Confessions from a Nudist Colony. Timothy Lea
without doing herself a serious injury. She must have needed guidance to follow the dotted lines round the advertisement. If she was not easy on the eye-balls I might be thinking about writing to my MP.
‘What’s he done, miss?’ says one of the kids who is clustering around us.
‘Child murder!’ I tell him. ‘Hop it, you horrible little basket!’
‘Looks a villain,’ says another God forbid. ‘Do you want any help, miss?’
‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m going quietly. Which is more than you will be if you don’t scarper sharpish!’ I make a threatening lunge and they drop back half a dozen paces.
There is a police car parked under a tree and the bloke at the wheel puts down his copy of Six Hundred Ways To Thump Someone And Leave No Trace and leaps out hungrily. ‘Got the ponce, have you?’ he says looking me up and down hungrily. ‘Wait till we get you back to the station, matey.’
‘No!’ says little Miss Blue Serge, blushing. ‘He’s our contact. I locked him up by mistake.’
‘Oh, gawd, Millie!’ says the fuzz. ‘I thought you’d finished for the day when you arrested that store detective for shoplifting. Unlock him quick!’
‘I’ve lost my key,’ says the bird. Her lip has started trembling again and it is clear that she is on the verge of tears.
‘Oh no!’ The rozzer bashes his fist against the side of his nut so hard that his hat nearly falls off.
‘Haven’t you got one?’ says Millie.
‘Course I haven’t got one!’ The fuzz looks about him desperately. ‘Who’s keeping the caravan under surveillance?’
‘Nobody,’ says Millie. ‘I’d better go–’
‘No you don’t! You’ve done enough damage for one day,’ says the fuzz. ‘You stay here. I’ll go.’
‘What about me?’ I say.
‘You can’t go,’ says the copper. ‘Not with those handcuffs on. You get in the car with WPC Marjoribanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ I say, not without a trace of sarcasm.
‘Sorry about this,’ says the male fuzz, considerately opening the car door for me. ‘These combined ops are always a bit of a disaster, aren’t they? Get out of it! !’ His last remark is delivered to the pack of kids round the car as he turns and strides purposefully towards the caravans. The kids follow him.
WPC Marjoribanks slides along the back seat beside me. She has nice little knees and I can’t help clocking the curve of her thighs underneath the blue serge skirt. ‘Alone at last,’ I say.
She smiles nervously. ‘I don’t have to say it again, do I?’
‘Please don’t,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t help very much. Haven’t you got a hacksaw tucked away somewhere?’
She does not answer but starts running her hands over the front of her body. ‘I must have a hole,’ she says.
‘It’s not beyond the realms of possibility,’ I say suavely. ‘Perhaps you’d better have a look for it. I shouldn’t think anything would have much chance of dropping out of that lot.’
I am clocking the front of her tight tunic when I speak and it is true that she would be pushed to smuggle a thin stamp hinge in the space not taken up by knocker.
‘I suppose there’s always a chance,’ she says.
The same thought occurs to me as I watch her fingers delving in the breast pocket of her tunic and a wave of naughtiness sweeps over the maximum stress area of my jeans.
‘Any luck?’ I say.
‘Oh dear,’ she says. ‘There is a hole. The lining’s gone.’
Not surprising with that lot chafing against it, I think to myself. ‘Perhaps it’s slipped down inside,’ I say, jerking my manacled mitts to indicate that some kind of action needs to be taken.
WPC Marjoribanks nods and starts to undo her tunic. She is wearing a plum red half cut bra under her blue shirt and I suck in my breath appreciatively. ‘That’s not government issue, is it?’ I say.
‘What, the shirt?’ she says.
‘The bra,’ I say. ‘I can’t help noticing it when I look. It’s nice.’
‘Oh, no, it’s not – I mean, it’s not police issue. Frankly – if it doesn’t sound like heresy – I’m not all that keen on the uniform. In fact–’ her lip starts to tremble again ‘– I’m not all that keen on the Force.’
‘I don’t like force either,’ I say. ‘There’s too much of it. People talk about sex and violence like they are the same thing but I only see the–’
‘I mean the Police Force,’ she says. ‘Frankly I don’t think I’m cut out to be a copper. That probably sounds terrible to you. How long have you been a flat foot?’
‘Well, I’ve always had a bit of trouble with my arches,’ I say. ‘Mum made me wear my sister’s old sandals when I was a kid and–’
‘A policeman,’ she says. ‘How long have you been with the CID?’
This time I twig what she says: the CID, not the SID. She has obviously mistaken me for a plain clothes copper. I wonder if it would be wise to disillusion her? Especially in our present situation. ‘Not very long,’ I say. I give a light laugh and wait for her to ask me why.
‘What are you laughing at?’ she says.
‘I was just thinking,’ I say. ‘If I wanted to make a pass at you I’d have a problem, wouldn’t I?’ I hold out my wrists and give her the famous Lea slow burn. It is all good clean fun and she smiles gamely.
‘I sometimes wonder if that’s why I joined,’ she says sadly.
‘What do you mean?’ I say.
‘I used to be very free and easy,’ she says. ‘I remember how worried my mother was. I think I thought that if I joined the police force it would be the next best thing to becoming a nun. I’d be protected from myself. The sanctity of the uniform would keep me on the straight and narrow.’
You could nip on my straight and narrow any day of the week, I think to myself. I nod understandingly and take one of her hands in both of mine – I don’t have any alternative with the handcuffs on. ‘You don’t want to go against your true nature,’ I say. ‘Any luck with that key?’
She retrieves her hand and runs it along the hem of her skirt. ‘Nope. It must have dropped out.’
‘Couldn’t have slipped inside your shirt?’ I drop my tethered mitts on her Ned Kelly and have a little feel. It is even more sexy with the bracelets on. Percy certainly thinks so anyway. He bounces up like a rubber pigeon shit. ‘No. There’s nothing there – except you.’ The minute I lay hands on her she stiffens like something else I have just mentioned and it is clear that the pressure of my sensitive looks and fingers is not altogether repugnant.
‘This is awful,’ she says. ‘What would anyone say if they could see?’
‘There’s nobody around to see,’ I say. ‘They’ve all gone off with your mate. Let’s make sure you’re not concealing anything.’
I lower my nut in time with my voice and gently brush my mouth against hers. I wouldn’t exactly say that she abandons herself to my lips but she does not bust the back window jerking her head away.
‘Are you married?’ she says. ‘All the worst ones at the station are married.’
‘I’m not surprised you have problems,’ I say. ‘No, I’m not married.’
‘You