Free Fear of the Fathers by Dominic C. James Page B

Future is Unwritten . Even though they were before his time, he had developed a great liking for The Clash in his teens and he had been meaning to see the film for a while. He settled down on his bed and relaxed.
    Halfway through, he used Sky+ to pause the movie. It was half past eleven and he felt he ought to make a sweep of the house. He was also feeling hungry, and a trip to the kitchen was looking attractive.
    His room was on the top floor of No. 10 Downing Street. Along the same corridor were the lodgings of the other permanent bodyguards. There were six of them in residence, augmented by floaters from the Special Branch pool. Tonight he was the only one in his quarters. Stone and Davis had gone out drinking and weren’t due back on until Tuesday; the two he didn’t know were with their families for the night; and Appleby was downstairs outside the Prime Minister’s bedroom.
    Jennings stepped out into the long passageway and headed for the stairs. On the floor below he stopped to talk to Appleby, who was engrossed in an Agatha Christie novel. “How’s it going?” he asked.
    Appleby put down his book and stretched out his arms and legs. “Tiring,” he said. “Are you going to relieve me any time soon?”
    â€œI thought you said two o’ clock?”
    â€œYes, I did. I just thought it might be around that time now.”
    Jennings laughed. “No such luck. Still another two and a half hours to go, I’m afraid. I’m just going to the kitchen though. I thought you might want something to eat.”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind,” said Appleby. “Just rustle me up a chicken sandwich or something. That’d be great.”
    â€œNo problem,” said Jennings, and left him to his book.
    As he descended to the ground floor he noticed for the first time just how big the house actually was. During the day, when there had been staff wandering about, he hadn’t really felt the depth of space that existed. The emptiness of night brought on a feeling of awe. What looked from the outside like a little two up, two down terrace, was in fact comparatively cavernous. The effect was a bit like the Tardis .
    As he entered the kitchen the last of the catering staff was getting ready to leave. He was a young man in his early twenties. He wore a puffa jacket, jeans and trainers.
    â€œJust going to get a snack,” said Jennings.
    â€œWell, just help yourself,” said the chef. “You know the score. Goodnight.”
    Jennings had been shown around the kitchen earlier on in the day during his guided tour. It was common practice for the security staff to make their own food on the night shift. He set about gathering the ingredients for a couple of chicken sandwiches. Once he’d laid everything out he began to carefully assemble a pair of culinary masterpieces.
    â€œThey look good,” said a voice from behind.
    Jennings’ heart jumped at the initial scare, then he turned round. It was the Prime Minister.
    â€œHello sir,” said Jennings. “I didn’t hear you come in. You gave me a bit of a fright.”
    Ayres smiled. “Sorry about that. I was just coming down for a bit of a midnight snack.”
    â€œDon’t you have someone that does that for you?”
    â€œWell, yes. But not at night. I couldn’t justify having twenty-four-hour culinary service to the taxpayer now, could I?”
    â€œI suppose not sir. Although I’m sure most people in your position would.”
    Ayres nodded and grinned. “Yes, I suppose they would. But to be honest I quite like making my own food. I have enough people doing things for me as it is, I don’t want to lose complete touch with reality, do I? I know I’m in a privileged position and I like to respect the fact. Do you know what I mean?”
    â€œYes sir,” agreed Jennings. “It’s good to know that you appreciate your position. There’s not many