by Carla Blake
“What made you leave the police force?’ Carrie asked, after Andrea had told her she’d been a policewoman for five years.
“Lack of promotion mainly.”Andrea sighed. “I knew I was good at what I did and I should have made sergeant easily, but apparently I lacked some of the finer points when it came to the social side of things.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that unlike the other potential candidates, I wasn’t willing to frequent the bar every night and get seriously bladdered. Nor was I prepared to screw every bloke in sight.”
“And you seriously think that’s why you didn’t get promotion? That’s terrible! It’s also discrimination!”
Andrea shrugged. “I know, but that’s the way it is and forgive me if I’m out of order here, but I bet you’ve had guys coming on to you promising you all kinds of great things if only you’d sleep with them. It goes on everywhere, but no one ever does a thing about it. Not if they want to keep their jobs.”
Carrie nodded. “Tell me about it! I met this producer once, a real charmer. Promised me I would get a part in a major movie project if I gave him a blow job.”
Andrea raised an eyebrow. “I take it you didn’t.”
“No way! I blew him a raspberry instead and told him to stuff his ‘movie project.’ The little toe-rag. What did you do after leaving the force?”
“I enrolled in an intensive course in personal protection, together with instruction in both judo and kick boxing. I also took up swimming to lifesaving level, plus advanced driving lessons. I’ve got all the certificates with me if you want to take a look.”
“I’ll look at them later. But I have to say I’m impressed. You sure don’t believe in letting the grass grow do you?”
“Well, I had to do something to fill the void and I didn’t want all that experience in the force to go to waste. Being a bodyguard just seemed a whole lot more interesting than becoming a security guard and as it turns out, I was right.”
“Good for you, but what about family and friends? What do they think about you doing all this?”
“My parents live in Wales, so I don’t get to see much of them, but they’re fine with it. I don’t have any brothers or sisters and my friends think I’m nuts. I also don’t have a boyfriend.”
“I see. One final question then. What do you think of me?”
That caught Andrea on the hop. In her experience, most employers didn’t give a toss what you thought of them, so long as you got the job done, so why was Carrie so interested?
“Well.”She began. “As far as your work goes, I have to be honest and say I hated the soap opera stuff. It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like them. I loved your films, though, especially the second one. It made a nice change to see a girl in the kick-ass role. As for the third one, well, I haven’t actually seen it yet.”
“That’s okay.”Carrie smiled. “It’s not compulsory. But what I really wanted to know is what you think of me as a person?”
“I don’t really know you.”Andrea replied, conscious that she was entering prime foot in the mouth territory. “I mean, part of me thinks it does because you’re on TV and in films and all that, but I presume a lot of what I read about you is just paper talk. In ‘real life’ you seem a genuinely, nice person.”She hesitated, then added, “God, that makes me sound such a creep!”
Carrie laughed. “No it doesn’t. I’m sorry, I was just trying to gauge how well we would get on. But let me tell you a little more about what the job entails. For a start, I’m not into the traditional bodyguard thing, which means I don’t want you hovering at my shoulder dressed all in black and wearing sunglasses. What I do want is someone who can dress in a way that’s fitting for the occasion, and keep a fairly low profile. By the way, a complete wardrobe will be provided for such events. It would be nice,too, if you could give the impression that we’re nothing more than just friends.”
Andrea frowned. “I might be wrong but I get the feeling you’re not particularly happy about having a bodyguard?”
Carrie pulled a face. “To be honest, no. I like my own space, especially when the rest of the time I’m in the publie eye, and having someone watch over me all the time kinda freaks me. Plus, there are certain things I wouldn’t like the general public to know.”
“I see but please don’t worry on my account, we’re taught to be discreet. After all, when it comes right down to it, if I blab, you’re going to know it was me. I promise anything I either see or hear when I’m with you will go no further than my secret diary.”
Carrie stared at her.
“Sorry. Just joking.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. My fault, I’m not quite up to speed today, but going back to what we were discussing earlier, you said you didn’t have a boyfriend. Why is that, if you don’t mind me asking? Good looking girl like you should have the guys falling at her feet.”
It was the question Andrea had been dreading and looking everywhere but at Carrie she hesitated before answering. “Truth is.”She said eventually. “I’m gay. If you’re uncomfortable with that, I’ll understand and I won’t waste any more of your time, but I promise you, if you hire me, it won’t make the slightest difference to our professional relationship.”
Carrie held up her hands. “Fine. I have no problem with that at all.. Each to their own I say and I don’t know about you but I think we’ll work well together. When can you start?”
Outside it was cold and windy and the rain leant a depressing, premature darkness to the afternoon, but with the curtains drawn and the lounge lit by several table lamps and the glow from the artificial, coal fire, it felt snug and warm as Carrie and Andrea, sitting at either end of the sofa, enjoyed a bottle of congratulatory wine and hammered out the finer details of Andrea’s job.
Or at least Carrie did.
Andrea was still too stunned.
Minutes ago Carrie had confessed that she, too, was gay! A revelation that had completely knocked the stuffing out of her and left her struggling to work out how this beautiful, adored by millions film star could possibly be batting for the other side? It was unbelieveable! No wonder Carrie been so calm when she’d said she preferred girls! Most people either pulled a disgusted face or went over the top in a bid to prove they really were okay with it. Really. They were. But not Carrie. She’d just nodded, smiled and then come out with her own bombshell!
Now she was the one trying to come to terms with it!
And she didn’t understand herself at all.
Maybe, though, she was allowing herself to be swayed by tabloids and their portrayal of Carrie as a sex symbol- someone men drolled over and women envied- because not once had they ever suggested that she might be gay. To her knowledge there’d never even been a sniff of rumour in that direction and to swing both ways was all the rage these days. Look at Madonna, or Angelina Jolie, they were both doing really well promoting themselves as being attracted to both sexes. But as far as Carrie Shilling was concerned –nothing. She was, or so everyone thought, completely straight.
Her mind, as her dear, old mother would have said, was boggling!
Beside her, Carrie sat quietly, lost in thought. From the CV’s she’d received, she’d initially despaired of ever finding a suitable bodyguard, but Andrea was exactly what she’d been looking for. Friendly, polite, but with an air of tough awareness that gave the impression she could handle herself if faced with difficult situations. Then there were all the things they seemed to have in common. Music, films and bizarrely, jigsaws! It would be hard not to get on.
She’d even told her things not even Carmichael knew about.
Like the fact that she was gay.
A flicker of uneasiness rippled across her stomach at the memory. Why on earth had she told her that? Telling an almost complete stranger that she preferred girls had been a stupid, rash thing to do and for all she knew Andrea was planning to run st
raight to the press and spill everything. Not that she thought the press would believe her, but really! Blurting out such a huge secret to someone she’d known less than five minutes had been totally insane! But what could do about it now? Nothing. All she could do was wait and hope Andrea was as good as her word when she’d said she’d keep quiet.
A knock at the door and Amanda bustled in to collect their dirty glasses. Carrie introduced her to Andrea and with the formal introductions over with, Amanda bustled Andrea out into the kitchen to carry out a little pre-arranged interrogating of her own.
Ten minutes later, they still hadn’t reappeared, and bored of being on her own Carrie went after them, only to discover the pair of them happily stuffing a chicken in readiness for the evening meal.
“You hire this girl.”Amanda said the moment Carrie appeared. “She knows how to cook and I could use a hand now and then.”
“So I see. But cooking won’t be part of Andrea’s duties and besides, she might not want to spend her time slaving away in the kitchen with you.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”Andrea said, her hands full of paxo. “I love cooking, it helps me relax and it’s always nice to swap recipes with someone who actually knows what an ingredient is.”
“You see?”Amanda beamed triumphantly. “She likes cooking. Unlike some I could mention.”
Carrie huffed. “Alright, I get the point! It’s not my fault I’m hopeless with a whisk. And if you want to spend your spare time cooped up with my crazy housekeeper, then it’s up to you. But I warn you, she’ll nag you and complain if your Yorkshire puds don’t rise and I’m sorry to change the subject, but is Andrea’s room ready?”
“Yes!”Amanda bristled. “I’ve made up the spare room in the cottage like you said and I’ve put in fresh towels and restocked the mini fridge…”
Andrea raised her hand. “Hang on a minute. You want me to sleep in a cottage?”
“That’s right.”Carrie replied. “But don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly comfortable.. It’s got all mod cons, central heating, shower, plus you get to share with cook of the year here.”
Andrea shook her head. “No disrespect to you, Amanda, but it sounds like the last place I want to be. If it’s the same cottage I spied from your lounge window, then I’m afraid it’s just too far away. What if you need me in the middle of the night? Or the house catches fire or something? It’ll take ages for me to get here.”
“No, it won’t and besides I’ve got pretty tight security here as I’m sure you’ve already noticed. I also have a panic button that not only sounds in the cottage, but in the local cop shop as well.”
“Glad to hear it, but it’s still not enough. You’ve hired me to look after you and I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I said I was happy about sleeping anywhere other than the same floor as you. I’m sorry and all that, but if that’s not possible then I’m afraid I’m going to have to change my mind about working for you.”
Taken aback, Carrie frowned. Her home was her sanctuary. Her bolt-hole away from the public eye and she liked to keep herself to herself when she was here, tired by then of the constant attention. But Andrea had been hired to take care of her and if she wasn’t prepared to listen to her recommendations, then what was the point?
“Okay.”She said at last. “You can have the room next door but one to mine. It’s bigger than the one directly next door and it has it’s own bathroom. Would that do?”
“That’ll be fine and I’m sorry if you think I’m making a fuss but it really is necessary. Guess I’ve just made more work for you, Amanda.”
Amanda shrugged. “Think nothing of it, making up rooms is what I do, and I happen to think you’re right. What good would Carrie screaming for help be if you couldn’t hear her over my snoring?”
“You snore?”
“Like a foghorn.”Carrie cut in. “How else do you think we keep the shipping at bay?”
Whilst Andrea cleaned up, leaving Amanda to finish the stuffing, Carrie rang a removal firm and arranged for Andrea’s belongings to be brought over the following day. A chore that Andrea, listening through the open kitchen door, was stunned to hear Carrie carrying out herself.
She didn’t know many movie stars who would have done such a thing. Such a minimal task would have been beneath them. But not Carrie Shilling. She just got on with it. The woman was full of little surprises.
Later, and back in the comfort of the lounge, they discussed a charity ball Carrie was due to attend in two days time.
“We’ll make it your first, official engagement.”Carrie said. “It won’t be too hard, mainly standing around chatting and then dinner. How does that sound?”
“Sounds fine.”Andrea smiled. “I’ve actually done a few of these before so you’ve no need to worry about me. I need a prior visit though, plus a guest list and the names of any additonal security you’re using. Can you arrange that?”
Carrie said she could and then wondered how long it was likely to take her to get used to all this? She liked Andrea a lot and felt comfortable with her, but she was having trouble switching from the casual conversation side to the harder, more businesslike demure Andrea adopted whenever the topic of her role as bodyguard arose. Yet, what else did she really expect or want? No matter how friendly they became, ultimately Andrea was still there to protect her and if that meant keeping the professional side of things on a strictly impersonal level, then so be it, she’d just have to learn to cope.
CHAPTER FIVE
Isobel Pearce lay on her unmade bed eating Chinese takeaway straight from the carton. Her only illumination coming from a portable television whose picture flickered wildly every time the lightning struck outside.
Beside her and ever hopeful of a stray scrap, lay her scrawny, tabby cat, Scrumpy, a pet that Isobel didn’t treat particularly well and which, more often than not, was called anything but its real name. Still, for all that, it was the closest thing she had to a friend.
Not that Isobel cared. Friends, she’d decided long ago, were too much effort, the same as life. A mantra she had scrawled on several, yellow post-it notes and stuck in various places around her flat, just to remind herself how pointless it all was. Because life truly did suck!
Stuck in a job she hated, but too lazy to leave and look for another, she sullenly stomped her way through the business of the day before returning home to sit in front of the tele, stuff herself with junk, and wait for the dreary hours to pass before she could repeat the whole, remorseless rigmarole all over again.
No one ever asked her out and she’d never had a proper relationship. Yet not once did it cross her mind that the reason why her social life was so pitiful was because she never went anywhere. Instead, she viewed her lack of companionship as just another facet of her miserable life and turned again to food, her only solace in an otherwise lonely existance but a consolation that did little for her appearance.
At twenty nine years of age, she looked nearer forty, and thanks to a diet consisting of little else save takeaways and fry ups, her weight had ballooned to a hefty size 16. A continuing expansion kept in check only by the amount of physical exercise her job entailed. Yet Isobel hardly noticed, for aside from her uniform, the only other clothes she wore were tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirts, baggy enough to accommodate a few extra pounds without much trouble and unforgiving enough to allow her to indulge in her favourite passion for all things sweet whilst watching TV and bemoaning the fact that while everyone else was out having a fantastic time, she was stuck indoors.
Life was fucking awful and then you died.
Half way through her favourite soap, the cat woke up and wanting to announce this spectacular achievement began to paw at her side. Pulling and catching its claws in her sweatshirt until unable to stand it any longer, Isobel climbed slowly to her feet and followed the scurrying cat out into the tiny kitchen, where opening a tin of cat food, she thought how she reall
y ought to give the place a bit of a wipe over. But what was the point? She never had any visitors and the bacon fat on the cooker wasn’t hurting anyone, so why should she bother when she could be doing something else? Like catching up with what was going on in the street?
Pushing the cat’s bowl under its eager nose, she straightened up and turned to the fridge, noticing how her small collection of fridge magnets were just as grubby as everything else. Most of them had been pilfered from work, but one or two were of her own choosing. The first being an advertisement for Ovaltine in which a rosy cheeked kid all tucked up in bed, held a steaming, hot mug clasped between his chubby hands.
The lone survivor of a house fire in which she had managed to escape, but which her parents, overcome by the choking smoke, had suffocated in their beds, leaving the six year old Isobel an orphan and the authorities with a problem.
They had tried but it seemed without Aunts, Uncles or any other family friends willing to take her in, the only thing they could do with her was place her in the tender, loving care of Sunnylawns children’s home.
Except it wasn’t sunny and it didn’t have a lawn.
Instead, the buiding was dark and depressing and outside, any grass that might once have sprouted, had long ago been worn away by the tramp of dozens of children’s feet.
Clutching a brown suitcase, Isobel had been squashed into a dreary bedroom with two other girls, whose names she could now no longer recall, but who, on arrival, had insisted she shut up and keep all her belongings over her side.
Something she would have been more than happy to do, if only the girls had allowed her. But the one with the red hair had been a bed wetter and everytime she woke up sodden and cold, she’d climb from her own wet and stinking bed and into Isobel’s, stealing all of Isobel’s warmth and almost choking her with the smell of urine. Alone and miserable, Isobel could do nothing about it except roll over and make room, until one night, sick and tired of the stinking invasion, she’d kicked the red head away and screamed blue murder. Bringing the night matron running and demanding to know who was being murdered and what the horrible smell was?
