his way along it. He combed his hair with his fingers, pressing out some of the water. He would take a quick shower to wash out the salt and then get on the road.
Stratton’s thoughts turned to something more pleasant - the crockpot in his fridge that he was looking forward to heating up and digging into, and the glass of wine to go with it.
3
Stratton walked through Customs into the arrivals hall at London Heathrow Terminal Five wearing his battered leather jacket and with his holdall slung over one shoulder. He scanned along the line of faces waiting for arriving passengers, recognising Ted’s large head lurking at the end of the line.
‘How’s it going, Ted?’ Stratton asked as he came over to the driver.
‘I’m grand, Stratton,’ the man replied in a Belfast accent. ‘This way,’ he pointed, indicating a set of glass doors that led outside. Ted was a regular Royal Marine who had been attached to the SBS for half a dozen years. The dependable type, he took his job as driver to the unit most seriously. ‘Did you have a good trip?’ he asked, giving Stratton a knowing glance that suggested he was privy to the intimate details of the mission, which of course he had no clue about.
‘I did,’ Stratton replied, with a wink.
‘You look fine, so you do,’ Ted assured him. ‘It’s good to have you back in one piece again.’
As they made their way through the hall, Stratton saw a man he thought he recognised walk in from outside. The man looked strong and burly and was wearing a heavy parka with a fur-lined hood. His long jet-black hair was unkempt. Most notably he had a limp: the mobility of his left leg was restricted as he moved to get on an ascending escalator. He looked older and heavier than Stratton would have expected him to be after the couple of years since he’d last seen him. Stratton might not have recognised the man at all had it not been for his disability.
‘Jordan!’ Stratton called out above the cacophony of the hall.
The man, carrying a backpack, turned his head. He glanced in Stratton’s direction before looking back up the escalator.
‘Jordan!’ Stratton repeated. This time the man did not respond.
‘That Jordan Mackay?’ Ted asked. ‘That is ’im, ain’t it,’ he decided quickly.
Stratton dropped his bag at Ted’s feet. ‘Be back in a minute,’ he said, setting off towards a flight of stairs to the departure level where Jordan was headed.
‘I’ll wait right here for you,’ Ted called out.
Stratton ran up the stairs and paused on reaching the top landing. The man was limping briskly across the not too crowded hall. ‘Jordan,’ Stratton called out again after significantly closing the gap between them.
This time Jordan looked directly at him, appearing surprised as he stopped to face his old friend. His initially blank expression turned into a slight, vaguely tense smile. ‘Stratton.’
‘How are you, my old mate?’ Stratton asked, holding out a hand.
Jordan shook it firmly, appearing to warm to the meeting, if somewhat reluctantly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You look well,’ Stratton offered. ‘A little heavier around the middle, perhaps,’ he added to remain honest.
Stratton suddenly suspected that Jordan had heard him call his name the first time but had wanted to avoid their meeting. In truth, Stratton shared some of that reluctance himself but would not succumb to it. His feeling of guilt formed an effective pyschological barrier between them but a strong sense of old loyalty had pushed him through it. Despite Jordan’s unease, he did not regret meeting him.
‘You look tired,’ Jordan said. ‘They still working you every hour God sends?’
‘Is it any easier being a civilian?’
Jordan shrugged. ‘When you’re off the clock nobody bothers you, at least.’
‘There’s something to be said for that.You off on holiday or work?’
Jordan hesitated. ‘North Sea,’ he answered finally. ‘I’m a dive supervisor.’
‘On a platform?’
‘One you know well enough. The Morpheus.’
‘Crawled all over that a few times, haven’t we? How does it feel? I mean, working on it as a civvy.’
‘I’d rather land on it by chopper on a nice sunny afternoon than climb it from the ogin in a Force Twelve in the middle of the bloody night.’
They laughed at the memories, Jordan enjoying the moment more than he felt comfortable with.
‘Pay’s better, too,’ Jordan added. ‘That’s all that counts these days.’
Stratton maintained a smile. Jordan had never used to be interested in the money beyond providing for his basic needs. It was obvious what was missing in him.