Civvies

Taffy stared at the ground. 'I beat those new recruits,' he said with quiet pride. 'Not made of the same stuff today, are they? I went the whole course in me rubbers…' He indicated his heavy, rubber-soled boots, thick with mud and dried leaves.

Dillon came a little closer. A muscle moved in his cheek. His throat was tight and dry, his eyes unnaturally bright, moist.

'I couldn't make it in civvies, Frank,' Taffy said slowly, and gave a sad half-smile. 'Price of beer, that was the first thing that knocked me sideways.' His hand was gripping something, but Dillon couldn't see what. He edged nearer as Taffy said, his face stiff and tense, 'I didn't let the Regiment down, Frank.'

'You never did, Taff.' Dillon saw it was his parade baton that Taffy was holding. He squatted on his haunches next to the big Welshman, elbows on his knees. 'Maybe it let you down,' he said.

'Bloody stupid… I don't know what came over me.' Taffy choked down a sob, wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand. 'If I'd have waited, I'd have been okay.'

Dillon's fists involuntarily clenched as Taffy delved into his pocket, and Taffy looked at him with hurt, reproachful eyes.

'It's over, Frank,' he said softly. 'I've no fight left in me.' He held up a grubby, folded envelope. 'Want to show you this, maybe you'd be interested.' He pulled out a letter for Dillon to see. 'There's work going, if you want it, cash in hand. Up in Scotland, on the salmon farms. They want blokes like us. You know, pro's to… to try and catch the poachers. You'd have to live rough, and you'd need…' his throat worked. 'Ammo, tents, night-lights -'

A spasm raked through him, and his face suddenly crumpled. Dillon took the letter and put it in his pocket. He eased down on the grass, next to Taffy.

'I just snapped, Frank. God forgive me. Is the kid dead?' Dillon put his arms around Taffy and hugged him hard. 'Will you take care of Mary? See she's taken care of? Poor Mary, all the time I was in Ireland, she waited for the knock on the door.'

Dillon nodded. 'I'll see her.' The two men stood up, and Dillon looked him in the eyes. 'You were the best backup bloke I ever had, and that's what me and the lads are here for now.' He touched his shoulder. 'You know the score?' and then, 'Wait, just a minute,' adjusting Taffy's Red Beret the regulation two inches above the left eye. 'You all set?'

Straightening his shoulders, baton tucked under his arm, Taffy took a deep breath. 'All set!'

The cluster of uniformed police and three MPs at the gate turned as a body as Taffy marched towards them, arms swinging, back ramrod-straight. Chin up, his voice rang out in the best drill-square manner, 'Colour Sergeant Major David Davies reporting!'

Jimmy, Steve and Cliff were lined up by the perimeter fence when Dillon joined them, as if presenting themselves for military inspection. Then all four watched as the open jeep came through the main gate, Taffy seated in the back between two MPs. And all four ex-members of the Parachute Regiment saluted as it went by, Taffy half-turning to give them a brief, farewell smile before snapping round, shoulders squared, eyes front.

As the jeep went down the road they could hear him singing, his big Welsh voice roaring out:

'Ten green bottles

Hanging on the wall,

And if one green bottle

Should accidentally fall,

There'd be nine green bottles

Hanging on the wall…'

STEVE HARRIS

CHAPTER 15

Dillon had not really paid any attention to the scrap of paper Taffy Davies had thrust into his hands, he didn't even recollect stuffing it into his pocket. The moment Taffy was arrested, seeing him from the back of the wagon as they took him away, turning, that one last time, as Dillon and the boys saluted him, was a moment Dillon would never forget. There was still that flash of pride on the Welshman's face, still that kind of 'take any bugger on, man!', his shoulders straight, his fists tensed, his chin out. But in his eyes hung the shadow of pain, the silent cry for help. There was no one who could give it to him, no one who could get him off a murder charge, or manslaughter with diminished responsibility tagged on the end of it. Taffy knew what he had done and would take his punishment. That was the shadow of pain, he knew, and asked for no pity, just forgiveness.

Susie found the note and stuffed it on the dressing table as she gathered the clothes for the weekly wash. Since Taffy's arrest Dillon had been sullen, uncommunicative, staying in bed until eleven or later. She was surprised when she heard him on the phone, not that she could hear what he was saying as the tumble-dryer sounded like an express train shuddering through the kitchen.

Susie could still hear the phone pinging even when the washing was out of the dryer, and stacked up in the basket for ironing. She was filling the steam iron with water when he breezed in, and dangled the scrap of paper.

'Got a job! Cash in the hand, wallop! Nice little earner, me and the lads'll be gone a couple of weeks.'

'Gone? Gone where?' Susie asked, as she plugged in the iron.

' Scotland, they got problems with poachers.'

He was out yelling up the stairs for Steve to get his gear packed. Susie came to the kitchen door and looked up as Dillon charged up the stairs. 'You're not poaching, are you?'

He leaned over, too far over, as he beamed, 'No sweetheart, we're catchin' 'em, they need army blokes – got to camp out!'

'How long will you be gone for?'

'For as long as it takes… OI! Come on you lazy bugger let's be havin' you!'

Susie thudded the iron over the folded sheet on the ironing-board, as footsteps banged and crashed around upstairs. She heard Dillon laughing. They were acting like kids, and she took out her fury on the ironing. He hadn't even asked if she minded, not even bothered to talk it over with her, no sooner home than he was off again.

The doorbell started ringing, and she heard Jimmy arrive, then Cliff, more yells and bangs, and then Dillon walked in with his arms full of dirty washing.

'Some of Steve's gear, can you run it through the washer? The lads have arrived, we'll be off any minute.'

The dirty linen and T-shirts and a couple of pairs of filthy jeans were dumped on the kitchen floor.

'Frank!… FRANK! Just shut the door a minute!'

He kicked the door closed, 'What?'

'How long will you be gone?'

'I dunno, but we'll bring you back some salmon.'

'I see, so how much they paying you?'

'Fair whack.'

'Will this mean Steve can find a place of his own? This isn't a ruddy hotel! And it would have been nice if you'd talked it over with me first!'

'Oh, sorry, didn't know I had to ask permission to get a job!'

'Oh, stop it, I just meant that you should have discussed it with me, I don't know how long you'll be gone, you've only just got home!'

He reached out and slipped his arms around her waist. 'It's a job; we make enough dough we maybe can open our own business.'

'Pay that good is it?'

His arms tightened. 'It's good enough, now give us a kiss.'

She put the iron on its end and was about to turn in his arms when Jimmy barged in.

'Come on, we should get cracking, it's a hell of a drive – Hi, Susie – and Frank, can I have a word?'

'What?'

Jimmy inched the door -shut. 'You're sure we should take Steve? He's a bloody liability you know!'

Dillon wafted his hand. 'He's coming! You just get the gear loaded, I'll be right out.'

Jimmy hesitated and then winked at Susie. 'Bring you a fresh salmon…'

Susie shook her head. 'You sure you lot are catching the poachers not joining them?'

Jimmy laughed, and then looked back to the hallway. 'Let's get on the road then!'

Dillon gave Susie a quick kiss, eager to be gone, and followed Jimmy out. Susie looked at the stack of dirty laundry and began to stuff it into the washing machine, as Steve edged in.