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Driving Lessons Chapter 49 Tears of a Clown
"Did you miss me?" Came a syrupy sweet voice.
"Oh no…" England let go of hugging France. He would normally never ever hug France but of course he'd thought that he'd somehow summoned up some horrendous demon from hell and… oh yes, he had.
"Oh mon cher! You do love me!" France purred.
"No I bloody don't!"
"Enough of this stupidity!" Belarus said imperiously. She stepped forward. "Where is my brother?"
Pru, who had jumped into Den's arms when he thought it was the end of the world, jumped down and straightened his jacket. "Oh man! It's bloody Princess Crazy!"
Den muttered to him, "Shush she can hear you…"
Belarus glared at them. Her black cloak swirled around her. Knives glinted at her waist. She was also carrying a red balloon. England thought a demon from hell would have been far less intimidating.
"Where is my brother?" Belarus repeated.
"Hello dear," England said hesitatingly. Was he still married to her? He couldn't remember if the marriage was even legal or not. He hoped not.
Belarus glared at him, "I told you to find my brother," she said.
"Yes I know…"
"What have you been doing?" She asked. She looked around, her eyes skimming over France stood in a poncho wearing pink lurex shorts, America sat on the floor with a great furry tail, Pru and Den (who she particularly snarled at), looking at her with glazed eyes.
"He's been buying me sunglasses," France replied.
England nudged him, hoping he'd shut up.
"And we escaped from a nutty polar bear," America piped up, standing up. "With Artie's magic."
"Is that why you have a tail?" Belarus observed.
"What?" America leapt round and round - like a dog chasing his tail - as he tried to catch his tail.
"Right…" England said. "Well we know your brother is here." (They didn't) "So we'll leave you to that. Bye then!" He said and began to edge away.
"Run for it, England," Prussia said to him and before England could say anything, the Prussian had whistled for Mr Ping and he and and Den were off. "See yer later, losers!" He shouted down at them as they soared over the zoo on the back of the dragon.
"Bloody hell…"
"So where is he?" Belarus asked, twirling a knife in her hand.
"He went in the Sock Shop and tried on all the socks," America told her, still chasing his tail.
Belarus pointed a knife at the American, "He does things like that. Who are you to judge?"
America stopped and shrugged. Indeed, there was nothing to say to that.
"Anyway, why are you looking for him here?" She added.
"That's a very good question, dear," England said.
"Don't call me that."
"I rang Lithuania and he said…" England began.
"He's an idiot." Belarus said.
"He didn't say that," America piped up.
She ignored him.
"He said that Russia, your brother, likes zoos," England explained.
"I know that," Belarus said.
"Well then." England said and began backing away.
"Ze person you need to speak to is Monsieur Kumajiro, Mademoiselle Belarus. Ee is evil, mon cher."
"Really? Why?"
England decided to leave it to the pink lurex-attired Frenchman to explain and while Belarus was listening to France's explanation which seemed to be one long drug-addled diatribe, England crept away.
"I was a hero!" France told Belarus, who arched an eyebrow. "And in ze cell avec Angleterre… ah mon cher… ze Tower of London. Who would have thought it would be so romantic…" (France forgot to mention that England had almost throttled him) "Ze silly American turned up avec ze silly Beefeater costume. And my beautiful friends Gilbert and Matthias…" (Belarus shuddered. She didn't like either Pru or Den.) "They were also zere. And zen ze polar bear. You have no idea how evil he is… He is behind it all… But I saved Angleterre… I zink. I cannot remember…" France trailed off, his eyes glazed over. "Ah oui, I woke up to find myself in a locked car avec some very large men in suits…" France smiled. He then went on to tell anyone who was listening (a large crowd actually) about the 'party' he had held in the back of Mr Kumajiro's motor vehicle with Mr K's bodyguards. Some people hurried away, their hands over their children's ears.
"Dad England, what yer doing?" Sealand asked, running after England.
"Trying to save the world!" England replied.
"What did yer do to Jerk America?"
"I…er… it was my wand…"
"God, you're a rubbish dad."
"It wasn't my fault! At least he's not purple like last time."
"What did yer do to Russia?"
"Nothing! I didn't do anything to Russia!" England skidded to a stop and turned to face his son. "And why aren't you at school?"
"School trip," Sealand explained. Again. Far too glibly. "Then why is he in the bear enclosure?"
England's eyes went wide. "What?!"
"Bear enclosure. He's in the bear enclosure. With a pair of brown bears."
"What's he doing there?"
"A crossword, the last time I looked."
England stared at him and then hurried on. He grabbed a passing man, not really looking at the person, "Excuse me, where's the bear enclosure?"
The man was dressed as a clown, "Down there… but do you happen to know where…?" But England screamed and ran off.
"Dad is scared of clowns," Sealand explained to the man.
"I only wanted to know where the Alabama gay rodeo riders had gone. I wanted to join them." The clown said sadly.
"Oh mon dieu!" France said, sauntering around the corner as if he had all the time in the world and the world wasn't about the end. As if Belarus wasn't charging around the zoo looking to fillet someone. As if America wasn't having an existential crisis about his tail. As if there wasn't a clown looking to join a gay rodeo riders club.
"I apologise. Mon ami is afraid of clowns," France said smoothly, putting his arm around the clown's shoulders. Plastic orange hair and make-up notwithstanding, the man was good-looking, France thought.
"Ew…" Sealand said and hurried after England. Not to help him. Just to troll him.
"He does not understand love such as ours," France said to the clown, who edged away.
The Hungarian Embassy...
"You have no idea what you're doing! You'll pay for this!" Mr Kumajiro shouted as he was bundled up and handcuffed. He reserved most of his ire for Poland. "You are a monster!" he shouted at the Pole. "Those men were the elite of the elite. I recruited them from the SAS, from Navy Seals and look what you've done to them!" Mr Kumajiro was right. His guards were comparing false nails and Pol had 'helped them with their contouring'.
"Did you have England's allotment key, honey?" Poland asked Hungary in a bored manner as a combination of the Hungarian Embassy security staff and the London Metropolitan Police loaded Mr K into the police car.
"No, do you?"
"I wonder what's under there? And why do they need the key? Wasn't Prussia and Denmark living there?"
Hungary nodded. She was getting on her fighting gear. Cargo trousers, leather jacket, crossbow slung over her shoulder, boots on, she grinned at Poland, "Time to kick ass," she said.
Poland nodded. "Let's go, honey and see what's going on…"
They had no idea whose ass they were going to kick but that didn't matter.
They were saluted as they left the Embassy, "Ma'am, Sir," the police nodded to them. (Which one was Sir and which was Ma'am is unclear.)
Back at the zoo...
America was, in his words, 'Fred Flinstoning outta there'. He would say later that he was leading Belarus away from England. But as it happened, he wasn't. It was just coincidence that Belarus chased him as he ran, with his tail in his hand (he'd finally caught it) away from France and the scary clown. (Not that America was afraid of clowns.)
"Where is my brother?" Belarus yelled. A knife went whizzing past America's head.
"I don't know! Do you know how I can get rid of this tail?" America shouted behind him and ducked again as a knife lodged into the wall behind him.
A few hundred yards away…
"Where's the bear enclosure?" England asked a zoo employee, who was not dressed as a clown.
"Just past the tiger enclosure," the man said.
"Where's the tiger enclosure? England asked, grabbing the man by the collar.
"Down there… where's our zoo clown? And.. are you anything to do with the knife assailant on the premises?"
"Nope, not all," England replied.
"Yes, he is, it's all his fault," Sealand said, running up. "He's useless. I would arrest him."
"Shut up, Peter!" England ran on. "Tiger enclosure… bear enclosure… is that polar bear or… ". Here England stopped and had a sudden revelation. "Polar bear?"
"Mr Kumajiro I expect," Sealand said, catching up with England. "God, you're so useless."
England frowned. The boy seemed to know an awful lot. "You had something to do with this!" England turned on him. "You're in on all this. Does Mr Kumajiro have a headquarters here as well?"
"I don't know anything." Sealand said. "I was just selling balloons."
England had another thought - something someone had said about Russia. "Russia is afraid of balloons! You're here to keep an eye on him! You're his jailer!"
"No way!" Sealand glared at him. "I'm no jailer…Anyway Mr Kumajiro said if I was to stand around with some balloons he'd give me Ellesemere Island."
"He can't do that! This is all about land isn't it? He's doing all this to start a nuclear war which leads to a nuclear winter and global cooling just to make everything like the bloody Arctic!"
"I dunno about that, Dad."
"You greedy little so and so. You don't bloody care, do you? Land land land, that's all you want."
"Land is good, Dad. It's alright for you lot. But I don't have any. You try living on a rusty fort in the middle of the North Sea."
England winced at this. He still felt a little guilty about that. "Well, we'd better go find Russia and see if we can sort out all this."
Deep in the nuclear bunker at Buckingham Palace, an entity underneath a filthy tartan blanket stirred. Surrounded by empty Scotch bottles and cans of Irn Bru, Hamish, England's older brother (by a few centuries the Scot would proudly say - whether this was true nobody knows), the Nation formerly known as Alba (or Kingdom of the Picts as he often told people) groaned.
"Whut's goin' on?" he said, his ginger hair sticking up as if he'd been electrocuted. "King Malcolm?" he asked, looking round. "That wuz some party last night."
But King Malcolm had gone. Which was one good thing. There was an empty tea trolley, a plate with broken bourbon cream biscuits (England would be horrified). The only sign of life was a fuzzy TV screen with a gabbling Spaniard shouting into the void.
"Oh aye! Tony! How are ye?" Scotland said, staring with red-rimmed eyes at the Spaniard.
"How am I? Como estoy? You are asking me this? You declared war on me!" Spain broke into a long diatribe in Spanish.
"Woah there, boy," Scotland said, holding up a hand. He had the most ginormous hangover.
Spain stopped and winced. "I am probably older than you! You call me a boy!" He looked absolutely appalled. As well he might. "Gibraltar is very anxious. He is caught between us. Where is Arthur?"
"Yer mean Arthur Kirkland?"
"Si, of course I mean Arthur Kirkland."
"Yer mean my brother Arthur?"
"Si of course…" Spain rubbed his dark hair, he was also holding an uneaten tomato. Behind him, the Spanish Prime Minister was looking anxious. He said something about the 'Armada' which did not go unnoticed by Scotland.
"Oh aye! Armada. Do ye think that Arthur would be more lenient to ye than me?" He said. "Don't forget it wasn't me who was the pirate."
"Arthur did not declare war on me!" Spain yelled back at Scotland.
"Aye well, I'm a bit sorry about that. But yer've got to admit, things can be confusing."
"Que?"
"What?"
"What are you talking about? Do you want peace?"
"A piece of what?"
Suddenly the door burst open and a variety of people fell in through the doorway.
"Honestly sweeties, get off me! I know I'm irresistible but you don't have to paw me!" It was Poland, with around six security men piled on top of him.
Hungary jumped over them and aimed her crossbow at Scotland. "What have you done, Scotland?"
"Do ye know? I don't rightly know." He admitted, blinking at the cold harsh light flooding through the doorway.
There was a banging on the floor above.
"Somebody needs to stop shouting - we're keeping Her Majesty the Queen from watching the football," one of the security men said.
"Did you or did you not declare war on Tony here?" Hungary said, the point of an arrow resting on Scotland's chest.
"I can't remember," Scotland said and then added after seeing their disbelieving faces, "You don't understand. You've never mixed Irn Bru and whisky!"
"We're getting nowhere. We need to sort out President Putin (who totally needs a makeover) declaring war on everyone if that big fashion-restricted loon Braginski doesn't turn up." Poland said with his hands on his hips.
"Erm Ma'am?" One of the security men addressed Poland. "Who are you?"
"Did you hear that, Liz? Who am I indeed?"
"I know Pol." Hungary said. She turned to the security man, "We're here to sort things out. Check your Scotland Yard and Special Branch! We apprehended the most notorious master criminal!" Hungary said - most disgruntled.
"Yer mean Italy? Because that last pizza I had from him was criminal. Hardly any haggis on it." Scotland said, proving again how utterly mad he was.
"Who has haggis on a pizza?" Poland asked.
"I do. And I wanted to make it a law. I made young Italy cry."
"We're getting nowhere Pol," Hungary said.
No-one seemed to take any notice of Spain or his prime minister. "So are we okay now and we're not going to get bombed?" Spain asked.
"Yes, yes" Hungary said. As if she were in charge. "I'll inform England's prime minister it's all sorted," Hungary said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"I'll come with you honey, Prime Minister May really needs her roots doing," Poland said.
Spain looked so happy he burst into tears (probably not about the English prime minister's roots), hugged his bewildered looking prime minister and then declared he was going to make a huge plate of paella to celebrate.
But nobody was listening, someone had switched off the screen.
Back at the zoo, England was thankfully oblivious to all the madness going on without him - the possibility of his boss getting a hairdo by Poland or the Queen's viewing pleasure being disturbed by the combined noise of Poland, Hungary and his brother - England had finally found the bear enclosure.
"Excuse me," he asked a zookeeper (who was not dressed as a clown), "Could I possibly have a word with one of your bears? It won't take a moment."
"What?"
"I'm not trying to sell anything," England said quickly.
The man stared at him, "Are you anything to do with us having to call the Police?" The man asked, his walkie-talkie buzzing angrily.
"No no no… not at all. Nothing to do with me. Or him," England nodded at Sealand. "We don't know anything."
"Shut up, Dad." Sealand said. "Hey look! It's Russia. I mean er…" Sealand hurriedly covered up his error as he looked at the human, "Er I mean it's Ivan! Hey Ivan Braginski!" He shouted.
The large 'bear' swinging in the hammock promptly fell out of said hammock, dropping its newspaper and bag of nuts.
"Where did you get erm.." Here England read the notice, "… Vanya from?"
"He arrived from Russia this morning," the zookeeper said.
"Don't tell me he arrived at Heathrow Airport?"
"How did you know? He was in Animal Control for some reason for a while and brought here. He's a very rare bear as far as I know."
But the 'rare bear' had shambled off into the 'bear house', its fellow occupants still huddled in a corner shivering.
"Where's he gone? Ivan!" England yelled.
"He likes his newspaper," the zookeeper explained.
"Are you all insane, man? That's no bear! It's a person! He's a friend… well maybe not a friend… he's a…" England tried to think.
"Person of interest," Sealand concluded for him.
Belarus suddenly seemed to appear from nowhere, "Have you found him? Vanya? Brother?"
"Hello dear," England said lamely.
She punched him hard.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"Honeymoon over then, Dad?" Sealand scoffed. He was clearly enjoying this.
Belarus dug out her phone. "He's in there, isn't he? I can smell him."
"Yes well… it does smell a bit." England said, nursing his bloodied nose.
Belarus would have punched him again but she was busy punching numbers into her mobile phone.
"Who are you ringing?" England asked, holding a handkerchief (monogrammed with AK) to his nose.
She ignored him.
Tinny music could be heard issuing from the bear enclosure.
"That's erm…. 1812 Overture?" England ventured.
"Don't be daft, Dad. It's Sleeping Beauty, I know my classical music I do. It's Tchaikovsky." Sealand said confidently.
"Stop being clever, Sealand."
"Prokofiev," Belarus answered them, her phone to her ear.
"I say! There's no need to be bloody rude," England replied.
"It's a composer. How ignorant are you? Did you go to school?" Sealand said.
"She bent my tail!" America wailed as he approached.
"Shut up, America. We found Russia." England said.
"I don't like my tail and I blame you and your rubbish magic. But look at it!" America held up his tail - which did indeed have a kink in it.
"All of you - shush! I'm hunting bears… I mean brothers…" Belarus said, putting a finger to her lips.
"Well I think it's time we were leaving. Give my love to Putin. I'm assuming that now you've found your brother, there'll be no bombs raining down on us?" England asked, about to slope off. He'd noticed a rather good cafe at the entrance and he was absolutely gagging for a cup of tea.
"You did not help me find my brother! I did it. You just happened to be there," Belarus pointed out.
"Yes well that's a bit by the by isn't it?" England said.
"Look at it! It's got a kink in it!" America was still lamenting his tail.
Belarus was busy talking on the phone and turned on them, "Shut up all of you! He says he's not coming out until…" she pointed at Sealand, "You get rid of all the balloons."
"Just tell bloody President Putin to halt the bloody bombing and I can go and get a cup of tea." England said.
"Of course there won't be any bombing. Are you stupid?" Belarus snapped.
"Yes he is." Sealand said. He looked disappointed.
"So he's not going to bomb us?" England asked.
"Who?"
"Putin!"
"Nyet, of course not. He's too busy on Twitter," Belarus replied.
"Twitter? What's twitter?" England looked confused.
Belarus shook her head, "Those twitterbots aren't going to spread fake news on their own you know."
"I knew it!" America yelled, punching the air.
"So there was never going to be war?" Sealand looked very disappointed.
Belarus shook her head, "Oh brother!" She called sweetly.
"Brother is not here!" A voice from the bear enclosure called back.
"Da he is. That was you!"
"Nyet, it was the bear…" the voice answered.
England, Sealand and America slunk away from this rather mad turn of events. This slinking turned into a run when they saw the police approaching.
Later..
"What is Twitter?" England asked, looking morosely at his tea cup.
They were sat in the zoo teashop.
"Can you fix my tail or at least magic it away?" America asked.
"This is so lame," Sealand said, looking from one to the other.
France came in with a worried-looking clown.
England resisted the urge to get up and run screaming from the place but realised that this clown was looking more scared than he felt.
"So all is well that ends well, non?" France said, winking.
"Where have you bloody been?" England asked, edging away from the clown.
"Aah set eez amor, non? Since zere is now no war, merci to me…" (it wasn't) "…zen Fabian here is going to continue my driving lessons as you have proven yourself to be such a terrible driving instructor." (He was right.)
"My name's Brian," the clown sadly told England.
'What's Twitter?" England asked the clown.
France flounced out pulling Fabian/Brian with him. "Come Fabian!"
Someone's phone buzzed. It was England's playing a tinny version of the Coronation Street theme tune. Past the window, a large Russian was being chased by a small blond woman in a blue dress, in turn chased by police and zookeepers.
Unfortunately for England and his cup of tea, it was not a simple telephone call. To his consternation it was a video call. He was startled when he saw Hungary's face on the screen, with Poland beside her. Both were glaring at him.
"What do you want?" He asked. He then squinted at their surroundings. "Why are you in my shed?"
"We want to know how you're going to diffuse this fruit cake of yours," Hungary said.
The phone's camera panned to a hole in the centre of the allotment shed floor where an ominous-looking Quality Street tin lay open. Inside lay the most devastating weapon known to mankind - England's home-made Christmas cake. There was a clock on it ticking.