THURSDAY, 11:45 AM - 3 DAYS LEFT.

It was a rather mundane, murky day on Sodor. It was mid-October, and now that the back-to-school rush had ended, life on the railway slowed down to the regular thrum that would last until Christmas.

Gathered in the staffroom at Knapford were about fifteen of the NWR's staff members - as many as Edward could persuade to spend their coffee break in this impromptu meeting.

"Right, everybody. I'm glad you've all managed to make it at such short notice." Edward smiled apprehensively. The gathered staff stared back vacantly. The faint pitter-patter of rain could be heard tapping on the windows.

"Well, um, I bumped into Lady Hatt the other day, and she, um, suggested we all do a little something for the Fat Controller's fiftieth...?" Edward's statement sounded more like a tentative question, as he waited for his colleagues to reply.

"So you've brought us all here to throw a party?" James asked skeptically.

"...Yes?"

"Well, I'm in." James' expression melted into one of satisfaction.

"What sort of party?" Thomas asked.

"Well, I don't think it needs to be anything big, just maybe a nice bit of food and some cake. Nothing that'll take up too much of our time. He's our boss, it'd look good if we did something like this for him."

This was enough to convince the likes of Gordon and Henry, who murmured in agreement.

"I'm up for a bit of the organisation." Thomas raised a hand.

Edward shrugged, secretly glad to be excused from having to wrangle his coworkers into something resembling a functioning unit, "Sure."

The meeting adjourned, with the promise of there being a follow-up the next day.


FRIDAY, 1:15 PM - 2 DAYS LEFT

In the space of a day, a few members of the group had got cold feet about the venture, while others had mercifully joined.

"Right." Thomas slammed his phone on the coffee table harder than he intended, "I have a plan, whether you like it or not."

"Probably not." Gordon muttered to Nia, who remained respectfully silent.

Thomas didn't seem to hear. He picked up his phone, scrolling through his Notes app while his colleagues waited (almost) patiently.

"Aha! Right. Here's the plan: nice, simple buffet, simple decorations, but the centrepiece will be an epic cake. Like, I was thinking a life-size bust of him." Thomas gestured its theoretical size with his hands.

"Won't it be a bit easier to go with a Colin the Caterpillar?" Rebecca inquired. There were hums of agreement.

"Nah, not this time. It's his fiftieth! Think of how cool it'll look!"

Gordon massaged his temples before Thomas turned to him, "Gordon, you and Rebecca are on decoration duty."

Rebecca's ecstatic "Yay!" was offset by Gordon's less-than-enthusiastic grunt.

"Nia, you're on food."

"What sort of food?" Nia raised an eyebrow.

"Like..." Thomas looked around the room as he tried to seize the words he was looking for, "Like buffet foods. You know, cocktail sausages, pork pies, maybe a Chinese selection if we're feeling decadent."

"Uh huh." Nia nodded, "And you want me to pay for all of this?"

"Well, I was thinking we could all chip in a couple of quid..."

This was met with the predictable chorus of groans, but no one questioned it.

"Henry you're on drinks. Get some soft drinks but also maybe a little something special too - it is his fiftieth after all." Thomas continued, wiggling an eyebrow.

"I'm teetotal."

"I don't care, Henry." Thomas rather rudely replied, "Jedward, you're on cake duty."

"I'm sorry, who?" Edward asked, cocking his head.

Thomas rolled his eyes, "You and James. On cake duty. I don't have time to say both names."

"Jedward though? That's insulting." James spat.

"I rather liked their songs." Percy interjected.

"You would." James muttered mutinously, "Why do we have to be the ones to make the cake?"

"Because you have an art A Level, and Edward makes a great Victoria sponge." Thomas replied. Nobody argued with this logic - Edward's sponge cake was nice.

"Emily, Duck, you're on invitation duty."

"How many people are we thinking?" Emily inquired, quietly dreading working with notorious control freak Duck.

"Uhh, all the drivers, at least. Other staff too maybe." Thomas was getting impatient with all the questions, "And Percy and I shall be on music duty."

"Dear Lord." Henry muttered.

"Hey!" Thomas protested, "I'm the one organising this thing, give me a break."

"So you shall take the blame for when this inevitably fails." Gordon rose from his seat, preparing to head out for his next train.


SATURDAY, 12:05 PM - 1 DAY LEFT

This was it. Emily was going to strangle Duck. She was going to murder Duck and go to prison because Duck was not cooperating.

"Emily, are you even listening to me?" The short man snapped Emily out of her homicidal fantasy.

"Duck, I get what you're saying, but we can't invite every single person the Fat Controller has ever met."

It was Duck's turn to roll his eyes, "You've misinterpretated me!"

"Misinterpreted." Emily muttered mutinously.

"That's it, I'm writing you off the guest list!" Duck slammed his pen on the staffroom coffee table. A few other drivers looked over in mild interest.

"You can't do that!" Emily shot to her feet.

"Can."

"Can't! Montague, this is going to be some crappy staff gathering, not dinner at the Ritz! You can't expect other senior railway officials from the mainland to attend."

"Sir Robert Norramby already said he'd attend!"

"Norramby will attend anything with free drinks and nibbles!"

Duck didn't have a retort.

"Duck, no matter how much you want yourself or the railway to seem impressive, you have to remember this is being organised by Thomas."

Duck hummed in thought, a troubled frown upon his brow as the implications of Emily's statement finally sank in.

Finally, after a moment, he rose to his feet, "I supposed I'd better get rid of the invite I wrote to Prince Charles, then?"


"We can have this! And these! And- ooh, more glitter!"

Gordon ground his teeth audibly as he trailed behind a very enthusiastic Rebecca down the party aisle of the Knapford branch of Tesco.

"What do you think, Gordon? Yellow balloons or blue ones?" She turned round with a flick of blonde hair.

"I don't care."

"Hmm, I think I'll go with both." Rebecca tossed both packs of balloons into the trolley, which was being pushed by Gordon. The trolley's weight was gradually increasing, and Gordon was dreading how much the final cost would be. He needed to intervene.

"Rebecca, I think we've got more than enough. The party will probably only last about half an hour before everyone loses interest."

"Hmm, okay. One more pack of glitter though!"

"Rebecca, you're twenty-two years old, how much glitter do you need?"

The question went unanswered as Rebecca ground to a halt. Gordon almost lost control of the trolley with the sudden stop.

"Rebecca! What-"

"Wooow! Now THIS is what we need!"

Gordon followed Rebecca's eyeline, only to be met with a brightly-coloured piñata.

"Oh no."

"This'll be so fun!"

"Rebecca, have you met our colleagues? Unless you want your skull smashed in, I'd suggest avoiding this thing like the plague."

"Don't be so boring, Gordon! It'll be fun, I promise."

Gordon hoped to God she was right.


SUNDAY, 10:30 AM - 4.5 HOURS LEFT

"You know you have to heat half of that stuff up, right?"

Nia turned sharply towards Thomas, "What?"

"The food. Most of it isn't ready to eat."

Nia stared at Thomas like he was an alien before picking up the packet of tempura prawns, "Oh-"

"I'd suggest heading to the nearest person with an oven ASAP." Thomas looked marginally concerned, if only for his party's reputation.

"That's Edward, right? I'll head there straight away." Nia grabbed the bag of assorted foodstuffs and bolted out of the door.

The problem with this plan only occurred to Thomas about three minutes after Nia left, "Bugger."

Meanwhile, Nia had jogged the half a mile from Wellsworth station to Edward's modest maisonette. Banging on the door, she was met with a flustered-looking James, flour smudged over his forehead, "What do you want?"

He was quickly shoved to the side by Edward himself, who also had a liberal coating of flour over him, "Ignore James. Is everything ok, Nia? Come on in."

"I need your oven." Nia huffed as she entered the hallway, "The party food - it needs to be cooked."

"Well you're going nowhere near this oven! FOUR HOURS it's taken for us to get that thing in the oven and I am NOT risking you opening the oven and ruining it." James huffed. A smudge of creamed sugar on his forearm became visible as he crossed his arms.

"Unfortunately James is right, Nia. There's simply not enough room in my oven. How about Henry? He doesn't live too far from here."

"Ok. Thanks anyway Edward." Nia turned to leave, "And James? You've got flour on your forehead."

Nia didn't turn back to look as he furiously tried to remove the flour from his forehead, getting more of it over his face in the process.


Nia was panting as she arrived at Henry's house, having jogged the last half a mile. She had never been to this house before, only knowing the road name off the top of her head; it was the multitude of plants on the living room windowsill that gave this particular house away as Henry's.

"Nia?"

"Henry, I need your oven."

"Okay?"

At Henry's questioning look, Nia elaborated impatiently, "For the prawns. And other food that needs cooking before the party."

"Oh, right. Come on in." Henry beckoned the woman in, dodging yet more plants as he led her to the kitchen.

"I'll let you use the oven on one condition," Henry crossed his arms; Nia froze.

He then removed a glass bottle with a gaudy label from a paper bag, "Do you think this Prosecco will be okay for the party? I don't drink, you see - not after that incident back in '05 - and I was hardly going to spend my hard-earned cash on some expensive champagne."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Nia replied distractedly, eyes scanning the kitchen for a baking tray.

"It's from the corner shop down the road from the station," Henry continued, "I asked for their cheapest Prosecco, and he handed me this from behind the counter. Only cost me three quid. Bargain if you ask me."

"It'll be great, Henry. Now can I please get on with cooking the food? Thomas texted me five minutes ago to nag me."

"What have you got?" Henry inquired.

"Tempura prawns, pork pies, sausage rolls, those weird egg things-"

"Scotch eggs?"

"Yes, those. I've also got a variety of other nibbles, and a Chinese selection."

Henry sucked air through his teeth.

"What? What's wrong?" Asked Nia, concerned.

"You see, your selection of food may be problematic for this particular group. Emily is allergic to prawns, Percy vomits at the smell of egg, Edward won't touch Chinese food since an incident involving Bill and Ben spiking his takeaway..."

Henry began to count off various issues with the choice of food, and Nia felt herself sinking closer to the floor with each one.

"Henry. I'm not going back to the shops." She said finally, "They can like it or lump it."

"Suit yourself." Henry shrugged.

Nia gulped.


SUNDAY, 3:00 PM - 0 HOURS LEFT

The day had finally arrived.

Rebecca and Gordon had finished decorating (rendering the entire staffroom a gaudy, glittery house of fun), Thomas was fiddling with his iPod, and Nia was carefully laying the food out on platters.

Guests were slowly but surely trickling in, but a significant number were trickling out as soon as they caught sight of the 'festivities'.

The birthday boy himself was yet to arrive, however, and everyone was anxiously awaiting his appearance - that is, if he planned to appear in the first place.

Over the dulcet tones of the Backstreet Boys in the background - Thomas' choice, of course - Percy spoke to Edward,

"Is that a piñata?"

Edward scrutinised the colourful donkey hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room, "I believe so. Why?"

"Because I don't like the way James looked at me as soon as Gordon arrived with the sticks."

Meanwhile, James himself was busy readjusting the bin bag that was covering the cake he and Edward had spent the morning baking.

"What's with the bin bag?" BoCo asked over James' shoulder.

"So we don't spoil the surprise. I've spent more effort on this thing than I have on anything else before in my life. Do you know how long it took us to make it? Six hours. And how many attempts did it take for us to get it in my car? Seven. I'm looking forward to the looks of shock and admiration on your faces when it's finally revealed."

"Well, yes, but why a bin bag?"

"Only thing we had to cover it with." James shrugged, "It is a clean one, though."

Nearby, Bill and Ben wormed their way over to one corner of the room, "Do you think the Fat Controller will actually come?"

"I hope so, Bill. I want to see his face when it all goes wrong."

At that moment, the door opened to reveal the controller himself, closely followed by Sir Robert Norramby.

"What- oh!" Hatt eyed the hastily-edited banner that read 'BIRTHDAY GIRL CONTROLLER', and smiled, "A party for me?"

"Of course, Sir! Come on in, Henry's bought some champagne!" Thomas crowed.

Henry shuffled over to Thomas, "It's Prosecco. Do you think he'll notice?"

"Nah."

The cork was popped and drinks poured into cheap plastic cups.

"Cheers!"

The moment of silence that followed was punctuated by collective coughs and splutters as the assembled guests' bodies rejected the Prosecco.

"What the hell is this?" Diesel choked.

"Tastes like piss! Why is it warm?" James spluttered.

"It's warm because I accidentally left it next to the radiator, okay?!" Henry, the sole teetotaller in the room (and thus the only person not currently feeling sick), countered defensively, "And why would you know what piss tastes like?"

"What, uh, what year vintage is this?" Norramby inquired politely.

"Well the best before isn't until next year, so don't worry about that."

"No, I meant-"

"If you don't mind my asking, Henry," Mavis inquired quickly, "how much did this cost?"

"Three quid." Henry replied quietly.

"I'd rather have eaten that three pounds cash than have drank this." Oliver muttered to Rosie.

"ANYWAY." Thomas interjected, "Why don't we have some food? Nia has kindly provided some nibbles for us to enjoy."

Nia immediately sank into her seat.

Everyone tucked into the rather beige-coloured selection. All seemed well.

Until Emily started coming out in hives.

"Are there prawns in this?" She asked worriedly, gesturing to the spring roll in her hand.

"No, but there are some filo prawns over there," Nia pointed to the other end of the table, "and I may have accidentally cooked them on the same tray as everything else..." she finished quietly.

"Should we be concerned?" Asked Toby, the closest first aid trained guest.

"I'm not going to die, I'm just ungodly itchy." Emily squirmed in her seat, struggling to resist the urge to touch her face.

"What are these, chicken nuggets?" Percy asked Thomas, gesturing to the food closest to where he was was stood. He took a bite of a small, round, breaded item.

"Nah, scotch eggs I think."

Percy spluttered and drew a breath sharply, turning very pale. BoCo, who was stood closest to him, instinctively took a step back.

"You okay mate? You're looking a bit pale. I know you don't like egg-" Thomas began placatingly.

"I'm fine." Percy said a bit too quickly. Taking a sip of water he composed himself, and the rest of the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Disaster averted. Unlike last time." Rosie whispered to Stanley.

"Yeah, this is the first time he's held his nerve!"

Despite the odd allergic reaction and wave of nausea, the food went down rather well. Nia, after apologising profusely to Emily, was beginning to feel like it had been a job well done.

"What about some party games to pass the time? Is that a piñata?" Norramby, having nabbed the last sausage roll, looked like an excited child.

At the Fat Controller's mild look of concern, Gordon hastily added, "It was Rebecca's idea, Sir! She insisted we buy that ridiculous thing!"

"Well I dare say she made a wonderful choice!" Norramby rose to his feet and grabbed one of the piñata sticks.

Putting the blindfold on, he raised the stick like he was about to slay a mighty beast with a spear.

*Thump*

A single Milky Way fell from the piñata's abdomen.

The earl slinked away disappointed.

The assembled guests - or at least those with less common sense - all took turns hitting the colourful toy.

"Ooh, my turn!" Percy eagerly grabbed the stick.

His attempt was marginally more successful, garnering him a Snickers bar and a Mars bar.

However, he gulped when he realised who was next.

"Play nice." Edward whispered to James, who grabbed the piñata stick from Percy.

"Play nice? I'm lovely. Isn't that right, Perce?"

James punctuated this by jabbing Percy in the stomach with the stick.

"Right, Percy?" James asked again, concerned by Percy's increasingly pallid complexion.

Percy opened his mouth to reply, only to release a tide of black vomit directly onto James' shirt and the surrounding area.

"Why on God's green earth is his vomit black?" Gordon recoiled, seriously concerned that he'd walked onto the set of The Exorcist.

"He ate a tonne of liquorice bootlaces to take away the taste of egg." Thomas replied.

James, who had just about recovered from his shocked state, turned to the others like a hawk. Thomas swore he heard the Kill Bill music in the distance.

"Did you say bootlaces?"

"Now James, let's, erm, get you cleaned up." Edward, the hero of the hour, dragged his colleague out of the staffroom before things could kick off further.

The next fifteen minutes were spent painfully cleaning up sick and persuading the remaining guests not to bail - including the Fat Controller himself, according to some accounts.

Percy himself had recovered, and was slowly sipping from a cup of cold water. He almost choked, however, when he saw James re-enter the room.

Clad in an oversized Everton shirt, James' face was a picture of fury.

"I thought James was a Liverpool fan?" Thomas whispered to Edward.

"He is. The Everton shirt was the only thing we had in lost property that wasn't either a woman's shirt or a child's shirt."

"Let's just get this over with." James ground out, walking in the direction of the pièce de résistance: the cake.

Thomas, ever the attention hog, leapt forwards, "Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to the centrepiece of our little gathering. Sir Topham and his forebears have been the controllers of our humble railway for decades, and we wanted to give a little something back. Sir Topham, please meet...Sir Topham!"

With a flourish, James removed the bin bag, revealing the cake-bust of the controller. It was a masterpiece. James and Edward had managed to capture Hatt's likeness on an uncanny level, down to every single mole and freckle.

"I-I don't know what to say-" Hatt choked, a tear in his eye, "It's magnificent, it's-"

Then the table collapsed.

The cake, in all its glory, was just too heavy for the simple wooden table upon which it had been placed an hour before.

James fell to his knees with an anguished cry. Edward sunk into a chair.

"Oh." Came the Fat Controller's simple response.

The moment of silence was rudely interrupted by a knock at the staffroom door.

Oliver, who had been the closest to the door, ventured out to see who was about to walk in to the fray.

He returned exactly two minutes later,

"Right, who ordered the strippers?"

Fin