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Driving Lessons Chapter 97 - Eton Mess

"Well how was I to know that the Prez would get impeached because of little Charlie eh? I mean it's hardly my fault. My dude Nancy said…"

"I hardly think Nancy Pelosi would appreciate you calling her 'dude', Alfred," England said. "Anyway, stop your chatter, we're here. How do I look?"

"Like a pompous Englishman with too much money and too little brain," France told him.

"Good, that's the impression I want to give," England replied.

America shrugged. "Yer know it's funny how things work out…"

"Shut up. In fact, say nothing at all throughout this interview, okay? In fact, it would be better for all concerned and Charlie's future education if you probably go off and play elsewhere whilst myself and Francis do this," England said.

They were stood at the head of a long driveway, the gates ahead them said in big fancy scroll 'Eton College'.

England had left the Bentley which still had his number and 'sex therapist' painted on it on the road, along with Denmark and Prussia inside. He'd bribed them with copious amounts of alcohol and sweets to stay in the car. Turkmenistan had followed on the bus with Charlie. There had been no room in the car for all five of them. As it was there had been a complication of who would call 'shotgun' and in the end, Francis had sat in the front as nobody wanted to sit next to him in the back. This had resulted in England trying - again - to teach him how to change gear. It would be a cold day in hell before France finally managed to drive a motor vehicle. Russia had been left at home with a box set of 'Call the Midwife' and a packet of jammy dodger biscuits. A terrified Pierre was left to 'babysit' whilst Scotland had been left hanging out washing.

England just hoped that he had a house to return to. Obviously leaving Scotland to do housework should mean his house was safe but anything could happen.

England straightened his tie which he had picked up from a charity shop and erroneously thought was an Eton school tie (but was actually the corporate colours of Tesco). He'd also brushed his hair which was something in itself.

France had been persuaded to wear something far less ostentatious than the fandango pink frilly shirts and lurex hot pants that he normally wore and was dressed in an old suit of Arthur's that they'd saved from the charity bag donation. Francis said it made him feel 'itchy'. It was tweed and in England's opinion, Frenchmen should probably not wear tweed. But it would have to do. They were almost the same size although France had said 'not in the pantaloons department' and had sniggered salaciously.

Why England had brought these two buffoons with him was mainly because they were also down as 'guardians' for Charlemagne.

Unfortunately, he had also brought the child himself. This could also be the biggest handicap. There was nothing else he could do. The imbecilic (in England's eyes) headmaster had insisted on meeting the child first.

To make matters even worse he was wearing an earpiece linked to Prussia and Denmark so he could keep in touch with them. He'd conned them further into staying where they were by telling them that he needed them 'as lookouts' and they were to keep him abreast of anything that could look like something scuppering their plans. It seemed to work…

"Operation Mary Poppins is go go go. We are code green to go." Prussia yelled in his ear.

"Yes, okay," England said into the microphone on his lapel.

"I do not know why you left them zere. Honestly, what could they do?" France asked him as they approached the entrance to a large ornate wooden door.

England turned to France and shook him by his lapels. "Are quite mad? What could they do? They've already ruined my standing with my neighbours. That poor Mrs Fartington will never be the same. And don't even mention SLAPARSE!"

The door was flung open and the man stood there was tall, wearing a black professor gown and mortar board. He looked at England (who quickly dropped France), to France and then to America.

"You must be Kirkland?" He asked England.

"Yes and you are?"

"The Master here."

America stifled a giggle.

"They call them headmasters here," England hissed at him.

France looked the man up and down. "Are you a qualified master?" He asked.

The man ignored him. "Where's the child in question?"

"Oh yes!" England said and turned to America who shrugged and then at France. "I can't believe… Just one moment," he said and whistled loudly.

Turkmenistan ran up with Charlemagne in a disagreeably pink pushchair.

"Thanks," England said to him.

"Yeah thanks Trevor, we'll take it from here," America said.

Turkmenistan glared at him and walked off.

"He's my butler," England told the Headmaster.

"Really how very interesting," the man said which seemed to indicate that he thought it really wasn't. "Please walk this way," he said and walked into a large hallway that was bigger than England's house.

England put a hand on Alfred before the idiot American did 'walk this way' and do some stupidly exaggerated Nazi goose-step. "Don't." He said.

"I wasn't going to! Jeez mom!" America said.

"Zis is very nice," France said. He'd been under strict instructions from England since four days ago (the day of the social worker visit) about what he could/couldn't do:

No leering

No posing

No chatting anyone up (no matter how 'alluring' you think they are)

No stealing things (France could be quite light-fingered England found)

No giving out roses

No using English idioms that you don't know the meaning of

He'd forgotten to do the same for Alfred but assumed the American could behave himself. He felt 50% confident they could pull this off. As long as Denmark and Prussia would stay in the car, France didn't molest anyone and Russia didn't ring him.

"In here please," the head master said, indicating an open door and stepping back. He was wrinkling his nose as if someone had stuck a turd under it.

England, holding Charlemagne tried to enter first but got stuck in the doorway with Alfred.

France tried to shove them both.

England turned to glare at him and mouthed, 'get off my bottom' and unfortunately caught the eye of their host.

"Sorry I don't mean you!" He said quickly.

"I see."

The room they were shown into was obviously the Headmaster's office. This too was bigger than the whole of England's downstairs.

"Nice rug," England commented.

France stared at him and mouthed, "Don't say that!"

England inadvertently shouted, "What?" And then whispered, "What?"

"You don't comment on someone's wig, mon cher, eet eez so rude!"

"I didn't say anything about a wig," England hissed at him.

"What wig?" America yelled. He had no indoor voice at all.

"Please take a seat," the Headmaster said.

England tried to stop Alfred picking up a chair and walking out with it. He did succeed and they sat down. The man rang a bell.

"Is that the maths lesson?" Alfred asked and England kicked his ankle.

"Tea? Coffee?" The Headmaster asked. "Anything for little… erm… Charlemagne?"

"Wine. Preferably red but if you don't have a decent red then there is no point," France said.

"Tea will be fine. For all of us," England said, glaring at his fellow Nations. "We've got a bottle of milk for Charlie."

"Ah… Charlie. Is that short for Charles?"

"Good God no!" England said.

"It's short for Charlemagne Clovis Sebastian Emmanuel Bonnefoy!" France said.

England winced.

In England's ear Prussia yelled, "Tell him it's Frederick."

"Charle is not short for Frederick," England said and then realised they were all staring at him.

"Of course it's not, dude. It's short for Charlie," America said.

Charlemagne seemed to agree and America scooped him up before the child could crawl off under the man's desk and start chewing on the telephone wire.

He bounced the child on his knee. The baby had one of Arthur's novelty salt and pepper shakers in his mouth and was gnawing it (in lieu of a proper teething toy). He was drooling profusely on it. (Charlemagne, not America.)

"Don't bloody well let him bite down on that if it's pepper, that kid produces enough fluid without him sneezing everywhere," Arthur warned. "And don't jig him about like that, he'll throw up or worse."

"He likes it, man!" Alfred continued bouncing his knee and Charlemagne gurgled happily. Then he sneezed on the carpet.

England put the lurid pink pushchair over the stain. Honestly the amount of fluid that came out of that child was nothing short of amazing.

"Stop doing that," England hissed at America as the American continued to bounce Charlemagne on his lap.

"He likes it."

England sighed and looked around for King Henry after all the dead king was the reason they were there. He had founded the bloody place.

"Where's Henry?" he whispered to France whilst the 'Master' which made England think of Doctor Who was rummaging in his desk.

They were sat in chairs in a semi circle facing him.

"He's there!" France said, pointing at wall behind the desk.

"Where?" England asked and nearly said 'you silly French poof' but didn't.

France jumped up and squeezed himself past the Headmaster's desk smiling in a creepy way even though this was against The Rule that England had made up earlier.

"There!" France said pointing at the portrait of Henry VI behind the desk.

"Ah yes that is King Henry VI, who founded this fine school." The Headmaster said.

"Yes we know him," England said.

"He lives with us. Even though he's dead," America 'explained'.

France stood smiling at the man who was staring back at him. But France was used to people staring at him. He was totally nonplussed by this. He just assumed it was because he was 'gorgeous'.

"Excuse me?" The Headmaster asked.

"Nah that wasn't you, that was Charlie. Don't worry about it. I'll take him outside and change his nappy. He's a farty little bugger." America said.

"Alfred!" England protested and then put his head in his hands.

America picked up Charlie and hauled up the baby changing bag on his shoulder. The bag which was bigger than any bag in Christendom in a garish purple colour gave the impression that they had packed enough to go on holiday. America skidded out of the door.

England really wished he wouldn't do that.

The 'boy' skidded back in, "Where's the lavatory?" He asked, thinking this was the posh word for toilet.

"The staff conveniences are down the corridor on your left," the Head Master said.

"Righto! Is that the same as the loo?" America asked.

England nodded at him.

America skidded back out. It was better to check these things he thought. Even after all this time living/visiting the UK he got confused with how many different names the Brits had for what he called the bathroom - sometimes finding that the bathroom they showed him had nothing but a bath in it but no toilet. Lavatory or even 'lav', toilet, WC, bog (this was usually what Yorkshire called it), 'privy' which England sometimes called his unused and very old outside toilet. This had also horrified America when he'd found just how many Brits still had an outside toilet in a brick outhouse. Sometimes it was like being back in Victorian times and she hadn't liked him at all.

America skidded down the corridor and turned right. He could not see any staff conveniences or inconveniences. He frowned. So he checked in with his dudes. Because he'd been jealous of England being a 'secret agent', he'd also insisted on having a microphone and an earpiece. So he said into the microphone stuck to his Scooby Doo tie:

"Yo Pru and Den, I'm lost with kiddo."

"Find a classroom and do a lesson I dare you!" Pru said.

America sighed. Not the 'dare'. He hated this. Although he loved daring them to do stuff. Sometimes this ended up with them being extradited from countries and causing an international incident that had to be covered up from the press. Peru, Brunei and Malta - the latter of which America thought was not a real country - had banned them from entry.

"Dare yer! Double dare!" Pru insisted.

America sighed. Not a double dare? He looked at Charlemagne, who looked back at him.

"If you don't do it, you'll have to forfeit! And you have to say everything we tell you to!"

America thought about this. The forfeits sometimes included running through Little Dribbling High Street naked shouting some nonsensical like 'my Granny's on fire!' or driving a golf cart through the Danish Embassy during a state dinner (Denmark had done this and he'd not had to do a forfeit he just did it).

The last time America had to do a forfeit, this had included one of England's scones and the Polish Embassy in London (they often picked Embassies but sometimes picked an obscure English village). This had caused the infamous 'Rożek incident' which involved Pol's scathing comments on Facebook.

America took a deep breath and marched through the nearest door. It was a cleaners cupboard so he opened the next one.

There was a lesson in full swing.

"I'm… er…" He tried to think of a suitable non de plume or plume name as he thought it.

"Gorm…" Den offered the first name in his right ear.

"Peverington-Howler." Prussia offered the surname also into his right ear.

"Mr Peverington-Howler here to teach…"

"History!" Prussia yelled.

Den yelled, "Biology!"

"Historical Biology or Biological History," America said. He plonked Charlemagne on the desk and shoved the Eton Master out of the way.

"Are you related to the Peverington-Howlers of Littlehampton by the Sea?" The Master asked.

"Nah man. Just the erm…" he thought about it.

"The ones who live in Little Shagging!" Prussia yelled. Unseen by America he high-fived Den and Turkmenistan. Turkmenistan refused the high-five and bit his nails.

"Ah right… I see… A fine family. You must be from the American side of the family?"

"Well duh!" America said.

"Nah I'm from Yorkshire… Say it go on!" Prussia said.

"I'm from Yorkshire," America said.

There were collective gasps around the classroom among the collection of 12-13 year old boys in ridiculous school uniforms and bearing terribly posh double-barrelled names. All of them had an allowance and a butler and they weren't afraid to use them. Mind you, so did America - the butler being Turkmenistan and the allowance from England being his Netflix subscription and £10 a week for sweets.

"Where are all the chicks?" America asked.

"This is an all boys school," the school master said.

"Well that's your fault."

"I'm sorry but why are you here?"

"To teach…"

"History!" Prussia yelled.

"History. I'm the emergency super supply teacher," he said.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you have a child with you?"

"Bag," Charlemagne said.

"Cos he's the new Prince of…" here America struggled to think of an appropriate county in England that Charlemagne could be a prince of.

"Bantshire," Denmark said in his ear.

"Bantshire," America said. "I'm here to enrol him but I'm also here to take over your lesson."

And as only a classroom full of 12 year olds could do they chanted, "OUT OUT OUT OUT." At the poor school master.

"Yeah that's what I'm talking about!" America said.

He shoved the poor man out of the room and turned to the class. "You!" He shouted at the nearest boy. "What's your name?"

"Bufty Jonty Felixstowe."

America gaped at him.

Charlemagne erupted into a fit of giggles.

"Tell him he is from hereon in to be called Lord Farty-Arse of Switherinworth." Prussia said.

"That's bullying!" Denmark said. "Change it to Gorm Bloodaxe."

"You're obsessed with Gorm Bloodaxe."

"He was great he was!"

America ceased to listen. "Well Fred," he said.

"My name's not Fred."

"It is now. In fact you're all called Fred. I'm going to teach you history…."

England felt a shiver run down his back as if a ghost had run over his grave.

"So which school did you attend?" The Headmaster asked, sat behind his huuuuge desk (England thought this was a sign of inferiority if you had to have a large desk, particularly one that was tidy).

"Bash Street Primary," England said without thinking. It was true. His very earliest memory was being brought up by his elder brother Hamish in a very cold northern Scottish town and going to school in short trousers and being bullied for his English accent. He'd then had to quickly pick up a ridiculous Scottish accent just to fit in.

"Excuse me?" The Headmaster asked.

"Moi? I was educated at ze Paris Sorbonne. I was educated in history and archaeology," France said. "That's how I met him. He was one of the things I dug up." He indicated England.

England resisted the urge to jump on him and pummel him.

The Headmaster looked from one to the other and then began reading from a form. "According to this, the father is Matthew Williams?"

"Yes. He left the child with us for safe keeping while he gads about." England explained.

"To gay rodeos," France added.

England kicked his ankle.

The Frenchman kicked him back and straightened his cravat. He had refused to wear a tie. England thought he looked like the head waiter of a particularly snobby restaurant. Which was the effect France was going for.

"And the mother?"

"It's Rihanna," France said.

"It is not!" England said and sounded actually appalled at the idea, even though he didn't really know who she was except that she was a pop star and had sung about umbrellas or something which seemed utterly ridiculous to England.

"I'm sorry. What?" The Headmaster asked.

"Yes you should be," France said. He was totally incapable England noted, of sitting normally in a chair like a normal person. The Frenchman lounged with his legs over the arms of the chair and was regarding the Head of Eton College through long lashes and cigarette smoke as if he would like to snog him.

Wait. Where did he get that cigarette from? England hadn't even seen him light one up. And even more suspicious he could no longer hear Prussia and Denmark. And where was America? How long did it take to change a damned nappy?

He asked France this latter question in a quiet indoor voice.

"How should I know? Eh? Sometimes when zay are very very pooey it can take a long time especially if you cannot get to a hosepipe, non?"

"I see a Henry Plantaganet has put him forward for a full fee bursary," the Head Master looked at England's shabby suit and then at France's turquoise platform boots (that England had totally missed) and raised an eyebrow.

"Good old Deadie," France said.

"Have you heard from Pru and Den?" England whispered to France.

"Have I been prudent with men?" France whispered back.

"No! Have you heard from Gilbert and Matthias?"

"Have I been glib with Matthew? What do you mean?"

"HAVE YOU HEARD FROM PRUSSIA AND DENMARK?" England finally yelled and then said quickly. "Sorry. So sorry."

The Headmaster placed the form back on his desk. "This is a quality establishment. An old establishment. We do not just accept anybody here. We expect our students to come from good families with good connections and their time here will reflect that. We expect our students to strive to be the best of the best. Our teachers are the best of the best. Usually our fees are upwards of £14000 per term…"

France who was still smoking his cigarette spat it out and began choking.

England slammed him on the back and he fell of his chair in a tangle of limbs.

"And we give very good value for money." The Headmaster finished.

"The current Prime Minister came here didn't he?" England asked, still patting France on the back. "I mean I'm not trying to accuse you of anything."

"Yes he did."

"Does this all include school dinners? Because to be honest, I'm not paying all this and sending the little bugger in with a packed lunch of a Dairylea sandwich and a Tunnocks chocolate wafer."

Francis was still coughing on the floor.

"Is your friend alright?"

"He needs a drink," England said. "And I suppose this all includes pens, pencils, stationery, awful pencil cases?" He was determined to get value for money. Even if he was not actually spending any money.

"We would expect of course that the child would sit an entrance exam before starting."

"Oh great…" England sat back and then poked France. Perhaps they could somehow cheat? There was always a catch wasn't there? Just when he thought he might get rid of the blighter.

There was absolutely no way that Charlemagne was going to pass any exam if his uncle Alfred was anything to go by. That made England suddenly sit up. "Where's Alfred?" He suddenly said.

"Your American friend is taking rather a long time."

"I'll say."

"I will go and find him," France said, his face red, still spluttering.

England narrowed his eyes. "Don't you dare go and molest anyone," he whispered.

But France was already skipping out of the door.

Back at England's house everything was 'almost' peaceful. In that the house was still in one piece. Scotland was boiling haggis (which Russia thought was a small dead animal), Pierre was making the most of being France-less and was on the telephone to his boss, the French Ambassador in London and telling him the very generous pension just wasn't enough and he wanted to quit his job. Whilst Russia worked his way through four series of MasterChef and complained that nobody had cooked borscht or pirogi or blini but instead it seemed to be all sea bass. He was particularly horrified when he saw someone make vodka ice cream and shoved Pierre out of the way and began telephoning the BBC to complain.

He hurriedly hung up when he saw Belarus making her way down the driveway. The fact that she was disguised as a meter reader did not make any difference. Russia knew her from a mile off. He ran upstairs and hid in France's wardrobe with the Frenchman's extensive collection of bellbottom pants and fandango pink shirts. Nobody would think to look for him there.

But she hadn't come for her big brother. She had come for revenge.

"…And then they threw a load of teabags into the sea!" America said, finishing what he thought was a fabulous lesson on the American Revolution. The kids all looked at each other in puzzlement. They were supposed to be in maths.

Then England flung open the door. "You! Alfred! Come with me! What have I told you about giving impromptu lessons about history? What do you know?"

"And that's how the Revolution all started, kids," America told them before being dragged out.

"How did you know I was in there?" America asked him.

Charlemagne, the little snitch, had climbed out of his pink pushchair and crawled down the corridor to find England. He'd passed France leaning against a wall and languorously chatting up some housemaster. "Papa?" Charlemagne said and then crawled on when France didn't notice.

He eventually found the Headmaster's door (he was far cleverer than England thought) and bashed on it with his 'Hero of the Soviet Union' medal that Russia had given him for being good.

"So does the kid get in then or what?" America asked England.

At that exact point, France fell out of a broom cupboard with a poor teacher. Both 'in flagrante' as someone who was dead clever would say.

"You bloody pervert!" Was what England did say. "What did I tell you?" He batted America and then France around the head.

The Headmaster was holding Charlemagne at arms length and approaching them at a rate of knots like a galleon in full sail. "The child is accepted to this college. But… and this is a huge but… neither you Kirkland, nor you Bonnefoy nor you Jones are to come within 100 metres of this college. I do not want to see you dropping the child off, nor picking him up. I do not want to see any of you at prize giving ceremonies, nor at parent evenings…"

"Great," England said with gusto.

"I do not want to see any of you at sports events should Charlemagne" (the Head Master sniffed and looked as if someone had stuck a shoe covered in dog poo under his nose when he said the name and put the child on the floor) "be good at football or any other sport."

Charlemagne grinned up at them from the floor where he was untying America's shoelaces and retying them together.

"If I see you within 100 metres of this establishment I will call the police. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes definitely," England said.

"Good. Then leave," the Headmaster said.

They did. Hurrying out of the huge door, America falling over his tangled shoelaces.

"You've forgotten your child," the Headmaster called. He was holding Charlemagne out to them as if he were holding a bomb.

"Ta," England said.

"Merci," France said, trying to straighten his clothes.

"Well that went well," England said, as they hurried down the driveway. The Headmaster was watching them.

From atop a flagpole at the very top of the roof, a foghorn voice yelled, "Look at our flag!" A Prussian flag was unfurled.

"Keep going, don't look," England hissed.

"It was a double dare," America whispered.

"I have never seen those men before!" England shouted at the Headmaster in desperation.

"ARTHUR!" Den yelled.

"Come on, men! I think we should run!" England said, pushing the gaudy pink pushchair now missing one wheel, America holding Charlemagne who was waving at a furious Headmaster and France doing up the buttons on his shirt.