A Hero's Welcome Ch. 05 Pt. 02

"How did you...this is not possible...I didn't...!"

Gerry beckoned me over, so I slipped a robe on and joined him on the couch, sitting on his lap while Mike remained seated opposite us, gulping like a goldfish.

"It's quite simple, Mike," I began, "it's a variation on an old TV show, called 'You've Been Framed'; I like to think of it as 'You're Going To Get Fucked', and it goes like this: you leave me, my family, and all my friends alone forever, you do as you're told and keep your mouth shut, or Special Branch, Military Intelligence, The Fraud Squad, Parliament, every single tabloid, and your boss at the Joint Chiefs are all going to get those papers, and a lot more besides, detailing how you stole thirty million pounds of sorely needed defence funds from our valiant, undersupplied, overstretched soldiers, who are at this very moment having to do without, so very far from home, while you sit on your fat arse and smirk at how cleverly you picked their pockets."

I schooled my face into an entirely fraudulent expression of deepest outrage.

"Our soldiers are desperately fighting a war to protect vermin like you, all they have is their bravery, and you're stealing from them, and to add insult to injury, you stashed the money with a country who hates us; your treason is going to get you fifty years in Belmarsh Prison; that's the place where once a week they dress you up as Bo Peep and throw you in a cell with Bruno the Rapist! They'll burn you in effigy in every main square in England; how's that for a legacy, Mike?"

He finally managed to find his voice, a panicked squeak.

"This is preposterous! None of this is true, it's all lies, you can't...!" but I cut him short.

"Of course it's all lies, dearest Uncle Mike; I told you, the name of the game is 'You're Going To Get Fucked', not 'Let's be nice to Mike'; you tried to blackmail me into bed, you threatened Gerry, you threatened us both, so this is what you get in return; welcome to my world! Of course this stuff is all lies, I know that as well as you do; try proving it, though; the people who did this are the very best in the world at what they do, and they made a special effort for you, because you're such a cock."

I paused to let it sink in, then continued.

"This is what you're going to do. You're going to make like you've never heard of Lorna and Gerry Boscombe; you're going to leave us alone forever; you're going to climb back in your smelly little hole of an office, and only come out at feeding time. Any time I want to, I can drop the boom on you, and make no mistake; if I think, or have reason to believe, you told anyone about this conversation, or try to wriggle out from under, I will, and you'll be in such deep shit you'll never see daylight again. Am I making myself clear? If anything happens to me, or Gerry, there are other people who have access to all this stuff; believe me when I say they'll get a huge kick out of watching you circle the drain. Be told."

He nodded, mouth hanging open. I'd heard the expression 'ashen-faced' before, but this was the first time I'd ever seen someone actually go grey with fear.

"Good, now we understand each other perfectly. There's one other thing, and I expect this to happen immediately; remember, I'm watching you, Mike; if I think you've tried to screw with me, the axe falls, and you get to play with Bruno, got it?"

He nodded, so I passed him a sheet of paper with Charlie's details on it.

"These are the unit details of Lieutenant Charles Manville, 2nd Reconnaissance Squadron, Blues and Royals, deployed in Helmand, but currently on leave in the UK; for reasons that are none of your damned business, I need him transferred to a training or non-combatant role here in the UK. You have twenty-four hours to make it happen; don't let me down. The same rules apply; once you've done this, you forget it ever happened, and you never heard of 'Charles Manville', or any of his family. Lieutenant Manville must never know why he was transferred; if he finds out, I will drop the boom on you, and they will bury you deeper than mole shit; are we clear on that?"

He nodded, too cowed to protest, so I let him get dressed, then Gerry escorted him to his car and watched him drive off; I suspect he stopped off a couple of times to have a good cry, because he was quaking with fear when he left. Gerry came back up to the room and grinned at me.

"God, Lor, you looked so scary when you told that dick where to go! I'm just glad you're on my side, that's all I have to say!"

*

Gerry finished his Master's and took a job with a major electronics manufacturer, in their design office. It means he's away quite a bit, as their main factories are in California and South Korea, but at least his office when he's home is only twenty minutes from the house. I run my business from my office at home now, but with Skype and fast broadband links I'm virtually in the office all day.

I have to work from home, as my office in Henley on Thames is not really set-up for childcare, and I'm not leaving my baby in the care of others; oh yes, I should have mentioned; Gerry and I have a daughter together, her name is Isabel-Lucy, but everyone calls her Belle, and we have another on the way; Gerry's hoping for another girl, as he's completely in love with our daughter, but I want a boy; we shall have to wait and see, and keep our fingers crossed.

Jenna took a job with the UK part of ESA, the European Space Agency, as their resident boffin, and, as she's based in a small office near Swindon, at least she comes home at night. Her son is a beautiful, sweet little boy, with jet-black hair and fair skin, like his mother, but with his father's beautiful blue eyes, spectacular looks, and sweet, happy nature. Gerry and I couldn't be happier; we have a son to dote on and share with our beloved wife, Jenna; little Gerard adores his father, dotes on his baby sister, and doesn't seem to care whether he calls me or Jenna 'mamma', because he's all of ours anyway, my son as much as Jenna's. It may sound like a strange arrangement, but then we're not exactly a standard family.

Lucy and Charlie live not a million miles away from us, and the five of us, together with our children, are all the family we have, or need. Charlie's still in the army; he's a Major now, still gorgeous, still dashing, Lucy's still an Estate Agent, and doing very well indeed; she has three offices now, scattered through Oxfordshire, and with the current housing boom, all doing roaring trade. We still get together every couple of days; I look after little Charlie or baby Lorna for her, and she looks after Belle and Gerard for me whenever I have to go into the office for meetings; as we once agreed, a long time ago; we'd be our own support network, as we were all we had. It seems to be working just fine.