If you had told me that at a few years ago that at 25 I'd be bleedin' divorced from who I thought was my forever and shacked up with me best mate come fiancée in some grotty flat I'd have laughed and asked what the eff you were on. Turns out I am all of those things.
We'd stayed friends to start off with, me and Charles. We'd had our ups and downs, mostly downs by the end with his injuries and denial and PTSD but I didn't hate him, he didn't hate me. We'd been happy once upon a time. Really happy but then we weren't and we called it a day so what was the point of making it awkward?
I'll always regret choosing to go on tour instead of staying home to look after him but I was young and I honestly thought he'd be alright. He was far from it as it goes and that will always be my cross to bare. But what do you do when he says one thing and means another and you're too young and thick to read the signs? He told me to go and be brilliant and that's what I did, for him as well as myself. I wanted to make him proud but instead we grew apart. We were friends that shared a bed (sometimes) and then he left. He ignored my calls, deleted my emails. He'd well and truly checked out. I spent a good couple of months walking round like the walking wounded and my heart felt three sizes too big for my chest and I was absolutely and irrevocably heartbroken.
Our paths were bound to cross eventually in the small world that is the army. And stupidly in my head it went something along the lines of us running into each other's arms and kissing each other to death like in the film, but let's face it, he's shagging Georgie Lane so why would he want me? So I guess it will be bleedin' awkward instead but I'll be civil and treat him like any other officer of the British Army and not like the man who broke me into a million pieces and left me to put myself back together again.
So that's what we agreed when we was finally able to have a conversation about the legalities - to be friends, even if it was only for careers sake in the end.
I decided to visit him in the rehab centre once not long after his last disastrous tour. But then I saw her, Georgie. My so called mate, my replacement medic in 2 section but also in his heart. I'm not gonna lie I felt a bit miffed, actually more than a bit miffed I was absolutely shattered into a million pieces and slightly bitter even though it had been awhile since we'd split. But who wouldn't be? She was me mate and he was me husband and I was jealous but he was happy and I suppose that's all that mattered. I just hoped they treated each other better than they treated me. I later found out through Brains he'd shagged her on tour before we'd even signed the divorce papers. That was the worst bit, the knife in my gut. That was why he'd ignore my calls, calls that I made because I just needed to hear his voice. Wanted him to say "We've made a mistake, let's give it another go" instead he told me to take what I want from our home that I didn't want to leave. And all the while he was chasing her.
I can imagine he didn't feel too chuffed when he'd inevitably heard a year or so later about me and Smurf. He thought he was the biggest twat to ever walk this planet. Out of respect for the marriage I once had I waited. I gave him time to come to his senses and get help and come back to me. But he didn't.
I'd heard he was up for medical discharge, I'd even seen the paper work actually when I was brought in to help clear up the massive fucking mess that a certain Northern medical will remain nameless had left behind her when she decided to sod off back to Manchester with her tail between her legs (amongst other things). She got my husband and I got her mess.
One of the worst parts was going home with my tail between me legs. The 'I told you so's' from me Dad and Nan and the way me mum tried to wrap me in cotton wool. Like a kid who was being picked on in the play ground, not like a grown woman who was getting divorced.
That's sort of how me and Smurf happened. He was there for me, offered me a way out of my mess and I supposed at the time I thought I would learn to love him the way I did Charles. He was more in my league, or so I thought at the time. These days I've come to realise that it was Charles who didn't deserve me. Class means nothing when your on your deathbed. I heard from Brains and Fingers who are still great mates of mine that it was my name he called when he was on his. I've always held on to that thought, it comforts me to know that maybe he did really love me, we just fell out of line with each other. And that's okay with me now.
