Hello all! Please do enjoy this helping of fic, for your reading pleasure.
Chapter 14
On the days when Martin was at work and MJN had no clients, Deborah didn't find herself lost for things to do…in fact, with a hyperactive three year old under her watch, she often found herself wishing that Flora still took naps so that she could have a few hours of peace to read a book or watch something truly terrible on TV. Alas, her daughter needed entertaining. It was never boring though; they had reached the stage in her life in which Flora leafed through hobbies and obsessions like pages of a book, trying each one out until she found one that fit.
The problem there, or not so much problem as hitch, was that Flora…well, over the past three years it had become apparent that Flora had inherited her father's wonderful talent for ineptitude.
She had learned to walk…eventually…after nearly cracking her head open on the corner of the coffee table more times than Deborah cared to remember. Her spatial awareness wasn't quite so bad that they had taken her to the doctor's to see if she had an inner ear problem…but there was no denying that Flora was a clumsy little girl.
She was making steady progress when it came to the English language, although that might have been buoyed by Deborah's and Martin's determination to read to her at every possible spare moment, so that she wouldn't fall behind when she started nursery.
There was no doubt though that Flora had also inherited Martin's determination, as she tried and tried again until she was mostly adept at whatever she decided to try…and when she was just about average, she dropped that and moved on to the next thing. At least, Deborah thought it was a Martin-ish determination…Martin seemed to think it was a streak of Richardson confidence, which made sense as Flora had never seemed even the slightest bit put out by her constant failures…then again, she was indomitably happy.
This week Flora was obsessed with painting. They had been going through their old things when Martin had pulled out some of the pictures that Verity had drawn for him when she had been little. Deborah hadn't even known that he had kept them. Not that Flora cared where they were from; she heard her sister's name and saw the artwork, and all she wanted to do was paint – on everything.
So on the morning that Martin went to work with one green stripe at his wrist and a pink splodge on his hat, Deborah took Flora out to buy various clay utensils: plates, cups, vases, jewellery boxes…anything to stop her from practicing her frankly uncoordinated 'art' on the furniture.
"Th-these colours Mummy." Flora instructed as she rose up on her knees to lean over the kitchen table, jabbing at the paint pallet with her round brush, smearing paint over the newspaper that Deborah had laid out for her; as an added precaution, her ginger curls were tied back and her sleeves pushed to her elbows beneath one of Martin's shirts that had ceased fitting one he was well-fed enough to fill it them out, "These colours…these ones."
"Alright sweetheart, these colours." Deborah acknowledged softly, nodding obediently as she moved the reds and pinks away from the blues and yellows that she was pointing at, so that she couldn't drag her sleeve through it; she also made a point of moving the already painted plate away from the bare one under Flora's palm, so as not to add to the splattered mess that she had made of them, "May I ask why we're using these colours?"
"Yours are purpululle – purple." Flora explained, jabbing at the plate she had already painted; her smile was bright but purposeful as she gestured towards the blues and the bare plate, flicking the brush until it splashed little droplets on Deborah's wrist, "These colours…blue colours for Daddy, blue and –a-a-a-and lellow for Daddy's plate."
"Are you making one for each of us?" Deborah inquired, as she watched Flora set about her work without waiting to see that they were all on the same page; a swell of affection nestled in her chest at the idea. How she had managed to get such a thoughtful child was beyond her; Arthur's influence no doubt.
Or perhaps she was simply reminiscent…there was a lot on her mind after all. A veritable good mood that no amount of monotony could wear down.
"Yeah…this one, i-i-it's Daddy's." Flora answered, biting her lip as her attention centred solely on her task, swiping clumsily over the plate, painting it in a messy blue sludge; her mutter was almost unintelligible the more distracted she became, "That's why i-it's blue a-and lellow."
"That'll be a nice surprise, won't it?" Deborah remarked, sitting back and folding her arms over her chest as she settled to observe, smile settling on her lips; then she couldn't keep her mouth shut, eager to tell someone, even if it was only Flora, who wouldn't understand what she was talking about, "I've got a nice surprise for Daddy as well."
"What?" Flora squeaked, pausing in her efforts, looking up so fast that her hair bounced at the back of her head.
"I'm not going to tell you; you tell him everything." Deborah drawled, smirking at the indignant pout she received in return; in one swift move she leant forwards and reached out her hands, taking Flora's smaller ones in her as she lowered her tone to a conspiratorial one, "How about this? You and I come up with a good way to tell him the news."
"What news?" Flora asked, eyes widening in wonder as she leaned forwards too, abandoning her paintbrush with a gasp.
"Oh, nice try sweetheart, nice try." Deborah laughed, giving Flora's hands a squeeze as she shook her head, lips curling at the corners; she eyed the disappointment on her little face and decided to play along, "If you wanted to surprise Daddy, how would you do it?"
"With a – with a jump, a-and a shout-a-and presents!" Flora exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air, managing to drag her sleeve through the wet smears on top of her plate, not that she paid it any notice; she was too busy rocking on her heels, "A-and a party!"
"Hmmm…I don't think we'll do a party, or shouting." Deborah remarked, sniffing at the idea; perhaps it wasn't the best plan to let a three year old plot their actions, not until she could use the vacuum cleaner at least, "I suppose that you could surprise him with your plate before I tell him my surprise, build up to it."
"Yeah, a-all together." Flora nodded, gasping with excitement as her mind no doubt filled with magical ideas; her stammer grew all the more pronounced as she spoke, voice growing more and more shrill, "L-let's go outside, a-and go places."
"A day out together, just the three of us?" Deborah noted, nodding and pursing her lips, eyebrows rising as she considered the idea; it wasn't awful, in fact, it sounded good after weeks of Martin working nine to five days to make up for a temporary vacancy at Fast Jets UK, "That does sound lovely…a day out, and then a big surprise for Daddy."
From the sitting room came the high-pitched warbling of the phone, ringing twice then stuttering, before ringing again; it hadn't been working properly since Flora had tried to wash it in the sink. Deborah pushed back from the table after only half a second, rising to her feet.
"Pho-one!" Flora trilled as Deborah crossed the room, "Ring ring!"
"I know Flora." Deborah called over her shoulder, glancing back to see her return to her painting; she held the receiver, but didn't answer the call, holding it above her collarbone, "Remember, hush-hush when Mummy's talking on the phone." When she was sure that Flora was occupied again, she raised the phone to her ear, "Hello, MJN; Deborah Crieff, at your service."
"Oh, Debbie, dear girl." A familiar gruff, overly enunciated voice filtered down the line, making Deborah pause, one eye on the kitchen, as it carried on without break, "Don't tell me you married that chump."
"Yes I married him, ages ago -" Deborah retorted before she had time to think about it, caught by the familiar wave of irritation that came every few months when someone made a throwaway comment about her marriage; then she remembered herself and inhaled sharply, taking care to encourage the bewilderment in her tone, "Mr Birling?"
"Yes, of course it's Mr Birling." He barked, gruff and posh as he had ever been, even after years of radio silence on his behalf; it was almost as if he were in the room with her, as horrible a thought as that was, "Who else were you expecting?"
"Honestly, sir, anyone else." Deborah replied, rolling her eyes and pressing her free hand to her forehead to clear her mind as she sighed; dread was the only thing she could imagine, as well as the tempting scent of money on the air, "What can I do for you?"
"I'll tell you what you can do for me." Mr Birling answered waspishly, with the jaunty arrogance that she hadn't missed at all, "A return trip to Paris this weekend so that I can watch the Six Nations final in comfort."
"I realise that our marketing isn't the best, but you are aware that the nature of the company has changed?" Deborah inquired, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from being too caustic; there was a possibility in the works, a chance for a lot of money to fall into their pockets, so she had to twist it, make it seem like she was doing him a favour, "We don't do straightforward flights anymore, we do days out."
"I am well aware that you're under new management or whatever it is you've done." Mr Birling groaned, in the self-same exasperated way that he always had when there wasn't enough alcohol in his system, "You are under new management, aren't you?"
"Yes, Carolyn's gone." Deborah assured him quickly, checking that Flora was still dabbing at the ceramic plates and smearing paint over her hands instead of listening in; there was always the chance that she would repeat what she heard at the most inappropriate of times, "Well…mostly gone…you never know when she's going to tag along."
"Good, that'll make things much more peaceful." Mr Birling grunted, ploughing onwards before she could do more than open her mouth to speak, "As I was saying, I'm aware the company has changed, which is why I haven't hired you the past two years when I wanted to go further away."
"That was awfully considerate of you." Deborah remarked wryly, relaxing enough that she could pace the few feet that the phone cord would allow; she was sure that he would book with them no matter what she said, otherwise he wouldn't have deigned to call at all, "Dare I ask why you're calling now?"
"Because it's only a trip to Paris, hardly out of your way." Mr Birling replied coarsely, clearing his throat as he continued, as if it pained him to admit that he had chosen them for a reason, "And you know how I like things, you know which whiskey I want, and…you take far smaller tips than the other private airlines settle for."
"Well, yes, I'm sure that it wouldn't be difficult to arrange things as you like them." Deborah assured him without much thought; then her eyes fell back to Flora, oblivious to her mother's annoyance, and she recalled the happy smile on her face as she had imagined spending the weekend together as a family, "There are some conditions though."
"Conditions?" Mr Birling scoffed furiously, but it had little effect down the line of a phone, "After the mess you made of my last trip with you?"
"This isn't me being difficult, Mr Birling, this is me speaking as the manager and CEO of MJN." Deborah explained, honeying her tone just enough that it was soothing, encouraging, making it sound as if she would be on his side should the opportunity occur; that ought to get what she wanted, "There would be conditions to the flight, to all of our flights, that you would have to put up with."
"Such as?" Mr Birling begrudgingly replied; it sounded as if he were gritting his teeth, but he hadn't hung up yet, which was a good sign. It probably helped that he still thought their trip to Sardinia had been all Martin's fault, but that was neither here nor there.
"Firstly, unless I can convince my husband to spend the weekend on a plane after spending all week on a plane, it'll just be me and Arthur on board." Deborah elaborated, turning the sentence around until the focus was off kilter, just how she needed it; she curled the phone cord around her finger as she paced back, turning on her heel again, "Secondly-"
"Your husband?" Mr Birling interrupted, to her chagrin; not as easily deceived as he often seemed then, "What's your husband got to do with anything?"
"Oh, not a lot most days." Deborah remarked nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders even though he couldn't see her, holding on to her indignation on Martin's behalf; she had to drive a hard deal, make it seem as if there was no other option whatsoever, "However, when he's available I do like to install him as Captain, to make my life easier you understand."
"Oh, yes…I'd almost forgotten you'd married that chump." Mr Birling sighed; Deborah ignored him and made an effort to actually listen to the rest of what he was saying, "Fine, fine, I don't care if you fly with him or fly alone, so long as I arrive at the rugby suitably drunk."
"That can be ensured, sir." Deborah promised in her most reassuring tone of voice as she turned back to the kitchen; this was where her chances of success faltered considerably, but there was no way that she was leaving that little girl with Carolyn and Herc when she had promised to spend the weekend with her, "Secondly, as well as Martin, we'll be bringing our toddler with us."
"Your toddler?" Mr Birling snapped; there hadn't really been any possibility of him agreeing without a little persuasion, "I don't want to share a flight with a grubby child."
"You get a plane with our daughter on it or you don't get a plane at all." Deborah remarked sternly, winding her free arm around her waist to keep herself centred; it took all of her power to remind herself that it wasn't personal, "That's our policy for all of MJN's customers, Mr Birling."
"Well, fine, I suppose." Mr Birling sighed after a moment of grumbling down the line, huffing into the receiver; he was a pushover really when he wanted something, that was for sure, "It's not as if she could cause as much damage as the three of you, anyway."
"Of course not, Mr Birling." Deborah replied brightly, before he could change his mind; she quickly bent down and scribbled a note on the pad that Martin had taken to keeping beside the phone in case of emergencies, "I'll have a bill drawn up for you on your arrival."
"See that you do." Mr Birling retorted, and just like that the line went dead and his voice was replaced by a low dial tone; why she had expected anything else Deborah had no idea.
Placing the phone back on its holster, Deborah rose back to her feet and took a deep breath. Well, that hadn't been expected, but it seemed that once again she had bargained the better end of the stick; just like old times. Plastering on a smile that wasn't entirely forced, Deborah strode back to the kitchen and took her seat opposite Flora…the girl was still painting, and barely spared her a single glance other than to beam in greeting then ignore her.
"Well, Flora, it looks like we'll be spending the weekend in Paris." Deborah announced, reaching across to stroke the back of Flora's hand with the tip of her finger; they were abroad all the time, but that didn't matter, "That'll be nice, won't it?"
oOoOoOo
Everything was running smoothly so far, but Deborah was well aware that that could change at the drop of a hat; in fact, with both Martin and Arthur on board, it was likely to do exactly that. Arthur was currently looking after Mr Birling, who was being as abrupt and demanding as ever, so that was one problem out of the way. Martin was getting the plane started and settling Flora, which was one less thing to think about…
Martin, who was in an odd mood. Up until that morning, Deborah had assumed that he was just tired and stressed with the extra hours for Fast Jets UK, but now she was beginning to suspect that she had been mistaken. Normally he would have been overjoyed at the prospect of spending the whole day on GERTI with his wife and daughter, but today he was grouchy and sharp, getting things done quickly, by the book, barely saying a word that didn't contribute to the job.
It made the idea of giving him a nice surprise at the end of the day even more appealing…anything to put the smile back on his face and encourage some sort of affection. All Deborah had wanted was a cuddle and he'd grumbled something about being punctual, so she had left him to it…it was like being back with grumpy Captain Crieff of old all over again; she still loved him, but he also made her want to wring his neck and force him to have fun.
There was no time for Martin though, as Deborah crossed beneath GERTI's wing until she found Carolyn, standing by the open hold, bottle of fine Talisker clutched in her hands as she grinned like a shark that had caught the scent of blood. It hadn't taken much convincing, but this was sure to be painful. Brave face then…
"Ah, Carolyn, there you are." Deborah drawled, folding her arms as she came to a stop in front of her, tucking herself into the shadows provided in case someone were to walk by; the last thing she wanted was Mr Birling seeing Carolyn and whinging about it for the entire flight, "Have you got it?"
"I've got it." Carolyn replied smugly, giving the bottle a little shake so that the dark liquid sloshed around, clinking with tangible expense, "I've got it in large quantities, ready to hand over to Arthur who in turn could deliver it to Mr B."
"Thank you very much." Deborah acknowledged brightly, plastering on a smile as she steeled herself to step forwards and retrieve it; it would be hell admitting that she had needed help ordering the posh whiskey, or that she couldn't do it herself in time, but that was a cross she would have to bear, "Can I have it?"
"Ah, you see, there's the hitch." Carolyn remarked slyly, stepping back and holding the whiskey out of reach, looking even more proud of herself than she had before; this was going to be painful, fuelled by her vindictive taste for revenge, that much was for sure, "That'll be two hundred pounds per bottle."
"Two hundred- no, Carolyn." Deborah stood her ground, winding her arms around her chest more tightly to keep herself buoyed; this wasn't even up for debate – they couldn't afford to pay that, and she'd rather let Mr Birling go without than fork out for it, "I need that."
"And I needed it all those times that you deigned to steal it." Carolyn retorted, eyebrows arched wryly as her smirk failed to fade; the woman was definitely enjoying it, oblivious to Deborah's desperation, "Now the ball's in my court. Two hundred pounds a bottle or you don't get a drop."
"I can't afford to pay you two hundred pounds a bottle." Deborah argued, keeping her temper in check as she schooled her expression; it wouldn't do to seem desperate, not in front of Carolyn…unless…unless it gained her the upper hand. The thought was enough to spark the familiar spur in her chest, and she sized herself up, preparing to descend into the dreary zone required.
"Why ever not?" Carolyn scoffed, wrinkles pinching in amused confusion; likely she thought that she had pockets full of cash ready to spare.
"Because if I give you two hundred pounds per bottle, I won't have enough money left to buy Flora the new shoes she needs because hers have holes in." Deborah explained, making a point of labouring her breathing, widening her eyes, lacing something pitiful into her tone, "I won't have enough left to ensure the three of us are fed over the next few weeks, or to take her out to buy those new books she wants to try and read, or to-"
"Fine, fine…less of the guilt trip, please." Carolyn sighed, rolling her eyes and rubbing her free hand over her forehead; she lowered her gaze to the bottle in her hand and gaze it one last shake before groaning and speaking through gritted teeth, "Fifty pounds per bottle, and that's my final offer."
"Forty-five." Deborah countered, perhaps a mite too quickly; she bit her tongue as she watched Carolyn's expression shift from pity to exasperation.
"Deal." Carolyn sighed, letting her eyes fall closed as if she couldn't stand to see herself offer up the bottle of Talisker, to watch it hang in the air between them; aging had definitely softened her.
"Thank you – I'll pay you later." Deborah replied smartly as she snatched the Talisker, before Carolyn could change her mind; praying that she didn't look too much like Martin, she tucked it against her side and turned to stare back out across the airfield, "Now, clear off before Mr Birling sees you and decides not to pay us after all."
"Oh that's charming that is." Carolyn muttered, huffing through her nose and shaking her head; nevertheless, she stepped away from the hold and into the light, and slipped her hands in her pockets, "Never mind though; I have an opera to attend – one of Herc's favourites apparently, not that I have a clue what it is."
"That's the way to do it." Deborah exclaimed, hurrying up behind her and wafting her away as best she could; one problem down and easily solved, now to move on to the next one, "Now, off with you."
oOoOoOo
"Alright you three, listen up." Deborah practically clicked her heels together as she brought her hands to a close at her front and stood in the centre of the flight-deck, surveying Martin in the Captain's seat, Flora in the jump-seat, and Arthur leaning against the locker; everyone in place and ready to go, like clockwork, "This is the plan – a very simple plan might I add-"
"Shouldn't I be doing this?" Martin interrupted, turning to watch her over the back of his seat, hat tipped back so that his entire prim expression was on display, having failed to brighten over the course of the morning; like clockwork, it really was, "I am the Captain after all."
"Martin you may be wearing the Captain's hat, but I am the CEO." Deborah remarked dryly, shooting him a gentle smirk in the hopes that some light teasing would lift his mood; the petulant pinching of his features suggested the contrary, so she rolled her eyes and sighed, "Alright- go on then, what's the plan, Captain?"
"I um…" Martin trailed off as Flora perked up to listen, and his hands curled around the back of his seat as his eyes darted back to his wife in despair; all swagger and no fight today then, wonderful, "Deborah, what's the plan?"
"The plan is that for once, everything is going to go to plan." Deborah announced, pursing her lips as she caught Martin's sideways glance, as if he were trying to swallow some undeserved bitterness; she ignored him and plastered on a charming, confident smile as she pointed to her daughter, "Flora, you are going to be on your best behaviour. If I let you unstrap yourself, you have to be very good and not annoy Mr Birling."
"Yes Mummy." Flora agreed, nodding serenely in her sweet high-pitched trill, clasping her hands together; unlike her father, she had been thrilled at the prospect of the day, even slipping on her smartest dress, "I'll be good."
"Good." Deborah replied, then turned her attentions to Arthur, who was listening just as intently, "Arthur, you are going to wait on Mr Birling hand and foot whilst also not annoying him."
"Can do, Deborah." Arthur assured her, straightening up and slipping his hands into his pockets and grinning with his usual anticipation for a flight; he rocked on his heels but otherwise stayed where he was, "I'll do the announcements, and then wait until he dings his bell to serve him the Talisker."
"Excellent." Deborah remarked as she span around to face Martin; she had about enough time to open her mouth before Arthur's voice filled the flight-deck again, cutting her off.
"This is brilliant, isn't it?" Arthur mused, as he gazed into the distance like he was revisiting a dream, "It's just like old times, when the three of us took Mr Birling wherever he wanted to go – almost as if nothing's changed. Although, it has changed a bit, because Flora's here, and I live with Sandra now, and Martin's only here for today."
"Yes, Arthur, it is brilliant." Martin retorted bitterly, and it was definitely bitter this time as he swivelled back to face the control panel, pushing his hat down on his head; he tapped the altimeters without any need to, continuing in time with the clink, "I mean, I wish I wasn't having to fly a horrible man to Paris, a-and that my daughter didn't have to see us waiting here like lapdogs for a tip, but yes, other than that, it's brilliant."
"Oh, Martin, cheer up." Deborah sighed, resisting the temptation to press the heels of her hands to her eyes; there was no point getting irritable just because he was, not when they were supposed to be building up to something good, "Think of it as a nice day out with the family."
"Yes, sorry…it's fine, I just really hoped we wouldn't have to see him again." Martin conceded, although he only spared them a brief look, focusing instead on grouching at the arm of his seat; with a shrug of his shoulders he put on his cheeriest, falsest voice, "Never mind, though, hey? A nice day out – s-so long as nothing goes wrong."
"Nothing's going to go wrong, Skip, I promise." Arthur stated with just enough confidence that even Deborah wondered whether he might actually pull it off, "I've got complete control of everything."
"Right, everyone strap up, ready for take-off." Deborah instructed, clapping her hands together abruptly and raising her voice above the hum of the controls; with one last smile and a hand on Flora's curls, she slipped through the gap between the seats and turned to give her one final nod to ensure that her seatbelt was still fastened, "Flora, would you like to start the pre-take-off checks?"
Flora nodded vehemently just as Arthur slipped through the door, and she opened her mouth to play along, as always…only to be cut off.
"Deborah!" Martin exclaimed, shooting her a frustrated, irritable glare, cheeks flushing as his eyebrows flew to his hairline; in the short burst, he missed the way his daughter's expression flickered as he squawked, "She's only three!"
"It's not like the CAA are going to descend on us." Deborah reasoned softly, brow furrowing as she stared back at him, hoping that her questioning expression would overshadow the pang of dejected indignation that welled in her throat; if he wasn't careful, he'd upset her, and that was the complete opposite of why they were doing their flight together, "When you're not here I let her talk to Karl."
"That's completely unprofessional." Martin retorted prissily, scrunching up his nose and staring her down; it was just like being eight years in the past, but without the understanding that they could part at the end of the day, "What if…"
"Can I start now?" Flora raised her voice, interjecting only a moment before Deborah was about to; Martin's head turned at the same time as Deborah's, and they both saw her indignant but determined pout as she batted her big brown eyes at them, nose tipped into the air, carrying on without prompting, "Food-Pump-Switches!"
"Captain…" Deborah remarked, quirking her eyebrows at him, praying that he would play along, for the sake of peace if nothing else; she wasn't entirely sure that Flora would like the prim fool that her father had been at one point in his life, never having seen him in a really terrible mood, "Fuel pump switches?"
There was a moment in which Martin looked like he might argue…but then his shoulders sagged and he gave in.
"On." He answered, without any of the vigour that he usually brought to their rare jobs together.
oOoOoOo
With Flora stretching her legs in the Galley and Arthur taking care of Mr Birling, the flight-deck was almost peaceful; or it would have been peaceful had there not been an uncomfortable, mostly unexplained silence stretching between them. Mercifully though, they were disturbed before Deborah could try to intervene.
"Chaps, I don't mean to worry you, but I've got a bit of a problem." Arthur popped his head through the flight-deck door, gripping the edge of it as he did so; that was the last thing they needed, and Deborah's dread only grew more intense as she turned to see that his face was wide and tensed, as it always was when he thought that he had done something wrong, "It's only a problem now, but it might be an emergency later."
"Why?" Martin demanded, keeping one hand on the nearest set of controls as his head snapped around, voice rising with a slither of neurotic panic; he fixed Arthur with his hardest, red faced glare, "What's happened?"
"I've lost the Talisker." Arthur answered shortly, tearing his gaze away from Martin's to stare at his own hands.
"What – h-how?" Martin stammered, mouth flapping open once, then twice in shock; then he turned to glare at Deborah without any sign of a second thought, jaw set in annoyance, chest heaving, "Deborah!"
"Why are you looking at me?" Deborah exclaimed, forgetting her forced cool as she pressed indignantly back against her seat so that she could face confront him properly, hand pressed over her chest; there was a big difference between being a grouch and immediately assuming everything was her fault, "I've been here the whole time – you've been sitting next to me!"
"Then where could it have gone?" Martin demanded, eyebrows knitting as his eyes darted across her face, searching for what she had no idea; with his hands clenching the controls and his seat where they lay, his shoulders tensed, he might have been considering stripping her down and doing a pat down to see if she had a bottle of whiskey hidden in the hem of her skirt.
"I don't know where it could have gone." Deborah replied curtly, doing her best not to purse her lips of snap at him; the intensity of his gaze was like an uncomfortable prickle on her skin, and she realised that it had been years since he had exuded such suspicion, "What's important though is that you remain calm, that we do a quick search of the Galley, and find it before Mr Birling starts getting frustrated."
"There's also another slight problem." Arthur interjected, somewhat weakly; he still hadn't moved past the door, standing partially behind it as if he were holding it like a shield, protecting him from Martin's wrath.
"What else could you possibly have lost, Arthur?" Deborah sighed, resisting the temptation to sag and close her eyes to block out the world; if they wanted the flight to go well, she needed to sort everything out before it descended into havoc, "Even you aren't so much of a clot to have caused any more harm."
"I might have mislaid Flora." Arthur replied, trailing off at the end with a wince, as if he were expecting something to come flying towards him.
"What?!" Martin squawked, flushing an even darker shade of scarlet as his voice went shrill; he almost rose out of his seat, gripping the back of it as he bared down on Arthur, somehow managing to radiate panicked anger from across the empty space, "Where is she?"
"What do you mean 'mislaid'?" Deborah raised her voice over him, cutting through his anger with a sharp surge of professionalism; once the initial worry faded and made way for common sense, it was apparent that she needed to regain control of the situation, "There are only so many places a three year old can go in an enclosed aircraft, thousands of feet in the air."
"I know, that's why I'm telling you." Arthur insisted, letting go of the door to let his hands flop to the sides as he kept one eye on Martin, who was in turn fidgeting and eyeing Deborah with an odd edge to his gaze; nonetheless he seemed to realise which pilot he should be talking to, and addressed Deborah, "Because I looked for her and I can't find her – not even in her usual hiding spots."
"Usual hiding spots?" Martin exclaimed, before Deborah could reply; his disbelief was echoed in the wide-eyed judgement that his harsh tone concealed, as if he were actually criticising the way she ran her own company, looked after her own child, "Y-you mean you let her run wild around the plane when you've got proper clients as well?"
"Martin, we do our jobs well enough when you're not here, please do me the courtesy of not criticising my methods." Deborah informed him, doing her best to reel in the tart edge to her own tone as she controlled her breathing, preventing herself from giving in to the temptation to rip into him; problems aside, this was supposed to be a good day out, "It's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal!" Martin argued, shrill and thoughtless as ever; then he added one last hand to push her over the edge and carried on, dissolving into one of his now rare, but still just as annoying rants, "Just having her here goes against all regulations-"
"Martin, can you just shut up for a moment." Deborah snapped, swallowing hard as she heard herself say it, and glancing sideways at him even as she turned to face the back of the flight-deck, turning her back on him; to her surprise, and faint guilt, his mouth clamped shut immediately, and she couldn't tell whether he looked insulted or upset, but didn't give it a second thought as she addressed Arthur, "Thank you…Arthur, did you notice that she was hiding before or after you noticed that the Talisker was missing?"
"It was afterwards." Arthur answered, nodding to himself as he racked his brains, rubbing his hands together and shuffling on his feet, "I'm absolutely sure about that, because I was looking for her when Mr B rang his bell, and then I couldn't find the whiskey, and now I can't find either of them."
"Alright…" Deborah sighed, letting her head drop to rest on one hand, then lifting it again to turn back to the Captain's seat as she rose to her feet; it wasn't an emergency, per say, but someone had to do something, and Martin was only going to make things worse with the mood he was in, "Martin, you have control. Arthur, go to the back of the plane; we'll work towards the middle."
"Wait, hold on-" Martin started to argue, reaching out to clasp Deborah's wrist, but she shook him off and cut him down before he could stop her slipping out from between the seats.
"No, Martin, you have control." Deborah retorted sternly, folding her arms over her chest ass he spared him one last shred of her attention; she wasn't in the mood for his tantrums, not when she could feel herself aching to fight back, "I'm going to go smooth things over with Mr Birling, then I'm going to do a sweep of GERTI until I find where Flora's run off to. You can sit here and fly the plane, and work on your bad mood."
"I'm not in a bad mood." Martin muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line. He made a point of turning back to the controls, making movements as if to press buttons and tap this and that, but he didn't actually touch any of them.
"You're in a horrible mood." Deborah snapped, then inhaled sharply and turned her back on him; with a hand, perhaps to roughly, on his shoulder, she ushered Arthur back into the Galley, letting the door slam shut behind her, "Arthur…just go and start searching."
oOoOoOo
After twenty minutes of crawling around on her hands and knees throughout the entire plane, and then ten minutes of Martin doing exactly the same to no avail, Deborah conceded that Flora would come out when she was ready and Mr Birling would just have to wait for his whiskey. Martin didn't agree easily, but eventually he gave up and returned to fly the plane.
And now he wasn't talking to her…absolutely bloody fantastic.
"Martin, stop fussing." Deborah hissed the fourth time Martin flicked the dud switch to his right, making it click with restrained irritation; sure, it was bothersome having to sit and wait knowing that their client was getting frustrated, but that was life, and there was nothing to do but sit calmly until it sorted itself out, "She'll get bored eventually and come out from wherever she's hiding."
"How can you be so sure?" Martin demanded, breaking his vow of silence to glare at her, his petulance rippling around his pinched expression, "How can you know that she isn't going to stay hidden until we land, a-and Mr Birling isn't going to be furious and leave without tipping us?"
"Because I've been flying with Flora for three years." Deborah answered in as measured a tone as she could, digging her nails into the loose threads on the arm of her chair so that she didn't give in to the temptation to dig them into his eyes just to shut him up, "I know what she's like on GERTI."
"And I don't know what she's like?" Martin retorted, sniffing indignantly; something about the way he said it made Deborah keep her mouth shut, watching him descend from his lofty pedestal to rub a hand over the back of his neck, growing more worked up the more clipped his tone grew, "Then again, maybe I don't – a-after all, I don't spend nearly as much time with her as you do because I'm always at work, so m-maybe you do know better."
"Martin, that's not what I'm saying at all." Deborah sighed, shaking her head and pursing her lips; it was difficult to be mad at him when the sharp ball of distemper was marred by a more pressing lump of worry that crept up her throat as she listened to him, the curse of being in love, "Martin…has something happened at work?"
"No." Martin clammed up in less than a second, blinking down at the controls as if they held the answers to life itself. There was no way that he was telling the truth…which meant that Deborah couldn't let it go. She just couldn't; independent Martin may have been, but he hadn't seemed to realise yet that being a husband and father meant everything affected the whole family…all she had to do was remember the mess of last December.
"Is that why you're in a bad mood?" Deborah inquired, as gently as she dared when her tongue was itching to keep prodding at him.
"I'm not in a bad mood!" Martin almost shouted…almost; then in less than a second he sagged and looked to her, obviously stricken at losing his temper with her, with whatever expression Deborah was wearing to convince him that he had overstepped a line, "No, n-no, I'm sorry…Deborah, I'm sorry, I am – I shouldn't be taking it out on you – not that there's anything to take out on you…I-I-I just, I didn't even mean that before. I spent plenty of time with Flora, a-and I need to go to work – I-I like work."
"Then what's the problem?" Deborah asked, reaching out to trace the backs of her fingers against the cuff of his sleeve, retracting it when he looked at her, "Martin, what's put you in such a foul mood –and don't tell me it's just Mr Birling."
"I'm not…I'm not in a foul mood." Martin insisted, gritting his teeth as he threw his hands into the air and slumped even further; he was biting his lip, visibly on the edge of something, whether revealing all or telling her off, she wasn't sure, "I'm not in any kind of mood."
"Don't be-" Deborah started, but at that moment the flight-deck door creaked open, the sound followed by the patter of little feet and the clinking slosh of something more illicit filled its place in the air; she turned just in time to see Flora skip, ginger curls bouncing around her shoulders, into the space between their seats, bottle of whiskey swinging precariously in her hands, "Oh, there you are sweetheart."
"Flora!" Martin exclaimed, sitting up abruptly, sending his hat toppling into his lap with the movement; he abandoned the controls completely to confront her, caught between anger and relief at the sight of her, "Where have-"
"Look Daddy – l-look it's so pretty." Flora interrupted him, speaking lightly and sweetly as she shook the whiskey in his face, raising it up for him to see the liquid sloshing about inside the confines of the bottle; when Martin's hand shot out she barely even flinched, just hugged it closer to peer through the glass with a content smile on her lips, "Issa…i-it's a nice colour."
"Flora, you shouldn't have taken that." Martin snapped, shaking Flora from her reverie with a little jump back into the arm of Deborah's chair as she clung to the bottle; he had apparently chosen to fall back on anger, playing the indignant father card to make up for his failure to win the argument with his wife, "You shouldn't take anything that Mummy's set out in the Galley."
"Martin, shush." Deborah ordered him, lowering her voice to a whisper and ignoring him completely as she placed her hand on Flora's shoulder and rotated her to look her in the eye; calming slightly at having her where she could see her, Deborah stroked her hand up from Flora's shoulder to her cheek, brushing her hair away from her eyes, "Flora, sweetheart, go and give that back to Arthur please."
"But i-it's so nice." Flora whined, pouting pitifully, lips trembling after Martin's loss of temper as she curled her arms around the bottle; her sniffling was painful, especially considering where they were, "I wanna…wanna paint with it."
"You can't paint with it, dear, it's whiskey." Deborah explained for her, making a point of smiling gently and trying to sound reasonable; everything nice and calm, no reason to let it get out of hand, "That's for grown-ups, not for you."
"Mummy…" Flora sniffled, clinging to the bottle even tighter, glaring watery eyed down at her shoes as she scuffed them on the floor. It was her facsimile of misery, the one that she whipped out to try and get her own way. All Deborah had to do was keep on as she was, and…
"Flora, give it back to Arthur." Martin shattered all of Deborah's attempts at keeping the peace in one swift blow, fixing Flora with a stern glare the moment she span around; he glared down at her with all the authority that didn't work on colleagues, but never failed to work on his toddler, "Then come back here and tell Mummy and Daddy why you were hiding."
Without another word, just a high-pitched sniffle and a sob, Flora threw one arm over her face and scrambled from the flight-deck, swinging the bottle of Talisker behind her; her stomps could be heard ringing all the way down the plane.
"Martin." Deborah hissed, abandoning any efforts at reining in her anger as she lost sight of their daughter's back and turned instead to confront him; taking his mood out on her was one matter, but now he was making life difficult for all of them, "I was handling her."
"You can't just let her get away with messing you around." Martin sniped, as if he were actually concerned about her authority being flaunted, "She needs telling-"
"I will tell her off – later." Deborah cut him off, shifting in her seat until she was sitting up properly, ready to take the controls should she need to, anything to distract herself; all prospects of a nice day were gone, "Not when there's a chance of her throwing a tantrum thousands of miles in the air in a confined space!"
"Fine." Martin conceded, but he was biting his lip so hard that Deborah was almost afraid that he might bite through it; with more force than was necessary, he reached out and held down the button for the intercom, biting out his request before waiting for confirmation that there was anyone there to hear it, "Arthur, have you got it?"
"Yeah, I've got it." Arthur's voice filtered through the speakers, disguising nothing regarding how he felt about the matter; if even he was tentative, then it as clear that tensions were rising, "Mr Birling's happy again, so everything's alright."
"Good." Martin acknowledged, nodding distractedly as he leaned back, and then returned to hold down the button, "Is Flora coming back?"
"No…she's shut herself in the games cupboard." Arthur replied, without elaborating any further or commenting as he might have done in any other situation, "There's no lock on it, so she can get back out though."
"Happy now, darling?" Deborah sniped as Martin release the intercom button and slouched back with a groan, pressing his hands over his eyes; she wasn't going to take the blame for the mess that the day had become, not this time, "It's going to be a pain trying to get her out of there."
"It's not like that's the first time I've been mad at her." Martin muttered, leaning down to pluck his hat from the floor and push it down over his hair; he didn't look at her, just clung to his petulance, "She can't go through life pretending that I won't."
"The last time you got mad at her she was eighteen months old and trying to play with fire." Deborah retorted, pursing her lips and folding her arms over her chest as she faced forwards and stared out over the sky; she wasn't in the mood for this, and definitely didn't want to argue all the way to Paris and back, "This is nothing like that."
"Can we drop it now?" Martin asked, tone vacillating between shrill and low, demanding and pleading, "I'll apologise later."
"You should apologise now." Deborah instructed him, even though she knew that he was going to rail against it.
"I'm flying the plane." Martin told her through gritted teeth; as if to prove his point, he gripped the nearest controls either side of him, making GERTI sway imperceptibly in the air, "You wanted me to fly the plane, so now I'm flying the plane."
oOoOoOo
The mood on the flight-deck didn't change when they reached Paris; or when the returned to Fitton. The half and hour spent coaxing Flora out of the games cupboard only made it worse; she was as stubborn as her father when pushed. The ride home in crippling silence made the tension paramount, and it didn't wane for even a moment as they entered the house, Flora tucked up in Deborah's arms, Martin storming on ahead through the sitting room and into the adjoining kitchen.
"And the table is still covered in bills that I asked you about this morning." Martin muttered under his breath, although he made no effort to prevent Deborah from hearing it as he flocked his fingers over the envelopes and documents that were strewn in an almost orderly way over the kitchen table, "Did you sort them out like you said you would?"
"No, I didn't have time." Deborah replied caustically, shifting Flora against her shoulder as she followed him into the kitchen; the tugging at the collar of her coat was proof that she was still awake and listening, "Give me a minute and I'll put them away."
"No, I might as well do it myself." Martin grumbled, going ahead and rearranging the letters with more force than was needed, jaw set and face pinched the entire time, flushed with residual irritation that he had been carrying around all day, "That's one more job we need to do tomorrow, on top of everything else."
"Martin, will you stop fussing for one moment." Deborah snapped, losing her patience again, this time barely ten minutes after the last; her free hand was splayed in the air before she knew she had moved it, trembling in the place of her lips in an attempt to control the situation, "I don't know what's wrong with you today, but you have been in a foul mood-"
"I have not been in a mood." Martin huffed, dropping the letters back onto the table so hard that some of them slid onto the floor; his hands flew to press over his eyes and push through his hair as he bit down on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact.
"Then what do you call this?" Deborah demanded, unable to stop the surging heat that was tearing through her; it had been a long time since they had had a proper argument, and there was no stopping now, "Snapping at me? Snapping at Flora – she's three for Christ's sake, she didn't know any better!"
"I know!" Martin insisted, gritting his teeth so hard that she could have sworn she heard them grinding together as his hands curled into themselves; it was as if he were holding himself back, even as his mouth poured forth more and more nonsense, "I know, Deborah, and I apologised for that on the way-"
"You did not apologise." Deborah shouted over him, reigning herself in at the last moment and carrying on in a low, measured tone that did nothing to hide the heaving or her chest or sooth the wriggling child pressed against her shoulder, "You didn't even come close to an apology."
"Debs-" Martin seemed to sag, to try and step forwards, losing all of his fight in one exhale; whether it was because she had finally got through to him and made him realise what a prat he was being, or if he just gave up, she didn't care.
"We were meant to be having a nice day out together." Deborah concluded, glaring at him from across the table; and just like that her anger was gone and replaced with dejection, amplified by Flora's sniffles in her ear, but she couldn't stop herself from muttering in the hopes that he would hear it and be ashamed of himself, "How I thought that was going to happen I don't know."
"Deborah…" Martin implored her again, voice soft as he stepped around the table to meet her.
"What Martin?" Deborah demanded, glaring up at him as he stood in front of her, holding her breath as the anger returned in full force with the added proximity. This close to him, she was caught between wanting to give in and wrap her arms around him, put everything right, make the day worth the mess and just forget about everything in the midst of the comfort that being in her husband's arms would bring even if they were mad at each other…and the visceral desire to throttle him.
"Look, Deborah…" Martin sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, as if he were calming himself down; then he opened them again and extended his hands, and Deborah had enough foresight not to shake him off as he gently touched her arms in a faint embrace, then placed one hand on Flora's back, "Just give her here and I'll get her bathed and ready for bed. I'll make it up to her."
"You better." Deborah retorted, standing her ground and lowering her voice even more as she realised that Flora had yet to make another sound; without another word she let Martin take her and stepped back to fold her arms over her chest.
"Come on, sweetie." Martin murmured softly as he tucked Flora against him and she reluctantly wrapped her arms around his neck; he spared Deborah one last hopeful glance, but upon receiving no response, started bouncing their daughter as he headed from the kitchen and towards the stairs, "I'm sorry…"
The next time she saw Martin, Deborah was curled up on their bed, her back to the door, arms tucked up around her middle, contemplating all the ways that the day hadn't gone to plan. She heard the door swish open and his feet as he padded across the room, followed by a weighty sigh as the mattress dipped. A moment later, she felt an arm slip around her waist, and when she didn't protest, the rest of Martin's warmth curl up against her back, confident in where it fit.
"She's in bed." Martin murmured, his breath a gentle breeze against her cheek as he hugged her a little closer, inhaling in what was almost a sniffle, "She kept talking about some surprise you had lined up…wouldn't show me hers until you'd done yours."
"It's not important now." Deborah replied, voice quiet and gravelly, more effort than it was probably worth now that there was nothing to spur her on any longer; one long breath out and she was relaxing into his hold, shifting her folded arms so that she could trace her fingers over the curve of his arm around her waist, "I'm not in the mood."
"I am sorry…really, I-I am." Martin apologised, pleaded, sounding as sapped of energy as she felt; there was a pause, and although she didn't look Deborah imagined him biting his lip and pouting before he spoke again, making himself relinquish his pride, "You were right…I was in a bad mood…still am a bit."
"What's wrong?" Deborah asked, but received no answer; closing her eyes, she stiffened and gripped his arm just hard enough that he knew she meant business, without running the risk of hurting him, "Martin, you tell me what's wrong before I leave you to wallow on your own…I'm not spending the next god-knows-how-long arguing with you because someone else has wound you up."
"N-no, that would be silly…" Martin agreed with a bitter laugh the didn't even outlive the breath it travelled on; another moment passed and he fidgeted against her, but then he spoke in something shy of a whisper, tentative like a slither of glass about to shatter, "I've got a new first officer."
"Are they nice?" Deborah inquired, even though she knew the answer was no; what else could raise Martin's hackles so badly but a toerag on his flight-deck.
"He's a right – eugh!" Martin groaned, and it was like a dam breaking, making way for a torrent of miserable elaboration that made Deborah wish that she hadn't been so quick to snap at him, even though she knew that she had been in the right, "Not in the way you were – I-I-I always liked you, even when I couldn't stand you – that was…that was a personal thing. I just – he's such a …I can't stand him. He's actually a smug, horrible person to be around, and he's making my life a misery."
"I don't understand." Deborah soothed, stroking her hand up and down his arm, brow furrowing as she tried to piece it together; it wasn't as if she could do anything about it, as much as she would have liked to, but it was always nice knowing what was going on, even when the answers weren't nice at all, "Is he not following orders?"
"No, he is following orders." Martin replied, frustrated, chest shuddering with the effort of feeling the way he did, arms jumping as if he wanted to gesticulate, "But he…it's as if the way he speaks to me – i-it's as if he thinks I'm beneath him, a-as if in a few years he'll have my job, o-or he's too good to be at the airline in the first place. He's just rude a lot of the time-"
"Why don't you ask to have him transferred to another plane?" Deborah asked, as she rolled onto her back in his arms, trapping him in place while getting a good look at his face; wide-eyed with red rings underneath them, cheeks flushed but somehow too pale…the verdict wasn't good.
"I've tried!" Martin insisted, all of his features straining for attention as he blinked helplessly at her, "I said that he was impossible to work with, but there aren't enough pilots to be shuffling us round like that…and he's just awful, which when you pile that on top of the bloody monotony, the back and forth, everything the same, every day..." he broke off into a tone even more pitiful, and yet somehow more determined, hopeless, but absolutely confident in what he was saying, "Sometimes I wish I could just come back to MJN, work with you every day. We could have the three of us all together, we'd both be there so it wouldn't matter how far we went."
"You still could you know…" Deborah suggested, before she was even conscious of thinking such a thing, having hidden that thought far at the back of her head; it was out now though, and Martin was looking at her in the strangest way, as if she had just revealed all of her deepest hopes and dreams…maybe that was what it sounded like…maybe that was what it was, so she couldn't drop it, "We'd lose your wages…but you could."
"No I couldn't." Martin sighed after a moment, shifting so that he could lift a hand a trace it over Deborah's cheek, brushing her hair away from her eyes with a tenderness in his own that didn't suit the situation at all; almost sounded as if he were comforting her now, "Flora's going to be starting school soon…she can't be leaving the country every other day."
"It'll get better." Deborah promised, though who she was speaking to she didn't know; she picked at the fluff on Martin's shirt as he silently watched, when the lingering memory of what the whole day had been about trickled to the surface of her mind, "Would you like to know what my surprise was?" she waited for Martin to hum contentedly and peer down at her, nodding as his eyebrows piqued with interest, before taking a breath…"I'm pregnant."
"What?" Martin blurted, mouth falling open as he leaned back as best he could on the bed; he gaped at her for a long while, watched as her smile grew more comfortable on her lips, then gasped, "Really? Y-y-you mean it actually worked this time?"
"So long as everything goes well, you could have another little girl – or a boy." Deborah replied, grinning as the comfortable warmth she had been seeking all day settled in her chest, and Martin's hand found its way to her stomach; they had been trying for so long now, had almost given up hope and accepted that Flora would be their last, but here it was.
"Deborah…that is perfect!" Martin beamed, cheeks flushing, face lighting up as if all of his troubles were insignificant; in one move he was on her, hugging her close and curling them together, pressing kisses to her neck, "Oh, god, I love you."
Only then there was a frantic knocking at the door. As Deborah lay back on the sheets, laughing and feeling as if she were glowing under the weight of Martin's legs on hers while he hastily sat up, leaving her spread out below, they both fell silent.
"I didn't – didn't get Daddy's present." Flora's little voice filtered through the door, wide awake despite the hour, "Is...it's here."
Martin's eyes moved from the door down to hers, and Deborah smirked, nodding for him to get off of her as she pulled herself up.
"Okay, Flora, come in." Deborah called, running her hands down her shirt to smooth out any creases, as she couldn't recall where Martin put his hands when he had all but collapsed onto her; a hand through her hair and she was ready, "I've already done mine."
With that the door flew open and Flora darted into the room, large plate clutched in her hands; legs moving faster than should have been possible, she needed Martin to lean down and lift her from the floor before she could clamber onto the bed.
"Daddy!" Flora squealed, wriggling out of his grasp and into Deborah's, flopping onto her mother's lap without a word to announce her presence; she held out the plate, as if she hadn't heard of any other surprise that she should be interested in, presenting it like a prize, "Look- look it's blue and lellow – look."
"Wow, that is lovely." Martin admired the plate as he accepted it, turning it over in his hands and exchanging a fleeting glance with Deborah as he took in the dark splodges of uncoordinated art; his smile settled on his lips, carved into his face as if it belonged there, then curled into his wicked smile, as he placed the plate to the side and lurched forwards, leaning down to tickle Flora's sides and press kisses all over her face, "Hey – hey Flora, guess what? Guess what Mummy told me?"
Yes, I know, big time jump - but fun nonetheless. Thank you for reading - I do hope you enjoyed that and had a wonderful new year, filled with many resolutions. 2013 may be over, but I'm still here - all my best wishes for 2014.