Had this sitting on my computer for years, no idea why. Anyway, was having a clear-out today and could see no reason for not posting it. It's just a bit of fun so why not! So anyway, here it is in all it's...erm...glory?
"Turn it off! Turn it off!"
The shout of desperation echoed loudly across the garden, accompanied by the sound of gushing water which bit by bit subsided to a gentle trickle.
Bodie's head appeared around the back door with a tellingly smug grin, his face the picture of mock innocence,
"You did say off didn't you?" he asked cheerily, "Bit hard to make out from here."
Doyle glared at him from where he stood, half-way up the garden, straddling an ornamental fish pond, a garden hose clutched in one hand.
"I'll give you off - , " he replied curtly as the cold water seeped through his top and slid uncomfortably down his skin. Bodie's grin grew wider still as he crossed the lawn towards his partner, enjoying the situation immensely.
"Temper, temper," he sang irritably as Doyle stepped away from the brickwork and threw the hose roughly onto the grass.
"Look at me!" he grumbled, plucking at his sodden clothing, "I'm soaked!"
As if to illustrate his point a bead of water dropped from his hair onto his face, drawing a line down his forehead. Bodie bit back a laugh without success, nodding back towards the house.
"Go on then Tarka, there's towels inside. Why don't you leave the difficult stuff to a professional."
"Finally called that aquatics expert have you?"
"No," Bodie replied, amused, "I meant me."
"Oh...you mean you."
"Yeah."
Doyle nodded slowly, taking a deep breath and tipping his head to one side in a teasing well-it's-your-funeral sort of way. Bodie shot him a look back and Doyle raised his hands in submission, turning instead towards the house with a squelch of wet shoes,
"Fine. Call if you need anything won't you?" he tossed back over his shoulder in a tone that implied he hoped he wouldn't. Bodie ignored the sarcasm instantly,
"Cup of tea would be nice..." he shouted up the path, "...and a biscuit!"
Hovering by now on the back doorstep, stamping his feet dry on the mat, Doyle leant backwards to meet his partner's gaze with a slight smirk,
"Was that no tea?" he called, pointing at his ears with exaggeration, "Bit hard to make-out from here," and with that he let himself inside and slammed the door ignoring the cry that echoed down the garden after him.
"Doyle!"
The kitchen smelt wonderful. The air filled with the aromas of baking and the smell of freshly brewed tea and in the middle of it all, busily buttering tea cakes and humming to herself was Mrs Breem, a diminutive eighty-four year old whose razor-sharp intellect and wicked sense of humour could have given even Cowley's a run for its money.
Mrs Breem was not like any of Bodie's other 'friends,' most of whom seemed to be dubious ex-military types with a penchant for finding trouble and bringing it their way. But then again Mrs Breem was not from that part of Bodie's somewhat chequered past, he'd never gun-run with her, never taken her on an armed assault, never hidden out in the jungle with her. Mrs Breem was instead from a part of Bodie's past that Doyle knew close to nothing about. His childhood.
"Got any plans for the day?" Bodie had asked casually as they'd sat in the sunshine outside the pub, nursing their pints. He'd shrugged in response,
"Not really, thought maybe a museum..." he had pointedly ignored Bodie's amused expression, taking another sip of beer before asking, "...you?"
"Promised a friend I'd do her a favour." He'd replied with typical vagueness. Doyle had grinned devilishly,
"Oh yeah? One man job is it?"
"Little old lady, used to live next door when I was a nipper. Needs a hand with the DIY. Fancy tagging along?"
Doyle had blinked in surprise. Not only had the answer been different to the one he was expecting, but it had also contained an invitation, all the more poignant because Bodie generally avoided his childhood and anything to do with it. Doyle had accepted the offer of course, the opportunity to learn that little bit more about his partner proving just too good to miss out on, which is how he had found himself balanced precariously over a garden pond drenched in cold water.
"Good gracious!"
He blinked himself back to the present as the gasp of astonishment echoed around the kitchen. Mrs Breem was stood in front of him holding a plate of newly buttered tea cakes and taking in his wet and dishevelled appearance with some concern.
"Oh," he replied sheepishly, realising that it was he who had caused the outburst, "Bit of an accident outside I'm afraid. Couldn't borrow a towel could I?"
She complied immediately, bustling towards the cupboard in the hallway, tutting worriedly as she went.
"Deary me, what a business! If I'd have known it would cause this much fuss I would never have bought the blasted thing!"
She emerged back into the kitchen flapping out a large blanket to wrap about his shoulders,
"There you go," she smiled, "Don't want you catching your death of colds do we?"
Doyle smiled greatfully,
"Thank you."
"Let's make you a nice cup of tea too. Get you all warmed up again."
It wasn't exactly minus temperatures outside, far from it in fact Doyle thought as he watched the flowers sway in the gentle summer breeze. Still, he wasn't going to say no to a cup of tea, or a tea cake for that matter. He glanced out of the window to where his partner was bent over the pond grappling with an uncooperative filter system. He smiled wryly, Bodie's tea could wait a while.
"There," Mrs Breem soothed, handing him a brimming cupful and stooping to collect the buttery cakes from the table.
"Let's take tea in the garden room shall we?" she suggested brightly, throwing him a cheeky wink, "Sounds a bit grander that way!"
She led him out into a small but bright room, tall floor to ceiling windows letting the light pour in and ensuring that the afternoon heat stayed trapped for that little bit longer. Mrs Breem laid the tray of food down on a little table set up in the middle and beckoned for Doyle to take one of the seats arranged around it.
"Always had ideas above my station," she chuckled, sitting back with sigh, "My mother used to say that I'd come home with a Prince or a Duke, but as it turned out all I ended up with was my Alf," at the mention of the name she smiled fondly, "Good man he was,"
She paused to take a sip of tea, eyes sparkling with memories,
"I was just a girl first time I met him. He used to work with my older brother down at the docks. They'd come back to the house for their lunch. Handsome thing he was, four years older as well, which my mother thought was much too much. Still, we got round them in end. Married forty-nine years we were. Happy times."
"I bet they were."
Mrs. Breem smiled, leaning forward to slip a piece of tea cake onto an extra plate which she handed in his direction. He took it eagerly.
"He built this you know," she continued, gesturing around the garden room with a teaspoon she'd been using to add sugar to her brew, "Alf that is. Good with his hands, always had to be busy doing something. Building things that didn't need building, fixing things that didn't need fixing. Used to drive me mad! First thing I missed about him though."
Doyle smiled across at her sympathetically,
"It usually is."
She looked up, meeting his gaze appreciatively,
"Yes. Yes, I should imagine you're right."
The room descended into comfortable silence, interrupted only by the munching of tea cakes and the sounds of Bodie periodically hitting at something with a hammer. Doyle rolled his eyes, whatever had been wrong with the filter in the first place was likely to be irreversible now. Not that Mrs. Breem seemed to mind, or even notice for that matter, simply glad of the afternoon company.
"And what about your children?" asked Doyle, nodding his thanks as the elderly lady offered the tea cakes in his direction for a second time. He took one from the plate, licking the hot butter as it slid down his fingers, "Do they live nearby?"
Mrs. Breem smiled sadly, busying herself by brushing crumbs from the tabletop,
"No. Alf and I never had children."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh don't be, we had each other after all. Besides..." she looked up at him brightly, "...if I'd had my own children I would probably never have become quite so attached to young William."
It took Doyle a second to realise who she was talking about.
"Bodie?"
"Yes. Ever such a bright little lad he was. Always buried in his schoolbooks, such a diligent boy. Oh, he could've been anything. Anything at all, a doctor, a lawyer..." she smiled softly, her face showing a hint of regret, "...but life obviously had other plans for him."
"Obviously," Doyle agreed wryly, contemplating just how far removed from either of those professions employment at CI5 was. Even though in a way it did involve health and well-being. And, come to think of it, the law. Certainly didn't pay as much though.
He grimaced and took a sip of tea. Sore subject.
"Not much use for a degree in our line of work," he commented casually. Mrs. Breem nodded slowly, as if contemplating the matter carefully,
"No I suppose not." She replied eventually before brushing the crumbs from her skirt and looking up at him brightly, "Well in that case perhaps that fight was the best thing that ever happened to him."
Doyle frowned,
"What fight?" Deep down he knew he was prying. Part of him felt bad about doing it, but that was largely eclipsed by his intrigue. Besides, he reasoned with himself, Bodie knew the elderly lady as well as anyone, he must have known she'd chatter away about the past and him along with it. Maybe this was Bodie's way of opening up without actually having to.
"Just some spat with one of his mother's..." Mrs. Breem paused, searching her vocabulary, "...gentlemen friends..." she continued eventually, "...as best I can remember William took offence to this chap being a bit rough towards her. Well, it all must have kicked off because the next thing I know he's standing on the front door step all battered and bruised. Such a sorry little sight. Broke my heart."
"How old was he?"
"Oh, about eleven I suppose. Just a scrap of a thing he was really."
They both paused to look out of the window and down the garden. Bodie was knelt on the brickwork next to the pond, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, carefully taking something apart and checking through each piece. Doyle blinked, aware that whilst he was marvelling at how Bodie had once been, the elderly lady was probably considering what he had become. In fact, funnily enough, he was probably sitting with the only person besides himself, and possibly Cowley, who knew the real Bodie, or at least a version of him.
"Started to lose interest in his schooling after that," Mrs. Breem continued, eyes still glued to the figure working away in the garden, "Began to toughen up, avoid going home...not that I blame his mother though," she put in quickly, raising her hands in defence, "Poor woman had a hard time of it with her lot. Especially the older ones, always seemed to be some sort of trouble going on. I'm not surprised she found it hard to cope. I never blamed her for a moment. Although of course, some did."
Her eyes again found Bodie and Doyle followed her gaze.
"Are you still close to the family?"
"No. Just William. To the others I was always just the woman-next-door. Still..." she took a deep breath and rose from her chair with some effort, collecting up the empty cups as she went. Doyle moved to help her and she flapped him back down into his seat, carrying on the conversation over the clinking of chinaware, "...I used to read her the letters he sent after he left. Brought her some sort of comfort I think, knowing he was doing all right. If only she could see him now, she wouldn't believe it. I don't think any of them would."
There was a loud pinging noise in the kitchen and she smiled and bustled out eagerly, wiping the crumbs from her hands onto the apron tied about her waist. Doyle watched her go silently, his head spinning with new information and a new-found understanding for his partner, who was still working away at the filter in the garden, oblivious to the conversation inside. Probably.
Doyle stood, carefully filling an extra cup with tea and milk before crossing the room and unlocking the door with a click. It swung open stiffly, creaking in protest and he leant forward against the frame and cupped a hand around his mouth,
"Bodie!" he shouted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as the familiar face tipped up to meet his gaze, "Tea!"
Bodie got to his feet at once, rubbing cold, damp hands up and down his trousers. By the time he'd reached the garden room, Mrs. Breem was just reappearing with a large and fairly spectacular looking Victoria sponge which she set down on the table before them. Obviously having decided that a visit from her favourite young man and his friend required plenty of tasty treats.
Bodie sat down heavily in one of the rickety wicker chairs, taking the tea passed to him by Doyle and watching eagerly as Mrs. Breem cut three large slices of cake.
"You remember when I taught you this recipe?" she asked him with a smile, passing him a piece to balance on his saucer. Bodie's face fell ever so slightly and his eyes slid across to his partner, almost daring him to comment. For his part, Doyle never even looked up, keeping his tone light, aware that he was under scrutiny.
"You could make one for Cowley."
There was a short pause followed by the sound of Bodie chuckling. Doyle rolled his eyes. Typical Bodie, finally finds a way of opening up and is then instantly on edge in case it all backfires. Still, who was he to criticise? Bodie's natural caution had certainly served them well enough in the past.
As a contented silence fell across the room the doorbell rang, and Mrs. Breem stood from her seat with a sigh,
"Now who could that be?" she removed her apron with a weary sigh, stooping to balance her plate on the arm of the chair, "Do excuse me a moment won't you boys."
They both nodded their consent and she duly shuffled from the room, huffing and puffing as she went.
"Any progress?" Doyle asked suddenly. Bodie blinked,
"What?"
"On the pump? Any progress?"
"Oh," he put the empty plate down with a clatter and sat forward to help himself to another piece of cake, shaking his head at the same time, "No. Can't work out what's wrong with it. Probably needs chucking."
"That a technical diagnosis?" Doyle asked with a grin,
"No," his partner threw back good-naturedly, "But it's the best one you're getting."
With the banter between them restored, the mood in the room rose. Both men content in the knowledge that nothing between them had changed.
"You're not having another bit are you?" Doyle chided with mock-severity,
"Says the man who seems to have worked his way through the tea cakes quite happily," replied Bodie, gesturing at the semi-empty plate as he settled back into the chair with another wedge of sponge.
"Ah, but they're not covered in sugar are they?"
"No. They look like they're covered in butter."
Doyle paused, the need for a quick response interrupted by the sound of a commotion from the hallway.
Abruptly, three young men burst into the garden room, followed by the panicked shouts of Mrs. Breem somewhere behind them. As the newcomers laid eyes upon the pair in front of them, everything seemed to freeze.
One of the boys pulled out a knife,
"All right," he began with a sneer, his obvious nervousness taking the edge off his villainy, "We want the silver and any money you've got lying around. Nobody moves, then nobody gets hurt."
To his side one of the boys stepped forwards, eyes falling on the silver tray housing the spare china. He reached out a hand towards it, stopping with a start as Bodie's hand caught his sleeve firmly.
"What the - ,"
Bodie stepped close, staring the boy down fiercely,
"I don't think you want that," he informed him dangerously.
Behind them the third boy strode forward with a scowl, angered by the interference. He didn't get very far before Doyle's fist connected with his stomach, and with that the situation exploded.
The boy in Bodie's grasp ripped himself free, swinging his other fist upwards in an attempt to catch him off guard. To the side of that scuffle, the third boy was giving Doyle as good as he gave, assailing him with teenage fury.
As Bodie delivered an achingly accurate blow to the first boy, flooring him instantly, Doyle easily side-stepped a charge from the third, listening with a wince as an ear-splitting crash filled the room. He turned hesitantly, noting with some surprise that the boy had gone clean through the wall of the garden room, which was now a distinctly three-sided affair. He grimaced. There would be no thanking him for that.
"Doyle!" at the sound of Bodie's shout he turned in time to see the boy with the knife belatedly join the fight, diving in his direction with the blade brandished fiercely.
He didn't get very far.
As he leapt through the air there was a sharp crack and he landed in a crumpled heap at Doyle's feet.
Everything went quiet and two sets of eyes slid towards the doorway.
Mrs. Breem was angrily gripping a golf club, holding it up above her head like a crazed caddy.
"Well I never," she breathed, letting the putter fall gently and propping it up against the wall as if it were a damp umbrella. She took in their astonishment with a smile, "I keep it behind the front door. Can't be too careful these days you know."
The looks of astonishment continued.
"Everyone all right?" she asked brightly. Eventually Doyle cleared his throat,
"Err, yeah, but I'm afraid your house..." he trailed off, gesturing limply towards the decimated wall of windows. Mrs. Breem waved a hand at him airily, stepping over the floored assailants breezily and beginning to collect up the empty cups and plates,
"Oh don't worry about that dear," she tutted cheerily. Doyle exchanged a glance with Bodie.
"But - but your Alf?"
Mrs. Breem, bustling back towards the kitchen, paused by his side to pat his arm gently,
"Oh well. A garden room? In a terraced road in the middle of the city? Never could see much point in it to be honest," she gave him a cheeky wink, "Didn't have the heart to tell him though."
And with that she disappeared into the kitchen, humming.
Doyle stood staring after her, blinking in utter bemusement. Beside him Bodie smiled and shook his head knowingly, surveying the destruction around them cheerfully.
"Right, I think I'll phone the plod."
Doyle continued to stare around blankly. Suddenly everything Bodie had ever said or done, every last little nuance of his character fell into place. Compared to what had just happened, the man was the very definition of 'normal,' which, given everything, seemed nothing short of miraculous.
"Doyle?"
He looked up, aware he was being spoken to. Bodie was stood in front of him holding out a hammer. He took it blankly.
"I think the pond will have to wait," the short-haired man grinned, "Couple of things to sort out in here I'd say."
Doyle's brows raised in sarcastic agreement.
"One or two, yeah."
Bodie grinned widely, stepping over one of the prone assailants and heading for the phone in the hallway.
As a pane of glass slid from its fixture and clattered to the ground loudly Doyle heaved a heavy sigh and cast around, shards crunching underneath his shifting feet as he did.
Oh well, he thought to himself with a degree of resignation, at least he'd dried off nicely.
END.