Live to Tell (21 page)

“Sorry, Sir, we’re a bit tight on space, got some cargo on board.”

“Can’t you squeeze at least one in? Cpl. Powell needs to get home.”

The two man crew frowned at each other. “Perhaps if we re-stow that box of ammo,” the pilot said. “What do you think?”

“For you Danny boy, we’ll do our best,” said the man with the magazine.

A few minutes later, Danny climbed into the hastily cleared space and saluted the two men left on the ground. “See you next week, Sir, Sergeant,” he shouted.

“Give her a kiss from me,” shouted John.

And one from me, thought Ben, silently.

Danny grinned back at them and waved goodbye as the chopper soared away.

CHAPTER EIGHT
 

It was early on a cold Friday morning. Well, early for me, and I felt tired. Despite the fact that I had no work assignment, I got up as if I had. Danny liked chocolate biscuits and as we didn’t have any left I needed to go shopping. I wanted to get the ones he liked before he next came home on leave. I was sort of in the middle of dressing, having made it as far as frayed, stonewashed jeans and a skinny grey vest, but I needed warmth so I stopped to make a large mug of tea.

I was surprised by the sound of the doorbell. It must be the postman, I thought and put down my tea. Pulling on my dressing gown I opened the door. Although Danny had just told me he couldn’t get home for our second wedding anniversary in two days time, I knew he would send me something. He always did.

The man who stood there didn’t look like a postman. He was in his forties, wearing a tan overcoat with the collar turned up, pin-striped trousers and brown leather shoes.

“Mrs. Powell?”

I nodded, puzzled. Another slightly younger looking man stood behind him some feet away in the lobby. He was lean, with close cropped hair, and I wondered what they wanted at eight-thirty in the morning. It seemed too early for door-step sellers and they were certainly better dressed than people sent to read the gas or electricity meters.

“I’m Squadron Leader Mason, Mrs. Powell,” the older man said. “Can I come in? I have to visit the families of servicemen and I need to speak to you about your husband.”

He waved an official looking badge at me but I felt alarmed. Alone in the apartment, I did not trust the two strangers enough to allow them into my home, and I shook my head. “No,” I said, deciding that whatever they wanted, I wanted nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t discuss Danny with anyone and at best would only talk to them on the doorstep. The lobby was empty and I knew that once they came into the apartment no-one would hear me if I called out. I thought straight away about Aidan and pulled my wrap closer around me.

“I’m an officer in the Royal Air Force and I’ve come about your husband,” he continued, holding his badge even nearer to my face. “Please let me in. I have some important information for you that I’m afraid won’t wait. Can I come in please? I must talk to you. It will be better inside than on the doorstep.”

I protested again but seeing the concerned look on his face, I wavered and stepped back. He followed me but kept the door ajar.

“Mrs. Powell, I believe your husband is Cpl. Daniel Powell. Is that correct?”

I nodded again, staring at him, wondering what Danny could have done to warrant the visit, convinced there had been a mix up. I couldn’t see the other man. He must still be lurking somewhere, I thought.

“Mrs. Powell, I have some very bad news. I’m afraid this is the worst news I could bring you. Something’s happened to your husband. He has been involved in an incident, in an accident. I’m very sorry Mrs. Powell, to have to tell you this. Can I get hold of someone to be with you? I’m afraid there was nothing anyone could do. He died immediately.”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong address.” This man must be made to understand. It wasn’t
my
Danny. Nothing could happen to him. He told me so.

“You are Mrs. Powell?”

What was he talking about? I didn’t understand. He was at the wrong address. I had to make him realise. “Yes, but my husband is not in the RAF. He’s in the Army. No, I’m sorry. You’ve got the wrong person.” I thrust my hands out, palms towards him.

“Mrs. Powell… I’m sorry to mislead you. I am here about Cpl. Powell of the Royal Signals.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” I thought I shouted but there was no noise. I couldn’t speak, just silent screaming. “No, no, no.” I was screaming out loud now. “No, no, no, no.” I was screaming louder. “No, no, no, no.”

He ran back a few paces to the door. “Flight Sergeant, can you find a neighbour, a woman preferably, someone who can help until we get her family here.”

What was wrong with this man? I couldn’t get through to him. He was mistaken. Why wouldn’t he listen to me? “No, you don’t understand,” I screamed. “You’ve made a mistake. Danny is fine, he told me. You’ve got the wrong person. He’s fine. I spoke to him, the day before yesterday.”

The door opened and the flight sergeant came in followed by a small lady in a sari with a dressing gown, loosely around her shoulders. She hurried to my side and made me sit on the sofa, cradling me in her arms.

“There, there, dear,” she said. “There, there.”

The squadron leader leaned over me. “Is there someone we can call for you, someone in your family?”

“Yes,” I sobbed. “Call my father. He will be at work but he’ll come. Please call him. He’ll be able to tell you you’ve made a mistake. Call my dad.”

Twenty minutes later my father walked hurriedly into the apartment. He was wearing one of his best suits but he looked terrible.

“Thank God you’re here, Daddy. Please tell him… Daddy whatever’s wrong? Have you got a cold? You look awful. Perhaps you’ve got the flu.”

He lifted me into his arms and held me tightly to him. “It’s alright, dear,” he said, “I’m here now. Everything’s going to be alright. I’m here.”

“Daddy, he’s saying terrible things about Danny and he won’t listen to me. I keep telling him but he won’t listen. Please tell him. He’ll listen to you. Please tell him, Daddy, please. He’ll listen to you.”

My father stroked my hair. “It’s alright, dear. It’s alright. I’ll talk to him.”

The man shook my father’s hand. “I’m Squadron Leader Barry Mason, duty casualty officer from the Royal Air Force headquarters in Adastral House. It’s part of the Ministry of Defence.”

“Alan Scanlon,” my father said quietly.

“I’m terribly sorry to have to be the bearer of such awful news. It’s confusing for your daughter because your son-in-law was in the Army. But we feel that it’s important that the next-of-kin is advised as quickly as possible, when anything happens, so they don’t have to hear the news from some other source, TV for instance. Wives who live in military accommodation are usually visited by someone from their husband’s unit, but where they live separately we have to find the nearest person. In this case, that’s me. Flight Sergeant, can you make us all another cup of tea?”

“There’s not much milk left, Sir.”

“I’ve got some in my fridge,” the lady that I now knew to be my new neighbour, Gita Singh said. “I’ll get my husband to get it. Parvesh, Parvesh,” she shouted. A tall man wearing a turban put his head round the door and was sent to get milk.

My father, gently squeezing my hand, spoke to the man in the coat. “Are you
absolutely
certain about this? Can there be any doubt? How do you know it’s him? What happened? Please tell me.”

The man took off his coat and visibly relaxed, although my body was still in turmoil. “I’m afraid it was a helicopter crash. Apparently, your son-in-law was on board. Typical of the Army, there was no manifest and it took some hours to establish he was among the dead.”

“Oh, God,” my father muttered, sitting down beside me. “And there’s no doubt it’s him, none at all?”

“The chopper was shot down in a rocket attack but there was no mid-air explosion so they’ve been able to recover the bodies intact. It took some time but I’m afraid there’s no doubt. I’m sorry. They have a positive ID.”

“Shot down? In Germany? I don’t understand. Who shot it down? Was it the Russians? How could it be shot down?”

“No,” the man said quietly. “It wasn’t in Germany. It happened in South Armagh, in Northern Ireland, just a two man crew and one passenger.”

“Northern Ireland? What was he doing there? I didn’t know he was there.” He turned to me. “Did you know?”

Dumbly, I nodded and started to sob into Mrs. Singh’s chest. “He said he’d be safe, he said he’d be safe. He said he wouldn’t be in any danger. I shouldn’t have let him go. I should have done something. I should have stopped him.”

She rocked me back and forth, as if I was her child.

What seemed like hours later, the squadron leader and the flight sergeant left. The man called Barry told my father that the Army would be in touch with us but that if there was anything that he could do personally, we should call him. I tried to thank him. I felt stupid now that I had not accepted what he tried to tell me, even though deep down I still believed there had been some terrible mistake in the identification and that somewhere Danny was alright and would come back to me.

“Mrs. Singh,” my father said turning to her. “I can’t thank you enough. We’ve taken up so much of your time. We both really appreciate having you here.”

Still holding my hand, she said. “Don’t you know it’s
Diwali
? Like, it’s our Christmas. It is a blessing to be able to help someone at
Diwali
. I must thank
you
. Look!” She held out the hem of her sari. It was the colour of red wine and was emblazoned with gold embroidery. “You see, it’s special.”

“Even so, we
are
very grateful, and to your husband for being so understanding,” he continued.

“Yes, Gita. Thank you,” I added, softly.

She left us alone; Dad sat down again and put his head between his hands. He must have been seeing a client, I thought, wearing that suit. I reached over and squeezed his arm, wanting to comfort him as well.

“I’d better ring your mum. I called her before I got here but she’s bound to be worrying. Won’t be a minute, dear.” He made the call. “Hello, Sandra. Yes, I’m here. Yes. Yes, yes I’m afraid it was. Yes. Two blokes from the RAF were here. What did you say? Hello? Are you still there? Yes, please don’t cry. No, don’t worry. I’ll bring her home with me. Then we’ll have a good talk and I’ll tell you what they said. What a mess. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.”

Ben was back at Unit HQ. He felt shocked and angry at the downing of the chopper with the loss of Danny and the other two men, personally responsible and guilty. On top of this, his failed operation had been aborted. A load of aggro was coming his way, about the death of the civilian, at the farm. Of that he was absolutely sure.

He had been given Danny’s personal effects for safe keeping, but he’d never been in charge of a situation like this before and didn’t know what to do with them. I’ll have to ask someone what the form is, he thought.

He was sitting at a vacant desk in one of the smaller offices with the cardboard box in front of him. Two other men shared the room but at the moment he was alone. A closed dog-eared envelope lay on the top of the small pile and Ben picked it up. In a sudden flash of insight, he realised it must contain the Polaroid photograph of Danny’s wife.