I decided to re-write the first chapter of my story, add some more depth and description to it and stretch it out a bit more.
Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure is owned by the wonderful John Finnemore.
The Crieff Family by Lampala
Sometimes, Martin really hated his life. It wasn't exactly a usual occurrence, despite his lack of salary and less-than-polite work colleagues, but it did occasionally happen for the pure and simple reason of sheer exhaustion. It was the middle of November, and Martin was just leaving G-ERTI after a month-long trip ferrying a honeymoon couple right across the globe. Needless to say, it had been a less-than-stellar experience. He had been reminded of his, frankly shocking, love-life and almost poverty by the first location, the Seychelles, where all around him love-struck couples seemed to taunt him as he miserably strolled along a beach with Carolyn and Arthur. Douglas must have been off searching for a free and comfortable night, as he was nowhere to be found later when Martin was settling down for the night on a row of seats in the plane.
A few days later, as they prepared for take-off to Accra, Ghana, Douglas made his usual remarks about the sex appeal of a pilot.
"I just can't understand you, Martin. This whole place is full of drunk tourists, many of whom would take you, I'm sure. 'Bad', German for bath, English for your love-life." Martin scowled, ready to throw an insult back, when the door was flung open to admit Arthur, with his customary cups of nothingness.
"Ooh, what's the game this time, chaps?" As always, he was crazily cheery, which had the usual effect of depressing Martin even further.
"Words spelt the same in two different languages, but with different meanings." Douglas supplied the answer in the same smug tone he always used when addressing Arthur. "For example, 'Hell' is German for light and English for this flight deck when Martin's sitting next to you." It took Arthur a while to take this in, before his face lit up, then he frowned at Douglas.
"Isn't that an insult to Martin?" Douglas rolled his eyes, while Martin gave an exasperated sigh.
"Well, what else do you expect from First Officer 'devil horns' over here?" Arthur just looked at him blankly.
"'Gift.' It means poison in German. Can you think of any, Arthur?" That was Douglas, changing the subject. Arthur looked thoughtful, which for Arthur basically meant screwing his face up and biting his lip. After a few seconds, he giggled and his face went red.
"Well, I, I thought of one. But it's a bit rude."
"It can't be as rude as some I can think of," Douglas said under his breath.
"Oui," was all Arthur could get out before he dissolved into giggles. Martin and Douglas just looked at each other and gave a collective, exasperated sigh. It was Douglas who spoke first, though not about Arthur's complete immaturity.
"Actually, Arthur, that one doesn't count. 'Oui' in French is spelt 'O-U-I' rather than 'W-E-E'."
Carolyn chose this moment to enter, ending the conversation on urine, once and for all.
"I don't even want to know what you were talking about, and if anyone does tell me and spoils my lunch, they won't be getting any pay this month."
"I guess that means I can tell you then," Martin muttered under his breath. He didn't think it had been that loud, but he received a sharp look from Carolyn for interrupting.
"As I was about to say, Arthur, you're needed by the passengers. They want service, and I cannot stand the soppiness any longer. Eurgh." Carolyn looked thoroughly displeased at the thought of spending any more time with Mr and Mrs Fowler – or as they had come to be known on the plane, 'Mr and Mrs Foul', a nickname made up by Carolyn due to the newlyweds' overromanticism and her own grouchiness regarding these matters. She didn't know how any of them would cope with the remaining 7 hours of the journey and the couple's desire to stay on G-ERTI for that length of time amazed her to no end. She decided to stay on the flight deck for another few hours, before heading back out to check on her passengers' safety. They were being looked after by Arthur, after all, and she didn't want to miss out on the large sum of money heading MJN's way because of an accidental homicide or food poisoning. God knew this trip had been hard enough already, and they had yet to face the 11-hour flight from Accra to Nassau before the last leg of the journey. At least the Orkney to Fitton journey would not take more than an hour. She wouldn't be able to stand any more of the Fouls by the end of the month. It was certainly a long haul, but she was sure no one would be disappointed with the money gained from it, since the Fouls were almost certainly billionaires. She might even pay Martin for once.
None of that money seemed to go Martin's way, however, when they finally landed back in Fitton, at the end of a very long month. Since it was such a long trip and Carolyn wanted to cut costs, she hadn't paid for Martin and Douglas to stay in a hotel every night. Sleeping on G-ERTI for a night wasn't the worst accommodation you could get – it was reasonably warm and sheltered, and had a toilet at least – but stay there for a week and Martin was surprised he was even able to get up in the mornings, his back ached so badly. Douglas didn't seem to be fare too badly, despite spending ever more nights in the cabin towards the end of the trip, but his comments seemed to be growing snider by the day, so everyone could see the lack of sleep was taking its toll. As such, it was a very exhausted cabin crew that arrived back in Fitton in mid-November. Martin barely stumbled to his van before collapsing onto its side. He fumbled for what seemed like hours with his keys, before almost falling onto the uncomfortable driver's seat. He was just debating whether or not to fall asleep there and then, when his mobile rang. He hadn't realised he had turned it back on. Actually, knowing his luck, he had probably never turned it off in the first place.
He groaned, before finally pressing the button to answer the call.
"Hello? This is Martin Crieff, how can I help you?" He answered with his normal greeting, expecting a client for Icarus Removals and was shocked out of his exhaustion-enhanced stupor by the voice that answered.
"Er, hi. Hi, Martin. It's me, Marcelline Reynolds. I don't know if you remember me…"
"Marcie? Of course I remember you. How… how could I forget your beautiful… I, er, I mean, how could I forget you?"
"Oh, quite easily I'm sure." Martin could swear he heard a hint of bitterness in her voice there, but he was starting to drift off again so he couldn't be certain. "Anyway, I was just calling to say, well, I'm back in the area for a little while. I don't really know anyone here anymore – all of my friends and family have left. I'd just like someone to talk to, really. And, whatever you may be, Martin, you've always been a nice person." Martin didn't know quite what to say to that. He just sat for a few moments before Marcie went on.
"Martin? You are still there, right?" Martin jolted upright, drawn out of his reverie by her question.
"Er, yes, of course. Sorry."
"So, do you want to meet up? I'm free tomorrow, at lunchtime?"
"Er…"
"Martin?"
"Yes, of course. Tomorrow, 2pm, at the King's Head Inn?"
"2's too late. Sorry."
"Fine, 1."
"Great. Well, gotta go. Bye, Martin."
His last comment was cut off by the phone line going dead.
"Bye, Marcie. Love you."
I hope you enjoyed that, and please do review my story to tell me what you thought. I don't mind what you think, good or bad, please do review! :D
