Brian Degas - Specials - Based on the BBC TV Drama Series - The complete novels in one volume

Standing in front of her were two women of her age who were indeed conspicuous and none too timid about asserting their presence, a couple of Sharons, their hair teased into clouds and their names surely immortalized on the sun visors of cars driven by their Kevins. While in some sense Anjali could envy the bold, even brave disguise they adopted to face a world crowded with anxieties, nevertheless she could never assume that disguise for herself.

Suddenly she recognized someone familiar – her section officer, Bob Loach – sailing by the bus stop in his fancy Jag. Impulsively she waved at him, a gesture perhaps uncharacteristic of the woman she imagined other people saw her to be.

Against all odds, Bob Loach saw her wave, and although he had overshot the mark, the Jag quickly slowed to a stop. Then he turned and waved back to Anjali, motioning for her to join him for the ride to Division ‘S’ headquarters.

The Sharons standing in front of her simultaneously got the same message, misinterpreting Loach’s wave and come-on as intended for them. The short one even had the nerve to return Loach’s wave. The two exchanged glances, half-seriously asking ‘What d’you think?’

Before they could decide among themselves, Anjali had run and jumped into the Jaguar. She wasn’t out of hearing range when the short one remarked loudly, ‘What a tart!’

Anjali had to laugh but she couldn’t quite convince herself to explain what she was laughing about to her section officer. He might see her as a bit silly but neither he nor anyone else would have any grounds to think of her as a tart. Yet she wasn’t positive that someone else, indeed a man who had waved at her from afar and picked her up in his handsome carriage, would laugh at the misunderstanding. So she smiled and kept the story to herself.

In turn, Bob Loach didn’t seem very forthcoming either: he appeared to mirror her distant attitude. He was friendly, and made some attempt to offer polite conversation, but still he was reserved. Perhaps that was proper for a man in his position – as well as for an unmarried woman in hers.

Maybe that was one of the reasons Anjali looked up to Robert Loach. He was sympathetic to the concerns of the individuals under his command and was certainly thought to be ‘one of us’. Nonetheless, he clearly took his responsibilities seriously. Anjali decided he was more in tune with his role than she was with hers, at least in terms of what she could discern from his outward behaviour. His strength of character made him attractive to any woman, and Anjali was not unaware of her own desires and secret fantasies stimulated by a mature, older man who personified qualities she admired.

Later in the parade room for Specials at the Division ‘S’ station, Anjali and Section Officer Loach were looking smart in their neat, crisp uniforms, and she felt more comfortable with their defined roles. Yes, he was a section officer, but Anjali Shah could hold her head just as high: she too was a Special in her own right.

Of about a dozen Specials in the parade room, their ages varying from early twenties to mid-forties, one in four were women. Anjali felt honoured to be one of them.

The section officer cleared his throat, and she knew the meeting was about to come to order.

After reviewing the roster of duties on his clipboard and the faces of the Specials present, Section Officer Loach barked ‘All right, settle down, troops.’ It was time to move along, take parade and get the show on the road.

‘I know you’ve heard it all before, but I want you to remember three things when you’re out on the street …’

He paused for effect.

‘… Respect … respect … and respect.’

Loach once again noticed eyeballs rolling skyward and wished that perhaps the Lord High Executioner would authorize him to order their heads to roll instead.

‘Yeah, I know it’s boring. But watch out when you turn the next corner. All hell could break loose, and you’d better be ready for it.’

He prayed, as he did every single time, that each of them would take his words to heart and return home safe and sound. However, before he could deliver the climax of his address, the door opened and Police Sergeant Andrew McAllister popped his head into the breach. Raising a quizzical eyebrow in Loach’s direction, McAllister curled his finger, beckoning the section officer to him.

Loach held up his hand to signal a pause in the parade ceremony, then joined Sergeant McAllister at the door.

‘Before you get started … a wee word in your lug, Section Officer Loach.’

Knowing how rarely McAllister assumed that tone of voice, Loach did not relish the anticipation of the nails being driven into his coffin.

‘While we both know in what high esteem the Specials are held by the regular force, it would seem that some Specials hold themselves in even higher esteem.’

What was McAllister trying to say?

‘I am, of course, referring to Special Constable Freddy Calder. He seems to see himself as Captain Marvel of the Flying Squad.’

Oh-oh, what was it this time?

‘While we appreciate enthusiasm, Loach, Mister Calder is exactly that when off-duty: Mister Calder.’

Freddy had probably arrested Princess Di for showing disrespect for the royal family.

‘I trust you’ll see that my words are inserted in the correct earhole. Over and out. And have a nice parade.’

And with that the sergeant left Cheshire-cat like, the vision of his teeth still hanging in the air.

Loach made a conscious effort to lift his eyes for action, as he returned to his place in front of the Specials. At the same time, he tried not to look into the eyes of the woman he had picked up at the bus stop and given a ride to only moments ago.

‘Okay. Where were we? Ah, right. Special Constable Anjali Shah?’

When he did look at her he was pleased to see that she was alert and responsive. In that instant he was reminded that Special Constable Shah generally demonstrated ‘the right stuff’ for the job, even though she was by no means a powerhouse in the physical sense.

‘Anjali, you’re on car patrol in the panda with PC Toby Armstrong. Okay?’

She nodded, no questions; but one of the wits in the room couldn’t leave well enough alone.

‘Cushy number.’

There was general laughter. Loach tried to ignore the mini-rabble.

‘Special Constable Viv Smith?’

When he looked up Viv Smith was applying some blush to her cheeks, but she indicated that at least she was listening. The next one wouldn’t be so easy, and he made sure his voice carried the menace of impending doom.

‘… And Special Constable Freddy Calder.’

Again the resident wit struck a blow for cynicism.

‘Batman and Robin!’

Yet he wasn’t quick-witted enough to escape Viv Smith clouting him with a graceful swinging arc of her shoulder bag.

Loach immediately forget about that nonsense when he realized Freddy Calder was nowhere in sight.

‘Flippin’ ’eck, where’s Freddy?’

Another wit took his turn. ‘Trying to get away from his mother.’

Loach could barely contain his irritation. ‘That’ll do. That’s out of order.’

At that inopportune moment, Loach heard the door open behind him, and when he turned to confront the interruption, a little furry fox hand-puppet poked his nose in and spoke to the assembled Specials in a squeaky little voice with a distinct though amateurish American accent.

‘Foxy’s real sorry for being late, but there was this babe in a miniskirt.’

Freddy Calder had at last arrived. Loach was sorely tempted to strangle Foxy and break Freddy’s fingers.

‘Hey! Feel my whiskers. Are they burning, or are they burning?’

The hand-puppet entered the parade room, followed by a similarly red-faced Freddy Calder. His embarrassment didn’t excuse his crime. It was time for a firmly administered example of keel-hauling.