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Driving Lessons Chapter 52 - I Don't Need No Doctor
England was humming away to the radio. He was in his beloved Bentley (with cellophane covering the back seats) on his way to his holiday home in Wales (okay his brother Wales' holiday home). On his own. With nobody. Alone. He needed this holiday, he really did. The past few days had driven him to beer and cigarettes (despite having given up smoking after World War 2).
He looked in the rear view mirror and grimaced at the huge 4x4 that had been following him all the way up the M4. He really really hoped it wasn't that psychopathic panda who had vowed vengeance on him…
The Englishman cast his mind to the previous day when he'd been 'invited' in the loosest term possible to a 'Therapy Day'. He'd expected it to be a nice spa day where he could have a facial and massage. It wasn't. At all.
The previous day…
England looked around the room and wondered, not for the first time in his very very long life, what on earth he was doing. He was also thinking about killing France - again, not for the first time in their thousand year history.
The reason? He had been invited to a Therapy Day and gone along quite happily, clutching his bathrobe and towel expecting a relaxing massage and facial. What he found was a support group for 'People whose lives have been ruined by France'. Obviously, he was the most affected by France in his eyes. These people around him had no idea, they really didn't. Amateurs.
And there were a lot of people there. A lot. In fact, England had very quickly run back to his car and thrown his bathrobe back in the boot and was about to drive off when Germany and Spain had both strong-armed him back into the place. He should have known as the address on the invite was Austria's psychotherapy office.
Not all of the attendees were Nations, in fact they were in the minority. There were some gay rodeo riders (without their horses), a few hairdressers who glared at England when they'd entered the room. (England wasn't sure which one was 'Shirl'.) 'Lancelot' the hapless driving examiner who sat on England's left and was biting his nails and looked as if he'd aged 20 years overnight. There were a few lorry drivers, a few Buckingham Palace security guards, a few CIA men - who were complaining bitterly to each other about their respective 'names'. England was still unsure which one was Maurice, Pascal or Pierre, or whatever the hell France had christened them.
There were also several restaurant staff, car dealership staff, zoo staff, airport security staff (England didn't think their interactions with France really warranted their attendance here but what did he know?) and a forlorn-looking clown named Brian.
Amongst the Nations were Spain, who sat opposite England in the circle, biting his nails obsessively and glaring at the Englishman, Germany, who kept tutting very loudly, Lithuania with Poland (the latter was nodding to some music on his earphones and filing his nails), Italy (who was clinging to Germany), Romano who glared at Germany and Spain intermittently and Canada - to England's surprise. He didn't think France had recently ruined Canada's life.
Presiding over the meeting was Austria, who kept clicking his tongue and telling them more and more shrilly to 'be quiet, please'.
"Is there any tea?" England asked.
Someone snorted, "Any tea, he says! As if he hasn't done enough!"
And then the floodgates opened.
Apparently, according to these people, it was all his fault.
"You're an enabler, Arthur," Austria said finally, writing notes on his pad, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"A what?" England looked around at the sea of hostile faces.
"An enabler. You enable him." Someone told him.
"To do what?" England looked around.
"To seduce, debauch, cheat, embezzle, ruin lives."
England thought about this for a moment, "You're forgetting that he's ruined my life far more than he's ruined yours!" He told them all. "Is there any tea?"
He knew, just knew, that Austria was now writing down, 'Obsession with tea'.
"But he lives with you!" Germany yelled.
"Ah I wondered when you were going to say something."
"Ja. You ruined my beautiful car. You and your French boyfriend." Germany turned to everyone in the room. "He lured me to his house to help him with something and then they - him and Francis - dropped an antique desk on my car."
England sighed. Not this again.
Italy gave a little sob.
"What is it, Feliciano? You can speak here. This is a safe space," Austria said.
"Honestly, France is not my bloody boyfriend!" England yelled.
"Speak up, Feliciano," someone said kindly, ignoring England.
"Since Mr France… I mean er Francis moved in with him, he's been awful. He ruined my business…" Italy sniffled.
"He doesn't live with me! We are not a couple!" England yelled.
"You're always together! I feel sorry for the children," someone said.
"What children? Do you mean Alfred? Oh for heaven's sake." England replied.
"They mean Peter," Spain said.
"Dreadful child, just like his father. A reprobate," Germany grumbled.
"Anyway, moving on. Does anyone else want to share?" Austria said.
Poland nudged Lithuania. "Go on, Liet, like, tell them."
Lithuania coughed and went a little red. He was a brave soul - as anyone who had lived with Russia had to be - but he was not a complainer. "Erm well Francis ruined my life. I went out for a little drink with him. It was only supposed to be a quick 'drinky-poos' as he called it. I woke up in Lima wearing a pink tutu, cowboy boots and with a rose tattoo."
Poland shook his head, "I had to go and get him," Pol told the group. He turned to Lithuania, "You did look gorgeous though, honey."
England shuddered.
"What's wrong with you?" Pol said suddenly, seeing England's reaction.
"Me?" England looked up.
"Yes, you. Homophobe!" Pol said accusingly.
"No I'm not! I'm very non homophobe. I think you'll find… hang on!" England said, looking round at the accusing looks and hearing the tuts, "You lot were all saying I'm in a relationship with France!"
'In denial…' Austria wrote in his notebook.
"How can I be a bloody homophobe if I'm in a relationship with a bloody bloke?"
'Latent homosexuality, issues with identity,' Austria wrote.
"Stop bloody writing!" England yelled at Austria.
'Stop writing,' Austria wrote.
"You carry on, Osterreich," Germany said. "He's a disgrace. This is a long time coming."
"Oh yes, well you would have something to bloody say, wouldn't you? Bloody uptight German…" England began to say. He happened to look and saw, or thought he saw, Russia peering at them through the window. He blinked and the big face was gone. "I think I just saw Russia," he said.
"You can't distract us with him," Germany said, crossing his knees.
Italy whimpered.
"We're not little kids anymore, Arthur. You can't scare us with the stories about the big bad wolf," Romano said blithely.
"Is that Ivan Braginksi?" One of the security men asked.
Several of the Nations dived under the chairs until they realised the man was asking a rhetorical question.
England nodded, "Yes, and he was there. Just outside the window."
"Wh…wh…wh…why would he be here?" Lithuania stammered.
"Shall we get back to the topic in hand?" Austria asked - from underneath his desk.
"Oh yes, let's!" England said, crossing his arms. This was clearly turning into a 'bash Arthur Kirkland' meeting.
"They ruined my hairdressing business!" 'Shirl' pointed out. Her bad dye job bobbed at England.
"You did that by yourself, dear," England muttered.
"And my zoo has never been the same!" the director of London Zoo said.
"I had to go into a rehab clinic for clowns," the clown said.
England frowned.
"They stole one of our cars and returned it in such a state we had to scrap it!" One of the dealership men said, pointing at England.
"Now look here! It's not my bloody fault if you allow any nutter who walks in to test drive one of your fancy cars. And trying to pay off your bloody over-expensive piece of metal is why Francis is bloody living with me!" England retorted.
"He broke up me and my girlfriend," Spain said sadly.
"That wasn't Francis, it was him!" Someone said, for once sticking up for France and pointing at England.
"I didn't do anything!"
"He's a cockblocker," Romano said.
"Si," Spain nodded.
One of the hairdressers raised a hand, "Can I ask a question?"
"Of course, this is a safe place where you can feel to express your thoughts," Austria said from under his desk.
"Who is this Ivan Braginski person?"
Several of the Nations jumped again and looked around nervously.
Italy clutched Germany, "I'm scared, Luddy."
"He's not here, Feli," Germany whispered, "Get off me!"
"He's a Russian living in my understairs cupboard," England explained. It was true. He was.
"Why do you allow this, Arthur?" Germany demanded.
"You try shifting him! He's happy with America's iPad thingy and now I've got him working his way through the last decade of Coronation Street…"
"British soap operas aren't going to keep him from ripping the place to shreds," Germany warned.
"It has so far," England said confidently. "That and lots of vodka."
"Is he a dissident or something?" The hairdresser asked.
"He's hiding from his little sister," England patiently explained. It was true. Russia had taken residence in his understairs cupboard with two of the kittens and the vacuum cleaner. Apparently, 'Belarus and her balloon' would never find him there, the big Russian had told England. England had tried to entice Ivan out but had failed, a trail of custard creams had not worked.
"Aw, the poor boy," the woman called 'Shirl' said.
All the Nations and the Secret Service men all gaped at her.
"It's been terrible," England told them all. At first, he'd thought the rumbling he'd heard during the night was the immersion heater. Or underground trains. Or someone with a pneumatic drill outside. He'd found purely by accident that it was actually Russia's snoring. And then there was the sound of a balalaika and Slavic folk songs which told of invading Frenchmen dying in large numbers (this particularly seemed to upset France who could speak some Russian). There was also Russia's insistence on reading out the horoscopes from Woman's Own magazines.
What was really worrying was that England's horoscope always predicted some dreadfully gory death.
"How long has it been?" Spain asked. He actually looked sympathetic.
"Twenty minutes," England replied, looking at the office clock.
"No, I mean since Russia started living in your cupboard?"
"Two days."
"Ha! That is nothing! I lived with him for two centuries!" Lithuania exclaimed.
England shook his head. No wonder the poor Baltic was a heap of nerves. "But you didn't have France as well. And America. And Sealand."
"Sealand is your son. You should step up as a father," Spain told him.
England shook his head, and began to say, "Sweden and Finland said er…" he then corrected himself when he saw the humans looking at him in puzzlement. He forgot they weren't supposed to use Nation names in front of humans. "Er Tino and Berwald have dumped Peter with me. He's finally been expelled from his school for buggering off during a school trip. His tenth school in two years!"
"Disgraceful."
"You will have to home school him." Someone said the dreaded words England was afraid of. He'd had a hysterical screaming match over the telephone with Finland and Sweden about this.
"He's actually setting up his own business," England said with some trepidation.
"Doing what?" Germany asked, with some suspicion. He'd already been stung by Prussia and Denmark's attempts at being business owners. He was still paying off their debts - mainly disgruntled taxi customers who were not happy at being dragged around London for hours instead of being taken straight to their destination.
"I don't know but it seems to involve the purchase of a lot of icing sugar and eggs," England replied.
"You're not… you're not… baking again are you?" one of the CIA men asked.
One of his colleagues drew his gun.
"He has been banned from baking for one hundred years by order of the United Nations Security Council," Germany told one of the hairdressers who was about to ask.
"The world will never know how my new recipe for lemon drizzle cake turns out," England lamented.
"Thank God," someone said and crossed themselves.
"All I can say is thank God he didn't get on Great British Bake Off," Poland said.
"What happened there then?" Spain asked England.
England shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it," he said. In actual fact he had failed the psychological test and was deemed too 'unstable' to take part. He was still smarting over this.
"Arthur used to go to school on a Nazgul," someone said with glee, probably Spain, but England couldn't catch who it was.
"That's a lie!" England said. "It might have been a dragon though…"
"You're a weird person," Germany said.
"Talking of dragons…" England began to say.
"Which we weren't."
"Stop trying to change the subject."
"Yes, you have a lot to answer for."
"…I wonder if it's Mr Ping who helped Mr Panda escape?" England concluded.
"You are obsessed with Mr Panda," Germany said.
"He swore to exact his vengeance on me," England replied.
"Mr Panda is a wanted bear," a CIA man told one of the zoo people.
"I want to know what this person here is going to do about that Mr Bonnefoy who ruined our businesses!" One of the hairdressers said.
"I will never be invited back to a rodeo again, thanks to Bonnefoy," one of the gay rodeo riders said.
England had no idea what on earth France had done to the gay rodeo guy. "Well you'll all be pleased to know that Francis is actually under house arrest. In effect he has one of those charming ankle bracelet affairs on and is not allowed out after 6.00 pm or before 9.00 am."
"No, that does not reassure me," Germany said. Italy nodded next to him, looking at the German with soppy eyes. "He managed to ruin my car and my life between the hours of 9.00 am and 6.00 pm."
"He seems to operate within ordinary working hours anyway for ruining lives," Someone else said.
England nodded at this.
Austria pointed his pen at England, "Why are you nodding, Arthur? You're party to all this!"
"Don't point your bloody pen at me! Oh, there's Russia again!" England said suddenly.
Everybody dived back under their chairs.
"I'm sure that's Mr Panda with him!" England added.
"You're obsessed," Germany said.
Toris actually got up from his chair and peered out of the said window, "I can't see him. Or Mr Panda. Are you sure?"
"Panda sent me a series of text messages earlier," England told them.
"Stop being ridiculous, Arthur. Why is everything about you?" Austria asked.
"Well seeing as you lot are talking about me…" England said, he peered at his phone and read the series of messages: "Ah here we are. Obviously it's an unknown number," England said and began reading out the messages, "I'm gong to kid you, bong you, no, ducking autocorrect, fucking autocorrect, gong you, going to dick you, no kick you, no kill you… I'm going to kid you…" England read all this out.
"Are you having some kind of fit, Arthur?" Spain asked.
Romano got up and snatched the phone off England. "Whoever this is, is hilarious. He says he's going to kill you. Autocorrect is great isn't it?"
"That's what I thought!" England said. "Well actually that's what Alfred said when he read it out to me." England winced at the memory when America had bounced in, took the phone off England and cheerily read out that someone was vowing to kill him and then handed it back.
"That's nothing," Romano said and threw the phone back at England.
"What about this… You're a dear mum… deerman, dear clan, dear fan… dead man?" England read out. He was actually hoping for some advice from his fellow Nations. He wasn't going to get it. "At least the put the apostrophe in the correct place. I would hate to be murdered by someone with poor grammar."
"I think someone needs to go out and buy a more simple phone," Austria replied and held up his own ancient brick-like contraption.
Romano's eyes widened, "You were always a cheapskate."
"Ja, even I have a more up to date phone so that I can get my emails," Germany agreed.
There was a cacophony as everyone compared phones. England stood up and edged towards the door. He managed to get it open while his fellow 'patients' were arguing about the pros and cons of apple and android (England had no idea what fruit or robots had to do with this) but was stopped in his tracks by a very large dragon's head.
This head was also attached to a dragon body, just to be clear. It wasn't disembodied.
He leapt back and slammed the door too forcefully as Germany looked up. "Were you trying to escape?" the German asked.
"Me? Never? Austria.. I mean er Roderich… there's a dragon outside your office."
"Don't be ridiculous," Austria countered. "You're delusional."
"I'll deal with this," Germany said, striding over to the door.
England stepped back, "Be my guest, but don't blame me when you get incinerated," he said.
Germany flung open the door… to reveal a rather short cleaner in a long coat that reached the floor, wearing a hoodie that obscured their face, pushing a vacuum cleaner.
"There!" Germany declared. "Nothing! No dragon, just the poor little cleaning lady," he said as the cleaner disappeared with their vacuum around the corner.
England frowned.
"You're so brave, Luddy," Italy said, flinging his arms around the German.
"That was Mr Panda," England said, "Or I'm a Dutchman."
There was further arguing over this.
"You're an idiot!"
"Dumkopf!"
"Moron!"
"Blaming a poor little cleaning lady!"
"He should be thrown in prison!"
"Well I think Arthur's okay…" came a quiet voice from the back. Canada had barely spoken a word until now. "And it's not his fault if Mr Kumajiro is a nefarious super-villain in league with an equally nefarious bear."
Nobody listened.
It had only been when one of the CIA men got hysterical thinking one of England's scones had escaped from a tin (England hadn't actually taken any baking seeing as he was banned from using the cooker, weighing scales, or mixer) that England had been able to escape amid the panic.
It had been interesting to see a hardened CIA operative crying over a moving biscuit tin. England suspected it was an undercover fairy getting restless in there. Tinkerbell had been a useful double agent in the war and biscuit tins were her favourite hideout. England surmised Tinks was there spying for her new mistress, Hungary.
Back to the present...
So, those idiots had been no use at all. The therapy had done him no use. And he never got a cup of tea (or biscuits).
However, England was now free to do as he liked for five whole days. He smiled to himself as the hills of South Wales came into view.
"Ah how green is my valley?" He said to himself.
Not very. He looked in the rear view mirror again and was distressed to see the same horrendou following.
Some serious diversionary tactics were required to throw off his pursuers...
Next Chapter.. a lovely relaxing holiday in Wales.