FIVE YEARS
Chapter 5
Reassuringly for him at least, she does her usual trick of dozing off within a few minutes of getting into the car. Her ability to sleep anywhere and at any time has always been a source of wonder and amusement to him, but is a huge asset to her as a soldier.
As they pull into the drive of their modest but charming semi-detached cottage on the outskirts of Aldershot, she wakes up and lets out a sleepy yawn.
"Sorry, I seem to have dozed off for a few minutes. Are we home already?"
He snorts with laughter.
"What so funny?"
"It's just you always say that. You've actually been asleep for three hours…"
She smiles, she likes to see him laugh, likes to hear amusement in his voice, likes how it makes her feel.
"Oh right, well I was just following doctor's orders weren't I? He said I needed to get plenty of rest…. "
He turns off the ignition, turns to her and watches her face for signs of some recognition.
"So, this is our home. Is it familiar at all?"
She can hear the cautious expectation in his voice and doesn't want to upset him, but honestly she would not have been able to identify this as her house if it had been in one of those police line-ups. What she does know is that it is far removed from the council flat she grew up in. It reminds her of something out of one of those English village murder mysteries, that her nan likes to watch on the telly.
"I'm sorry, no…. but I love the colour of the front door."
"That's what you said the first time you saw it."
"Really?"
"Yes. We actually spent months trying to colour match it ….."
"Well I must mean it then."
-OG-
He unlocks the front door, picks up some post from the floor and leads her into a small square hallway. He dumps the post and the car keys on a beautiful antique dresser and automatically helps her take her coat off and carefully hangs it up on some hooks, already overflowing with various different sized Army and sports jackets.
She instinctively kicks her shoes off and then, noticing the double height shoe-rack, laden with big and small boots and shoes, picks them up and balances them on top.
She looks around and takes in the décor, it is warm and homely, yet functional and organised. There's a big mirror above the dresser and lot of pictures on the walls; photos of her and Charles and some other people she doesn't recognise. There are three doors leading off the hallway and stairs leading to the first floor.
He opens the nearest door and indicates with an encouraging nod of the head, for her to go into what must be the living room. She peaks a look, taking in two large comfy looking sofas, a big coffee table covered in books and magazines, a fireplace complete with log-burner, a wall-mounted TV and several striking pieces of artwork. It's a lovely room and one she can immediately imagine herself chilling out in.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable, whilst I make you a cuppa and something to eat? Then I can give you the grand tour…. That is unless you'd like to explore for yourself?"
"I'd like you to show me round if that's ok… but first, where is the lav? I'm bursting for a pee."
"Oh, of-course – there's a toilet under the stairs and a bathroom at the top of the stairs. I'll be in the kitchen – you'll have no problem finding it… it's the only other door."
-OG-
She gently pushes open the door to the kitchen, and quietly gasps at the sight. The room is extended beyond the back of the house and takes up the full width of the property. It is a beautiful space and looks like something out of a bleeding house and home magazine. On the right- hand side is a modern-style, fancy German kitchen complete with an island and trendy bar stools. On the left is a big table which could easily seat her family, and another comfy looking L-shaped sofa. The room is light and bright, on account of the full length bi-fold doors, which lead onto a patio and an equally smart looking garden.
Charles is stood at one of the kitchen counters, with his back to her, slicing some vegetables, seemingly oblivious to her presence, humming along to a song playing on the radio. She smiles, reminded of how back in Afghan she might have, on occasion, secretly admired him working out in the makeshift gym in the yard of the FOB. She'd allowed herself that small pleasure because he was bloody fit and easy on the eye, but mostly because it was a safe fantasy; he was her Captain, he was unobtainable. Never in a million years did she imagine that anything would happen between them, that he could ever be interested in her. She once again questions what the hell occurred on that tour to change everything so dramatically. She briefly allows herself to muse what it might feel like to kiss him, to touch him and explore his body. She instantly feels a flush of embarrassment, knowing it is far too soon to be thinking like that. What would he think of her if she threw herself at him like some squaddy slapper? She pushes the thoughts away and loudly clears her throat, making her presence known and inadvertently startles him.
"Fuck!"
He drops the knife he was using onto the floor, and grabs his hand, quickly wrapping it in a nearby tea-towel.
She realises immediately what's happened and is over to him in an instant, her medic training kicking in, quickly assessing the injury to his hand.
"Shitting hell, I'm sorry, Charles."
She leads him to the sink, washes away the blood and gets him to apply pressure to the cut as she reaches up to one of the kitchen cupboards, grabs a first aid kit and carefully dresses the wound.
He watches her in silence as she works.
She wonders if she's about to get one of his infamous bollockings. She opts to try to defuse the situation with some humour.
"That's quite a deep cut, but I think you'll live. I must remember to be more careful when you're wielding a lethal weapon!"
"It's ok, it was an accident…. But Molly, how did you know?"
"How did I know what?"
"How did you know where the first aid kit was kept?"
She stops and takes in what he has just said. She looks around the kitchen and realises that there is something oddly familiar about her surroundings.
"I don't know…. I just… did."
"You put it there because this is somewhat of a regular occurrence. I fancy myself as a bit of chef, but have a tendency to be clumsy at times."
She smiles at him, surprised that he's clumsy at anything. She'd always imagined him as one of those annoying people who are perfect at everything.
"Ok, well I'll be ready with the antiseptic wipes and Elastoplast in future."
He grins happily at her, hugely encouraged by the incident.
She holds his gaze and returns his grin, delighted by this small step in her recovery.
"It's a bit like Afghan… when I was at the cutting edge of the conflict… with your blisters! Do you remember?"
"Of course, I remember.. in fact you said that same thing to me back then."
Her smile fades.
"Really? I don't remember that…."
"It would have been later in the tour, maybe four or five months in. You'd been away on R&R."
She looks down, dejected.
"Oh right. I'm sorry Charles, I don't remember."
He feels his earlier optimism draining away, but knows he has to stay positive, reminding himself that it is very early days and they've only been home a few minutes. He desperately wants to gather her in his arms and comfort her, but is nervous about touching her, crossing that line again without her permission. He hesitates, unsure what to do, before cautiously placing his hands on her shoulders in what he hopes she will accept as a non-threatening, but supportive gesture.
"Hey. Look at me."
Eventually she looks up at him, sad tears forming in her eyes.
"Please don't apologise to me Molly. This isn't your fault. Do you understand?"
He gives her his best encouraging smile as is relieved when she finally gives him a brave nod. He reluctantly releases her from his hold not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable.
"You know, in Afghanistan I actually let my feet get in a bad state so that I would have to come and see you regularly."
She looks surprised.
"What?"
"Yes, I was that desperate to spend some quality time with you."
She sniggers at that thought.
"You nut-bar. Mind you, I did find it strange that they didn't get any better despite my best efforts."
"Look, how about we order some take-away… your choice. It might be safer than me risking any more cooking related injuries. I'm supposed to be looking after you, not the other way around."
She grins at him.
"Now you mention it, I could kill for a pizza….. and perhaps we can hit that ridiculously comfy looking sofa in the living room and you can tell me more about what happened in Afghan."
-OG-
A bit of an emotional return home... thank you for reading and all your lovely reviews xx