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Driving Lessons Chapter 95 - Money (That's What I Want)
The next morning…
It was a good thing that the weed England had ingested gave him only a hazy recollection of the events at Germany's Embassy. Everything made sense in his own head - the stealing back of the sword, the taking of the curtains, the stealing of Germany's suits (well perhaps not that last one) and most of all taking back the Lady Di tea towel.
He woke wrapped up in the curtains with the tea towel over his head on his own sofa. He was clutching Excalibur like a knight about to the do the dishes. His head hurt and he assumed he'd drunk too much (he would never ever know that he'd been high). He only remembered vaguely jumping onto the motorbike behind Prussia (who drove), with Denmark and Austria sat in the sidecar and revving down the Mall with Germany's curtains billowing behind him, wrapping around his neck like a cloak.
That had made sense as well.
The kidnapping of Austria had also made sense at the time.
And the taking of Romano's pizzas - Denmark eating them in the sidecar with Austria sat on his knee and looking most disagreeable. All of this made sense. It was like a weird fever dream he'd had once when he'd partaken of too much Benylin.
He laid ruminating on this for a while and then Turkmenistan brought him a mug of tea in his favourite 'I love Chelsea FC' mug and a slightly crispy bacon sandwich (with ketchup). He leapt up, suspicious.
"What's this? What's happened? Has someone died, declared war, destroyed a toilet?"
"No Mr England, I thought I'd cook you breakfast. I saw the recipe on the fridge door." He said.
"Recipe?" England staggered to his feet, still wearing six suits of Germany's, three hats (one a Tyrolean hat), a pair of lederhosen (Germany had hidden these at the back of his wardrobe) as well as his own 'suit'.
"Sir, perhaps you should take off some of your clothes?" Turkmenistan asked.
England frowned. "Where is everyone?" He asked when he didn't hear France's disgusting sniggers to Turkmenistan's last statement.
"Well…"
England pulled off the outer layer and found another layer of clothing and then found the 'recipe' for a bacon butty on the fridge door pinned there by an Eiffel Tower fridge magnet. "Two slices of bacon to be burnt to a crisp - fried, never boiled or baked - between two slices of thick white bread - two, not one folded over with one large dollop of tomato sauce" - all in France's elegant scrawl.
"Have they… have they… left me?" England grabbed Turkmenistan by the man's lapels and shook him. "Please tell me they have… please! Oh my God in the name of Churchill! This is brilliant!" And he danced off with his bacon sandwich.
Turkmenistan shrugged. He didn't want to burst England's bubble. But no, the Nations had not left him. For a start France was upstairs redecorating England's bedroom in colours that England would later describe as 'looking like the inside of a tart's boudoir' with the hapless Pierre.
The rest of them - namely, Russia, America with Charlemagne, Denmark, Prussia and their 'hostage' (although he didn't know this) were at an important meeting in Central London…
"Silence everyone! Silence! We'll get to all the points on the agenda in a while!" The person speaking was Mr Panda and he was sat at the head of the large conference table with Mr K (in a bad disguise - wearing a Justin Trudeau mask and a Macintosh) on one side and Germany on the other.
"I told you Mr K was in cahoots with Mr P," Denmark whispered to Prussia. They were sat at the other end of the table. They came way down the pecking order. Way down. So far down, they could barely see Mr P. There was also a large computer screen with another dozen Nations on a Zoom conference. One poor Nation was upside down and another (who Denmark didn't recognise) seemed to be wearing cat ears and the background (which was real Prussia was convinced) showed a tropical beach.
"Right, first item on the agenda," Mr Panda began. He was wearing quite a natty suit (he had his gym bag with him as he had a badminton match later with the Ecuadorian Ambassador). He'd managed to escape the Panda Nursery a week ago thanks to Belarus, who was sat further down the table and glaring at Germany for some reason. She was in black and sharpening a knife.
"I just want to say…" Germany began.
"We'll get to you in a minute," Mr P said.
"Wow…" Prussia breathed and nudged Denmark. "Never seen bruder shushed before unless it was by Austria and certainly never by a bear."
"Shush," Denmark said. "I want to see what happens."
"He owes me over £250,000!" Said one of the Nations on the computer screen.
"Who does?" Prussia asked.
"England," Denmark whispered to him.
"Who? Who?! Who he asks!" Shouted a voice. "He's a menace to normal stable Nations around the globe!" It was Germany.
"Blimey," Prussia said and shook his head. "Bruder…Not cool."
"Okay okay… your time will come, Germany," Mr Panda said puffing on a cigar.
"My time will come! He doesn't owe you money does he?" Germany said.
There were agreeing murmurs around the table.
"He trashed a new Ferrari from my dealership before it even left the showroom," said the man in the cheap suit sat next to Italy.
Italy nodded.
"With his gay boyfriend!" The man continued.
"I do think that France has had a hand in all this." This was Bulgaria who was speaking from Sofia presumably - his face leaning too close to his computer so all they could see of him was one large brown eye.
"France enables him," Malta said, also from the computer screen.
"The money he owes me cannot be counted. I would say it's in the millions," said Peru - also speaking from a computer screen. For some reason all they could see was his forehead and some rather loud curtains.
"Flipping heck, I didn't think he'd be here," Denmark whispered to Prussia and they sank low in their chairs.
"Allowing his idiot son to be marooned with those two idiots on my coast for a week…" Peru said and pointed at Denmark and Prussia. He may be somewhere beneath his desk but he could clearly see them.
"You mean Charlemagne? He is not England's son," Russia rumbled from behind some knitting.
"I think he means America," Luxembourg said helpfully. She was sat further up the table from Den and Pru and opposite Russia.
"England ain't my dad," America yelled. He was holding Charlemagne. "Is he eh Charlie?" America thought, being The Superpower that he should be at the head of the table and chairing the meeting but as he'd had no idea what the meeting had been about and only (just like some of the others) got the invitation that morning, that idea had been a bit silly.
"And this child Charlemagne…" someone said. "Is he a Nation as well? Is he to be left with Britain…?"
"England. He's not Britain," Wales warned - he was further up the table as well (it was outrageous Prussia thought). "Get it right. And he owes me as well. One caravan and one cottage and God knows how much else he owes me for four hours of emergency services' wasted time at a petrol station robbery that wasn't actually happening."
"He doesn't look like a Nation," someone said - presumably about Charlemagne and not America.
"He ain't. He's a half Nation," Denmark said and took Charlemagne from America protectively. "The kid's a dude. So leave him alone."
"He's definitely not England's son is he?" Benin asked fearfully. (Prussia and Denmark looked at each other and mouthed 'who's that?')
"No, he's not! And let's all be thankful for it!" Someone else said.
Belarus took note of this. "Then why did he not tell me this?" She asked.
They all shrugged.
She twirled her knife and ruminated. This evidently displeased her even more. It displeased her that he might have been a father and now it displeased her that he hadn't told her that he wasn't.
"And now he has one of the Stans living with him," India said from one of the screens.
There was a shockwave around the room.
"Which one?"
"Dunno. Turkman something I think," America said. "Who knows? Aren't they all the same?"
"No. No they aren't," Hungary said. She was very much present and was fiddling with her crossbow and glaring at the American. "Perhaps you should shut up as you have no idea what you're talking about."
"I'm going to tell my Prez of you!" America yelled. There was muffled sniggering around the room.
Hungary glared at him and looked as if she were going to launch an arrow at his head but Austria put a hand on her arm. (He was still making notes about his foray into the underworld of being a kidnapping victim and enjoying it hugely.)
"We should have kept Austria and sent that ransom note to Germany," Denmark 'whispered' to Prussia.
"I heard that! See!" Germany said, turning to Mr Panda. "See what England has done to my brother? He has corrupted him!"
"It didn't take much," Den said.
America produced the ransom note - which was pieced together from newspaper cuttings. It said 'GIF US MUNNY OR AUSTRALIA GETS DEAD'.
America was proud of the fact that he had now figured out that Australia was not Austria.
Germany tutted and shook his head. Whether this was because of the bad grammar or lack of spelling is unsure.
Russia showed Germany the hat he had just finished knitting which had 'я идиот' on it. "This is for you," Russia said. "You should wear it. All of the time." Germany tentatively put it on, half expecting something terrible to befall him. The Nations around the table who could speak Russian sniggered.
"It's nice! It suits you, Luddy," Italy cried with delight.
Even Belarus cracked a smile.
"The question is, what are we going to do about him and France of course," Mr Panda said, shushing Mr Kumajiro at the same time who was drawing some elaborate illustration of what he would like to see happen to England.
There was a cacophony of voices. Some of the suggestions were quite strident.
Obviously, England and France owed a lot of money to various establishments and Nations. So much that it equaled the GDP of a small South American Republic.
"Right well…" Mr Panda nodded to the person sat behind him who was taking notes. It was Estonia, who was scribbling away in shorthand.
"You should come and live with me again," Russia whispered to Estonia, who subsequently dropped his pen.
"I've got all that down, Mr P," Estonia replied.
"Right that will be all. I've got to talk with my associates," Mr Panda nodded at Mr Kumajiro and Belarus. "And get back to you."
There was further arguing around the table.
"But what about my swimming pool they filled with concrete?" Andorra butted in.
(The real culprits of this prank - Prussia and Denmark - began to sneak out of the door at this.)
"And those prank calls they keep making?" Switzerland asked all the way from Geneva. He looked particularly irate. "It's not funny," he insisted at Austria's smirking. "I am not the Matterhorn or the personification of it. And also they can stop ordering stuff on Ebay in my name. Why would I want 17 pairs of red frilly female undergarments?"
"Well if you don't know then we don't," someone said and sniggered. Probably some Eastern European Nation Switzerland thought.
"So basically we're all here because England owes us money?" Germany said. There were a lot of people around the table.
"He owes us decades of child maintenance," Finland said from a kitchen in Stockholm. Sweden, sat next to him nodded.
"Dad England's rubbish," squeaked Peter Kirkland. His face suddenly came up on the huge computer screen alongside the other 12 or so Nations. The bedroom wall behind him had a map of the world with various markers on it no doubt showing the next regions he was thinking of taking over. There was also a computer screen behind him showing the stock market.
"He left one of his cakes in Lisbon last time he visited and there was a riot when it grew to immense size. It took half of our army to destroy it," Portugal said.
"I thought he never left London!" Someone else said.
"Never leaves London? He shouldn't be allowed out of London! Did you see what happened the last time he took his home baking to Delhi because apparently he doesn't like Indian cuisine?" India was saying, before his screen suddenly went blank. His voice could still be heard though - ranting.
"Right shall we just get back to the current problem…?" Mr Panda said. "I have an important meeting in about ten minutes." He said, checking his watch.
"Currants… Don't talk about currants to me," India said bitterly.
"He ruined my dates with Belgium!" Spain said from Madrid. He was using his phone and all they could see was his left ear.
"And him and France wouldn't give me my ransom money!" Romano suddenly yelled. His face suddenly appeared on the computer screen - he also was using his phone and it appeared that he was also driving erratically around London.
"Fratello! Be careful!" Italy shouted.
"I know what I'm doing. Someone has to keep the business going, since Prussia stole my van and Inghliterra wrecked our cafe in Roma the other week." Romano was referring to the disastrous date England had with Liechtenstein and Switzerland (the latter with his rifle).
There was a screech, shouts and horns blasting and the phone went black.
"Fratello!" Italy yelled, utterly distraught.
"Right that concludes the meeting," Mr P said and stood up. He waved a badminton racquet at Germany. "Before you say anything, shut up."
'This hat says 'friend' doesn't it?"* Germany asked Prussia on his way out of the building. (* It actually says 'I am an idiot' in Russian.)
"Ja ja ja," Prussia said without really looking. "Can we have a lift in your car?"
"Nein, you know you're not allowed in my vehicles. Not after last time. The valeting service won't look me in the eye."
"We don't care. Anyway we've got an idea of how we can help England and France pay all that money back!" Den said.
"We have?" Prussia asked.
"Ja! We have." He winked at Prussia and they headed off 'home' or back to England's home, skipping.
Later that afternoon…
"GILL AND DEN'S WIDOWCLEENING SERVICE," was emblazoned across the top of the flyer in childish block capitals. The author of the document went on to assert that "Gill and Den" were "expurienced + realable" and "guaranteed cleen widows or yer money bak". Contact details included Arthur's landline number - a detail that made his eye twitch - the address of "69 Trafalgar Gardens (shed) or German Embassy if we been kicked out again," and "kingofnortherneurope ".
"What fresh hell is this," England said aloud, accidentally pouring too much milk into his tea as he stared at the flyer in disbelief. He'd been totally in the dark over that morning's meeting and was severely disappointed when Prussia, Denmark, America and Russia came slouching back to the house around mid-day looking gloomy. He'd assumed they'd been shopping - and forgotten the provisions.
America chose that moment to skid into the kitchen, Charlemagne in his arms. "Duuuude, dudes Den and Gil are stealing your gardening supplies!"
"Are they?" England said with little interest. "Their 'widowcleening' business seems to have been short lived, then."
"Nah, that's what they're using them for! C'mon, man."
Aware that America wouldn't stop pestering him unless he went along, England sighed and took his milky tea. He followed America outside and around to the front of the house, where, in the garden of one of the houses across the road, he could see Prussia and Denmark slowly accumulating a pile of supplies - England's supplies. England gritted his teeth.
"Prussia! Where did you get those buckets?"
Prussia first looked up at the sky, as if the voice was coming from God, before looking around and noticing England. "We bought them, ja?"
"No you bloody well didn't! Those are on loan from SLAPARSE, if you destroy them we're all bloody well in for it."
"Bro, don't get your undercrackers in a twist." This was from Denmark, who appeared to be trying to attach a sponge (England's bath sponge) to the end of a rake (England's rake), with little success. "We're doing this so we can pay everyone back for what you've done."
"What you've done," England corrected him.
Prussia was about to say something about the sheer incomprehensibly huge amount of money that England and France owed various nations but didn't.
"Right, ja." Prussia said. "You got a ladder?"
"NO!" England yelled. "Anyway, what are you doing terrorising my neighbours? Haven't you done enough?"
"She hired us!" Prussia said proudly.
"She did," America agreed. "It's an old woman lives there and she can't reach her windows or see out of them."
Charlemagne burped in apparent agreement.
"Dear Lord." England blew on his tea and settled in to watch the madness.
And madness it was. First, Denmark and Prussia had to run back and forth to fill up the buckets with soapy water, most of which ended up splattered on the floor. Then, their main strategy with the downstairs windows was to aim the water at the windows as if they were trying to put out a fire. Denmark had a tendency to yell, ear-splittingly, "COPENHAGEN!" as he was doing this latter activity, making England wince and Charlemagne giggle. In the background, Prussia's phone speaker played three songs and three songs alone, on a loop - "500 Miles," "Is This The Way To Amarillo," and "What's New Pussycat".
Eventually and against all odds, the downstairs windows of the house were somewhat clean. Bored, America had wandered inside, handing Charlemagne to England.
"Dude England," Denmark called from across the street, "How do we get the upstairs windows if you don't have a ladder?"
"Buy a ladder," England suggested, fending off Charlemagne's attempts to stick a lollipop up his nose.
"With what money?" Prussia pointed out.
"I've got a big stick." Denmark started waving the rake about. It now appeared to have a few tatty bits of yellow sponge stuck to the prongs, but otherwise didn't seem to be an appropriate implement for window-cleaning.
"Well we all know that, but how is it supposed to help us with the windows?"
"A big stick, Pru," Denmark said.
"Oh, right…"
England shook his head, not wanting to know what the idiot Prussian had thought Denmark said. "Stop waving that thing around before you take someone's eye out," he said in what he thought of as his dad voice.
"That's what Sverige told me as well, hur hur hur," Denmark said ominously.
"Sweden? Is he here?"
"Nah, man!" Denmark yelled, presumably in answer to England's enquiry about Sweden.
Prussia, apparently having had a revelation, ceased scratching his head with one of England's spades (what Prussia and Denmark had thought they were going to do with that, England had no desire to find out) and perked up. "Dude Den, I've got it!"
"Got what? The clap?"
Prussia shuddered. "Never again. Nah, you big oaf, I know how we can clean the windows! Give me a boost up."
"Up where?"
"Onto your shoulders."
"Why, man?"
"God, it's like a meeting of MENSA," England said to no one in particular. Charlemagne spat something green down England's front.
"So we can clean the windows, man!"
"Right, man."
Prussia fell off three times before finally managing to stand upright on Denmarks shoulders and hold a bucket of water at the same time. "Erm, slight problem, man."
"What's that, man?" Den asked.
England could see the problem from where he stood. The problem was that a 5'7 Prussian standing on top of a 5'10 Dane did not achieve the height necessary to clean the upper-level windows of a two-storey house.
Prussia relayed this information to Denmark. Denmark grunted.
"Should I just buy them a ladder?" England whispered to Charlemagne. "They are idiots, but this might keep them occupied. And they are trying to earn some money."
Charlemagne said something that sounded like "bad".
"I should stand on top of you then, Pru, I'm taller," Denmark said, letting Prussia step down.
"They can't be serious," England muttered.
"Hell yeah! That'll work." Prussia said.
England shook his head. "How on earth did these two conquer Europe, Charlie? I mean… how?"
"I was only a kid back then, da? That's the only reason. Otherwise they would have all been Russian!" A voice chirped in England's ear.
"Argh!" England almost dropped Charlemagne. "How long have you been there?"
"Da," Russia answered as if this was a proper answer. "I came to see Karol. He should spend quality time with all of his caregivers every day… that's what a nice lady on Google said."
England handed Charlemagne over quite happily. "Right, well, I'm going to have a cigarette-"
"Big Russkie!" Prussia yelled from across the road, making England wince, Charlemagne giggle, and Russia growl. "Den can't reach the windows, come over here so we can stand on your head, ja?"
Russia's jaw twitched and England thought he could see a purple aura shimmer around him… he shook his head though; he obviously needed more sleep. "Hold Karol," Russia growled in England's general direction, depositing Charlemagne in his arms. England had to drop his cigarettes in order to catch the child.
England and Charlemagne then watched with near-identical expressions of amazement as Russia picked Prussia up by his hair and threw him through the downstairs bay windows, then dumped a bucket on Denmark's head.
A lady with grey hair, who had to be at least ninety, appeared in the bay window. "You'll pay for this!" She shouted.
"Nyet, you will," Russia said. "It is clean, da? No dirt in sight."
"There's no window!"
"Da, you're welcome!" Russia said.
"Mmmph!" Denmark said, inside his bucket.
Charlemagne giggled and clapped his hands.
Turkmenistan came running out with another note from the new next door neighbours. England was starting to get a bit annoyed about them. So far he'd received six of the things - mainly complaining about the noise, the wolf howling, the yak, France looking through their windows, Denmark and Prussia looking through their windows and giving them the wrong information regarding the bins. He still didn't know who they were. He pulled out his Papermate 2000 - the Ferrari of fountain pens in his opinion - squirted himself with blue ink, wrote on the back of the note "NOBODY CARES" and gave it back to Turkmenistan. "Give them this," he said.
"Wait! I want to write something as well!" Prussia yelled, ignoring Denmark's pleas from inside his bucket and then handed it back to Turkmenistan.
"What did you write?" England asked, curious.
"I asked them if they'd give us a lift to A&E with Den."
Neither the new next door neighbours, nor indeed Mrs Slowbottom from across the road nor Mr and Mrs Hartington-Smythe from No. 9 (who hated England and his 'degenerates' with a passion) would come to their aid and so it was that when the social worker, whose visit England had completely forgotten about, came down the driveway she found England trying to cram a man with a bucket stuck on his head into a sidecar whilst yelling, "What in God's name is wrong with you anyway? Just bloody get in you moron Dane! Of course I'll be careful and no we're not going to get any ice cream on the way. Prussia? You're in charge… no wait… Russia? You're in charge… No wait… Turkmenistan? You're in charge."
It was not the most auspicious of beginnings and it was going to get worse.