There will be a warning on this story, but this part is big time mild, just playing with your imaginations...
She Got What She Asked For
Rachel Underwood woke. It was a gentle, natural waking as sunlight streamed into the room through the chink in the curtains. The alarm clock would have gone off twenty minutes later. She slipped into consciousness, the bedclothes rubbing pleasantly against her naked breasts as she shifted slightly.
This was a special day. She knew that from the start but it took a few seconds more for her to remember: it was her birthday. She had gone to bed twenty-one and had woken up twenty-two. Downstairs in her flat were birthday cards from mum and dad, from David, from friends and colleagues. There were also several presents that mum and dad had collected and delivered. They were wrapped up and they could wait till the evening. But there was one from David too and that she must open.
In a way it was bound to be an anticlimax, she thought. It was only two weeks since he’d proposed and she’d accepted. She looked several times a day at that ring on her finger with its sparkling stone as if it might disappear or turn out to have been in a dream.
Before she’d met David she’d have thought all this was a bit soppy. She was a tough, dedicated career woman and not a silly romantic novels type. But she was in love and her life was changing fast. It would keep on changing fast today and in the next few weeks. Today colleagues at the Station would probably have a present and some kind of practical joke prepared, or maybe just a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHEL sign – inside and out of sight to the public, of course, because there were limits on the Police showing they were much like everyone else.
She got out of bed. She’d made love with David, of course, but they didn’t yet live together. It had all been a bit quick.
She did something she would never have done before meeting David. She walked across to the big mirror and looked at herself naked. He was getting a treat, wasn’t he, she thought. Large but firm breasts, a wonderfully flat stomach coming from much time in the gym and careful diet, a womanly swell of hips, long, nicely tapering legs, slim hands, long fingers – and her face, of course, not coarse, not plain – pretty, she could think that without being vain, and David had said it looked sensitive and intelligent, so it was. If “gentlemen prefer blondes”, then he wasn’t a gentleman, because he was really smitten with her girlishly short black hair and because her eyes were sky blue he sang that Galway girl song with “her hair was black and her eyes were blue” although she wasn’t Irish.
There was black hair too lower down, of course, just a little, around her girl place.
Grinning a little self-consciously, she turned and peeked over her shoulder. She still thought her bottom was rather big, but David said it was “imperial” and it was tight and taut from all that exercise. She knew men stared at it. Not so long ago that would have made her nervous and self-conscious, but now she had no problem with it. Look but do not touch – except for David, of course.
She walked lightly downstairs and went straight to David’s present, wrapped in pink and cream paper.
She found two things. One was a marvellous brooch which looked like real gold, worked intricately into fluid, curving shapes and with two small stones which must be sapphires. It looked very old.
The other was a pair of panties. They were quite small and she knew a lot of her bottom would bulge outside them, but that was all right. They were frilly-edged and the colour was a most wonderful greeny-blue, turquoise she thought. She loved them. She loved the brooch too, but police on duty weren’t allowed to wear any jewellery except wedding and engagement rings and a Sikh’s bangle. It could go in her bag, though – that wasn’t wearing it. The panties she could wear right away!
There was a little note from David:
“The brooch goes way back in our family but I didn’t have any sisters. Now it’s yours. The panties don’t go way back in our family and I look forward to seeing you in them tonight!” That was David: sort of jokey and direct together. She too was looking forward to tonight. She’d get back from her shift, unpack the other presents and then it was a meal with David and then, well, a repeat of that beautiful first time.
Ninety minutes later she was walking into the Station a bit self-consciously and yes, there were balloons and a big message and there was Niyati already wearing her police hat with a sort of yellow pom-pom on top of it. Maybe she’d been chosen as the newest and youngest officer or maybe as Rachel’s friend?
“Happy birthday!” the Indian girl cried and hugged Rachel. Then old Trevor Carpenter, Sergeant Carpenter, was handing over a gift-wrapped box and a card and the song was
“Why was she born so beautiful, why was she born at all?”. Then much laughter and cheers.
“Where’s Robbie?” she asked.
“Sick. Got the runs. Can’t have that in uniform trousers!” Niyati said before the Sergeant could answer.
“Means you’re on your own today, I’m afraid,” said Trevor Carpenter. “I’m sure you can handle whatever gets chucked at you, though.”
“Thanks, Sarge,” said Rachel, and meant it. It was nice of him to say that. She did believe he was right, though. She’d dealt with that hulking great drunk who’d pulled a knife in a pub and she’d not even used her CS gas, just her stick. She’d outrun that street robber guy and brought him down. She was still pretty new in the job after two years and a month, but she could handle herself and her body language in the street showed it.
That was one reason why she’d sort of helped Niyati. OK, she herself was pretty new, but she understood the kind of stuff an attractive young woman new to a police station would get and how to deal with it. She could be the new girl’s mentor. The other reason was that she just liked her. Anyway, Niyati was four months through her six months’ probation and was obviously going to be OK.
The day didn’t turn out how Rachel had expected. Inspector Cosgrave had a briefing to give. A teenage girl had disappeared. Hayley Love was a troubled kid, apparently, so she might have decided to slope off without telling her parents, and at her age she had the right to do that except that there was a court order on her requiring her to live at home. Her criminal career was pretty minor, the sort of stuff a lot of kids got up to and grew out of, a minor assault on another girl and one incidence of driving while uninsured and without a licence; the court order had been made after she’d harassed a girl who’d taken her boyfriend. Her parents were worried and as Hayley had self-harmed in the past, there was some concern she might not be safe. She’d her credit card and some other stuff at home. Several officers were deputed to visit likely places or to go house to house. Rachel was told to cover a rural area where Hayley’s best friend at college lived.
As the Inspector strode out and the officers filed out of the room, Damien Leahy gave Rachel a sort of asking look. She assumed he wanted to discuss something with her, so she hung back. But he didn’t speak and didn’t look at her, so she assumed he’d changed his mind or she’d misunderstood. Maybe he was sweet on her. So she headed for the door, last but one of the group, only Damien behind her. He smacked her bottom. Not a full-blooded whack, but a lot more than a pat. It stung and it was humiliating. Angry, she spun round to see Damien sniggering with a self-satisfied little smile. She could have slapped his silly, juvenile face but she chose not to. She could show him she didn’t need to. She stared coldly into his eyes and saw his smile vanish and his gaze falter.
“Don’t try that again, Damien, or I’ll bust your silly little nose,” she said. He rallied.
“When I’m sergeant I’ll put you on special duties,” he said, “very special duties.”
“I’ll be sergeant before you, Damien, unless you grow up,” she riposted. He didn’t reply, so she swept through the door.
“You won’t be a sergeant, you stuck-up fat-arsed cow,” he muttered a moment later. Rachel had sharp hearing and heard him, but ignored him. He was beneath being worth taking seriously. She headed out to the sticks.
The best friend of the missing teen was in. She said she had no idea where Hayley was and seemed genuinely worried under the teenage swagger, though Rachel had a feeling she was hiding something. That house was a mile outside the village, on a private road ending at Stannerford Farm. Rachel knew Mr Fletcher, the old man who lived there alone, was eccentric, was viewed with suspicion by some and had a very old conviction for a low-level sexual assault. He had a tendency to befriend young people, mostly young adults, but there had been no actual trouble and if anything he was at risk from some of them. She thought it just possible he’d befriended Hayley, since Hayley’s friend lived so close. Anyway, she rather liked the odd old man and found chats with him amusing and interesting. She’d go and check the farm.
NOW - What do you think is going to happen to Rachel on her birthday? Please let me know!
