Licensed to Spy

by Barbara Davies

  If I get hold of Abdusamad before Ash does, I’ll hack his goolies off, without anaesthetic.

  She wandered through to Ash’s kitchen and opened and closed drawers and cupboards until she found what she wanted. As she grilled sausages, bacon, mushrooms, and tomatoes (Ash had restocked the fridge and larder yesterday), it dawned on her that she was probably cooking far too much. But the whole point of pampering someone is to go overboard, isn’t it? So while the coffee brewed, she put another couple of slices of bread in the toaster and broke another egg into the frying pan.

  Ash had changed her position but was still asleep when Jemma returned to the bedroom. She placed the breakfast tray on the bedside cabinet and drew the curtains. Sunlight streamed onto Ash’s face, but she slept on. Jemma rolled her eyes. She supposed she should be flattered that her presence hadn’t triggered Ash’s internal alarm systems, but the food was getting cold.

  Taking a rasher of bacon from Ash’s plate, she wafted it close to Ash’s nose. A nostril twitched, then long eyelashes fluttered open to reveal a hungry blue gaze. “Nuh uh.” She snatched away the bacon before Ash’s teeth could bite it. “Sit up and eat properly.”

  “And a good morning to you too,” said Ash, yawning. But she sat up, stuffing the pillows behind her back for support, and allowed Jemma to place the tray on her lap and put a knife and fork in her hands.

  “Breakfast in bed.” Ash dunked some bacon in the egg yolk and shoved it in her mouth, mumbling something that Jemma with difficulty translated as, “What have I done to deserve this?”

  She perched on the edge of the bed. “Nothing, yet.” Mentally she crossed her fingers. “Remember I asked if you’d visit my parents with me?” The fork froze halfway to Ash’s mouth, but Jemma ploughed on. “Well, I said we’d pop over for lunch today.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes.” Jemma picked up her own plate and loaded her fork with sausage and mushroom.

  Ash frowned. “But I’ve got that appointment with Aston this morning.”

  “Damn. I forgot.” Jemma thought quickly. As long as Ash was there in good time for lunch … “You could drive down and meet me there after your appointment, couldn’t you? I can go on ahead by train. “

  Ash thought about it while she chewed. “Okay.”

  Jemma breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you know Croydon?”

  “Not well, but I’m sure I can find your parents’ house if you leave me directions.” Ash paused. “Do they know about us?”

  “They know you’re my partner, but … No.”

  Ash raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want them to know?”

  Jemma didn’t have to think about her answer. “Of course I do. I came out to them a couple of years ago, and they were fine. But let’s get them used to you being on the scene first, okay?”

  “Okay.” Ash took a sip of coffee. “One good thing. It means your father won’t be wagging his finger about my prospects and giving me his ‘my daughter is used to a certain standard of living’ speech.”

  Jemma laughed at the image that conjured up. “He wouldn’t anyway. And don’t worry. They’ll adore you.”

  “Mm.” Ash didn’t sound convinced.

  “They will,” insisted Jemma. She paused. “Though Maggie might take a little while to come around.”

  “Is that your older sister?” Ash tilted her head. “The one who doesn’t like me?”

  “Yeah. But she’s probably only saying that to spite me. You know how siblings can be.”

  “I don’t actually. Never had any.”

  “Oh.”

  They hadn’t talked much about Ash’s background, but Jemma knew Ash’s childhood had been very different from her own. Jemma’s surroundings had been happy, secure, loving. At fourteen, the orphaned Ash had been living on the streets, protecting her honour with fists and feet and cat burgling to put food on her plate.

  “Well, take it from me. Sisters can be a pain.” Jemma bit her lip. “But if Maggie’s a bit prickly, please try to make allowances. I tend to go on and on about how great you are. It puts her back up.”

  “How great I am?” Ash gave her a charmed smile.

  Jemma poked her in the ribs. “Don’t go getting a big head.”

  “Moi?”

  Jemma shook her head and smiled.

  After they finished eating, she collected up the dirty plates, stacked them on the tray, and prepared to take them back to the kitchen. At the bedroom door, she paused and looked back. Ash was searching the built-in wardrobe for a clean shirt and a pair of chinos—the events of yesterday had left her favourite pair of jeans fit only for the rag-and-bone man, and she wanted to look smart for Jemma’s parents.

  A rush of affection washed over Jemma. “Thanks.”

  Ash looked around in surprise. “For what?”

  “For agreeing to meet my family. It means a lot to me.”

  Ash shrugged. “You’re welcome.” Then her eyes danced. “Breakfast in bed isn’t enough compensation though. I shall expect something extra later on.”

  Jemma laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “NEARLY THROUGH,” SHOUTED Jemma’s father. “Get ready, you two.”

  She shifted her stance and wished he’d hurry up—she was getting cramp in her arms. We could have used someone tall. I wish Ash was here.

  “Can’t you saw faster?” complained Maggie. She was standing beside Jemma, helping to support the thick tree branch their father had decided to prune.

  Maggie’s skimpy T-shirt had ridden up to reveal acres of midriff and a ring through her belly button that made Jemma wince. Her sister hadn’t mentioned she’d had a piercing done. Was it the influence of her new musician boyfriend? What next? A tattoo?

  The steel teeth of the pruning saw bit into the branch once more, and sawdust showered down. Jemma sneezed. How much longer?

  “Timber,” yelled her father.

  With a splintering sound, the branch fell, and Jemma and her sister caught it barely in time. They manoeuvred it away from the cold-frame protecting bedding plant seedlings against the frost and lowered it to the lawn with sighs of relief.

  “If I’d known this was the little job he had lined up,” grumbled Maggie, wiping splinters and lichen from her palms onto her jeans, “I wouldn’t have come.”

  “Me neither.” Jemma brushed sawdust from her fringe and pulled her blouse down. She had caught Maggie staring at her midriff, and wondered what was so interesting. Comparing belly buttons? Then she remembered the bruises, which were less colourful than they had been but still visible. Ah.

  “Now, girls.” Their father jumped down from the old beech tree with an “Oof” and came towards them, pruning saw in hand. “You surely can’t begrudge helping out your poor old dad every once in a while.” He gave the branch a satisfied kick with his boot. “Besides, it’s only fair. Your mother’s been slaving over a hot stove all morning.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Maggie waved a hand in dismissal.

  “Poor old Dad?” Jemma grinned.

  “These grey hairs,” he pointed at his thinning blond crown, “are due in no small part to the things you two have put me through. And let’s not mention my blood pressure.”

  “Humph,” said Maggie.

  “What things?” asked an indignant Jemma.

  “Too many to mention.” With a grin, he tucked his hand through her elbow. “Let’s go and get cleaned up before your mother comes looking for us.”

  The three of them wandered back up the garden and into the kitchen, where Jemma’s mother tutted and sent her husband to change out of his grubby shirt and baggy corduroys.

  An aroma of roasting turkey, parsnips, and potatoes met Jemma’s nostrils, and her stomach growled in response. “Smells great. I’m starving.”

  “Good,” said her mother. “It’s almost ready.”

  The clock on the kitchen wall said twelve fifty-five. Jemma frowned. Ash should have been here by now. Would they have to keep her meal warm for her? Not a propitious star
t.

  “So where’s Miss Wonderful?” said Maggie, drying her hands on a towel.

  Jemma bridled at the nickname. “If you mean Ash, she’ll be here.” She washed her hands at the sink while her mother checked the tenderness of the sprouts then set about making gravy.

  “Maybe she got lost,” said her mother

  “Maybe.” Jemma chewed her thumbnail. The directions she’d given Ash had been clear, hadn’t they?

  Jemma’s mother was opening the oven door to take out the turkey, when a dull roar from outside made Jemma turn.

  “What’s that?” asked Maggie. The roar continued for a few seconds then stopped.

  “A red sports car is parked in our drive,” announced their father from the kitchen doorway. He was wearing a smart blue shirt, trousers, and shoes. “Is this your friend, Jemma?”

  Relief washed over her. “Sounds like it.”

  “We’re all here, then,” said her mother. “Will you carve, dear? And for heaven’s sake, put on an apron.”

  Leaving her parents bickering, Jemma went outside to greet Ash, who was securing the Lotus’s soft top. Next door’s net curtains twitched, and Jemma hid a smile. When she was a teenager, her peers had often talked about boyfriends and their flashy cars (in fact, the cars often seemed more important than the boyfriends) and boasted of impressing the neighbours. Such things hadn’t been a high priority on Jemma’s list—she was still coming to terms with being gay and had missed out on a lot. Now she conceded that it did indeed feel good to have people admiring Ash and her sports car, and to know that they were here for her benefit.

  “Hi,” she called. “What kept you?”

  “Traffic.” Ash accepted Jemma’s hug with a smile. “Am I late?”

  “Your timing’s perfect.” Jemma turned to lead the way indoors. “It’s turkey with all the trimmings.”

  “I was expecting sandwiches and soup.”

  “So was I. I think Mum’s trying to impress you.”

  Ash chuckled. “Does she do that for all your friends?”

  “She didn’t for Nat and Gary. They got a quiche Lorraine from Marks and Sparks and an apple for afters.”

  Ash’s brows drew together. “Hmmm. If I’m the guest of honour, I’d better be on my best behaviour.”

  She closed the front door behind them and showed Ash into the kitchen, now deserted except for her father, who was piling slices of turkey and dollops of sage-and-onion stuffing onto their best plates. His flowered apron brought an amused grin to Ash’s face.

  “You must be Jemma’s father. Nice to meet you.”

  “Goodness.” His eyes widened. “Jemma said you were tall but—Ow!” He rubbed the rib Jemma had elbowed and went slightly pink. “Nice to meet you too.” He extended a hand, and Ash shook it. “Er, my wife is—”

  “Here,” completed Jemma’s mother, coming through the doorway with Maggie at her heels. “So glad you could come at last, Ash. We’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Me too,” said Ash, smiling. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Jacobs.” She turned to greet Jemma’s sister. “And you must be Maggie. Nice to meet you.”

  The grudging smile and cursory handshake Maggie bestowed on Ash made Jemma hope her sister wasn’t going to be in one of her ungracious moods. It isn’t as if I bring someone special home very often, after all.

  “Looks like we’re just about ready,” said Jemma’s mother. “Show Ash the bathroom, Jemma, will you, so she can freshen up if she wants to, then bring her through.” She picked up two dinner plates, instructed the others to bring the rest, and disappeared back into the dining room.

  “Come on then.” Jemma led Ash to the downstairs loo and waited outside. When Ash reappeared her hair was freshly combed, and she looked apprehensive. “All set?”

  “Not really. But the condemned prisoner will be eating a hearty meal at least.”

  “It won’t be that bad,” said Jemma. She crossed mental fingers. I hope!

  Ash’s expression was dubious. “We’ll see.”

  “CHISLEHURST CAVES?” ASKED Jemma’s father.

  “That’s right,” said Ash. “Have you ever visited them?”

  The first course had gone reasonably well, much to Jemma’s relief, with not too many awkward silences. Ash had contributed her share to the conversation, starting with some well-received compliments about the meal and continuing with confirmation that there was indeed a Carmen Miranda museum in Rio and no, Jemma hadn’t made it up.

  Jemma was proud of her parents for trying to set Ash at her ease, though did her father really have to tell her that anecdote about two-year-old Jemma and the paddling pool? She was less proud of Maggie, whose conversational skills had dwindled to the occasional grunt, and who spent her time either stuffing her face with turkey or glowering.

  The first time the glower had been turned on her, Ash had given Jemma a surprised look. Jemma mouthed, “Ignore her,” and, under cover of the tablecloth, gave Ash’s thigh a gentle squeeze. A warm hand patted hers in response. After that, by unspoken agreement, everyone present ignored Maggie’s occasional rudeness.

  “Never got around to it,” answered Jemma’s father. “We must visit Chislehurst someday, mustn’t we, dear?” His wife nodded.

  “The guidebook is full of half-truths and exaggerations,” said Ash, “but even so …” She received an encouraging smile from Jemma. “There’s a lot to see. And with Jemma along, things are never boring.”

  “Hey!”

  Ash winked at her and began a long and entertaining tale about yesterday’s trip, which featured Jemma and the druid altar, and a practical joke that ended with the tour guide’s hair turning white. It was of course total poppycock, and from the amused glances exchanged by her parents and Maggie’s rolled eyes everyone knew it. But it was funny, and, more to the point, there was no mention of anyone almost bleeding to death.

  “I don’t know. The things you girls get up to,” said her mother, smiling and shaking her head. She started to clear away the plates, and Jemma rose to help.

  “So, Ash,” said her father, “I hear you two are both on leave now. What are your plans?”

  Jemma didn’t hear the reply. By then she was in the kitchen, helping to get out the dessert dishes and cut slices of apple pie.

  “Your friend seems very nice, dear.” Her mother got the carton of cream out of the fridge. “Gorgeous looking too, isn’t she? I shall have to keep a close eye on your father.”

  Since it was well known that he had never shown the slightest interest in any woman except his wife, Jemma grinned.

  “I don’t know what’s up with Maggie, though,” continued her mother, frowning. “Do you?”

  Jemma shook her head. “Maybe she’s had an argument with Steve.”

  “That must be it. Anyway.” Her mother picked up a tray. “Ready to return to the fray?”

  Jemma grabbed the other tray and followed her back to the dining room. They were just in time to hear Maggie saying, “ … but spending your vacation with people you work with. Don’t you get sick of the sight of each other? Normal people would.”

  Only someone who knew Ash as well as Jemma did would have been able to tell she was annoyed.

  “We don’t just work together,” said Ash, “we’re friends.”

  A wave of protectiveness washed over Jemma, and her resolution to avoid an argument went up in a puff of smoke. “You’ll have to excuse my sister.” She put her tray on the dining table with a thump. “Just because she can’t make friends with the people she works with …”

  Maggie’s face reddened.

  “Ah, apple pie,” said her father, loudly. “My favourite.” Both of his daughters ignored him.

  “What happened to Nat and Gary?” said Maggie. “I thought they were your friends. So how come you’re spending your time with Ash?”

  Suppressing the urge to box her sister’s ears, Jemma sat down. “I’m seeing Nat and Gary tomorrow, as a matter of fact. A bunch of us from training school are
getting together.” She turned to Ash. “I told you, didn’t I?” Ash nodded. “It’s kind of a reunion do,” Jemma explained to the others. “We’re going on the London Eye, then for a meal.”

  “That’ll be nice, dear.” Her mother set portions of apple pie in front of everyone and gestured that they should help themselves to cream.

  “A bunch of us from training school,” mimicked Maggie, grabbing the jug before Ash could. “Don’t you have any friends from outside work?”

  “That’s enough.” A loud slap made everyone jump—Jemma’s father had brought his palm down on the table. “Maggie, we have a guest.” He turned to Ash. “I apologise for my oldest daughter. She’s doesn’t usually act like a spoilt teenager.” Ash smiled at him and didn’t comment. Maggie meanwhile turned bright red and shut up like a clam.

  In strained silence they ate their apple pie, and Jemma wished the meal was over. At last it was. Her mother refused her dutiful offer to do the dishes and suggested she might like to show Ash the garden, as Ash, living as she did in central London, must miss having one of her own. With a smile of profound gratitude, Jemma grabbed Ash’s hand and beat a hasty retreat. Once outside, she breathed freely again.

  “That went well,” said Ash.

  “Sorry.”

  “Hey, it wasn’t your fault. The food was great. So were your parents. But I can see what you meant about siblings being a pain.” They walked down the garden and stopped to admire a newly dug flowerbed. “You weren’t kidding about Maggie not liking me.”

  Jemma sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on with her. She was all right earlier—a bit sniffy about you, but all right.”

  Ash shrugged. “It’s no skin off my nose.” But Jemma could tell that she was a little hurt.

  In fact, come to think of it, ever since she arrived Ash had been more subdued than usual. Had she really found meeting Jemma’s parents so daunting? If so, it was time to reward her for her sacrifice. Jemma glanced back at the house—through the kitchen window, she could see her parents and Maggie washing and drying the dishes. That’ll keep them occupied for a while.