Dead Centre

1

It was only a short drive from the crematorium to Mong and Tracy’s place in King’s Acre, to the west of the city. Cupcakes and little quarter-sandwiches were waiting for the few of us who were invited back. I took Tracy in a black Audi 6 I’d hired for the day.

The service had been standing-room only. Even Crazy Dave was there, pushing himself to the front in his space-age wheelchair. Most of the faces I recognized had sun-tans and ill-fitting suits. The ones I didn’t were in Royal Marine blazers and ties, crisp white shirts and neatly pressed slacks. The Corps had also sent representatives in full service dress. Boots and medals gleamed. The only one not there to pay his respects was BB. Crazy Dave tried to cover for him by saying he’d sent him away on a job, but I knew better. There you go.

But so what? He was leaving the UK soon. The job that Crazy Dave hadn’t got him was anti-piracy in the Indian Ocean, working out of Mogadishu. Sitting on a ship all day looking for Long John Silver was perfect for him. No one to work with, so no one to annoy.

All the speakers — mates, relations, people from the Corps — said fantastic things about Mong. But all I could think was what a waste it was. Then the priest or vicar or whoever got a few prayers going. I didn’t listen. What a fuck-up. I was team leader, and that made his death my responsibility. I shouldn’t have listened to him. I should have stuck to my guns and kept him with me.

I’d looked around me. I’d never been one for funerals, but at least I turned up. It was another part of squaddie culture that BB just didn’t grasp.

The massive turnout and expressions of condolence didn’t bring much comfort to Tracy. In fact they freaked her out. She wanted to be alone with her grief. Sharing it made things worse. Now she sat beside me, eyeliner streaming down her face — she looked like a poor man’s vampire. All I could hear was the vehicle heater and stifled intakes of breath as she tried hard not to cry again.

I didn’t want to say anything. I stared straight ahead, drove nice and gently, and left her with her thoughts.

2

The aid workers back at the camp had swallowed our story. It’s always good to base a lie on the truth. We had seen a body hanging out of a stranded fishing boat and gone to check inside it. On the way back down, Mong had missed his footing, fallen awkwardly and sliced his femoral artery on a rusty reinforcing rod.

I made sure they understood this wasn’t a story for their media mates. I didn’t want it leaking out before I could tell his widow in person. The next thing I did was get word to Crazy Dave, who swung straight into action. He didn’t just have British ex-Special Forces on his books: he had ex-Delta and Seals as well. One of the Delta guys made some calls. Favours were pulled in. A US Navy helicopter landed at the camp a few hours later and airlifted the three of us to a carrier out in the bay. They, in turn, trans-shipped us the next day onto a supply vessel that was heading to Singapore to take on stores.

In the day and a bit that it took us to steam the five hundred miles south, Crazy Dave sorted everything. An ambulance was waiting at the dockside in Singapore harbour. It drove us straight to the British embassy, where a local pathologist was on hand to confirm the cause of death and issue a certificate. The only thing that raised an eyebrow with him was the state of Mong’s body. He hadn’t just been thrown into a body bag, covered with blood and dirt. He’d been given a nice wash and brush-up, and was dressed in a clean set of clothes. In fact, if you didn’t know about the fucking great hole in his thigh, you’d have thought he was just having a quiet nap before taking his wife out to dinner. It was the least I could do after the care he’d taken with the dead couple and their baby.

We were on a flight out of Changi International first thing next morning. BB and I were in Club Class, Mong in cargo. During the journey, I mulled over what needed to be done next.

Crazy Dave was waiting for us at Heathrow with a funeral director and a hearse. I made a deal with him as soon as we landed. He’d give Tracy my second payment as well as Mong’s. He’d tell her it was the agreed fee for the job. I’d made the old fucker a promise, and this was the start of me keeping it.

3

Tracy put her hand on my shoulder. ‘What am I going to do, Nick? He was all I had.’

I kept my eyes on the road. I didn’t want to crash this thing and make her life even worse. ‘It’ll be tough at first, Tracy, but life does go on …’

Her hand fell off my shoulder and back onto her lap. She nodded slowly. But then the hand came back up to her face and she started sobbing again.

I patted her shoulder, trying to drive and look at her at the same time. ‘Have you thought about moving away from here? You know, try somewhere new. Somewhere there won’t be constant reminders.’

She reached into a small black bag for more tissues. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to India. On the beach. Maybe a small restaurant. Just be happy.’ She blew her nose. ‘But I can’t. Mum’s still ill, and then there’s Jan …’

I put my hand back on the steering wheel. Jan was a problem.

She was going to be all over Tracy now she had a few bob. But things weren’t as rosy as Jan thought. Mong had died while helping the victims of the tsunami. He’d taken out a life-insurance policy to cover the mortgage, but couldn’t have read the bit in the small print about not putting himself in harm’s way. They weren’t expecting to pay up. I’d asked BB if he’d bung in his share to make up for it, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

Tracy dried her eyes as we approached the four-bedroom mock-Tudor that she now owned, or would shortly.

‘I don’t even have any children to be with, Nick. We tried so hard, but we couldn’t.’

She looked at me. A dreadful thought crossed her mind. I could see it in her face. ‘I won’t lose you, Nick, will I? Just because Mong’s gone it doesn’t mean I have to lose you as well, does it?’

I parked up in the drive and pushed the selector to P. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always make sure you’re OK, no matter what happens.’