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Driving Lessons Chapter 65 Wanted Dead or Alive
"Open this bloody door, Francis, before I do something nasty to your erm… your erm…" England thought hard, whilst staring at the hotel door. Room number 217. "…Your hair!" England finished finally.
The door was slammed open.
England screamed.
France was stood in all his splendour, in pink bathrobe, his hair in curlers, wearing a green face mask and the tiara still on his head.
"You look grotesque!" England blurted out.
France pulled him inside, looked up and down the corridor and then slammed the door shut.
"Shush mon cher. I zink I may have caused us untold grief," France said.
"You're always causing me untold grief," England replied. "Always. You've been doing it for over 900 years. Why would today be any different?"
France shook his head, "I zink we should perhaps escape tonight to darkest Peru. Or perhaps to Hull. Nobody will ever find us there and besides I doubt that we will get out of ze country. I do not have my valaise avec moi. But if we get to Hull zen I believe we will be safe. Nobody would expect someone as stylish as moi to be hiding out in such a place."
"What are you twittering about?" England said. "And did I miss any more goals?"
France was not listening but seemed to have carved out a whole new life for them both, "You could get a job in ze local fish and chip shop or chippy as you so lovingly call zem and I can open a sartorial advice centre to help ze people of Hull."
England turned to look at him, "Yes you do that, Francis. I really look forward to seeing you get your head kicked in." England told him. "Now let me watch the game."
France nodded but began packing his stuff in his Chanel handbag. "Right so we need to go now," the Frenchman said.
"Now? It looks like Chelsea might score again!" England said, settled on the bed, holding his cup of cold tea.
France sighed, "Mon cher. I fear zat we may have to leave this haven. This safe nest that we have luxuriated in…"
"Are you high? Have you been sniffing the toilet cleaner again? What's wrong with you? What haven? You mean this dump?"
"You have no romance. Not one romantic bone in your English body, mon ami."
"No I don't. Now shut up you moron." England said, taking a sip from his now cold disappointing cup of tea. He grimaced.
"We have to leave now," France told him and then tried to pull England off the bed.
"Get off me you pervert! I am not your sex toy!" England protested.
There was a banging on the wall. "Will you two keep it down in there? Some people are trying to sleep!"
And from the room on the other side, "Shurrup Dad! I mean er weird guy from next door!"
England frowned, "Do you think that's Peter? When I knocked on that door a man who looked remarkably like Marcel or Pascal or whatever you call him opened the door and glared at me." He said to France.
"Or Gaston?" France suggested.
"Perhaps."
"Or maybe even Antoine or Louis or Jean-Claude?" France said.
England raised an eyebrow and just looked at him. "Why are we buggering off anyway?" He asked. "We're perfectly okay here. Nobody knows where we are and we can just get in touch with Princess Beatrice tomorrow and she can help us to explain to Her Majesty that the Queen Mary tiara just fell into my hands and we had every intention of returning it. We just forgot."
"Our location may have been compromised, mon cher."
"How? Nobody knows we're bloody here! Who would look for us here? It was either here or Harrogate, but oh no you said you'd never go back there after that incident in the tea shop."
"Ah oui, you English are so, how do you say…prudish." France said, whether with relish or not is not sure. "Look at my Facebook page," he said to England, touching his arm.
"I'd really prefer not to," England said, shaking himself from having been touched by the Frenchman.
"Non, you do not understand….I have made a grave mistake."
"You're not friends with Russia are you? Have you been trolling him again? I told you not to send gifs to him." (England did not really know what a gif was, but assumed it was a bad thing as each time Russia had received one he had proceeded to chase the sender with a piece of bathroom plumbing.)
France shook his head, "Non, I learned from the last time, mon cher," he said and showed England his phone.
"How come you're Facebook friends with Francis?" Prussia asked Denmark. "That's just creepy. He posts absolute rubbish about wine and clothes and shows pictures of Mont Blanc." He shuddered.
"Yeah the pictures of the Massif Central made my eyes bleed," Denmark answered.
"I unfriended him," America said. He continued when he saw Pru and Den's shocked faces. (Obviously this was akin to declaring war.) "He stole my bedroom and put French rubbish all over it," America explained.
Prussia nodded, "You don't win wars by posting pictures of wine and your butt on Facebook," he said wisely.
Denmark nodded and then said, "Yeah but this is what I wanted to show you!" Denmark said and showed Prussia and America the picture of France sat in bed wearing the tiara.
"Jeez, that pink doesn't suit him does it?" Prussia said.
"Are they in Peru then?" America asked dimly.
"No dude. They're in Slough," Denmark said, pronouncing it 'Sluff'.
"Wow that's pretty bad," America said.
"It's great is what it is," Prussia said. "Come on, men!"
"Why? How?"
"Because we know where they are. And that they have that poncy tiara thingy. We can claim the reward!"
"We can? We do?" America asked.
"Ja!" Denmark agreed and showed America his phone.
"He's wearing a green face mask now apparently," America said, looking at the screen.
"Then we have to hurry because he's obviously getting ready to go out on the town," Prussia said, picking up some car keys and heading out of the door.
"How does he know this?" America asked Denmark.
"I don't know and I'd prefer not to know," Denmark replied quite reasonably.
"Come on, men!" Prussia yelled from outside. "Ooops sorry King George," he added, "We have to go and rescue Kirkland."
"That's my line!" America grumbled, following.
"What? About King George? Why what have you done to him? Pru keeps running through him on purpose." Den said, hurrying after Pru.
"Nah about 'come on men'," America explained.
"Ah…"
"COME ON! This is not how I invaded Russia back in the day!" Prussia yelled.
"Yeah and that ended well…" America muttered.
"What do you mean you can't find the bloody car keys?" England said to France. They were stood in the Travelodge car park in the rain. It was dark, being almost midnight and France was hunting through his pockets.
"Here hold zis," he said and handed the tiara to England.
England sighed. "Don't you think we should hide this?"
France nodded, "You are a genius, mon ami," he said and went to put it in a nearby bin.
"Not there! This is priceless bloody antique tiara. It was worn by Queen Mary!"
"She never liked me," France grumbled, putting the tiara on the driver's seat. "She thought I was a reprobate. And she banned me from her wedding to King Philip, although he was no great looker to be honest."
"Not Queen Mary I, you bloody fool! I mean the current Queen's grandmother."
"Oh her. She didn't like me either. Thought I was foppish twit. I showed her though. When I seduced her son…"
"You bloody seduced King George the Sixth? You bloody seduced the old King? The dear Queen's father?" England's voice was rising higher and higher.
"Non, I seduced the other one. That one who ran off with that American woman!"
The realisation then hit England, "You mean you were the reason King Edward abdicated the throne?"
"It wasn't my fault," France shrugged. "I never meant it to happen. I suppose who can blame him? I mean I would run away with me."
England launched himself at France and they rolled round and round on the wet ground.
Someone opened a window and yelled, "Bloody perverts! Stop yelling and screaming! I'm calling the police!"
This made them both jump to their feet. England batted France around the head, "Get in the bloody car you bloody fool and let's bloody go and I'm bloody driving."
France, who only heard England use four 'bloodies' in a sentence when he was drunk or very very cross, jumped in the car.
"So?"
"Que?"
"Never mind bloody 'que'. Where's the keys?"
"Zis is what I mean, I cannot find zem."
"You halfwit," England replied. "Ring Princess Beatrice and ask her if she has a spare."
"But then she will know where we are," France said.
"To be honest, the whole bloody world and his brother know where we are anyway… but if you manage to persuade her, use your…" here England coughed "…charm, then we might just be able to get away."
"You think that she really loves me?"
"God knows. Poor girl is obviously mentally unwell," England replied. He then saw France's face fall and said, "Yes yes I'm sure she does. She looks mad enough."
France cheered up enormously then.
"So ring her, we grab the keys off her and then we high-tail it," England said. In actual fact, England planned on high-tailing it with the car, selling the damned thing, changing his name and his identity and heading to the Outer Hebrides where he would raise sheep and knit jumpers.
"Bonjour ma cherie!" France cooed down the phone.
England winced.
France ignored him and began talking in his sexiest Frenchiest voice and then hung up.
"Well?"
"What?"
"What did she say?"
"Who?"
England felt like punching him. Again. "Princess Beatrice."
"Oh zat was not her. I just rang my date for tonight."
"I don't bloody believe you! I thought we were on the run! How can you have a date?"
"I am sorry. I understand that you feel a leetle unappreciated," France began to say. England hit him.
"I asked for large fries. I mean what's wrong with this country?" America asked for the thousandth time.
"Will you shut up about your fries?" Prussia yelled at him.
"Will you both shut up? I'm trying to drive and it's very difficult when you're drunk," Denmark told them both.
This shut them up. "Perhaps I should drive?" America ventured.
They were literally just around the corner from England's house, having only gone 500 yards before America declared he couldn't possibly go anywhere whilst he was hungry, so they'd stopped at the nearest MacDonalds drive-through. America had then got ketchup on his suit.
"You drive then I can drink," Denmark said and they swapped places.
"I should have called shotgun," Prussia lamented from the back seat.
"This is my hire car anyway," America said. "So I should drive."
"Can you drive while eating a burger and fries?" Pru asked.
America gave him one of England's 'hard looks' which seemed to close down the conversation.
"Can someone get rid of this dead king please?" Prussia asked. For some reason King Henry was sat on the back seat with Prussia. (King Charles I was still 'grooving away' at the wedding reception - weirdly, the only one of them who could party all night - without his head.)
"Well that's not very nice. Besides you might need me," King Henry said.
"How's that then, deadie?" Prussia asked.
"I can help you locate Arthur. I can dissipate and appear wherever he is."
"We know where he is, genius," Prussia replied.
"Yes but he might not be there much longer!"
"Okay then deadie - talk!" Prussia said.
England suddenly stopped fighting France and stood up. "I got the most extraordinary feeling that someone walked over my grave," he said, shivering.
France, pulling his robe around himself nodded. His green face mask had thankfully been rubbed off in the melee and he was now pulling on his poncho. "I've found ze keys, mon ami!" He said triumphantly, pulling said keys out of the pocket of his poncho.
"Right let's go then," England said and thinking to himself that he was going to speed off as soon as France was distracted by a 'pretty girl/pretty man/wine' (delete as appropriate) and he was off to the Outer Hebrides, sell the car, adopt a Scottish accent and raise sheep.
"Not so fast!" Came a voice.
Belarus stood in the exit from the car park.
"Run her over," France whispered to England as the British Nation tried desperately to get the keys into the ignition.
England glared at him.
"You thought that you could just leave me?" Belarus growled as she approached.
"Well kind of…" England began to say then changed his mind when he saw her face and the knife in her hand. "No… absolutely not. I would never just leave a lady…covered in cake," he added when he saw the lemon sponge on her blue dress.
"Where is my brother, England?" she asked.
"Drive," France whispered resolutely not looking at Belarus as if him not looking at her would mean that she would not see him.
"I heard that, France."
"Sacre bleu!"
"And I blame you for leading Arthur astray."
France shook his head. "He has always been a hoodlum, mademoiselle Biélorussie. He has no regard for others or their clothes."
"You can shut up! I was never in trouble with the law until you bloody well started living with me," England retorted.
"Zat is a lie! You were once arrested for hula-hooping in a public space."
"That was bloody Alfred!"
Belarus suddenly shouted, "Enough! My sestra warned me about you, Arthur. She said you were not right in the head and Hungary said that you were a ladies' man."
"Hahahahaha!" France laughed so hard his sunglasses fell off.
England wondered why he was wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night.
"This is not a laughing matter," Belarus said. "And where is the tiara?" she added and she suddenly appeared next to the driver's window apparently without even moving her feet.
England, panicking now, turned the key and the car spluttered and banged and stalled.
The petrol gauge read empty. England hit France.
France, ever the hero, jumped out of the car and ran back into the hotel taking the tiara with him.
"Erm… right then!" England said to Belarus and then followed France.
After whizzing around the constant traffic jam that was the M25 - and by whizzing, this meant illegally driving on the hard shoulder - America, Prussia and Denmark, the Awesome Trio, skidded into Slough Travelodge car park.
"If he's still here…He might not be…" King Henry said lamely. "I'm thinking he might be in the Outer Hebrides..."
"Useless dead guy," Prussia said. "Making up stuff. Whoever heard of the Outer thingies?"
"I think that's the car France got off that Princess who says she loves him," America said, pointing at the Porsche.
"Why can't I get a princess to love me?" Denmark said sadly.
"I love you, Den," Pru said and then jumped out of the car and swaggered towards the reception where he tried to charm the bored-looking woman behind the reception desk.
"Yo! You there! Bored looking woman person," he began.
Denmark elbowed him out of the way, "You look very charming. I like your er… perfume, what is it?"
"Dettol," the woman replied. (She was the actually the cleaning lady about to go off her shift.)
"Nice…" Denmark said, leaning over the desk.
America then elbowed him out of the way. "I'll deal with this. I'm good with English people."
"I'm Scottish," the cleaner said.
"My Uncle's Scottish. He's also quite mad," America told her. "I think he might be in prison at the moment. He got into a fight with my other uncle who's Welsh."
"We're looking for two men," Prussia broke in and getting to the point.
The cleaner raised an eyebrow. "This isn't that kind of place," she said.
"We're not those kind of people," Denmark said helpfully.
"Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy," America chirped up. "One of them looks like he's about a thousand years old and hates everything apart from tea. The other is French and was probably wearing a poncho and a tiara."
"They are staying here," Denmark said.
"They were probably arguing and being gay together," Prussia added helpfully.
"The Frenchman probably tried to shag someone as soon as he walked in," America said.
This last sentence seemed to make the woman remember something because she wrinkled her nose and pulled her overall around herself. "He told me I reminded him of Brigitte Bardot," she told them.
"Wow," Pru said. "Really?"
"That's it! That's just what I thought!" Den said, snapping his fingers.
"Room 217," the woman said and pointed down the corridor with a shrug.
"Come on, men!" America said and led the way.
But then they all three of the 'Awesome Trio' stopped in their tracks at the sight of a sinister silhouette on the wall opposite room 217.
They shrank back.
The silhouette was of a woman in a dress holding a knife.
"Now what?" Den said, stepping back quickly and pulling the others with him.
"Now what?" England asked France.
"I have to zink of everyzing!" France said, busily texting.
"She's gone quiet," England said, his ear to the door. They'd heard the horrid scraping of knives against the door and Belarus chanting something in Belorussian. England didn't think his nerves could stand it.
"I am texting my love Beatrice to come and rescue me from zis."
"Do you think she could have a word with the powers that be and tell them that the tiara accidentally fell into your bag?"
"Ah!" France suddenly exclaimed.
England didn't like the sound of that. It usually meant either France couldn't zip up his tight pants or that he'd made England a bad cup of tea.
"What?" England said. He was worried that Belarus on the other side of the door had gone quiet.
"She says zat ze wedding is off!"
"What wedding? There's just been a wedding," England replied. "Now help me with this bed."
France immediately threw himself onto the nearest bed and struck a pose.
"Not like that, you moron! Give me a hand barricading this door. ! I think Belarus wants to parboil my head!"
France leapt off the bed and with the minimal of energy tried to shove the bed against the door.
"God, you're so out of shape, aren't you?" England said.
"I need to conserve my energy," France sulked.
"Anyway, puff…what…puff…wedding?" England said in between puffs and wheezes as he shoved the bed against the door and then leaned against it.
"Mon wedding to ze Princess," France replied.
Before England could reply to this there was a hammering.
"Oh shit!" England said. "Pretend we're not in!" He hissed and hid in the bathroom and stood in the bath behind a mildewed shower curtain.
France stood with him and examined the travel toiletries with some interest. England batted them out of his hand. "This is serious," he whispered.
"Open up! This is the law!" Came a voice.
"That doesn't sound like Belarus, unless she has changed sex," England said.
"Sex…" France murmured, looking at the bath loofah.
England wished he'd not said that word whilst stood in a bathroom with France. He slapped the Frenchman with a damp flannel.
He was about to ask France what he meant about what wedding to what princess, when there was a resounding crash of tinkling glass in their room (England really wished it wasn't classed as 'their' room). "Oh no, it's the rozzers!" England said to France and tried to think of some way they could barricade the bathroom door while he tried to think of some excuse for stealing a priceless tiara belonging to the Monarch.
England turned to France, "I will not go to prison for you!" He said and shoved the Frenchman out of the bathroom.
But it was not the 'rozzers' as France found when he peered into the bedroom. Denmark, America and Prussia were lying in a tangle on the floor beneath the broken window.
Just at that moment, there was the sound of an axe being struck against the door and they could hear Belarus chanting, "Little pigs little pigs let me come in!"
The three Nations on the floor disentangled themselves and all of them looked terrified. France slunk back into the bathroom and quietly closed to the door. "Prepare for death," he whispered to England as he got in the bathtub with him.
Screams could be heard when Belarus' pretty but demented face appeared in a hole in the door, "Here's Bela!" She cried and kicked the rest of the door in…
Author's note:
'Rozzers' is a rather old-fashioned British term for the Police.