Disclaimer - All characters apart from the cabbie created by Tony Grounds and are owned by the BBC.

Just doing my job

Part 1 - The Taxi Driver

Basil "Baz" Stiles had been a London cabbie for most of his working life. His wife kept nagging him to retire but he loved his job and, anyway, the money was too good. In those thirty or so years driving around the city he knew so well he'd carried the lot; film stars, minor royals, Lords, Ladies, knights and cabinet ministers. He was proud of his vast experience and on top of that always reckoned himself to be a bit of a Sherlock Holmes, able to deduce things about the people he was carrying just by observing them in his mirror. Of course, whether he was right or not was impossible to prove but it helped to pass the day and that had to be a good thing.

Some were difficult, some were easier. Take the four people in the back at the moment. Piece of cake they were. First clue was their destination. It was Buckingham Palace on an investiture day. He had a quick look in his mirror to remind himself. Three of them were squeezed onto the rear seat. Firstly, there was a middle aged man in a dark grey suit, obviously brand new, with an equally new shirt and tie, the collar of which was clearly irritating him. He probably used to, and maybe still did, drink too much judging by the puffy red face. Next to him, in the middle, was a plumpish middle-aged woman with long blonde hair, also in her Sunday best (a peach coloured suit), probably attractive once but now with a care worn face (possibly due to the man sitting next to her). Then, by the other window, sat a woman in her late fifties with grey hair tied back in a bun who he guessed was the mother of one of the other two (slight family resemblance with the lady in the middle maybe?).

So it was odds on that they were the parents and grandmother of the pretty, young female soldier who was now sitting with her back to him on one of the fold down seats. The girl was sitting as bolt upright as she could in her dress uniform, presumably worried about creasing it. She was trying to sit without leaning on the backrest but this was made difficult by the stopping and starting of the cab as it made its way down the Mile End Road through endless sets of traffic lights. She clutched a red banded hat on her lap together with a large envelope which he guessed held the invitations and instructions.

Having been in the Army himself as a teenager, and with a son who was a Lance Corporal, he knew that the serpent on her hat badge and lapels showed she was in the Royal Army Medical Corps. He also recognised the operational service medal for Afghanistan pinned to her tunic. So using his deductive powers the scenario seemed to be becoming clear. If she was going to the palace it had to be to collect an award for bravery, and for that to happen she must have seen enemy action in Afghan. As a very young private in the RAMC she would be either a nurse or a Combat Medical Technician (probably a nurse because she was so petite). So there it was, a young Private (nurse?) on her way to Buck House to get a medal for some brave deed with Mum, Dad and Gran sitting in the audience, all as proud as punch no doubt. There was no other explanation he could think of but what on earth could she have done?

Whether she was nurse or medic, he guessed she'd probably put herself in danger to save another soldier. But it must have been more than that; after all that's what Army medical personnel did all the time in a war zone. It was their job. So she must have done something special, really brave, to deserve such an award. He remembered reading some years ago about a 19 year old female medic Pte Norris (or was it Morris?) who had been awarded the Military Cross for her actions in Iraq. She had rescued her injured patrol vehicle commander who had been shot in the mouth and did this when under heavy sniper fire. It had made a profound impression on him at the time. Amazing to think that the pretty, petite, slip of a girl sitting in his cab could have done anything like that. She just didn't seem butch enough. He'd loved to have asked her what she'd done but that wasn't really "on".

Just as he'd worked all this out and stopped at yet another red light, the girl in question turned around to speak to him through the 4 inch gap in the glass dividing screen. He looked at her in his mirror and was struck again not only by her very pretty face but also by a pair of beautiful grey-green eyes.

"Ere, we ain't gonna be late, are we?". The cockney twang took him by surprise.

"No worries darlin', traffic's moving O.K. and we've got loads of time to spare. We can't have you being late for the Queen".

"Actually mate" said the pretty soldier "she don't do it much no more. It's Charlie boy today".

She turned back to talk to her fellow passengers.

True to his word Baz drove his cab up the Mall at 10.15 a full fifteen minutes before the allotted time. As he passed the front gate he could see the TV crews and press inside the courtyard setting up for interviews. But his goal was the side gate to the Palace referred to by cabbies as "Buck House tradesmen's entrance". He drew to a halt just past the gate where guests were already queuing up for security and bag checks. His passengers gathered their things together. There was nothing to settle up as he had been paid in advance but as she got out the girl turned to thank him with a lovely smile.

"So you're getting a medal then? Something important?" he asked cheekily.

"She's getting the Military Cross mate" shouted her Dad in a very loud voice from the other side of the pavement, "for bravery". Some of the people in the queue turned to look at her with obvious admiration.

"Yeah , ridiculous innit- just for doing me job" said the girl, clearly rather embarrassed by her father. Baz really wanted to ask "So what did you do to get that?" but other cabs were stacking up behind him and he had to get going with a quick "Have a great day". Shame, he'd liked to have known.

He drove off certain that this, obviously modest, girl had done a lot more than "her job". He'd make sure to watch the news tonight. It was an almost dead cert that the interviewers would make a beeline for her. She'd be younger and prettier than anybody else there, be far more interesting, and make much better television than all the poncy OBEs, CBEs and people awarded knighthoods for political donations.

Then he'd know what she had really done to merit that Military Cross! Whatever it was, she must be a helluva girl!

Oh well, back onto the streets of the West End to cruise for another fare.

Thanks to all you reviewers and other authors who have given me nice reviews and advice via pms.