Andy McNab by Last Night Another Soldier

Author:Last Night Another Soldier
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Europe, Afghan War (2001-), General, Great Britain, Military, Fiction, History
ISBN: 9780552165518
Publisher: Corgi
Published: 2010-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

After queuing for about fifteen minutes, it was my turn to push aside the canvas curtain and enter the wooden stall. I picked up the receiver and dialled. Mum picked up the phone so quickly it was like she was hovering over it. She sounded relieved. ‘Thank God you’re OK. I’ve been watching the news all day, and when you didn’t call I got so worried. You know what I’m like, thinking the worst and—’

‘Mum, I keep telling you, I can’t call when something happens. They cut the phones off until the family of the dead guy knows he’s dead. Someone might phone the papers or whatever to try and make a few bob. The family needs to know first, don’t they? But soon as they’re working again, I call, don’t I? Make sure you know I’m OK.’

She sighed so loudly I could hear it over the noise of some lads arguing about the football match as they stood in the queue.

‘Yeah, you’re a good boy. You’re all right, and that’s all that matters. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. I sit and watch the news every day, smoking myself to death, just praying that—’

‘Mum, I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m the new boy, they won’t even let me out of the camp yet. Listen, I’ve been thinking about Dad and—’

I heard the sharp intake of breath and the change in her voice – a hint of anger mixed in with panic. ‘What? He been writing to you? What does he want? Money? You tell him to keep away from us.’

I tried to sound calm, like it was nothing. ‘No, he hasn’t written, but …’

Her voice went up even higher. ‘I ain’t having him nowhere near us. He never lifted a finger to help us, why should we get involved with him now? What has he done to—’

I tried to talk over her. I just needed to get it out. ‘But, Mum, I think he needs help. I think you should—’

It was hopeless. She was off again. ‘Don’t think, don’t think anything about him. He’s a drunk who never cared about us. Why should I worry about him? I have you to worry about.’

‘Mum, I’ve been learning about PTSD. You know, combat stress. I think he might have it because of the Falklands stuff.’

It was no good. I had picked open an old wound and nothing could stop her now. ‘Listen to me. I don’t want to talk about him any more, and I don’t want you even thinking about that man.’

‘But Mum, just call him. Tell him to go see a doctor.’

‘Why are you dragging all this up? What have I done to deserve this? Haven’t you given me enough to worry about? You calling just to get me even more upset? It’s no fun back here you know. You think it’s all …’

Then, as always, her anger quickly turned to guilt. ‘I tried my best to bring you up good. I know I wasn’t there all the time, but that’s because that bastard didn’t lift a finger to help us.

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