Thankyou to my amazing reviewers for being so helpful.
This would have been up earlier, but I ended up being out of the house for nine hours, which if something of a record.
Helsinki
The sun was shining, they had a single day job, she'd be home by the evening, and she stood to make some sort of profit from the trip. So long as Martin was in a good mood, Deborah thought that today stood to be a pleasant day.
Humming a bouncing tune under her breath, Deborah careful arranged the finely packed flowers into the flight-deck storage space; it would mean that their bags would have to sit at the back on the floor, but she was sure that Martin would accept that, given all the far worse things that she had persuaded him to do.
She had to admit, she was rather enjoying herself. So she had to get into work earlier than everyone else; it was worth it for the fun she was having. Harry hadn't approved of her storing all sorts of wonderful things in their house, so there was an interesting novelty to picking up the habit with a flare.
The door to the flight-deck opened with a swish, and Deborah turned, her legs slipping around the gap underneath the arm of her seat, to smile welcomingly at Martin; she was thoroughly aware of the bunch of flowers still in her hands, and knew that there was no point being brutally honest. Six months ago she might have been wary, but now she was mostly confident that she could win Martin over.
"Oh! Hello Deborah." Martin greeted her, pausing in the doorway; his eyebrows raised and then furrowed, as he looked curiously at the slight mess around him; he couldn't complain though, Decorah had been careful not to leave any stray petals on the Captain's seat, just for him, "Good lord!"
"Ah. Morning, Martin." Deborah replied cheerfully, smiling again; the responsive smile was good, as it meant that he couldn't pick faults, or at least, that was the plan; besides, she was actually pleased to see him, "I wasn't expecting you just yet."
"Evidently not!" Martin remarked, still standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame; he was peering around her, as if trying to work out exactly what he was dealing with. Deborah supposed that it was a step up from what he would have done a year ago, storming in and demanding that she stop whatever she was doing at once.
"Have you picked up the weather?" Deborah inquired pleasantly, tapping her fingers daintily on the rim of the pot she was holding in her lap.
"Er, yes. North Sea turbulence; clear skies at Helsinki." Martin answered, finally taking his eyes from the flight-deck in general to meet her gaze, rubbing at the back of his neck; he even took his hat from his head to fiddle with, like a stalling tactic.
"Oh, jolly good." Deborah replied, plastering on another simple smile; until Martin moved from the doorway or stated his opinion, there was little else she could do but be as lovely as possible to gain his favour.
Martin nodded, drawing his bottom lip through his teeth as he looked thoughtful. Then he seemed to come to a decision.
"Deborah, I can't help but notice you've filled the flight deck with orchids." He remarked nonchalantly, extending his hat to encompass the whole flight-deck, waiting for an explanation.
A wave of relief washed over her, and Deborah sighed and nodded briefly, pursing her lips as if to say 'what can I do, really?' Over the past month or so, what Martin had previously been thinking of as Deborah's 'bad habits', had apparently shifted into Deborah's 'odd quirks', and that made a huge difference in the way that he was addressing them. After all, bad habits were to be punished, but how could you deal with odd quirks if not by accepting and playing along.
"Yes. Yes, I have done that." Deborah stated, patting her hands lightly over the orchids on her lap, and finding nothing else that could be said; it wasn't like she could lie, what would be the point, "Yes."
"Are you about to propose to me?" Martin inquired, folding his arms demonstratively over his chest and pouting ever so slightly, the corners of his lips curling upwards as that playful light wandered into his blue eyes.
Thank god, Deborah sighed inwardly; Martin was so much more fun when he played with her than when he tried to put her on the right path. Clearly orchids weren't enough of a threat to the CAA to warrant opposition.
"It pains me to break your heart, Martin, but no." Deborah remarked warmly.
Martin shook his head and huffed dramatically, his cheeks flushing ever so lightly pink as he crossed the flight-deck and slipped into his own seat, turning so that he could talk face to face.
"Damn," he pretended to curse, digging the air with a loosely curled fist, grinning as Deborah rolled her eyes, "and to think I almost had a chance there."
Deborah bit back a laugh and shrugged her shoulders, leaning in a fraction to engage him further.
"Maybe next time, darling." She drawled, smirking as Martin shook his head and bit at his bottom lip, blush threatening to meet his freckles as he probably considered a reply, "These are for another man – a Finnish customs officer named Milo, to be exact."
"And what does he have that I don't have?!" Martin retorted in mock offense, placing a fluttering hand over his heart.
"Fish cakes." Deborah replied briefly, enjoying the contortion that Martin's expression performed as he battled confusion; the outward sigh and tapping of his fingers atop the hat that he was still fingering on his knee was evidence of his exasperation.
"Really?!" Martin asked, clearly unsure of whether she was joking or not, eyes burning pathways over her face as if cataloguing each flicker for later analysis, like a crime scene investigator spotting a potential for further incident.
"Also salmon, turbot and langoustine." Deborah elucidated, making the effort not to look quite as smug as she felt, even though she straightened up in her seat and smirked proudly.
"Oh, Deborah, you're not smuggling again?" Martin groaned, shaking his head and thwacking her gently across the knee with the tip of his hat; as she brushed the action away with her hand, still smirking, she took it as a matter of pride that Martin didn't seem angry, as he might once have been, simple bemused and exasperated at her antics.
At least she knew that she was doing something right; or perhaps Martin had just eased up.
"Absolutely not. Perish the thought!" Deborah exclaimed, adjusting the plant on her lap as Martin quirked an eyebrow, slouching back and joining his hands over his own lap, "A simple exchange of gifts. You see, a friend gave me these orchids when we were in Cyprus, as a token of appreciation for the sixteen jars of Béarnaise sauce I gave him; which were in turn an unwanted gift from a friend in Marseilles. The orchids are lovely but not quite my thing, so I shall pass them on to my friend in Helsinki and – who knows? – he may wish to show his gratitude by presenting me with assorted fish and fish products, which will be just the very thing for a friend of mine in Zurich." She explained, then shrugged carelessly, "They're rather short of fresh seafood in Switzerland – don't know why."
"I see." Martin replied, nodding in understanding, "But if you just keep bartering each thing along, what's the point?"
"Well, put it this way: I have here about five hundred Euros' worth of flowers, and I shall exchange them for about five hundred and sixty Euros' worth of fish; and I started three months ago with a cheese sandwich." Deborah explained plainly; she glanced down at her watch and rapped her hands against the side of the pot in her lap, "Right – that's most of them hidden away. Could you put this bunch under your seat?"
Martin groaned and rolled his eyes, but he accepted the plant being held out to him. Just in time too, as the moment that the last leaves disappeared from view, the flight-deck door flew open, only to admit an Arthur even more charged with cheer and bubbles than usual.
oOoOoOo
Despite the mess that was Carolyn's birthday (and Deborah was never going to forget the date again if it cost her the price of a hotel room), Deborah was in relatively good spirits. She was neither miserable nor overly cheery, and there was the promise of a good trade on the horizon.
It was even mildly entertaining to watch the goings on as they deteriorated into madness; it wasn't as if anything truly awful could happen, so why not sit back and enjoy the show?
For all the Kieran deserved to be strangled with a frayed rope, Deborah could endure his pig-headed, snotty-nosed ramblings for the sake of Martin's own self-important declarations; six months ago she would have been silently stewing at his blasé approach to 'blowing his own trumpet' as he had put it, but the odd thing about being his friend meant that now that particular fault, as he tipped his head back and slipped into the nonchalance of a badly trained pantomime actor, could be seen as almost endearing.
In the way that one would affectionately pet a puppy before it ran head first into a wall and knocked itself silly.
Deborah had to admit, she felt a little sorry for Carolyn, and indignant on her behalf; she had been confused at first at the way that Ruth was talking to her sister, and then had to tell herself not to interfere when she realised that the jabs were malicious.
Eventually though, the repetitive back and forth between Martin and Kieran had got to be too much, and Deborah felt that she had no choice but to seek a respite. Excusing herself, though neither seemed to notice that she was leaving at all, Deborah wandered into the Galley, keeping an ear out just in case Martin decide to murder the child in a fit of pique.
As she pushed the curtain aside and let it fall behind her, Deborah wasn't surprised to see that Arthur was already in the Galley, bent over one of his interesting concoctions; she hadn't expected him to hang around while his mother was on the warpath.
He didn't look up when she entered, as he was too busy furrowing his eyebrows and biting at the corner of his mouth on concentration.
"Hello, Arthur." Deborah greeted, wandering to his side to try and peer at the strange mess that he was mixing; now that she was able to take a proper look at his face, she though that Arthur looked a bit less cheery than usual, so she patted him lightly on the elbow as she asked, "Kettle on?"
Arthur's arms stopped pumping, sagging with the release of energy, and he turned his brown eyes to smile grimace apologetically down at her.
"Oh, er, you should've rung. I'd have-I'd have made it." He remarked, making a move as if to reach for the kettle.
Deborah stopped him with a hand over his, which she pulled back to his concoction, shaking her head in a placatory manner.
"No, I wanted a little respite from Junior Mussolini." She sighed, slipping an arm around Arthur's back in a sort of sideways hug, so that he could continue working while she observed and rubbed comforting circles on his back; he looked as if he could use it, which was evidence of how dire he was feeling, and enough to gain her sympathies, "Besides, it's been ages since I came to visit you back here; I feel I've rather been neglecting you."
"What? No…" Arthur insisted, taking a moment to swing his arm around her shoulder and squeeze playfully before retracting it and continuing with his quest, "It's good that you and Martin are getting on so well – so you don't hang out in the Galley as much as you did with the other Captains, that's okay; it just means that when I come and see you, it's got a much nicer feel to it."
"Hmm…our last Captain was an arse, wasn't he?" Deborah replied, considering dipping her finger into Arthur's mixture and then changing her mind; perhaps it would look better when he finished.
"He wasn't…well he was a bit…" Arthur reasoned, and then shook his head, as if he had other things to be worrying about, "He wasn't as brilliant as Skip, that's for sure."
"No." Deborah agreed, and then on a second thought, "Only Martin could fight with a fourteen year old for over an hour."
Arthur chuckled in a scattered way, but continued to mash the increasingly muddy mixture. Deborah scanned his face for a moment, taking in the irritation bubbling just under the surface of his otherwise rigid façade of alright.
Now, Arthur may have been a clot, but he was a reliable clot; in fact, Deborah could say with an obscure certainty that in recent years, no man had remained as permanent in her life as Arthur had. He had outlived even Harry in that respect. Arthur was the epitome of everlasting okay.
Even when he wasn't, it was usually pretty easy to shift the balance back. As a result, Deborah couldn't seem to stand seeing him unhappy; it made uncomfortable worms nestle in her guts.
"Is it me Arthur, or are you looking particularly frazzled today?" Deborah inquired gently, making sure not to stall in the circles that she was rubbing at his back.
Arthur paused in his actions, shrugging dismissively, his lips shooting upwards into a wavering smile.
"Frazzled – but not in a bad way, just in a, 'oh, I've got a lot to do today' kind of way." He reassured her; when Deborah's quirked eyebrow and steady glare didn't drop, Arthur's shoulders sagged and he sighed, "Nothing's really going to plan, is it?"
Deborah rolled her eyes, and following a trickle of affection, slipped her other arm around Arthur's waist and leant into him in a semblance of a hug; given that he was almost a whole head taller than her, and still elbow deep in sludge, it was a rather one-sided affair, with her arms around him and her head resting just below his shoulder.
Arthur was warm as always, as if he had just come from a jog, he tried awkwardly to return the embrace, 'aw'-ing and squeezing her lightly.
"I wouldn't worry about things going wrong, Arthur." Deborah remarked, tipping her head back so that her chin rested on his upper arm and she could address him properly, "You just carry on what you're doing and I'll sort out the rest."
"Aw, thanks Deborah!" Arthur crooned, letting her slip away to stand back at his side, arms folded loosely over her chest, "You must be in a good mood – first a cuddle and now you're helping me with my plan. It'll be just like the old days, expect with you helping me, instead of you roping me into getting revenge on the old Captains." Arthur's nose scrunched as his eyes took on a thoughtful edge, "Which I'm still not sure about, you know, except for that handsy one that tried to-."
"Revenge is a two person job, Arthur; I couldn't have done it without you." Deborah interjected with a wave of her hand; there was only so much reminiscing and heart to hearts that she could endure; she pointed at the bowl of sludge, "What on earth are you doing?"
"… I'm making a cake." Arthur replied slowly, fixing her with a no nonsense stare; it was only then that Deborah noticed that he was still wielding the whisk.
She smiled in a placatory way, raising her hands in surrender; she was well versed in Arthur's tendency to treat her as if she were the one lagging behind after the uptake. It was a little bewildering, but if she supposed that if they were on different pages, she might appear to be the slower one when Arthur's brain was capable of making extraordinary leaps between the otherwise unconnected.
"Are you? Right." Deborah nodded, inspecting the mixture appraisingly, "Out of … mud and gravel?"
"Chocolate mousse." Arthur answered pointedly; if Deborah didn't know any better, she would say he was pouting, "We had six individual chocolate mousses left over from Cyprus. I thought if I kind of ground up these amaretto biscuits in them and then put it in a dish on top of the toasted sandwich maker, it would make a sort of …"
"Ah…" Deborah whistled through her teeth; at least this disaster was controllable, unlike the ones on either side of the Galley, "It didn't though, did it?"
"No." Arthur stated without further elaboration; Deborah had to bite back a smirk at how done with the world he sounded.
"And what's behind this sudden enthusiasm for patisserie?" Deborah inquired, nudging Arthur lightly on the elbow to try and kick-start some enthusiasm; in truth, she had never seen him send so much distaste at anything, as he did whilst staring at his failure of a cake.
Which was hilarious in its own way, because nothing was funnier than Arthur when he was ticked off; it was like a distorted version of Carolyn.
"Mum's birthday!" Arthur exclaimed, gesturing vehemently at the cake mixture, "I really wanted to surprise her with a cake."
"I think you'll definitely surprise her with that one." Deborah drawled, repressing an amused grin at the crestfallen irritation that clouded Arthur's face; then her traitorous mind caught up with her, and she leaned forward, holding her finger just above the cake mixture as she peered suspiciously at it, "So that's just chocolate mousse and biscuits? Nothing else? No special ingredients, or accidental spillages, or poison?"
"No." Arthur replied curtly; he was definitely pouting now, and Deborah spared him a fleeting glance over her shoulder as he watched her interfere without protest.
"So I won't die if I taste it for you?" she inquired, prodding the mixture and retracting her hand, inspecting the gloopy substance on the tip of her finger. Arthur wasn't that bad of a cook.
"Well I hope not." Arthur shrugged, though she wasn't so sure whether he was being honest, or just petulant; for all she knew, given the tone that he had used, he might use her death to perfect his recipe next time.
Carolyn would approve.
Never one to step back from a challenge, Deborah sighed, more at herself than anything else.
"You know what? For you Arthur, I'll risk it."
oOoOoOo
Deborah hovered outside the small cafe; it was rundown and stingy enough that they were the only customers, so it had taken very little persuasion for the owner to allow them to stage their impromptu birthday inside it.
All things considered, it actually looked as if things were going to go off with a surprisingly successful bang. Martin, Arthur, and Kieran were all ushered inside, Carolyn was going to be pleasantly caught off guard, which would make Arthur happy, which would make everyone happy…and Deborah was absolutely certain that she had managed to pull it off.
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Carolyn and Ruth making slow progress towards the café; it looked as if they would be too distracted by their quarrel to arrive before everything was properly set up, so with a fleeting grin, Deborah swept back through the café door.
"All right? Everyone ready?" she called out, and then froze when she saw the scene laid out before her.
Arthur must have been hiding, keeping to the plan, but Martin and Kieran were facing off in the middle of the room. Martin's chest was heaving, and his cheeks were flushed scarlet as he glared at the boy with a passion that made Deborah realise that no, Martin hadn't been lying when he had said he never hated her. She would have noticed him glaring at her with the kind of stiffed jawed loathing he was wearing in that moment.
Kieran, as was often the way with boys on the cusp of young-adulthood, was oblivious to the effect that his words could have, as he leaned back on his heels, exulting with a bolstered confidence the one opinion that could truly raise Martin's hackles.
Deborah could almost pinpoint the moment her heart sank with a dread of inevitability.
"So when you say that you're the captain, you mean you're the captain out of the two of you?" Kieran laughed sarcastically, gesturing disdainfully between the two of them, eyes wide with hilarity.
"Yes." Martin spat through gritted teeth; his hands were clenching at his sides, and Deborah remained cautiously at the closed door, waiting to see what he would do, hoping wanly that he might not live up to her expectations, "What's so funny about that?"
"Nothing, nothing. I'm … Of course, that makes sense of everything." Kieran explained in a round-about way; Deborah's heart sank even further.
"What do you mean, 'everything'?" Martin demanded, practically vibrating with rage; he was gnawing furiously at his bottom lip in an attempt to remain calm.
"Well, the flying school rejection, the instrument rating failure, just the general … way you are." Kieran waved his hand to encompass Martin as a whole, smirking as if he were so pleased with himself, the little sod.
"You little …" Martin growled, his cheeks burning as he puffed out his chest, hands clenching stiltedly. Deborah knew him well enough to understand exactly what was about to happen; she also knew him well enough not to let him do what he was thinking of doing.
"Martin!" Deborah raised her voice, hoping that the Captain would hear her and swiftly decide that she was far more worth his time, leaving the detestable boy alone.
Unfortunately, Kieran was louder, and Martin's pride was a force to be reckoned with.
"Imagine, though: all this time I actually thought you were a proper captain!" he exclaimed, laughing even as Martin pushed the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows.
"Right!" Martin hissed angrily; Deborah watched with a muted despair, unsure of quite what she was expected to do. Martin was never one to listen to what she had to say, but it was worth a try. She couldn't let him hit a child, for Christ's sake.
"Martin, no." Deborah instructed, in the same tone of voice she used when shouting at Arthur's horrible dog; she even raised her hand in warning, but to no avail.
Before she had time to move, Martin had clipped Kieran round the ear, the back of his fingers flicking against the side of his head. It wasn't a particularly damaging act, only enough to make Deborah roll her eyes and stated plaintively that,
"Oh dear. That's really bad."
However, going by the shock on Kieran's face, and the mortification on Martin's, it might have been the end of the world.
"Oh no. I-I'm sorry." Martin begged desperately, hands splayed wide in the air in a show of surrender, "I'm s… I'm really sorry."
"You hit me!" Kieran squawked, touching his ear with his hand as if tracing the edges of a bullet wound.
"Ah, come on." Deborah remarked, waving her hand dismissively as she began to stroll to Martin's side, in a show of solidarity, even if Martin was an idiot of monumental proportions; he had earned that much at least, "It was just a little clip round the ear."
"Which means I can do this." Kieran shrieked, eyes blazing with barely contained vicious glee.
Deborah only had time to jump back in shock as the teenager leapt at Martin, knocking the Captain to the ground as he cried out in pain. Deborah winced and stood back as Martin squealed and curled in pain, and the boy brought all of his limbs to the task.
She wanted to help, the last thing she wanted to see was Martin in pain, but there was nothing that she could do without taking a kick to the knees herself; small as the teenager was, she wasn't going to risk injuring herself.
Thankfully, Carolyn and her sister chose that moment to burst into the room, and Kieran leapt to his feet, leaving Martin dry sobbing and twitching in pain on the floor, as he came under interrogation.
Deborah ignored what was being said, crossing the few steps to drop down beside Martin, hooking her hands under his arms and helping him wince into a seated position, slipping underneath one of his arms as a support, and then hoisting him to his feet.
The last thing his pride needed was to be left sitting on the floor like a wounded labradoodle.
A spark of relief shuddered in her chest as Martin was able to lift himself using his knees, only really leaning on her for the moral support it seemed; as she pressed a hand against his chest, checking for the tell-tale recoil that would signal broken ribs, something that didn't come, she glanced up to find that he was grimacing gratefully down at her.
The redness on his face could have been his flush or new bruises, and the thought made horrible sensations take root in her stomach; added to that was the fact that on second inspection, the arm that wasn't still slung over her shoulder as he leaned into her was being bent and unbent as if testing the joint, and Martin was rubbing agitatedly at his side.
"You okay?" Deborah whispered, unwilling to interrupt the feud taking place a few feet away.
Martin held her gaze and nodded swiftly, expression contorting fleetingly even as he answered.
It was only when she heard her name that Deborah turned away from patting Martin down for injuries located in the chest area, retracting her hand but allowing him to continue using her as a crutch.
"Deborah, didn't he hit me?" Kieran demanded, looking every bit his age as the glares of his grandmother and great aunt threatened to bring upon him very bad things if he were found to be lying.
For all that she thought he deserved it, Deborah couldn't lie about this.
"He may have given you a little clip round the ear." She replied defensively, aiming for nonchalance.
It didn't work.
After that, everything just descended into madness. Ruth began to criticised as much of Carolyn as she could lay her hands on, and Deborah began to feel a strange indignant anger about the whole thing; she was about to leap to Carolyn's defence when Arthur beat her to it.
Apparently a whole day on the edge could push even the friendliest of people to drastic action when their mothers were under fire.
Among the shouting and messy horror, the next thing that Deborah was properly aware of was slipping Martin's arm from around her shoulders, taking his hand in hers, and leading him from the room to the much quieter hall outside.
She was acutely aware of how warm his skin was, how his long fingers curled around hers, and knew that he was probably gaping at her, mouth flapping, hand holding down his hat to stop it from falling in their hurry, but she ignored that in favour of finding somewhere quiet to make sure that he didn't have internal bleeding.
The hall was quiet enough that when she released him, and turned to face him properly, Deborah could just about hear Martin groaning when he moved his arm.
With a sigh, she took in his rumpled appearance. First things first, the red marks on his cheeks were beginning to yellow around the edges. Deborah stepped forward, taking Martin's face in her hands and peering at the beginnings of bruised, stroking lightly to see how much pain he was in.
"Deborah, what are you doing?" Martin asked, his voice just a fraction higher than it normally was; despite his perplexed expression, and the fact that he leaned ever so slightly away from her, he also placed his hands on either side of her waist, helping her balance where she had been wobbling in order to reach him properly.
Deborah rolled her eyes and tutted in exasperation, her gaze flickering to his, noting how much prettier his eyes were up close.
"I'm checking these bruises to determine whether you need to put ice on them." She explained wryly, pressing her finger down into his cheeks, watching him pull away more from discomfort than agony, "What? Did you think I'd just leave you to suffer?"
"I uh…" Martin stuttered gormlessly, eyeing her warily as she stepped back, taking her hands from his face but staying close; his own hands rose almost unconsciously to rub at his cheeks, then his expression shuttered and he shook his head quickly, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, "No, no – of course not. So…ice?"
Deborah shook her head, smirking cheerfully as she folded her arms loosely over her chest. She was close enough that she had to lean back and tilt her head to make proper eye contact with Martin, but she felt no desire to move; he didn't, so why should she?
"No, I reckon you'll be alright." Deborah replied, running her sights over Martin once again, just in case she had missed something, "What've you done to your arm?"
Martin's eyes widened in surprise, and he shook the offending limb with a sheepish grin.
"It's just a bit sore – I'll stretch it and it'll be fine." Martin remarked nonchalantly; then his playfulness died down, and he asked more tentatively, "Was that really bad?"
Deborah shrugged, smiling wanly; it might have been awful at a proper airline, but she had done much worse in her time, and Carolyn had yet to fire her. It was best not to worry Martin too much after the beating that he had taken.
"A bit, yes, but I wouldn't worry." She assured him, adding thoughtlessly as Martin rubbed at the back of his neck, "I still like you."
Martin's movements slowed, and his face softened and lit up with a light blush that made the bruises just a little starker; for a moment he didn't reply, merely tracing the floor with his eyes, shifting awkwardly and biting his lip. Then he smiled sweetly, taking care to meet Deborah 's gaze, even as she tightened her arms around her chest, inwardly wondering why she was being so nice to the man who had not twenty minutes ago been flailing comically.
"Oh, well…that's uh, that's good…that's…nice." Martin mumbled; he inhaled sharply as if realising a huge mistake, and then reached across to pat Deborah companionably on the arm, "It's….it's mutual."
Deborah's chest fluttered horribly at the movement, and she couldn't quite hide the imperceptible smile that appeared on her lips; internally she was screaming as she was sure that the tickling in her cheeks spelled the paper-thin beginnings of a hateful blush.
She nodded quickly, avoiding meeting Martin's gaze as she finally stepped back from his personal space, turning back towards the café, from which the shouts were beginning to fade.
"It sounds like they're nearly done." Deborah noted, and Martin was hasty to mirror her business-like nod; there was no doubt that it was time to go, before anything else occurred that she couldn't understand, "Perhaps we should begin filing a flight plan."
I hope everyone enjoyed this
Let me know what you think - there were bits of this I wasn't sure of, and other areas that I wanted to explore, but I'm not sure how they came across (Arthur and Deborah's relationship especially)