I then saw the girl get out of the van. At first I thought she was American, as she was wearing boots rather like mine, and a pair of blue jeans, which looked better on her than mine did on me. Her whole demeanour and manner was confident and relaxed. Something about her struck a chord, and then I identified it. She wasn’t utilising any of the expected feminine posturing and ‘come hither’ mannerisms I was used to seeing in women.
This surprised me, as she was very attractive, yet she seemed to be saying, ‘I’m not interested; just deal with me as a person, not as an object.’ I smiled. I could identify with her on that.
She watched the others fuss about for a while. She had one bag, which she slung over her shoulder and went into the bar.
She came out a short while later, having lost the bag. She walked round the deck. The view is pretty spectacular, so she walked right by my perch, without seeing me.
I watched her for a few moments, and dropped down to the deck behind her. She was leaning on the rail, staring out to sea. She became aware of me, so we spoke a while. Then, this Professor Whiteman came out. He was one snotty kid. I liked the way Gillian put him in his place, and so I added my quarter worth.
I watched the English professor scurry away. I didn’t like him very much. He was like so many civilians, no discipline.
Gillian laughed as he left us. Now this girl I liked. There was definitely something about her that I warmed to. That didn’t happen very often.
“Back home, I once caught a trout in the loch that shook hands better than him,” she said, and I laughed. She was right, as he had a terrible handshake. She drained a beer.
“So, where is home for you?” I asked.
She suddenly looked sad, as if I’d asked an embarrassing question. Her answer was equally sad, but for some reason, I understood her completely.
“Home is somewhere in the past. I could say Scotland, as that’s where I was brought up and where all my family still live, but I don’t think I’ve found my true home yet.”
I nodded. I didn’t feel I had to say anything.
“Any more in that pocket of yours?” she asked. I liked her Scottish accent. It wasn’t like many I’d heard, which had been coarse and almost unintelligible without a translator. Her accent was cultured, clear and educated, but not snotty, like some of the English accents.
I shook my head, so she walked off.
Once she had gone, I tried to analyse what it was that I liked about her. She had a trim figure, but wore ordinary clothes that didn’t flaunt it. She was very attractive, but went to pains to hide it with a severe haircut and no makeup at all. She wasn’t butch, but she wasn’t feminine either. It was almost as if she had decided not to play the game by anyone’s rules but her own, and was sitting it out to see what happened.
She returned carrying four beers and gave me two.
“Stick one in your pocket for later, Quick Draw, and don’t expect me to open it with my teeth,” she said, so I grinned.
She clambered up onto the rail, and sat drinking beer. I leant against the rail with my elbows, as there didn’t seem any need to clutter the world with mindless chatter. I just liked her being there, and somehow I sensed that she felt the same way about me.
“How long have you been a Marine?” she asked, eventually.
“All my adult life. I joined at seventeen, and I’m thirty-nine in two weeks!”
“Does leaving frighten you?” she asked.
I looked at her, how could she know this?
I nodded, “A little. It has given me so much security, that it is hard to step out into the unknown,” I admitted.
She smiled, “So why leave?”
“I don’t know. I can’t do the active service list anymore, so it means a desk job, and I don’t know if I could hack that,” I said.
“Why can’t you do active service anymore?”
“Because I have been injured or wounded once too often. My knees would make Steve Austin jealous,” I said, and she frowned.
“The Six Million dollar man,” I said, and then, “It was a TV show when I was younger, where a guy was horribly injured, and they rebuilt him so he became faster, stronger and better than anyone else.”
“Oh,” she said, “I was never much for the TV, load of bollocks most of it.”
I laughed, as she really was very refreshing.
We stayed a while. I have never been good at idle chitchat, but she seemed genuinely interested in me, and we seemed to get on well.
Mickey came and dragged us in, and we all sat round a big table for a working supper.
Russell had no clue about organising anything, so I took over. I laid things out clean and simple. Safety came first, where instructions were not optional. The chart showed a possible landing point by the mouth of a small stream as it hit the ocean. There was a reef a few yards out, but there should be sufficient water to get a rib through at high tide. That was my job. Mickey was staying on the boat, so once we were established, he would be back every ten days or so with fresh supplies.
The photographer, Craig, was a pain in the ass. I established that he had never been in the tropics before, so guessed he would be a liability. The others were okay, for civilians, even Russell seemed prepared to do what I told him.
I advised them to get a good night’s sleep, as it was an early start in the morning. We would spend three days on the boat, and I was gambling that most of them would get seasick.
I was sitting on my balcony at midnight, when I became aware of the girl again. She was back by the rail, looking at the sea.
“Can’t you sleep?” I asked, making her jump.
“You made me jump,” she said, I saw her teeth flash in the darkness. I was pleased she didn’t cry out, that showed me she had good control.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“My body clock is all to fuck,” she said. “I slept on the plane and in the van. Besides, it is so peaceful here. One can almost lose oneself.”
“Why would one want to?” I asked. She looked away. So, there was something she was running away from.
“Fancy a beer?” I asked.
“Why not?” she said, and before I could climb down, she climbed up and sat on the floor beside me. I passed her an open beer.
We sat and watched the night sky, with the lights of the boats twinkling out in the bay. She was right. One could lose oneself, almost.
I let my mind drift back to my surreal adventures, and once again, I experienced that lurch of regret as I missed being someone else.
We were still there at 1 am.
I had never met anyone who allowed me to open up quite so much. Even as a kid, the shrink, Michelle, had to squeeze everything out of me, a little bit at a time.
Eventually, we went to our beds, but I lay for a while trying to understand what it was about her that affected me as she obviously did. I was just dropping off when it hit me, she did not come on to me like all the other women I had met, and she did not expect me to do the same for her. It began to dawn on me, that we might not be so different after all.
The next morning, I was up and dressed in my jungle fatigues by 06:30. I looked what I was, a hardened Marine. I came down to the bar, but found only Mickey and Gillian up and drinking coffee.
Gillian was wearing ex-British army camouflage combat trousers and Magnum boots that laced up high. She had a webbing belt, with a couple of pouches on it, and a plain green tee shirt. For the first time I felt a sexual twinge towards her, and when she turned and smiled at me, the feeling went deeper. This was very unusual for me.
“Good morning, First Sergeant Ryan,” she said. “You look very professional.”