indicated that he didn’t need change. The man smiled and returned to his coffee, newspaper and cigarette.
Prayers were being called in the mosque outside. Stanton could see the devout beginning to assemble in the little square outside the window, beyond the hookah pipe. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his wallet. Slimmer now than he was used to, no plethora of plastic cards, no photo ID. Just some post-Edwardian Turkish currency.
And two printouts.
Letters which better than anything else could remind him of his duty and focus his resolve.
Cassie’s last two emails.
The one asking for a divorce.
And then the final one. The one that had offered a glimmer of hope. The one she had written in reply to his pleas and his promises. The one he’d been rushing home to answer face to face.
If you can just change a little.
No, not even change. Just be yourself again. The man I married.
The father of our kids.
That man was every bit as passionate as you are. But not as angry.
Every bit as tough. But not as hard.
Every bit as cool. But not as cold.
Stanton swallowed his coffee and held out his cup for a refill.
He’d wanted so much to prove to her that he could be that man again. But four drugged-up hooligans had denied him the chance. Cassie had died thinking him unredeemed. Tess and Bill had died thinking that Mummy was leaving Daddy.
Because Daddy was a stupid selfish bastard who didn’t deserve their love.
I never minded being married to a soldier. Because I knew you believed in what you were risking your life for. What you were taking lives for.
I never minded being married to an idiot whose idea of inspiring kids was to see how close he could get to death without actually dying.
Even when we had kids of our own and you still kept on doing what you did. Even though you weren’t just risking leaving me without a husband but our children without a father, I still didn’t mind.
Because that was the man I signed up for.
Just like you knew you married a girl who’d rather lie in bed and watch daytime TV than go hiking up a mountain in a storm.
A girl who didn’t want to get her scuba ticket. Or go paragliding (or watch you doing it either).
We both knew who we were getting and we were fine with it.
But who’s this new guy, Hugh?
I don’t know him? Do you?
Really, Hugh? Seriously?
A security guard? A hired gun? A glorified minder?
You leave me and Tess and Bill at home to go off and be some billionaire’s bitch? Would you really take a bullet for those people, Hugh?
Is that how little we mean to you?
She was right. It was crazy. Why had he done it?
Bitterness? Boredom? Pride?
All three. But pride was the big one of course. Stupid male pride. After they kicked him out of the army and the webcast thing went sour, he just hadn’t known what to do with himself. Hanging around the house, fighting with Cassie, shouting at the kids. He’d felt … unmanned.
And there was the money. He’d never cared about it before and nor had Cassie. They’d always had enough, always got by. But then
Guts Versus Guts
made them briefly wealthy, or so it had seemed. Wealthy enough to make the down payment on a proper family house in a really nice area. There was a second baby on the way, they’d needed more room and he’d just
done
it. Without even telling her. She was angry at first, of course, but he knew she’d love it. That house had been the first real home they’d ever had. Before that it had been just short rentals and army housing.
He couldn’t just let it go.
He couldn’t tell Cassie and the kids that they had to pack their bags because he could no longer meet the payments on the mortgage. He was too … proud.
So we can’t pay the mortgage! We’ll move. We’ll get something cheaper, or rent, or live in a tent! You’re good at that. If you’re bored, read a book. If you need a job, go and stack shelves at a supermarket! Wash cars if you love them so much. Sell hamburgers. Do you think
Prayers were being called in the mosque outside. Stanton could see the devout beginning to assemble in the little square outside the window, beyond the hookah pipe. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his wallet. Slimmer now than he was used to, no plethora of plastic cards, no photo ID. Just some post-Edwardian Turkish currency.
And two printouts.
Letters which better than anything else could remind him of his duty and focus his resolve.
Cassie’s last two emails.
The one asking for a divorce.
And then the final one. The one that had offered a glimmer of hope. The one she had written in reply to his pleas and his promises. The one he’d been rushing home to answer face to face.
If you can just change a little.
No, not even change. Just be yourself again. The man I married.
The father of our kids.
That man was every bit as passionate as you are. But not as angry.
Every bit as tough. But not as hard.
Every bit as cool. But not as cold.
Stanton swallowed his coffee and held out his cup for a refill.
He’d wanted so much to prove to her that he could be that man again. But four drugged-up hooligans had denied him the chance. Cassie had died thinking him unredeemed. Tess and Bill had died thinking that Mummy was leaving Daddy.
Because Daddy was a stupid selfish bastard who didn’t deserve their love.
I never minded being married to a soldier. Because I knew you believed in what you were risking your life for. What you were taking lives for.
I never minded being married to an idiot whose idea of inspiring kids was to see how close he could get to death without actually dying.
Even when we had kids of our own and you still kept on doing what you did. Even though you weren’t just risking leaving me without a husband but our children without a father, I still didn’t mind.
Because that was the man I signed up for.
Just like you knew you married a girl who’d rather lie in bed and watch daytime TV than go hiking up a mountain in a storm.
A girl who didn’t want to get her scuba ticket. Or go paragliding (or watch you doing it either).
We both knew who we were getting and we were fine with it.
But who’s this new guy, Hugh?
I don’t know him? Do you?
Really, Hugh? Seriously?
A security guard? A hired gun? A glorified minder?
You leave me and Tess and Bill at home to go off and be some billionaire’s bitch? Would you really take a bullet for those people, Hugh?
Is that how little we mean to you?
She was right. It was crazy. Why had he done it?
Bitterness? Boredom? Pride?
All three. But pride was the big one of course. Stupid male pride. After they kicked him out of the army and the webcast thing went sour, he just hadn’t known what to do with himself. Hanging around the house, fighting with Cassie, shouting at the kids. He’d felt … unmanned.
And there was the money. He’d never cared about it before and nor had Cassie. They’d always had enough, always got by. But then
Guts Versus Guts
made them briefly wealthy, or so it had seemed. Wealthy enough to make the down payment on a proper family house in a really nice area. There was a second baby on the way, they’d needed more room and he’d just
done
it. Without even telling her. She was angry at first, of course, but he knew she’d love it. That house had been the first real home they’d ever had. Before that it had been just short rentals and army housing.
He couldn’t just let it go.
He couldn’t tell Cassie and the kids that they had to pack their bags because he could no longer meet the payments on the mortgage. He was too … proud.
So we can’t pay the mortgage! We’ll move. We’ll get something cheaper, or rent, or live in a tent! You’re good at that. If you’re bored, read a book. If you need a job, go and stack shelves at a supermarket! Wash cars if you love them so much. Sell hamburgers. Do you think
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