The steward appeared and took the order for the drinks for the group, before sliding away again, through the press of mess members crowded into the room.

After he'd gone, Maddy stared at the others. 'But... I mean, what about Mrs N? Surely, if Susie's trying to be the perfect wife...' But then she remembered that Mrs N had also been pretty p.i.s.sed at Susie's dinner party.

'Mrs N's not much better,' confirmed Caro. 'Army wives tend to get driven to the bottle.' She turned to Will. 'Don't we, darling?' Will didn't answer but gave everyone a wink. 'Anyway,' continued Caro, 'Susie can be relied upon not to get p.i.s.sed in public, only in the relative privacy of her own home, which is all that matters, as far as the army is concerned. Of course, if that changes, Mike's career...' She drew the side of her hand across her throat. 'Or, he'll dump her.'

Maddy's eyes widened in horror. 'Really?'

'Why do you think the army's divorce rate is like it is?' asked Philippa. 'Wives either get fed up with the moving, their c.r.a.p job prospects, sending their kids away to school, the s.h.i.t housing, the separation and the rest and kick it into touch, or their husbands get fed up with their wives b.i.t.c.hing about it and kick them into touch.' She made a meerkat squeak. 'Simples.'

The steward reappeared with a tray of drinks.

'So drink up,' said Seb when everyone had got one. 'Gin makes it all seem so much better unless you administer it in industrial quant.i.ties.'

'Cheers,' they all said as they clinked gla.s.ses.

Maddy glanced across the room at Susie and Mrs N. Who would have guessed? And yet another path trodden by some army wives she'd do well to bypa.s.s herself.

Maddy stared at the battalion's forecast of events which Seb had brought home the previous day. There was no doubt about it, the countdown to Christmas had started. The battalion diary was a succession of parties for each of the companies: the Warrant Officers' and Sergeants' Mess Christmas Draw and Ball; the Wives' Club Christmas Bring-And-Buy; the Officers to Sergeants' Mess Drinks; the soldiers' Christmas lunch; the Officers' Mess Christmas c.o.c.ktail party plus sundry other get-togethers and fund-raisers. In the last couple of weeks before the twenty-fifth itself, it seemed to Maddy that for most people a.s.sociated with the battalion (and not just Susie and Mrs Notley) life was going to consist of recovering from one hangover before sinking enough alcohol to ensure the next one.

Over a lunch of tomato soup and toast, Maddy broached the question of Seb finding time to babysit his son while she went Christmas shopping.

'Oh, Mads. Must I?'

'Seb! And how else is Christmas supposed to happen?'

'Internet shopping?' he asked hopefully.

'Don't be silly. I haven't a clue what to get lots of people. I need to browse about the shops to get ideas and I can't do that with Nate in tow. And Caro has got Will to promise to take the boys, so we can go together. Please, Seb.'

'I know but...'

'He's your son too, Seb.'

Seb sighed. 'When?' he said wearily.

'Next Sat.u.r.day.'

'But the Officers to Sergeants' Mess Drinks is on Friday.'

'So? It's a lunchtime do; you're not planning on getting so p.i.s.sed you're going to be out of the game for the best part of twenty-four hours.'

'No, but...' Seb looked at her pleadingly. 'And if I don't have a hangover, I thought I'd go rowing training.'

'Seb,' she said, a little more sternly than she meant, 'when was the last time I asked you to look after Nate? Is it too much to ask that you don't get s.h.i.t-faced on Friday?'

Seb looked woebegone. 'But this is a once-a-year event.'

'So it'll happen again next year. Please, Seb, it's not so much to ask.'

'OK. All right. I'll do it.' He threw his spoon back into the bowl, spattering soup across the table.

Maddy thought she'd never heard anyone give in with such bad grace ever but she wasn't going to back down. Just for once, she needed to make Seb realise that marriage wasn't a one-sided affair and she had rights in the partnership too, just as he had responsibilities and one of his responsibilities, just occasionally, was looking after his son. And having a.s.serted herself she felt pleasingly empowered. Maybe she'd try pushing the boundaries again once Seb had got over the shock of her standing up to him this time.

The Warrant Officers' and Sergeants' mess was rammed. It was barely possible to see the red, swirly carpet because of the press of people standing around in the main bar, and it was with huge difficulty that the waiting staff circulated with trays of wine and beer to keep pace with demand for drinks. The noise was ear-splitting.

Seb bent his head close to his chief clerk's to try to catch what he was saying. It wasn't just the noise that made it difficult to hear what Chiefy was saying, the fact that his words were a bit slurry didn't help matters.

'... and I'm telling you, bossh, you're the besht platoon officer I've worked for.'

'Thanks, Chiefy,' said Seb. He stumbled slightly and the dregs of his drink slopped in the bottom of his gla.s.s. 'You're not so shabby yourself.' He threw his arm over his chief clerk's shoulder, in a gesture of manly friendliness.

'Aw, get away with you. Here, let me get you another one.'

Seb shook his head and tried to focus on his watch. Was it half past three or a quarter past six? Nope... he couldn't see clearly. b.l.o.o.d.y stupid watch dial.

'Come on, sir, one for the road.'

Should he? Aw, where was the harm? And he didn't want to hurt Chiefy's feelings. It would be rude not to accept. Anyway, Maddy wouldn't mind if he was a bit late, would she? She'd understand.

Across the crowded bar, Seb could see the RSM and the CO both standing on their heads, trying to drink pints upside down. There was one thing you could say about the senior NCOs they sure knew how to throw a party.

'Oh go on, Chiefy,' said Seb, belching slightly. 'Why not?'

'And a whisky chaser? It is Christmas, after all.'

'That's one h.e.l.luvan idea. Thanks, Chiefy.'

The next morning Maddy sent a text to Caro: Seb is dying how is will? Despite Seb's truly epic hangover, the prospect of a day out with Caro was hugely cheering and, no matter how s.h.i.t her husband felt, Maddy wasn't going to change her plans. Hangovers weren't fatal and Seb would just have to man up as he was wont to encourage others to do.

She hummed happily while she made two mugs of tea and found a rusk for Nathan to chew on. She spooned sugar into one mug good for hangovers, she'd heard found a pack of aspirin in a kitchen cupboard and, promising Nate she'd be back in a jiffy, she ran upstairs to deliver tea and painkillers to Seb.

She wrinkled her nose as she entered the room; it reeked of stale beer. She thumped the tea down on the bedside table and put the packet of pills beside it.

'You'd better hope these work miracles, because I'm going out at ten. Nate just may fancy a nap then but if he doesn't, you'll have to entertain him.'

She ran back downstairs again, before Seb could protest, just in time to hear her phone chirrup the incoming-text alarm. She picked it up.

Will also dying tee hee. See you later.

Maddy giggled. Today was going to be fun, and after weeks and weeks of almost no free time she reckoned she really deserved a day out. And a bit of last-minute Christmas shopping with Caro was just what the doctor ordered. No doubt Seb and Will would get together at lunchtime and have a hair of the dog and moan about the unfairness of wives leaving them to deal with kids and hangovers.

For the first time since she'd arrived on the patch, she felt really upbeat; maybe she had turned a corner, as her mother had predicted she would once Nate was sleeping better and his colic cleared. Maybe being an army wife wasn't so bad. She had a gorgeous, fit husband (when he wasn't dying with a hangover), she had a roof over her head, she was surrounded by neighbours with similar-aged kids and it was Christmas. Maybe, she thought as she went to meet Caro, maybe it was time to think about being more than just a mother. Maybe it was time to think about getting her own career back on track. It wouldn't go down a storm with Seb or Mrs b.l.o.o.d.y Notley but her degree from Oxford didn't deserve to go to waste and she had her own life to live. Surely wanting to make a success of her own life wasn't such a big ask? Although she had an awful feeling that maybe it was or it would be to Seb.

14.

Christmas Day dawned cloudy, grey and overcast with a hint of drizzle. It was one of those quiet, dreary winter's days that would normally make people's spirits sink: too warm for there to be any chance of it snowing and thus turning dull, drab, dark winter into a magical wonderland but, equally, too d.a.m.n raw and cold to make it pleasant for kids to play outside on their new toys. But, at first light, none of the wives on the various patches around the garrison paid much attention to what the weather was up to, as they were roused by alarms signalling it was time to haul themselves out of bed, switch on their ovens and get the turkeys ready to go in.

In her quarter, Jenna groaned as her alarm went off. For a while she lay in bed wondering what sort of stupid idea it was to buy a twelve pound turkey that needed getting in the oven at silly o'clock, so everyone could sit down for Christmas lunch at one. What was wrong with having a lie-in and everyone eating at four in the afternoon?

'Because, if we do that,' Lee had said, 'we'll all be p.i.s.sed on Bacardi and vodka.'

Jenna supposed he had a point, although she reckoned on having a skinful of bevvies by lunchtime because, if nothing else, it might be the only way to survive the visit from Lee's mum. s.h.i.t, that woman was a pain. It wasn't that she ever said anything really disapproving, but Jenna could just tell from the look on the sour old bat's face that nothing Jenna did was good enough. She'd sniffed at the quarter like Jenna had deliberately picked the worst one just out of spite she'd turned her nose up at her bedroom, and the look on her face, when Jenna had made a lasagne with jars of tomato and cheese sauce, had been a cla.s.sic. So she didn't cook every last thing from scratch. Who the f.u.c.k did, in this day and age? Well, Nigella b.l.o.o.d.y Lawson did for the cameras, but Jenna wouldn't mind betting that as soon as the TV crew b.u.g.g.e.red off she was just like every other woman in the country and banged ready meals in the microwave at every opportunity. Since when was taking a cookery short-cut a crime? But Sonia obviously thought it was. Today, however, the old bat was going to get proper roast turkey and all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and she could shove that in her pipe and smoke it.

Spurred on by the thought that she'd show Sonia Perkins a thing or two, Jenna slipped out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown and stuffed her feet into her slippers, before padding downstairs. She switched the kitchen light on, waiting a few seconds as it hummed and flickered, before she took from the kitchen drawer the instructions that Chrissie had written out for her. Jenna read them through once again and then turned on the oven. Chrissie had told her not to worry and that she'd be over mid-morning to help with the meal, but that it was essential Jenna got the bird in the oven first thing, and she'd written down exactly what Jenna had to do before she arrived.

While Jenna waited for the oven to get to the right temperature, she got the turkey out of the fridge, wrestled it into a roasting tin and covered it tightly with tin foil. When the little red light went out, she heaved the whole lot into the still-sparkling oven the ready meals she mostly dished up hadn't sullied its pristine condition and slammed the door. She slipped back upstairs to bed, hoping to G.o.d nothing held Chrissie up, as she didn't have the first idea about how to carry on with the meal after this stage.

When Chrissie and Immi arrived later, it was obvious to them both that Jenna had already made a start on the vodka and although she wasn't yet p.i.s.sed, she soon would be. Sonia Perkins was glowering at her from her seat in the sitting room and Lee was looking nervous as he tried to keep the peace between the two women in his life. Immi and Chrissie handed over a few little gifts and were each given a present from under the tree.

'Oh, choccies, lovely,' said Chrissie, opening hers. Immi had the same and the two girls were both genuinely touched to be included in the family event. However, from the way Jenna was swirling the ice cubes around her now-empty gla.s.s and from the look on Sonia's face, Chrissie realised that if the rest of the day wasn't going to go t.i.ts-up, she needed to take action and fast.

Muttering things about basting the bird, she dragged Jenna into the kitchen and shut the door. Immi, thankfully, got the hint that Chrissie had taken charge of the damage limitation exercise and began chatting to Sonia and Lee about Newcastle, which she had visited once and luckily could remember enough about her trip to make conversation.

'Sit down, Jenna, you're going to have a cup of strong coffee, just as soon as I can make it,' Chrissie ordered, pushing Jenna onto a kitchen chair before putting on the kettle.

Jenna sulked and looked pointedly at her gla.s.s, but Chrissie ignored her, concentrating instead on flicking open the cupboards to familiarise herself with this new kitchen. She'd found mug and coffee by the time the kettle boiled and then made a cup of strong, black instant, which she pa.s.sed to Jenna.

'Here.'

'Must I?' said Jenna.

Chrissie gave her a hard stare. 'If you don't want your first Christmas to be a complete disaster, yes, you must.' Then she softened. 'Look, I can see your mother-in-law might be tricky-'

'Tricky?!' squawked Jenna.

'-but this is Lee's Christmas, as well. If you love him, shouldn't you try to make it a lovely day for him? Upsetting his mum won't achieve that, now, will it?'

Jenna sighed and nodded. 'It was getting me through it, though.'

'Get p.i.s.sed over lunch by all means, I expect we all will, but just stay off the voddies for now, eh?'

Meekly Jenna sipped her coffee, while Chrissie whirled around the kitchen, peeling potatoes and carrots, preparing sprouts, and starting to make the bread sauce. Every now and again, she gave Jenna a simple task to do, like washing up a few utensils, or wrapping c.o.c.ktail sausages in strips of bacon. By the time elevenses came round Jenna was virtually sober and Sonia was smiling again. Chrissie wasn't sure the situation would last the whole day, but at least they might get through lunch before things reverted.

With the turkey and all its tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs safely cooking and a reasonable atmosphere now reigning, Chrissie allowed Jenna to re-join the other three in the sitting room. Delicious smells wafted after them through the door.

'So, where did you learn to cook?' asked Sonia, bestowing a warm smile on Chrissie. Chrissie realised with relief that she and Immi had Sonia's approval. That was one hurdle cleared.

She explained about her childhood.

'That's not fair. That's no life for a bairn,' said Sonia.

Chrissie shrugged. 'You have to make the best of what you've got. And I knew no different. It was OK.'

'Hmm,' said Sonia. 'It's a shame others don't look at life like that.' She sent a look in Jenna's direction.

b.u.g.g.e.r, thought Chrissie, Jenna was still in the doghouse.

Lee obviously realised it too. He jumped up. 'Well, I think it's time we had a gla.s.s of bubbly to get the celebrations going.'

'It's a bit early yet,' said Sonia.

'It's Christmas,' insisted Lee.

'Sounds like a great idea to me,' said Chrissie, hoping that, as she'd found favour with Sonia, her opinion might prove to be significant.

'Oh, well... if you insist,' said Sonia.

Lee went into the kitchen and there was the sound of a champagne cork popping. A couple of minutes later he reappeared with a tray of br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.ses.

'I think we ought to toast Chrissie,' said Lee with a smile. 'To the chef.'

'A bit premature for that,' said Chrissie. 'It might be pants.'

'I can tell a born home-maker when I see one,' said Sonia. 'And I know that turkey is going to be fine. You'll make a grand wife for someone, one day.' And she shot another look at Jenna. Luckily, however, Jenna was too busy chugging back her fizz to notice or care.

By three o'clock in the afternoon, across the garrison, all the presents had been exchanged, crackers had been pulled, the turkeys had been cooked, carved and eaten and most of the occupants of the quarters across the patch were full to bursting, as were the dishwashers, for those lucky enough to have them. Outside in the streets kids, high on excitement, additives and sugar, belted about with their new toys, supervised by fathers who mostly seemed to be nursing a gla.s.s of port or a can of beer, while the mothers finished clearing up.

At the top end of Omdurman Avenue, the Collins household was deathly quiet. Mike and Susie were snoring, and drunkenly comatose on the sofa, while their two girls, back from boarding school, had taken themselves up to their bedrooms to watch inappropriate and illicit DVDs they had obtained, and enjoy uninterrupted access to their dad's laptop, Facebooking friends, friends who didn't go to their hugely expensive prep school, friends they knew their mother would disapprove of.

Further down the road, at the junior officers' end, Maddy and Seb had collapsed in a heap on the sofa, while Nathan dozed in his bouncy chair. Maddy's parents, who wouldn't be denied their first grandchild's first Christmas, had taken themselves up to bed for a snooze, full of turkey and a shade too much Veuve Clicquot and Pinot Grigio.

'Do you think Nate had a good time?' asked Maddy, as she lay, knackered, against the cushions, exhausted from the early start and the slog of cooking the meal, then cleaning the kitchen and dealing with the leftovers.

'He had a lovely time, hon. We all did.'

Maddy snuggled closer to Seb and gave him a kiss of thanks. 'Bung the TV on. I feel like watching something mindless.'

Seb picked up the remote and the television flicked into life. The Queen's Speech had finished, a couple of predictable films were already halfway through, and Seb continued to slowly trawl through the channels waiting for something to pop up that appealed to both of them. The BBC twenty-four-hour news channel appeared.

'Is the world still turning?' asked Maddy dozily, as she yawned deeply and contemplated a little zizz instead.

But Seb was reading the banner drifting across the bottom of the screen. 'f.u.c.k,' he said.

'What's the matter?' Maddy jerked awake.

'Another load of casualties for 2 Herts,' said Seb.

Maddy read the banner herself and saw the words Their families have been informed. She felt her eyes filling with tears. 'And to be told on Christmas Day.'

'I don't think Christmas would make it any worse,' said Seb.