‘I want to explain—’
‘Really, there’s no need to,’ I answer briskly, turning away and beginning to busy myself. I grab a towel and begin rubbing the bench as I wonder when Ben put the fruit I’d bought in a bowl. Then I wonder where the bananas came from because I didn’t buy them. Anything—I fill my head with anything, rather than listen to him.
‘I don’t date, Nell.’
‘Apart from someone called Samantha.’ The words are out of my mouth without thought. ‘Forget it—it has nothing to do with me.’
‘Actually, it has everything to do with you.’ I freeze in my actions from wiping the countertop. ‘Samantha... looks a little like you.’ I have no right to be jealous, but the flare is there all the same. ‘Not as beautiful, of course. Fuck, Nell,’ he says, dragging his hands through his hair, ‘they all do a little bit. Dark hair, cute, and petite—I have a type.’ I’m not sure what to make of this so slot the information away for later examination. ‘Want to know why? You were the pinnacle, the untouched summit. I wanted the nearest thing I could get to my fantasy.’ I bring my hand to my mouth a more than a little stunned. ‘We didn’t date,’ he continues. ‘Not exactly. I was blunt with her from the start. I told her I wasn’t interested in anything serious. And, well. She agreed. She was in the Armed Forces, too.’
‘How cozy for you. She sounds like such an amiable girl.’
So. Much. Asperity. But what right to I have? Me, who has done the exact same.
‘I was deployed a month after meeting her, and she was okay when I left. She was upset, but I thought she’d get over it. Move on with her life. Only she didn’t. She plagued me. Sent me images I didn’t want to see, photographs debasing herself. I ignored the emails and the texts but when I came back on leave and she just.. . appeared. Everywhere I went, she was there. I thought it was a coincidence at first. But then not. She turned up at the barracks, my parents’ house. The gym—everywhere. I just told her—I’m not interested. We were nothing more than a casual fuck. Then the threats started.’
I turn to face him. ‘What kind of threats?’
‘She was going to hurt herself.’
‘She was suicidal?’
Ben shrugs as though his skin is too tight, then shakes his head. ‘I felt responsible.’ I watch as the expression drains from his face. ‘Iwasresponsible.’
‘No, Ben. People who commit suicide aren’t in the rational frame of mind. There was probably nothing you could’ve done.’
‘She didn’t kill herself,’ he spits bitterly. ‘But I’m still responsible. I spent so much time worrying and obsessing from the other side of the world, wondering what I could do. I was twenty-two. Just a fucking crow—not much more than a new recruit—but I was responsible for men.My men. But my head? It was fucked. And all over this girl.’
I begin to wonder where this is going—how this can have any bearing on me, on us.
‘We were, well, it doesn’t matter where we were. It may as well be the other side of the moon for all the bearing it has over here. The bottom line is, I took my eye off the ball. It doesn’t matter if she was screwing with my head. My head wasn’t on the job, and I let my guys down and got one of them killed.’
Chapter 17
BEN
My statement reverberates through the kitchen. As shocking as the words still sound, they’re true. It doesn’t matter which way you cut it, I killed him. I might not have pulled the trigger, but my negligence still puts me at fault. My inattention. If I’d been less distracted—if my head hadn’t been up my arse—if I’d never met Sam. Any of those things would save me from how I feel. Save me from hating myself. But what’s the point? I can’t turn back the clock. I can only go on.
I drop my chin to my chest, blowing out a long breath.
‘What happened?’ Nell asks softly. When a chance a look at her, I hate what I see. Sympathy, but wearing a professional mask. I’ve seen the ordered medics, the shrinks, and everyone prescribed in between. This is war, I’m told. These things happen. You get up, you dust yourself off, you get revenge for your mate. And not once do you blame yourself. Tell that to his wife and family. Tell them I’m the reason he’s dead. See if they feel the same—tell it to Tom as he lies cold in his grave. I know he fucking blames me. I saw it in his dead eyes, and I see it still in my nightmares.
When I don’t answer, Nell doesn’t push. I suppose I could shrug her off. Change the subject. Put on the front. Be Ben Monroe, the dude with a ready quip and a quick grope.
Or I could tell her the truth.
‘I joined the special forces, Nell.’
‘I thought you were a Paratrooper? Isn’t that your regiment?’
‘It was. But eighteen months ago I joined the SAS. He who dares and all that macho shit. I met Tom during training. What we had going for us in the beginning was a not so friendly kind of rivalry. Not many get through the first round—it’s not even training,’ I add with a derisory snort. ‘More like breaking you down.’ I sigh, leaning back against the sink, crossing my left ankle over my right. ‘Dog eat dog. Every man for himself. Trekking through the Brecon Beacons at the arse end of Wales. Then, onto Belize for six weeks in the fucking jungle where we ended up in the same four-man crew. Man, I hated it, but that’s the whole point. Endurance. Fortitude. A will to be there at the end. That’s what we had in common, Tom and me. Out of 300 blokes at the start of training, there were only 12 of us at the end.’
‘That’s an amazing achievement,’ Nell says softly.
‘Amazing was surviving TQ training.’ Endless interrogation, sleep and food deprivation, sensory and physical punishments. Big fuckers messing with your head. And what for? To become a member of the elite. To gain a little autonomy. To learn more than I ever thought possible about myself. ‘Later, Tom and me, we found ourselves Iraq bound.’
‘To train the Iraqi army?’
‘Hearts and minds? No, I was there in the shadows, stirring things up and tidying loose ends.’
