Without A Song

Chapter Four: Did I do something wrong?

"Jesus Christ, (then) sorry Boss. Bloody fucking hell, fucking sodding hell, sodding S-H-One-T. Slut, whore, whore, fucking whore!"

It was only the start and it went on forever. I was angry, very angry.

"Out of sight is out of mind? The cow, her arse. Turn my back, get away, why not stay a little longer, we can pay off the house a little sooner? Why not stick it? Stuck in this filthy hole for you? For us? And all you can do is finger another fucking whore! Had half the village no doubt! "

I went on for ages. It felt longer. I was tearing myself apart, beating myself up. My thoughts were gaining voice and turning the air a rich shade of blue. I felt dirty, unclean, used, cheap. I was hot, I was cold, I sweated and I shivered all over, all at the same time. The wall and doors all suffered a beating yet barely showed a scar. Unlike me. My world, my hopes for a future life in a rural Suffolk village idyll had been blown to smithereens. It probably took minutes but it seemed like many hours before I calmed down and crawled off the floor to risk another look at Rupert's email. The words hadn't changed. No number of deletions or angry looks could change that message, whatever way I chose to read those stinging words, the scalding attacks persevered from the screen. All I could think of was that whoever said words can't hurt had got it so wrong.

And what do I think of Rupert, the upstanding pillar of strength in Old Dereham? How long had it taken him to make this decision? I knew him as decisive, respected him both as friend and counsellor. At what point did he choose not to stay behind the curve and tell me? How long had he waited? But I knew that answer already. Rupert

won't have wasted any time at all. He and Leanne, his wife, would make certain of the facts before moving forward with the sure-footed grace of a great stallion.

Back to me. Inside my head I suffered the mental agony those few sentences were causing, felt the burning scars that were to haunt my immediate outlook on life. My body was reeling from the shock, clammy moisture caked my hands, the words on the screen making me drunk with rage. Shortness of breath befuddled my brain and my muzzy-headed state made me sick. I recognised the immediate rush of mental fatigue brewing inside me, I taught it to my students for God's sake! It gets you when you're down, you become depressed or go wild. It happens to the best. Long periods of mental preparation, physical endurance, conditioning and silent perseverance had taught me to recognise the signs and to survive. I'd done my fair share of jungle training and preparation for a war no-one expected to arrive but that had been so long ago. My attachments to the A(S)RF had taught me how to control myself, control the adrenalin rush and to purge it from within. It was a skill that had to be practiced and I was out of practice. The hurt and the pain came first long before the training bulldozed its way into my subconscious.

Long before I came to the boulders and mountains of Asir, stealthy eyes had protected me and several others as we worked in pitch darkness, removing mines from runways and rail tracks, fixing sewers and pipelines beneath roads or clearing roads of explosives. Civilian comparisons were hard to find where you shouldered a rifle with your theodolite. When you were under that pressure you got on with the job. When you were released with nowhere to exhale lungs full of adrenalin then bouts of depression will take you downhill fast. If you can't fight the depression you lose your sense of humour and your sanity. Your self-respect follows in close quarter by your dignity, taking you so far down until you blew your load on beer, sex and aggression. If you manage to get through that lot to the other side you do so with hope, clarity and focus. I could've fought back, I could've stayed behind the locked door of my room, stayed safe, taking out my pity upon myself, not putting my loss of self-control

on show but yet that would've defeated me from the start. It would certainly make the rest of the evening worse. I knew I had to go through this personal hell to get out the other side. I had to win, to beat the devil inside me, to emerge a better person. Where better to start my life anew but in this sandy backwater, perched high on an Arabian mountain, on a Wednesday night?