# The Songbird and the Soldier

Wendy Lou Jones

An emotional, intense love story. Perfect for fans of Nicholas Sparks.Where do you turn when the first casualty of love is the truth?Sometimes it's when you least expect it that something wonderful happens, but for Andy Garrington the timing couldn't have been worse. Being sent half way round the world to Afghanistan, Andy is prepared for a fight, but what he doesn't expect is the most important battle of his life to carry on at home. For Samantha Litton, running into her childhood crush at the pub one evening seems like good fortune. But when he is called away to war and she is left behind, things don't seem quite so clear and Sam has to determine who is telling her the truth and who is playing her for a fool, when all seems fair in love and war.

### The Songbird & the Soldier

Wendy Lou Jones


A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

## Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Wendy Lou Jones: About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013

Copyright © Wendy Lou Jones 2013

Cover Photographs © shutterstock.com

Wendy Lou Jones asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © July 2013

ISBN: 9780007543939

Version 2014-10-01

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

This book is dedicated to my dad, who sadly did not live long enough to see my name in print, but who gave me the courage to try. And to my long-suffering husband, who stood by my side every step of the way while I did.

## Chapter 1

Sergeant Andrew Garrington was in control: his house was in order, his shirts were crisp and his career was on track, so the fact that he had caught on to his men’s misplaced notion of finding him some new witless woman to pander to didn’t bother him unduly. He played with his beer mat as he listened to the men chat. His attention was caught by a rowdy set entering through the front of the bar and disappearing out of the back.

Corporal Dean Fletcher scanned the room for female life and Spike spotted him. “Uh-oh, Romeo’s on high alert.”

Dean looked back and grinned.

“Well, found anything?”

“No.”

“Aren’t we meant to be finding a bird for the Prof?” Miller asked.

Andy twitched an eyebrow. “Oh no you don’t.”

“Come on, Prof. You’ve been single for far too long now. You need to get yourself a woman,” Spike said.

“I seem to be managing quite well by myself, thanks.”

“But you need a good woman.”

“Oh, a good woman, well why didn’t you say so? No.”

“Andy, think about it. You need someone to keep you sane while we’re out there. Remember last time? It’s no good if you’ve got no one to drag you back up again when shit’s going down,” said Miller shaking his head.

Claire had walked out before his last tour in Afghanistan. Andy remembered. It had been hard, but he had got through it on his own. He was a stronger man now than he had been then, a better soldier. He had learned in that time that women and relationships were generally disappointing. They were too needy to fit into his lifestyle.

“One day you’ll meet a girl who really gets under your skin and it’ll completely poleaxe you. You might even find yourself getting…” Miller held up his hands to make parenthesis in the air, “emotionally involved.”

The guys laughed. Dean’s laugh was the loudest. “The Prof? You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve seen more emotion in a potato.”

“Whereas you seem to fall head over heels in love with each and every one of them,” Andy replied.

“Absolutely.”

“For about five minutes.”

“Seems long enough to me!”

Spike patted Dean on the back and Andy left the table, rolling his eyes. He approached the bar. Leaning forward, he raised his hand to get the bargirl’s attention. She looked across at him while pulling a pint. She smiled and then raised her eyebrows in question.

“Hi, sorry,” he called, “um… which way to the… er-?”

“Down the corridor and on your right,” she called back, trying to make herself heard over the general hubbub of a busy Saturday night. Briefly she watched him walk away and then returned her attention to the matter in hand.

Andy made his way through the crowd and out into the relative peace of the corridor. Along the walls, small shaded lights lit up old photos of the pub as it had been in years gone by. Wooden panelling hung heavily on either side of him and the dusty stone floor beneath his feet echoed as he walked. Near the end of the corridor he could hear the muted sound of voices chanting. The noise grew louder and louder as he neared the back room and then a cheer went up and he could hear people clapping. Two girls came bustling out of the room, passed him and went off to the right, sending a wave of light and sound crashing around him. They disappeared into the toilets and the door to the back room swung slowly closed again.

As the bright light began to fade, Andy could hear a beautiful voice begin to sing a soft, haunting melody. It was unlike anything he’d heard in a pub before. The song wreathed itself around him, made him stop in his tracks for a moment and listen. He checked for anyone who might notice and then caught the edge of the door with his hand and peered inside.

The room was alive with colour. Banners and balloons hung all around the walls. As he watched, Andy noticed that everything inside the room was now still. Only the girl singing on the far side of the room moved. She was swaying slowly in time with the music, the microphone in one hand and the other reaching out with the grace of an angel. Andy was captivated.

Her hair was brown and waved gently downwards below her shoulders, restrained only by one satin flower tucked in behind her ear. She was wearing patterned blue jeans and a sea-green top that looped up and around her neck leaving the pale skin of her shoulders quite bare. She was neither fat nor thin; in fact her body seemed to flow effortlessly from one supple curve into another. He leaned against the doorframe and watched and listened as she sang. He couldn’t say what the song was about, or who had originally sung it, but one line swam repeatedly through his head: ‘Until you’re resting here with me.’ His pulse quickened. She was beautiful. And then in a moment of wondrous clarity, he realised that it was her. It had to be. The girl he had kept close to his heart for the past six years. The girl who had kept him going whenever anything went bad in his life. It was Sam.

Andy felt his heart race as the years fell away. His mouth went dry and his brain refused to think clearly. It had to be her. Of course she wasn’t exactly the same, but it was still her, wasn’t it? The two girls emerged from the toilets and pushed past, back into the room, their loud chatter and giggles jarring him.

Andy seized the moment and reached out to them. He caught one of them by the shoulder. “Excuse me. Who is that girl?” he asked, pointing to the singer.

The two girls gave each other a look and giggled some more, but quieter now. “The girl who’s singing?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“That’s Sam: Samantha Litton. Do you know her?”

Andy shook his head slowly and the girls walked away giggling together. As he watched, heads began to turn and look round at him as they realised someone was there who wasn’t meant to be there. He started to feel self-conscious, but then Sam finished and everyone clapped and turned back again. Sam re-joined her group and smiled bashfully at the things people were saying to her, until somebody whispered in her ear and pointed him out. She turned and looked directly at him.

Sam felt herself blush.

“Well go on then,” Kate said. “He’s gorgeous.”

Sam looked across at Chloe. “It’s your birthday, Chlo’. He’s probably here to see you.”

“I don’t recognise him,” Chloe said.

Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh you’re bloody hopeless, you are. Look, if you don’t get your butt over there and at least talk to the guy in the next thirty seconds I’m going to leap over there and nab him for myself,” she said, hitching up the side of her cerise strapless top.

Sam was relieved. “Okay.”

“No it’s not okay, ’cause it’s you he’s drooling over, not me. Now get yourself over there and snog his face off!” She poked Sam hard in the ribs.

Sam jumped and turned to stare daggers at her friend, but Kate was just as determined. Sam hesitated and looked down at the glass of wine in her hand.

“Just talk to him, Sam. He won’t bite.”

Sam took a deep breath and stood up. A rousing chorus of whoops went up from her group of friends as she slowly made her way around the tables and across the room in the direction of the handsome stranger.

Andy stood up tall in the doorway and tried very hard to breathe. His mind was racing, searching for what he was going to say. He looked down at the floor and shifted his weight. He fidgeted with his clothing and then looked up again. She was almost at the door.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you here for the party?”

Andy felt a firm slap on his back.

“So this is where you’ve got to. We thought you’d gone AWOL.” Dean had come looking for him. The next singer took the microphone and Dean moved round to Andy’s side. “Shit, what is that wailing?” Dean noticed the girl standing in front of them. “Oh, excuse me. Hello, gorgeous.”

Sam smiled politely and turned back to Andy. “Are you one of Chloe’s friends?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Dean continued, “whoever she is.”

Andy’s head was spinning. Somewhere along the line he had lost the ability to connect with women on anything more than a superficial level and mostly that was the way he liked it. But this was different, this actually mattered. The angel, who had come to mean so much to him in the years since they’d last met, was standing before him again, only now, he was a shadow of the boy he had once been.

Dean’s eyes were all over her, drinking her in and it twisted a knife in Andy’s side just to see it.

“No,” Andy managed, “I was just listening-”

“You deserted your mates to listen to this?” Dean said, obviously appalled.

Andy stiffened in irritation. He looked at Sam, desperately hoping she would understand what he was thinking. She had to know that he was not like Dean, a brash lad who acted so loudly and unrefined. He studied her, trying to work out how to speak to her without frightening her off, or looking a complete fool in front of one of the guys. Her beautiful brown eyes melted him. They had a shy curiosity that made her look so utterly vulnerable. Her skin was flawless, her expressions were enchanting and her lips were… were… tantalising.

Sam’s brow twitched and she turned to walk away.

“Don’t go,” Dean suddenly called out. “You can’t just leave us here.”

Sam turned round and raised an eyebrow.

What was Dean playing at? Andy didn’t understand. Hadn’t he already annoyed the girl enough, ruining his chance of being with her again? He needed to speak up, fight for what should be his. He couldn’t let her slip away. He looked across and saw the friends she was sitting with. Maybe she’d changed. Maybe she wasn’t the same girl he remembered from back then, back when he was first starting out.

“We could get back to the bar to find the others have already gone and we’d be left on our own,” Dean said.

“You’re big boys,” Sam replied. “I’m sure you’ll cope.”

“I can beg,” Dean dropped down on one knee, “loudly.” Others in the room began to look around.

Sam walked back over, embarrassed. “Get up, you daft fool.”

Dean stood up. He turned to Andy. “Did she just call me a fool?”

Andy wasn’t sure what was going on, but at least the girl was still with them. He nodded. “I think so.”

“And us about to risk life and limb to defend our country. All we ask is a little respect.”

Sam looked uneasy. She glanced from one to the other. “Are you soldiers?”

“Corporal Dean Fletcher at your service, Ma’am.” Andy watched as Dean turned on his most charming smile.

A light went on behind Sam’s eyes. “Dean Fletcher? I didn’t recognise you.” She looked back at her group and then back to the lads. “We went to school together. You’re Kate’s next door neighbour, aren’t you? Your parents, I mean.”

“Katy? Yeah, you know her?” Now it was Dean who seemed a little unsure.

“Of course. She’s my best friend. I’m sorry. You just look so different… in a good way.”

Dean beamed and Andy’s heart raged. He had lost her. One moment of recognition and he had simply faded into the shadows.

“Well you should be sorry, especially for treating a guy as coldly as that.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, I’ll forgive you, perhaps… for a kiss.” He held out a cheek.

Smooth. Very smooth, Andy thought, resenting every syllable Dean spoke. He realised he had been out-classed. He, on the other hand, was rusty. But she wouldn’t actually fall for it, would she?

Sam hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think so. I know about you lot. A girl in every port, isn’t it?”

Dean clutched his chest. “I’m hurt.” He turned to Andy. “She’s vicious, this one.”

A blonde girl approached Sam from behind. “Hello, Dean. Are you harassing my friend? And that’s sailors, Sam, not… well… actually-”

“-Katy. A pleasure, as always.” An uncomfortable tension prickled between the pair of them.

“Come on,” Kate said, urging Sam back to her friends.

“A date then?” Dean called. “Dinner? A drink, just a drink?” Sam stopped and turned back toward Dean. “Give me your number. Come on, you know you’re tempted. Come on… for me?”

Sam sighed and, smiling, she walked back up to him. Dean whipped out a pen and rummaged for a piece of paper. Sam took the pen and wrote her number down on his hand.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

“No you won’t” Sam told him.

“I will. You’ll see.” Sam walked away with her friend, deep in conversation. “Goodbye, Gorgeous,” he called and then slapped Andy on the back and walked back into the corridor. “Come on, Prof, the guys are waiting.”

Sam retook her seat to a round of applause.

“Well?” Chloe said. “What was he like?”

“Gorgeous,” Kate said, “But Doofus here was too busy being chatted-up by Dean Fletcher, my pillock of a next door neighbour.”

Sam blushed. “But he’s lovely.”

“He’s an arsehole, Sam. You’ve just never seen past his twinkling blue eyes, that’s all.”

“I didn’t recognise him. He’s… fitter. And taller, and he’s got a bit of a tan.” Sam sighed.

Kate stuck two fingers down her throat. “Yes, well maybe he has got better looking with time, but it’s still… him.”

Andy followed Dean back up the corridor and the door to the back room shut behind him. They took some stick from the rest of the lads about how long they’d been. Dean took out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and scribbled down the number next to the word ‘brunette’, and then he licked the back of his hand and rubbed hard to erase all sign of the phone number Sam had written there. The lads sighed in groans of understanding and he popped it away back in his pocket and grinned. The last of their pints were emptied and they filed outside in happy union, in search of the next drink of the night.

Outside it was dark. Plumes of mist sprang from their mouths as they walked down the back road to the King’s Head. In the streets not far away, Andy could hear people laughing and calling, their voices punctuated only by the echo of their footsteps from the quiet, cobbled lane.

Andy thought about how casually Dean had treated Sam. As soon as he had her number he seemed to lose all interest. He quickened his step to walk alongside him. “So are you going to ring that girl?” he asked, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.

“Yeah, I might.”

“But I thought you were seeing Sophia?”

“Soph? Right, yeah… and Jules.”

“Jules?”

“Yeah. Nice girl. Met her a few weeks ago at Hacker’s bird’s do.” He opened the pub door and gesticulated. “Great tits.”

Andy shook his head. “I don’t know how you keep up with them all,” he said.

“It’s a gift. You’ve either got it, or you haven’t.” Dean looked around and beamed. He searched among his friends for the one he was looking for. “Right, Smithy, it’s your round, I believe. Get ’em in, boy.” He turned around to look for a place to sit. “Shit.” He tried to hide his face.

A girl walked across, dressed up to the nines and not looking at all pleased. “Soph. I didn’t know you were going to be out tonight?”

The group around them quietened, waiting to see how Dean was going to handle the situation.

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Well you wouldn’t, would you?”

“Ah, you know how it is. We haven’t had much time off recently, have we lads?”

A general murmur of agreement went round.

“You could have rung. You didn’t even answer any of my texts. I was beginning to think you’d gone out already.”

“And miss seeing you again? Never.” He pulled her toward him and kissed her full on the lips. The girl struggled for a moment, pushing him away with the palms of her hands and then all was forgiven. The odd cheer went up, but mostly it was a resigned sigh.

He’d done it again, thought Andy and his mind went back to Sam. What a stark contrast there was between her and the girl currently being won over by Dean. That delicate songbird had been far more sensual, naturally beautiful, without all the glitz and war paint that this girl was wearing. He cursed his timing and lack of faith. She had seemed just the same as the last time they’d met, but what could he do about that now? If only she had seen him a few minutes earlier, or Dean had found them a few minutes later and given them the chance to actually speak before Romeo had got his claws into her, then maybe he could have been the one with her phone number in his pocket right now. Some guys just didn’t appreciate what they had. But that’s how it was with Dean. No matter how badly he treated them, he was always lucky with women. Still, all was not lost. He would find a way. He had to. Andy knew how she could be traced and Dean had her phone number. All he had to do now was be patient. He had no doubt Dean would mess it up soon enough and then he would make his move. But what if he didn’t? What if Dean actually realised how wonderful she was? And did he have the time to wait? But first things first. Sam hadn’t recognised him.

Andy thought about Sam more and more over the following weeks. She possessed him, invading his mind and tormenting him every time he was alone. Dean never spoke of her in the mess with the lads, although his other women came up again and again, so Andy made the decision to break cover and to do some recce for himself.

“Did you ever call that brunette from the pub?” he asked, when they happened to meet whilst walking into barracks early one morning.

“Which one was that?”

“You know, the one who was singing. When we hit the pubs the other week. Sam, was it?”

“Oh, Sam. Yeah.”

“And?”

“What?”

“What’s she like?”

Dean turned a curious expression on him. “Okay. Why do you wanna know?”

“No reason. She just didn’t seem your type, that’s all.”

Dean let out a big breath. “Yeah? You may be right. She’s a schoolteacher. Not a vision I’ve ever fantasised about myself, a bit of an ice maiden actually. But I’ll give it a bit longer before I knock it on the head. Why, do you want her?” They showed their passes and walked in through the gate. “You two would go well together, thinking about it. You’re both as dull as each other.” Andy went to cuff Dean around the head, but he ducked and punched him back in the ribs, chuckled and jogged off to find the rest of the lads.

It was her. It had to be. He remembered Sam had told him she was just about to go off to train as a teacher. It had been the summer after her A-levels, when he had just finished university. He remembered how he must have looked different then: not as much meat on his bones and longer hair. They were both on holiday with their friends in Tenerife and he had spotted her one day in a café not far from their apartment. She had been sneaking bits of food into her napkin. Andy had wondered what she was doing, until he saw her later outside their complex, feeding a frail-looking dog. That’s when he met her. He watched her tenderly gaining the poor dog’s trust and feeding it the scraps from her plate, then a sudden sound had made it skit away and he emerged from where he had been watching and started talking to her. They spent the rest of the night together, first chatting around the pool, and then later in the evening they met up again at the party put on by the owners of the complex. They had talked until dawn, when they had, he thought, reluctantly parted, with the most amazing kiss he had ever experienced. They arranged to meet up later that day to spend the last of their time together before his flight left that evening. And that was the last he had seen of her.

When she didn’t turn up, he searched all over, but with no luck. While checking out of the hotel, he was given a scrap of paper with a note written on it explaining that she had had to dash off to hospital with her friend and wishing him a safe journey. Nothing since had come close to that night.

Andy tried to get more from Dean on a couple of occasions, but only succeeded in reigniting Dean’s attention to his love life. “We’ve got to get you a woman of your own, Prof,” he said one day. “Leave it with me,” he winked and, giving the other lads a grin, slipped out to make a phone call.

A couple of days later he revealed that he had planned a blind (on Andy’s part) double date.

Andy sighed. “Not a chance.”

“Oh go on Sarge,” the lads called out.

“Absolutely not. No way. Like I’d let you set me up on a blind date, especially with you there to laugh at me.

Dean held up his hands. “Okay. I’ll tell Sam it’s off then, shall I?”

Andy looked at Dean. “It’s one of Sam’s friends?”

“Yeah.”

“So it’ll be you, me, Sam and…”

“Her friend, yeah.”

Andy rapidly weighed up the opportunity of seeing Sam again and spending time with her, despite Dean’s presence, against the likelihood of being stuck making small talk with the ugly friend. He decided it was worth it. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

The day of the double date arrived, several weeks later in the end. It was the lads’ last night of freedom before heading off on pre-deployment training. Dean and Andy arrived at the bowling alley and looked around. There was no sign of the girls. They approached the bar and got a round in. A few minutes later the girls turned up. Dean kissed Sam. “Sam, this is Andy.”

Sam’s smile was warm and kind. They shook hands. “We meet again,” she said.

Andy smiled and his heart lurched. Had she remembered?

“And this is Kate,” Sam told him, turning to her friend and introducing them. No, she hadn’t.

Andy peeled his eyes away from Sam and looked at Kate. She was nice enough. He recognised her from the day he had seen Sam several weeks before. A pretty girl, wearing a little too much make-up in his opinion, but she seemed okay. “Hi, Kate,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. What was he doing here? He had no interest in Kate at all. But of course, he knew the real reason. It was her. Sam. As painful as he knew it would be, to get to see Sam again was worth it. Miller had been right. She had got under his skin and to be able to be near her was worth any price.

The game was close and the banter was lively throughout, but half an hour after the game had ended, Kate got a call from her mum and had to rush off. Andy stood up and offered to walk her home, but Kate said she would get a taxi as it was quicker and that she’d be just fine on her own. Sam wanted to go with her too, but again Kate would have none of it and Sam said she’d ring her when she got home.

Andy soon began to feel like a gooseberry. He knew he should really make his excuses and leave Dean and Sam together, but he couldn’t. He had no more will to tear himself away than a moth had from the flame.

Dean’s mobile buzzed and his eyes flitted down to the screen. “Sorry, gorgeous, I’d better take this. It’s my gran.” He slipped out of his seat and wandered away to the front of the building to take the call.

Sam turned back to Andy. They were alone. Andy leant in across the table, holding her gaze for as long as he could bear. “So, how long have you been singing, Sam?” he asked. A delicate blush spread across her face and Andy was in heaven.

“A few years, I guess. I was bullied into it at college by some friends and I caught the bug I suppose. Silly really, but it’s a bit of fun. And they’re a nice lot down at the Crown, very forgiving.”

“I doubt that. I think you just happen to be very good.”

Sam looked briefly down at her lap. “So what’s your hidden talent then?” she asked.

Andy chuckled. “Talent? Not sure I have one of those. I don’t seem to have enough time to dedicate myself to acquiring one.”

“A hobby then? What about stamp collecting?”

Andy raised an eyebrow.

“Skiing?”

Andy thought. “No, that’s my golden brother’s domain.”

His tone made Sam stop. “You don’t get on?”

“No, it’s not that. He’s all right, we’re just chalk and cheese that’s all. And for my parents’ part, cheese is just preferable to chalk.” Andy laughed, quite taken aback at how quickly he had unravelled. “I like to walk, Sam. I like mountains, the countryside and trees. Is that too dull?”

“Not at all. It sounds lovely.” She smiled.

Andy knew he didn’t have long. Somehow he had to get through to Sam without giving away too much. If he had only managed to actually speak when they had first met, he wouldn’t be in this mess right now. He leaned back in his seat, trying to give the impression of easy confidence. “Do you ever travel, Sam? Abroad I mean.”

“Not much. Why, do you?”

Andy smiled.

“Of course you do.” Sam rolled her eyes. “But what about for fun?”

“Now and again.” He was watching her closely. “I’ve been to Greece,” he said. “Switzerland was impressive and, er… Tenerife.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. I went with some friends a few years back.” She smiled and Andy hoped she might be remembering.

“All girls together?” he asked.

“Something like that.”

“Did you ever discover a café on the west side of the island, Café Aurelio, I think it was called?”

Sam hesitated, her face suddenly becoming unreadable. Andy’s heart hammered inside his chest as he waited for her to reply. Sam took a deep breath. She opened her mouth to speak, but just as she did, Dean plonked himself back down by her side, making her jolt with surprise.

“Dean! Is everything all right? Is she okay?” Sam asked and Andy’s eye’s fell briefly closed in defeat.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Your gran.”

Dean tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, she’s fine.” He looked from Sam to Andy and back again. “So, what’d I miss?”

Sam glanced across at Andy, her expression searching, but his time had slipped away and the moment was gone.

The rest of the evening was torture and ecstasy in equal measure, talking and laughing with this girl who was now with someone else. She was perfect- intelligent, funny and seductive all in one. He loved the way she tilted her head when she was unsure, exposing just a little more of her delicate neck, and the way she bit her bottom lip when she was trying to tease was sweetness itself. Life just wasn’t fair. Dean got any girl he wanted with his film star looks and gift of the gab. They fell for it every time. Why did it have to be her?

His eyes fixed on Dean’s hand moving slowly up and down Sam’s side. His shoulders tensed. Dean leant in closer, his lips whispered into Sam’s ear. It was agony. Why had he not been more of a man and fought for her at the outset, instead of letting Dean snatch her away from him right under his nose? It was Dean who was allowed to touch her sensuous body, Dean who could whisper softly into her ear and the thought of what was going to happen the moment Andy left them that evening was almost too much to bear. But watching helplessly from the sideline was better than not being near her at all.

By ten o’clock, Dean gave up with subtle signals and when Sam excused herself and popped to the ladies’ for a minute he made his feelings plain. “Okay, Prof, on your bike. I’m never going to get any action here with you hanging around.”

Sam returned and Andy smiled at her warmly and reluctantly stood up to take his leave. “Anyway, it’s been great, Sam, but I’d better get back: early start in the morning.” He picked up his dark blue puffer jacket and slid out of his seat.

“Oh? You sure you won’t stay?” Dean asked, sliding round the table closer to Sam.

Andy looked at Dean and then back to Sam. “I probably won’t see you again until we’re back now,” he said. “Take care, Sam.”

Sam stood up and kissed Andy on the cheek. “No, you take care, all right? I want both of you back here in one piece, you hear me? Both of you, or I’ll definitely have something to say about it,” she added.

“Cor. Are you going to keep me after school and thrash me, Miss?” said Dean, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Andy smiled, his brain barely functioning now. “I’ll, um…” he gestured toward the door, “be off.”

Sam straightened. “I’m serious.”

Andy could see that she was. He looked into her eyes. “I know. I’ll take care of him. I promise.” He smiled and then left her with Dean, walking out into the harsh winter night.

He must try and forget about her now. The next nine months he was to be a soldier and nothing more. The army was his home and the men were his brothers, even Dean. In the grand scheme of things Dean was still his brother: an annoying younger brother, but someone he would gladly lay down his own life to protect- but God, how he sometimes just wanted to smash his head against a brick wall. He put on his gloves, zipped up his jacket and walked away from Sam and towards war. Back inside, Sam was left wondering about the familiarity of that kiss.

## Chapter 2

Sam was round at Kate’s house, slouching in the big pink beanbag underneath the window. Christina Aguilera sang quietly in the background and Kate traced the pattern of the duvet cover on her bed with her finger. “I still can’t believe you’re going out with creep-features,” Kate said.

“He’s nice. He makes me laugh and you’ve got to admit he is very good looking.”

“Oh he is better looking now, I suppose, but… really? Dean?”

Sam smiled, remembering his tall handsome features, his blue eyes gazing down at her, making her feel like a million dollars.

“He’s a twat, Sam. A womaniser.”

“He is not.”

“You’re really into him, aren’t you?”

Sam sighed and hugged the soft white pony she found lying nearby, to her chest.

“You’ve always been soft on him, even back in school days when he was ugly.”

“He was not ugly.”

“Yes he was. I remember.” She took a long look at Sam. “I give up. You’ve been a lost cause ever since he used to put his arm around you at break times. You know he was only doing that so that you would give him your Kit Kat. He was really after Big-Tits Bunstead,” she said, slumping back down on the bed.

Sam lobbed the pony at her. Kate was obviously teasing. She didn’t believe for a minute that Dean had really used her like that. He was the one who had stood up for her when Tom Finley had teased her about her braces. He even said he would have taken her out only his parents had put their foot down and insisted he stay at home and work. “Just because he was a hard worker and not cool and trendy like all the boys you got off with,” she said.

Kate spluttered out a hail of laughter and lobbed the pony back. “Cheeky mare!”

“Listen, you never did tell me what the matter was with your mum the other night? Is she all right?”

Kate propped herself up on one elbow again. “At the double date?”

“Yes.”

She sat up. “You really didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary with that guy then?”

“No. He seemed really nice. Sort of… reassuring: like you’ve known him for ages, but you haven’t. You know what I mean? Why?”

“’Cause he was gawping at you the whole night. I told you back at Chlo’s party that he was into you and you, like a plonker, went and gave your number to old smarm-breath. Why Dean thought he would be interested in me I have no idea.”

“But your mum?”

“Oh she was fine. I’d just had enough of blending in with the wallpaper. You know ‘shrinking violet’ was always more your style than mine. I’m not going spend my evening hanging around babysitting some poor love-struck squaddie.”

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. “Dean said he’d been married a few years back, but it had ended, and well… in his words… he wanted to get him…‘back in the saddle’.”

“And you thought of me? Cheers, I’m touched.”

“It wasn’t like that. Dean said he was a nice guy, a few years older than us and it was one of those rare moments in time when you didn’t actually have a boyfriend.”

Kate gasped again, picked up a pillow and threw it at Sam. “As opposed to my timid little church mouse, who usually runs away if a boy even looks at her?”

“I do not!”

“You do too.”

“I’m going out with Dean, aren’t I?”

Kate threw her hands in the air. “Miracles!” and Sam chucked the pillow back.

For weeks Sam heard nothing. There was no reply to her texts and no phone calls came. She wasn’t sure if this was normal or if something was wrong. All she could do was sit and wait.

Up in Norfolk the men were being put through the training for battle in Afghanistan. There were long exercises in simulated conditions, as close to the scenarios they would probably be facing as they could be in a cold wet February in England. Those on their first tour were eager to get going, to face the war they had all been trained for.

Dean approached his second tour with a mixture of exhilaration and dread. He knew what it was like to feel the scorch of heat on his back. He had picked up fallen comrades and lived through the nightmares that stalked his sleep. For him and those like him, the war was a more subdued affair. It was more than a vocation. It was a deep-rooted brotherhood that bound them all together and made them want to stand side by side and protect each other. That was what carried them when Hell raged.

Andy was learning to control his thoughts about Sam, visiting them only when he was at leisure to do so. Dean hadn’t mentioned her once since their arrival and Andy hoped that no stronger feelings could be created between them while he was gone. So he trained and he learned and prepared himself for what was to come.

As the first glimpses of spring took hold on the quiet, peaceful fields of England, the men of 9 Rifles were busy in a muddy ditch preparing for war. Their time in pre-deployment training was almost at an end, and the calm of inevitability descended upon them.

“How’s it going with you and ‘lover boy’ then?” Kate asked several weeks later.

“Fine… I think,” Sam replied.

“Fine? That doesn’t sound very good. I was hoping for something more like ‘fab’, or ‘great’, or ‘smoking!’”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Don’t get me wrong, he’s great- I just sometimes feel a little in the dark…inadequate, even.”

“Inadequate?”

“You know. He’s so… perfect.”

“He is good looking, I’ll give you that, but…”

Sam gestured to her own body. “But look at me.”

“What? Hell you’re no fatso yourself. You do all that cycling to and fro, all over the place. You’re in better shape than I’ll ever be and I’ve never had a guy complain about the state of my body. You’re fine, Sam. Your taste in men sucks, almost as much as your taste in music, if I’m honest. But you’re smart, way smarter than me. Look at you. You went to university for Christ’s sake and have a real job, not like me. I’m still bumming around and living with my mum.”

Sam cleared her throat and held up her hands.

“I know, but you’ll be out of here soon. I’ll still be living at home when I’m 40.”

Sam smiled.

“Of course I’m not saying it wouldn’t hurt you to brighten yourself up a bit now and again. Keep them on their toes.” Kate stood up. “You’ve got to be like, ‘Hey boy, this is what you’ll be missing out on if you don’t treat me right’.” She nodded at Sam, who burst out laughing.

“I wish I had your confidence,” Sam said.

Kate sat down again. “Just think of men as mischievous puppies. They need plenty of ground rules, a slap if they misbehave and loads of affection and treats if they do things right. Remember that and you’ll have hordes of them eating out the palm of your hand.”

“But I don’t want hordes of them. I just want one good one: a nice, kind, decent man, who’s easy on the eye and reliable. I want a little house with a bit of garden and two or three kids.”

Kate’s mouth gaped open. “I so do not want any of that. I’ll tell you what. I’ll trawl through all the guys out there and if I find a boring one who fits the bill I’ll pass him over to you, okay? I want to live a little before I die. I want to travel, see the world. I want to get pissed in seventeen different countries and get thrown out of at least two.”

“Good grief,” said Sam. “How are you going to manage all that? Sleep your way around Europe?”

Kate feigned shock. “No. I’m going to win the lottery,” she said.

“But you don’t even play the lottery.”

“Then I’ll find myself a rich man,” Kate concluded.

“Hussy!”

“Mouse!” Kate shot back.

The two girls grinned and giggled. “I can’t imagine you married with kids,” Kate said. “You’ve still got a rag doll.”

“Says the girl with the Zac Efron bedding,” Sam replied.

“Tea’s ready, girls,” Sam’s mum called up the stairs and Kate looked at her watch and got to her feet.

The two girls peered round the door of the dining room.

“Kate, love, there’s plenty enough for you as well, if you want to stay,” Mrs Litton said. Kate looked at Sam, who nodded eagerly. Mrs Litton smiled. “Give your mum a ring and make sure it’s okay.” Kate stepped out of the room.

“I left your cheque on the dresser this morning, Mum. Did you get it?” Sam asked, passing the salt and pepper from the sideboard to her mother by the table.

“Yes thanks, love. And do you want me to pick up a paper in the morning again? See if there’s anything new?”

“Haven’t we got rid of her yet?” her dad asked, walking in with the large dish from the oven and winking at his wife.

“No. I’ll probably still be here when you’re sixty, Dad. Sorry,”

A groan escaped her dad’s mouth but he smiled. Kate walked back in. “Knowing my luck Kate’ll still be with us too,” he said.

Mrs Litton bashed him and he smiled mischievously. “Don’t you take any notice of him, love. Did your mum say it was all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Take a seat and ignore the grumpy one over there. He loves having you here, both of you. Don’t you? Now who wants some shepherd’s pie?”

Sam’s dog, Humphrey, trotted in.

“Oh no you don’t,” Mrs Litton said. “Sam, put him in the living room while we eat, love. You know I won’t have him near the food.”

Sam walked Humphrey out to the living room, where his basket lay in the corner beside one of the armchairs. It was small and smart with a tartan blanket folded up neatly inside to make it soft. Up in her bedroom Sam had a squidgy old soft bed for him, but one of the conditions of her being allowed a dog in the house was that her mum’s living room would still look ‘presentable’. Sam told him to get in and lie down and then stroked his head affectionately. “You only had your tea an hour ago, Humph. You can’t possibly be hungry again yet. Good boy.” She walked away without a backward glance. She was hopeless at resisting the sad eyes he turned on her whenever he wanted something and had learned it was better simply not to look.

“So, Kate, what exciting things have you been up to recently?” Mr Litton asked over dinner.

“Oh you know… um…”

“Still no luck on the job front then?”

“No. I’ve got a bit of casual work next week. I’m helping out in a warehouse for a couple of weeks while they get a big order through, but that’s all. But, I did hear through the grapevine that Sally who works at the leisure centre is pregnant, so fingers crossed, there might be some work coming up there soon!”

“Well at least that’s something. And what about you, Sam? Has Jimmy managed to drive the music teacher to drink yet?”

Sam smiled. “Close, I think. No. Nothing exciting really.”

“Apart from pining after Dean,” Kate added, and Sam kicked her under the table. “Ow!”

“What’s this?” Sam’s dad put down his knife and fork. “Sam? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend?” He looked at his wife for her reaction, but she looked just as surprised as him.

Sam cringed. She had been trying to keep the whole thing under wraps. The last time her mum and dad had got involved; it complicated matters, so she had wanted to keep this one to herself. And Kate knew that!

“Is it anyone we know?” her mum asked.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“His name is Dean Fletcher. His parents live next door to me,” Kate offered, and promptly received another sharp blow to her ankle for her troubles. “Ow!”

“Dean?” Mrs Litton said.

“He’s a soldier.”

“A soldier?” Mr Litton seemed a little more wary.

“I’m going to kill you,” Sam said under her breath, and Kate grinned.

“That’s not your usual type,” her dad said.

“It’s no big deal,” Sam said trying to calm the excitement down. “We haven’t been going out long.”

“Two months,” Kate mouthed.

“And are we going to meet this young man?” her dad asked.

“Not for a while,” Sam said. “He’s off to Afghanistan in a few weeks.”

“Oh.” The mood changed.

“What’s he like, Kate?” Mrs Litton asked.

In an instant Sam was put aside and Kate was asked to describe Dean to her parents. Afghanistan, Sam thought. Yes, that was something of a conversation-stopper. Only a few more days and he would be back from training and getting ready to go out. Sam looked up.

“Well, at least if he’s on the other side of the world I won’t have to worry how he’s treating you, will I?” her dad said.

“Dad!”

“I’m sorry, but that Rick fellow was bad news, Sam. He treated you exceedingly badly and you refused to see it. I guess you were just too young and too besotted.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Now look what you’ve started.”

“Sorry,” Kate whispered back, unconvincingly. “We’re just trying to look after you, love,” said her mum.

Sam’s dad changed the subject and the meal continued. At the end Mr Litton thanked Kate for staying to tea and told her she was welcome to come again anytime. Sam declared that she was not.

Kate left soon after. Sam waved her off and then took Humphrey upstairs again. She sat down on her bed and thought back to the last time she had seen Dean.

It had only been a quick visit. Dean had turned up at her school five minutes after the bell and surprised her while she was clearing up the classroom at the end of the school day. Sam had felt awkward when Dean started to make a move on her while people were still in the building. Dean had been very persuasive, obviously turned on by the whole schoolmistress thing. Had she been a different person, Sam might have had a great time. Nobody surprised them, no one even came in after he had gone, but it was all too stressful for Sam and eventually Dean gave up trying and left.

Sam finished tidying the classroom and battled with the guilty feeling that she was probably a disappointment as far as girlfriends were concerned. Oh well, she thought at last, there was nothing she could do about it now. Hopefully she could make amends when he got back from training in a couple of weeks.

Sam got up from her bed and walked over to where her big flower press lay on a pile of large books on the floor. Soon, she thought. Soon she would find a house of her own and then she would have a place for everything. She picked up the flower press and lugged it over to the bed. She sat down and patted the space beside her. Humphrey needed no second bidding. He jumped up and made himself comfortable. Sam hugged him to her and then played with his ears. “If only all men were as easy to love as you, Humph,” she said.

Sam carefully opened up the press and counted out the flowers she had saved there. Thirty-two. Good, that gave her one each for every child in her class and a few left over for mishaps, and knowing little Jimmy Richards there were bound to be mishaps. She had seen her flowers turned into crowns, fairies, the sun and endless footballs, but it was those with the imagination to see beyond the obvious that always excited her. She closed the press again and placed it onto her desk with her school diary and the verse she had written out about flowers to go on the classroom wall. She sat back down. “Do you want to go for a walk, Humph?” Humphrey was on his feet in a flash, his stubby little tail wagging eagerly. “Come on then, let’s get out of here.”

Dean called Sam once after he got back from training and Sam asked for his address out in Afghanistan, but despite him giving it to her, he was still too busy to catch up. The time passed when he was due to leave and Sam had heard nothing. She wrote, not too emotionally, as she was still a little unsure about whether he would actually get the letter and who else would see it on the way. There was no reply.

Nearly three weeks passed and still she heard nothing. In place of eager anticipation, she greeted the fall of the mail each day on the mat with the resigned habit of just checking.

On Wednesday, Sam had had a particularly wearing day in school. Jimmy Richards had been caught stealing another child’s tooth to try and extort extra money out of the tooth fairy. Bethany-May had managed to make her whole group of friends hysterical in front of a school inspector over a class pet hamster who had somehow been let out of his cage, (by whom she had yet to determine) and to cap it all off, Peter Davies chose that very same day to bring up his entire lunch all over Lucy Eccles’ lovely long hair.

Sam walked into the house and dropped her bike helmet and bag to the floor. Her mum walked out of the kitchen to greet her. “Oh. As bad as that, was it?”

“Worse.”

Sam’s mum ushered her inside and sat her down with a cup of tea while she heard all about Sam’s miserable day. She tried very hard not to laugh, but by the end of the tale even Sam could see the funny side of things and she felt a whole lot better. “It’s all right for you,” she said. “You only had one child to deal with, I’ve got 28 and Jimmy’s got to count for at least two.”

Mrs Litton laughed. “I’m sorry, dear, but you just couldn’t write the stuff you come home with,” she said, composing herself again.

“Something smells nice,” Sam said.

“Baked ham,” her mum told her.

Sam sniffed at her hands. “Ugh! I stink of sick.”

Mrs Litton smiled and told Sam to go for a nice warm shower and wash her hair as there was plenty of time before tea.

The following day, all was well with the world again. Mary Appleby had a nice shiny fifty pence piece from the tooth fairy, all the pets stayed safely contained and no one was sick over anyone else. Sam cycled home feeling much better about the world. Her job was great, she had a lovely family and the weather was finally starting to feel like spring.

Sam got in and hung up her things. She found her mum sat at the dining room table with the local paper spread out in front of her.

“Anything interesting?” Sam asked.

“There might be actually, yes.”

Sam walked around the table and looked over her mother’s shoulder. Mrs Litton pointed to a terraced house, on the other side of town, with a tiny front garden and next to a street light. Sam looked at the price and then read on.

“What do you think?” her mum asked.

“Well, yes. It looks okay, doesn’t it?”

“Shall we have a drive past and nose about this weekend?”

“Yeah, why not.” She grinned excitedly. Have you got anything sorted out for tea?” she asked.

“Not yet. Your dad rang a short while ago. He’s popping round to Uncle Gerald’s after work, to help him with his car, so it’s just the two of us tonight.”

“Great. Let’s get a Chinese. My treat.”

“What a good idea, but I’ll pay. You can pay when we go to your house for tea.”

Sam laughed. “I won’t be able to afford a Chinese once I’ve got my own place.”

“So, we’ll eat beans on toast. But tonight, I’m paying.”

Half way across the world, Andy was settling into life in theatre. It was a basic way of life, with few of the luxuries of modern living that most people take for granted. Boredom was commonplace and the food, by necessity, was uninspiring.

The vast expanse of sky had been the first thing to hit him when he stepped off the plane in Kandahar. It had been the middle of the night but the sky was clear and it was hung with a myriad of stars. The atmosphere had changed perceptibly en route, with the excitement of the beginning of the flight subduing by mid-flight and then replaced with a more contained sense of tension by the end.

The empty stretchers on the plane had been a chilling reminder of where they were heading. When they transferred onto the Hercules for the short stretch to Helmand, donning helmets and body armour for a blacked-out approach, the adrenaline had definitely begun to flow.

Camp Bastion, in northern Helmand, was the closest to civilisation they had, with its facilities and air-con pods, but it carried with it its own shadows. The hospital for all the casualties was based there too. But for now, home was a forward operations base to the south near Lashkar Gar.

This was a compound that had been deserted by fleeing locals during some fierce fighting a couple of years before. Andy looked around him at his fellow soldiers. They were all back safe. Relief was expressed in the whoops and cries of the men in his team as they dispersed to their various corners and took off their kits.

Andy checked in with the guys who had been on guard that day, to see if there had been any more contact while they were away. There hadn’t. He looked about him. Piles of water bottles were stacked up under a tarp in one corner and Andy wished he could dive in and bathe in every single one. He was filthy. Dust had got in everything. Mud caked around the bottom of his legs from crossing the drainage ditches and tacking in and out of the fields. It baked hard in the sun as he walked and added to the considerable weight he carried around with him. He took off his helmet and started to remove his body armour. Tomorrow was their turn to man the base while the other team ventured out, so he could wash his clothes in the morning and they would dry out in the heat of the day. He checked his rifle and made sure it was clean and then went in search of food.

The following day they took a delivery of mail, one of the highlights of the week for most of them, but Andy didn’t lose too much sleep looking forward to it. A letter from his mum every couple of weeks and the odd parcel was the most he could expect. However, if one of the lads happened to have a birthday while they were there, you never knew what treat might wing its way over to them.

He decided to take personal responsibility for distributing the mail that day. He wandered through the compound calling out the names and delivering the post to each in turn. Some men got loads. Andy assumed they must have a harem back home constantly writing to them, while others got only one or two. Where they were, they received deliveries of mail about once a week. In larger bases there was internet communication, but he knew from experience that those in other more remote posts had it worse. He shoved his letter from his mother into his pocket and carried on calling out the names.

In a shady, mud-floored room in the corner of the compound Dean answered his call. Andy walked in and handed over a bundle of letters. Dean thanked him and started rifling through his post to see who his letters were from. Spike looked over at the number of letters Dean had received and rolled his eyes. Andy handed Spike his letter from home and he lay back and began to read.

“How’s Sam doing?” Andy asked, turning back to Dean momentarily before studying hard the name on the next letter in his hand.

Dean looked up. “Shit, check this out, guys.” He held out a picture of a girl Andy did not recognise. She was a blonde girl wearing a bikini and posing provocatively. Dean snatched the photo back. “Hey, don’t wear her out! Spike.” He held the photo up for Spike to see.

“Got any of those going spare?” Spike asked.

“I’ll swap you for your sister.”

“On your bike.”

“Your sister is my bike.”

“Piss off!” Spike launched a dirty sock across the room and the lads laughed. “Cocky little shit!” he mumbled.

Dean grinned and threw the sock back. He looked back to Andy, still standing in the room. “What?”

“Are you and Sam no longer an item?”

Dean rifled through his things and pulled out a handful of old letters. “Oh, I’ve got one in here from her too somewhere…” He flicked through, flipped a letter over and read the back. “Yeah, here you go. This one’s from her.”

Andy’s guts twisted. He wanted to tear him limb from limb for treating Sam so thoughtlessly, but he knew he couldn’t say a thing. “Who else have you heard from?” Andy asked.

“Oh you know, Mum and Dad, Jules, two from Soph, a couple of mates. How about you?”

“Parents.”

“Never mind, Prof.”

Andy stiffened and looked back at the letters in his hand. He turned and called out the next name in the stack.

A little while later Andy found a shady spot up against a wall and pulled out the letter from his mum. His older brother, Simon, had got engaged to a girl called Helen from some rich family in London and they were going there to meet them in a couple of weeks’ time. - Andy remembered the day he had told his parents he was getting married. For once he had done something right and everyone seemed happy… for a while. – But back to the present: Simon’s business was thriving and he had just bought a new Audi to drive around town. His dad was apparently fine and the garden was looking lovely. Great. He put the letter back in his pocket and felt Sam’s letter lying there.

After lunch it was his turn to go on watch. He manned the lookout post with his binoculars trained on the tree line. His men were in position, covering all sides of the compound.

Privacy wasn’t a word synonymous with army life and the letter languished in his pocket for a few days. Eventually it was rescued from being ruined by being washed and hidden away in Andy’s box of personal things. Finally, Andy decided he had to take a chance and write to Sam. But what was he to say? How could he write a letter without hurting her feelings? It took him a few days of racking his brains before he came up with an idea.

## Chapter 3

April arrived and with it, at last, a letter from Afghanistan. Sam got home from work and her mother greeted her, smiling from ear to ear. She pulled out a blue envelope from behind her back and Sam’s eyes lit up. “He wrote!”

Mrs Litton handed her the letter. “Go on. Go up and read it. I’ll have a cup of tea ready for when you get downstairs again.”

Sam hung her coat and helmet on the rack behind the door and skipped off upstairs, excited to finally be hearing news back from Dean. Humphrey followed her up the stairs, barking eagerly. He panted and wagged his tail at her feet as she sat on her bed carefully opening the folded envelope. He barked loudly and got the attention he desired. “Come up, Humph,” she said and patted the bed. Humphrey hopped up on to the bed beside her and rested his head on her lap. “It’s Dean,” she told him. “Let’s see what he has to say after all this time.”

Sam started to read and then checked the name at the bottom of the letter. She was confused. She checked a second time and then began to read again from the beginning. When she had finished she was at a loss as to what to make of it. She stared at the wall for a few minutes, trying to work through her thoughts. Eventually, she got up and took the letter downstairs. Humphrey seemed happier to stay where he was.

Sam found her mum in the living room, with the biscuit barrel open and a hot cup of tea waiting on the little table beside the settee. Sam walked over to her mother and handed her the letter. “What do you make of this?” she asked and took a seat by the cup of tea.

Mrs Litton’s brow furrowed in concern. She put down her cup of tea, reached for her glasses and started to read.

Dear Sam,

I know you will have been expecting a letter from Dean. Please do not concern yourself, he is quite well, but he has been moved with a small team of men to a rather remote checkpoint and therefore will unfortunately be unable to send or receive post for the duration of his time here. I know this must be hard for you and I wondered if you would care to write to me instead. I can keep you informed about how things are for us out here and maybe you would feel more connected in that way.

I will, of course, understand if you would rather not, but on my part, I would be honoured if you would write to me. It is always good to hear from home and how things are going back there. And to hear the song of a nightingale would be a cool relief in the blistering heat of an Afghan day.

Yours faithfully,

Andy Garrington

Mrs Litton looked down at the address on the back of the envelope. “Sergeant?” she said. She lay the letter down in her lap and looked at Sam. She took a deep breath and said nothing.

“I know,” Sam said. She had no idea what to think, or even how to feel. On the one hand she felt abandoned, foisted off onto the next available soldier as if one was just as good as the next. On the other hand, did that mean that Dean was in far more danger? He couldn’t write to her at all? Sam racked her brain for an explanation. Keeping in touch had never been Dean’s forte, it was true, but…

It occurred to her then that she may have just been dumped. Was this how soldiers did it? Passed you on to the next guy? How was she meant to feel about that? She liked Dean: he was charming and handsome and he made her laugh- but he was very unpredictable and definitely not reliable. But she did like him, a lot. If she’d known some of the other wives and girlfriends at the barracks, or The Patch, as they called it, she might be able to get some answers, but Dean never took her there, not once. Army life was still a foreign language to her. At least she could be pretty sure whatever he was doing, he wasn’t cheating on her.

“Do you know this Andy Garrington?” her mum asked.

“Sort of. I met him a couple of times with Dean.”

“What sort of chap is he? Is he nice?”

“Mum!”

“Not like that. I mean kind, considerate, that sort of thing, or was he, you know, laddish?”

“No, he seemed nice, quite quiet. Do you think he’s dumping me?”

“Who, Andy?”

“No, Dean.”

“I don’t think you could say that, not without something more… direct. But it’s strange, I’ll give you that. What are you going to do?”

Sam walked over and took back the letter. She shook her head. “I don’t know. It feels wrong to write to someone else, like I’m being unfaithful or something.”

“Yes, I can see that, but maybe it doesn’t have to be like that. This chap… Andy might not have anyone else to write to. You two could be like pen pals.”

“But what would I say to him?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Talk to him about your day, what the weather is doing, just pretend he’s another girl. It probably doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s the receiving of a letter, when somebody’s taken the time to write to you, that’s the special bit, not what they’ve actually written.”

“Mm, maybe.” Sam could see the sense in this, but it still felt very odd.

“Sleep on it. You don’t have to decide right now.”

Sam thanked her mum and went back upstairs, grabbing a couple of chocolate chip cookies from the biscuit barrel on the way. She still had plenty to do before school the next day.

That night Sam lay in bed thinking about the letter. If Dean had been sent to a remote outpost, why hadn’t he sent word before he left, or called? She tossed and turned on this matter for an hour or more and in the early hours of the morning found herself at her desk. It was cold in the night. The heating had long since gone off and Sam wrapped her fluffy dressing gown around her and hugged her knees up to her chest. She had a pile of forces’ blueys in her desk drawer just waiting for an excuse to be used. She picked one out and began to write.

Dear Andy,

I am not sure how to respond to your request, but thank you for thinking of me and taking the time to write. It seems strange to be writing to someone I barely know. I don’t even know what to say. What could I tell you that you might be interested in? I’m afraid that us writing would never really work, but keep safe and thank you again.

Sam.

The next day she posted it and then worried that she had done the wrong thing. She had assumed it was all over but just under a week later Sam received a second envelope.

Dear Sam,

Thank you so much for writing back. I know you feel uneasy about this and I can understand that. I am glad, though, that you did. We know little about each other, it is true, but are we not all strangers when first we meet? As for what to say? Say anything. Just to hear a kind voice and to know that somebody is thinking about you matters so much out here. Tell me about your day. Tell me about things you like doing and things you don’t. Tell me about yourself and soon we will no longer be strangers. Shall I go first?

My name is Andy Garrington. I am 28 and a sergeant in B Company, 9 Rifles. I am not married and have no kids. I was born in Surrey, where my parents still live. I studied English at Bristol University, before joining the lower ranks of the army at 22, much to my father’s disappointment – he would have had me in officer training – but there we had to disagree.

Likes? – Fish and chips/ rock-climbing/ marmite/ kayaking/ loyalty and the colour red.

Dislikes? – Horoscopes/ dishonesty/ Facebook/ moaners/ gherkins and Sellotape.

So there you have it. Now you know everything there is to know about me. I doubt you have any bizarre idiosyncrasies that could compete with mine. You’re probably far more together and self-assured.

Yours,

Andy

Sam felt a quiver of excitement ripple through her, like a schoolgirl with a new boyfriend, a new boyfriend she couldn’t tell anyone about. She reminded herself that he was not actually her boyfriend, merely a pen pal that she was writing to while she waited to hear where she stood with Dean. She pulled out a fresh bluey from her drawer and poised over it for a minute, deciding what to say, and then she put pen to paper.

Dear Andy,

Thank you for your letter. It certainly made me smile. So you think I have no little foibles of my own, do you? Well, you’re in for a surprise. After this you may well decide to go and join Dean at his remote check post just to escape. I hope you’re sitting comfortably, because this may take some time!

You know my name – Samantha Litton – but the secret I have been burdened with all my life is a hideous middle name (Gayle!!!) Tell a soul and I will have you shot! This must never be referred to again. It’s an old family name and I hate it. I am 24 years old, 25 next week and as you probably know, a teacher. I teach six to seven year olds at a local school, which has its moments, I can tell you. You may do battle with the Taliban on a daily basis, but until you have faced-down a class full of riotous six year olds you know nothing of torture! (I’m joking. I can’t imagine what you are going through over there. If it is something you feel able to talk about I would like to try and understand if I can.)

Anyway. I’m currently back living with Mum and Dad, but am searching for a place of my own. One looked promising the other day, but when we went round to look at it, it was falling to bits. Oh well. Soon, maybe.

So, as for idiosyncrasies? Well it may be difficult to beat Sellotape - ??? You’re going to have to explain that one.

Likes? - Music - particularly Dido and Stevie Nicks (blame my Mum), singing in the shower, Humphrey (my wonderful little Westie), Marmite, of course, fresh linen and summer days.

Dislikes? – Drunk people (they scare me) and bagpipes – surely that has to count as bizarre?

Over here the days are getting warmer and the gardens and parks are looking lovely.

Are you still there, or have you run away? If I don’t hear back again I’ll know the verdict.

All the best,

Sam.

PS Do you have a middle name that can be spoken of?

Sam folded up the big blue page stuffed with writing and hurried off to the post box at the end of the road to send it.

On Sam’s birthday the girls met up at Kate’s house to go ice-skating. They packed into Chloe’s red Polo and drove off to the edge of town. Inside it was chilly. They strapped themselves into the uncomfortable boots and tottered over to the gate. At first they were all a bit unsteady. It had been a while since they had stepped out onto the ice. Sam and Kate held onto the edge on their first time round, but a few circuits in, they were finding their balance, some more than others, and they began to glide around with not too many bumps and scrapes.

After forty minutes they came sailing off for a drink at the side. They clomped across the rubber mats to the café at the end of the rink and sat down. Sam was enjoying herself immensely and had a big smile on her face.

“You seem unnaturally happy tonight,” Chloe said. “Have you won the lottery, or something?”

Sam shook her head. “No. I’m just having fun. It is my birthday.”

Kate looked at Sam. “No. She’s right. There’s something else. You’re not normally this chirpy.”

“Are you saying I’m normally a miserable cow? Thanks very much, guys.”

Kate licked her lips and looked at Sam. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”

Sam didn’t say a word.

“You haven’t finally heard from Dean, have you?”

Sam shook her head. “No.”

The girls waited to see if Sam would spill. They watched her face in silence.

Sam felt the weight of expectation on her. She was desperate to tell them all about Andy, but what would they think? Surely she was being a complete bitch? Or was she doing the right thing? She hesitated on the brink of speaking for many moments and then she cracked. She pulled a pained face. “There is somebody.”

“Go girl! I never thought you had it in you.” Kate said, loudly.

“What about Dean?” Chloe asked.

“Oh bugger Dean,” Kate shot in, “he’s been crap anyway. Tell me everything.” Her eyes shone with excitement.

Sam took a deep breath and told them about the letter. Both girls agreed it was odd, but after a quick recap through Dean’s lack of boyfriend-like communication even before he left, they quickly lost interest in the moral dilemma and wanted to know about Sam’s new man.

When Sam told them the name of the other guy Kate sat back in her chair. She nodded in understanding. “Yep,” she said.

“What do you mean, ‘yep’?” Sam asked.

“Oh you have to have seen that coming? Not the disappearance of Dean, I mean, but Andy.”

Sam and Chloe looked puzzled.

Kate sighed and leaned forward on the table.

“Why did I say I walked out of the date we had a few months back?”

Sam wracked her brains. “It was something to do with your mum, wasn’t it? No, wait, you thought he liked me more than you, didn’t you? But-”

Kate was shaking her head impatiently. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you. I told you. Andy, that is. I might as well have turned up butt-naked with ‘shag me witless’ tattooed across my arse. He wouldn’t have noticed.”

Sam was stunned. Her mouth fell open. “Do you think I should stop writing to him?”

“Hell no! He’s a hot guy who’s actually paying some attention to you, instead of leading you a merry dance. Don’t you dare stop writing to him.”

“But what about Dean? He is still my boyfriend, technically. And what if he is stuck out somewhere where he can’t write to me?”

“He may not be able to get online, but I seriously doubt he can’t do anything.”

“What’s he like then, this new chap?” Chloe asked.

Sam’s heart fluttered and her eyes lit up. “I don’t know. But I get this feeling about him that I can’t explain. He’s nice.” She smiled despite herself.

“Nice is good. It makes a change for you.”

Sam gave Chloe an offended look. “Yeah, all right. I know. I’m rubbish when it comes to men.”

The girls nodded. “But this one is nice?” Chloe asked, “and hot?”

Kate nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“So? What else?”

Sam told them most of what she knew about Andy from the two letters she had received and the girls did their best to allay the guilt she was harbouring about the way she was feeling about him.

“My mum said that in other wars, girls wrote to soldiers on the front line as a sort of morale thing” Sam said.

Kate grinned. “You don’t want to ask your fella to get me a hunky soldier to write to, do you, Sam?”

“And me,” said Chloe. “Ooh, you could be the forces matchmaker.”

“Tell you what Chlo’, let’s go back to my place and take some fab pictures of us and then Sam can send them out to her fella and get us a couple of gorgeous guys to write to.” She turned to Sam. “We don’t have to actually physically write to them, do we?”

“No. I think you can do it online. I looked into it when Dean first went out there.”

“What do you think, Chlo? Are you up for it?”

“Absolutely! Right, I think that’s enough exercise for me for one week.”

The girls clambered their way down to the boot kiosk and released their aching feet. With their faces rosy from exercise and their eyes bright with excitement, the girls laughed and joked as they walked back to the car and, picking up a burger on the way, they hurried home to get the ball rolling.

Sam sat on Kate’s bed while the other two got ready. She wondered how their plan was going to work. “You know he may not know any single guys for you to write to,” she warned them.

“Course he will,” Kate said. “Who wouldn’t want a bit of this?” She pulled a sexy pose. Sam rolled her eyes. “Just tell him to get me one with big muscles, all right? And preferably, this time, someone who’s not madly in love with you.”

“He is not!” Sam protested.

“Yeah? Well, we’ll see. Muscles, remember.”

“I’m not guaranteeing anything,” Sam said, amused at the silly way her two friends were acting that night. “Smile.” Sam took some shots. “You’re both barking mad. You’re loons.”

A couple of days later the welcome blue post dropped onto the mat again after Sam had arrived home from a stressful day at school. Parents’ evening was coming up and there was a lot of paperwork to see to before she was ready. She had spent half the afternoon trying to get the classroom in order, but what with Jimmy’s gluing calamity and Rochelle, the new girl in class, in a state over wetting herself on her first day in school it was a bit of an uphill struggle. It was almost five o’clock before she got home. As soon as she took off her bike helmet she saw it there. It was lying on the dresser, just inside the kitchen door. Sam smiled. She hurried inside and grabbed the letter, calling out a greeting to her mum as she swept in and out again and off up to her room. She ignored the whimpering of Humphrey at the bottom of the stairs, wanting to be carried up, and raced up the stairs to open the letter. It was long.

Dear Sam,

Happy Birthday!

I hope you have a wonderful day. It was so good to hear from you. Life here is pretty basic. I seem to spend half my time out and about getting covered in mud and dirt and the other half trying to wash it off again. Why is there never a Hotpoint around when you need one? I tell you, you wouldn’t want to sing in our showers – you wouldn’t reach the end of the first chorus and the water would have run out. Although I have no objection to you trying if you should feel so inclined.

What do we do out here? Well much of our task these days is diplomacy. We still have to patrol contentious areas like schools and clinics and keep roads clear for safe access, but more and more there is a limit on what we can actually do and more emphasis on assisting the local forces. Which I guess is how it will have to be if we are ever going to get out of here, but it’s a little frustrating for the men. There has been far less contact with the Taliban than the last time I was out here, which has its pros and cons. At least in a face-to-face fight you know who your enemy is.

Try not to worry; we don’t have it too bad out here. We have a laugh when we can. Anyway, enough seriousness. Back to those peculiar foibles of yours!!! I’m shocked. I thought you were a normal girl!?!

I promise never ever to mention the middle name (although I fail to see why it’s so bad?) and in compensation for this spectacular show of faith I will also admit to one thing the guys must never, EVER find out about me: I am a big fan of bird watching. There, I’ve said it, I’m a twitcher, but if you speak a word of this to anyone else, I will have to shoot you!

So, bagpipes, huh? We’ll get back to that one later.

Sam turned over the page.

Okay… the Sellotape… I was badly traumatised as a child by a mother who wrapped every exciting present I ever had with rolls and rolls of Sellotape, leaving not a single edge to help me in my quest to get to the prize beneath. I’m still having counselling about that one. As for middle names? No. Not one that can be mentioned.

Write soon, with photos.

Andy

Sam picked up the photos that had dropped out of the letter. She looked at them. The first one was of Andy with the lads standing in T-shirts and combats, posing in front of a mud wall and the other was of Andy by himself. Sam gazed at the photo. Yes, that’s what he looked like. He was gorgeous. Why hadn’t she noticed before? He was lean, his arms were well muscled, his hair was dark, almost black and his eyes were…she couldn’t tell what colour, and he had a kind smile. She gently stroked the picture and bit her bottom lip. He reminded her a little of someone, but she couldn’t think who.

Sam placed the photo at the back of her desk, facing her and looked at the other. She flipped it over. ‘The lads,’ it said. Underneath, in small writing, Andy had written the names of all the soldiers in the picture. ‘Spike, Miller, Harding, Lofty, Zippo, Baker, Evans and Me. And the one in the background unaware he was being photographed is Lt Durbin’. Sam looked closely and noticed the tiny figure at the back that looked like he was picking his nose. She laughed and placed the second picture alongside the first.

She wrote straight back.

Dear Andy,

I was so sad to hear about your tragic childhood. I hope the therapy is doing some good. Sorry to disappoint on the ‘normal’ front, but at least we will always have Marmite! As for our feathered friends? Your secret is safe with me.

I am enclosing photos of two of my best friends. Kate is the blonde one. She is also 24. She’s bubbly and always popular with the boys. Chloe is the one with dark hair. She’s 21 and the more reserved of the two, although the photos may suggest otherwise. The point is they are currently without boyfriends and were wondering if there were any nice single guys out there who would like to write to them. Oh yes, and Kate requested someone with big muscles. I’m sorry, you can’t take her anywhere. Do you think you could help?

Surely any middle name you could come up with couldn’t be worse than mine? I’m intrigued. What are we talking about here? Bartholomew? Alfred? Lesley?

Thank you for your photos. They are up on my desk, looking at me as I write.

What are the children like out there? Are they very different from over here?

What do you miss when you are away?

Write soon,

Love, Sam

Sam looked at the ending: Love Sam. Should she have put that? Was that too much? He might just see it as friendly. She drummed her fingers on the desk. Her stomach tightened and she folded up the letter and walked it down to the post box already anxious about the reply.

## Chapter 4

Andy was out on patrol. They had been given the task of maintaining a presence at the local bazaar. He walked along the street, alert and vigilant. The enemy, he knew, could be anywhere and anyone. The sun shone down without mercy. Despite this, he felt like this was a good day. The local people seemed relaxed and happy. Children smiled and waved as traders went about their business. Days were not always like this. Some days Andy had been out patrolling the same ground and muted faces had stared back, afraid. Children looked on in silence and people hid away. These were the days when anything could happen. In Afghanistan, people who looked scared always had good reason.

A small group of boys kicking something that looked like a dried up old fruit started to walk along beside him. Andy smiled at them. The patrol stopped and Andy shook their hands, still very much aware of what was going on around him. He got the order to move off again and signalled to his team. One of the boys kicked the makeshift ball out into his path by mistake, and Andy deftly back-heeled it to them as he passed, winking as he did. It was the little things like this that made his day.

Back safe in the compound when the patrol was over and everyone was at ease, Andy was handed his mail. His face struggled hard not to give away his delight, as he removed himself to a shady corner and carefully opened his letter.

He read, too quickly. He should not be so rushed. He read again, word by beautiful word. She had written some more about herself and Andy needed to know. He needed to know everything about her. He remembered little from before. They hadn’t spent much time talking about the past, only the present, their holiday and what they were going to do in the future. He looked at the photos. You stupid girl, he thought fondly to himself. I didn’t want pictures of your mates, I wanted them of you.

He rummaged around in his things for the means to reply.

Dear Sam,

When I asked for pictures, I meant pictures of you! Don’t worry, I have a couple of chaps in mind for your friends and if I’m wrong, it won’t be long before I find some willing volunteers. But I won’t let them see the photos until they agree, or I could have half the platoon wanting to write to them, and a lot of them are married!

You asked about children out here. We frequently come across groups of children and mostly they are very friendly. They smile at us and shake our hands, but the more unsure ones just watch us with big round eyes. I’ve learned a few words from our translator that help to break the ice, but we see little in the way of bad behaviour. Maybe you should try carrying a rifle around at school and see if your kids’ behaviour improves!?!

I like the sound of Humphrey. How long have you had him? Is he yours, or your family’s? Do you think he would like me?

He paused, unsure of how to go on. Should he let on a little of how he felt, or would that just scare her off? Maybe if he was light-hearted about it?

Back to your list of likes and dislikes – Do you have any idea how many letters I receive every week? Maybe you think I have hordes of mail. A good-looking chap like me, of course I do. Actually, no. Apart from my mother’s ramblings once every couple of weeks, telling me just how wonderful my brother is, there is only you. Shocked? I know, it’s unbelievable! Then you must be able to see how dangerous it is to write the words ‘shower’ and ‘fresh linen’ so close together in a letter to a soldier on a six month tour… Beautiful woman, shower, bed… Bagpipes, bagpipes, bagpipes! Okay. I’m all right again now.

Tell me about the kids you teach and about the parks in bloom.

Send me a picture, please.

Your lonely soldier,

Andy

PS Middle name? – Not even close!

Was that too much? Andy almost screwed it up and started again. But he stopped. Faint heart never won fair maid, he thought, and sealed it up and wrote her address carefully on the front.

He wrote the name, age and address of both the girls on the back of their photos and shoved them in his pocket then folded up Sam’s letter, placing it neatly away with the others he had hiding in his things. Deed done.

Sam read Andy’s next letter and blushed. She had never intended to be provocative. It had been an honest mistake. Well, not a mistake, but she had never even thought how her words might make him feel. ‘Beautiful woman’ he had said. Her? He was picturing her. Sam’s stomach clenched. What was this she was feeling? She looked at the photo smiling at her from the back of her desk. But there was Dean. So how should she reply?

Dear Andy,

I’m not sure where the school stands on teachers carrying arms in class, but I shall certainly look into it.

Humphrey is mine. I’ve had him about 18 months and he’s adorable. But would he like you? Probably not. He’s not very good at sharing my attention, but don’t be afraid, he’s not the kind of dog to savage a man. He might lick you to death, but apart from the odd yap, he’s completely harmless.

I bike through a beautiful park on the way to school and back every day. The grass is very green at the moment because we have had quite a bit of rain. The borders are full of colour and the pond is dappled with quacking ducks. A weeping willow hangs lazily on one side and I have to duck down under its branches on my way through. I know I shouldn’t be riding through the park, but there’s no one around at that time of the morning, so don’t tell, okay?

What do you get up to in your time off? Do you get time off? I’m sorry; I’m a bit of an idiot when it comes to knowing anything about the army.

It got up to 22 degrees over here today. How hot is it with you?

I’ve got parents’ evenings coming up this week - ugh! - So long days and lots of work for me. I need my pillow.

Write soon,

Your weary schoolteacher,

Sam

PS gargoyles don’t keep pictures of themselves! I could describe myself if that would do?

PPS Heathcliff?

Three days later a small terraced house came up for sale on the edge of town. It was an old place, but it had been well kept and updated over the years. It had one good-sized bedroom, a little room and a bathroom upstairs and a living room, cloakroom and kitchen downstairs. Sam took her mum and dad along to see it, hoping for their approval and she wasn’t disappointed. Sam had been left a large amount of money by her grandmother a few years before and had been saving as much as she could ever since to afford a place of her own. So when the next letter arrived, she had plenty of news to tell.

Dearest Sam,

You obviously still have no idea how many times I read your letters. Can I just say that your turn of phrase is destroying me? How is a guy supposed to concentrate on killing all the bad guys when the words ‘lick to death’, ‘hot’ and ‘pillow’ are swimming around in his brain? What are you trying to do to me?! And if you think you’re going to get away without sending me a picture of you, you’ve got another thing coming. Gargoyle, indeed! You’re beautiful. I have met you, remember. If you can manage to look at a picture of my ugly mug and still put pen to paper, I’m sure I can look at you. And no, a description will not do. Unless it is in the style of a hot Mills and Boon novel, of course? Ahhh! Bagpipes! No, I couldn’t take it!!! Nuns. Nuns. Okay.

I take it this is a pushbike you ride every day? You’re not a Hell’s Angel, are you? The park sounds wonderful. What I wouldn’t give to walk barefoot around the soft green grass in that park right now.

Yes. In answer to your question, we do get down time. Some guys play cards, some listen to music. There is time to write letters and re-read old ones. The mundane things that back home would take a matter of minutes take a lot longer out here, as everything has to be done by hand, so that fills up a bit of time too. Guys like Spike tend to keep fit - tell your friend Kate to expect a letter very soon – and others like Karl – Chloe’s guy – just top up their tans. My hidden talent, it seems, lies in poker. I’m getting pretty good, even if I do say so myself.

The weather out here is hot, with intermittent bouts of scorching sun to break-up the monotony. It got up to a balmy forty three today! I’ll send you some over if you like.

Write soon, WITH PHOTOS!

Yours,

Andy x

PS Still no!

Sam had reached a watershed. To go on now would be to admit there was more to this relationship than just friendship. Friendly banter had gone and flirtation was now definitely on the table. Was this really what she wanted?

For the first time, Sam decided not to write back straight away. She understood this would mean the reply would also be delayed because of this, but it was important to be sure of what to say. She pushed the letter to the back of her desk and looked hard at the handsome soldier who smiled back at her from there. She rang Kate and arranged to go out the following night and then went downstairs to see her mum.

After a while, her mum said, “You’re not your usual self tonight, love. Is anything wrong?”

Sam shook her head.

“Only you’re usually full of the joys of spring after you’ve had a letter.”

Sam thought about this. “Just a tiring day, I guess.”

“But the house is still going ahead all right, isn’t it? No problems there?”

“Oh yes, fine.”

“Right then. Lasagne and chips okay?”

The following evening, Sam met Kate at a pub in town and confided her dilemma. Kate had few reservations about what Sam should do. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’re worried that you might be two-timing a guy who may or may not be bothered about writing to you and was basically a bit crap when he was around anyway, with a dark brooding horny Adonis who thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread? And you are hesitating because…?”

“You’re probably right, I know. But what if Dean really is in the back of beyond? What sort of a woman would that make me?”

Kate took a big swig of her drink. “You’re thinking way too much about this. Just go with it. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not exactly life or death. I say screw Dean and go with Andy.”

“Put so eloquently, now I see perfectly what I need to do.” Sam sagged. “Oh, why are men so complicated?”

“They’re not. They’re very simple. It’s basic science, Sam. Effort equals results. Andy is the one making all the effort. He should be the one getting the result.”

“You were awake in Science class. I’m impressed.”

Kate thumped her playfully.

“Still,” said Sam, “it would be nice to know, one way or the other.”

When Sam did eventually write back she felt it was important to maintain a holding position of friendliness. Not dismissive enough so as to put him off, but nor should she give him any reason to hope. She crafted her letter very carefully, giving herself more time to think, but still keeping the lines of communication open between them.

Dear Andy,

Great news: I have found a house. I put an offer in on a little terraced house a week or so ago and it has been accepted. It is all systems go at the moment, so keep your fingers crossed that it all goes well. I’m hoping I can move in over half term week. Mum and Dad will probably hold a party to celebrate finally getting rid of me – not really! I think Mum will secretly be sad to see me go. Who will she cluck over when I’m gone? Dad? I’m not sure he’s ready for that.

So, my own place? Wow. All it will have in it is a beanbag, a dog and a laptop, but it will be all mine. I think I may have to do a lot of shopping over the next few weeks, don’t you?

Now, Rumplestiltskin, about that middle name. Is it Timothy? Sheldon? Sturgis? Ooo, I know, Rupert? I’m not giving up on this, you know.

Write when you can,

Sam

PS Kate has heard from Spike and she’s grinning from ear to ear. Thank you.

She checked through the letter again to make sure nothing could be construed as suggestive. No, it was fine, not too cool and she had stuck to safe topics. She called Humphrey over and tickled him under the chin. His stubby little tail wagged happily. “Walk, Humph?” she asked. She carried him down the stairs and walked out up the road, stopping briefly at the post box along the way.

On Sunday night, Kate rang. Apparently she had walked in on her mother having a chat with Mrs Fletcher, her next-door neighbour and she had asked if there was any news from Dean. His mother had said he was fine and seemed to be in good spirits.

“But how could she know?” Sam asked.

“I know. So I asked her, just for interest, how often she gets to hear from him and you’ll never guess what? He only writes every week. And I’m afraid she also mentioned meeting his girlfriend in town the other day.”

Sam was silent. How could he? He hadn’t even had the decency to break up with her. She was hurt. No, she was angry.

“Look, Sam, I’m sorry, but I always said he was no good. At least now you know you can forget about him and get nice and friendly with Andy. Guilt free.”

Sam heaved a big sigh. “What is it with men and me, Kate?”

“Oh, you’re just one in a long line of girls that have been taken in by that one, I’m sure of it. Cheer up, you’re free.”

Sam swapped ears and paused. “Hang on a minute. But that also means that Andy lied to me about Dean.”

This time it was Kate’s turn to come unstuck. “I guess.”

“Oh bloody men! Bugger them all, that’s what I say.” Humphrey whimpered in his bed. “Not you, Humph. You’re lovely,” she called across her room and patted her lap and Humphrey happily obliged.

“Give me five minutes. I’m coming over,” said Kate.

Kate arrived soon after and gave Sam a big hug. “Come on, let’s put some music on and stick pins in a Plasticine man.”

“I haven’t got any Plasticine,” Sam said.

“Call yourself a teacher? You’ve got to have some Plasticine somewhere?”

“Yes. At school.”

“Oh well, we’ll improvise.” Kate searched around Sam’s room for inspiration and started looking through her music collection. Various sounds of dismay and disbelief were uttered as she sifted through the stack of CDs. “At last. This’ll have to do. At least it’s recent and not miserable to listen to,” she said and she popped on some Pussycat Dolls. Kate jumped up and started singing along with the tunes. “Come on. Up you get!” she said and dragged Sam reluctantly to her feet.