can’t go. Not in your uniform: for heaven’s sake. Away you go next door and sleep it off.’
Jock smiled meekly. ‘You’ll come too.’
‘I’ll pull the quilt over you.’
‘You’re a good girl.’
‘There’s no use fumbling, Jock,’ she said patiently. ‘Please.’
‘Oh, Christ! Och Mary, I shouldn’t have come. That’s the truth of it. I thought you’d be pleased to see me. I shouldn’t have come.’
‘It’s no matter. Come on now laddie, and we’ll cover you up.’
‘You’re my bloody cherry-cake,’ he said.
‘Come away now: come on.’
TEN
WHEN SHE HEARD him shouting, Mary ran through to the bedroom. Jock was shouting her name out loud. There was no overhead light in the room and she had to stumble as far as the bedside light while he still shouted. He was sitting bolt upright in the bed and he seemed to be in the throes of a fever: in spite of the chill of the room, his face and neck were covered with sweat, and his shirt was wet. Even when the light was switched on he kept shouting.
She stood back and said, ‘Was it me you were calling?’ She was groomed all ready to leave for some party, and she looked neat and efficient.
He mopped his brow and his cheek with the hard palm of his hand.
‘Aye. It was either you or the Mother of God.’
‘You nearly shouted the walls down. Are you sober, now?’ Jock opened and closed his mouth once or twice.
‘I’ve got a mouth like a parrot’s cage.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. It’s time you gave up whisky, and that’s a fact.’
Jock had grown used to the light now and he swung his legs over the side of the low bed. At some stage he had taken off his kilt and his stockings had dropped to his ankles; the red garters trailed loose round his feet. As he pulled up his stockings Mary noticed that he had climbed between the sheets.
‘You’d no need to get between the sheets,’ she said a little sourly, but Jock did not listen to her. He still looked half stunned, as if he were trying to remember something.
‘What’s the time?’
‘It’s twenty-five to eight. I’m off to supper in another five minutes.’
‘Aye. Good for you.’ He walked over to the radiator by the curtained window, and picking up the towel there he wiped his neck with it. Then he shivered. The room was very cold and untidy, and nobody likes waking when it is dark.
‘That’s bloody strange, Mary. I was having some sort of dream.’
‘It sounded more like a nightmare.’
‘A-huh,’ he said gently: he wanted to talk. ‘That’s what’s so strange. Christ, I’ve been sweating.’ He chucked the towel over the back of a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes were much brighter than usual: they did not look flat any more. ‘I’m thinking it wasn’t so bad. The dream wasn’t so bad. No.’
‘Well, you were fairly yelling for me. Here’s your kilt. I was thinking of waking you up, anyway, when you started to cry.’
‘I wasn’t crying.’
‘Then it was something very near it.’
‘I’d no call to cry, lass. The whole Battalion was on the move.’
But Mary was too busy to listen to dreams.
‘Here; take your kilt. I’ll be through next door.’
She turned away, but as Jock sat down on the bed again he wanted her to stay.
‘Mary, Mary, bide,’ he said and she hesitated. ‘It was a good dream. I was telling you.’
‘Och, for heaven’s sake, Jock.’
He gave a little smile. ‘I was only wanting to tell you.’
‘All right; all right. I’m glad it was a good dream. But it’s time you were awake, and out of here.’
‘That’s the way of it?’
‘Och.’
‘Hi, Mary. What’s the time?’
‘I told you.’
‘Did you?’
‘It’s after half-past seven.’
‘Ach, to hell. I’m too late for the Mess.’
‘Then you’d better go home.’ She was standing holding on to the door, half in the room and half out. Jock was as anxious as a child that she should stay.
‘I told Morag I’d be out.’
‘She’ll give you a boiled egg, I’m sure.’
‘A-huh.’ He smiled and bent down stiffly to collect his shoes. ‘I’m no much good at amusing us, so it seems.’
‘So it seems.’
Then Jock returned to the dream. ‘I can’t just mind what the hell it was all about. But it wasn’t a nightmare: not really. It’s cold, Mary. Is it snowing?’
She knocked her knuckles against the door with impatience.
‘How should I know? I haven’t left the flat.’
‘You would have been as well in bed beside me then.’
Again she was about to leave.
‘Mary?’
‘I’ve got company,’ she said and Jock looked up from his laces.
‘Who the hell?’
‘It’s all right: it’s a friend of yours. Never mind about the bed: I’ll make it later.’
Jock was not very grateful. ‘If you make it at all,’ he said.
Charlie Scott was lying on the sofa with his head tipped back on the arm, and he did not move when Jock came into the room. When Charlie sensed danger all that happened was that his movements were a little slower, and his speeches even shorter. He was known for that. There was a live newsreel taken of his company going into an attack during the Italian campaign and Charlie had been something of a star in it. As the smoke thickened and his men deployed along the line of tanks, a runner came up with some message. There is a wonderful picture of Charlie taken on the spot, and you see it repeated from time to time when they show old shots of battle. The runner has a long message which you do not hear, and Charlie listens to him. He nods, and brushes his big moustache:
