We pulled onto a small private heliport without any major hitches or even any major arguments. The strip itself was little more than a platform that jutted out into the Thames. James, Simon and Miss Armstrong looked right at home. I must have looked like a bag of boiled shit. I really wasn't looking forward to this at all.
I can't help but think back to my last flight in a helicopter. I don't remember much of it, but I do remember the pain and the wooziness. I remember the anguish of knowing that my team were dead and that I had once again failed them; what I remembered wasn't good.
I wasn't happy about flying, so sue me... I have my reasons.
"Are you all right, Freen?" Miss Armstrong asked quietly as James was sharing a joke with Simon.
"I'm fine, Miss Armstrong, I just don't like flying anymore"
"I used to be scared of flying, but I've done it so much now I'm pretty much blasé about it. How long have you been scared, all your life?"
"Since December," I replied watching in horror as a dark blue Sikorsky chopper eased down onto the platform and came to a halt.
"That's our ride," James interrupted happily, sparing me any further explanation. "Come on people, let's haul ass, daylights wasting and Rob Armstrong isn't a man to keep waiting."
Reluctantly, I got up and followed them to the helicopter, its rotors spinning slowly as its engine idled. Instinctively, I ducked as I ran towards it, there's no real reason for doing that, the rotors don't come low enough to be able to hit you; but I can't help doing it, and it's actually part of the helicopter training I'd done in the CPU.
Miss Armstrong got on board first followed by James and Simon. I climbed on board, sat down on the empty seat beside her and began strapping myself in; pulling the headphones with the boom mic over my head.
I could hear the chatter as I watched the door slam closed and the co-pilot climb in. After a quick round of introductions over the headset, I could feel my heart racing in time with the blades as they spun up the turbines and eased us into the air.
Everyone was looking at me as we took off. I guess they could tell how terrified I was. I had my eyes squeezed tightly closed, the memories flooding back of that Blackhawk.
Suddenly, I felt a movement next to me and something warm press onto my hand that I hadn't realized was gripping the seat until the knuckles were white. I opened my eyes and looked down to see a perfectly manicured set of fingers covering my own and for some reason, everything felt a whole lot better.
"It's ok, Freen," I heard over the headphones, the noise of the helicopter still making hearing difficult, "you'll make it, you're a fighter too, right?"
I closed my eyes at her words, trying to push them away, but I made no effort to remove her hand from mine. Actually, I made no effort to move at all.
As the helicopter leveled out into normal flight, I finally opened my eyes once more and were met by James' cheeky smirk.
---
"Freen... Freen!"
I was shaken awake by a rough hand and opened my eyes to see the smiling face of James Porter.
"Jesus, boss, what the fuck? What's gone wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, we're here Blondie, Armstrong Manor. Grab your gear and get moving. We have a chance of a big time here and I need your fucking 'A' game, you with me, soldier?"
I shook the sleep from my head, and nodded carefully. He was right, we'd landed in the gardens of the Armstrongs' country home. Simon and Miss Armstrong were already out of the chopper and stood off to one side, our bags placed on the grass next to the small helipad.
"Right then, ladies," James shouted over the noise of the helicopter talking off behind us, "that's what I call arriving in style. Makes a change to get off one of those things without people shooting at you eh, Blondie? Not that you seemed that bothered about it, doing your sleeping beauty impression! Do you always snore like that?"
I strolled over to his side and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him away from the others.
"Boss, you've been pushing my buttons for two days now; what exactly is your issue?"
"Calm down, Blondie. I was just having a laugh. Seriously, you're so fucking stiff, Freen. Rebecca there was trying to be nice to you and you're acting like a total fucking stuck-up bitch to her. Miss Armstrong this, Miss Armstrong that. We're in close protection roles, Freen, you're not in the army anymore. You're allowed to loosen up."
"No, James, I'm not allowed." I spat at him. "If I loosen up, I get people killed, do you understand that? Anyway, it's not as if she's all sweetness and light. Didn't want anything to do with me last time I was here, treated me like a fucking servant."
"Didn't look like you were her servant back there in the chopper, Blondie. It looked like she was trying to be your friend."
"She's not my friend, boss. She's a package, that's all she is; and as of tomorrow, she's going to be someone else's problem."
"Not if I've got anything to do with it, Blondie. With your help, I think I might be on the biggest deal of my fucking career."
"Jesus, you're serious, aren't you?" OK so I'd guessed as much, but this was the first time that he had come out and said it to my face; and sometimes feigning ignorance is an advantage.
"You're goddamn right I'm serious, Blondie. Do you have any idea how many people Rob has tried to get to protect his daughter in the last eight months? Eleven, that's how many; and every single one of them hasn't made it past day one. Some just quit, some got fired but you, my wonderful soldier, are not only the only person to make it past the first date, but hell, Blondie, Rebecca actually seems to like having you around."
"How big a contract are we talking about, boss?"
"Big enough to basically keep my business going and you guys in luxury for the next few years. You help me land it, Freen and I'll guarantee that there's a good position in the company for you."
"I can make you head up the personal protection side of things," he continued, "you'll have a team to manage..."
"and a pay rise?" I interrupted, only half-joking.
"Blondie, you've only been working for me for a couple of days and you've already trashed a company car."
I glared at him until finally he smiled, "Ok, Freen, we'll see. I'll discuss role and salary once you're out of your probation period. Do me proud, keep Rebecca safe and most of all, keep her sweet and we'll talk about a pay raise."
"Fine," I replied. "But enough with the teasing and the little jibes, James, especially
about my ex. I have enough on my plate without you stirring things. Miss Armstrong is a package, nothing more, understood? She's not my friend. I can be friendly, but I've got to keep the distance between us wherever I can."
"Ok Blondie," he drawled, his cheeky grin firmly back on his face; "I get you, friendly but not friends. That'll work for me."
"Good."
He bowed dramatically and gestured for me to return to the others; grinning despite myself, I swept past him imperiously and rejoined them.
"Everything ok, James?" Miss Armstrong asked, eyeing me suspiciously as we returned.
"Everything's fine, Rebecca. Freen here wanted to have a quick word about tonight, that's all. Shop talk, you know?"
I didn't believe for one second that she was convinced, but thankfully she let it drop.
"Freen, do you want to head up to your room and freshen up?"
"Trying to get rid of me, Miss Armstrong?" I asked as she excused herself. "I'm afraid James here has told me not to let you out of my sight. It seems you're stuck with me."
"Oh well, I guess I'll have to live with that," she said while smiling at James.
"I'll talk to you in a bit, Blondie, as soon as I've got news." James said, waving as he picked up his bag with Simon following him.
"Andrew," Miss Armstrong said to the guy in the penguin suit that had arrived. "Would you take mine and Miss Sarocha's bags to our rooms please, and where's mum?"
"Certainly, Miss Armstrong. Mr Armstrong has suggested that Miss Sarocha take Sir Richie's old room. He will be taking the guest suite in the East Wing as usual. Mrs Fitch is in the South Gardens. I believe she is Clay Pigeon shooting this afternoon."
"A new hobby," Miss Armstrong told me, "she's not very good at it, though. Thanks Andrew."
Andrew bowed slightly at her dismissal and gestured to the other members of staff that had come out with him to pick up our bags. My tiny little travel case had been swamped by the rest of the luggage.
"You seem to like to travel light, Freen."
"Don't need to carry much, Miss Armstrong. A change of clothes and some gym stuff James advised me to bring. It's a working night for me, so I doubt I'd have to dress up."
"Well, I hope you're going to try and have fun this evening. Mum's probably been working on this party for weeks. She'll be devastated if you don't enjoy yourself."
"I thought we talked about this, Miss Armstrong. I'm just like the waiting staff or the cooks, I'm not here to have fun."
"Well, you could at least try."
"Ok, Miss Armstrong, if it means that much to you and your mother, I'll try to have fun," I lied; deciding that this was a small area of ground to give in order to keep her 'sweet' as James had put it. I don't actually have to have fun, just let her think that I'm going to.
"Good," she replied, obviously pleased, "now, come on, I'll introduce you to my mum."
---
The walk to the South Gardens took us just over ten minutes and the sounds of gunfire echoing off the walls and buildings were, for some reason, setting my teeth on edge.
"Mum does this a lot," Miss Armstrong explained, "starts off new hobbies, buys a ton of stuff and then gets bored. One of our old stables is filled with the remnants of her 'trying something new' we can't let her have animals anymore, she's that bad. I give this one till the end of the month. She's really bad at shooting, I don't think she's hit a thing yet and failure is guaranteed to bore her faster than anything else."
"It's not as easy as it looks." I told her as we walked through the formal garden section and towards the gate in the red brick wall.
"Clay pigeon shooting?"
"Any kind of shooting. The trouble is, people on the TV make it look easy, but it's a harder skill than you'd think. You have to deal with the conditions, the wind, the movement of the target, everything. Everything has to be taken into account; it's not about just pointing it and pulling the trigger, you know? It takes real skill to be able to shoot properly, it takes practice and discipline and real focus; and when you get it, it's the most connected you can possibly feel. It's a cliché but it's like you're one with your weapon; you, the rifle and the target are totally connected and there's no way you can miss. It's an incredible feeling."
She stopped to look at me, an amused grin on her face.
"What?" I asked, pausing and looking back at her.
"Nothing, it's just... I think that's the most passionately I've heard you talk about a subject, you know? Ever since I first met you, you've always been so cold and aloof, so bloody calculating; it's nice to see the other side of you again."
"Again?" I asked, not rising to the rest of her comment.
"Yeah," she said setting off towards the gate and the sound of the shotgun, "Again. I've only seen the real you once or twice and it's quite a privilege."
I stood in amongst the rose beds and watched her as she walked away. The idea that she'd seen anything close to the real me scared me more than a little. I'd managed to put our little reflections in her flat behind me. Obviously, I'd let more slip than I'd imagined.
'She's probably just mistaken; just because she thinks she knows the real you, doesn't mean she actually does.'
I reassured myself with that little bit of self-delusion, wrapping it around my shoulders like an old blanket, before following her.
---
"Mum!" Miss Armstrong called out as we approached the shed. A dark head popped out from around the side of the shed bearing a broad smile.
"This is Freen Sarocha, mum, my latest bodyguard... sorry Freen, my latest CPO." She said, correcting herself. Her mother broke out into a broad smile.
"Nice to meet you, Freen," she said while holding out her hand, "Rob has told me all about you."
"Nothing bad I hope, Mrs Armstrong" I said while shaking her hand.
"Oh no, it's been positively glowing" she replied.
"Freen's ex-army, mum. If you ask her nicely, she might take the time to teach you how to shoot properly."
"Great idea, Becky love. Freen, would you mind giving me a few tips? I do seem to be pretty poor at this. And call me, Jenna please. I'm not one of those 'posh bigwigs' who normally live in these places. I'm actually from Edinburgh. I met my husband when I was studying in Manchester."
"What did you study, Mrs... uhm, Jenna?" I asked politely as she led us into the shooting pen and handed Miss Armstrong some ear defenders before getting one for myself.
"Rob and I studied Business Studies and Management."
"That's a coincidence," I said pleasantly surprised we had something in common, "I finished my degree in Business Studies last year," I told her, "it was definitely hard work. Not much time to study on tour."
They both looked at me as if questioning my sanity. "I did an Open University course," I said, "signed up for it before I shipped out and did my exams when I was at home. The army helped out with my studies, but it still took me eighteen months longer than normal to get through it."
"Well, that's impressive, Freen" she said, a big smile plastered on her lined face.
I was surprised when she pressed a shotgun firmly into my hand. "Please show me how to shoot the right way, Freen."
"Ehm, sure, Jenna".
I slipped on the shooting glasses that she handed me, the amber lenses making everything seem that little bit clearer.
"Stamp on the pedal, Freen and the clays will fly," Jenna said cheerily, ignoring my envious look at the custom-built Purdey shotgun that she had handed me. A gun that cost more than most people's homes.
Taking a couple of breaths to calm my nerves, I closed the breach and pulled the gun to my shoulder. This baby was balanced perfectly. Giving this shotgun back would be hard. If I could fall in love with an inanimate object then I would, and probably had.
Feeling calmer, I thumbed the release lever, opened the breach and slipped in the two shells.
"Pull!" I said stepping on the plate and watched as the clays launched into my eye line. Waiting until they hit the top of their arc across the sky, I closed one eye, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger; aiming slightly ahead of them to take into account their movement. The first clay, I merely clipped, breaking it in two and sending the parts spinning; the second I hit full on, detonating it in a puff of red dust.
"Good shooting, Freen," both Jenna and Miss Armstrong exclaimed as I ejected the shells and laid the shotgun down on the shooter's table, my love for the weapon increasing exponentially.
"Now tell me what you did to manage that," Jenna continued, picking up the Purdey, loading it and throwing it into her shoulder.
"Well for starters Mrs... Jenna," I said catching her soft scowl, "You need to feel the balance of the weapon. You need to pull it into yourself and let it become an extension of your arms."
I adjusted her grip, moving her arms so that it nestled into her shoulder.
"You have to pull it tight into your shoulder or it'll smash your shoulder to pieces."
It's true, even holding it tight had given my old shoulder wound a good pasting. Guess that's always going to be a problem for me now. I was never any good at shooting from the right shoulder, being a left-handed girl.
"Now when it's in good and tight, try sweeping it. The clay is going to be flying in an arc so you want to track it, but be slightly in front, hit it at the top of the arc but hold the sights about a centimeter away at this kind of range. We'll talk about accounting for wind some other time. Let's get you hitting those clays first."
I put on my range officer's hat for the next half hour or so, patiently reloading the shotgun, coaching and advising Jenna Armstrong. She was actually quite a quick learner and after thirty-five minutes, she's managing to hit at least one of the two clays.
"Oh, this is just wonderful," she finally exclaimed as she smashed both clays into dust. "Becky love, you have to try this. I was enjoying the shooting before but when you get it right, it's just perfect."
I felt my lips twitch involuntarily as Miss Armstrong rolled her eyes at her mother's enthusiasm and mouthed, "you've created a monster," at me silently.
"Not for me, Mum, I'm scared of guns, remember? I don't even like selling those damn things. I think I've seen enough of them recently. Do you mind if I take Freen back to the house? I'm sure she'll want to get ready for this evening."
"Becky has always been a bit odd like that, Freen." Jenna quietly said to me as she winked at her daughter.
"Maybe one day we'll be able to convince her to try a bit of shooting."
"Absolutely, Jenna. Pleasure to meet you, and good luck with the shooting."
"Nice to meet you too, and thank you for the lesson, Freen. If you get a chance, before you leave, I'd greatly appreciate another one. Only if you have the time and Becky will set you free, that is."
"I'll see what I can do, Jenna."
"Lovely. Becky love, would you be a dear and tell Andrew to ask someone to have my bath ready in 15 minutes, please?"
Miss Armstrong sighed slightly and nodded, "Yeah, will do, Mum. Come on, Freen, I'll show you to your room."
As we walked away, the sound of gunfire echoed around the gardens. Though this time, it was followed by laughter rather than swearing.