Pieces of Me Read online

  A thick forearm pinned my head back against the concrete.

  But it wasn’t who I thought.

  “Kieran, what the fu—?”

  “Sssshhhhhh,” he said. I tried to scream but struggled to suck in air.

  The other hand was already fumbling at my waistband, his fingers forcing their way between flesh and jeans. I had always known that this was a risk, but I didn’t want to believe it was happening. Not now, like this. Not him. Not me.

  “I saved you from that creep. Don’t you owe me one?” he asked.

  He pushed his fat warm tongue into my mouth and all I felt was rage. Fight, my brain shouted. Fucking fight.

  I bit down, my teeth sinking into soft flesh.

  He pushed me away and the back of my head hit the concrete of the blast wall, but I felt nothing.

  “Argh!”

  He bent forwards, hand over his mouth, then started to stand.

  “You crazy fucking bitch, Emma. I’ll—”

  I never heard what he would do. My feet were already carrying me at a sprint back to the bar.

  A warning message pops up in the middle of my laptop screen, obscuring Anna’s face and telling me that my battery is low. I pick up the laptop and move from the sofa to the kitchen island, where I plug in the cable and perch on a stool.

  “Okay, enough Iraq talk,” says Anna. “On to more important stuff. Have you found me a cowboy yet?”

  “Not yet,” I smile. “There aren’t too many of them coming into the art shop.”

  “What about at the bars?’

  “If you go to the right one, I guess…” I say.

  “Have you been out much since he left?” she asks.

  “No, not really.” The truth is I haven’t been out to a bar on my own since what happened in Baghdad. It makes me feel on edge.

  “God, Em, a normal social life is the main reason for not living in a conflict zone. Make the most of it!”

  I hate to admit it, but she’s right. We spent many evenings in Baghdad playing “If I were in London…” describing the bars we’d go to, the food we’d eat, the places we’d dance.

  “There’s a night out next week for the team wives,” I tell her. “Some kind of morale-boosting thing. But I wasn’t going to go.”

  “You should!” she tells me. “It’ll be good for you. Worst-case scenario is it will be awful, and you’ll have some great stories for me.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

  “What’s to think ab—”

  Anna is interrupted by a familiar sound. My body tingles with recognition. My limbs want to push me off the stool and onto the ground. I am too close to the window and I need to move away from the threat of shattered glass. There is nowhere to hide under the kitchen island. I will have to crawl across the floor, get under the coffee table. Now comes the voice.

  Incoming. Incoming. Incoming.

  “Anna?”

  Anna’s face has been suspended momentarily in a look of surprise. Her face blurs back into movement and I can see that she is moving her mouth, but the sound is disjointed, chopping up her voice.

  “Got to… Em… to go… I’ll—”

  I think I hear a low thud, but I cannot be sure. Anna’s face disappears and my laptop falls quiet. Silence fills my house, but in my head the alarm continues to ring. I focus on trying to steady my breathing, on trying to calm the rush of adrenaline that is screaming through my limbs and telling me that I should be on the floor, hands over my head, taking cover too. A pop-up box on Skype asks me about the quality of my call. I try to close it, but my hands are shaking. I wait, but Anna does not log back on.

  I walk a few steps across the kitchen and with each movement my legs feel like liquid or jelly or anything without bone, anything that will fail to carry the weight of a body. I slowly pour myself another glass of the wine and try to focus on the pale liquid as it fills my glass.

  I check Skype again.

  Anna is offline.

  Anna is on the floor. Her hands are over the back of her head. The incoming alarm is loud, but the thuds are louder. The tremors move in shock waves through her body. She is alone. She closes her eyes and counts and breathes and tells herself she is fine. I am not there.

  I take three large gulps of wine. I start searching Google and Twitter and Facebook for any news about attacks in Baghdad or attacks on the IZ, but there is nothing. Not that there would be anyway. I check Skype again.

  Anna is offline.

  Anna is under her bed. Dust is in her eyes and nostrils and mouth and lungs. Blood oozes from a cut on her arm. Her ears ring. I am not there.

  I leave my laptop and sit on the sofa in the living room instead. I turn on the television, but there is a show with a car crash and a close-up of a woman with a gash on her face and blood running out of her ear. I turn it off. I get up and return to the kitchen.

  Anna is offline.

  Anna is under her bed, but there is no bed now because the ceiling collapsed and heavy rubble crashed down and now there is only darkness and no bed and no Anna and I was not there.

  I wander from room to room in the house. It feels large and empty. I go and stand in the garden without a jacket and let the cold bite at my arms. My skin raises and my jaw judders and I hope that the cold will numb my thoughts or at least cause a pain that distracts me from my fears.

  I do not know how long I am out there, but eventually I return inside and the house is uncomfortably warm. I check my laptop.

  Anna is offline.

  But there is an email.

  Subject: All fine

  Hi Em. Sorry about that! Stupid incoming getting in the way of our catch-up. Did it remind you of the old days?! All fine here – apparently it’s mostly VBC that’s taking a hitting. Internet is patchy so I can’t get back on Skype, but let’s talk again soon. Anna xx

  VBC. Adam.

  Another email arrives.

  Subject: Sorry

  Shit, Emma, sorry. I sent that without thinking. I’m sure Adam’s fine. You know what these things are like – more of annoyance than a risk! VBC is huge. It’s probably nowhere near him. Xx

  I want to email Adam. I’ve already emailed him today, so I need to think of an excuse. I can’t tell him about the real reason or what happened with Anna. He will say I am panicking, that I should know better. It is late in Baghdad now. Perhaps he is in bed already.

  Subject: Anna says hi

  Hi love. I had a Skype date with Anna today. She said to say hi, so I thought I’d email you to say hi from Anna. She’s going to check for Ali on the database. How was your evening?

  Love, Emma

  He responds straight away.

  Subject: Re: Anna says hi

  Hi babe. Good to hear you had a catch-up with Anna. Tell her I say hi back! Fingers crossed for news on Ali. I’ve had a quiet evening here. Watching a movie, then heading to bed. Another exciting day in the sandbox! Enjoy the rest of your day.

  Love ya,

  Adam

  I wonder whether he has really been watching a film, or if he has been laying on the floor with his hands over the back of his head. He would not tell me if he had. There are moments of war that you keep to yourself in the hope of protecting those you love. These are not lies, but omissions. Of course, there is no protecting them really. Sometimes the imagination is worse than reality.

  This is what we do. We try not to mix life out there with the real world. That way, when you come home, it can’t follow you back. At least that’s what we tell ourselves.

  Adam does not know about the blast wall and the arm across my neck and the blood in my mouth. That’s how I know he leaves things out when we talk. Because I do too.

  28

  Hi Em,

  SO good to catch up last night! I miss talking to you. Stupid incoming for cutting us short!

  I checked out Ali. He was on the system. He came in for an interview with us in July, but then there were some hold ups with his background checks on the military side
– not sure what. Anyway, that got sorted and he was scheduled for the second interview in March, but he never turned up. Nothing after that. Sorry.

  Let’s talk again soon. AND GO ON THE NIGHT OUT.

  Remember my motto: Do it for the story.

  Love

  Anna xx

  Hey babe,

  Thank Anna for checking. It doesn’t surprise me he was on the system. I don’t have a good feeling about it, but I’ll keep digging. Someone must know something.

  Love ya,

  Adam

  29

  Today I wake up in the middle of the bed. When he left, it seemed wide and empty. I woke each morning to the reminder of his absence, staring at a pillow no longer curved from the weight of his head.

  At first I continued to sleep on my side, but my back felt cold without the warmth of a body to curl into. I learnt to fill the space that he left. Now I sleep on my front, my face in the hollow where our two pillows meet. My legs stretch out and I rest a hand where his face used to be.

  My morning routine is gentle. I get up slowly, make coffee and take my mug into the back garden to enjoy the early sunlight. I water the flowers I planted before he left. The flower beds were just patches of bare soil then, but now there is growth. Sometimes I take a photo to show him. Sometimes I just sit and absorb the quiet. Sometimes I feel guilty that I can be happy when he is not here.

  Tonight is the team wives’ night out. Kate laughed when I said I was going, but encouraged me.

  “Why not?” she said. “You should get the full wives’ experience. Just drink before you get there and it will make the whole thing more enjoyable.”

  “Can’t I convince you to come with me?”

  “Without alcohol? No thanks! But I can’t wait to hear how it goes.”

  We are going to Cowboys, the bar where I saw the Military Police the first time I came to Colorado. I am still not entirely sure I want to go, but I should. Anna is right. I should be making the most of life here. Olivia will be there and a couple of the other wives I have met. There is one called Sally who is also a yoga instructor. I’ve seen her around the commissary wearing lots of Lycra and brightly coloured hairbands that hold back her long dark hair. She reminds me of Jessica and Jessica makes me think of Sampath, but I don’t want to think of that now. Not today. Today I just want to be normal.

  At work I tell Penny that I am going out tonight. I keep announcing it to the world, as if telling lots of people will stop me backing out. As if they will hold me accountable.

  “Good luck with that, sweetie,” she says. “Watch out for all those handsy young soldiers.”

  “Penny! I’m a married woman,” I laugh.

  “You think that makes a difference to them?”

  I know it doesn’t, I want to tell her.

  It is evening and I start to get ready. I put on the cheesy nineties RnB playlist that made Anna famous at UN compound parties and pour a glass of wine. When I get in the shower, the glass of wine comes with me. I do things like that now I live alone. After the shower, I pour another glass of wine, turn up the music and blow-dry my hair. Two glasses of wine in and going out doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

  I stand in front of the open wardrobe, trying to work out what to wear. I’ve been living in jeans and T-shirts since he left.

  The first dress I put on is Adam’s favourite. It is a bright blue that makes my skin appear more tanned than it is. It skims my knee and has a slit that Adam likes because it shows off my legs. I turn in front of the mirror. I remember the first night I wore it and how we missed the restaurant reservation. I do not want to wear it when he is not here.

  Instead I choose black jeans and heels and a dark green silk blouse. I run my fingertips over the material. The silk slides across my skin. For a moment, I feel lonely. I shake my head and return to the mirror, trying to get used to this unfamiliar version of myself.

  When I first moved to Colorado, each day of getting dressed was a struggle. In Baghdad I had limited options. I never thought about what to wear, I just put something on. But Colorado was different. My Baghdad clothes were boiled and threadbare. My England clothes were too… British. Everything I put on made me feel more out of place. Eventually I went to the outdoor clothing store and now, at least from the outside, I look like everyone else. It is my words that give me away.

  One more glass of wine and I am almost ready to go. I put on some lipstick but I have not worn it for so long that it looks clownish. I change my mind and rub it off again, leaving my lips red and raw. I check my handbag for money, ID, keys. I pick up my phone to add to my bag and there is an email from him.

  Hey. Are you around for Skype?

  I pause. It is 8pm in Colorado and zero five hundred hours in Baghdad. Early. He could be on his way out or on his way in. Or there could be something wrong. I reply.

  Just heading downtown with the team wives. Can stay in if you need to talk though. All okay?

  I think about putting down my bag and taking off my shoes. They’re uncomfortable anyway. I could sit on the sofa and talk to Adam and it could almost be a normal Saturday evening. It’s been more than a week since our last Skype conversation and I miss the sound of his voice.

  The reply comes back quickly.

  Team wives? Wow, that was unexpected. No worries, all fine here. I’ll try to catch you tomorrow. Love ya.

  I reply Love you too. I put my phone in my handbag and head out the door, leaving quickly before I change my mind.

  *

  When I get to the bar, I spot Sally quickly. She has a sparkly pink top and an alcohol-induced glow. She jumps up from her seat to hug me and tells me she’s so glad that I made it. I’m clearly not the only one who started drinking early. I say hello to Olivia and some of the other wives who I have met before, who all have names like Liz-Beth and Mary-Ann.

  Whatever conversation they were having dies when I arrive, so we sit around awkwardly for a couple of minutes until Sally announces it must be time for a round of shots.

  One hour and another two shots later, we are all chatting and laughing. Despite the initial awkwardness, they are entertaining company and surprisingly open about their deployment struggles. The shots might have something to do with it.

  Mary-Ann starts by announcing she’s fed her kids pancakes for dinner four times this week. Liz-Beth says her Netflix addiction has become so bad that she woke up this morning spooning her laptop. Even Olivia seems more relaxed than usual.

  Later in the evening I stand with Sally by the bar and she tells me again how happy she is that I came. I say I am happy too and I am surprised to find that I mean it, although my mind keeps drifting back to Adam’s message. I check my phone to see if he has emailed again, but there is nothing.

  While we wait to order more drinks, a couple of men approach us. They introduce themselves as Jared and Peter. They are both in town for some kind of training at the Air Force Academy. Jared is blond and stocky and does most of the talking. He has a cheekiness about him that I know Anna would like. Peter is quiet and tall, with dark hair and thoughtful eyes.

  Sally tells Jared and Peter it’s her birthday. I shoot her a questioning look and she shrugs with a smile. Jared buys us drinks and I feel a nervous twist in my stomach that this isn’t quite right. Ten minutes later, Jared has finished his beer and is grabbing Sally’s hand to drag her onto the dance floor. He gets more than he bargained for and I can’t help but laugh as he tries to keep up with her moves, which involve lots of hair swishing and spins. A few of the other girls get up and join them. Jared winks at Peter from across the room.

  Peter talks more now Jared is gone. He tells me that he is from California originally and that Jared is someone he met at the course this week. Nice guy but bullshits a lot, he says. He asks where I am from and when I say England he says he has always wanted to go to London. Peter tells me to call him Pete. We lean against the bar and laugh as we watch the dancing.

  Peter tells me he got back from Iraq a coup
le of months ago. I become more interested. We talk about Iraq and exchange stories and laugh about how it was the worst and best of times all at once. Peter asks what brought me to Colorado and I tell him I moved here to be with my husband. My husband who I met in Iraq. He raises an eyebrow and says “deployment romance”? I nod.

  “First time I’ve heard of one of those that’s lasted,” he says. I tell him Adam is deployed again at the moment. He doesn’t say anything. I am not sure why I told him.

  I finish my drink and now I feel ready to dance. I spot Olivia and Liz-Beth and Mary-Ann on the dance floor and I leave Peter to join them. Soon we are shouting song lyrics to each other under the flashing lights. We twirl around and hug and occasionally stumble as the floor pulsates with the beat of the music. I pull out my phone and we beam into the camera. I try to send the photo to Adam, thinking that he will be happy to see me with the other wives, but my thumbs are thick on the keypad and I don’t know if it works. One song rolls into the next and I lose track of time.

  At some point I go back to the bar and the room is moving more than it should be and I don’t think I should drink anymore. I start to look for my jacket to leave, but then I feel a hand on the small of my back.

  “You’re not going yet, are you?” Peter asks.

  I feel his fingers testing the smooth fabric of my blouse and I step away from his hand. The touch of someone who is not Adam clears the haze of alcohol from my mind.

  “I thought we were having a good time,” he says, leaning in towards me. I smell the alcohol on his breath and now I am back there with the forearm across my neck and the taste of blood in my mouth and the military policeman asking if I knew him, if I’d been drinking.

  “I’m leaving,” I say and push quickly away from him through the crowded bar. I head across the dance floor towards the exit, giving up on thoughts of finding my jacket. The other women aren’t there now. I think I see Sally in the corner of the bar, but she is leant up against Jared. I could almost swear her lips are touching his, but it is dark and the lights are flashing and all I want to do is to get out.