Going Grey Read Online Free PDF Page A

she'd put it on the bed by his hand.
    "Do you need more painkillers?"
    "Can I have a glass of milk, please?" Suddenly Mike craved an ice-cold glass. He didn't even like milk. "Or juice."
    "Sorry, nil by mouth until the tube comes out tomorrow."
    The nurse vanished again. Mike reached for the phone and tried to focus on the display. How long had he been here? Damn, not quite twenty-four hours. There were already messages for him from Livvie and Dad, and from Brad, the program manager at Esselby.
    Livvie's simply read: ' Whenever you're ready. Just glad I've still got you.' He was desperate to hear her voice. If he called, though, he'd sound drugged and hoarse. She'd be upset. He decided to wait until he sounded like his old self, and settled for a text in the meantime.
    The painkiller was much more powerful than he'd realised. He tapped out his reply like a man struggling with a new language, but there was no better excuse for being brief. He didn't need to tell her how close a call he'd had, at least not yet.
    'Livvie honey – doing fine. Sorry to scare you. Love you.'
    And Dad, as always, got right to the point: ' Micko, your guardian angel is Robert Rennie. I called in a favour from the DoD to bypass all the BS. Stand by for a visit. We'll reward him properly in due course. You're coming home. We love you.'
    Mike felt the relief of something achieved. He typed THANKS DAD, LOVE YOU because he'd fumbled the caps lock, then hit send. The effort left him sweating.
    Dad was upset. Mike could understand that. He didn't have to be here, and he wasn't defending his country. It was just a compulsion. He didn't know how to settle for doing anything less for the rest of his life.
    The nasogastric tube came out the next day. With the tube gone, he felt whole enough to call Livvie and chat for a few minutes until he ran out of energy. He told her everything positive he could remember about the rescue. The grisly detail could wait.
    "I'll be home for months," he said, trying to be casual. "We can take all those trips we promised ourselves."
    "So this Rob guy. Have you invited him to visit?"
    "I haven't seen him yet. But I will, honey. You sure you're not angry with me?"
    "No. Upset, naturally." Livvie paused. "But you've got your quest, and if I stop you, then you won't be Mike any more, will you?"
    Mike pondered that after she rang off. It wasn't the first time she'd said it, and she was right. He was looking for something. Every time he thought he'd found it, he'd turn it over and it would transform itself from a right and decent thing to a tainted grey area — wars supporting the wrong allies, training foreigners who turned on you in the end, and guarding aid programs that didn't solve a damn thing. It was simple; Mike just wanted to do good . But it was getting harder to pin down what good meant in the real world.
    He still couldn't think of anything cleaner than being a soldier, whether in national uniform or as a contractor. It was a difference he could see with his own eyes and make with his own hands. The worst thing about wealth was that it left him with no excuses for what he hadn't done with his life, and at thirty-five he still felt he'd done absolutely nothing.
    Mike was starting to worry that he'd be flown home before he got to see Rob and thank him, but the guy showed up the next day. He walked in clutching a plastic carrier bag as if it was a routine visit. He looked dauntingly fit in a khaki T-shirt instead of Kevlar plates, and it was now clear how much of Rob was Rob and how much had been armour.
    "So there I am, in the boss's tent, getting a bollocking about all the paperwork I've caused," Rob said, launching straight in without an opening hello. "And then he gets a call, and suddenly I'm the man of the match. Any ideas?"
    Mike wasn't sure what to say. Thanks seemed remarkably slight. He held out his hand while he tried to think of something appropriate. Rob shook it with the grip of a boa constrictor.
    "Ah," Mike