‘I might call. I just can’t promise it.’
‘It’s fine. And it’s only for a few weeks anyway, right?’
‘Most likely. I’ll let you know if that changes.’
‘So no texting, huh?’
I smiled at her as I dropped a flak jacket into my case. ‘You’ll have to find someone else to text forty times a day for the next little while.’
‘Forty times a day!’ she repeated, flattening her palm against her chest in mock outrage. ‘You exaggerate. It’s rarely more than thirty-five.’
‘You can email me. I’ll make sure I check it every few days. I’ll write back when I can.’
‘And when you get back?’
‘When I get back…’
‘What will it look like? Do you think this is the start of frequent trips?’
‘Yes.’
‘How regular?’
‘It depends. If it disintegrates into a full-blown civil war, I’ll probably spend a lot of time there until it resolves.’
‘So what are we talking? Five trips a year? Ten?’
I thought about this as I retrieved my ballistic vests and rested them over my clothes in the suitcase. I glanced at Molly hesitantly before I answered. ‘Last year, I was in the field for nine months.’
I saw the shock on her face and I turned back to the wardrobe, feeling a flush creeping up my neck. The conversation was necessary, but I didn’t want to have it; I wanted to pretend that this was a one-off, and that in a few weeks’ time I’d return to Sydney and we could resume an easy togetherness. I withdrew my helmet and gas mask from the drawers and when I turned back to the bed, Molly was staring at them in horror.
‘What the hell?’
‘It’s a gas mask.’
‘I know what it is. Why do you need it?’
‘It’s just a precaution.’ I opted not to explain to her why I now carried it with me religiously after a close encounter during my first military embed in Iraq, when the patrol I was travelling with had stumbled upon a cache of shells laced with sarin.
Molly shifted forward on the bed and gingerly flicked through the items in my case.
‘Leo, there are four outfits in here and the rest is protective gear.’
‘In the field I don’t really change clothes much… It’s a war zone – no one is going to notice or care.’
Molly looked from the suitcase to the first-aid kit I was now nursing in my elbow and burst into tears. I had never seen her cry before, not even when we talked about Declan. I sank onto the bed beside her and rubbed her back.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said slowly. ‘How can any of this be a surprise to you? You run a media business.’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I just didn’t let myself think about it.’
‘Look, you knew my job was dangerous.’
‘Of course I did,’ she said, raising her chin. ‘That doesn’t mean I have to like it.’
We slept at her house that night, and we didn’t say goodbye. Instead, we made love and fell asleep in each other’s arms, and then I rose in the middle of the night to go to the airport.
As the plane left the runway at 6 a.m. that morning, I looked out of the window at the city below, and for the first time in my life I wished I didn’t have to go.
17
Molly – August 2015
I’m on my way to pick up Leo for our outing later that week when my phone rings. I look down at the caller ID and consider ignoring it, but at the very last second I pick up the call.
‘Molly, this is Melissa from Dr Walton’s rooms. I realise your husband has been ill, but you’ve missed two appointments now. Are you still requiring Dr Walton’s care?’
‘Yes – yes, I am – I just… It’s been so busy. We’ve been overseas and I’m still trying to get back on top of things here. Maybe the week after next?’
I hear shuffling papers at the other end of the line.
‘Are you sure you should leave it that long? You haven’t had any of the tests Dr Walton ordered, and it’s been five weeks since your last check-up.’
It has been necessary for me to compartmentalise my life lately, just to stay on top of things. The challenges in this particular compartment are just going to have to wait a few more weeks.
‘No, I really can’t spare the time until then. It has to wait.’
When I hang up, I don’t put the appointment in my calendar, which I know means I’ll probably forget it.