Acknowledgements: thank you to the following for reviews/favourites/alerts/ PMs: nenepasta, Spaceland, kamilix, Fryingpangirl, Tonhalszendvics, Dalek-caan19, Bluesky1201, Stormshadow3, XxCrispixX, CheesecakeKitty15, SassyPantsJaxon, EllaAwkward, RosesforEveryone, SansSoucis, Kattie (Guest), Ivyflight, Taranodongirl1, Liquers, Pheonixlegend, ES1776, tsundere-cat-type, Kenzeira, Hinabi, Probablysomebody, Junior Chief, TelosKoritsi13, RebelsAdvocate,, Monskuuti, Zeawesomepasta, Woody569Gamecraft, datteroflucifer, rowerlovesastronomy, browsofglory, imiregretsnothing, icococandy, GalaxyGirlEm, gnomiegnome, itsalwaysbeme, Sarite, weirdonamedbrie, the Oracle of Akemi, CriticalThinking, RebelsAdvocate, eleanoralovesananias, TheMoonRaven, RoseRune, aphDadmark, Still a Lover of Franchises, Deciduous Forest 208, Yu-Gi-Oh Trekkie 99, RaptureChamber, StealthSage, yukia9tendo, Mondmaedchen, Bayboo20, England 2410, mossflower1234, ChildoftheMoon86, Gwen-Van-Well, The Silent Lilac, Supergrassaysyaaasss, Azmine Junet, febrezedtrash, magondala, BrownieTheFangirl, ppurpple, mssunnymuffins, espeon64, oh-cripe-my-fish, Renchikara, LucediDio,mirrorkirby64, quity190, Kathryn Daughter of Hestia, Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary, spooky ghost flower, nightowlof2, Mondmaedchen, Siemsen, gintama200, phyllite, ravengal, not-philosophical, magicflyingmintbunnies, AllHellBrokeLoose666, GoneInASecond, Shikyoblossom20, theworldofhetalia, Acvodadkawall, skywolf2001
Driving Lessons Chapter 51 The Passenger
"If only zis car had a fold-down roof, non?" France asked the clown sat next to him.
The clown disagreed. It was raining hard. Although that wasn't really their biggest problem, their biggest problem was the fact that they were heading onto a cross-channel ferry, sandwiched between two huge articulated lorries.
"I don't think we should be here," Brian/Fabian told France. They were in the lorry lane.
"Of course we should, mon cher," France said, stroking the man's red wig. France had still not sobered up. "We are on our way to gay Paris! Ze city of lights, love and…" here France tried to think of another word beginning with 'L'.
"Lunacy," the clown said.
"Non, you are so silly!" France giggled and slapped the clown ineffectually. "L'amor." He said finally.
"Isn't that the same as love?"
"Ah an Englishman who appreciates ze language of lurve!"
"Not really. Are you going to let me go soon?"
France looked at him. He had stopped the car and they were parked between two lorries either side of them and two lorries in front and behind. They were veritably sandwiched in. "Hmmm…" France said as he tried to open his drivers door. "I zink we are going to have to stay here until we reach ze coast of le France!"
"Oh no."
"But eet eez so cosy, non?"
The clown was already trying to ring someone for help.
France, oblivious, was waving coquettishly at the lorry driver next to them, who glared back. "Ah look, Fabian, he is so handsome in his high-vis vest that complements his so English complexion. It reminds me so much of Lancelot. Shall I tell you about Lancelot?"
The clown was now jabbering helplessly into his phone before the battery ran out while France went into a reverie about his recent driving test.
England was sat in his kitchen. This in itself was an improvement on recent events. Unfortunately, his kitchen was also full of Hungary, Poland, America, Sealand and various Army/Security men.
The offending Christmas cake (still in its tin) sat on the table and looked at him balefully.
England had 'Winston', one of the kittens on his knee. America was hand-feeding the others. Sealand was playing on America's hand-held game device, some game called 'Dysentry' or something. (It was actually called Destiny as both America and Sealand had told him dozens of times.).
America's tail was now gone. England had waved his magic wand and incanted a spell and the thing had disappeared. Unfortunately, America now had green hair. But he seemed to accept that this was a consequence of living with a failed magician and resolved to go out and buy some hair dye.
As England sipped tea from his china teacup adorned with roses (his first decent beverage for over 24 hours), he listened or half-listened to Hungary and Poland and various people telling him he was 'lucky' that his cake had been defused.
He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. He did not feel 'lucky'.
They were gathered around his kitchen table discussing what evil mastermind had put the cake down in the hole.
"There are some sick people around," Hungary said.
"Honestly, if we hadn't discovered it, can you imagine what would have happened?" Poland said, his hand on his hip, looking around England's kitchen with a discerning eye. "God this place is a dump," he added, "Why don't you decorate? I can't believe Francis actually lives here."
"Sir, Ma'am, whoever put that cake down that hole obviously knew what they were doing. The blast radius would have taken out the MOD."
"The MOD?" America looked up from playing with several kittens (Franklin, George and Hamilton) on the floor with some string.
"Ministry of Defence, Sir." The man explained.
"What did you think it was?" England asked wearily.
"Ministry of Darkness?"
"I think you're mad."
"WWE is just great though, Dad. You should really get Sky Sports Channel," Sealand butted in.
"Will it mean more football?" England asked.
Sealand nodded. He didn't know and didn't care.
England hesitated as Sealand handed him the telephone, the number already dialled in. "Ring them, Dad."
England screwed up his eyes. "Will it cost?"
"You'll get all the cricket as well."
"WWE! WWE! WWE!" America chanted.
"Never mind all that wrestling stuff, what about this cake? Who put it down that hole? Any ideas? Anybody? Is it only me who cares about the fate of the world?" Hungary asked. She turned to the fairy on her shoulder, "Yes, Tinkerbell, I see the problems you've had. It must have been a nightmare."
England was considering things - both the cake, the phone handed to him by Sealand with someone on the other end of it asking him what he could do to help and the strange noises coming from his understairs cupboard.
First things first, he thought. "Hello? Sky? I wonder if you can help me…"
"Sky sports… sky sports… sky sports…" Chanted both Sealand and America.
"…Do you have any idea how much baking powder you're supposed to put in Mary Berry's Christmas Cake recipe?"
Amazingly, the man on the other end of customer services did not know.
"The. Christmas. Cake. Arthur…" Hungary said in slow, deliberately menacing tones. She hung the phone up - much to America's and Sealand's protestations.
"Never mind that… someone turn the radio up," England said.
The radio had been on BBC Radio 1 (which England did not approve of - he usually listened to Radio 4) and Sealand promptly turned up the volume.
England cocked his head to listen suspiciously. "Shush everyone…"
"Here's a caller called Brian who says he works at London Zoo. What song are you requesting, Brian?"
"Please help me, I'm trapped in a car with a Frenchman who has kidnapped me."
"We don't know that song!" The DJ said, obviously thinking this was a fake caller.
"It's true! I'm the passenger in a…" the line went dead.
"Thank you, caller! We'll play 'The Passenger' by Iggy Pop just for you!" The DJ said.
"Francis gets about, doesn't he?" Poland observed mildly.
It was quite amazing how the Nations had realised the man had been kidnapped by Francis. But actually, what other Frenchman would kidnap a zoo clown?
"Bloody loon. At least he's far away from me." England declared with a satisfied smile. "You can turn it off now, Peter."
"I don't take orders from you."
It was true. Nobody took orders from England.
"So, this Christmas cake. What's in it?" Hungary asked. She nodded at the security men who may or may not have been CIA/British security/Hungarian security. Three of them suddenly pinned England to his chair.
He was about to answer when there was a knock on the door.
"Saved by the bell," he muttered. Only that would save him, certainly not his own son or his adopted son, America, who was obliviously playing with kittens and trying to apply for a credit card on his phone.
"Sure sure, my name's Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, Lieutenant-Colonel United States Air Force, Silver Star, Purple Heart, Mickey Mouse Club, Blue Peter medal - that was my friend Arthur's…" America burbled down his phone. "My address was 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. So I was wondering if I could have a credit limit of 10 thousand dollars… pounds sterling or whatever it is…?" America continued.
The person at the door was the Neighbourhood Watch Association, all of them trooping in. Even the combined security services could not stop them.
"Ah hello Mrs Pomfrey, do you have those geranium cuttings for me?" England asked.
"Who the hell are you?" Hungary asked them.
"Godfrey Ponsonby-Smythe, Geraldine Pomfrey, Bartholomew Arrowby-Percival and Felicity Judith Longbottom-Wolstenholme," one of them said.
"Say what?" Poland asked.
"Neighbourhood Watch," one of them said.
"Oh dear God."
America dropped his phone.
England nodded.
"Is this like the Allotment Society all over again?" Hungary asked England.
"No, far worse."
One of them coughed and begin to read from a piece of paper, "Your borders need trimming, your privet hedge is obstructing the pavement to the north of your property, your bins have not been emptied in two weeks.."
"The bin day keeps changing!" England protested.
"Your next door neighbour complained to us about the noise. In fact we all have. It's atrocious. The cars being wrecked, the screaming, which is something we got used to, but this particular screaming has taken the biscuit and then there's the nudity."
"Arthur!" Hungary gasped.
"It was Francis. He has a tendency to put the washing out on the line wearing just an apron. He says it helps if he gets some fresh air to his derrière," England said in a resigned tone.
'Then there was that party the other night…"
"Wait, what party?" England asked. (America and Sealand suddenly looked very busy.)
The Neighbourhood Watch, all crowded around him, didn't answer, "The strange visitors…"
"Hey! We're not strange, are we Liz?" Pol said, outraged, flicking his hair back.
Hungary didn't answer, she was watching, fascinated. She'd put down her crossbow and was ignoring her phone which was playing some Hungarian folk music.
It sounded to England like a brass band falling down the stairs. It was probably Austria ringing her about losing his way around his mansion or something, England thought. (He was right - almost, it was actually Austria losing his way around his Psychiatrist office.)
"The final straw was when parts of that cake began landing on our roofs. You owe us for reparation, Kirkland," one of the Neighbourhood Watch said.
England realised that it wasn't 'Arthur' or 'Mr Kirkland' any more, it was just 'Kirkland'. "I hardly think that was my fault."
"And poor Rosemarie next door. She's had a lot to put up with," Mrs Pomfrey said.
"She should be grateful. I introduced her to her current husband," England said.
"You mean that terrible drunkard who calls himself George King?" Somebody said.
"Clever…" England said, thinking of George IV. (It wasn't clever really.) He was dismayed to note that they had all taken seats around the kitchen table. He refused to make them a cup of tea even though it went against his usual politeness.
"And also that small terrible person who turned up the other week. Very rude." One of them said.
"Who?" England asked. It could be anyone. They were all rude.
"It looked like a child in a costume."
"Not me!" Sealand exclaimed.
"No, not you," the woman said. She glared at him, "Although you were the one who stole the apples out of my tree."
"You're out of your tree," Sealand said and before England could swipe him, he hurried off into the lounge. "Are yer comin', Alfred?" He called. "I bet I can beat you at COD."
"Yeah right…" America muttered, standing up, "He can't, he really can't," he 'reassured' the others.
Nobody listened.
"This child…" England began.
"Dressed as a bloody panda," Mrs Longbottom-Wolstenholme, or whatever she was called, said.
Hungary and Poland exchanged looks.
England suddenly sat up. "Did this panda person leave here with a Quality Street tin did you notice?"
"As a matter of fact I didn't notice."
"I thought you were the Neighbourhood Watch!"
"We're not here to watch your house!"
"Well actually after everything that you've said, I thought that you were."
"Enough of this!" Hungary said suddenly. She turned to Poland, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Pol?"
"Short back and sides for Arthur, the woman needs her eyebrows shaping and that man there needs his moustache trimming?"
"No," Hungary said with a sigh. Was she really the only competent person? She turned to one of the security men, the highest ranked one. "Get me the Chief of MI5 on the phone and make it snappy."
"Yes Sir."
"I say!" said England, or possibly one of the Neighbourhood Watch.
Deep in the bowels of a cross-channel ferry going to France, was France himself. However, they were now not going to France as some sharp-eyed high-vis vested person had seen that a small lurid Peugeot was parked in the lorry bay.
"You'll have to move," they were told.
"Pourquoi?" France asked.
"Eh?"
"Excusez-moi?"
"You'll have to move your car!"
"I do not have to do anyzing," France argued.
Actually, France was correct. In a way. He actually couldn't move 'his' car. It was well and truly jammed between two lorries, front back and sides.
But this person did not accept that and France caused absolute mayhem when twenty-four lorries had to reverse out of the ferry so that France could manoeuvre his 'crappy' vehicle out.
This made the ferry late by 1 hour and 32 minutes precisely and caused a lot of horn-blowing and rude shouting.
France found himself stood on the dockside arguing vehemently with a couple of officials - all in lurid green high-vis jackets - about his driving ability and his right to leave the green and pleasant land that was England.
Brian the clown stood next to him, silently crying.
"You have made me miss my ferry! Ah le France! Will I ever see such a gorgeous country again?" France cried as the ferry left without him. He flung himself to the ground.
Before France could harangue the men about their diabolical fashion senses, he had been pinioned against the car's bonnet by some burly policemen and breathalyzed.
Brian the clown was truly crying now as he explained why he shouldn't lose his 'clown's licence'.
"This gorgeous man here… ignore ze make-up, underneath eet, ee resembles George Clooney, oui… ee eez giving me driving lessons, non? Zis is because mon ami, who is actually not mon ami, I realise zis too late, Arthur Kirkland, refuses to teach me to drive. He called me a bloody moron and an imbecile. Of course, I do not agree…" France was telling the policemen as he attempted to walk in a straight line to prove his sobriety.
"Ah you want me to blow into zis again? Oui? My pleasure, mon cher. Ah zat black uniform does nothing for your colouring. I would suggest a leetle red to blend with your eyes…"
France did not stop talking even when they arrived at the Police Station. Unfortunately for Brian, he was arrested as well due to France insisting that Brian was in charge of the vehicle as France was merely a 'learner'. Technically he was correct, but this did not help the poor clown who envisaged his career going down the pan and all because of a drunk and lecherous Frenchman.
"Oui… mon next of kin?" France said, answering their questions. "I do not have one. But you can call any one of mes amies," France purred at the officer who was filling in a form. "Any one of them would drop everyzing and cross hell or high water to come and get me and bail me out."
France's face fell a little though when he was told that due to the amount of times he had been arrested in the last few weeks, he would be held in custody and be up before the magistrates court in the morning with bail being set for a 'substantial amount'.
He was sure, absolutely sure, that any one of the Nations would gladly put up bail for his release. Any of them.
"Oh dear God, France has been bloody arrested again!" England declared, reading a text. "Can we all pretend we haven't seen this?"
Hungary and Poland nodded. Hungary began texting all the other Nations to warn them.
"What are you going to do, Kirkland?" One of the Neighbourhood Watch asked.
"About…?"
"The disturbances, the screaming, the cars revving at all hours, the desks flying through windows, the strange people coming and going, the swearing, your untidy herbaceous borders…?
"It's all sorted. The offender is now in prison where he'll be staying for a very long time. As for my borders… I suggest that an Englishman's borders are his own to look to," England said imperiously. "Now I bid you goodnight!" He said, opened the door and ushered them out.
"It's not night, Arthur. It's the afternoon," Hungary pointed out.
"It feels like it should be night."
Hungary's phone rang, "Just a minute while I get this… Listen Roddy, I don't care if you're lost in your office or you've lost your office or you've lost something in your office. I'm in an important meeting… oh sorry, I didn't realise it was you…" she turned and mouthed 'head of MI5' to England and Poland.
"Head of MFI," Poland informed England.
"You mean MI5," England corrected the Pole.
"Sure, sure. Is there a difference?" Poland said.
"I bloody hope so."
Poland pulled a face.
Hungary nodded and said into the phone, "Okay, I see. Thank you for informing me. You've informed Canada? And China? Well yes, who'd have thought? I always thought Mr Panda looked cute as well. But we all thought Mr Kumajiro was cute and look what happened there! On the run you say…" She nodded again.
England shook his head, "I never said Mr Panda or Mr Kumajiro was cute."
"That's your problem, Arthur," Poland said.
"I've had problems with small bloody bears all along," England said.
Hungary hung up, snapping her phone shut with a resounding clap. She turned to the security forces, "Okay guys, move out, I'll brief you on the way back to base."
England wondered, not for the first time, how on earth it came to pass that Hungary was in charge of his security forces.
"Mr Kumajiro has obviously been apprehended by myself and Pol." Here Hungary and Poland high-fived each other. "And he's currently languishing in London Zoo before being repatriated to Canada. With Canada. Unfortunately though it looks as if Mr Panda was behind the whole thing. Mr Kumajiro squealed on him when they threatened to take away his television. But MI5 were too late getting to the Chinese Embassy and he's on the run." She shrugged. "Apparently he left a message that he'll get his revenge."
Later...much later... too much later (for England)
England finally locked the back door and front door, closed the curtains, and made himself a cup of tea. America and Sealand were 'happy' playing some awful shoot 'em up game and the house was relatively quiet - apart from some strange sounds coming from the understairs cupboard. He hoped it wasn't the boiler on the blink again.
However, one good thing was that there was no sign of France. England really hoped the Frenchman would get a long jail sentence. What was the custodial sentence for kidnapping zoo clowns?
The Englishman sat down with the evening paper and prepared to do the crossword.
"One down, six letter word for a person who betrays another…hmmm… traitor!" England filled this in happily and took a sip of tea. "Three across, seven letter word, European country adjacent to the North Sea and Irish Sea…England!" This made England smile.
He stuffed a custard cream in his mouth and read out the next clue. "Five across, seven letter word, the action of hurting someone in response to a hurt or injury suffered at their hands." Here England had a think. From the lounge, someone yelled, "Revenge."
England was feeling a little unsettled now. He put the crossword aside for a moment. Perhaps he was just a bit paranoid. However, when he picked up the paper and saw the personal ads, he dropped his cup of tea.
'ARTHUR KIRKLAND YOU HAVE EATEN YOUR LAST BOURBON CREAM' one of the ads said...
To be continued...
Next Chapters:
Therapy
A lovely relaxing holiday
Driving lessons with a twist…