And I'll Bring You Flowers

Samantha slept badly. By the time she finally gave up on trying at 6.30 in the morning, she had accumulated all of two hours and seventeen minutes of sleep. Her letter from Samuel was crumpled on her bedside cabinet, laying a top of her phone and other pieces of nonsense that she had dumped upon it. Reaching out, she flicked the little switch on her lamp and the room was flooded with a soft glow.

She then rummaged about for her television remote. Failing to find it underneath her letter, she leaned over her bed, throwing dirty socks across the room. There it was, discarded on the carpet with the back popped out and a battery missing. She scowled, reaching further under. Her hand fumbled blindly for a moment till eventually she located the cold little cell and picked it up.

“There you are you little bleeder,” she spoke softly, slotting it back into place; she pointed it at the television and turned it on. GMTV was currently reading the news to the early risers of Great Britain. Another government scandal (politicians claiming expenses to fund their affair), messages home from Camp Bastion and Madonna putting in for the adoption of yet another child. Nothing that neither took Samantha by surprise nor made her sit up and listen.

John Stapleton and Penny Smith were now reading the headlines and discussing them. So instead she read her letter from her Sam. “My dearest Samantha,” he had written; he was the only person on the planet that ever called her Samantha anymore. The only time her parents called her ‘Samantha Rhiannon Knight’ instead of the usual Sammie was when she was in trouble. This was once in a blue moon.

“My dearest Samantha, I don’t have much time to write you this today as I am due to report for foot patrol in ten minutes,” she spoke to nobody in particular. “Knowing I have only ten days remaining out here in this hell hole is driving me crazy and I miss you now more than I ever have done. I cannot wait to be home, to hold you in my arms again and to tell you that I love you more than anything else on Earth.” An advert for Cravendale momentarily distracted her but she looked back to the last part of his short letter. “Just a few more days now, my love. I love you with all my heart and soul, Sam. Pee, ess, and this time I’ll bring you flowers.”

Flowers. She didn’t really care too much about the flowers she just wanted her Sam back in one piece. They met in the pub just before he signed up to the army. By the time they were serious about their relationship there was nothing she could do to dissuade him and there was certainly nothing she could do when he was told he would be going for his first tour of Afghanistan. The only thing she could do was stick by him and be there for him at all times.

Putting her letter back down she kicked off the covers and scurried across her room, stumbling her way across the top of dirty jeans and folders of coursework she had left in the middle of the floor, to her calendar. Today’s date was ringed with red pen. In the box she had drawn a million little hearts and across the middle in thick black letters she had written ‘SAM HOME!’

Samantha had checked everyday to make sure she had written it down correctly. If it was in actual fact this date but one year on she would have been mortified. Content she had it correct she sighed with relief. The only thing Sam hadn’t been able to tell her was at what time he would be home; it had already changed three times, but she didn’t mind, just so long as the MoD stuck to their word and let him come home when they said.

She went back to her bed, sitting amongst the heap of crumpled duvet and shuffled pillows and looked at the television. More messages from Bastion. She had been watching these avidly for the last week in the hope that Private Samuel Martin Shepard would appear on it with a message for his family and for her. So far nothing, though one morning she was sure she could hear him shouting in the background.

She blamed Marcella Whittingdale (the GMTV correspondent who had gone to Afghanistan to report) for not picking her Sam and had taken a great amount of disdain to the woman. She had even written a rather scathing letter to Marcella on how she had picked all the wrong men and women to send messages back home. It was Samantha’s concerned mother Joyce who had dissuaded her daughter from actually sending the letter; Sammie had been having a bad few days following the deaths of three soldiers after a roadside explosion, and was looking for people to blame for the silliest things.

Samantha chuckled, the letter was still on her desk in a pile of other letters full or derogatory terms and words for other people she was blaming. There was letters for the likes of George Bush and Tony Blair in her pile. There was also a letter for Osama Bin Laden that she had once planned to have translated into Arabic.

At seven she decided she couldn’t stay in her room any longer. The house was beginning to stir with life anyway, and her father would have long been out with the dogs to check on the livestock. In fact, she had heard him yelling at the dogs to ‘leave the bloody chickens alone! And don’t go into the cowshed either, idiot dogs!’ He must have been in a bad mood to talk to the dogs like that since usually they were like his own children.

Her mother was buttering toast when she padded into the kitchen that typically smelt of an odd combination of wax jackets, wet dog and delicious food. Her sister Bethany was sitting at the breakfast table, finishing homework and eating cereal simultaneously and when Sammie entered the both of them looked up at her. Their eyes lingered on her till she sat down at the table, her eyes wandering to the clock instinctively.

“Did you ever go to sleep last night?” Beth asked, returning to her French homework.

“Yes,” she answered indignantly. “I did actually.”

“Anything less than four hours doesn’t count.”

Samantha scowled and looked at the clock again. Only two minutes had passed. The minutes were going to drag, she just knew it. Any normal day and this wouldn’t happen but the day when she gets to see her Sam again for the first time in three months and time moves at snail pace. She decided to concentrate on breakfast and the radio.

According to the weather it was going to be another sunny day which made her smile. It would have been awful for Sam to come home to torrential rain. But then, she thought, he would probably be sick of the sun after six months in Helmand Province. He would probably prefer the iconic British rain.

Before she really knew what was happening Bethany had disappeared from the house with their mother. School. That’s why she loved Sixth Form, she only had a few days in school. She should really have been in lessons today but Sam’s homecoming was far too important to miss. She would just catch up notes from her friends another day, lessons could wait but her Sam could not. She had explained it to her form teacher who had been extremely sympathetic on the matter and encouraged her to take the day off for him.

The Jeremy Kyle Show was as uninspiring as it ever was and after an hour of This Morning she was bored. Her father had been in and out of the house for his morning coffee and biscuits; he had also come in to see if she had gone to meet Sam or heard any news.

And then, at almost lunchtime as she was putting something in the oven for her dad and his farm hands, the phone rang. Her heart jumped up into her throat as she lunged upon it and pressed it with desperation to her ear. “Yes? I mean hello?”

“Do you ever check your phone?”

Samantha’s legs buckled to hear him laughing down the line and sank down onto a chair, thankful for the window seat by the phone. “Why?” She squeaked; she cleared her throat and repeated her question.

“I sent you a message when I got home,” Sam replied, still chuckling.

“You did?” Samantha stood up and scurried on up to her room, searching out her phone and discovering it on her bedside cabinet where it had always been. Of course, one message from Sam informing her he was safely back on British soil and on a coach heading back to base. Oh, and that he couldn’t wait to come see her. Then there was the second message, also from Sam which simply read ‘And I’ll bring you flowers.’ “Of course you did.”

“Do you realise how good it felt to sleep in a proper bed?” Sam then asked. “And eat proper breakfast and sit around in my boxers watching daytime TV? Sammie, it is damn good.” Then he paused. “Don’t you ever join the Army.”

“I didn’t plan on it,” Samantha chuckled.

“Good.” He sounded so serious. “I couldn’t bear for you to be exposed to what happens out there.”

“So how do you think I feel then, Samuel?”

He didn’t respond, just listened to the grating of her teeth and knew he had annoyed her. He knew exactly what she was saying though, but he also knew better than to respond when she started to grate her teeth. That aside her voice had wavered when she’d retorted and he didn’t want to say anything that would cause her to cry properly.

“Sorry,” he spoke eventually. “Can I come see you now? I was bummed when they gave us a middle of the night arrival. I wanted one of those homecomings when the families come meet them off the coach and it’s really emotional.”

“Never mind,” she said softly. “I’m just glad you’re home. You also don’t need to ask, my dad keeps coming in to see if I’ve heard anythi-”

“I love you!” Sam yelled down the line before the dial tone cut in. Samantha stared at the handset before placing it down, unsure of what had just happened. He never usually put down the phone till she had said it too and yet today he’d put it down before she could get a word in edgeways, he had cut her off in fact.

Shaking her head she carried on with preparing dinner. As soon as it was prepped and cooking she scribbled a note for her father just in case, and went outside to wait for Sam. Her mood had lifted even more and she was beginning to shake with nerves. Of course, she was excited to see him but it was still nerve wracking. She felt like she did when she was waiting for him to pick her up for their very first date.

Samantha laughed to herself. Their first date was awful because they were both so nervous and yet they had spent so much time laughing at how bad it was going, by the end neither of them cared. Now it was two years down the line and they were quite happily in love and that horrid first date was behind them. There were days during his tour that she wished they were nervous sixteen year olds again, though, just because he would be home and safe.

Though home was different for the both of them. Home for her was the farm. For him, his parents or his house on base. She checked her phone to make sure there were no more messages; she wasn’t going to miss them this time around. She didn’t actually know which house he was coming from; if it was the base she was looking for his shiny black Corsa. If he was coming from his parents she was looking for him.

After another five minutes she decided that he probably wasn’t coming by car or he would have been here by now. Then again he should have arrived if he was on foot, too. Samantha decided to walk down the driveway to the main road, but as she stood up heading up the driveway himself, she spotted a familiar head of mousy brown hair amidst the vibrant purple of the wild flowers on either side of the road.

He was wearing her favourite check shirt and jeans and in one hand a bunch of flowers, wrapped in clear cellophane and tied with a ribbon. Jumping down from the wall she ran into his open arms, allowing Sam to lift her off her feet and kiss her.

“God I missed you,” he grinned, setting her back on the ground but his arms remaining around her.

“I can’t believe how brown y-” Samantha faltered her comment on his tan as he eyes found the gauze surgically taped to his forehead and wondered why she hadn‘t noticed before. She pursed her lips and clicked her tongue before gently touching her fingertips to it. “What happened to you?”

Sam raised his own hand and touched the bandage before smiling a little sheepishly. “Ambush,” he explained. “Three days ago in Lashkar Gah. Flying shrapnel really hurts.” Then he grinned, tightening his arms so she had to step closer. “But I’m in the best and most capable hands now, so I think I might make a full recovery.”

“Hmmm,” Sammie mused, smiling slyly. “I can see we’re going to be suffering with man flu for the next few days.”

“Hey!” Sam’s green eyes lit up. “Man flu is highly contagious I shall have you know! You can catch it from most things and it can only be cured with lots of TLC!”

Sammie smiled and kissed him again, this time much softer and slower, trying to savour every moment and cram in 3 months of no kisses into this one kiss. As she raised one hand to his head, lacing her fingers through his hair, he loosened his arms and rested one hand on the back of her neck. When eventually they pulled away he rest his forehead against hers.

“I love you Samantha Knight,” he whispered tenderly. “I love you with everything I have.”

“Samuel Shepard,” she replied. “I love you too.”

“I think the TLC is beginning to work,” he smiled, pecking her lips. With that he stepped back and held up the bouquet of flowers for her in both hands. Sammie giggled, tilting her head to the side and looked back up to him. “And I bought you flowers, just like I promised.”

She took them off him, lifting them up to smell the lovely red flowers he had brought for her, “And you bought me flowers.”