Old Friends in Paradise Ch. 01

It was that fine looking Royal Marines Sergeant!

His voice seemed familiar, and it wasn't the usual shouty, nagging voice they learn at PTI school, he had what I now recognise as the 'personal trainer' voice you hear in gyms all the time now. It was nice, warm, encouraging and everything you needed on a hot early morning when the last thing you really wanted was to be running around a gym throwing your mates around and getting sore wrists from the continued application of handcuffs for a day.

He was wearing shorts and the white with red edging Physical Training Instructor T-shirt and in the way of PTI's he'd obviously gone to the uniform store and got his one size too small to make those muscles I'd seen a few nights before stand out.

All PTI's do it -- and most admit it, but I was pleased to note that in his case it was well worth the effort. His body was excellent and I noticed many of my female colleagues, even one I knew to be gay, were looking and appreciating.

His good looks were all topped off by a long scar on his left cheek, from in front of his ear down level with his firm lips, I guessed it was a little something left over from one of his operational tours.

"So team, we're going to warm up first with some gentle stretching exercises..." he led us through those adding in comments about how we were the people responsible for our own fitness and the best way was a little and often, how we would be better soldiers, then better policemen and women, safer and all that kind of thing a million miles away from the usual shouting and screaming we had all been brought up with since basic.

He threw in the occasional bit of advice on stance and balance and soon we were using all of the various restraint techniques we needed to know (according to the government at least) and that we used to varying degrees.

It was splendid; many times before other PTI's had used this as an excuse to show off their own fitness and take a chance at slapping around colleagues. Bastards.

This guy was totally different and he was intent on helping us and moving through what we had to do as quickly and as effectively as possible. We stopped for water breaks often, and he insisted we stepped out of the heat of the gym and rested in the shade.

We all headed back to the canteen for lunch and I sat down with some of the girls looking forward to a bit of a natter about the fit Royal Marine and what a nice change it was and I noticed that Sgt Chris was at another table with some of the Red Caps, but casting the occasional eye at me still, and I cast it straight back again with a smile -- he was stunningly good looking!

For the afternoon session we were back at the same thing, with Sgt Chris stopping at the hottest time and sitting us down in some shade and standing up next to a flip chart and talking us through some of the concepts behind the moves that we were learning then the legal aspects of what we were doing and about the boundaries that we could so easily breach and go from restraint to assault.

We finished that afternoon and were all signed off as trained for speedcuffs and personal protection. I went back to my room and had a shower and changed into a light T-shirt and short-shorts over a swimming costume as a group of us were going to splash around the pool a bit after the evening meal.

I'd been saving the spare seat opposite me for my friend Sam, a regulator from the Royal Navy and occasional partying, time off and sunbathing buddy that started the same week as me.

Instead the words, "May I join you Corporal Mair?" rumbled across the table.

I looked up and it was Sergeant Chris of the scarred but still square jaw and the piercing blue eyes, in a T-shirt and shorts as well. He'd obviously looked my name up!

"Please do!" I said effusively, then stopped myself -- the entire room was watching.

Within minutes Sam was sat next to him and chatting about the training and how much nicer it was with him carrying it out. Being Navy Sam was up with the navy/marines banter and I joined in, even as a 'Blue job.'

I said how nice it was that he was had taken such a very different stance from our usual PTI's that almost enjoyed giving us a hard time.

"Not me," he said, "this isn't just about fitness, this is modern policing, I have to make sure you all learn the same stuff in the same way as the Bobbies on the beat back home, this shit is tri-service," He sipped his tea, "made the papers and everything."

"And they sent a big ol' Royal to learn it then teach it?" said Sam with cheeky grin. Strangely though, the 'big ol' Royal' just couldn't stop looking at me.

"Aah, not just any old Royal, he said, "they sent the Royal Marines Policeman with qualifications," he smiled and nodded at me this time, "After basic I applied for PTI training but they wouldn't put me forward for it, my Uncle had been a policeman so I applied for the Provost course and was sent to the Police Troop at Plymouth and made lance-corporal.

Then they finally admitted that my degree and my Masters in sports and nutrition might actually make it worth sending me on the PTI course two and a half years ago and I'd been cheerfully working with Four-Two then the next generation of potential Royal Marines at Lympstone and getting them fit and promoted to Corporal.

Then all of a sudden I'm told to report to Hendon Police College with a bunch of Red Caps, Snow Drops and Skate Regies to learn the Home Office procedure from the Met. The most senior PTI's from each branch are told we have to go on operational tours to carry out and evaluate the training in a real policing environment and how we can improve on it for the armed forces."

"And you got Cyprus," said Sam.

"Yeah, bastard isn't it. The RAF lad is currently running around Catterick, the Navy Regulator is in Portsmouth while the Red Cap is in Colchester with 16th Air Assault. Felt sure I would get that." There was some disappointment to his tone.

"Problem Sarge?" I said.

"Airborne/Commando thing really. To be honest I always wanted to get paratrooper wings," he said with a grin, "just to go with the crossed clubs on my Lovats you understand, but it's tougher for us more cerebral Royals to get them without going for something more rough and tough."

"Ah well, at least you get six months of Mediterranean sun," I said, then smiled at the hunk across from me, "and us of course."

He smiled back,

"and I'm sure that will more than make up for it!"

I was intrigued by what an intelligent, switched-on bloke he was but more intrigued by the hint of recognition between us; perhaps he had been at Brize that day, I'd checked a whole bunch of Royal Marines from 42 Commando after all.

Sam said how she'd heard him chatting with the Chefs about the amount of salt they used the day before and he sounded like he actually knew what he was talking about, not something she was used to from the Marines.

He grinned and said that he'd gone to Loughborough University and studied sports medicine, psychology and nutrition, and had joined the Royal Marines Reserve while there. He left the reserve and joined the Corps on graduation and had been to lots of the same places I'd been to. My brain was spinning.

Loughborough; who did I know that went to Loughborough? My old school Bessie Rachel? Nah, she'd gone to Exeter.

Sam was a smoker and although desperately trying to give up headed for the small covered patio for one, leaving us alone. We'd both been making eyes at each other since he arrived and just to add to it he looked at me across his water glass at me, grinning.

I giggled nervously throwing in a rather brave, "What?" at his continued narrowed-eyed stare.

He stopped being quite so obvious and shook his head, "OK then, what do service policemen and women do in Cyprus on boring Friday evenings Corporal Christina?"

First name now? He really had made the effort and was obviously starting to chat me up and the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea, my insides bubbled.

"Lots of nice places to go out for dinner," I said sipping my water with a smile to let him know he should carry on.

He smiled back,

"I'm a bit of a new boy, don't suppose you'd like to come out with me tomorrow evening and show me -- my treat?"

I paused,

"That would be really nice." I giggled this time, feeling my cheeks heat. That smile of his, I was sure we'd met before but I just couldn't figure where and when and it was really bugging me! "OK, just where the hell do I know you from Sarge?!"

"You REALLY don't recognise me do you Chrissie!" He grinned but was shaking his head in some disappointment.

That smile, those piercing blue eyes, the one person in the world that could ever get away with calling me Chrissie - SHIT!

I knew who this gorgeous, hot, sexy hunk was!

"Before I say anything," I said looking around the room, "Can I apologise for how much of a totally shitty bitch I was to you back at school?"

I thought back to the last time we spoke...

*

"...should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind, should old acquaintance be forgot for the sake of old lang syne, for ooooooooold lang syne my dears, for old laaaaaang syne, we'll take a cup of kindness yet..."

The whole year group stood in two or three rough circles joined in places, with all of the year eleven teachers, tutors and staff, singing an old soppy song and looking forward to the future, I blinked away my tears, squeezed Simon's hand and thought about the future, our next steps and how great it was all going to be.

I looked up at Simon ready for one of those winks he gave me that I used to think was soooo cool and would make my insides go to jelly. Instead he was gazing across at his best mates Brett and Gavin and mouthing something to them and nodding at one of our number. They chuckled inanely and nodded agreement, their look told me they were going to find this soooooo funny.

Gavin moved innocently behind the crowd, grinning, chatting, bantering and shaking hands as he went while Brett just blundered his way along, pushing back into the line.

I could see who they were now getting closer to - Stick-thin Fucker was going to get it again, for the last time.

For an answer as the song reached its crescendo they slid from their places as hands were shaken and cheeks kissed, to stand behind Christian then on a shared nod, pulled down his trousers. To add injury to the insult, they each kicked at his ankles sending his legs forward making him collapse backwards.

The crowd in mid-chuckle about the trouser incident all took a sharp intake of breath as the badly timed and differently powered kicks saw Christian land not on his bottom as they had planned but on his right hip and shoulder just before the back of his head struck the hard wooden floor of the school hall, at those painful thumps the hugging and laughter stopped.

Brett was the only person still laughing and hadn't noticed that the rest of the group of some 70 others, our entire year in fact, were looking at him and his cohort Gavin with shocked faces and 'what the fuck' open mouths.

I remember thinking that it was typical of Christian to fall like that, and surely he could have stopped himself.

That's how I thought in those days, especially when I was around Simon.

The problem was Gavin the clever comedian had kicked just a little bit, while rugby playing thug Brett had punted his two-year victim's ankle like he was trying a drop goal from two pitches away.

A slightly stunned looking Gavin had realised that the shit was about to hit the fan big style and reached down to help his one-time best friend and classmate in an effort to make good with his audience.

He had his usual dopey grin on his face, but the 'class comedian' look didn't cut it with the rest of them becoming more mature and even I heard Christian loudly telling Gav to go fuck himself.

That wasn't nice, Gavin was just trying to help...

Mr Davies the PE teacher was kneeling on the floor and trying to stop Christian from getting up, checking the bump on the back of his head then noticing the fresh and nasty looking bruise the back of his bare thigh around the just healed wound from when he fell, or was pushed, down onto his broken glasses almost seven weeks before.

The headmistress Mrs Reynolds was fuming; I was in two minds -- was Christian going to start whining and ruin this nice time we were all having or was he going to do the decent thing and shut up like he had done for the last few years when they had joked around with him.

Brett gave her the standard put-upon teenager look with accompanying stance of arms by his side palms forward in the 'what have I done now?' grimace.

"My office!" she growled, "and you Gavin Mills!" she shouted to the room as Gav was now actually hiding. My best mate Rachel was arms folded and scowling at Gavin who she had quite fancied and been out with a few times. Rachel hissed with a fury she'd never shown before,

"Why the hell did they have to do that, why couldn't they just leave him alone -- it's the LAST BLOODY DAY!" She stormed across the room to where Christian was being checked over, she'd been there when the original 'Stick-thin Fucker' discussions were happening but hadn't waded in to his defence then so wasn't totally innocent; but the gang were all growing up and the juvenilia that had previously been entertaining now seemed silly and... well, mean.

Being Simon's girl, I was about to start defending Brett and Gavin and by implication Simon to her; then I saw the blood on the back of his head and the bruise on his thigh and arm and thought about the quite brutal kicks - how the hell could I dignify what they had done to someone I had grown up with; that had been systematically bullied, harassed and hassled for the last couple of years -- what was I saying, that WE had systematically bullied, harassed and hassled, I had accepted and condoned the harassment of my old best friend with remarkable ease.

I felt my throat tighten as I realised that my Bestie Rachel was favouring me with the same look that she was giving Brett, Gavin and Simon, who was trying hard not to notice what was going on.

Brett, conscious that this was the last day and he only had two exams left, (neither of which he had a chance of getting more than a D), changed his look to contempt and muttered,

"Oh fuck you!"

"What?" Mrs Reynolds growled.

"Try and fuckin' stop me," he sneered, looking at her with contempt then at some of the cross looking male teachers in the room, then turned on his heels and made for the door to avoid any more drama.

"Brett?" came a quiet voice from the room.

"What!" he growled stomping back.

"I have something for you," it was Christian still sat on the floor but making to stand. Mr Davies helped him up.

"What you got for me faggot?" he turned and broadened his already wide shoulders, looking across at Simon in confusion, perhaps for guidance. Simon didn't make eye contact with him and had let go of my hand, trying as he often did to look casual and separate himself from the shit his followers had started with his support and suggestion. "Come on then!" Brett leaned forward and shouted at him.

"Hang on..." Christian put his hand in his pocket and Brett stepped closer to see what was going on. Then, with a speed and a move that none had seen before, Christian's right fist pulled out from his pocket and flew up a in perfect outward arc, the back of his hand and the pointed knuckles catching the fat bully square in the centre of his face and dropping him to the floor on his arse this time. Christian straightened his trousers as if nothing had happened.

The was a gasp and muted speech; mutterings of 'faaaaaakin' hell' and 'did you see that?'

Brett winced as he touched his bloody nose. Mrs Reynolds looked at the trickle of blood from the back of Christian's head and the just visible blood stain on the side of his grey trousers, then looked down at Brett's bloodied nose and smiled.

"Do you know what?" she said with a satisfied grin, "I think we'll call that a draw."

Mr Davies, who managed and trained the school rugby team, looked down at a very stunned one-time prop forward Brett, flanked by Mr Maguire (history) and Mr Hobbs (Physics) - both big men with stern expressions and raised eyebrows.

"Stay where you are, I'll be back for you in a minute." I also heard that he whispered, 'if you stand up, so help me I'll put you back down on your arse again you stupid bastard.' He led Christian away to his office and his more comprehensive first aid kit.

Once Mr Davies had gone, Brett stood and ignoring the two male teachers spat then blew the snotty blood from his nostrils onto the floor as he would have done on a rugby pitch, gave his head a shake turned around and walked away from everyone and without a word to pushed open the fire doors out onto the playground. I never saw him again.

Gavin carried on standing quite still and looking stupid, drifting unnoticed into the crowd but everyone noticed he kept well out of arms reach of Christian for the rest of the day. I heard from Simon later that Brett's mum was so used to her lumpish son coming home with various cuts and contusions that she didn't even notice his red nose and swollen lip.

We all went outside for the final photograph, all somewhat hushed by the last three minutes activity, and Christian come out at the last minute to appear in the photograph. Once the picture was taken, the hall was cleaned and re-opened and the leavers' party started.

Simon, now secure with me his pretty blonde girlfriend at his hip but none of his usual hangers on around him, obviously sensing a bit of a sea-change around their former leader and feeling less brave without Brett being there.

Simon still endeavoured to hold court but not with the same amount of interest as before with Gavin at his side and back to being the jolly, quite good looking stand-up comedian that people found much less funny now.

No one mentioned Christian who was stood at the other side of the hall with everyone else, Mr Davies and Mr Maguire had even complemented him on his punch, looking across the room at an increasingly nervous looking Gavin.

Rachel had wandered over and had started chatting to Christian along with many of the others that had been so impressed with his final act of reprisal and revenge.

At the end of the party, we removed our school blazers and started to sign each-others 'last day of school' white shirts, all bar Simon who threatened to punch out anyone that so much as marked his Ralph Lauren (pointing to the black 'Polo' logo on the pocket just in case anyone had missed it) that he reminded people almost daily cost almost seventy quid each.

We all started to mingle and I found myself stood next to Christian Tucker. He didn't make eye contact with me and I could now quite understand why, after all I'd done nothing to encourage anything other than contempt from him, and my throat tightened again as I realised perhaps l deserved it.

He must have seen it in my eyes; we'd been close once, really close, from our first playtimes in fact. He smiled a very sad smile at me,

"Here you go Chrissie," he said wrinkling his nose and using his old name for me, the one he'd used from when we both learned to talk, turning around so I might write on his shoulder, "Old times sake?"

A shoulder I found to be rather more muscular from when I'd last seen it and his chest had noticeably broadened. Once I finished my short 'Best of Luck Christian' note I offered him the tiny remaining spaces on my right sleeve with an embarrassed grin; after all there was no way he could sign the front of my blouse was there.

"Careful with those hands Stick-thin Fucker," said Simon, at my side in an instant but still arms-length distance from Christian I noticed, "I'm not sure I want you laying hands on my girlfriend, she might catch GAYNESS from you."