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Driving Lessons Chapter 77 Hello, Goodbye
"Well, that's the first and hopefully last time I ever get thrown out of a police station," England said, opening his front door.
He stopped, realised that it had been left unlocked and frowned. His phone rang, he answered and shouted, "No I do not give gay sex massage, bugger off!" He turned to look at the people behind him. Yes, people in plural. Unfortunately, Spain, Italy, Germany and France were following him. Austria had had to go. Apparently he had a 'therapy emergency'.
"Why don't you all bugger off?" He said.
"You owe me money for Italy's van," Germany said.
"Si!" Italy said.
"I'm his lawyer and I've drawn up a document suing you," Spain said.
England ignored him and stepped carefully into his house. "Who the bloody hell left my house unlocked?" He growled.
"It was not me, the Awesome Trio left after me," France said. "I was going to rescue you, mon cher."
It was technically true.
However, a few of them looked sceptical. Not least England, "Why in God's name did you kidnap Prince Harry?" He asked France. It was a reasonable question he thought.
"Prince Harry? He wasn't Ed Sheeran?" France asked, picking his way through the kitchen, feeding the meowing cats, who all hissed at Germany who stepped away, citing he was 'allergic'.
"I like him," Italy said.
"Who? Ed Sheeran?" Germany asked, he looked appalled at the idea and tried to brush a cat away from his trousers.
"No, Prince Harry," Italy said.
"He's a rubbish singer," said France.
"Who? Prince Harry?" Germany asked.
"No, Ed Sheeran. He refused to give me an autograph," France replied.
"Because it wasn't bloody Ed Sheeran! How many times do we have to bloody well tell you? It was bloody Prince Harry!" England yelled. "You need glasses."
"You need to calm down," Germany said. "And get those cats away from my trousers."
"Don't you shout at my cats," France said.
"Hear hear, my perverted bankrupted friend," England said.
"Bankrupt?" Squealed le great Le France.
"Oui," England replied. France winced. "Bankrupt. By the time you've paid off Her Maj for what you did to her car, there'll be another ice age."
England tried to switch on the kettle and found, much to his utter amazement that there was no electricity.
"Your electricity is off," Germany said, disapprovingly. He wrote this down in his 'Why I'm Better Than England' notebook. 'I pay my electricity bills,' he wrote.
"Why is there a pentagram on the floor?" Italy said, edging close to Germany.
"There's a letter on the table," Spain said.
"Ah oui, ze electric bill. Nobody has paid it," France said.
"No, it looks like a proper letter," Spain said. He knew of such things.
"Why do you still have spectacles drawn on your face?" Italy asked England.
England wasn't listening to him. Although Italy was right, he did still have spectacles drawn on his face and he was still oblivious. He picked up the letter. The envelope disintegrated in his hands and Tinkerbell appeared holding a piece of paper.
This seemed totally superfluous to everyone but obviously Tinkerbell had a new employer now.
"Ah Tinks!" England said happily and was hit on the nose for his pains. She dropped the letter and then disappeared in a shower of sparkle with a rude gesture.
"Fairy!" Italy cried in delight.
"What are you on about?" Germany asked angrily. He obviously hadn't seen the tiny fairy.
"Eet eez Tinkerbell. She used to be employed by Arthur and now she is not. Alas!" France said. He had his own problems and we'll get to them in a bit…
"A letter…" England said. He seemed very reluctant to read it.
Germany took it from him. He didn't believe in fairies, magic and 'all that rubbish'. "Terrible handwriting," he mused as he began. "Dear husband…"
"Oh mon Dieu! Arthur! You have another!" France exclaimed, his hand dramatically went to his forehead. Spain patted his arm.
"Shut up you imbecile. It's not a real marriage."
"I think you'll find that Russia thinks it is. Which probably means that it is," Germany said with satisfaction and began reading the letter again. "I am writing this in English instead of my beloved Russian as I understand that you have failed to learn any other language but your own…" Germany shook his head. He actually felt sorry for the poor woman. "I am prepared to ignore the fact that you have not learned Russian…"
England nodded. "Because we're not bloody married!" He yelled. "Also Russian is unintelligible," he added.
Germany raised an eyebrow.
"What's unintelligible?" Russia asked from the doorway.
Italy jumped into Spain's arms.
France squeaked with fright.
Germany dropped the letter.
"Oh nothing," England said airily.
"Have you paid the electricity bill yet?" Russia asked. He shoved Germany outside and then said to Charlemagne. "That was Germany. He is very bad."
"Erm no."
"That is not good," Russia rumbled. He did not look happy. "I am missing Coronation Street."
"Germany was reading out a letter to me from your sister," England replied quickly. Germany stood on the doorstep but was blocked from coming in by Russia's bulk. He tried to look nonchalant. It didn't work. Germany could not look nonchalant if his life or his paperwork depended on it.
"Which sister?" Russia asked.
"Miss Belarus," Germany answered from the doorstep.
Russia stepped further into the kitchen and handed Charlemagne to France.
"Pa," Charlemagne said - to France's delight.
Russia stared at France and then back at England and then at the others.
France smiled weakly.
"What is that on your ankle?" Russia asked France.
"My foot?" France answered.
England nudged him. It was never wise to joke with Russia. One never knew how it would go.
Russia glared at France. "If I did not like your 'Ask France' radio show, Mr Pipe would be inside your skull," Russia told him.
What was this 'Ask France' radio show England wanted to ask, but didn't. They, or at least he did (much to the others' entertainment) have other issues at hand.
"He's wearing an ankle monitor," England told Russia delightedly.
England had still not fully realised the enormity of this. But when France had been fitted with it at the police station, England had not been listening to the policeman regarding the restrictions, namely that France would not be able to leave the house. Instead England had gone on his knees and begged that France be exiled back to Paris. When this hadn't happened, he'd just been happy that France was being punished. Little did England realise yet that the person being punished was himself.
Russia looked the Frenchman up and down. "Do you want me to take it off you?"
France nodded eagerly and held up his shapely leg like a ballerina.
Russia took out the largest knife anyone had ever seen and took a step forward.
"Woah there!" England shouted.
France jumped away.
Italy screamed like a girl.
Germany gasped.
Spain looked up from reading the letter and said, "Que?"
"It is the only way to get the anklet off," Russia said, approaching the Frenchman.
"Non!" France gave Charlemagne to Spain and ran upstairs.
"Oh well," Russia shrugged.
"You weren't really going to cut off his foot were you?" Germany asked, his face white.
Russia laughed heartily, didn't answer and then went out, calling after him, "I have things to do!"
"He means Coronation Street is on," England explained to the others.
Russia then came back in. "Do not tell my sister where I am," he warned.
"She was here wasn't she?" England asked with a shiver.
Russia didn't answer but hurried off.
Charlemagne/Karol/Carl nodded and said, "Gug." Which England took to mean 'yes'.
England took the letter from Spain who was looking at the Englishman as if he were a condemned man.
He read in the tone of a man about to go to his doom, "As my husband you have not executed your duties to me," he read.
Germany looked embarrassed.
Italy held up a hand and said, "Does she mean…?"
Germany put a hand over his mouth, "Don't say it!" He hissed.
Spain looked confused. "You should always cook for your wife!" He said. "I always cooked for Austria."
"I don't think she means cooking," Italy said.
Germany was shaking his head. He really didn't know who to look at. So he looked at the child. Charlemagne pointed at him and burped loudly.
"She's left me a stew," England pointed to the stove top.
"Do you want me to make you a pizza?" Italy asked, trembling.
"Nein!" Germany shouted.
"I don't need nine pizzas Germany, old fellow," England said smoothly. He obviously thought he was funny. Nobody laughed. "She says I'm to meet her at some club or something…Tonight!" He added but then didn't laugh.
"I feel sorry for her!" Germany announced and, not wishing to hear any more said to Spain, "Leave him the document, Spain and let's go. I expect full recompense for Italy's van within a week," he added to England.
England laughed in his face. "I have an outstanding electricity bill that I can't pay, a pentagram on my floor, Belarus's stew on my cooker and I'm being asked to go on what she calls date night," (here England waved his letter in Germany's face) "Do you think I care about Italy's van? Go and sue King Charles."
"Let's go, Italy. This place gives me the creeps," Germany said and went out. He came back in, got hold of the gawping Italian and left again.
Spain shook his head sadly, "Never mind, amigo. I'm sure it will be okay. Are you really going on a date with Miss Belarus?"
England nodded and waved the letter in Spain's face.
The baby, now sat in his high chair looking from England, to Spain and back began wailing.
England picked him up and began jiggling him up and down. "Never mind, there there…" He said ineffectually.
France finally crept back down the stairs, having sensed that Russia had left and took the child from England. "What did the nasty Englishman do eh? Did he threaten you with his Navy? We could help you get ready mon cher." The baby stopped crying. "Uncle Arthur smells like prison, non?" He said to the child.
Charlemagne seemed to agree as France stuck a bottle in the child's mouth.
"I didn't go to prison!" England protested.
"Thanks to me, amigo. And yes you look terrible," Spain agreed.
"Why are you still here?"
Prussia and Denmark stood outside the German Embassy in Belgravia. "We can get in easy. My brother is the German Nation for God's sake!" Prussia exclaimed.
Denmark still looked doubtful. They'd decided in their infinite wisdom not to go back to England's house (the English Nation didn't realise this just yet) as the electricity was still not on and as England had informed everyone that he 'was darned if he was going to pay for all of them to just doss about doing nothing but play video games'. When Prussia pointed out that he didn't just doss about doing nothing, but actually went on internet parenting forums and cause trouble, England had just tutted.
America of course had taken himself off saying that 'as Uncle Hamish was a television star he was sure he could be one as well'.
Prussia approached the intimidating looking security guard. It was already late and the Embassy was closed for the evening. Prussia showed the man his passport and ID (both pictures on these looked as if Prussia was drunk/high and in one he was wearing a pair of antlers). "Good evening I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt, older brother of Ludwig Beilschmidt. My name is probably on a list somewhere. And he's Gorm Bloodsword." (Denmark smiled at this. It was his favourite alias.)
The man raised an eyebrow, spoke quietly into a walkie-talkie, stopped, listened and then looked at Gilbert. "Yes your name is on our list."
"Excellent, so that means you'll let us in?"
The man shook his head. "I've been warned not to let you in if my job depends upon it."
"Really?" Prussia asked. "Well that's a bit rubbish." He scratched his head in deep thought. "Is my brother in?"
"I'm not permitted to tell you that, Sir."
"At least he called you 'Sir'," Denmark pointed out in a whisper.
"Is your Embassy close by?" Prussia asked Denmark.
"I'm banned. You know that. They'll never replace that crockery."
"I know, I know. Don't ride a motorbike on the table before a state banquet. Blah blah blah."
"Ja," Denmark agreed. "I hope Carl dude is okay…I miss the little man."
"Calm down. You're not his mum. France is. Now let's go round the back. I know where there's a spare key."
The spare key was indeed beneath a rather rude statue of a young boy who was peeing into a pond. This was obviously not Germany's choice of lawn ornaments. Actually, Germany knew nothing about the spare key. Prussia had had it made months before.
The Prussian grinned at Denmark and inserted the key into the lock of the back door. And jumped back with a scream as his brother flung open the door.
"Nein! You are not staying here," Germany yelled at them. "Either of you!" He added when he saw Denmark about to protest.
"But England threw us out," Prussia lied.
"You mean you have come here because he has no electricity?"
"How are we supposed to go on YouTube without electricity?" Denmark asked and shoved the German aside. "Let a man in, now where's your fridge? Do you have any decent beer?"
Prussia followed.
"Did you not hear anything that I just said?" Germany asked.
They didn't answer but stomped in, trailing muddy footprints.
"Kitchen this way, dude," Prussia said.
"Lead on!"
"Animals!" Germany gasped.
"It's only one night," Prussia said. "And then we'll get back to Arthur's. He'll need us anyway because he won't be able to cope on his own with a dribbling squalling bundle that needs feeding all the time."
"Or with the baby," Denmark quipped.
Prussia high-fived him.
"And France can't cope with the baby at all. They are useless," Denmark added.
"France will have to cope. England has a date with Belarus tonight," Germany said. "Poor woman."
Denmark dropped the bottle of beer he was holding.
Prussia just turned slowly, leaving the fridge door open. Which annoyed Germany (energy wastage - what was the point in recycling everything if they were going to waste energy like this?).
"Poor dude…" Denmark said sadly. "I quite liked him as uptight Englishmen go."
Prussia nodded. "He'll be dead by now."
"Ja." They both shrugged and then carried on drinking.
"I cannot possibly wear that!" England exclaimed as France gave him a combination of possible outfits. All twelve of them had been no-nos.
Especially the purple flares and the leopard-print boots.
France had also inexplicably ordered 19 shirts in a startling shade of Fandango pink. For him. Not for France. For him. Him. England. As if England had ever worn such a colour. Apparently, France had decided ages ago that England needed to wear 'more colour'. An absurdity if ever there was one. And also France had thrown out most of England's 'normal suits' and sent them to charity. England had not got round to buying more (the charity shop one he wore for the wedding with the dead mouse in the pocket did not count). He still had his tie collection though.
Finally, England managed to find something that fitted him which was (in his eyes) fairly suitable for a date with the psychopathic sister of a psychopath who he had erroneously married (obviously Belarus not Russia, he wasn't married to Russia erroneously or otherwise).
"You look like a complete nitwit, mon ami! You cannot wear zat!" France cried as England climbed into the Bentley (which still had a Welsh flag on its roof). "Go! But never ever ask me for fashion advice ever again!" He shouted after him in dramatic fashion before slamming shut the door and sitting at the table with Charlemagne to then educate the child all about 'fashion' and the history of the Carolingian Empire.
England pulled up outside the location that his Satnav had told him was his 'destination'. He looked at it in dismay. To say it was dingy was an understatement. It proclaimed that the proprietor was a 'Mr Panda' but that couldn't be right could it?
Belarus was stood outside waiting for him.
"What are you wearing? You look like an idiot." Belarus stared at him as he got out of the Bentley. She said or swore something in Belorussian and then said, "Okay I suppose you'll do. Just don't stand next to me and if anyone asks, we don't know each other." She shook her head. "This wasn't a fancy dress party, you know."
England had no idea what she meant. "When I wore this at the Battle of Trafalgar, nobody said I looked like an idiot!" England retorted. He thought he looked rather dashing. His 19th Century Naval uniform was still in excellent condition.
He'd polished the gold buttons and although the trousers (or pantaloons as France had called them) had been a tad dingy, a bit of soap and elbow grease had got the worst of the stains out of them. All in all it was better than the Fandango pink shirt, purple flares combo that France had suggested.
He had told France to get to a laundrette to wash the rest of his 'pantaloons' before he'd had another trouser emergency.
"France told me…"
"Shut up about France, I knew this would have something to do with him. You're obsessed with each other," Belarus hissed. She nodded at the doorman who let them into the club named oddly 'Butts and Buns'.
The doorman wrinkled his nose at England.
"It's okay, he's with me," she said through gritted teeth and then added, "Don't tell anyone."
She herself was wearing a black lace dress that even France would have called chic but England thought would surely give her a chill and was carrying a large black bag. He worried about the large black bag.
"I'm sure I've heard of this place," England muttered.
"I hope not," Belarus told him as she found a very dark booth for them to sit in. She snapped her fingers to get someone's attention and a nervous barman hurried over.
"Vodka, double with lemon," she said and turned to England with a raised eyebrow.
"Don't say tea," she hissed at him.
"Tea, milk, one sugar," England said and received a kick under the table. He fiddled with his buttons. "Erm Tetley bitter, pint…no half, no pint… no perhaps a half pint as I'm driving."
"That car of yours…" Belarus began as the barman hurried off. "Why does it have a flag with a dragon on the roof?"
"What?"
"Why do you have spectacles drawn on your face?" She asked.
England sighed. He'd only just realised what those cretinous imbeciles had done to him when he'd looked in the rear view mirror of his car, he'd almost crashed into Mrs George IV's car behind him as he did so. Damn them all. The sharpie wouldn't come off. He'd tried using a handkerchief embossed with the Duke of Wellington's initials and a liberal amount of spit. It hadn't worked.
"It's a naval tradition. I'm going to a HMS Victory reunion later," He lied. Which would be a surprise for everyone as anyone who'd been in that battle would have been dead over 200 years.
His phone rang, annoyingly playing La Marseillaise. He cursed France and answered. It was France.
"I cannot go out of ze house, mon ami to do your laundry," the Frenchman said. Charlemagne appeared to agree in the background.
"Why? Are you too busy doing your hair?"
"Non, it is because of ze anklet. It gives off a buzzing noise. Ze nice hunky policeman had told me zat it would do zis if I went 10 metres beyond zis abode."
England closed his eyes. Of course, that damned anklet. "So you're basically trapped in my bloody house?"
Belarus was shaking her head. She downed her drink in one. "You two should get married," she told England. Her phone then rang. It played the opening bars of 'Night on the Bare Mountain'. She glanced at England, "This might be an emergency," she said.
England assumed it was one of those text messages/calls that women arranged for their mates to send them when they were on a date just in case they wanted to bail. So he'd heard. He prepared to finish his beer and leave. He wasn't looking forward to going home.
"I am trapped in your house, mon cher," France continue to whine on the phone. "I cannot go on a date, visit my tailor or go to ze radio station to do mon radio show!"
England really really hoped that France did not have a radio show. "Look just bugger off!" he hissed and hung up. He felt instantly better.
"Oh dear, sestra… really…?" Belarus was nodding. She said some words in Russian/Belorussian or whatever into her phone quickly and then snapped it shut. "My sestra is stuck on the No. 9 bus to Vladivostok," she said.
"Really?" England said.
"Da."
England waited for her to rush off.
She didn't.
"Damn."
"What?"
"Nothing." England had just assumed it was going to be an excuse to leave him. He sighed and drank his beer.
"You're very odd," Belarus said. "Anyway, this child…" She began.
"Which one?"
"There is more than one?"
"You mean Charlemagne?"
"Yes, him. Silly name."
"He's France's," England said with a little conviction.
"Not yours?"
"Good God no!" England spluttered.
"Good. And not Ivan's?"
"I don't think so. He's too cute."
"My brother is cute."
"Well… yes… okay…" England said and thought privately if psychopaths could be cute. "But I think he's France's."
"You don't seem sure?"
"Or America's. Maybe even erm…" England cast around for another name. He saw what looked to be King Charles I dancing - thankfully this time with his head. He hoped that there were no other dead kings around.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Where is my brother now? Because my brother detecting machine just picks up you," she said and pulled out of her bag some small device that looked like a GPS with a blinking light. It began issuing lots of squeaks as she held it close to England.
"Unless you are him under a disguise?"
"No!" England said - much too loud and then turned and apologised to the room.
Suddenly, Henry V and Henry VI appeared next to him. He was half relieved. He hadn't seen them since they'd headed off to Windsor Castle for some reason he couldn't remember. So many things had happened since then. He knew Germany had been chasing them.
"Go away," he hissed at them.
Belarus glared at him, "What?"
"My dead kings. I was talking to them," England replied.
"I don't see any dead kings."
"You obviously don't have any English in you," England said. He couldn't understand this as Russia had been able to see them. He shrugged it was probably something to do with Queen Victoria, but wasn't sure how.
Belarus hit him. Hard.
"What was that for?"
"For being filthy. For turning up in fancy dress. For having a child with France. Shall I go on?"
"Are you okay, Arthur?" Henry VI asked. He was always the more supportive one.
"You should sort out your wench!" Henry V said.
"Wench!?" England spluttered, horrified.
Belarus glared at him. She obviously didn't like the word 'wench' and being told she needed some 'English in her'. "I'm going now, Arthur. I think you need to sort yourself out. Your life is a mess and Tinkerbell told me about those Nations in your house and what they said about me," she said and stood up to leave.
"Right… bye then!" England said and downed the rest of his beer. He wondered if he could possibly get a bag of crisps and another beer. Who'd have thought that Tinkerbell was a telltale?
"I never want to see you again!" She said and flounced off. She returned, picked up her bag and headed for the bar where she could be heard saying, "Is the proprietor around?"
"Phew…" England said.
"Good show!" Henry V said.
England looked at his empty beer bottle and wandered up to the DJ, dodging the dancers on the dance floor (one of them was definitely Charles I). "I say!" England shouted up at the DJ. "I don't suppose you have a recycling bin?"
Belarus was meanwhile plotting her revenge.
Author's Notes:
I think Belarus' ringtone would definitely be the opening bars of Mussorgsky's Night on a Bare Mountain - if in doubt, just listen to it.
Next chapter - facetiming with the 'Prez'.