Relax

Rimmer exhaled sharply when the surprisingly bony elbow belonging to his chubby compadre jabbed into his chest as the crowded and long, round-ended shuttle lurched forward out of its launch pod and shot across the inky sky towards Io. Lister moved his arm as best he could but soon found that if he moved it too far forward, he was in danger of losing his hand between the folds and rolls of a large woman in front of him. Rimmer felt a hand rummaging about near his thigh and considered this to be a lucky day until he felt a large Casio diver's watch brush up against his rear and realised that this culprit was most likely a man. He shuffled forward for safety, reluctantly pressing closer to Lister. And so, at quarter to twelve or to be more exact - 11:45am, the shuttle slid into its port, giving a couple of teenagers watching a few chuckles over the innuendo involved in such a creation. The joke didn't escape Listers mind either, but he felt compelled to act slightly more grown-up around Rimmer in case he changed his mind and took the return ticket with him. "Now Lister," Rimmer began his brief lesson in the 411 of Rimmer World, "my father has had a couple of strokes the past year or so, so he'll appear a little deranged and nonsensical."

"How many strokes have you had?"

"Shut up. My mother is a very prim and proud woman, so DON'T - and I insist on repeating myself - DON'T make a total twat of yourself. I also have three brothers - I'm the youngest. They won't suffer fools either so behave yourself if you can."

"Can I do anythin' at all?"

"No, not really." Rimmer was beginning to worry. He wanted Lister to make him look good but, as he watched Lister remove some wax from his ear canal with a twig he found on the ground, he feared that Lister would show him up entirely. "How could you bring that into our home!" his mother would shriek. "Is that the only friend you could get?" his brothers would scoff. "Where's my Nao figurine of a lion's phallus?" his father would yell before swilling down a bottle of rum to curb his growing dementia. Rimmer was pitiful. Perhaps he should have lent Lister some clothes. He had made a slight effort with his black camouflage trousers and Doc Martin boots with various scuffs and holes. And his t-shirt had only three curry stains and one small hole under the armpit, which Lister was making bigger by the second as he plucked loose threads from it. "It looks untidy if you let them hang there!" he explained when Rimmer gave him another withering glance as they approached his house. Lister whistled through his teeth in admiration., "Swanky! I'd never have guessed you live here. D'ya have a butler called Jeeves and a pony called Merrylegs?"

"Smeg off. Just keep quiet and let me do the talking."

"It's just your parents. We're not infiltrating the Mafia, numb-nuts."

"You've no idea," Rimmer sighed and buzzed himself in. Lister looked around at the huge, beautiful, exotic plants which climbed up the sides of the glass dome and descended again at the middle as they drooped with their own weight. "What's that?" said Lister and pointed to a large tree with a rope hanging from one large branch. "Did you and your brothers make a rope swing?"

"No, they used to play 'Hangman' with me. Without pencils or paper." Lister said nothing but made a mental note to refrain any offers to play 'Monopoly' or 'Cluedo'. Rimmer walked straight through the front door and stood to attention in the hall and waited patiently for something. Lister sauntered past and wandered around the hallway. Large stairs went from the left side and wound round again towards the second floor and two doors on either side of the hall before the stairs led on to what appeared to be a lounge and a dining room. further down the hall was the kitchen, a lavatory and a closet for coats and things. Lister whistled again and Rimmer glared at him. "Anthony?" A thin yet pot-bellied, shaking man wheeled out of the lounge in a shoddy wheelchair and rolled to a stop next to Rimmer. "I thought I smelled cheap, ship-issued cologne. What do you want?"

"Sir. I'm here in reply to mother's letter, sir." Rimmer saluted.

"Well at least you're punctual, Andrew. Have you..." he sniffed, "have you eaten an Indian-style cuisine of some kind recently?"

Lister grinned and said, "That'd be me." Mr Rimmer stared at him. "What on Io is that?"

"A friend, sir."

"Well get rid of it, before the meerkats smell it. They can smell a lamb vindaloo from 100 paces." And with that he rolled off into the dining room. Rimmer motioned Lister to come closer and explained quietly that Mr Rimmer thought the Taliban had sent specially trained ninja meerkats to spy on him. "He wasn't even alive during the Third World War! And he doesn't get anyone's name right, not even my mother's." They jumped as there came a sudden smashing of glass against plaster and a rattled, but still kempt lady scuttled out of the dining room and briskly closed the doors before smoothing down her floral-patterned dress. "Ah Arnold, had to be you. John never upsets your father as much as you do when he arrives."

"He's not here yet?"

"No, not just yet. Erm..." she paused as her eyes finally travelled from Rimmer to Lister. "And this is...?" Lister rubbed his greasy hand on his shirt and held it out for a shake. Mrs Rimmer took it warily and grimaced. "Enshantie, Mrs Rimmer. Rimmer's told me nothin' about you so your rep' is totally unsoiled. Things can only go downhill from here." She laughed uncertainly and rescued her hand as quickly as she could. "This is David Lister, mother. He lives with me on the ship."

"Oh," said his mother.

"Yeah we really hit it off, didn't we Arn ? Best bloke in the world this, and I've been to more than one world I can tell yer," Lister chortled and punched Rimmer's arm.

"Alright, alright," Rimmer hissed into his ear, "don't sugar-coat it."

"Sugar-coat?" Lister whispered back. "Man, I'm going to caramelise you if it gets me free alcohol."

"FREE!" Rimmer spluttered and smiled nervously at his mother who was eying their whisperings with guarded intrigue. Suddenly she made a face like a scientist who had just found a solid link which proved that increasing chocolate and beer intake made subjects less susceptible to cancer of all types, and that the answer had been written upon his tie the entire duration of his career. She smiled at Lister and immediately invited him to stay for lunch. Lister couldn't refuse an offer like that.

Lister ducked as Frank's arm shot out a third time to whack John over the head. "Bring up Sophie McIndoe one more time and I'll have you!" Across from Lister, Rimmer shrugged his shoulders at him in a small display of shame. Lister didn't care. It was fantastic for him to see a real family at a real family dinner, squabbles and all. It was odd, looking at Rimmer's brothers. They were obviously all related to him and yet they were, to be frank, incredibly good-looking. John was the eldest and most easy-going. His long hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, though it was making a valiant effort to wrench itself free. Lister took a shine to him right away. Frank was the second brother and he was glowing with new-love. His hair was regimented and short and his blue eyes had a way of misting over now and again. It was obvious that he was thinking of his wife at these times. Lastly was Howard. Quieter than the other two and with average wavy hair: but this in no way diminished his features. If anything, Lister would have said he was the most handsome, if he was ever the judge of such things.

Rimmer looked like them, and yet didn't. His hair was mousy and curled. His eyes were murky. He shared a nose with them, but their nostrils were perfectly normal. Rimmer's could have swallowed the population of China. When they smiled, they smiled. When Rimmer smiled, it was a pained expression as if he'd sat on a sharpened pine cone. The three brothers oozed confidence; the fourth oozed cowardice. Lister secretly wondered if Mrs Rimmer had been taking something during her last pregnancy.

His attention was brought back to the table by Frank's booming voice. Presently, John had made it his mission that evening to talk about the first (of many) women that Frank had proposed to before settling down with Janine. Frank had stupidly mentioned that his wife had thrown a wobbly earlier that day when she discovered that he still kept his little black book. "And who doesn't?" he protested loudly. "Dad, you still have yours, right?"

"Well?" said Mrs Rimmer sternly. Mr Rimmer placed his fork neatly next to his plate. "Now Frederick, you know I would never keep a little black book."

"Good," said Mrs Rimmer.

"Mine's blue." He cackled loudly and shrunk in his wheelchair slightly as Mrs Rimmer's eyes narrowed. Lister choked on his mouthful of salad (with madras sauce) with laughter. "Arnold, clean your father's beard for him. He has food in it."

"He still has one arm working, mother," Rimmer sulked.

"I need it to hold my wine, you ungrateful little starfish." Howard did it instead, leaving Rimmer looking even more of a tool than he already did. "Ignore dad," said Howard. "He's been getting even stranger lately."

"I know," said Frank. "I mean - red wine with salad? Pottier than a snooker player he is now." Mr Rimmer didn't seem to hear them as he ran his tongue around his glass, lapping up the leftover wine. He realised there was still half a bottle left on the table and stole it with remarkable swiftness. Before Mrs Rimmer could protest he had already wrapped his cracked, slobbering lips over the rim. "Well, there goes the Bordeaux."

"S'alright, Mrs Rim. Me an' Rimmer are going to a few bars later anyway."

"Oh?" said Mrs Rimmer. "What kind of bars?"

"Anywhere that'll let us in."

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that, David. They're quite tolerant around here." Lister wasn't sure what she meant by that, but smiled anyway. "Actually, Lister, I was planning on getting an early night. You can drink tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh c'mon, I won't disturb any of yer when I come in. Just show me where I'm sleepin' an' I'll be fine. Just lock your wardrobes in case I need a late night slash." Rimmer wrinkled his nose. "I'm not having it, Lister. You'll go out, get completely sozzled and grab the first person you see for a quickie in the loos and drag them back here for a slightly longer quickie." The table fell silent apart from the bubbling sucking coming from Mr Rimmer and his wine bottle. Howard picked at a radish on his almost bare plate. "Sorry," said Rimmer. "I just think that you should pace yourself. You won't be young forever."

"I know, and I'll be good. I'm not a total drunkard. Well, not unless I have the money. 'Sides, I have all day tomorrow to get really drunk."

"You could stay the whole weekend. We'd like to get to know you better, David. It's the first time Arnold has brought someone home to meet us." There it was again. That strange tone of voice and phrasing of words that Lister was suddenly wary of. "Well I don't know about Howie, but I was going to bring someone mum, but I was worried that if I took Beth then her flatmate would tell Sharon that I had taken her instead of her and if I took Sharon then Beth would have flipped and gone out with Mark from catering just to spite me."

"And Janine and I had a fight, as you know," said Frank, giving John a whack across the head before he could mention Sophie McIndoe.

"Well I'm glad one of you brought someone. We were becoming rather worried about you, Arnold. We thought you'd never find someone nice." More strange words and phrases that made Lister's, and now Rimmer's, blood run cold. "How do you mean?"

"Well he's never had a girlfriend before, or shown any real interest in getting one since he was 15. We're not stupid. It was only a matter of time before he came out." Rimmer's fork dropped to the floor as he fell backwards in his chair and slammed against the floor making strangled squealing sounds as he desperately tried to cough up a portion of chicken which had gone down the wrong tube. Lister simply stared at Mr Rimmer, who had finished his wine and was currently trying to make a ship in a bottle using sliced cucumber as lifeboats and celery for masts.