The Poppy Factory Read Online Free PDF Page B

must have smelled it when she’d leaned close to look down the otoscope. Not long after, the medic in charge had popped his head around the door.
    ‘A word, Lance Corporal. My office. Now.’ She stood to attention as he bent to bring his face within inches of her own and sniffed loudly, several times. She breathed as lightly as she could without passing out.
    ‘You stink of booze. Are you drunk, Corporal Merton?’
    ‘I don’t believe so, sir. Not at eleven o’clock in the morning. Sir.’
    ‘You certainly smell of alcohol, and I can’t have you on duty if there’s any chance of it. You are dismissed for the day. Report to me here, eighteen hundred hours.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    She spent the day sleeping it off, and arrived at her boss’s office fully sober but with her head pulsing with pain that even heavy doses of Co-codamol hadn’t managed to shift.
    ‘I can’t have my medics drunk on duty, you understand?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘I’ve had it reported to me that you are overdoing the booze in general, is that a fair observation?’
    The anger started to swell as she wondered who could have grassed on her. ‘I wouldn’t say so, sir,’ she muttered, through gritted teeth.
    ‘How are things with you generally? Adjusting to life back home? Preparing for civvy street? Things okay with the boyfriend?’
    How dare he bloody snoop into her private life? She could feel her cheeks flushing now, her breath stopping in her chest as she tried to control the fury.
    ‘Well, Lance Corporal?’
    Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth.
    ‘It can be tricky, I know,’ his voice droned on. ‘If you need to talk to someone, of course we can lay it on.’
    The nausea was rising again and she could feel her stomach turning over just as it had on Remembrance Sunday all those weeks back.
    ‘Excuse me, sir,’ was all she managed to say, before rushing into the corridor and puking all over the shiny linoleum.
    ‘I’m sorry I was such a bitch last night,’ she said to Nate on the phone later that evening.
    He didn’t reply, not at first. Then he said, ‘Look, I can’t deal with this right now. I’ve had a rough day at work and I just want to chill out and not have a row with you.’
    ‘I haven’t rung you to have a row,’ she said, trying not to sound defensive. ‘I’ve rung to apologise and tell you that I’m going to cut out the booze completely, for a while, just to get back on an even keel.’
    ‘Sounds like a plan, Jess.’
    ‘Look, can I come and stay with you this week? I could catch a train tonight.’
    There was a surprised pause at the other end. Then, ‘It’s Monday night. What about work?’
    ‘They’ve given me the rest of the week off – they’re calling it sick leave, but I think they just want to keep me out of their hair. I’ve only got five weeks to go now and they don’t want me causing any more trouble.’
    ‘What trouble?’
    She told him about the ticking off, but not about being sick in the corridor.
    ‘The timing’s not great, to be honest,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘I’ve got a heavy week. There are rumours that Ofsted might come calling, I’ve got two parents’ evenings and a football trip on Thursday. Won’t be back till pretty late most nights.’
    ‘I’ll shop and clean and cook you delicious meals,’ she pleaded.
    He went silent at the end of the phone and for a fleeting, frightening moment it occurred to her that he might be about to tell her it was over. Oh God, please no, she prayed. I love him, can’t do it without him.
    Then, at last: ‘Okay. See you later. But Jess …’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘What you said about quitting the booze? You’re serious?’
    ‘I promise.’
    Each evening as she waited for Nate to return from work, she could feel her body shouting at her that it wanted alcohol, any alcohol, that nothing else would satisfy it. Several times, passing the off licence on the corner of his street, she sensed her feet pulling towards the door. Just one