JAMIE RECORDED THE NEXT PART OF HIS FROG STORY FOR LUKE. By now almost everybody in 1 Section was providing sound effects or background music.‘And so the little frog began his journey towards the deep, deep river. First he had to cross the Green Zone . . .’‘Ribbit, ribbit,’ said Binns.‘It was full of ditches and trees and fields growing fruit and flowers. The little frog wanted to stop and look at the flowers and maybe have a bite to eat but he knew he had to keep on hopping . . .’‘Ribbit, ribbit.’Streaky and Finn provided a musical accompaniment.‘And so the little frog hopped towards the place where he knew his mum and dad were waiting for him and would wait for ever if they had to. Just one more mountain to cross and he would be there.’‘Splaaaat! That’s the sound of a 500-pound bomb falling out of an A10 on top of the fucking frog! You’re making me puke!’ roared Angus from his cot.‘Aw c’mon, Mr Angry,’ said Streaky. ‘His babymother will play it to his little boy every night.’‘I’m going to the cookhouse, I can’t stand it any more,’ said Angus.‘I have to stop now anyway. I’ve got a call booked to Niez,’ said Jamie.‘Is that the end?’ asked Binns.‘There’s a bit more. I want to finish it before we go to Jackpot in case I get slotted there.’‘We’ll finish it for you if you do,’ said Streaky.‘Yeah,’ said Binns. ‘Just leave the mic and the rest of the story by your cot.’‘It wouldn’t be the same,’ said Jamie. ‘But thanks anyway.’He went out and hung around near the phones. He could no longer text Agnieszka: she had made him promise not to although she hadn’t explained exactly why.He dialled the number and it rang and rang. No reply. And he might not get another chance to phone before they left. Answer. Answer! He couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he needed her to be there. He just knew that, if she wasn’t, there was nothing.Then, just when he had given up, she picked up the phone.‘Niez, where have you been? It’s been ringing and ringing!’She sounded distant.‘Asleep.’‘But it’s not night time in England!’‘No, darling. I tired today.’‘Why, Niez?’‘Well, I just tired, I don’t know why. Raining weather. Luke has two fits this morning. So now he sleeps and I sleep.’‘What have you been doing?’‘Nothing.’Jamie felt desperate.‘Talk to me, darling.’‘What you want me to talk about?’Some of the men found that words failed them after a few months in Afghanistan when it was time to make a weekly call to their loved ones. They detached from their families and communicated less as they became immersed in this other world. But that wasn’t true for Jamie. The worse things became, the more Jamie needed Agnieszka. He had rung her twice since the minefield a week ago. He needed her and she knew that and she supplied him with loving words, small stories, sweet chatter. But today she seemed unable to do so.‘Tell me what you did last night. Or today . . .’‘Watched TV.’‘Don’t you go out?’‘Yes, I walk. I like to walk now if weather good in the evening. They cut grass and it smell good. Or I listen to birds. But today it rain so I was a prisoner.’‘Niez, I’ll ask my mother to phone you and invite you . . .’‘If she does not invite me herself I don’t go.’ Agnieszka’s voice conveyed a mixture of hurt, boredom and anger. ‘She does not ring me.’They both knew that Jamie’s mother was so saturated in disapproval – disapproval of Agnieszka, of Luke’s undiagnosed condition, of Jamie’s army rank – that she preferred not to pick up the phone.‘Where do you walk?’ he asked her.‘All around. Everywhere. I getting very fit, this is my aim in this summer weather, to get a little bit fit.’‘You’re already fit, darling. I miss you so much. And I might not be able to phone for almost a week.’‘Why?’‘I can’t tell you that. How’s Luke?’‘He fits today. But sometimes I think he relax a bit more, cry a little less. He like me to pick him up more too.’Jamie had worried quietly to himself about the way Agnieszka took care of Luke’s physical needs so attentively but seemed to take no real pleasure in him. That was probably because he cried such a lot. While Jamie was happy to feel Luke’s sleepy little head tucked into his shoulder, Agnieszka never seemed to share his delight in the child’s love and helplessness.‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s very good.’‘Yeah, he give me a bit of a smile sometimes.’‘Oh, Niez, that’s fantastic.’ He felt relieved and at the same time deprived. Luke was going to stop crying and start smiling and he wasn’t there to receive those smiles.‘I’m recording a story for him. About a frog. The lads are doing background noises and I think he’ll enjoy it.’‘Jamie, I don’t think Luke old enough for understand stories.’‘He doesn’t have to understand it. Yet. He just has to hear my voice and know it’s his dad.’‘Well, OK, we can try.’ She sounded unimpressed. But then she hadn’t heard the story yet.He sensed she wanted to get away, that she wished the call would end. She probably had nothing else to say and there was nothing he was allowed to tell her.‘I miss you and love you,’ he said.‘Yeah, Jamie, me too. Luke too. We think of you, OK?’Was her voice fractionally more dismissive than usual? It was rising to indicate the end of the conversation. Maybe she had another hair appointment. He told her he loved her again and hung up.He was left feeling empty. He always felt empty when she had gone. But this was something more. It was instinct. The instinct told him his calls to her did not matter as much as they used to. They mattered less because he had now been away so long that the landscape was re-forming without him. The thought was unbearable. He was losing importance. The contour map was changing.
