Free Rain by Barney Campbell Page A

home now and get some final time with your families. I know that that’s only going to help those who live on the patch; as for the others, do whatever you want. Go to the cinema, go to the pub, have a few drinks, but only a few. Iwant you all back here, good to go, at 2300. If any one of you cocks up and doesn’t make it, or gets arrested, or whatever, then I will formally charge him. And then make him lead Vallon man for the duration of the tour. With no batteries in the Vallon. See you tonight, boys.’
    Most of the squadron were delighted by this, many being able to spend a final few hours at home, but the officers moped around pathetically. They couldn’t get drunk, they couldn’t go home, and the idea of watching films in the mess for twelve hours was too depressing for words. Just as they were contemplating a trip to Thorpe Park to stave off boredom for even a few hours, Tom decided to strike.
    ‘Guys, actually, I can’t do this. I’m going into London to meet a friend.’
    ‘What mate? Who?’
    ‘I need to go and mend some bridges. See you guys tonight.’ He sprinted upstairs, threw on a shirt and a pair of jeans, and Scott drove him to the station. In the car he texted Cassie: ‘Hi Cass, it’s Tom. This is so out of the blue, but I am about to go away and it would mean so much if I could see you today for even five minutes. I understand if impossible. I can come wherever.’ He sent it, arrived at the station and got the train into London.
    No reply came. The train went on into town; still no reply. He was going to feel very stupid if nothing came of this. The train wheezed through Clapham Junction and then sidled along the Thames past the MI6 building, Tom glimpsing the Houses of Parliament, the Ministry of Defence, the buildings that were responsible for him going to Afghanistan tonight. The train pulled into Waterloo and he sighed. A wasted journey. The train halted. His phone buzzed. He looked at it in his sweating palm, expecting it to be abuse from Clive or Scott. It was from her, and he almost droppedthe phone. ‘Hi Tom. Yes please, I’d love to see you! On gardening leave anyway. Yippee! Zero’s behind Sloane Square at 1?’
    He texted straight back, ‘Great news; see you then! Tx.’
    He was hardly able to breathe. Soon though his excitement gave way to fear. How on earth was he to play this? How the hell was he going to be able to reintroduce himself to her after what had happened over the last two years? He crossed the river and made his way down Whitehall to Parliament Square, turned along Birdcage Walk and passed Buckingham Palace, not noticing the hordes of scuttling tourists and working out what he was going to say to her. He arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, went to the bar and sank a gin and tonic before ordering a bottle of white wine and being shown to a table in the middle of the crowded brasserie.
    For a moment he regretted ordering the wine – what if she wasn’t going to drink? But then he’d just have it all himself, he decided. He sat down and waited, losing himself in the chatter, trying to store it all up to remember in Afghan. It felt surreal. He was woken from his trance by Cassie standing over him wearing a blue dress and a mock-serious frown.
    ‘Well, well, Thomas Chamberlain, I hope you’re not going to be punching anyone to the ground this time. You’ll definitely get arrested if you try it here.’
    Tom squirmed from his chair to stand and kiss her on the cheek, but he was so shocked that she had actually turned up that he only managed to semi-headbutt her. At first he was lost for words. ‘Oh … er, hi, Cassie … You look amazing,’ he fumbled, feeling like a dying fish. Then he broke into a grin. ‘Glass of wine?’
    ‘Yes please!’
    She sat down and Tom poured her a glass, trying not tospill any and cursing the gin for making him feel so clumsy, though at least it had helped to knock a bit of edge off the whole thing. She looked at him,