Chapter 21: The ARO

Working in the recruiting office was certainly different from anything else I'd ever done in the army, but I enjoyed the work, and was pleasantly surprised by the calibre of those youngsters, male and female, who came in for information on a career in the army. If you believe the national newspapers – but who with half a brain does? – all teenagers are dope fiends, sex maniacs and thugs. Of course, some are all those, but the vast majority of the teenagers and young people who I met were bright, likeable and knowledgeable.

I lived in fairly Spartan, but bearable, accommodation in Reading Barracks, where several other members of the ARO were billeted, including the female Sergeant Mons Meg, Staff Sergeant Gervase Brazen and Corporal George Farquhar, plus a number of regular army personnel attached to the TA.
We fed very well, as there was a TA catering training team based at the barracks, and most of them were fully trained chefs.
Reading University allowed part-time students like me to use their gym and pool; one thing I had to work at was my fitness. I spent most of my day behind a desk and I needed to keep my fitness levels up to BFT standard, as I intended going on the sergeant promotion course, when ever the chance arose.

With my off duty time spent in academic and sporting pursuits I had little opportunity, and I have to also admit little inclination, to take up a sexual relationship with any local girl. It was only an hour by train to London and I started spending more of my off duty time at Plaistow. That sense of contentment acquired from Dawn on Still Waters still enveloped me, enabling me to make my peace with Miriam, and gradually we drew closer together, although we both knew we probably would never get back to that idyllic time when I was at Warminster. Even so we were beginning to live more like a married couple, probably for the first time in our marriage.
I would get home on a Friday evening and return to Reading early Monday morning; sometimes I managed a day/night in the week, and about three months after returning from Canada Miriam and I resumed sexual relations – it wasn't making love yet, but we were slowly working our way towards it.

My life was progressing along quietly and peacefully, with the prospects looking bright for my personal and professional life, when on my 31st birthday (12th June 1995), the wheels came off my wagon in a spectacular fashion.

I was home on a few days leave. My birthday was on a Saturday, and Miriam and I celebrated the day by going up the West End to see a show, and then having a meal at The Criterion. We came back to the house, and went straight up to bed and made love. This was the first time since the Warminster Idyll that I can put that title to what we enjoyed between us. We both called out in delighted surprise as our individual orgasms seemed to meet and then build up to an even greater feeling of joy, pleasure and fulfilment. We fell asleep completely satisfied, entwined in each other's arms.

We were still lovey-dovey at breakfast the next morning. You would think that my mother would have been pleased to see that Miriam and I were back as a loving couple; she had been on about it enough times in the past. Unfortunately, she had only been managing one night stands since Vivian went back to his wife, and was probably envious of Miriam's and my loving relationship.

"Blimey! Don't you two ever stop? You kept me awake all bloody night with the noises you was making. You probably 'ad the Oldcastles banging on the wall to quiet you down, but you were making too much bleeding din to 'ear them, an' now I fink I should frow a bucket of water over the pair of you!"

Miriam gave me a full blooded kiss, then got off my lap and started clearing the things from the table. I went out and bought the Sunday papers from the corner newsagent shop; The Screws of the World for my mother, The Sunday Express for Miriam and The Observer for me.
The Queen's Birthday Honours list was on the inside pages of The Observer, and as I turned the page there was a picture of Pippa Goddard staring out at me.

"Well, bugger me!" To say that I was surprised would be an understatement. Pippa looked as lovely as I remembered, in fact it was the photo taken when awarded her doctorate, and now she had been made Commander of the British Empire (CBE) for services to charity and education.
Both Miriam and my mother had looked up from the papers they had been reading when I swore.

"What is it, Dave?" My mother leaned over and looked at the page. There was only the one photograph on the page, and she said. "I expect you know this piece then?" She read the caption underneath aloud. "Dr Phillipa Goddard, PhD. MA. BA. Awarded the CBE for services to charity an' to education. She's not just a pretty face then."
Miriam went white with anger. "That's that tart you were shagging in Aldershot ... she's probably got it for services to the bloody army as well!"
How Miriam knew the name of the woman I had been living with in Aldershot I have no idea. She flounced out of the room, slamming the door with some force.

"That's pissed on your chips, 'aint it Dave?" My mother remarked, with some satisfaction. "At least I'll get some kip tonight; it don't look like you'll be 'aving any rumpty pumpty for a while!"

I went up to our bedroom, and had to speak through the locked door as Miriam refused to let me in to talk to her face to face. The Mirror Lake effect was still working with me because I kept calm, and didn't shout or swear or do any of the things a blow-up with Miriam usually led me to. I explained that as soon as I had returned from the Gulf and had re-established relations with Miriam I had left Phillipa Goddard – not strictly true, but near enough. Miriam listened to me in silence, and then eventually opened the door.
She also must have been under the influence of the calming mood that I had come back with from Canada, because she spoke without the anger and bile that usually accompanied her tantrums.

"I know you've had other women, Des, but this is the first time I've seen one of them face to face, as it were, and it came as an unpleasant shock."

"Since we got back together at Warminste, four years ago, this is the first time I've seen anything of her – on my life."
Miriam looked me straight in the eye for several moments, and then sighed.

"I believe you Des, but it still has given me quite a turn."
She looked and sounded quite composed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We were due to go out that evening to the restaurant in Barking owned by Gino Frascetti's parents. Gino, and his wife Gina, were home on leave from Germany. The 2nd battalion (which had been renumbered from 3 ... remember?) was at Sennelager, and this would be the first opportunity to meet up with him for years, and I was looking forward to the evening.

"Are we still OK for this evening then, love?" She nodded, and went into the bathroom to shower while I went back downstairs.

"Sorted it all out 'ave you?" My mother poured me another cup of tea. "Miriam 'as been down in the dumps sumfing 'orrible these past few weeks. I know 'er firm 'as 'ad to lay off a lot of staff lately, and she's the one 'oo 'as to tell 'em. She finds it terrible 'ard, it's no wonder she took the 'ump when she saw that photo. An' that villain of a brother of 'ers is back on the manor, 'es been away in Spain for a year. It's always bad news when that bastard's about."

"You don't think that Miriam is doing drugs; I know her brother is a dealer?"
My mother looked thoughtful for a moment. "I would know if she was injecting, or sniffing anything. Mind you she 'as a pile of pills from the doctor in 'er room. I expect she's got depression from that job she does."
I knew that Miriam held a middle management job in the supermarket chain she worked for, but I hadn't realised she was responsible for hiring and firing. The last time I heard she was on a troubleshooting team; maybe telling people they had the sack was part of the team's remit?

Although Miriam could drive, and in fact it was her car which sat on the driveway of the house, since the death of her parents in a car crash she had never got behind the wheel of a car. It was only about a 20 minute drive to the Frascettis' restaurant, and as I drove I kept glancing at Miriam. From time to time she would look over at me and smile. She seemed calm and happy, and I thanked God that the spat this morning had been just that.

The meal at Frascetti's Taverna was a dream; Gino was at his comedic best, and his wife Gina, a typical Italian looking female but a third generation local girl, was voluptuous and loud, and just a bit drunk. I had not met her before, and on greeting me she had enveloped me in her arms, dragged into her bosom and smothered me with wet sloppy kisses. She was wearing a low cut blouse, and what with her generously proportioned bust and the abandonment of her embrace, I nearly received one of her nipples in my mouth. Miriam was not pleased by Gina's behaviour, and I saw a frown of annoyance cross her face.
Worse was to follow. Gino started to pour the vino down his throat, and then began reminiscing when we were both lance corporals in Germany and Northern Ireland. He brandished a bottle of red wine.

"Remember this wine Dewey?" I shook my head, trying to get him to stop his story telling but to no avail. He was well pissed by now, and had lost whatever sense he possessed, which wasn't a great deal to start with.

"It's that wine we gave to them two cousins in Belfast. Talk about a leg opener; I was knackered for a week after the seeing-to we gave that pair; and vice versa." He gave a drunken giggle. "Especially the vice, which we had versa as well!"

Gina smiled indulgently; Gino had been single and hadn't even met her then, but Miriam was not so tolerant.

"Are you saying that in Belfast Des and you were shagging two girls at the same time? Did you have a foursome, you perverted bastard?" That last question was directed at me, and I could see that she was working herself up into a probably justified tirade. Once again I tried to pacify her.

"We weren't talking to each other then Miriam, remember? You had refused to come out to Germany."

"And that allowed you to shag Irish whores, two at a time, did it? And who the hell is Dewey?"

"That's Des' regimental name – I thought you knew." Gino had realised he had dropped me in the shit and was trying, in his usual bollock handed way, to make amends.

"Regimental name? All his tarts and whores know it but his bloody wife don't." Miriam was working herself up into a full on rage when Gina, with the same good intentions as Gino but with the same disastrous results, started talking about her children, and then showed Miriam photographs of them. That did it – Miriam went apeshit.

"That's right, rub my face in it. You know damn well I can't have kids, and here you are showing off your sprogs, with your tits hanging out of your blouse just after you tried getting into my old man's trousers, and that's after I find out he had been shagging tarts in Belfast two at a time."
She stormed out of the restaurant, the other diners looking on with interest, and all I could do was make a hurried apology to the Frascettis and run out after her.