Page 61 of Soldier Boy
Samantha was admitted to a secure psychiatric unit the follow that day. When I think of what could’ve happened—how she’d tampered unsuccessfully with Nell’s car brakes early that morning. How she’d turned up with the gun she’d managed to get on the Iraqi black market in the course of her tour. There was no premeditation in the purchase of the gun, but the hunting knives and scalpel the police found at her home? She’d bought baby clothes and was fully prepared to rip a phantom baby from Nell’s womb.
The strange Tinder message, the flower delivery, tapering with Nell’s mail—the lengths she went to were a peek into a truly unhealthy mind.
‘Do you think the Queen sanctions the phraseyoung and thrusting?’
‘No idea, but I get the impression you might be a fan of it,’ I reply, dragging my attention from that day.
‘I’m a fan of your thrusting. In fact, I love it. And I love you.’
We’d broken that barrier. She tells me she loves me every day. A near death experience will do that to you.
Despite having showered and being dressed, I throw myself onto the antique brass-framed bed, making Nell giggle as I crawl to where she lies in the middle, her sweet face barely visible.
‘What do I mean to you, Nell?’ I never tire hearing this.
‘Well, you used to be a thorn in my side. The bane of my existence. A curse laid upon me by Providence. My best friend’s pesky little brother. But also the boy who saved me from spending life as a goldfish murderer.’
‘Go on.’
‘But that was before.’ From the depths of the quilts, her hand reaches out to stroke my cheek. ‘Now, you’re the man I love.’
‘Want to get married? While we’re in Scotland, I mean.’
‘Go to Gretna Green?’
‘If you like.’
‘I don’t think they have blacksmith priests these days.’
‘Half-pint, I don’t care if a monkey presides.’
‘We do make a good team’ she replies with a small smile. ‘In fact, according to Melody’s relationship calculations, we’d be a whizz at the marriage thing.’
‘Dare I ask?’
‘According to her, the more sex you have, the better the state of your relationship.’
‘No worries there, then. Shall we do it?’
‘Will you wear a kilt?’ she asks, her dark eyes twinkling.
‘Will you warm your hands before you touch my junk?’
‘Are you really proposing to me right now?’
‘I can do it on my knees if you’d prefer.’
‘But that sounds suspiciously like you looking at myjunk.’
‘There’s no junk between your legs, sweetheart. You’re all silk and pearl.’
‘And you are a sweet-talking man, Captain Monroe.’
‘And you, half-pint, are the other half of me.’
‘In that case, I accept. Let’s get married.’
THE END
