Mercenary Mum: My Journey from Young Mother to Baghdad Bodyguard (5 page)

IT WAS LOVE
at first sight. From the moment I saw him I was smitten. His name was Joe. How could I have possibly known that Joe was destined to destroy my soul? I was naive and stupid. There’s no other way of explaining it. I was a young woman with minimal experience with men. The only thing I knew about relationships was what I had learnt from my parents. I always believed the best about people and never once considered that someone might mean me harm.

Joe was a Maori, and handsome, athletic and funny. He loved his sport and was extremely loyal to his family and friends. Joe had an identical twin brother, Paul, who happened to be gay. They looked completely different: it was hard to believe they were brothers, let alone twins. Paul was well groomed and always looked immaculate. He plucked his eyebrows, sang in drag and had a lovely, kind heart. If he hadn’t been gay, then he definitely would have been the better twin to date!

Joe and I started living together shortly after we’d started seeing each other. I never actually asked him to; he just sort of moved himself into my flat. Joe worked as a cleaner at a luxury resort. He made beds, cleaned bathrooms and occasionally worked as the pool boy.

When Joe moved in, I was surprised to learn that he smoked marijuana. Every day after work, he would come home and light up a joint. I hated drugs and I hated watching him smoke. At first I was afraid to tell him how much his smoking annoyed me. It wasn’t as though it was affecting our lives or having any negative impact, but I hated it because it was illegal and went against everything I believed in. I just couldn’t be around him when he lit up, and I’d have to leave the house.

Lil had developed a drug problem over the years, so I knew how bad things could get. Admittedly, Lil had moved on to worse things than dope. She was into hardcore drugs: heroin, valium and God knows what else. She was trying hard to get clean but every day was a battle. She started a methadone program, but it was not a cure. Even today she still has a fight on her hands. Once you’re hooked, there will always be a monkey on your back. Addiction lasts forever.

I should have finished with Joe the moment I saw him light up. But I stuck with him, hoping I could change him. Over the next few months, Joe’s smoking steadily increased. One joint turned into two and, eventually, into too many to count. Ten minutes of smoking turned into a whole evening. And then he started inviting his friends around. He and his mates would cram into my studio apartment to smoke marijuana for hours. They’d play their gangster rap and Bob Marley tunes, and reminisce about the good times they’d shared back in New Zealand.

Joe would talk about the fights he’d got into back when he was in the Bloods gang in New Zealand. I was shocked to learn that every Friday night he used to go out with his gang mates, looking for fights. How could I have fallen in love with a person like that? But at the same time as he’d boast about fighting, he would get all emotional and talk about how much he loved his family and how he would do anything for them.

Joe’s smoking only got worse as time went on. I told him constantly that I hated it and wanted him to quit. Every single time I broached the subject, he’d promise me that he would stop. And stupidly, I believed him. He eventually lost his job at the resort and began collecting welfare payments. I was still working at Woolies, studying at uni, and going back and forth to Brisbane for my army reserve service. The army was a lifesaver. It provided me with an escape from all the negativity in my life.

During the uni holidays, I would return to Brisbane and focus on my military career and spend time with my army friends. I would arrive at my army unit a mess, and then leave feeling happy and self-assured. The time away from home allowed me to regain my strength and confidence. I could actually feel Joe’s hold on me slipping, and my old self returning.

Each time I came home from my army service, Joe and I would break up. But after a short time, he would somehow wheedle his way back into my life. Why did I let him? I knew he was bad for me, but still I would not give up on him.

Then I began worrying about what Joe was getting up to while I was away from home. Was he selling our possessions for drugs? Was he rifling through my drawers to find the rent money that I’d hidden? Was he selling drugs out of my home? The questioning was tearing me apart. I pleaded with Joe to get help, but nothing changed. My studies began to suffer, and eventually I stopped attending. I couldn’t trust him alone in the house. I knew that things could not continue like this. That
I
could not continue like this. And yet, I couldn’t break away for good.

Then came the incident that prompted me to act. Joe’s ex-girlfriend, Carla, was dating one of his close dope friends, Jake. They were at our house, once again smoking. Carla was five months pregnant. Although she was a regular dope smoker, she’d cut down quite a bit since finding out she was going to have a baby.

At some stage during the night, Jake and Carla got into a fight. Then Jake started hitting Carla. I told Joe to stop his friend. I was concerned for both Carla and her unborn child. I could tell Joe was uncomfortable, but he simply said that he could not interfere with what his “bro” was doing. It was “none of his business”. Carla fell to the ground and curled up, trying to protect her stomach. Jake then kicked her. I felt sick. I couldn’t stand by and let this happen. Jake was a big man with a fierce temper, but I didn’t care.

I shielded Carla’s body with mine. I felt Jake’s foot connect with my back. I groaned. It was at this point that Joe finally intervened. Things calmed down, and Jake left. Carla was crying and thanking me all at once. I told her she needed to go to a doctor to get herself and her baby checked out. She assured me she would but that she really wanted to see Jake. I couldn’t believe that she was considering going back home to him. He’d just abused her. But several minutes later she left to find him.

I was shell-shocked. Joe had stood by and watched his mate beat up his ex-girlfriend. He had only reacted because I’d literally thrown myself into the fight. How could I love a man who could witness that and do nothing?

The drugs had changed Joe completely. He used to be a fun, sporty guy. Now he was someone with no motivation or self-respect. All he cared about was getting his dole money and spending it on drugs. All of his mates were the same. They bludged off the dole, bludged off each other and their loved ones, and their plans didn’t extend beyond smoking weed until they passed out on the floor. I realised that Joe would never change.

I was trying to be a good person, sticking by Joe through the rough times, but this was ridiculous. I was working at Woolies, failing uni, doing my army service and supporting Joe and his drug problem. Two years had gone by and I was a shadow of the person I once was. I was going nowhere.

I decided to make some changes. Joe returned home late one night after smoking and drinking at Jake’s place. He looked at me and could tell that something was up. He asked me what was going on. I told him that I was going to become a career soldier and join the army full time. He looked at me in horror, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Now it was Joe’s turn to beg: he implored me not to join. He pleaded with me to keep on working at the Woolies’ check-outs. I told him that I wasn’t leaving him: he’d be coming with me. I explained that this was our chance to start over, to get away from the dope scene and the bad crowd in Cairns. But he wasn’t happy. He was afraid that I would leave him once I joined the army full time. I tried to reassure him that it wouldn’t happen, but I knew deep down that he was right. Perhaps that was why I was so determined. I knew that spending time in the army would give me back my dignity and self-respect. I knew that if I worked hard and interacted with good, loyal friends that I would regain the strength to dump this loser and get on with my life.

And then I realised I didn’t even need to wait till then. I was finally strong enough to tell Joe that I thought he was a useless, drug-smoking, dole-bludging waster who should be deported. I told him that even though he thought of himself as some kind of Maori warrior, boasting about his fights and cunning tactics, in reality he did nothing but disrespect his culture and the people he loved.

Two years of my life had been wasted on a good-for-nothing druggie. And as much as I blamed him for his addiction, I blamed myself, too, for not having left him sooner. I found myself thinking about Carla, who stayed with Jake after he beat her up. Joe might not have physically abused me, but it was emotional abuse. How could I have let him lower my confidence so much that I wasn’t able to leave him? Was I afraid that no one else would love me, that I wasn’t good enough? Was I a victim of ‘treat them mean, keep them keen’? Or maybe I just foolishly believed I could save him from himself.

Whatever the reason, I was finally able to break free of his hold. I was going to make a fresh start. No more worrying about drugs. No more loser boyfriend. No more financial worries. No more university. No more of the old life. The real me was busting out. I felt like a butterfly finally escaping the confines of a cocoon. Freedom at last!

MY LIFE WAS
back on track. The army accepted my application to transfer to full-time service; however, I was required to attend the MP basic course again. I thought it was a waste of time, as I’d already completed all the reserve components of the course, but if I had to do it again, so be it. In the end, I just considered it a good way of cementing everything I knew.

I was excited and motivated, keen to do well in the course and to enjoy myself at the same time. The MP course was to be conducted down in Sydney over three months, with the first part devoted to participants getting their military driver’s licences. I already had my licence so I went along as a helper and general dogsbody. I was happy to be there; I felt confident that I had made the right decision about what to do with my life.

What happened next was the very last thing I’d been looking for. I literally fell for Bruce. I was using a payphone on base to call my mum. When I’d finished talking, I stepped out onto the pavement and nearly ran into this guy who was waiting to use the phone. Because I’d stopped so abruptly and then misjudged the step down out of the booth, I tumbled over, landing ungracefully on the ground. I twisted my ankle in the process and felt like an absolute klutz. What an impression I must have made. Bruce helped me up and then took me over to the medical facility, and the rest is history.

I’d had so much stress and worry with Joe, I wasn’t sure I could go through all that again. But when it came to affairs of the heart, I was absolutely hopeless. I don’t know what it was that attracted me to Bruce the most. Was it his blue eyes and cropped blond hair? Or his exceptional sporting abilities? I think more than likely it was that he was not a drug-smoking, dole-bludging liar. Bruce was a normal guy. He did normal things like work, ring his mum, play sport and have two-way conversations. I wanted normal. I craved normal. And that is what I got.

I studied hard throughout my MP course. I wanted to prove to myself that I could concentrate on my studies while having a relationship. Well into the night, I’d be up memorising paragraphs of text, word for word. I aced all my tests and kept on the instructors’ good sides. In fact, I even started to get a little full of myself.

One of my instructors, Leo, was an incredible athlete. He was an awesome runner, boxer and rugby player. He was known as Leo the Legend. He was a great instructor with a terrific sense of humour, but his best quality was his ability to motivate others. Each day at PT he would wear this cap that had the word ‘coach’ emblazoned on it. He was proud of his cap because the rugby team he was coaching at the time had presented it to him as a gift.

One day, Leo left his cap in our dining hall. It is customary to take off your hat in an army dining hall and place it on a rack. On this particular day, he forgot to retrieve it after he’d finished eating. It was then that I hit on a plan: the cap would be held for ransom. I grabbed the hat from the hook and hid it in my bag.

When classes were over for the day, I conspired with my course mates. Together we taped a sign with the word ‘slow’ to the cap so that it read ‘slow coach’ – a swipe at Leo’s running ability. We took photos of the cap at various places around the base, and then wrote a ransom note to Leo: “We have your hat! You’re not getting it back.”

Over the duration of the course we sent photos of Leo’s hat to him. His cap went to Manly Beach; it found itself at nightclubs, pubs, restaurants and out on our final bush trip. Towards the end of the course, Leo and the other instructors came into our classroom to inform us they were going to conduct a room inspection. We all knew that what they were actually attempting was a search-and-rescue mission for the cap. The instructors left to attend to some admin. Meanwhile, we were forbidden to leave the classroom.

As soon as the instructors left, I told everyone that the cap was sitting in plain sight on my bed. As soon as they entered my room, the game would be up. My mate Warne said he would race to my room, grab the hat and hide it. I didn’t think he’d make it in time. He grabbed my room key, sprinted off and got back thirty seconds before the instructors walked into the classroom. He’d done it!

The instructors conducted the inspection but did not find the hat. They threatened to detain us until the cap was released, unharmed. I could see a couple of my course mates were about to break down and reveal all (they would have missed out on an episode of
The Simpsons
or something), but the instructors ended up letting us go. The search only fed our appetite for fun. We stepped things up, sending him ever more outrageous letters and photos.

On the final day of the course, my friends and I relented. We stuck copies of all the photos we had taken onto a board, which we presented to Leo. We thanked him for his instruction and guidance during the course, and then, finally, gave him back his cap. He was touched. He put up the board in his office. We would be remembered as his favourite ever students. (Okay, I made up that last bit, but I’m sure he had a soft spot for us in the end.) I had got so much out of the MP course and, to top things off, I was named the student of merit.

I was surprised but happy. I’d studied really hard and done well on all my tests. I’d gone from being a Woolies check-out chick with a deadshit boyfriend to being my course’s top student, with a promising future and a normal relationship.

In addition, I had been given my posting order: Townsville. I was ecstatic. Not only did it mean that Bruce and I would be working near to each other, but also I’d have the opportunity to join the rapidly deployable force. I loved the idea of deploying at short notice to unstable countries. It didn’t particularly worry me that I was the only woman in the MP platoon. In fact, it would come to work in my favour.