Andy McNab - Deep Black

'You cover the Gulf?'

'You kidding? With skin this colour? The last thing I need is to get on the wrong end of some friendly fire…'

His big challenge now was how to balance work and family. I told him I wasn't exactly the world's leading expert on that, but knew it wasn't going to get any simpler.

Jerry nodded. The three of them had moved from Buffalo less than a month ago, and Renee was nesting big-time. 'Maybe another child next year, who knows?' He went a bit dewy-eyed again. 'Good things, Nick. Good things.'

He ordered another beer, and I heard myself doing so too. We got back to talking about the exhibition. 'You know what?' His voice wavered. 'I've spent all my working life managing to block out the horrors I see through the lens so I can project my message through the image, but since Chloe everything's changed. You know what I'm saying?' He swallowed hard. 'Like, the tragedy of that mother trying to protect her child, knowing that she herself had only seconds left to live. Hoping desperately that someone would look after it… Looking at my stuff, it takes on a new meaning now. What a waste…' He took a long swig. 'It's all bullshit, isn't it?'

I rubbed my hand into my hair again and wiped my face with it. I felt a sudden pain in the centre of my chest and hoped I wasn't making it too obvious. I guessed I felt the way he looked; he brushed away a tear that fell slowly down one cheek. 'You're right, mate, it's all bullshit.'

He stood up with me. 'Come home with me, come see Renee and Chloe. We're not far.'

'I'm sorry, I-'

He just wouldn't give up. 'Come on, my car's just round the corner. I'd like to show you some of my work. It got a whole lot better since the last time we met.'

I hesitated as we reached the door.

'Come on, man. Come home. I've told Renee a hundred times about that day… She'd never forgive me if I didn't bring you back.'

Short of me pulling a knife on him, there was no way he was going to let me just walk away. 'I make great coffee too.' We set off through the door. 'None of that Arabic crap.'

We headed out of DC towards Chevy Chase, along the main drag. Massachusetts Avenue took us past all the embassy buildings and eventually to row upon row of nondescript apartment buildings. By then he had finished telling me that Renee came from Buffalo, not far from Lackawanna, she was a freelance picture editor, and up until recently she'd stayed in her small apartment because he was always away. But soon after they married, Chloe came along and it was time to move. Why they were here in DC, he didn't get to say.

His last job had been covering the anti-government violence in Venezuela. 'I got some great shots of protesters going toe to toe with National Guard. You see them in Newsweek?'

We turned left alongside one of the apartment buildings, then down a ramp and into the underground lot. He closed down the engine, and turned to face me.

'Don't you want to stay at home now, Jerry? I mean, if I had a child right now I think it would stop me bouncing along to wherever the shit's hitting the fan.'

Rather than answering, he fiddled with a set of keys as we walked to the elevator. 'Security,' he said. 'You need to unlock a lock just to get to the lock in this place.' He had a little trouble with what key went into the elevator, but at last we were on our way up.

'Just one floor.' Jerry was beaming like a Jehovah's Witness who'd just added a brand new member to his congregation. 'Hope she's in. We normally take Chloe to the park about now.' He turned towards me. 'Nick…' His voice dropped. 'I never really got round to thanking you once we got back to Sarajevo. I've replayed it in my head so many times. I just want to say-'

I put my hand up to stop him. 'Whoa, it's OK. It was a long time ago. Don't worry about it.' I didn't want to go into all that stuff right now. Better to let it stay in its box.

He was a little disappointed, but nodded all the same. 'Thanks anyway. I just wanted to tell you, that's all.'

The elevator stopped and Jerry played with his keys as we headed towards the apartment.

The white-walled corridor was lined with good grey carpet. The place was spotless. Most of the inhabitants probably worked in the embassies we'd driven past.

The moment he pushed the key into the door of 107, I was hit by the smell of fresh paint. He pointed along the passage. 'No stroller. Coffee? We'll go in the lounge. Too many fumes everywhere else. Sorry about the mess. You know how it is with moving.'

I didn't really. I hadn't been lying to George: my whole life fitted into two carry-ons.

The doors to two bedrooms were open on the right. Each had just a mattress on the floor, and piles of boxes and clothes.

The lounge was stark white. No curtains yet, but a TV, VCR and music centre with red illuminated LEDs. It didn't look as if they were planning to keep the old carpet: it was covered with fresh paint stains. Everything else was baby stuff, changing mats, nappy bags and the smell of talcum powder. In the corner stood a blue carrycot on a stand, a plastic mobile with stars and teddy bears above it.

I could see a parade of pictures of all three of them along the mantelpiece. There were even a couple of Polaroids of Chloe on her own, looking very blue and wrinkly. The normal thing proud parents did, I supposed. The pictures were probably the first thing they'd unpacked.

He opened a box containing reams of contact sheets and photographs, all carefully protected in plastic sleeves.

'You've been busy.'

'And then some. See what you think.'

He went into the kitchen, leaving me to it.

Jerry really had come a long way since the days he carried his mum's birthday present round his neck. He'd covered everything from the wars in Ethiopia and the refugee camps in Gaza to the Pope weeping in what looked like a South American slum.

Jerry clattered away in the kitchen as I held contact sheet after contact sheet up to the light.

When the serving hatch opened and a tray of percolated coffee and mugs appeared, I held up a laminated front page of the New York Times. 'This Sudan picture one of yours?'

A tiny starving girl, no more than a bag of bones really, hunched naked in the dirt. Behind her, watching her every move, stood a vulture. It wasn't just the picture that was fucked up. Beside it was an ad for a multi-thousand-dollar Cartier watch.

Jerry leaned through the hatch. 'I wish. It's one of Kevin Carter's. He's dead now. He won a Pulitzer for it.'

As I stood to collect the tray, a key turned in the lock.

'They're back.' For the first time, he sounded just a little bit anxious.

I let him get on with family stuff and went over to the sofa, dumping the brew on a packing case. I could see into the corridor.

Renee wore jeans and a long, thick, hairy nylon coat, a sort of bluey-green colour. She shushed him as he went to kiss her. Chloe was asleep. As Jerry started to unstrap the baby from the stroller, she shrugged off the coat and came towards me. Her smile broadened but she kept her voice low. 'Well, hello!' She had a happy, homely face on a small skinny body. Her brown hair was gathered at the neck, and she wasn't wearing makeup. 'I'm Renee.' She held out her hand. It was soft and stained with paint.

I hoped the fumes cancelled out the stench of margarine I carried around with me, and put on a big smile of my own. 'I know, he's told me all about you.' It was a corny thing to say, but I didn't know what else you did in these situations. 'I'm Nick.'

'I know all about you, too. The guy who saved Jerry's life in Bosnia.'

She led me proudly over to the carrycot as Jerry gently placed the baby in it and disappeared back into the kitchen. 'And this is Chloe.' I looked down but couldn't see much. She had a woolly hat on and was up to her ears in duvet.