Cabin Pressure Fic: Boggle By Firelight Part 3

[r_scribbles]

9.15pm

What a very romantic scene welcomed Douglas as he wandered out into the kitchen. Bathed in merry candlelight, Carolyn stood, cross-armed, next to the hob while Hercules, resplendent in a pair of marigolds, scraped fat from the pans at the sink.

‘I’m fairly certain it’s against the vegetarian ethos to clean up the fat of poor animals that other people have eaten,’ muttered Hercules.

‘Oh, well I’ll tell you what,’ retorted Carolyn, ‘after you’ve done this, you can go into the garage, build a time machine out of whatever odds and ends you can find there, go back and complain to Ghandi about what a terrible person I am.’ She looked across at Douglas. ‘Everything all right in there? It’s all gone very quiet.’ She paused – a look of horror crossing her face. ‘Good God, they’re not playing charades, are they?’

‘The children,’ Douglas announced, ‘are nestled all snug in their bed, as visions of sugarplums dance in their heads. Well. I imagine that’s what’s in Arthur’s head, at least. Martin’s probably dreaming about Boeing 757s. That, or Nigella Lawson again. Whatever it is, it’s a happy place he’s in.’

‘Bit early for them to turn in, isn’t it?’ asked Hercules.

‘I don’t think either of them planned it,’ said Douglas. ‘Martin told me he was up at half five for a delivery today.’

‘And with it being Arthur’s birthday, he was up at a similar time.’ Carolyn stifled a yawn. ‘As was I.’

Douglas went back to rifling through the tea caddy. ‘Got anything here that’s decaf?’

‘No, because I’m not a health freak or a hippie. What’s the point of decaf?’

‘Well, Carolyn, sometimes people fancy a hot drink before bed that isn’t packed with stimulants.’

‘There’s Horlicks in the cupboard. I stuck the milk out in the snow. Colder there than in the powerless fridge.’

‘Saucepan-heated Horlicks, at a quarter past nine,’ sighed Douglas. ‘Well, after all, it is Friday night. Why not go mad?’

9.50pm

The snow had stopped falling, at last, bar the flakes that were blown down from the trees by the wind that moaned and blustered and scuttled about the house. Douglas set down the cup, and watched the fire. The flames had died down now, leaving hot, glowing embers in their place. Neither Arthur nor Martin had woken up, nor did either seem likely to do so in the near future. He’d shared rooms with both Martin and Arthur before, but had generally been too busy catching up on sleep to pay much attention to their sleeping habits. Martin was foetally hunched on his side - his face calm and delicate, and unwittingly turned towards Arthur so that his nose almost brushed the Birthday Boy’s ear. Arthur was sprawled on his back, his mouth slightly open, one arm splayed over the catatonic captain. He drooled a little, and smiled in his sleep. Asleep in the dim firelight, with Martin all small and peaceful, and Arthur’s blissfully innocent snores, they really did appear like a couple of kids on a sleepover.

In the kitchen, Carolyn and Hercules were arguing about hot water bottles.

Douglas gave up on spending any more of the evening awake, picked up a candle and went upstairs to the guest bedroom. The bed was freshly made, with cotton sheets and a lovely, soft duvet. Unfortunately, it was in a large, dark room that was absolutely bloody freezing. He stared at it for a while, shivering even in his jumper, then hefted the duvet off the bed, slung it under one arm while carefully keeping the candle out at arm’s length in the other hand, and left the room. He bumped into Hercules on the landing – almost literally.

‘Oh,’ said Hercules, conversationally, ‘hullo. I’d ask if you were off to bed, but you seem to be moving your bed elsewhere.’

‘Never mind outside in the snow,’ replied Douglas, ‘Carolyn should stick the milk in that guest bedroom. For once, I think Arthur and Martin might have had the best idea – I’m going to sleep by the fire.’

‘Oh, right.’ Hercules nodded. ‘Turning in, myself.’ He held aloft a hot water bottle. ‘Should warm things up.’

‘I see,’ said Douglas.

‘Well,’ added Hercules, a little awkwardly, ‘night.’

‘Good night,’ replied Douglas, not moving from his spot.

There was a moment’s stalemate before Hercules slowly put his hand on the door to Arthur’s room, pushed it open and stepped inside.

Douglas smiled to himself as he began to walk down the stairs. He was met at the bottom by Carolyn.

‘Not a third member of Team Sofa Bed, surely?’ Carolyn asked, archly.

‘Not quite,’ Douglas replied. ‘I’ll be cheering our boys on from the nearby recliner chair, though. It’s a tad warmer down there – by which, I mean there’s less danger of my fingers going black and falling off as I sleep. And what about you?’ He nodded at her. ‘Off to bed without a hot water bottle?’

As cold as Carolyn’s guest room had been, it was nowhere near as icy as her smile. ‘Oh, I’ll be all right.’


‘Hercules had one, I noticed.’

‘Yes, well. He’s a guest.’

‘How charitable of you.’

‘And Arthur’s room is colder than mine. Bit draughty.’

‘Really. You’d think it would make more sense for you two to make your own little Team Sofa Bed. Or, if there were no more sofa beds available, just Team Bed.’ Douglas shrugged, over-dramatically. ‘But, what would I know?’

Carolyn’s expression was so stony that Douglas could have stuck it on to the end of Mount Rushmore.

‘Good night,’ he told her, cheerfully.

He silently waited as she stomped upstairs, setting up his bed for the night in the recliner as he listened out for the tell-tale sound of the door to Arthur’s room quietly being opened and creeping footsteps sneaking across the landing to Carolyn’s bedroom.

The inevitable creak, sneak, squeak, creak came as Douglas was just wrapping the duvet around himself. Douglas shook his head, certainly hoping that there wouldn’t be any more audible squeaking or creaking from upstairs. In the sofa bed, Arthur threw himself over onto his front with a great cacophony of springs, throwing a leg over Martin, this time. There was a moment’s pause and then, like a quiet echo, Martin huffed softly in his sleep.

Douglas closed his eyes, and listened to the sounds of sleep, and the dying fire, and the wind outside the house. And when he dreamt, it was of charming Nigella Lawson out of Martin’s dream, and Martin was terribly indignant about it.

-x-

7.56am

The first few times that Douglas had been jolted awake by Arthur’s wordless “I have woken and it is a new day and I’m just so happy to be alive and conscious with the whole day of fun ahead of me” morning cry, it had startled him, rather. He was as used to it these days as the harsh chirrup of an alarm clock, and at least, this was rather more full of joie de vivre.

‘Happy morning-after-our-sleepover!’ Arthur shouted, standing bolt upright in the sofa bed, then bounding over towards the window, capsizing a still half-asleep Martin out onto the floor as he did so. ‘Look at all that snow! Wow! It looks all twinkly in the sunshine! Skip! Skip! Skipskipskip can we build another snow plane?’

‘Ow,’ was all that Martin had to add, for the time being.

‘Oh well,’ said Douglas, ‘if the sun’s out, there’s a chance that there might be a thaw today.’

Martin looked up. ‘If the snow’s stopped, we could always walk home.’

‘We could,’ replied Douglas. ‘But let’s think about that after breakfast, shall we? I’ve got no particularly pressing engagements today, and since your van will still be grounded in this sort of snow, I can’t imagine you will, either.’

Martin nodded. Shivering again now that he had been bounced out of the duvet, Douglas noticed.

‘I’ll go and boil some water,’ Douglas announced.

8.45am

By the time Carolyn eventually surfaced, Douglas was on to his 2nd cup of tea, sitting at the kitchen table, watching a stockpot full of water as it gradually heated up on the gas hob.

‘Good gracious,’ she said as she helped herself to the hot water from the milk pan for her own much needed caffeination, ‘are we making tea for the BFG?’

‘Alas,’ said Douglas, ‘no giants have dropped by thus far this morning – if they had, your son would currently be outside with them, making the most impressive snow angels the world had ever seen. There are, however, now five people in this house rather in need of a morning spruce-up, and I thought, given the current temperature, it would be more comfortable to have a strip-wash with warm water than a cold shower.’

‘Ah, I see.’ She paused, adding the milk to two cups of coffee. ‘I should probably go upstairs and tell Hercules that. When I left him, he was bracing himself for what he described as “a brisk wash”.’

‘Oh, leave him to it,’ shrugged Douglas. ‘We pilots are made of stern stuff. Besides, perhaps he could do with a cold shower.’

Carolyn narrowed her eyes. ‘Must you, really?’

‘Oh, I must.’ Douglas took a sip of tea. ‘It’s not as if you don’t know jolly well that, if it were Martin or Arthur or I in possession of a new paramour, you would be enjoying fresh opportunity to have a little light-hearted fun at our expense.’

‘I have never made fun of my son, whenever he’s started seeing someone new,’ replied Carolyn, haughtily. ‘Granted, if you or Martin started bouncing around all starry-eyed I’d have a dig, but that’s only because you’d both be utterly infuriating. With Arthur, I only ever concern myself with whether whatever honking Sloane he’s picked up next is good enough for him. And don’t judge me for that. When your daughter’s older, you’ll be just the same.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Goodness knows, you and Martin could do with somebody to perform a similar vetting process,’ Carolyn continued. ‘Maybe then you wouldn’t be on your 3rd divorce and he wouldn’t have to suffer a series of humiliating put-downs from whichever stuck-up succubus of a passenger he’s decided is his latest dreamboat.’

‘Quite,’ replied Douglas, returning to his tea, as Carolyn picked up the coffees. ‘And, Carolyn?’

‘Yes?’

‘Ditto.’

‘Oh, do shut up, you soppy sod.’

11.30am

Douglas stood on the decking, the bright Winter sun in his eyes, and surveyed the roads. The main road in front of the house was now clear, and even the smaller road to the side of the house looked traversable. All about him, melted snow dripped off rooftops and trees. He could tell that there wouldn’t be a full thaw that day, but enough of a melt to make things start getting back to normal.

He’d wondered vaguely whether the thawing snow would have disappointed Arthur at all. Of course, it hadn’t. Watching snow melt was, apparently, “brilliant”. As had been the power coming back, twenty minutes ago. Douglas had left Arthur switching lights on and off, and laughing about how one rarely noticed how great light bulbs were until one had to do without them for a while.

This had been shortly after Arthur had gone into the utility cupboard to fetch a mop, following an incident with the stockpot full of, thankfully by then only blood temperature water, and had discovered that the spade had been in there all along, rather than the shed.

Douglas could be home by lunchtime. Peace & quiet – his own bed, his own space. Time to read a book, or do a crossword, or just listen to the radio.

Alone.

Yes – peace and quiet and solitude. That was what he needed.

Through the window he could see the other four in the kitchen – Arthur delighting at the wonders of a working kettle while making yet more cups of tea. Carolyn and Hercules were clearly arguing – again – while Martin buttered a slice of toast in his usual, irritatingly careful and precise manner. The kitchen looked bright and warm, and thrumming with chatter.

Yes. Peace and quiet and solitude. Douglas couldn’t wait.


1pm

‘There we go – home at last.’ Douglas parked up outside Martin’s tall, dark, gloomy looking terrace house.

‘Thanks for the lift.’ Martin had given back the Parka, hat and gloves before he’d left Carolyn’s. He was back in his denim jacket and, Douglas couldn’t help but notice, visibly shivering again. Still – he’d be all right now he was home – he could bung the heating on or wrap himself in blankets while he played his flight simulator.

Martin got out and pulled out his key. ‘Oh – while you’re here, I’ll get that book you lent me.’

‘Miss Smilla’s Feeling for Snow,’ recalled Douglas, getting out himself and accompanying Martin to the door. ‘Very apt.’

Martin let himself in and switched on the hall light. At least – he flicked the switch. The light itself had other ideas about what should go on and what should not.’

‘Oh, no,’ sighed Martin, heading towards the stairs. ‘Of course, my end of town would be the bit that doesn’t have its power back, yet.’

Douglas lingered in the doorway. He wasn’t sure whether it might actually be colder inside the house than out. It was certainly darker, inside. And quieter.

‘Where are your housemates?’

‘Holidays,’ called Martin from upstairs.

‘What – still?’

‘Term ended late, this year. They get a month off for Christmas.’

‘Goodness. Well, that’ll go towards explaining why I apparently loved University so much. If only I could remember any of it.’

Martin came back down, holding out the paperback. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘I enjoyed it.’

Martin, still in his jacket, had his free arm wrapped around himself. There was a hint of vapour in his breath, when he spoke.

‘I’ve got another book by this author at home,’ Douglas told him. ‘You can read it, if you like.’

‘Oh, thanks,’ said Martin, breathing vapour again.

‘No,’ shrugged Douglas, ‘that’s all right. I intend to do the Cryptic Crossword and listen to the radio this afternoon – some Danish modern literature should keep you quiet while I do so.’

‘What do you…?’

‘Go and get a change of clothes and a toothbrush, Little Orphan Annie. You’re not freezing to death here when Daddy Warbucks has got a spare room.’

‘Oh,’ muttered Martin, gratefully. ‘Well… you know Annie’s from the American Depression, right? She’s not Victorian.’

‘It was Carolyn who said you looked like a sad faced Victorian orphan. I happen to think that the Great Depression fits your sad little orphan face more.’

‘Well,’ said Martin, again. ‘Thank-you.’ He disappeared upstairs once more.

Douglas pulled his coat around himself, looking out of the doorway at the bright sun beaming on the snow in the street beyond.

A perfectly good, quiet weekend alone, completely ruined by the wretched weather.

He smiled.

THE END