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Driving Lessons Chapter 74 - With a Little Help From My Friends
"I tell you, I know nothing!" England insisted. He still had spectacles drawn on his face and had no idea. He was also twitching and had slapped his own ears a few times. This did not help the image of him not being maniac.
"Bloody give up stabbing me, Tinks," he whispered as he smacked his own head again.
Arthur Kirkland was sat in a police interview room. Across the chipped formica desk from him sat a weary looking Police Inspector who observed the twitching mess in front of him with unease.
"Again, Mr Kirkland, why were you there? What were you doing?" The Inspector asked.
"I fell asleep," England said and shook his head again to throw off 'Tinks'. It was the truth. He had.
He wondered where the so-called Awesome Trio were.
"Suspect still insists he had nothing to do with the breaking in of the Tower," the Inspector said into the police recording machine.
"Of course I do. Because I don't." England insisted. Bloody buggers had just left him to it he thought.
"So you broke into the Tower of London alone?" The Inspector asked.
England considered dobbing in his fellow Nations, thought about his ethics, the code of chivalry, somehow implicating France as well and then said, "There were three others." He thought also about telling the man about Tinkerbell but probably talking about fairies would be going too far. Besides she had the power to turn him into a Frenchman. That wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.
"Three?" The Inspector looked suddenly interested.
"Yes, the Awesome Trio," England said and then immediately regretted this.
"Take him back to the cells," the Inspector called to his Constable.
"No! Wait! It's true. One is called Gilbert Beilschmidt and he's Prussian with a German brother."
"Prussian?" The Inspector said, raising an eyebrow.
"And then there's Den… er Matthias Køhler." England said and pronounced Køhler as 'cola'. "But he's probably drunk." He hesitated before saying America's name, he was responsible for the 'boy' but then decided that if the American got arrested he might be sent back to America and isn't that what he ultimately wanted? To get rid of his bloody lodgers. "And Alfred F Jones, an American," he added.
"This Trio? Are they a gang?" The Police Inspector asked, presumably meaning a criminal gang.
"They like to think so."
"Mr Kirkland, we searched the premises and didn't find any Prussians, Danes or Americans."
"That's your fault," England said, crossing his legs and leaning back. He looked at the two-way mirror and frowned. "Am I being observed?" He asked. Tinkerbell flew up in front of the mirror and adjusted her hair. She then waved at England and disappeared - much to his relief.
"No," the inspector said. He was looking fed up now. They'd searched England when they'd found him and only discovered a library card to give them any idea as to England's identity.
After England's night in the cells, the Inspector had rung up the library when they'd opened to find their mysterious 'Arthur Kirkland' was banned due to excessive library fines and refused to give him any more information. Apart from a leather wallet containing the grand sum of £9.63, some car keys with a Bentley fob (the Inspector doubted very much that this specimen in front of him had ever driven a Bentley) and an emergency teabag, the police had found nothing suspicious. That was until they found some small packets of white powder they at first suspected was cocaine until lengthy drugs analysis revealed they contained sugar (for England's emergency teabag).
He refused, steadfastly, to tell them his full address. He didn't want dirty size 12 policemen boots stomping through his house yet again and no doubt a full scale search would cause mayhem with a jet-lagged Russia. If not World War Three.
"So Mr Kirkland. What were you doing in the Tower?"
"If I told you, you'd never believe me," England said with a sigh.
"Try me."
So England did.
The Inspector looked at him and then turned to the Constable, a large rather simple but brutish looking young man (it was a sign of age when policemen looked young) and said, "Call a psychiatrist."
"Was it the mention of the two dead kings?" England said.
"Back to the cells," the Inspector said.
"No wait… it's all true. They must have put the crown back then? After all nothing is missing," England said. "So what are you going to charge me with?"
"Breaking and entering, trespass, damage to property…"
"I want a lawyer," England said.
The Inspector nodded, smiling. He knew he could get this weird man to talk at some stage. He was convinced there was some link to the criminal gang known as 'PruDen' or 'DenPru' who had been stealing pizza delivery vans and generally being a 'nuisance' in the local shops. But there'd been no talk of an American (America would be disappointed with this).
'We'll get you our best lawyer," the Inspector said, emphasising the word 'best' in a strange way. He waved at the constable to escort England back to his cell.
"I don't suppose I could have a television? I'm missing Homes Under the Hammer," England said to the young constable. The constable said nothing.
England waved at the two-way mirror. He'd watched all the police procedural dramas on telly and there was always some police top knob watching the interviews. But he still failed to notice the drawn-on spectacles.
"I wonder where Arthur is? He did not come home last night. I cannot parent zis child alone!" France said.
Clearly, he couldn't. He was up to his elbows in soap suds at the kitchen sink. The child Charlemagne sat in the said sink having a bath, shoving a dish-washing sponge up Francis' nose.
The kitchen was a mess. There was a bag of nappies in one corner, the washing machine was going full tilt and the kitchen table looked as if someone had had a food fight. Someone had - Russia and the baby. The former now sat at the table, a kitten in each of his giant pockets, another two kittens sat on his knee (all with ridiculous Tsar names) his elbows in pools of baby porridge whilst he read the English papers. "It says in your horrorscope that you are going to have a bad day, France," he said. (He said the word horoscope as 'horror scope'.)
France sniffed. "Ah eet eez a women's lot in life," he said.
Russia nodded. "Can you fill up my mug of tea?" He asked, holding up a Cardiff United mug.
France nodded. "When I have finished bathing Charlemagne."
Russia noted that the Frenchman was bathing the child alongside the dishes and decided, despite having eaten questionable things at the battle of Stalingrad, he would eat out for the rest of the day.
"Eet eez inconsiderate to leave me to look after ze baby all night all alone," France moaned while scrubbing under the child's armpits.
"Ga," Charlemagne agreed.
Russia said, "I did the night-time feeding."
"Oui, but I was alone."
"You were asleep."
"Oui, alone."
"I was up all night." Russia pointed out. He was Russian though and his body-clock was stuck firmly somewhere in Kamchatka.
"I fed him zis morning."
"After I poured wine on you."
"Zat was wine?"
"Bordeaux."
France stifled a sob.
"Bu!" Charlemagne agreed.
The door opened and in marched the Awesome Trio. "Yo! Mission complete!" America yelled. "Get some pancakes on the stove, Francy-pants and make some hot coffee."
Russia growled from behind the Financial Times.
"You did it? You took ze crown back?" France asked, lifting Charlemagne from the kitchen sink, wrapping him in a Prince Charles and Lady Diana Royal Wedding tea-towel belonging to England.
"Give him to Auntie Den," Den said, grabbing the child. "Has he had his breakfast?"
"Da," Russia said and indicated the state of the table.
"Da," Charlemagne agreed.
"Jeez." America said. He headed into the house, throwing off his harness and ropes that he was still attached to. He had received some strange looks on the Tube.
"Where is Angleterre?" France asked.
"Arrested," Prussia said simply.
France stepped back dramatically. "Non! Tell me it's not true."
Prussia shrugged.
"You abandoned him," Russia said - quite perceptively as it turned out.
"Well kind of."
"He took one for the team," America yelled from the lounge. "Wow I'm beat! Forget the pancakes and coffee, Francy-pants," he continued shouting (France ignored him) "I'm off to bed. I was up all night with those two. Stuck in a cleaner's cupboard with Denmark and Pru."
"I think we should evict him from the trio," Prussia said to Den.
Den nodded. "It wasn't my fault that that beer can exploded."
"You shook it," Prussia reminded him.
Russia shook his head. "One of the Henrys came here just after Karol's 3 am feed and told me that you were drinking alcohol in a closet. I thought that was very Prussian," he said.
Prussia thought about this, was about to say something else when France interrupted.
France looked as if he were to swoon. "I am a single parent," he said.
"You have still not topped up my tea," Russia said, holding up his mug.
"Ah oui."
"Bloody hell," Prussia said, observing the scene. He would have sworn in German but Russia would no doubt have stuck a pipe in his head for doing so.
"One of the Henrys also told me that England had been arrested while I was telling Karol all about my tsars," Russia continued.
"Yeah, he's in a police cell!" America yelled from upstairs. "Can you keep it down though? I'm trying to sleep." Honestly, he had not got over the fact that Henry V had never heard of his great country. Amazing.
"We have to rescue him!" France said. Presumably France meant Arthur and not Henry V or America.
Prussia, took the apron from France and began feverishly washing dishes. Russia wrinkled his nose. "Karol was bathed in that water," he warned.
"Charlemagne!" France insisted.
"Karol," Russia growled.
Charlemagne pointed at Russia and said, "Ba."
"I am not your Babushka. But possibly France is an old woman," Russia told the child.
"He's talking! I have to get this on Youtube!" Denmark said happily, dressing the child in his mini viking costume complete with plastic axe.
France glared at him. "Do not put that viking helmet on his head!"
"Morons. Look at the state of this place. It wouldn't hurt you to actually clean up," Prussia said, cleaning the table around Russia's huge arms.
France disappeared and then reappeared in what Prussia would have called a 'flasher mac' and carrying the umbrella Russia had stolen. He wore a purple fedora and purple hot pants. "I'm going to rescue Arthur," he announced to them.
No-one said anything as he swept out. He then swept back in. "Which police station is he in?" He asked Russia.
Russia shrugged. He was too busy reading about America (the country, not Alfred) and smiling to himself.
"Upper Snodbury," Prussia lied. "Police Station." He added.
France frowned looking at him and then shrugged and then left again. The door re-opened and he asked, "Has anyone got any money I can use for the bus, s'il vous plait?"
Russia threw a wallet of loose change he had found under England's bed at the Frenchman's head.
It hit him. "Merci!" France shouted.
"I'd like to see him sat on the Jubilee line," Prussia muttered, mopping the floor.
"Da, that hat and those trousers do not belong together," Russia mumbled.
England sat in his cell and was, all things considered, fairly happy. He would have been happier if he'd had a book or a cross-stitch or even better, a television. But there were no other Nations around to bother him so that was good.
This did not last.
The cell door was unlocked and a policeman said, "Kirkland, we've got you a lawyer."
England stood up. He noticed that when the police were getting annoyed they swapped from 'Mr Kirkland' to plain 'Kirkland'.
"Thank you, my good man," he answered, following the policeman down the corridor and entering the interview room.
"Hola!" Spain said happily.
"Why are you here?" England asked.
"I'm your lawyer."
England stood up. "Right very funny. I'll go back to my cell now, thanks," he said to the policeman stood guarding the door.
"I am! Really! I had a spare century and got my law degree," Spain said and placed his briefcase on the table.
England sat back down. "Right…Look I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't mean to cause any trouble between you and Belgium…"
"Que?"
Stupid Spaniard, England thought. He'd always thought those Nations from hotter countries like Italy and Spain were daft. It must be all that sun. But then again, Spain had obviously forgotten…so…
Spain unlocked his briefcase and produced a tomato. He then hunted around a bit more and produced a notebook covered in something that England suspected was tomato juice. He then produced a small bag of olives which he gave to England, who passed them back and a copy of Dummies Guide to Lawyering.
"I can represent you and get you out of this!" Spain said, and began hunting around in his briefcase again.
"I bet you don't have a pen do you?" England sighed.
Spain looked at him with big brown eyes, "Can I borrow one?"
"They searched me," England said and then added, "Extensively. So no I don't have one, even though I normally carry one just in case I am asked to complete a crossword."
Spain thought about this. "I thought that looking at your face, you would have one," he said finally, noting the glasses artfully drawn around England's eyes.
England wondered what on earth Spain was talking about.
Finally, Spain said to the police constable, "Can I borrow a pen?"
"Shall I just accept my sentencing now?" England said.
Spain looked at him, "Would you? It would make life so much easier for me."
"Bloody no! Do your job!" England yelled.
Spain considered this, "Belgium said that I was to get the shortest custodial sentence for you that I could."
"I'm not even bloody guilty!" England yelled.
"Oh!"
The police constable stepped forward then and gave Spain a pen.
"Gracias!" Spain said happily. "Right, here is my business card," he said giving a stained card to England that read 'Antonio Fernández Carriedo, Abogado'.
"What's an 'abogado' and why have you given me this? I know who you bloody well are."
"Abogado is lawyer," Spain said. He looked hurt. He began scribbling in the notebook. The first words were unintelligible to England but actually said 'England - burglary. Did he do it? Shopping list - rice, tomatoes, chorizo, tomatoes, peppers, more tomatoes.'
"Tell me what happened," Spain said finally. "Oh and where is the nearest grocery store from here?"
"Well…America, myself, Prussia and Denmark and the two king Henrys…"
"Co-op," the police constable answered.
"What?" England said as Spain continued to scribble.
"Co-op is the nearest grocery store," the constable said.
"Gracias," Spain said.
"Anyway, as I was saying…the two king Henrys…"
"Who?"
"Henry V and Henry VI were with us."
"Was Henry V the one who beat up France?" Spain asked, his eyes wide.
England smiled, "Oh yes."
Spain shuddered. "Why were they there? Aren't they dead?"
"Yes but… don't you ever get visits from your dead bosses?"
Spain thought about it, "Sometimes Ferdinand. But not often."
In England's opinion, all the Spanish kings had been absolute morons.
"Right so what were you doing?" Spain continued and began writing again. This looked impressive to England, but it was actually a love letter in Spanish to Belgium.
"Well we were putting the crown back," England whispered, leaning in close across the table and hoping the police couldn't hear him.
"Que?"
"We were putting the crown back," England said again, a little louder.
"Que?"
'WE WERE PUTTING THE BLOODY CROWN BACK!" England finally shouted.
The police constable shifted from foot to another and then, ominously, went out.
"No I meant what crown?" Spain said.
England sighed. "The Imperial State Crown."
"Why did you have that? Did you steal it?"
"It wasn't like that."
"Joanna the Mad once lent me her crown and I lost it." Spain confided.
England thought all the Spanish Monarchs were called 'the Mad' but didn't say it. "I didn't steal it."
"Did you really wreck two of Germany's cars?" Spain asked.
"Well it wasn't exactly my fault. France and I were trying to move an antique desk…"
"Germany said that you threw a desk through a window and onto his car."
"Well it wasn't like that."
"And Romano said that you stole his pizza delivery van."
"Well that wasn't exactly just me. It was Denmark and Prussia."
"They are a bad influence." Spain said. "I must go out drinking with them again. I'll give them a call later."
"So, this crown - it appeared in my house."
"How?"
"By magic."
"Oh wow!"
"I tried magic to get rid of the Queen Mary tiara."
"Why did you have Queen Mary's tiara?"
"It kind of fell into my hands at the wedding."
"You stole it?"
"No, like I say it fell into my hand after I accidentally gave a dead mouse to the bride."
Spain looked horrified, "Is that an English custom?"
"I think I need a different lawyer," England said.
"You're entitled to one phone call," Spain told him.
"I am?"
"Didn't you know? You've been arrested loads of times in the last few weeks. I know this because America put it on Facebook."
"Will someone answer the phone? Got my hands full!" Den shouted as the phone rang. He was currently filming on Youtube - showing the world how 'Carl' could burp the Danish anthem (although it needed work). (Denmark still refused to call the child Charlemagne - it just wasn't cool or Viking enough.)
"I will get it!" Russia said and lumbered off. "Privet!" He yelled down the phone. "Arthur Kirkland? No, he is not here. He is elsewhere. I believe he may have been cursed to oblivion along with all his descendants. I hope you have a nice day." Russia hung up then.
"Who was it?" Prussia asked him.
"I do not know. I think he said it was someone who called himself 'Moron', but I am not sure. That is an unusual name, da?"
At the other end of the line, England held the police station phone in one hand and bashed his head against the wall. "Morons morons morons." He groaned.
"Who did you speak with?" Spain asked, standing next to him.
"Russia," England said.
"You called Russia a moron? I think you have more serious problems than a custodial sentence for burglary."
"I am not a burglar!"
Outside a police station somewhere across London, France dressed in a mackintosh coat, purple pantalons and a fedora hat had chained himself to the railings. He held up a sign that said 'FREE KIRKLAND'. He had only been there ten minutes and six people had asked for 'a free Kirkland' maybe thinking it was a free bagel or some such. He posted a picture of himself on Facebook and received a message back from Poland saying that he wouldn't want a free Kirkland. He gave up then and unlocked himself. He had an idea, but this would mean a trip to Buckingham Palace. He took a cab, told the driver where to take him.
"Are you Gary Barlow?" The driver asked.
"Oui, I am." France said. He had no idea who this person was, but decided that if the man thought he was, then who was he to argue?
"My wife likes your music," the man said.
"I'm very glad that she does," France said, completely seriously. He also loved his own cover versions of Charles Aznavour.
"Can I make another phone call?" England asked Spain.
"How should I know?"
"Because you're the bloody lawyer!"
The police constable who was watching them told England that no, he wasn't allowed another phone call and that the police inspector was disgusted about the number of phone calls they had received on England's mobile phone asking for 'sexy gay massage'.
"My bloody brothers! It was my brothers!" England shouted.
"Your brothers are ringing you asking you for gay message?" The policeman asked.
"No, I mean they put my mobile number on my Bentley."
The constable did not believe for one moment that England drove a Bentley. However, he was distracted for a moment by a kerfuffle outside in the corridor. "Excuse me," he said. "I'll be back in a moment."
England looked at Spain, "Do you think I could make a run for it?" He said.
Spain looked back at him, "Would I still get my fee?"
"Who said I was paying you?"
Outside in the corridor they could hear an angry German voice: "I tell you, why would I throw a stale pizza at the Duke?"
England stood up and went to the door to listen.
"It was not stale! Fratello and I don't sell stale pizzas!" An Italian then wailed.
"It had been in that van for over a week, Italy, so I'm sure by now it would be stale." The German then said.
England wondered which Duke had had the pizza thrown at him. This day was starting to pick up.
"I demand a lawyer!" The German yelled.
"I think you've got another customer," England told Spain.
"I wonder who it is," Spain said dozily.
"Yes, I wonder." England smiled. This was wonderful.
"I demand a telephone call to the German Embassy," the German shouted.
"He's a loud bugger isn't it?" England said. "Demanding this and that."
"It was Henry V! I know that sounds mad but it was him!" The German yelled as he was taken to the cells (it took four policemen to escort him).
England sat back down. "This is turning into a much better day," he said to Spain.
"I wonder who that was? It's interesting that your dead king was involved." Spain said.
The police Inspector returned to the room with a constable. "Well well, Kirkland, we've just arrested an individual who's also claiming rubbish about some dead kings."
"I'd throw him in the most secure cell you can and leave him there," England said.
"Do you know him by any chance?"
"Me? No."
"Well when we questioned him, he claims to know you," the Inspector said. "He said it all started when someone called Arthur Kirkland wrecked his car with an antique bureau and then trapped him in an upturned caravan. Know anything about this?"
"Me? No," England repeated.
Spain looked utterly shocked.
"Anyway, he won't be here long as he will be out on bail soon," the policeman continued.
"Really? Who's going to bail him out?" England asked, trying not to sound jealous.
"He said he has a rich cousin," the Inspector said, watching England closely.
Outside in the police station reception area a very querulous Austrian was arguing with the desk sergeant. "I am telling you, if I have to pay a penny… a penny I tell you, over this ridiculous sum, then I will sue you and I also expect a receipt!"
In the corner, a television was broadcasting the newest TV station - BBC Scotland. A familiar face appears behind the news desk, shuffling papers. For no reason at all his co-host is his nephew and his nephew's pet duck.
The newscaster began: "Welcome to BBC Scotland and I'm Hamish and Scottish which is definitely better than being English…"
Meanwhile, at the Buckingham Palace Garden Party attended by members of the royal family, members of the public and minor celebrities, a shadowy stealthy figure clad in purple 'pantalons' and a purple fedora hat lurked in the bushes. He was sure if he could throw himself on the mercy of the Queen (or perhaps one of the minor royal princes/princesses who he'd had 'relations' with in the last few years) he could get England out of prison. He could not bear to be a single parent…