Wendy Jones - The Songbird and the Soldier

“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.