Weighed in at 7lbs 9oz, so just as well she didn’t go to term or she’d probably have been a ten-pounder. Completely gorgeous. You are a lucky bastard, Dave Henley. Love, Leanne.
He clicked on the first picture and caught his breath when it filled the screen. There was Jenny, looking tired, her cheeks red and her hair pulled back from her face, but it was her smile that made his eyes dampen. He knew that Jenny had been smiling at the camera just for him. She had the exhausted exuberance of a new mother and that tiny, sleeping bundle she was holding up was his daughter. He bit his lip.In the next picture Vicky was standing at Jenny’s bedside, peering at the tiny red-faced figure. Both the baby and Vicky surveyed each other solemnly. The scene was lit by Jenny’s smile again.The most recent set showed the baby asleep and Jenny trying to rearrange her hair. He stared hard. This was Jenny less than twenty-four hours ago. It was the closest he had been to her since leaving the UK. Her smile spoke to him. It said:
Everyone in the cookhouse was watching Martyn on TV. A black-and-white picture of him had suddenly appeared behind the newsreader. In it he was looking a few years younger and had a bit more hair, smiling happily as though he had just won at blackjack. The graphic said HOSTAGE CRISIS.The reporter looked serious: ‘Mr Robertson, an oilman of many years’ experience, has been actively engaged in an exploration project that experts believe will make a major contribution to the development of Afghanistan. NATO governments, particularly the US and the UK, hope that if the exploration is successful it could offer Afghanistan an alternative income to narcotics. Diplomats are working round the clock behind the scenes to secure his return . . .’‘Diplomats!’ scoffed Boss Weeks. ‘What diplomatic relations does the British government have with the Taliban?’Kila shook his head. ‘Poor bastard. Poor fucking bastard.’‘What are they doing about it apart from talking?’ demanded Mal. ‘Why aren’t they looking all over Helmand Province?’Finn said: ‘The odds are getting longer every minute.’The others stared at him.‘What odds?’‘You mean, the odds on Martyn coming back alive?’ asked Jamie.Finn looked around swiftly for Dave. He was not in the cookhouse.‘Yes, lads, I’m offering Burlington Bertie on Martyn’s safe return. The odds’ll be a lot longer tomorrow so now’s the time for a punt.’He was met with blank faces.‘Burlington Bertie. That’s a hundred to thirty. Who’s up for it?’
