I bite back the start of a smile at his nod in the mirror, like it was all his idea in the first place. The road blurs and clears in front of me as Mary starts up another one of her stories, windscreen wipers brainlessly scraping perfect crests out of the driving rain.

60

Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996

I stare down at the head, nodding and grinning up at me as if it’s a wind-up doll. Jason’s hands are at my back, nudging me forward, the full-beam overhead strip lights making my eyes water. After all the dark and shadow of our journey, I feel like I’m waking up in a dream. The door clicks closed behind us with a soft thunk.

‘Sit, please, sit,’ the head says, reversing and wheeling over to a desk in the far corner along the wall, a couple of chairs for normal people sticking out next to it. I shuffle forward, skirt riding even higher than it already is as I sit. The wall above the desk is lined with maps that I don’t recognise, there are all sorts of papers and files everywhere, and there is a weird speaker with a flashing red light on top, which sounds like someone has pressed the wrong channel on telly. It’s completely different to the squaddies’ dorms. I guess that’s what it is to be a captain – or half a captain, I suppose. I stuff my hands under my legs. I wish I hadn’t rolled my skirt over so many times before we left.

‘At ease.’ The head jerks at Jason, still standing behind me.

I press my legs down on to my hands, looking round at the rest of the room. There is a flat bunk on the other wall, two pairs of boots lined up underneath it. Boots? For who?

‘So, Carly…’ The head beams at me, craggy face brown and lined. His eyes are almost hidden by a thick felt hat pulled low over his forehead. ‘Thank you for coming in to see me this evening. After all, you must be tired … It’s a school night, isn’t it?’

My skin prickles under my blazer. It’s impossible not to stare now my head is at the same level as his. Up close, his neck is the 61same width as his face, sitting on top of a chest so deep that his uniform looks like it needs an extra pocket on the front. I watch as his thick hands clench his shiny wheelchair hubs. He must have been ten feet tall once, I think.

‘Who are you?’ The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, blush burning up my neck. ‘What happened to your…’

‘Legs?’ The head smiles wider, teeth yellow in the strip light.

I nod, trying not to look down at the stumps, although I can see them twitching in the bottom of my eye.