Don’t tell the Boss

by Unknown

  ‘OK, so who’s going to go?’ I say.

  Everyone is turning to stare at me.

  ‘Well, Penny. You are the smallest,’ says Tim.

  At five foot five, I’m hardly a short-arse, but I can see what they’re saying.

  ‘You’ve just got to do your commando crawling again.’

  ‘Like the cougar,’ I say.

  ‘Leopard, Penny, you’re not trying to pick up young men hanging out in the countryside,’ says Tim.

  I suddenly have an image of me dressed up in an animal-print dress prowling the countryside looking for young farm hands. I try and shake it away and concentrate on the job in hand.

  ‘When you get there, go past the flag and get it from inside the tree line,’ says Jack.

  ‘Stuff the flag down your top,’ says Martin.

  ‘Sniff to make sure you can’t smell any soap,’ says Tim.

  ‘What?’ I say trying to cope with the information that my team are bombarding me with.

  ‘If you smell soap, that indicates there’s someone there. And who else would be hanging out by the flag other than a chaser,’ says Tim.

  ‘If in doubt, get out,’ says Annie, before looking around. ‘Sorry, it’s just like the Crystal Maze for me. I can’t bear the excitement.’

  I can see now why, even though Annie is practically the same height as me, they have picked me and not her. In her over-excited state she might have got up and run, getting us all caught in the process.

  I pass my pack down the line to Annie to guard, and I take a deep breath before assuming the position. The things I’m doing for the team.

  If I thought crawling along the flat was bad, it’s ten times worse crawling uphill. I shimmy myself along, ignoring the grass smell, and not thinking about what actually lives in the stinky grass. I don’t want to have encounters with ants, beetles or anything larger than that. I do an involuntary shiver at the thought of meeting a snake in the grass and it propels me quickly forward.

  I’m about three metres away from the flag and I’m lying still, trying to listen for noise. I do the sniff test and my bones go rigid in fear. I can smell the unmistakeable smell of cigarettes. And then I hear the words I’ve been dreading hearing.

  ‘Caught you.’

  I wait to be pulled up from my hiding place, but nothing happens. Instead what I hear is a commotion.

  I carefully look up and I can just see another group the other side of the flag. They’ve been caught.

  The chaser’s got his back to me and I seize my opportunity. Springing up, I grab the flag and stuff it down my chest quicker than I ever thought possible. My heart’s beating furiously as I jump back down to the ground. I didn’t miss the look on Gunther’s face as he clocked me doing it. He winked and I guess that means he’s going to keep silent.

  I wouldn’t say that my escape out of the area was very stealthy, but I managed to make it back to my team without being caught. My heart is hammering ten to the dozen and I feel like I’m practically taking a bath in my own sweat.

  I get pats on the back and hugs from everyone, but we don’t hang around for long, as we know that it won’t be long before that chaser is back in operation.

  ‘That was such a rush,’ I say to Tim and Matt when everything has calmed down.

  ‘It looked it,’ says Matt.

  ‘Look, there’s the scout hut,’ says Annie, as we come up behind it.

  I don’t know if it’s because I am so close to the minibus that a plan has formed in my head, but I suddenly know how I’m going to have temporary leave from the escape and evasion and get to Brighton to get the dress.

  ‘Guys, I’ve got an idea about how we could get more points,’ I say. ‘But it’s a big risk, so you’re going to have to trust me.’

  chapter twenty-one

  princess-on-a-shoestring top tips:

  Get married in the winter

  Winter weddings can be beautiful and you’re just as likely to get a dry day in February as you are in August, thanks to the wonderfully unpredictable British weather. Getting married out of season is great because loads of venues do cheap wedding packages to get business. I’ve seen offers where you get venue, a three-course meal for sixty guests, hotel for the bride and groom for the night, welcome drinks and an in-house DJ for just under two thousand pounds. Just plump for a venue that looks pretty on the inside too in case it’s a bit nippy for outdoor photos.

  Tags: mid-week, out of season, winter, packages.

  I can’t believe my plan worked. As I put my foot down to floor the accelerator and pull out of the scout camp, I marvel at what just happened.

  I convinced my team that we would get more flags if we split up. Working out the penalty points involved if we got caught apart versus how many points we would get if we got the extra flags, we decided it was worth a bit of a risk.

  We decided to rendez-vous again in exactly an hour. Tim and Matt went off to get a flag slightly to the south, and I’ve gone off to get one to the west. Apparently. Only – shock horror – when I get to my one I will find it so heavily guarded by chasers that I won’t bother.

  I’ve clipped my Bluetooth headset to my ear and I think now’s a good time to phone Henri, just to check that she’s sticking to the ban and not calling the caterer. I also want to make sure that she hasn’t started on the vicar. It would be just like her to have phoned him asking him to change the colour of his collar to match the bridesmaid dresses.

  ‘Penny!’

  ‘Hi, Henri, how’s it going?’

  ‘It’s wonderful, we’ve got champagne and I’ve just had a mud wrap.’

  How nice, we’ve both been caked in mud all morning. I know where I’d prefer to be.

  ‘Great. So there’s been no more, um, emergencies?’

  ‘Nope, everything’s been wonderful. I think we’re there, Penny. We’ve done it. We’ve planned an amazing wedding and now we can relax.’

  If only Henri, vision of tranquillity and calm, could see me now, dressed in a boiler suit, camouflage face paint, speeding along the Sussex countryside in a minibus; I must look anything but relaxed.

  ‘Excellent. Well, let me know if you need me,’ I say.

  ‘Will do, see you tonight, Penny.’

  I hang up the phone and I take a deep breath. When this dress is bought, then that will be it. I will be able to throw myself back into the team-building. Henri won’t be phoning me with any more emergencies and I’ll be able to concentrate on finishing the day. It’s been going so well up until now. Surely I’m a shoe-in for this promotion?

  All I’ve got to do is find the right street, which hopefully I will thanks to the Sat Nav. I have been to Brighton once before, but only on my sister’s hen do. I arrived by train, which doesn’t help in the recce stakes, and I only saw West Street and the Lanes. Although seeing West Street is a bit of an exaggeration as I don’t really remember seeing any of it – I was that drunk. Although I think West Street saw a lot of me as I fell over and flashed my knickers before being sick.

  I manage to make it to the city centre and find a side street where I leave the minibus and I just about remember that I’m probably going to get arrested if I walk into a shop like this. I look like a shoplifter, or someone on day release from an institution.

  I do my best with a bit of spit and polish with an old snotty tissue and then I take my arms out of the boilersuit and tie it round my waist. Luckily, I’m wearing a vest top underneath. I reckon as this is Brighton, I might just be able to pull this look off.

  I get out of the minibus and fill the parking meter with coins and I run to where I think TK Maxx is. There are a few distractions in the form of Bench and Superdry, and I have a feeling that I’m close to Peter Andre’s coffee shop. I’m sure I recognise this street off the telly from when he was opening it. Luckily, the mortgage-like payment I had to make to the parking meter is keeping me focused on getting in and out as quick as I can.

  I’m feeling slightly like Anneka Rice on Treasure H
unt, I’ve got my Bluetooth headset which though not as cool as the helicopter one she wore, is similar enough. And I might not have a skin-tight flying suit, but you have to admit that I do have a boiler suit on. I am so Anneka Rice.

  Maybe I’m in the whole army frame of mind already as I’m that mission focused that I head straight to the Customer Service desk and not to the Shoe Department.

  I’m ignoring the strange look that fellow customers are giving me. I know my outfit is slightly weird but, hello, I thought anything went in Brighton.

  ‘Hi, I believe my friend Henri Scott has got a dress on hold; I’m here to pick it up.’

  ‘OK, I’ll have a quick look out the back.’

  I look at my watch and gasp at the time, it’s been half an hour since I left the others. I keep my eyes straight ahead and avoid looking at any merchandise nearby. I’ve come so close to getting the dress, I can’t be distracted by any other bargains.

  ‘What did you say the name was?’ asks the sales assistant as she comes back empty-handed.

  ‘Henri Scott.’ I repeat.

  ‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing back there by that name. Was it this Brighton branch that she reserved it at?’

  ‘There’s more than one?’

  Oh my God. I didn’t think to check. In all my haste I just typed in Brighton TK Maxx and took the postcode for the Sat Nav.

  ‘There’s another one a couple of streets across.’

  I start to take deep breaths, as I’m starting to hyperventilate. I can’t be running around Brighton. I have got to get back to my team.

  ‘What exactly was it?’

  ‘It was a burnt-orange bridesmaid dress, in size fourteen.’

  ‘Oh, we have that. Maybe it’s being held under a different name?’

  ‘Perhaps she put it in my name? Penny, Penny Robinson?’

  ‘I’ll go and have a look.’

  I keep all my fingers and toes crossed that she’s going to come back with the dress. Otherwise I’m going to have a whole lot of explaining to do to Henri.

  The sales assistant comes back with the dress in her hand and if there wasn’t a giant counter between us, I might have given her a hug.

  ‘Here you go,’ says the woman as she scans it in.

  I breathe the biggest sigh of relief ever and pay for the dress.

  One task down; one cover story to validate.

  I’m trying to work out just how to get back to the minibus and whether I’ve got time to pick up a McDonalds when I bump straight into a person.

  ‘Terribly sorry,’ I say in my polite British accent, and that’s when I realise who I’ve bumped into.

  The guy mumbles a sorry, and I hope that I’ve got away with it, but just as I’m tip-toeing away the guy calls after me.

  ‘Hey.’

  If I didn’t need to cross a busy road then, I might have made a run for it, but I don’t want to add getting hit by a bus to my list of things that have gone wrong today. How would I explain that to everyone on the away-day? I’m not quite sure they’d accept that I got lost and ended up walking to the centre of Brighton.

  ‘I thought you hadn’t recognised me,’ I said to the ex-Special Forces chaser.

  ‘I don’t think I could miss you, with your boiler suit and the camo paint smeared all over your face.’

  I instinctively rub my face, and my hand is instantly covered in thick dark-green cream. No wonder everyone in the shops was looking at me.

  I can’t believe he’s tracked me all the way to Brighton, I know he is supposed to be good, but I had no idea he was this good.

  ‘So, doing a little bit of retail therapy, are you?’ asks the chaser pointing at my plastic shopping bag.

  ‘Um, it’s not what it seems like,’ I say feebly. I can’t tell him what’s really going on as it could get back to Giles or Gunther, and then they’d know that I’d deserted the team-building day.

  ‘It never is. Look, I don’t want people finding out I’m here, any more than you do, OK?’

  I narrow my eyes at the chaser in confusion. And then it dawns on me; he’s not been tracking me like some excellent hunter, he’s here on his own accord and, he like me, has skipped the E&E day. I try and mentally weigh up who’s got more to lose, me or him, and I decide to take a gamble.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, I won’t tell anyone if you help me with a favour.’

  *

  Twenty-five minutes later, I’ve learnt to do a cheetah crawl thanks to the ex-Special Forces guy. We’re currently hiding out by the flag I told my team that I’d get. The elite chaser is going to create a diversion for me, and I’m going to swoop in and get the flag.

  He’s true to his word, and after giving me some finger pointing at eyes which is obviously a highly sophisticated military hand signal, he crawls off at almost lightning speed. I take it as a sign to lay still until said diversion.

  Sure enough, two minutes later I hear loud laughing between the chasers and I take this as my sign to rip the flag down and run. I’ve decided that Mr ex-SAS owes me at least a bit of a head start before I fall down and shimmy across the mud.

  By the time I make it back to my group, I’m five minutes late and they’re nowhere to be seen. I’m about to cry at the fact that they’ve been caught, when I hear a psst noise.

  I look up and there, sitting in a tree, are my team. I’m suddenly ridiculously pleased to see them, and I give them a peak of the flag from under my fatigues.

  ‘Penny,’ they say as they jump down. They must have been doing the bonus task: set up camp in a tree.

  ‘We were so worried, we thought you’d been caught,’ says Annie.

  ‘And we just saw your boss.’

  My blood runs cold. Giles can’t know that I wasn’t with the group.

  ‘Don’t worry, we told him that you had a stomach upset.’

  I could kiss Tim right now. Ten out of ten for initiative.

  ‘Thank you, thank you.’

  I glance at my watch. It’s just after twelve, we’ve got three-and-a-half hours until we have to be at the rendez-vous point.

  ‘I’m starving,’ I say, realising I never did go in and get my sneaky McDonald’s burger when I was in Brighton. Bumping into the chaser put pay to that.

  ‘Well, when you were gone, Penny, we talked about it and decided that we don’t want to cook our hot meals as we don’t want to light our Hexi cookers,’ says Tim. ‘You know; the chasers might see the smoke.’

  ‘Right,’ I say, mourning the fact that I had beef meatballs in my ration pack, and in my head they were going to taste as good as IKEA meatballs. Not that I’ve eaten them since before the horse-meat scandal. But I’m sure that re-hydrated ration packs are all beef.

  ‘Instead we just thought we’d have the crackers and pâté and biscuits.’

  ‘Great,’ I say digging out something called ‘biscuit browns’ from my pack. Not the most appetising of names. I take the little squeezy tube of pâté and spread it on as we walk along. The biscuit browns taste as bad as they sound, let me tell you.

  We’re walking up a hill covered in trees when, all of a sudden, I notice it’s getting quite dark.

  ‘Is this wood getting denser, or is it just getting darker?’ I say, hoping my watch hasn’t stopped and that it’s not actually night-time. I’m tired enough for that to be the case.

  ‘I think it’s cloud,’ says Martin.

  And, just as he says it, the trees start to sound like they are moving. Only it isn’t the sound of the trees, it’s the sound of rain. Heavy, heavy rain.

  ‘Oh, my God, I didn’t bring my waterproof jacket,’ I say as I realise that I didn’t transfer it to the pack provided.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ve got a poncho in your pack,’ says Tim.

  I look at him dumbfounded as he whips out a piece of plastic from his pack. I wrestle with my bag, and eventually pull mine out and shove it over my head. But not before I’m pretty much soaked.

  ‘It wasn’t forecast to rain this afternoon,�
�� I say cursing the BBC website that I’ve been watching for weeks.

  ‘It’s probably just a light summer downpour,’ says Annie, who I’ve discovered over the last day is an eternal optimist.

  *

  On this occasion, Annie was wrong. It was not a light summer shower. We’re still cowering in a hedge two hours later. It seems that none of us are too keen to crawl like any type of big cat when it’s raining. I did give it a go, but nearly choked myself with the poncho. So it seems I either lose the poncho or we stay where we are.

  We opted to stay put for as long as we could, but we’ve only got just over an hour before we have to be back at the rendez-vous point. At least we’ve managed to escape evasion and to complete our shelter-building task, which we’ve taken a photo of. We did think our cover had been blown at one point when we heard footsteps, but after holding our breaths and clinging onto each other for dear life, the footsteps receded.

  ‘We’re going to have to go for it,’ says Tim. ‘I know it’s not going to be very nice, but it’s an hour, then we’ll be climbing into a nice hot shower at the end of it and into nice dry clothes.’

  I don’t remember Baz saying anything about hot showers, but right now I know Tim is right. We’ve got to get moving. I wince before removing my poncho and I shove it into a side pocket of the backpack. Here goes nothing.

  I give Annie a little smile of solidarity as she does the same and then I practically throw myself to the floor as if I’m diving into a freezing cold swimming pool.

  If I thought it was bad crawling on the ground before, this is a billion times worse. Where once my elbows were banging across the rock-hard ground, they are now failing to get a grip on the muddy grass, which means it takes twice as much body power to move the same distance. Add to that the water hammering on my back, and the mud seeping through my boiler suit and it makes for a pretty miserable experience. Not even the smell of summer rain is making it any more palatable.

  We manage to make it across the field and there’s a hedgerow running along the side.

  ‘Stay down, and stay close,’ says Tim.

  We do as he says and we follow the line of the hedge, bent at the knees, which ache, but it’s so much more preferable to the crawling on our bellies, until we reach a river.