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Driving Lessons Chapter 26 - It's my Party and I'll cry if I want to
Arthur's house…
"Will you bloody move?" England shouted in the direction of the television. "I mean really?" he craned his head as he tried to see around the melee of Nations in his sitting room.
The Nations were all either in a state of drinking, dancing, shouting or singing. And all in various states of undress.
When they had returned to England's house - against England's protestations, they had had to spend a good part of four hours cleaning the cake goop from the windows and doors where the cake had oozed its way to freedom. Actually it was Germany and France who had done the cleaning. Italy had tried to help but then had broken one of England's vases. Austria had had a flashback to his time as an Empire with Italy as a maid in his house breaking his priceless antiques and had fainted.
The first thing England had done was to check on his beloved Bentley. He'd been in a bit of a state to be honest when he'd first seen the cake erupting from his house and was worrying about his car. As it happened, the car was fine. Just covered in chocolate gloop. He refused help in cleaning it. He certainly did not want any of the Nations' grubby hands touching it.
Hungary had "helped" France which seemed to involve delving into England's pantry and giggling about his out of date tins of preserves. Russia had attempted to fix the garden gate which had fallen off its hinges by the cake's progress onto the street, by attacking it with an axe. England did not think this had helped.
After the cleaning (Russia had replaced the crushed begonias with sunflowers that he cellotaped to the broken flowers), the Nations had begun drinking…
"Can you move away from the television, please?" England asked. "And turn the bloody music down?"
England was trying to catch up with his recordings of Coronation Street. He sat on his sofa, trying to ignore Italy sat one side of him telling him about the fact that he and Romano's restaurant was probably not financially viable. On the other side was Russia who seemed to be under the impression that Coronation Street was a documentary about contemporary British life.
Obscuring England's view of his television was America who was engaging in karaoke with France.
England did not think that the two songs went very well together and told them so, "I'm sorry but Brian Springsteen and Edith Piaf don't really go together, do they?"
It achieved the desired effect as America strode across to England's awful and ancient music system and switched it off. "Brian? It's not Brian!"
"Thank God…" England said as the music stopped.
"So all English streets have these coddles?" Russia asked, looking puzzled.
"Cobbles!" England yelled.
"Wut?" Russia growled, seeing this as a grave insult.
"I er don't mean you, old chap," England said, and made the mistake of clapping Russia on his shoulder, promptly hurting his hand.
"Don't touch me," Russia growled.
"Angleterre is a bad-tempered old man," France declared and swigged some wine.
"He is a degenerate," Germany said and then turned to Hungary who had been berating Austria about letting the CIA agents call him 'ma'am'. "Do you know France and England lured me here and then dropped a desk on my car?" Germany said.
"It doesn't surprise me," Hungary said.
"England also has your phone, Österreich," Germany said, hinting that England had actually stolen it.
"Really?" Austria turned round. "I wondered why I was getting no phone calls."
"That's because you lost it somewhere, you idiot," Hungary said.
"I didn't steal anybody's phone!" England said.
"Zere numbers are very similar," France said winking and sashaying around the room.
"Can you put Brian Springsteen back on?" Italy asked. "I like him. Do you think he will do a charity concert in aid of mine and my fratello's restaurant? Cafe Vargas was doing really well until…"
"…Until England here turned up." Germany finished for him. "I had a financial stake in that restaurant."
"Well that's your bloody fault isn't it?" England said, still trying to crane around France's dancing - which wasn't the most elegant as he still had a cast on one foot.
"Does anyone want a wee dram?" Scotland shouted from the kitchen.
"Get out of my kitchen!" England yelled.
"What is a weedram?" Russia asked England.
"He means whisky," England explained. "Oh for goodness sake! I can't see what's happening! Did they get married or what?"
"I think that someone just walked in and said that they can't get married and then somebody is now having a baby!" Russia said, his eyes wide as he watched the television.
"Yer cannae be serious about watching that rubbish!" Scotland yelled at them.
"Come and dance with me, Hamish," France said.
"Ach yer a strange gay laddie!" Scotland declared. Coming from a man still wearing a skirt (and not a kilt either) and still in a tea-lady's disguise, this remark was astounding.
"Do not bother zen," France said.
Hamish threw his tea-tray down (he'd been about to bring a tray full of teapots and teacups into the room) and joined France in a tango. "I didnae say I didnae want to dance, yer soft lad!" he said indignantly.
England tried to shoo them out of the way, "Did she have the baby, Russia?" he asked. "Did you see?"
"Da! But that man isn't the father and she wasn't the mother… or something like that. I'm confused."
"Can you two stop dancing?" England yelled.
"Then they said I couldn't have any more loans…" Italy was saying.
England had no idea how long Italy had been talking or about what.
"Who do you mean?" England asked.
"Nyet, I expect they wouldn't," Russia said. "They don't know what they are doing in their own lives. That man there…" (Russia pointed at the television) "… thinks that baby is his but I don't think it is. So I don't think he should give you any money. Besides I don't think he even has any money!"
"Who are you talking about?" England asked.
France, who was teaching Scotland to samba, was dipped backwards, his face uncomfortably close to England's lap, "I zink he zinks Coronation Street is real life and zat zay are refusing to give leetle Italy some money," France explained with a leer.
"I knew zat.. I mean that," England said, shoving France's head away.
"Where is your son, England?" Russia asked suddenly.
"I'm over here!" America yelled. "I'm trying to find some music in Arthur's CD case that was made this century."
"Not you, Amerika, I mean that smaller one, the one who made the cake."
"I made the bloody cake," England said, pressing the remote control and trying to find BBC2. Someone, probably France, had been 'buggering' around with this television. All he seemed to be able to get was France 24, a shopping channel and the History Channel. He very quickly clicked past this last one lest Russia or the others saw it and a re-enactment of the battle of Stalingrad would begin.
"He means Sealand. Sealand had to go back with Finland and Sweden. They didn't look too happy either. I think he's been grounded," America said. "I get his room now. But I still want a racecar bed."
"Racecar bed?" Russia's eyes widened. The wonders of Western Europe never ceased to amaze him. "You can get a bed that is a car?"
"Yeah man!"
"I bet you will not get custody of young Peter for a while," France said to England as he trotted past with Scotland, now doing a Highland Fling. England had no idea how the idiot could dance with a pot on his foot.
"Thank God," England muttered.
Just as England thought that the night couldn't get any worse. It did.
Russia took the remote control from him and switched over to the shopping channel. This elicited much 'oohs' and 'ahs' from him and Italy who both seemed amazed at the idea of a blender. Then Austria, after much urging from Hungary, began to play his violin. England tried to catch the eye of one of the CIA men to see if they would throw out the other Nations. But Gaston and Philippe or whoever they were, were closely watching America.
And then the door was flung open bringing it with it an ominous gale as if from a far-off land…
"Yo! Two man party pack coming through! Make way for the heroes!"
It was Denmark and Prussia.
Incredibly, both Gaston and Philippe saluted them and called them 'Sir'.
"But I'm the hero! I am, aren't I, Artie?" America protested.
"Not today you weren't!" Prussia said.
They were both dressed in white paper Hazmat suits.
"What happened to your clothes?" England asked.
"They were incinerated," Denmark said. He beamed as he said this as if this was something to be proud of.
"And where are my spoons?" England asked.
Prussia ignored him but shoved Austria out of the way, "Stop that violining, Specs, while I tell the tale."
"I want to tell the tale!" Denmark argued.
"Where's my horse?" Hungary asked, her arms crossed.
"In the kitchen!" Prussia nodded to the door.
Scotland dropped France and went to look. He popped back into the room and nodded at England, "He is!"
"She! The horse is a she!" Prussia said.
"There's a bloody horse in my kitchen? Are you having a bloody laugh?" England leapt to his feet and stormed into the kitchen.
There was a horse in his kitchen. It was munching on some Rich Tea biscuits. England wasn't sure if he was unhappy about the horse being in the kitchen or the idea of it eating his biscuits.
In the living room, Austria was threatening to hit Prussia with his violin. Denmark was trying to tell them how he and Prussia had saved the world and seemed amazed that they already knew the story.
"How come you lot saw us?" Denmark asked.
"You were on the television," England said with a sigh.
"No way! Are we famous now or what?" Denmark asked.
"We're going to get medals!" Prussia said.
"Bugger off," England said.
"S'true," Prussia said nodding.
"Outrageous!" Germany spluttered.
England had to agree with him. "You are right mein Herr," England said in his terrible German impersonation.
Germany glared at him. "You are on thin ice, England as it is. You still owe me lots of money for my car."
"We did not lure you here to deliberately drop a desk on your bloody car!" England yelled.
"Non, we did not! We lured you here to detrouser you!" France leered.
"No we didn't!" England yelled. "I didn't want to detrouser you!" he added.
Germany blushed scarlet.
Russia leaned across to England, "Can I use your telephone?"
"What? Why?"
"So we can buy this spaghetti maker," Russia pointed to the television.
"Who's the 'we'?" England asked.
"Italy and me," Russia said.
Italy was nodding, looking terrified.
England pointed to the phone.
"So these medals you're getting…" England said turning to Prussia who was about to fight Austria who had had the temerity to insinuate that Prussia and Denmark should not get medals for merely eating a cake.
"Ja! We're heroes!" Prussia said.
"Hold me back Liz before I thrash this scoundrel!" Austria said to Hungary.
"Oh cool it, Specs, I'll get back to you in a bit!" Prussia told him.
"Medals? Real medals?" England asked.
"Ja!"
"It'll be brilliant!" Denmark said and burped.
"Tell them it's not fair, Artie!" America whined.
"No, it's not fair, I quite agree!" England said. "Surely not… who's giving out these so-called medals to you two fools?"
"Her Maj!" Prussia said.
"Do yer mean Her Majesty the Queen?" Scotland said, stopping his dancing so abruptly that as he stopped moving, France carried on and fell over. Gaston helped France up calling him 'Sir' which made England's left eye twitch with annoyance.
"No, her Majesty the Queen of this Party Sucks!" Prussia yelled, swigging a beer. He was already very drunk. "I mean what is this? An embroidery club?"
"I don't bloody believe this," England said.
"Ja! Tomorrow we're going to some palace place and the Queen is going to give us a medal each," Denmark said. "Cos we are heroes." He said the word 'heroes' again whilst looking sideways at America.
Everyone just stared at them.
"I'm going home… Austria, Hungary, do you need a lift anywhere?" Germany announced.
"Take me with you!" Italy yelled, jumping into his arms.
"But we've just bought a spaghetti maker, a juicer and a hand-held whisk!" Russia told Italy.
Italy almost burst into tears.
"I'm investing in Italy's restaurant," Russia told England.
"Can you take Russia with you?" England asked Germany, quietly.
Whether Germany heard him or not is unsure, but he was already out of the door. Austria and Hungary followed. Italy was clinging to Germany's leg and whining piteously.
"I think I will get a good return," Russia said, smiling creepily.
England doubted that. But wasn't sure if Russia meant this in monetary terms or not.
"I'll leave Zsa Zsa here shall I? And pick her up tomorrow?" Hungary called to England.
England shouted back, "No!" but nobody heard him.
"Well I think it's time we cracked open the big boys' beer!" Scotland announced and pulled out some Irn Bru and began pouring it into his and Prussia's beer. It was just what England had feared.
"Can I try some of that as well?" Russia asked.
Irn Bru mixed with vodka was, England thought, not a good combination. But to be honest, he passed out soon after his second glass and so his memory from then on was hazy to say the least.
He was only vaguely aware of someone dragging him by his feet up the stairs (so his head bumped on each step) and throwing him onto his bed.
There was some 'kesese-ing' outside on the driveway about sleeping in a Bentley. England was too incapacitated to do anything. The words 'Bentley' and 'Den' rattled in his brain but seemed far away.
And somebody, England had no idea who, had pulled off his shoes, laughed at his Union Jack socks, took off his jacket and then his trousers. England wasn't to know that the tattoos Belarus had covered him with saved him from a horrible fate as his 'debriefer' backed away quickly as if scalded.
To be continued…