A Christmas Wish by Amanda Prowse Page A

permutations had him very definitely dead. The rest was semantics.
    â€˜But that means dead doesn’t it?’
    â€˜No. Not dead, he is missing.’ He glanced at Sergeant Gisby,silently asking if he had any better suggestions on how to clarify the facts.
    â€˜Isn’t that just because you haven’t found him or had it confirmed yet or something?’
    Major Anthony Helm visibly coloured. She had accurately called the situation and similarly was asking him the question that he’d dreaded the most. Had Poppy looked closely, she would have seen the vaguest twitch to his right cheek; he wasn’t a man that knew how to respond to questions from a girl like her. Despite his years of service, these encounters would always be outside his comfort zone. It was alien to Anthony, sitting in a council flat in Walthamstow on a muggy Tuesday with fish fingers crisping under the grill, telling Poppy that Martin was possibly dead whilst being subjected to questions that he couldn’t answer. It was an element soldiers rarely considered when enlisting, the pastoral responsibilities, the pressing of the flesh, the human face of the MoD machine. It was a world away from kicking in doors and crawling through undergrowth with a gun in your hand.
    Poppy felt his unease and might have felt sorry for him, were it not for the fact that she had decided to blame him. Well, she had to blame someone, didn’t she?
    His tone was clipped, not through any lack of compassion, but because that was how he operated; whatever the task in hand he retained absolute control.
    â€˜No, that is not the case at all. Martin at this stage is missing. We have no other useful facts, but we do believe in keeping you informed of every development as soon as we have it. At the moment, that is all the information we have.’
    â€˜I appreciate that, Major…’ she hesitated as his surname slipped from her memory, ‘Major Thingy, but what exactly does it mean?’ Poppy hadn’t intended to be rude, but she did want to know what was going on.
    Major Helm licked the sweat from his top lip, lizard-like in his dexterity. ‘It’s Anthony.’ His smile was fleeting. It had taken one slip-up of his name for him to reach a point of intolerance; he was not about to be known as ‘Major Thingy’ especially in front of the sergeant. It had been twenty-four years, eight tours and a clutch of service medals since he had answered to a name he disliked.
    Sergeant Gisby stepped forward. He bent low in front of Poppy, addressing her while resting on his haunches, his fat thighs pressed against the double seam of his combat trousers. ‘What it means, Mrs Cricket…’
    â€˜No one really calls me Mrs Cricket. I’m Poppy.’
    â€˜What it means, Poppy, is that he was on patrol in Helmand province and he didn’t come back when he was expected to. He went out on patrol in a group of twelve and so far only ten have returned to base. That’s all we know at this point. We are trying to get information for you from those that did come back and as soon as we have more we’ll pass it straight on to you. What we do know, is that something went very wrong on that patrol. Martin and one other infantryman are missing.’
    â€˜So he could be dead?’
    Sergeant Gisby didn’t flinch. He held her gaze, giving Poppy the impression that he was on her side. ‘Yes, Poppy, that is a possibility.’
    She nodded, grateful for his honesty. There was a minute of silence, each gathering thoughts. ‘When did it happen?’ Poppy addressed the sergeant. She wanted to try and picture what she was doing while her husband was getting into trouble, possibly even killed.
    â€˜It was yesterday, yesterday afternoon.’
    Yesterday afternoon, where had she been? In the supermarket , oblivious. Poppy had always thought that if anything happened to Martin she would know. Like the twins you readabout in