovely billet-doux she left for me." Running his hands through his damp hair he pushed it away from his face.
"When she didn't turn up at Brize to pick me up I begged a lift with one of the lads. The drive was empty and no lights on so I thought she might be having an early night. I was right, she was, just not in our bed. I tried ringing the pub and Bill said she'd gone to bed." "So you decided to celebrate, or commiserate, with a gallon of whisky? Great move mate. And how the fuck did you get here?" Shaking his head without thinking Charles quickly made a grab for it as if it might just roll right off his neck. "Decided to open that bottle your old man gave me last Christmas." Elvis's Dad was a Scot and his mum Italian but he'd been born and brought up in Essex. "The house was too quiet so I decided to come and keep you company. Rebecca's got the car so I walked." Which was no mean feat with a stomach full of whisky, Elvis lived a good ten miles from the house Rebecca had insisted they buy.
"So what happens now mate? You going to try and patch things up? Beg her to come back? What?" Giving a deep sigh Charles raised his head once again. "I've got no fucking idea. If I'm honest I'm surprised it's taken this long for her to go. Things weren't good before we went on tour, she hates me being away so much, wanted me to jack it in." Elvis wanted to be shocked by this revelation but he wasn't. Rebecca was too high maintenance to ever settle for playing second fiddle to the army. She'd tried her damnedest to mould Charles into her version of an ideal husband and father with all the trimmings of a beautiful home, immaculate child and well to do friends. Instead she got a bloke who loved living out of a Bergen, getting dirty and with the quintessential Essex Boy as a mate.
"I'm going to give her a ring." Lurching to his feet Charles grabbed his mobile and headed for the privacy of the sitting room. Or rather the premise of privacy as he'd left the doors open and Elvis could hear every word.
"Finally, you're going to talk to me then? I thought you might still have your dad screening your calls… no, I'm not being arsey, Rebecca, I think I'm being pretty civil considering…. Yes I got your letter but it didn't actually give much away did it? 'Taken Sam and gone to my dad's'…. Look, I'm tired. Just tell me what it is you want…. No way, you're not taking my son to live over a pub…. Because I won't be able to see him if you move back over there… It's my job Rebecca, you knew that when you married me…. This is getting us nowhere. Come back and we can talk about it face to face… just think about it and let me know. I want to see Sam…. Yes of course I want to see you too." Elvis heard him swear before he returned to the kitchen, "she cut me off!"
Charles tried to get through to Rebecca several times during the day but was unsuccessful. To keep his hands, if not his mind, occupied he helped Elvis strip the old tiles from the bathroom and kitchen walls, sharing pizza and water, his stomach and head still not fully recovered from the previous night's whisky, before Elvis offered to drive him home at 20:00.
Both men were surprised to see the familiar car parked on the drive when they pulled up outside the house. "Want me to come in with you? Moral support and all that." Elvis asked tongue in cheek. "Fuck off." Was his only reply as the car door slammed and Charles strode purposefully towards the house. Wondering if he should wait a few minutes, just in case, he stared at the front door. Shaking his head and telling himself not to be stupid he finally headed for home and hopefully a decent night's sleep.
Inside the James house relations were icy. Rebecca had moved away when Charles tried to take her in his arms, turning her head to avoid his kiss. "What's going on Rebecca? Have you met someone else? Is that it?" he asked wearily, dropping down on to the sofa opposite her. He could almost see her hackles rising as she glared at his. "You know damn bloody well what it is. It's this, the army, the way we live, never knowing when you'll be gone or when we'll have to pack up and move again. Every time I get the perfect house just as I want it and start to make the right kind of friends we have to move again. Or if I try to arrange nights out or meals with friends you're always on duty or off someplace with fucking Elvis." The angrier she got, the more her contrived 'posh' accent slipped making her even more angry. Rebecca wanted nothing more than to be like the women she looked up to, women like Judith who's husband worked in the financial district and commuted to a regular 9 – 5 job or Soos, who was married to an MP and had homes in London, Aldershot and a holiday home in Brittany.
Scrubbing his hands across his face, he took a deep breath, "So what is it you want Rebecca? You know I'm not going to give up my job. I've worked fucking hard to get where I am, I'm not jacking it in on a whim." Watching her cold expression pass over him, he wondered if he'd ever really known her. "I want a divorce and I want you to move out." Shaking his head, more to clear it than in negative response he opened his mouth to speak but was forestalled by her continuing, "I'll stay here with Sam and let you see him on condition that you find somewhere else to live. It will take two years for the divorce and then we'll discuss what happens next. But I'm warning you, if you get posted again, I'm not going with you. I'm staying here." Letting her finish, he calmly asked, "And if I don't? If I don't want to move out? Don't want a divorce?" "In that case, I will take Sam and move back in with my dad but I will get a divorce Charles, whether you want it or not." Standing she walked abruptly from the room.
Trying to decide if it was worth following her or not, he decided to sleep on the sofa tonight, he didn't want the argument to continue upstairs in case they woke Sam, his gorgeous little Scamp. Just as he was settling down to sleep, Charles was startled by the ringing of his phone. Elvis, who else could it be? He let his voice mail take it.
"How's it going mate? All sorted? I'm there for you whatever, yeah? Just wanted you to know"