Dust to dust

FOURTEEN

Brian Kelly was getting ready to go out. He stood in front of the hall mirror, examining his image, turning this way and that and appearing well satisfied with what he saw. The reality was a sixteen-stone man with a pot belly, wearing a Glasgow Celtic football shirt and scruffy jeans. Round his neck he wore a club scarf as a further mark of allegiance. A woollen hat in the colours added the final touch to the ensemble.

‘Is that you off, then?’ asked May, passing him in the hall. ‘Who’s it today?’

‘Aberdeen. We’ll stuff them and go six points clear at the top.’

‘I hope so,’ said May, who didn’t care either way but fell that Brian in a good mood was a better prospect than Brian in a bad one.

‘See you whenever.’

Brian had just reached for the door handle when the bell rang. The immediate opening of the door took the young Royal Marine standing there by surprise. ‘God, that was quick,’ he said.

‘I was just going out,’ explained Brian, fighting back conflicting emotions as he took in the uniform and saw that the caller was around the same age as Michael.

‘I’m Jim Leslie. I was a friend of Mick’s.’

‘Oh… right… right,’ said Brian as thoughts of the game evaporated. ‘C’mon in, son.’ He turned his head and called out, ‘May, it’s a pal of Michael’s.’

May’s face lit up with pleasure as she fussed over their caller. ‘It’s so nice of you to come and see us, Jim. Have you come far? Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?’ She turned to Brian. ‘Brian, maybe Jim would like a beer.’

‘I’m fine, Mrs Kelly, really I am. I’m home on leave. I left the base in Arbroath this morning: I’m on my way to my girlfriend’s place in Salford so I thought I would stop off in Glasgow and say hello to you folks.’

‘I’m so glad you did, son,’ said May.

‘Aye,’ echoed Brian. ‘That was real nice of you. Are you sure you won’t have a beer?’

Leslie declined again with a smile.

‘Did you know Michael well?’ asked May.

‘Mick and I didn’t train together but we got to know each other in Afghanistan — you get to know people pretty quickly when you’re out on patrol with them: you’ve got to trust the guy who’s covering your back, if you know what I mean. We got on well. He often spoke of you folks… and his sister, Maureen and her kids. He was really proud of being an uncle.’

‘Tess and Calum adored him,’ said May, her eyes beginning to fill.

‘It must have been a hell of a shock,’ said Leslie.

‘You can say that again,’ said Brian.

‘How much d’you know about Mick’s death?’

The sudden question seemed out of context in the otherwise comfortable and comforting exchange and took Brian and May by surprise. ‘How do you mean, son?’

‘How much do you know about the circumstances of Mick’s death?

Brian shrugged, feeling uncomfortable and somehow filled with foreboding. ‘Just what they told us, I suppose; he died in a field hospital of a wound infection that didn’t respond to treatment.’

‘That officer never got back to me,’ interrupted May, her eyes filling with sadness. ‘He said he’d find out if Michael had said anything before he died but he never did…’

‘Did the rupert say anything about how Mick got wounded?’

Brian shook his head. ‘We did ask him but he said he wasn’t sure, said something about the wound being… well, nothing much: it was really the infection that killed Mick.’

‘He’d been back in the UK.’

Brian and May looked at each other in surprise which quickly changed to confusion. ‘We didn’t know that. He never told us he was coming home. He never came to see us.’

‘I don’t think he could,’ said Leslie. ‘It was all very hush-hush. He said he couldn’t tell me either when I kidded him about having friends in high places and getting special treatment.’

‘How long was he back for?’ asked Brian.

‘Between two and three weeks, I reckon. He must have been on his way back to join the unit when the incident happened.’

The inflection Leslie put on the words caused an electric pause in the room. Brian looked for clues in the young marine’s face. ‘What are you trying to tell us, son?’ he asked suspiciously.

Leslie drew up his shoulders and spread his hands. ‘I wish I could be more specific, Mr Kelly, but it’s just that no one seems to know what really happened to Mick. Like I say, he’d been home in the UK and was on his way back to the unit when next thing I knew was that he had been wounded and was lying in a field hospital. I tried to get down to see him but when I got there he’d been transferred to the bigger medical unit at Camp Bastion. A few days after that we were told he’d … died.’

‘Are you saying there might have been something funny about how he got wounded?’ asked Brian, beginning to sound angry. ‘Like it was his own side who shot him, for instance? Friendly fire? Is that what you’re saying?’ He managed to inject such distaste and loathing into the phrase that Leslie recoiled a little. ‘Tell me, son, were those American fuckers involved… shooting’ at people from miles up in the sky to keep their own arses away from trouble?’

‘I really don’t think it was anything like that, Mr Kelly, Mrs Kelly. But whatever it was, it happened before he re-joined the unit because he never made it back. I would have known if he had. That means that something must have happened between the airport and the camp — and the airport road’s pretty busy and well defended. If anything had happened — an ambush or an IED going off or any kind of air incident — we would have heard about it. But there was no word of anything happening, then or afterwards, when you’d expect the guys to be talking about it… absolutely nothing. That sort of suggests that Mick was alone at the time… so where were the others who came in on his flight? There’s something not right and no one’s talking.’

‘We’ve obviously not been told the whole story, son,’ said Brian. ‘But by Christ… I’m going to get to the bottom of this.’

May looked as if she’d just become involved in something she’d rather not pursue.