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Driving Lessons Chapter 53 - How Green is my Valley
After doubling back through various Welsh villages and towns - none of which England could pronounce and going past the 'Dr Who Experience' no less than four times to shake off his 'pursuers', he finally arrived at the holiday cottage.
His beloved Bentley trundled up a mud path - in fact, it was generous to call it a path. There was a sheep at the end which stared at him balefully in the rain that began to fall.
The sign at the end of the 'driveway' said 'Primrose Cottage'. England gritted his teeth and parked the Bentley outside the cottage. He noted with annoyance that it appeared that his Welsh brother Bryn had not even cut the grass.
He sighed, got out of the car, dragged his battered ('vintage') suitcase out of the back seat and pulled on his cagoule.
"Yo! You look like Paddington Bear!" came an annoying voice as England discarded his leather brogues and put on his wellington boots.
The black 4x4 vehicle which had been following him since the M4 motorway almost ran him over. Mud splattered the Englishman.
"Damn you!" He yelled.
"Ha! Where did you go, man? Were you lost? We followed you through some crazy ass places. What in Lincoln's name was that village back there?" America (for it was he) attempted to yell a Welsh name and failed.
Sealand jumped out of the passenger side. "You forgot us, Dad," he told England.
England gritted his teeth, "No, I didn't," he replied.
"Wow this is amazing!" America said, looking at the cottage.
"It's rather special isn't it?" England said proudly.
"I've never seen such a dump!" America continued.
"I can't believe you still have this place, Dad," Sealand said, clumping towards the cottage. "Did you have electricity put in yet or is it still those crap oil lamps?"
"What? No electricity? He's joking right?" America asked, turning to England.
"I never asked you to come. So why don't you toddle off back to jolly old London Town?" England replied.
America ignored him and strode up to the house. "I thought you said you had a quaint cottage in the country?" He said.
"Look, I didn't ask you two to come here…"
"I didn't want to come, honestly," Sealand said. "It was his idea. He didn't want to stay in your house on his own cos he thinks it's haunted."
"That's just Russia, you bloody fools," England said, exasperated.
"Nyet, it is not. I am here!" A voice said.
England jumped. "Oh bloody hell."
"Belarus will never find me here," Russia confided.
"Why in God's name…?"
"He didn't want to stay either. Your house is seriously creepy, Dad," Sealand said.
"Da, it is. I like it," Russia said and strode after America towards the house. "This looks really nice," he was heard saying. "It reminds me a little of Stalingrad…" Russia added looking at the loose shingles on the roof, the crumbling masonry and the decrepit air.
England growled. "Any other bloody Nations hiding in that car?" he asked Sealand, who was pulling on his own wellies and bright orange cagoule. (Sealand had been subjected to holidays in Wales before.)
"No dude," Sealand said. England hated it when he called him dude. He winced.
"So you left Francis on his own?" England asked. He picked Sealand up by his lapels and shook him. "Do you have any idea what he could do?' Remember the last time he was left alone? He turned my house into a brothel!"
Unfortunately, at that moment another vehicle pulled up - a large, black sinister looking van with blacked-out windows.
A large man in a dark suit, wearing sunglasses (incongruous in South Wales, England thought, and also unnecessary) got out. The man opened one of the rear doors and France fell out, clutching a bottle of red wine (half empty). France looked drunker than normal. He was also grief-stricken, England saw.
"What's wrong, Francis? Have you lost your sex appeal? Have you finally realised that you have a drink problem? Have you realised that your bloody President Macron is not 'sexy'?"
"Johnny! He is gone!" France wailed from the ground. He then got up, having realised he was laying in a puddle.
"Johnny?" England was baffled.
"Hallyday. He was so beautiful!"
England did not have a clue what he was saying, but shoved him off when the Frenchman tried to embrace him. "Get off me, you bloody pervert!"
"Are we getting in this place or not?" America asked. He nodded at the big suited man, who had been joined by a colleague.
"Sir!" The two big men saluted America.
Two more CIA men, England realised.
England sighed and took out the key which said on the tag 'Primrose Cottage'. There were no primroses anywhere in sight.
He put the key in the lock, turned it and it promptly snapped off. "Damn and blast," the Englishman swore. This was not going well.
"Can we go home?" Sealand sounded delighted.
England gritted his teeth as everyone crowded around (apart from France who was in mourning and crying on a CIA agent's shoulder about "gay and beautiful Johnny").
"Everyone just back off!" England yelled as they all began to argue about the best way to extricate a key from a lock.
Sealand, who claimed to be an expert lockpick, failed.
America and his toy plastic gun failed.
England and his toothpick and then screwdriver with blue-tac stuck on the end, also failed to get the broken pieces of key out.
Russia, who had disappeared to chat with the sheep at the end of the drive, finally solved their dilemma by throwing himself at the door which gave itself up with barely a fight.
England sighed as he walked through the Russia-shaped hole in the door.
"This is really something…" America said, walking in after him.
England ignored him and began filling the kettle for a much needed cup of tea. He was pleased to note that he'd left teabags and basic provisions last time he was there. But he'd forgotten to buy milk. He debated going off to the local village to stock up and perhaps keep driving and leaving these morons here.
"The lights don't work!" America moaned.
"No electricity," England said, and went outside, picked up some logs, brought them in and loaded them into the wood-burning stove. He cast around for matches. He realised if he couldn't get this lit then there would be no tea.
"This is a joke right?" America said. "Have we just gone back in time two centuries?"
"Get used to it," Sealand told America. "No wifi either," the boy added.
"Noooooooo!" America was bereft.
Almost as bereft as France who sat at the wooden table, nursing his bottle of wine, dressed in a fetching bright pink poncho and tight flowery blouse that looked like a woman's, holding a picture of some French singer he was crying over.
"Pull yourself together, Francis." England said as he searched for matches.
"This is prehistoric," America said, watching England finally light the stove. "It's worse. It's medieval."
King Henry nodded, sniffing. He was coming down with a cold and England had given him a bottle of cough medicine which the dead King seemed to have a growing addiction for.
"Welcome to the dark ages," Sealand said, fiddling with his phone. "No mobile phone signal either."
America flung himself onto a kitchen chair, "Please tell me there's at least a bathroom?"
Russia came in. After doing a thorough survey of the 'cottage', he pronounced that it was 'great' and reminded him of home.
England picked up his car keys and headed out of the door. "I'm just going to get some milk, matches and firewood…" he called and hurried out, slamming the door on what looked like a scene from a Dickens novel.
Perhaps if he drove quickly he could get over the border and back home before they realised, he was thinking. Then he was stopped in his tracks by a very loud voice.
"I hope you're not trying to escape just as we arrive for the PARTAAAY!" Shouted the most annoying ex-Nation still alive.
It was Prussia, with Denmark in tow. They had somehow acquired a tiny Fiat car that was missing its bumper.
"I need to get some milk," England said with a sigh.
"We'll do it!" Denmark yelled ear-splittingly. England wondered if they were both deaf. It could be the only answer for them being so loud.
"Well… I er…"
"What a crazy dump!" Prussia said, looking at the cottage.
"How did you find me? And why are you here?" England asked.
"Your crazy ass brother told us. And we're here for the PARTAAAY!" Prussia yelled the last word in England's face.
England cursed whichever brother it was who had told the idiots that he was coming here. He suspected it was Wales, but it could have been Scotland. Damn them.
Denmark was cheerily taking England's wallet from him and getting back in their ramshackle vehicle. "Milk, beer, teabags, beer, hotdogs for Alfred, beer, wine for Francis, beer and just to be safe, more beer," the Dane said, turning on the engine which spluttered shamefully into life.
"Oh God…" England muttered.
Someone yelled from a window, "And vodka…"
"Why is he here?" Prussia muttered, getting in the car.
England didn't answer but trudged back inside, slamming the door.
Inside, America was singing 'Sweet Home Alabama' and smiling. England had no idea why. France was singing some louche French song that seemed to mention l'amor quite a lot which made England decidedly nervous. Sealand was running around trying to get a mobile 'signal' and muttering about his 'customers' on his 'Etsy shop' whatever the hell that was.
Then there was a knock on the door just as England thought the day could not get any worse.
Germany, in a bright yellow raincoat and equally yellow (but pristine) wellington boots stood there. Together with Italy, who was also in wellington boots and carrying an unfortunately rainbow umbrella.
"You think you can get away with not paying me for my damaged car, England?" The German asked.
Later…
"I call dibs on the good bedroom!" Prussia yelled, dumping a massive overnight bag on the living room floor.
"Nah, man, that's not fair!" America whined. "I'm the most awesomest superpower and I saved all your asses, I should get to choose!"
"Ve, but I want to sleep in the big bed with Luddy-kins!" Italy said, pouting. 'Luddy-kins' winced, whether at the nickname or Italy's overall statement is unsure.
"It's my bloody house!" Arthur shouted, but was drowned out by the general din as the other seven Nations, two CIA men, one dead king and five kittens made themselves at home.
France shrugged, casual as ever. "I do not mind where I sleep, non? I 'ave slept in worst places than zis, mon ami. Zere was zis one motel in Barcelona where they did not have pillows and ze phone was not plugged in... I spent two nights zere, even after my ladyfriend complained about ze mice and went back to her husband. Ah, memories..."
England shuddered.
"Well, I think this is alright," Russia chirped. England jumped; he hadn't known the big Russian, who was surprisingly light on his feet, was standing behind him. "I have checked and there is only one leak in the roof. And most of the windows open!" He looked amazed. "Yes, this is very good. I am going to change into my shorts... I may even sleep outside if the weather stays warm!" He ambled off. England looked out of the window, where rain was lashing down and the trees looked close to toppling over from the gale force winds. He wondered whether Russia was on the same planet as the rest of them.
England felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned around. "Arthur, I don't like this. I want to go home." King Henry sniffled. "I think I have a cold coming on."
"You're bloody dead! Why don't you take some of your Benylin and shut up?"
"Don't you oppress me!" Henry looked close to tears. America clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past with Jeff the kitten on his head, chattering about which of his Batman posters he was going to put on the wall, and Henry almost fell over.
"Okay, this is getting to be ridiculous," England muttered. He grabbed a footstool and, walking with purpose, placed it in the centre of the room and stood on it, wobbling a bit on the uneven surface. Denmark, strangely, reached out an arm and steadied him. "Erm, excuse me!" England shouted. No one took any notice. "Everyone? Please, I have something to say!"
Luckily for England's voicebox, America reappeared at this point and noticed him. "Yo dudes, my main man Artie has something to say!" He yelled at the top of his voice. The room fell silent.
"Erm yes, Alfred, thanks for that. Okay, well, you may have all noticed that there are not enough beds to fit all of us. There are-" England did a quick headcount "-eleven of us here, counting King Henry and the two CIA men. There are two beds. One of them is a double, but it's still not enough. Fortunately, we do have couches and an inflatable mattress and there is a tent in the shed, and I suppose someone could sleep in one of the cars..." England chewed his lip. It still didn't seem like enough.
Italy raised his hand. England pointed at him. "Can't King Henry just go away? Ve, my old emperors do that when they visit me, they go back to their ghost world!"
England sighed. "You'd think, wouldn't you." Henry sniffled. "So, that leaves a decision to be made. Of course everyone will want a bed, but if anyone wants to volunteer to sleep elsewhere that would help a lot." England gritted his teeth, thinking 'it's my bloody bed and my bloody house and if anyone's going to sleep in it, it's bloody me.'
One of the CIA men ("Marcel", England thought, but he neither knew nor cared at this point) put his hand up. "Myself and my colleague will sleep in our van. Security reasons, Kirkland, you understand."
"Yes, well," England said, still annoyed at being called 'Kirkland'.
"Ooh, ooh!" Denmark jumped up in the air, his hair standing on end. "Can I sleep in the bath? I love baths!"
"Er, well, I suppose so..."
"YES."
And so, after some further negotiations and a game of rock-paper-scissors (England was unsure who suggested this method of decision-making, but he wished death on them), everyone's sleeping places had been decided.
The CIA men slept in their van, and were probably the most comfortable of the lot (in England's eyes.) The van was a sound structure, had reliable heating, and even had cupholders and a stereo.
Italy got his wish and slept in the "big bed" with Germany; both of them turned out to be suspiciously good at rock-paper-scissors. England would have been more bitter about this if he hadn't noticed the leak beginning to develop in the master bedroom's ceiling.
Alfred, somehow, got Sealand's old bed - but had to share it with five kittens who wouldn't leave him alone.
Prussia and France got the couches.
Denmark slept in the bath, and was inordinately pleased about it. On the floor of the bathroom beside the Dane was Sealand, wrapped in a SpongeBob SquarePants duvet, holding his mobile phone next to the big Dane's head of spiky hair. It was the only way he could get a mobile signal, without which he could not operate his many online businesses.
So that left...
"Bloody hell, Henry, do you have to sleep with your crown on?" England exclaimed for the fifth time, having been speared in the back for the eighth time by his former monarch's ever-present headpiece.
"Someone might steal it, Arthur! You don't know!" Henry whimpered. "It's very cold in here... I think I should go in the middle. The tent roof is drooping on my side. I can't feel my toes."
"Why don't you do us all a favour and bloody dissipate, then?" Arthur asked, burying his face in his pillow.
"I don't think you should talk to your king in this way, England," Russia admonished him. Russia, it turned out, wore a scarf and his big boots to bed. He was also wearing a Hawaiian shirt and some exercise shorts that had seen better days. England had concluded that Russia was actually dressed so badly, he had managed to dress well.
"And you're an expert on this, are you? I suppose your dead bosses visit you all the time?" England wished, not for the first time, that someone had been able to get the air mattress to inflate. Though he would have had to sleep in the house then, and he didn't like the idea of sleeping in the same room as France and Prussia - or America and his kitten menagerie for that matter. His only other choice was disturbing Germany and Italy and likely seeing something he really didn't want to. He shuddered and burrowed deeper into his sleeping bag.
"Da, they do! Just last week Alexander the First dropped in for tea. He told me I should invade France because they were all traitors and he left crumbs on the table. It was very bad, not how his Babushka raised him at all." Russia shook his head.
"Well that's disturbing," England said.
The 'break' was going to get more disturbing…
Note: Benylin is a cough medicine here in the UK.