Chapter 2
"This certainly isn't nipping around the local," I observed the hotel lounge's stylish art deco interior. Of course, it was exactly the type of posh establishment he would have liked, making me all the more annoyed that I had agreed to meet Bones when I could have been at home watching mindless telly.
It wasn't difficult for me to spot Bones. All I had to do was find the only angry bloke in the room scowling at his watch. Of course, this might have something to do with the fact that I had deliberately arrived late. Learning a little patience wouldn't kill the SAS Captain.
"I see you still haven't learned how to follow orders," Bones greeted me in a sarcastic tone, which gave me a small sense of satisfaction. The man was too tightly wound for his own good at times. "And that you're smartly dressed as always."
"What? You don't like my frock?" I smirked. I had chosen to defy his patronizing orders about my appearance and dress. In place of a "nice frock", I had opted to go with jeans and a long sleeved khaki coloured utility blouse which I had paired with black ballet flats. I had kept my hair plaited and hadn't bothered with cosmetics.
Bones of course, looked like an advert for one of those toff brands he used to wear. His "undercover" get-up consisted of a tight-fitting, black crewneck jumper, slim fitting grey jeans, and black lace-up boots. He hair was tousled in a way that made me wonder if he had been shagging some slag moments before meeting me here.
"Shut your gob, Dawesey," he rolled his eyes at my appearance.
"I see you started without me," I pointed to the single malt whiskey placed on the table in front of him.
"I certainly wasn't going to wait for your short-arse to get here," Bones retorted. "I suppose I should be a gentleman and offer you a drink. Just so you know Dawesey, the tart fuel you likely drink with your female squaddies is not on offer. This is a proper lounge, not some local."
-X-
"Are we gonna spend the rest of the evening staring at one another, or are you going to brief me on this operation of yours?" We had been sitting across from one another nursing our drinks for several minutes and I was feeling more than a bit awkward.
"Patience, Dawesey. It's a bit of a delicate operation and I need to make sure your nut is in the right place. I'm not one to give a shit about feelings and the like, but I have an inkling you are not going to like some of what I am going to tell you."
"Wonderful," I gave a sarcastic sigh. "Are you sure you didn't bring me here to torture me?" This op had better be the bee's knees or else I was out of here.
"Stop being so tetchy, Dawesey."
"Then get to the bloody point, Bones!"
"Am I seriously being ordered about by an impertinent Corporal right now?" Bones smirked at me. Did the man ever give genuine smiles? I wondered what he would look like with one. Would it soften the harsh angles of his face? Suddenly, I caught myself. Why the fuck was I thinking about him like this? He wasn't the least bit attracted to me. It had taken a major cock-up on my part to learn that unfortunate lesson.
"Fine, Dawesey. You win. It's briefing time," he decided. "From this point on, everything I tell you is highly classified. You do know what classified means, don't you Dawesey?"
"Sod off, Bones. If what you were about to say is truly classified, we wouldn't be sitting here in a public place having a good old chinwag," I shook my head at him in disbelief. His arrogance could be utterly infuriating.
"Let me be clear, Dawesey," he suddenly became visibly annoyed. "If one bloody word of what I am about to say gets out, I will hunt you down and gut you into little pieces. Understood?"
"Yes." Clearly, I had hit a nerve and I wasn't quite sure I wanted to test if his threat was real or in jest.
"I need you for an operation. The Operation is called Maior," Bones announced.
"Mayor?" I repeated.
"No, you dim Cockney, it's Maior," he looked at me in irritation. "It's Latin. You must have learned some Latin at Uni, or have you already forgotten?"
"I think you should change the name to Operation Bellend, mate. You're really starting to piss me off." I set my drink down and stood up to leave. I wasn't about to sit here and allow him to call me stupid. Not after I had worked bloody hard the past five years to better myself. Not only had I learned how to speak and write properly, I had completed my GCSEs and had gone on to complete my nursing degree at the University of Birmingham. Bones had no right to diminish my hard work by implying I was stupid.
"Easy, Dawesey. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just resentful that I even have to undertake this op."
"You don't have to be such a bleeding arse about it."
"Molly, please," Bones reached for my arm. "Will you at least sit and let me explain the rest?" Perhaps he had realized that he had taken the insults too far.
"Are you going to call me stupid again?" I looked at him, full of misgiving.
"No, and I'm sorry," he apologized, guiding me back to my seat. "I wouldn't have asked you here if I thought you were dim. I asked you here because I need someone with half a brain to support me with this op. As for Operation Mayor, 'Maior' means 'Major' in Latin."
"I think I like Operation Bellend better."
"Of course you would, Dawesey," Bones chuckled.
"And the significance of the word 'Major'?"
"It might have something to do with a certain insignia that is in the shape of a red crown."
"Wait, are you trying to tell me that this has something to do with you being before the Promotion Board?" I realized, finally putting the pieces together.
"I did say you had half a brain, Dawesey. If I have my way, I will be Major McClyde by October."
"And how exactly do I fit into your promotion to Major?" I didn't see how I had any bearing on his promotion.
"Simple. I need you to be my pretend girlfriend," Bones announced, causing my mouth to fall open in shock. Never in a million years would I have guessed that this was the favour he would demand from me.
"Y-your w-what?" I sputtered after a moment.
"You can stop looking at me like you're catching flies," Bones muttered. "I can assure you that I am completely serious."
"Are you fucking mental?" I accused. There could be no other explanation for the sheer absurdity of his request. "Please tell me you have lost the plot with this cracked scheme?" Me as his pretend girlfriend? The thought was absolutely ludicrous.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dawesey, but I am one hundred percent sane."
"I'm not so sure about that, Bones. I think I might gonna need to take you to the mental ward at Queen Elizabeth."
"Taking the piss out of me again, I see," he shook his head at me. "Are you at least going to let me explain why I need a pretend girlfriend?"
"Only because this scheme of yours takes the biscuit," I retorted.
"Just remember that you owe me, Dawesey. I didn't spend three days dragging your short-arse through the jungle just for the hell of it."
"Then you had best get on with it," I advised. Knowing Bones as I did, I had a feeling what he was about to tell me was anything but bog-standard.
-X-
"Two years ago, I was supposed to go up before the Promotion Board. Everything was in order, until a certain tosser decided to impale himself on a boar trap in the middle of a Belizean jungle. The tosser, his twit of a medic, and their 5-year-old muppets not only cocked-up their training exercise, they also somehow managed to cock-up my promotion."
"Y-you were part of the Special Forces team brought in to rescue him?" I could feel the blood draining from my face.
"I was." The confirmation swiftly took me back to those horrible days in Queen Elizabeth where he had been delirious with sepsis and had nearly lost his bloody leg.
"It didn't take me long to suss out that not only had the training exercise gone balls up, but 2 Section was in complete and total shambles," Bones continued, as I only half listened, my mind still filled with memories of the fallout from Belize.
"Of course, the arsemonger's twit medic couldn't resist making one clanger after another. Somehow the whole dog's breakfast ended up being my fault. I still don't have a fucking clue as to how that occurred. So, instead of getting my promotion, I got ear-bashed by the Brig and spent the next six months playing childminder to the twit and her 5-year-old muppets. You obviously know what happened next."
"I do," I sighed. It was during those six months, while he had furiously rehabilitated his leg, that it had all fallen apart. It had started with him being emotionally distant to the point where I found myself constantly questioning whether he still loved me, and whether he had regretted proposing to me. Each time I sought even the slightest bit of reassurance, it pulled him further and further away. At the same time, he flat out refused to discuss Elvis's death or what had occurred in Belize. I soon came to realise that he was likely suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. The first few times I hinted that perhaps he might need help, he brushed aside my concerns and assured me that he was fine, just committed to completing his rehab, preparing for our wedding, and getting back to active duty as soon as possible.
It was not long before he completely closed himself off from me, and advised me that my frequent visits to Headley Court were a distraction and that he would rather I spent my time focusing on my studies and preparing for our wedding. It was during this period, that I discovered the real reason he did not want to see me, and it was all down to the unhealthy obsession he had developed for her. This is what finally led me to realise just how much damage Elvis's death and the fiasco in Belize had done to the man I once adored.
In the weeks prior to our wedding, I begged him to get help. Begged him to stop hiding behind his uniform. This only served to enrage him. He accused me of being insecure, said he was sick of being with someone who lacked self-confidence, and was always needing reassurance. I remember after one particularly intense row, thinking that perhaps he was right, perhaps it was all down to my insecurities and belief that someone like him could never love someone like me, that was sabotaging our relationship, and not PTSD.
As all of this unfolded, we kept moving forward with our wedding. Looking back on it, I'm not sure why. We were clearly heading towards a path of destruction. I remember only a few weeks before the wedding, begging his parents to reason with him by sharing my concerns that he truly did have PTSD. His father had assured me that I likely overly sensitive from my exams and the stress of him still being at Headley Court. So, with no other option, I continued along as the the naïve bride-to-be who had met her handsome prince and still believed she was going to live happily ever after.
I also let myself be convinced, time and time again by his parents, that all we needed to do was get married and go on our honeymoon, and that everything would work itself out. I told myself that if we could relax on our honeymoon away from his troubles and the pressures of the Army, perhaps he would once again become the man I had fallen in love with in Afghan.
If only I could have foreseen how desperately misguided I had been. Perhaps I could have prevented the complete and total humiliation that was my wedding day.
-X-
"Sierra Leone was my first op after I returned to my Section," Bones revealed, with a slight hesitancy in his voice. Perhaps he wasn't insensitive and could recognize the onslaught of pain his story had brought to me.
"D-did you know?" I questioned, holding my breath, praying he hadn't known the whole sordid mess when he had been sent in to rescue me.
"Yes," he confirmed, as I looked down at the table in shame. I can only imagine what he had thought about rescuing a primary who had run away from the hurt and humiliation of being jilted on her wedding day, only to find herself being taken hostage a few weeks later.
"Is that why you said 'no' that night? Was it because you thought I was the pathetic fiancé he'd tossed aside for a better version?" I had to know even if it only magnified my feelings of humiliation. "Someone gorgeous, with legs a mile long, better tits, an education, a proper middle-class family…" I continued to torture myself.
"Don't, Dawesey…" Bones protested.
"It's the truth."
"It's fucking bollocks and you know it. Look at me, Molly," Bones reached across the table and gently lifted my chin so that I was looking directly into his eyes. "The reason I said 'no' had nothing to do with that wanker. In fact, it was out of respect for you that I declined."
"Respect for me?" I scoffed in disbelief.
"Yes. You were bloody shattered, Dawesey. The last thing you needed was a one-off with a self-proclaimed manwhore. Contrary to what you may think, I do not prey on vulnerable women. It didn't take a genius to know that being jilted and then taken hostage all in a mere matter of weeks had you at sixes and sevens. You didn't need the complication of having a meaningless one-off with someone like me."
"It doesn't change the fact that he left me for her."
"I spent six months with her, Dawesey, and found her to be just the twit I thought she was when I first met her in Nigeria. I knew within the first hour of rescuing you, that you are ten times the soldier and woman she will ever be."
"B-but…"
"Enough, Dawesey. You know I am telling the bloody truth, and you better not even so much as think about putting yourself down again on my watch or I will take you over my bloody knee. Consider that a fucking order. Now if you don't mind, I've rather had enough of being your agony aunt."
"Consider yourself relieved of that duty." I glared back at him.
-X-
"I'm guessing that your torn ACL must have factored into delaying your promotion," I surmised once we'd shared another round and I felt fortified enough to continue.
"Yes. I missed last year's Promotion Board due to the fact I was too busy with rehab."
"How did you tear it?"
"How about I save that story for another time?" Bones suggested in a tone that implied he might be discomforted by the question.
"Was he the repugnant Rupert you mentioned earlier?"
"Yes."
"Of course he was," I sighed. "Do I want to know more?"
"No, which is why we are not going to discuss that arsemonger or his twit medic again, Dawesey. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal." I replied, relieved that he had shot down my line of inquiry. I wasn't sure I had it in me to hear anything more about him tonight.
-X-
Finally, after what seemed like donkey's years, and a third round of drinks, Bones was getting to the point. Perhaps now I could understand the reason behind his asinine scheme.
"As I mentioned, I am up before the Promotion Board again. This time, I have taken measures to ensure that nothing will stand in the way of my promotion to Major."
"What kind of measures?"
"That's classified, Dawesey," he smirked. I could only imagine what he may have done. There was very little I would put past the man. "I thought I had everything covered until I found out that two of the Promotion Board members are concerned about my respectability. Apparently, they like for their Majors to be settled in their personal lives, whatever the hell that means. Personally, I think they are curtain twitchers with too much bloody time on their hands if you ask me. Respectability my arse. I'm in the fucking SAS, not the bleeding HCMR," Bones griped in frustration.
"I cannot believe that Promotion Board members would waste their time on such trivial tosh," I looked at him with disbelief.
"You're not the only one, Dawesey. My informant on the Board has advised me that one way to stifle the curtain twitchers would be to acquire a respectable girlfriend ASAP. Apparently, this would give me an aura of stability and respectability. Naturally, I would need to demonstrate that said girlfriend was real which means she would need to accompany me to certain events in order to avoid questions regarding her legitimacy."
"What type of events?"
"Mess dinners, garden parties, the Summer Officers' Ball, and the lot."
"Sounds delightful," I rolled my eyes. I had been to a couple Mess dinners with him and they had been dreadfully boring. Not to mention overridden with Ruperts and their respective Stepford Wives.
"Apparently, if I go along with this bollocks, it will quiet the curtain twitchers and thus remove any remaining obstacles standing in the way of my promotion."
"Let me see if I have this straight, you have somehow managed to infiltrate the Promotion Board, only to learn that there are two old prats with nothing better to do than worry about the fact that you are a trouser snake, and your rubbish solution to all of this is for me to be your pretend girlfriend?" I couldn't believe the sheer absurdity of this situation.
"More or less."
"Are you out of your fucking nut?" I demanded. There was no way in hell his plan would work, especially if I were involved. "Your plan will never work. Not only will it go balls up, no one, and I mean no one, is going to believe for a single minute that I am your proper girlfriend. Further, there is no way in hell, I of all people, will make you more respectable. Far from it."
"What makes you think you're wrong for the role, Dawesey?"
"Oh, I dunno, perhaps everything? Would you like me to provide you with a list of my flaws?"
"I've done the reconnaissance, Dawesey, and you're the best fit for this op."
"Bollocks!" I protested in disbelief. "Why don't we start with the fact that I am gobby. There is no way in hell that anyone will believe that you would willingly put up with my mouth."
"Ah, but Dawesey, the curtain twitchers will think that this is exactly why I am attracted to you. No one would ever believe that I was attracted to some shy, mild mannered, subservient doll. If, in fact, I was looking for a real relationship, it certainly would not be with someone who bores me to death let alone tolerates my bullshit."
"All right. Fine. You might be right on that one," I conceded before continuing with my arguments against his plan. "You also seem to forget that I have already had one disastrous relationship with an Officer."
"None of which was your fault."
"You might believe that, but I am sure there are many who would see me as some slag who only shags Officers."
"I fail to see how a Military Cross winner, who graduated top in her class at Uni, and is a highly regarded soldier, would be viewed as a slag. In reality, it would make sense that I would want to be in a relationship with a squaddie who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty. I would need to be with someone who understands my line of work and doesn't ask questions about what I do or why I suddenly disappear for weeks on end. I would need someone to understand why I chose such a dangerous profession and why I choose to risk my life on daily basis for Queen and Country."
"So what if I get it? You seem to be forgetting the whole wedding fiasco. It's common knowledge that he jilted me on our wedding day. That instead of showing up at the Registry Office in Bath, he pulled a bloody Elvis and left me standing there in front of our families and friends wondering what had happened to him. All the while he was at Brize gallivanting off on another bloody tour with her. He fucking knew what it would cost me. He had seen Elvis do the exact same thing to her and yet he went ahead and did it anyway."
"And I will do everything in my utmost power for everyone to see that his cock-up is my gain. I have no problem with everyone seeing him for the arsemonger that he is," Bones promised, his eyes blazing with intent. "Think of this as an opportunity, Dawesey. It's a chance for you to hold your head up high, to be proud of your accomplishments, and to show everyone that he did not destroy you."
"And the fact that I'm not exactly Page Three material?" I prompted. He was clearly forgetting the fact that a manwhore like him would hardly settle for a plain, short-arse like me.
"Been there, done that, Dawesey. Perhaps I have become partial to short-arsed brunettes. It will only feed into the fairy tale. I can see it now, the hardened and tough SAS rogue falling for the petite, gobby princess," he laughed.
"Piss off, Bones," I rolled my eyes at him again. "I'm hardly a bleeding princess."
"I beg to differ. Now, have we covered everything, Dawesey?"
"Aside from the fact that I hate posh events, will feel out of place, and have absolutely nothing suitable to wear…" I started musing.
"I hate them too," Bones interrupted. "However, I have already considered this and I have a mate who will provide any necessary training or briefings. As for your wardrobe, the least I can do is provide you with any clothing items you may require for this op. Think of them as your uniform. It's the least I can do, considering you will be the one assisting me."
"You've also failed to consider the most important item on my list."
"And that is?"
"Fidelity. Having been cheated on once, no one is going to believe that I have fallen for the British Army's 4-Star Manwhore. I'm not about to let myself be the subject of Chinese whispers while you fuck around. And if you think I'm going to shag you, forget it. You had your chance, mate, and I am no longer on offer. That leaves abstinence, and there is no way in hell a trouser snake like you can keep it in your pants for the duration of any 'pretend' relationship."
"That's where you are wrong, Dawesey. Yes, I am a manwhore. I like to fuck around, ask any of my mates. However, if you really knew me, you would know that the two things I value most in life are honesty and loyalty. Contrary to what you may believe, I do know how to keep it in my pants when required. Further, if I were act like I'm all tits over arse for you, I'm sure we could convince your lot, as well as mine, that you've managed to tame me. While I don't do the whole girlfriend or marriage thing, if I did, I would never cheat. That's non-negotiable. I can assure you that for the duration of our operation, I will keep it in my pants and will do nothing that might cause you harm or embarrassment."
"Why should I trust you?" His counter arguments might be strong, but I was still sceptical.
"What you see is what you get with me, Dawesey. When I give my word, I keep it."
"How long would this relationship need to last?"
"The Promotion Board is slated to announce its decision in October. I was thinking we would need to pretend through the holidays and then we could go our separate ways. I will let you decide how you want us to break up and I will gladly let you place the blame on me."
"And these events," I paused, unsettled by what I was about to ask. "Would he be at any of them?" There was no way I could stomach seeing him acting like he was some respectable Officer and gentlemen, not when I knew the cowardice and disgrace, he hid behind his uniform. Not only that, but seeing him with her would likely destroy me.
"I have it on good authority that he will be otherwise occupied for the next six months. Now, have I addressed all of your concerns?"
"For now."
"And are you in?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"You always have choice, Dawesey, but the next favour I request might be far worse. I always call in my debts," Bones promised.
"I'll go along with this bleeding op, but on one condition, Bones."
"What's that, Dawesey?"
"You change the name to Operation Bellend," I demanded, causing Bones to raise his shot glass in salute of me, clearly relishing in his success, and making me wonder what the hell I had just signed myself up for.