Sisters In Arms

by Catherine Jones

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Book by Jones, Catherine

Release date: May 2, 2013

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 432

Sample

Amanda Hardwick, blonde, statuesque and in the latter half of her twenties, alighted from the Paddington train at Westbury station and immediately began assessing her fellow candidates for the Army Regular Commissions Board. Her first thought was that she was the oldest in the group by a long way. Beside her the others all looked like schoolchildren, and then she realised that most of them would be exactly that, albeit sixth-formers. Since she had been teaching French in a state secondary school in Northampton for nearly five years, she used the skills she had acquired sizing up new classes to take stock of her fellow candidates. Mostly what she saw was entirely predictable, like in a new tutor group of Year Sevens: a gaggle of kids who wanted to do their best, not stand out from the others, and get a decent result at the end of the day. However, the tall, slim girl with the wild fluorescent-orange hair – surely she couldn’t have chosen that colour deliberately? – dressed in a scruffy calf-length dress like an overlong T-shirt, and an outsized leather jacket, made Amanda do a double-take. She looked as if she should be travelling around with a New Age commune, not wanting to become a future member of HM Forces. Amanda glanced at the man in uniform who had been sent to pick them up and was amused to see that even he was staring in amazement at this apparition. She hid her smile as she watched him shake his head incredulously.

Amanda climbed on the bus last of all and sat at the back. She saw that Miss Misfit was sitting next to a poor kid who looked terrified out of her wits. Whether this was at the prospect of the Commissions Board or whether the red hair was the cause, Amanda couldn’t tell. She caught the eye of the soldier in his rear-view mirror and grinned at him. As if he understood, he raised one eyebrow and shook his head. Amanda nearly laughed out loud. She suspected he’d never seen the like either. As Amanda watched, the two girls got into conversation.

Edwina Austin, the red-head, was acutely aware of how out of place she looked. She had known she’d made a ghastly mistake with her choice of clothes as soon as she had got off the train and seen the half-dozen other hopefuls. She had noticed their glances and realised that whereas her hair and clothes had been almost conservative at art college, they were distinctly out of place here. As she had boarded the bus she’d heard one of the boys – one whom she had rapidly summed up as a trainspotting wimp – snigger and mutter, ‘No chance.’ Well, fuck you, thought Edwina, squaring her shoulders and preparing to brazen her mistake out. The girl next to her on the bus looked very young but she had a pleasant face. Edwina didn’t think it would do any harm to try and make a friend.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Edwina Austin.’

‘Lizzie Armstrong,’ came the reply in a cultured, almost posh voice, so different from her own harsh, north-country one. Lizzie shifted round in her seat slightly so she could offer her hand to Edwina. It was obvious to Edwina, from the expression on Lizzie’s face, that the other girl was wary of her. It’s my hair, she thought morosely. But she was grateful, all the same, that this schoolgirl was taking a chance on being friendly towards her. Edwina thought that it was probably because after these few days they were unlikely to meet again – if first impressions counted for anything, Edwina knew she’d already blown her chances of being selected. Conversely Lizzie looked, and sounded, exactly the sort the Army was probably looking for.

‘I’m really nervous about this, aren’t you?’ Lizzie said.

‘Yes. Shit scared. God knows what I’ll do if I fail. I tried art college but it didn’t work out, and I don’t want to go back to living with my mum.’ Edwina paused, then added, ‘Anyway, I just really like the idea of joining up.’

‘Me, too.’

‘Do you know what’s involved at the Board?’

‘Not really. My father told me what he did when he joined up, but that was donkey’s years ago and I expect everything’s different now.’

‘Oh. You come from an Army family then?’ Unfair advantage or what?

‘Only partly. My mother was in the Wrens.’

Christ, thought Edwina, this gets worse and worse. I don’t stand an earthly against the likes of her. I bet she knows stacks more than I do. Although, Edwina reasoned, the pressure is worse for her; if she fails her dad will want to know why, whereas if I fail my mum won’t give a toss.

The conversation dried up, partly because both girls were engrossed in their own thoughts, and partly because it was apparent that, apart from a shared wish to become Army officers, they had little in common. Edwina sensed that Lizzie had sized her up and dismissed her chances, which made her all the more determined to prove to these toffee-nosed public-school types that she was just as good as them. Still, no point in alienating Lizzie. She obviously had some good gen on what was going to happen over the next few days and she might be persuaded to share the info.

They stared out of the windows at the small town of Westbury. Then they were through the town centre, such as it was, and the minibus prepared to turn off the road.

‘Look, we’re here,’ said Lizzie. Edwina followed the direction of the other girl’s gaze and saw a pair of stone pillars with a wrought-iron archway over the top.

‘Arbeit macht frei,’ she muttered to herself as they passed underneath.

‘Sorry,’ said Lizzie, not quite catching what had been said.

‘Nothing,’ replied Edwina, realising that her comment might well be construed as tasteless in anyone’s book. Now was no time to make enemies. She told herself to watch out that her quick tongue didn’t let her down. She felt a frisson of apprehension as the bus came to a halt. She wished that she’d worn a skirt and jersey. But stuff it – it was too late to go home and get some more suitable clothes. Nothing for it but to front it out.

At the back of the minibus Amanda was still riveted by Edwina’s appearance. If her hair wasn’t such a mess she could be quite attractive – although she was so thin as to be verging on scrawny. A teaching friend had once described one of their sixth-formers as ‘built like a racing snake’. Looking at Edwina this phrase popped into Amanda’s mind. The other girl was certainly pretty in an immature way, although Amanda suspected that her mother still dictated how her hair should be cut and what clothes she should wear. On the other hand, the red-head, who was obviously in need of large quantities of guidance, couldn’t have received any at all. What on earth had possessed her to come on something like the Regular Commissions Board so incredibly badly prepared? Surely someone had briefed her about what to expect? And anyway, even a complete idiot would realise that if you wanted to join something as traditional and conventional as the Army then it would be a bright idea to look as though you were capable of conforming. Amanda shook her head and sighed. Well, if nothing else it would be interesting to see what other gaffes this strange female would no doubt make over the next few days.

The bus pulled to a halt and Amanda gathered her bits and pieces together and got off. A woman in a blue housecoat asked them to gather round her and then, looking at a mill-board in her hand, asked them to follow her to their accommodation block.

‘If you could unpack and then go over to the candidates’ mess’ – she pointed to the large building they could see across the lawn – ‘for lunch and a briefing. Lunch is at twelve-thirty, so you’ve plenty of time.’

‘It’s like being back at boarding school,’ Lizzie said to Edwina.

‘I wouldn’t know. My local comp didn’t encourage us to stay on the premises after hours.’

Amanda saw Lizzie redden. Poor little scrap, she thought, that was mean of the red-head. Just because she’s already made a balls-up of her own chances, there’s no need to take it out on anyone else. They were escorted to a low brick building surrounded by immaculate rose beds and even neater lawns.

‘OK, Miss Austin and’ – there was a pause while the woman consulted her board again – ‘Miss Armstrong?’ The two girls answered their names. ‘First room on the right.’

Poor Miss Armstrong, getting stuck with the weirdo as a roommate, thought Amanda. She hoped that the schoolgirl was tougher than she looked, because she was probably going to need it if the red-head went on being a prize bitch.

‘Mr Brown?’ An affirmative from one of the boys in cords and sports jacket. ‘The single room at the end.’ The list continued and the rooms were allocated until finally, ‘Mr Wetherall and Mr Hardwick?’

‘I think there’s a mistake,’ said Amanda. ‘I’m Ms Hardwick.’

‘Oh dear. That’s my fault, I should have double-checked. Still, no harm done. There’s a spare bed in the room on the right.’ And she ushered Amanda into the same room as Lizzie and Edwina.

Bugger, thought Amanda. She was not best pleased at the idea of sharing a room with anyone – she was a bit long in the tooth for this sort of girls’ dorm treatment – and she was certainly unhappy at the prospect of being cooped up with the red-head. But what the hell? And if she wanted to escape from the tedium of teaching and into something more fulfilling then she’d just have to knuckle down and get on with it.

Edwina had already thrown a scruffy old holdall on to her bed and was sitting beside it. She had let her mask of hard indifference slip and on her face was an expression of abject despair. She looked sadly at Lizzie, who had taken the bed-space next to her.

‘Oh, Lizzie! How could I have been such a fool? I can see I’ve got this all wrong. My clothes are awful and I don’t stand a chance. What am I going to do?’

Lizzie looked at Edwina and stopped unpacking.

‘Well, I think we wear some sort of Army coverall quite a lot of the time. And perhaps if we made your hair a bit less visible – tied it back or something?’

Amanda, across the room, had to restrain herself from suggesting that the only think that would make Edwina’s hair less visible would be a brown paper bag over it.

‘God, it’s a fright, isn’t it? I wanted just to perk up the colour a bit – it’s auburn really – and I didn’t read the instructions on the bottle properly.’ That wasn’t quite the truth; she hadn’t read the instructions at all. For all her openness, even Edwina couldn’t bring herself to admit publicly that she’d been so utterly foolish.

‘Look,’ said Lizzie kindly, ‘I’ve got a couple of blouses I could lend you, if that would help. I’d let you borrow a pair of cords but they’d only come down to your knees.’ There was a good six-inch height difference between the two girls.

Edwina sniffed miserably. ‘Why do I always bugger up my life?’ she moaned. ‘I screwed up at school and got crap A-level grades. I went to art college thinking it would be brilliant and wild and exciting but I was bored fartless. None of the other students had any oomph about them at all, or else they were into illegal substances.’ Lizzie’s eyes widened at this and Edwina wondered if she’d ever known anyone who’d smoked dope, let alone taken heroin. She continued, ‘Then when I left I couldn’t get a job for months and when I finally did, in a publishing company, they got taken over by some American outfit and I was out on my ear.’

‘Well, that’s hardly your fault,’ said Lizzie.

‘No, but now I’ve finally decided which direction I really want to go in, and it looks as though I’m going to make a complete balls of it.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Lizzie said.

‘Get real,’ retorted Edwina.

Amanda felt she had to join in. If she was going to be sharing a room with these two for a few days she couldn’t ignore them. ‘Come on. It’s not as bad as that. We none of us know quite what’s involved. Besides which, it’s your potential as an Army officer they’re after. There’s no way they’re expecting any of us to be perfect. They want people they can train.’ She realised she hadn’t introduced herself and held out her hand. ‘I’m Amanda, by the way.’

Lizzie and Edwina introduced themselves and the three girls continued to chat as they unpacked and put away their clothes, and then got down to the business of tying back Edwina’s hair. After fifteen minutes they all knew that Lizzie had gone to boarding school at the age of eight, that her father was a lieutenant colonel and that she had lived in more houses than she could remember – school seemed to have been the only constant in her life. Edwina told them about her scrapes at art school, that she had an odd mother and that she’d represented Yorkshire Schools at cross-country and had successfully completed two marathons. And Amanda revealed that she’d discovered she hated teaching and that she’d thought of joining the Army after meeting a recruiting officer who had come to talk to the sixth form. They even broached the subject of their reasons for joining up: Lizzie admitted that it was because every relation she’d ever known had had a career in uniform and she couldn’t think of anything else to do; Edwina was drawn by the promise of all the opportunities for sport; and Amanda said she was after travel and a chance to get away from children and work exclusively with adults who had a sense of discipline.

As they walked over to the mess for lunch and the promised briefing, Edwina moaned yet again about her hair, although it was now in a tight French plait and, as Lizzie had predicted, slightly less visible.

‘Why the hell didn’t you dye it back to its right colour before you came here?’ asked Amanda.

‘It didn’t seem so out of place in Leeds,’ said Edwina, not the least bit thrown by Amanda’s directness. ‘I didn’t realise what a backwater I was coming to. And I didn’t realise just how’ – she paused, not quite knowing how to carry on, but couldn’t think of a better way of phrasing it – ‘middle class everyone here would be.’

Amanda snorted. ‘Christ, Edwina, you’re priceless. Do you really know what you’re planning to join? Who on earth did you expect to find here if it wasn’t a whole bunch of middle-class, ex-public-school, middle-of-the-road, dyed-in-the-wool ordinary people?’ As she said this, they walked into the main anteroom of the candidates’ mess to be confronted by about sixty other hopefuls, all members of the socio-economic groups that she had just described. Edwina reddened as everyone in the room stared at her – and her hair. She squared her shoulders and led her two companions to a group of chairs on the far side of the room, ignoring the whispered comments. Edwina had never been lacking in courage.

‘Let me buy you two a drink before lunch,’ she offered.

‘A tonic water for me, please,’ said Amanda.

‘And me,’ said Lizzie. ‘I wouldn’t mind a gin it it but I’ve got a feeling that arriving at one’s first test smelling of drink mightn’t be too bright an idea.’

Edwina, who’d been about to order a Bacardi and Coke for herself, changed her mind. There was a minute possibility of her clothes and hair being overlooked, but Lizzie was right about the booze.

After lunch they received the promised briefing from the SO1, a title he obligingly translated for them as Staff Officer Grade One, which meant he was the training officer there. It obviously made sense to Lizzie, coming as she did from a military background, but Edwina and Amanda were still none the wiser. Having been told what their programme would be for the remainder of the week, laughed at the couple of jokes, and been assured that the Board did not have microphones and cameras installed to monitor the candidates when they were not being tested (a claim none of them was sure they believed), they were then split into syndicates. Before they left for the first series of tests, the syndicates were photographed with each candidate wearing a numbered bib, which they would continue to wear for the remainder of the week, because, as the SO1 explained, the Board could not be expected to remember everyone’s name and this prevented mix-ups.

From then until dinner they had almost no time to call their own. There were IQ tests, tests on their knowledge of the Services, their general knowledge and current affairs and their grasp of the English language. By the time they had finished that lot, they were all feeling shattered. The three young women straggled back to their accommodation lacking the energy to do more than exchange a few words. Amanda said that she was going to have a bath and then go over to the mess to watch the news.

‘Too much making my brain ache and sitting around,’ said Edwina, ‘If I don’t go for a run I’ll go spare.’

‘You don’t think you should watch the news?’ said Amanda. ‘They seem shit-hot on current affairs here.’

‘I’ve got a Walkman. I’ll listen as I run; that’s if I can find Radio 4 on it. I don’t even know if it can get it.’

Amanda didn’t say anything but wondered how anyone could exist without Radio 4. When, after several minutes, Edwina had failed to tune into the station, she found it for her in a matter of seconds. Edwina thanked her.

‘I’ll be back in about an hour or so. Save me a place at dinner.’

‘Tell you what. We’ll meet you in the bar at seven o’clock.’

‘See you then.’ And Edwina loped out of the door wearing shorts, a singlet and a pair of training shoes that were dropping to bits.

‘I wonder how far she’s running?’ said Amanda, who was adequately fit but certainly no athlete.

‘Goodness knows,’ said Lizzie, ‘but she mentioned at lunch that her best time for the London Marathon was three hours fifteen.’

‘Jesus. That’s fit!’

Amanda went off to have a soak in the bath and to collect her thoughts. As she lay in the almost scalding scented water she wondered if she really would fit into the disciplined world of the Armed Forces. She compared herself to Lizzie, who was obviously a certainty for selection, and felt quite despondent. She wondered if she was too old for this sort of regime, but twenty-eight wasn’t over the hill, was it? Surely, if she had the right qualities her maturity might be considered a bonus rather than a drawback. Amanda sank lower in the water, closed her eyes and hoped against hope that the Army would find her acceptable.

The truth of the matter was that she wasn’t a natural loner, she hated living on her own and she thought that the camaraderie of the Army would fill an impending void in her life. When she had first started in teaching there had been no shortage of other single women with whom to share a flat, but now she was nearing thirty, all her friends had married and she found herself becoming increasingly isolated. She’d rowed with her parents – a matter she hated thinking about – and had drifted from one unsatisfactory relationship to another. She had envisaged a future of teaching with decreasing enthusiasm by day, followed by lonely nights. The Army recruiting literature, given to her by the visiting schools liaison officer, had promised so many of the things her life seemed to be missing. Once she had checked that her age wouldn’t be a bar, she had looked with increasing eagerness into the possibility of joining up. And best of all, living in an officers’ mess would mean that she would have the privacy of a room of her own while enjoying the comforting knowledge that there were plenty of people in the same building. Yes, the Army could be the answer to a maiden’s prayer, she thought hopefully.

The water was growing cold. Amanda got out and towelled herself vigorously. It crossed her mind that she’d lived in that sort of environment before; at teacher-training college. But then, although the girls on the course had been in the majority, the boys had all seemed to have one objective – to screw as many of the female residents as possible in the shortest possible time. Amanda thought that the sort of code of conduct the Army would insist on would prevent that sort of harassment. Or at least she hoped so; she felt too old to fight off unwanted attentions all the time.

After dinner a few of the more energetic candidates, and those possessing cars, ventured out to discover the local pubs near Westbury. Edwina had considered the idea but decided that she wasn’t going to jeopardise her chances more than she had done already. She’d be better off staying in and mugging up further on the day’s events around the world. If she passed RCB she could go and get blitzed with her mates in Leeds any day. It also meant that she had the chance to quiz Lizzie further about what she could expect over the next few days. It soon became apparent from Lizzie’s answers that there was no way to ‘bone up’ – either she had the right stuff or she hadn’t, and if she hadn’t she wouldn’t fit into the organisation anyway. The trouble was, now that Edwina had met some of the people with whom she might be sharing a career, now that she had seen the Army close to – albeit just this one establishment – and now that she knew more about the sort of jobs she might find herself doing, she was even more eager to pass. She was grateful for Lizzie’s input and for lending her a few more suitable bits of clothing. Amanda had come up with a pair of slacks which fitted reasonably well, despite being too big round the waist, and Edwina knew that both she and Lizzie were warming towards her, now they had got over their first impressions. They’d even swapped phone numbers and addresses and promises of keeping in touch if one – or all – should fail.

The next day was taken up with yet more interviews and further tests of their mental powers, their logic processes, their physical abilities, their leadership qualities, their sense of humour, their confidence and any other characteristic which the Army could find a way of examining and evaluating. Naturally, the candidates were unaware of the whole gamut which was being scrutinised: when they were required to do the assault course they could all see that the Commissions Board was taking a close interest in their strength, agility and general fitness levels, but what they couldn’t see was that their determination to clear an obstacle which defeated them was of greater interest. Anyone could be made fit enough to scale a twelve-foot wall – not everyone had the strength of character to keep trying to overcome an obstacle despite being wet, cold, bruised and battered. When it was time for group discussions, it wasn’t just the candidates’ input which the Board wanted to hear; they were also looking for those who listened to the points of view of others and could recognise an idea of merit, even if it opposed their own.

Edwina could see that Lizzie had the whole process buttoned up, and although she was confident that her natural physical ability was easily the best in their group, she wasn’t convinced that she’d managed the other tests at all well. For a start, telling one overweight and dim-witted candidate what she thought of her when she clouted Edwina with a plank in the leaderless test (accidentally, but it still hurt) was probably going to count against her. She wasn’t hopeful that her immediate apology negated her outburst, but it was too late by then.

Later, at lunch, Lizzie had consoled her. ‘You only said what we all thought, you know, Edwina. It’s just that fuckwit was probably a teensy bit strong, even if it was awfully funny.’

‘I know,’ groaned Edwina, ‘I shouldn’t have said that. But the cretin should’ve looked where she was going. And then to look like she was going to cry … I ask you!’

‘Well, your apology sounded sincere.’

‘That’s a relief, because it bloody wasn’t.’

Lizzie giggled. ‘Oh, Edwina, I do hope we both pass. Sandhurst will be fun to be at, but you’ll put a bomb under it – I just know.’

Edwina grinned ruefully. ‘Well, here’s hoping. You must be a dead cert – but me …? I cocked up arriving here with those clothes, and that’s that. I told them at the interview that I’d like to have a chance to rerun that bit of my life. The nice colonel – you know, the dishy one’ – Lizzie nodded – ‘well, he said it was to my credit that I recognised that, but even so I think I stuffed my chances.’

‘But you were brilliant round the obstacle course, and in the planning exercise you seemed to have the whole thing sorted. I got completely side-tracked by all the red herrings they threw in.’

‘Never mind. We’ll see.’ But Edwina was anything but hopeful about her chances. ‘You’re so lucky; having the right background must be an advantage.’

‘But they’re not looking for stereotypes,’ said Lizzie, trying to sound reassuring.

‘That’s as may be, but my home life can’t be standard for potential officers.’

‘It can’t be that different, surely?’ said Amanda.

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. My mum is completely scatty and disorganised. Her excuse is that she’s a painter. Oil paintings,’ she added quickly, ‘not home decorating.’

‘Gosh, really?’ Lizzie was impressed. ‘Is she famous?’

‘Well, she sells her stuff, but we couldn’t live on it. Luckily she had a loaded relation who left her some money in trust, otherwise God knows how we’d survive.’

‘Handy,’ observed Amanda.

‘Especially as my dad doesn’t contribute. He buggered off when I was about seven – couldn’t stand my mother’s total lack of organisation. We haven’t heard from him in years.’ Lizzie and Amanda didn’t know what to say. ‘Anyway, enough about me. Even if they’re not after stereotypes, you can probably get your dad to pull a few strings, can’t you, Lizzie?’

‘He’s only a lieutenant colonel.’

‘Sounds pretty senior to me,’ said Edwina, who had learnt the order of Army ranks in an effort to look prepared for her possible future career.

‘Yes, but only in the RCT.’

Edwina knew that this was the Royal Corps of Transport, but she was at a loss to see why that should make him less important than any other lieutenant colonel. Christ, the Army was complicated!

‘Even so, you’ve had the advantage of living around the military all your life, so don’t you know someone with some clout?’ asked Amanda.

‘Not really. I was away at boarding school for a lot of it. I’ve never had that much to do with it, to be honest. Every time I came home my parents seemed to be living in a new house, and by the time I made any friends on the patch they would have moved again. I knew the families of friends at school much better than any of my parents’ neighbours.’

Edwina thought this sounded rather sad.

‘What about you, Amanda?’

‘My father is a full-time history teacher and a part-time Methodist lay preacher.’ She could have added that he was also a bully and a tyrant, but that would have been owing up to too much.

‘Seriously, what does he really do?’ said Edwina, not believing a word of it.

‘He really is.’

Edwina opened and shut her mouth. Then she said, ‘But you drink.’

‘I do lots of things he doesn’t approve of.’ To the extent that he called me an ‘abomination’ and threw me out of his house, she thought bitterly.

‘Does he approve of you changing career?’

Amanda shrugged by way of an answer. Possibly, possibly not, but then he mightn’t know. They hadn’t spoken for years. He’d forbidden her mother to have any contact with her, and although Amanda still wrote, she never had a reply, so she didn’t know if they read her letters or not.

Each of the three girls looked at the other two and thought how odd their childhoods had been in comparison with her own.

When the result arrived, with amazing military efficiency only twenty-four hours after her return home, Edwina was both delighted and amazed at her pass. Her emotions were only surpassed by the indifference of her mother, who hardly paused in the painting of a large canvas to acknowledge the fact. Gwenda Austin made it plain to her daughter that she couldn’t understand where she’d got this idea that a career in the Army was for her. Apart from the fact that the IRA seemed hell-bent on bombing and machine-gunning the British Army into oblivion, she just couldn’t see her wild and ill-disciplined daughter taking orders from anyone. Even Edwina’s protestations about all the sporting opportunities, the adventurous training and the chance to take up things like skiing and sub-aqua failed to convince her mother that this was the right career move.

‘Well, I’m not going to get excited about it,’ she said, mixing cobalt blue and white on her palette. ‘You probably won’t last five minutes in the Army. You’ll either flounce out or get kicked out. It isn’t just sport, it’s discipline too.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mum. By the way, the perspective of that house is all wrong.’ It wasn’t, but it would panic her mother for hours, and Edwina wanted to get her own back for Mum’s lack of enthusiasm. She fished Lizzie’s number out of her jeans pocket and rang her – ignoring her mother’s exhortations about waiting for the cheap rate.

‘Brilliant,’ shrieked Lizzie down the line.

‘It’s good, isn’t it? And I’m really pleased that you passed too. But I knew you would, so it can’t have come as a surprise to you either.’

‘No, but Daddy would have been dreadfully cross if I?