This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are over the age of 18.
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A reception committee had gathered to watch the Global taxi in. Roger Bragg, Tanya and Vicky, peering through the fence like fans eager for a glimpse of their favourite rock stars. And there to see the new arrivals safely into the country, Eric Worthington, Immigration official who, in return for his wife's salvation, was pulling every bureaucratic lever at his disposal. The fact that Lord Gideon Woodrow-Munt, billionaire geneticist and source of the miraculous reprieve, was now masquerading as a mild-mannered writer, raised not so much as an eyebrow. A man of his power and wealth could be whomever he chose.
The reunion was tumultuous, boundless joy underscored by the anguish of losing Sook. While a minivan whisked the fugitives away to a temporary safe haven, the stolen jet was quietly entombed in a government hangar. Its owner, now languishing in an Ab Aldafran jail on charges of obscenity, would no longer be needing it.
Bragg came equipped with 3 spare passports, 1 each for Watson, Ally and Beck. Thip, the Thai, and the Cambodian Sophany had new passports within the week and were soon on their way, repatriated to their long-lost homes with a 1-kilogram gold bar each.
Through Roger Bragg's machinations aided by Worthington's connections, Cassandra and Suong were granted British passports, with enough background padding to satisfy the British Home Office. Neither girl was in a hurry to go home, where ruthless agents and cutthroat backers were waiting. With Cassandra's command of English, Spanish and Portuguese, and Suong's fluency in English, French and Vietnamese, Bragg, at Tanya's urging, found them jobs in the company. As interpreters at large and ad-hoc cabin-crew.
And Yan? Bragg, who figured himself a shrewd judge of character, realised straight away the Chinese hooker was a woman of daunting intelligence. What did she want to do? Return to China with a kilo of gold? Bragg always kept a few spare ingots rattling around in the bottom of his battered old backpack. Or, he suggested, she could throw her lot in with them, travel to Australia on a fake British passport and try her luck there. Given his ongoing campaign against triads, he could use a Chinese translator, so she could hang round for a while and sign on as a citizen. It was all up to her. Could she have her own koala, Yan asked? No, Bragg told her, but he might be able to fix her up with an orphaned kangaroo, and a nice cushy job, flying around the world with Ally and Beck. Yan weighed the pros and cons for a good split second then gave Bragg the nod. When they went back home, she would go with them.
Meanwhile Aisha the kidnapped Ab Aldafran, fluctuated between glee and despair. Glee, at having escaped a family, country and culture where the mere mention of her dreams was enough to earn her a beating. Despair at having left behind all she ever knew, and now finding herself a fish out of water, an alien, a foreigner, a stranger in a strange land.
Tanya, in her inimitable style, took the girl under her wing. With Vicky along for moral support she took Aisha down to the high street, and the fashion boutiques, for a little taste of Western decadence. Here and there on the way they crossed paths with women of Aisha's own culture, clad in black from head to toe, glaring daggers through the letterbox slits of their heavy black headcovers. When Aisha cringed, Tanya took her hand. "Head up, Aisha, shoulders back. You're ours now, they can't touch you." Aisha knew from that moment where she rightly belonged.
After swapping Aisha's borrowed clothes for a gorgeous, red floral dress, a violet cashmere cardigan and stylish white sneakers, with matching black bra and panties underneath, they took her to lunch. One glass of French Champagne with her lobster mornay and she was a goner. Ally, behind the scenes, was badgering Bragg to taker her on as a trainee pilot. Same deal as Beck. She, Ally, would teach the fledgling all the theory. Once she'd passed and completed her basic training, Aisha would be upskilled to the right seat of the company jet. When they got one. At the same time, Kevin, back in Australia, through a little hint of cybercrime, inserted false memories into the Immigration database, sufficient to enable the issue of an Australian passport. Aisha, it turned out, was actually Ally's half-sister, fathered by Ally's dad. A superhuman effort, since the dear old boy had never ventured further than New Zealand.
That left one, single, unwilling, fly in the ointment. Bad-tempered, intractable, deeply depressed, treading water like a castaway in a sea of survivor's guilt. Penelope Bowman. The celebrations, as heartfelt and lively as they were, elicited barely a smile from the damaged young English woman. Sentenced to life in prison, she now found herself back on home soil, precipitously, dizzyingly, unbelievably free. At the same time deeply scarred, not just her body but her soul into the bargain, unable to come to grips with her stunning salvation.
Not only disoriented, but unable to fathom the company she found herself in. A bunch of freaks like something out of a movie- Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children. Like that creepy old man, Mister Watson. And his shadow, the skinny little blonde in the dazzling golden cape. Turned out a surname wasn't the only thing they shared. A girl in her twenties- if that- and a man old enough to be her grandfather, in the same bedroom.
And what about that too-fucking-handsome-to-be-true, multi-multi-millionaire lawyer? Ally's boss, Roger, and his red hot trophy wife, Tanya. And Vicky, their... their... their familiar, with a mouth that could suck-start a Boeing 747. An Australian Liv Tyler without the fame or charisma. AND those 2 vapid models, barely in their teens? She didn't need to be a radiologist to see through their innocent facade- a pair of top-shelf hookers if ever there were.
While everybody else set their sights on the future, Penny remained adrift, strung-out and dejected, unable to tell up from down. Though her long-suffering family lived barely a few short hours away, she could not bring herself to so much as ring, convinced, instead, it would only add to their distress. When they saw her ruined body. When she came clean and told them their child was a murderer. And, of course, there was the matter of her fiancé. The young man she'd been in such a hurry to call that day she pulled into that lay-by on the 12-lane desert highway, ten minutes in front of the rest of the convoy. The last thing she'd heard before the universe exploded was her lover's voice. 'Pen? Is that you?'
Ally tried to reason with her. Then Tanya. Vicky even had a go, telling Penny, 'I know where you're coming from, but you're home now, you have to let it go.'
Let it go? Like that was even possible.
The time had come to try some unconventional therapy. Double-blind as the boffins would say, but tried and tested nonetheless. While their secret weapon remained blissfully naive, the coven convened- Tanya, Beck, Ally and Vicky- to conjure up a little grey magic.
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"We're going where?" the old man frowned.
"To Roger's brother's." Tanya replied. "West coast, out in the country."
"What for?"
"A holiday, silly. Look. I'm bored shitless just sitting round here and the girls are starting to squabble. And Aisha, poor dear, she's busting a gut to have a look around. Let's face it, we could all use a little change of scenery. God knows we need something to get rid of this cabin fever."
"Cabin fever? In a five-star hotel?"
"I know, right? You think they would have put us in seven-star instead, with gilded dunny paper and hot and cold running servants. You know, this morning, I even had to change my own toilet roll."
The door opened up and Beck waltzed in, towelling her hair dry. "Have you told him yet?"
"Told me what?" Watson frowned, sensing a trap.
Tanya flicked Beck a warning glance. "About the holiday." she said. "It's okay, Darling, I was just telling him."
Watson narrowed his eyes. "Why do I get the feeling you guys are up to something?"
"You're just being paranoid." Tanya replied. "After everything you've been through I guess it's no surprise. Don't worry, Handsome, you'll get over it."
Beck sat down beside him. She was wearing her trusty gold silk slip- she called it her wedding dress- with not a stitch underneath, and taking her old man's hand she nestled it in her lap. "A holiday in the country." she chirped. "I bet you can't wait."
"I can't wait?"
"And neither can we." Tanya hastened. "You should see it. A sweet little farmhouse, right on the coast. It's even got its own walking path down to the cliffs."
"Who's going?" Watson asked.
Caught flat-footed, Tanya looked around. "Everyone of course. Unless there's anyone you want to leave behind."
Apart from Misery-guts, he thought, the English girl, Penny. Moping over meals, always hiding in her room "All of us? In a sweet little farmhouse. Where will we fit?"
"It's Roger's brother we're talking about, Pet. I'm sure there's gonna be plenty of room."
"I thought they didn't get on." Watson said shrewdly. "Roger and his brother."
Tanya waved the veiled accusation away. "They're still family, Damo. Besides, big bro's in New York. Planting hedges or something. He won't even know."
Another door opened and Watson looked up. Ally strolled in with the grey-eyed Cassandra in tow, dressed in sweaty active gear, all hot and bothered from the gym. One look at Cassandra's two finger thigh-gap, and Ally's pert little tits, and the old man felt a tingle in his groin.
"Have you told him yet?" Ally asked, sitting on the sofa and pulling her feet up. Settling beside her, Cassandra snuggled into the fiery little woman she'd come to regard as an older sister with benefits.
"This again?" Tanya huffed. "Guys, will you leave this to me? Damon. On account of your recent experience. Boldly going where no idiot has gone before, into the valley of death blah blah blah... We were sort of hoping you'd go on ahead. Take the Range Rover. Do a recce. Get the place all ship shape and battened down before we arrive. Kill the rats. Repel the boarders. Light the fires and turn on the hot water."
"By myself?"
