Cabin Pressure Fic: Family, part 4
Title: Family, part 4/probably 7 or 8
Author: spycandy
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: PG for this chapter, because Simon is sweary
Characters: Martin, everyone at MJN, some small Crieffs
Warnings: Attempted suicide by a parent.
Summary: Martin must take care of his nephew and niece, with a little help from the rest of MJN.
“I can't help noticing, Martin, that you have returned with the exact same number of children you left with this morning,” said Carolyn, once the youngsters in question had been supplied with cold drinks and shoo-ed into the garden to play with the dog. She kept her tone light. Given the expression on all three faces as they'd got out of the van, things hadn't gone quite as expected at the meeting with Sonia, who was supposed to have been released from hospital that day.
“Turns out, the incident with the pills and the vodka wasn't a one-off,” said her pilot, pacing across the kitchen. “Apparently both had featured pretty heavily since Simon's arrest - although not both at the same time until the sentence was passed and the asset seizure order was made.
“She's... well, she's going into rehab, which is good of course. Best thing, really. And maybe she'll be able to get herself together enough to look after Toby and Olivia eventually, but it could be a while. And Simon won't be out for two years, at best.”
“All that was said in front of the kids?” Carolyn winced at the idea.
“It was pretty brutal. But maybe it's better to have it out in the open, so they don't suspect adults are hiding stuff from them. Anyway, if they're to stay with me now, I have to be assessed as a kinship foster carer.” He waved a handful of advice leaflets, handbooks and flowcharts as he whirled to pace in another direction.
“I know I said it would only be until the end of this week, but I don't think my place would pass the assessment.” Martin chewed on his lip, looking utterly desperate. “Could we stay here a bit longer? At least until I work out what all this lot means? They said something about allowances... maybe I could rent a bigger place.”
In truth, Carolyn had been a little sad to watch them drive away that morning, possibly for the last time. Even muted by all that had happened to them, the youngsters were still a bright presence in the house, whether practising Bach on an unsuitable keyboard or playing daft games invented by Arthur. Not to mention, Martin was so determined to earn their keep that she'd barely had to wash a dish all week.
So, if they had nowhere else to go for the time being there was no need for a fuss. The rooms would be there anyway and there was something to be said for having an employee exactly where you could see him.
“There's no hurry to leave Martin,” she said, making a grab for the leaflets. “Now, lets have a look at this lot - I had some dealings with the family courts before Arthur turned 18, maybe I can decode some of this jargon for you.”
>>>
He had arrived ten minutes early and the van was much too stuffy to sit in with the engine off, so Martin paced back and forth on the pavement outside the piano teacher's front door, trying not to look like a sinister lurker.
The upper portion of the ground floor front window was ajar and through it he could hear the piece Toby had been working on all week, finding time for practice despite all the hectic business of enrolling at a new school. It had been a busy week for the adults too, as every member of the household had been assessed and vetted - including the dog - and thankfully he had been approved for official foster care of his nephew and niece.
Thinking about the scope of his new responsibilities, as laid out by the family support worker at the induction training session, made Martin catch his breath. He concentrated on the music instead. It sounded a lot better on a real piano, although he thought Toby was still rushing through some parts.
“Andante, Toby. Don't speed up just because you're nearly at the end.” A woman's voice from inside the room confirmed his thoughts. “Shall we finish with something jolly?”
“Gershwin?” Toby's idea of jolly was clearly not that of the average 13-year-old, but a moment later Martin recognised a bouncy rendition of S'Wonderful. He couldn't help joining in a little, murmuring under his breath at first.
By “S'awful nice!” however, he was singing properly, which was of course the exact moment the front door opened and Toby's piano teacher peered out.
“Hello, mysterious stranger with a lovely voice,” she said, with a crooked smile that lit her pretty eyes. “Are you Mr Crieff?”
“Um. Hello. Yes. Er, call me Captain... I mean Martin... I... yes, I'm Toby's uncle. Good to meet you Ms Choudhury.”
“Call me Neela.” she said, managing not to laugh at his bumbling introduction. “Would you like to come in for a moment? We need to discuss Toby's exam.”
Of course. It had been one thing just to pick Toby up from his lessons, but now he would have to make decisions about things like this. It was a long round trip for a half-hour lesson and he wasn't even sure whether he could afford things like exam fees on top of the already worrying lesson bill, but Toby had asked for nothing else and the last thing Martin wanted to do was take away that bouncy Gershwin rhythm from the boy.
“Hi Uncle Captain!” called out Toby as they walked in, confirming that he had overheard Martin's lamentable effort at simply talking to an attractive woman. “Great singing!”
>>>
He spotted his ridiculous brother from the far side of the visiting room - not difficult, given that he was wearing that absurd airline uniform. No doubt it was intended as a vindictive reminder that funny little Martin now had his dream job, while he, the golden boy and successful businessman, was stuck in jail for taking a few short cuts and twisting a few truths. Nothing more than anyone did who wanted to make money.
Martin was fidgeting in a plastic chair as Simon was delivered to their table by a guard.
“How are you doing Simon?”
“Just wonderful!” he snarled sarcastically. “Five star service in Her Majesty's over-crowded prison. Never mind that - did you manage to rescue much from the house before those POCA vultures got there?”
“Oh. Yes.” Hmm, maybe he hadn't given his brother enough credit for initiative, after all. “All the kids' school stuff, plenty of clothes - Olly managed to squeeze a remarkable amount of stuff into one suitcase. I couldn't find any photo albums, but I picked up all the framed family pictures I could find.”
“Kids' stuff! Photo albums!” spluttered Simon, leaving to one side the fact that his brother was using Toby's dreadful pet-name for Olivia with such easy familiarity. “You idiot, that house was stuffed with antiques and expensive designer pieces.”
Martin looked crestfallen. “There... there was a policeman there,” he stammered.
“Some ordinary plod wouldn't have a clue what was valuable. Didn't you save anything?”
Martin's features froze. “Oh, he knew exactly what’s really valuable,” he said. There was something cold and angry in his voice that Simon had never heard from his brother before. “It’s a shame that you don’t. Your children are fine, by the way, thanks for asking, apart from, you know, the huge emotional trauma of almost losing both their parents and their home on one day. But never mind that, eh? So long as the silver candelabra are okay.”
The idiot was shouting by the end of this little diatribe, and out of the corner of his eye, Simon could see that a couple of guards had spotted the commotion. Within moments they’d hauled Martin away from the visiting table and thrust him without ceremony through the door to the outside world.
Fuck! thought Simon as he slouched back to his cell. He’d not had a chance to raise the topic of transferring money from the investments that were held in the children’s names into the secret Swiss account. Not to worry though, there was still plenty more.
>>>
“You're looking awfully pleased with yourself Douglas.”
“Indeed I am. I've just exchanged £180 worth of Spanish saffron for a set of Japanese chef's knives, worth considerably more than that. And we should easily be back in Fitton in plenty of time for me to pick up my daughter from the station.”
Martin had never paid much attention to his first officer's shared custody visits before, but given his new circumstances, perhaps it was something they could bond over. Well, no, that was going a bit far, but they could talk about things.
“How long is she staying?”
The frown that chased across Douglas' face was a clear clue that that was the wrong question to ask.
“Just three days. Well, we're off to Moscow after that, aren't we?” said Douglas, sounding decidedly tetchy. “And Alex has school near her mum's and she doesn't have any friends here, so she never really wants to stay all that long.”
“Oh, that's a shame. Wait, she's what? 12 now? Would she... would you maybe... no, you probably have plans already.”
“Spit it out Martin. What?”
“Olly's a shy kid and doesn't have many friends here yet either.” That was putting it mildly. The poor girl seemed to have inherited all of her uncle's social ineptitude right along with his undertable hiding skills. While Toby had made instant friends in his new class and the school orchestra, Olivia had so far brought home no invitations to play at other girls' homes.
“Are you seriously suggesting that after spending the best part of 48 hours trapped in your company in this flying tin can, I might want to spend my hard-earned time off with you and your kin?”
“Sorry. Forget it.”
Douglas sighed. “No, actually it's not a bad idea. I'd promised a trip to the leisure pool on Sunday afternoon, would the Crieff enfants like that?”
“Yes, I think they would,” said Martin, brightening. “Mind you, after that refresher course in Ipswich, I rather got the impression you weren't all that keen on swimming.”
“They swim Martin. We find a nice table in the café, with a good view of the bikini-clad lovelies in the fast-lane of the grown-ups' pool, and we read the papers over a cup of coffee.”
Part 5
Author: spycandy
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: PG for this chapter, because Simon is sweary
Characters: Martin, everyone at MJN, some small Crieffs
Warnings: Attempted suicide by a parent.
Summary: Martin must take care of his nephew and niece, with a little help from the rest of MJN.
“I can't help noticing, Martin, that you have returned with the exact same number of children you left with this morning,” said Carolyn, once the youngsters in question had been supplied with cold drinks and shoo-ed into the garden to play with the dog. She kept her tone light. Given the expression on all three faces as they'd got out of the van, things hadn't gone quite as expected at the meeting with Sonia, who was supposed to have been released from hospital that day.
“Turns out, the incident with the pills and the vodka wasn't a one-off,” said her pilot, pacing across the kitchen. “Apparently both had featured pretty heavily since Simon's arrest - although not both at the same time until the sentence was passed and the asset seizure order was made.
“She's... well, she's going into rehab, which is good of course. Best thing, really. And maybe she'll be able to get herself together enough to look after Toby and Olivia eventually, but it could be a while. And Simon won't be out for two years, at best.”
“All that was said in front of the kids?” Carolyn winced at the idea.
“It was pretty brutal. But maybe it's better to have it out in the open, so they don't suspect adults are hiding stuff from them. Anyway, if they're to stay with me now, I have to be assessed as a kinship foster carer.” He waved a handful of advice leaflets, handbooks and flowcharts as he whirled to pace in another direction.
“I know I said it would only be until the end of this week, but I don't think my place would pass the assessment.” Martin chewed on his lip, looking utterly desperate. “Could we stay here a bit longer? At least until I work out what all this lot means? They said something about allowances... maybe I could rent a bigger place.”
In truth, Carolyn had been a little sad to watch them drive away that morning, possibly for the last time. Even muted by all that had happened to them, the youngsters were still a bright presence in the house, whether practising Bach on an unsuitable keyboard or playing daft games invented by Arthur. Not to mention, Martin was so determined to earn their keep that she'd barely had to wash a dish all week.
So, if they had nowhere else to go for the time being there was no need for a fuss. The rooms would be there anyway and there was something to be said for having an employee exactly where you could see him.
“There's no hurry to leave Martin,” she said, making a grab for the leaflets. “Now, lets have a look at this lot - I had some dealings with the family courts before Arthur turned 18, maybe I can decode some of this jargon for you.”
>>>
He had arrived ten minutes early and the van was much too stuffy to sit in with the engine off, so Martin paced back and forth on the pavement outside the piano teacher's front door, trying not to look like a sinister lurker.
The upper portion of the ground floor front window was ajar and through it he could hear the piece Toby had been working on all week, finding time for practice despite all the hectic business of enrolling at a new school. It had been a busy week for the adults too, as every member of the household had been assessed and vetted - including the dog - and thankfully he had been approved for official foster care of his nephew and niece.
Thinking about the scope of his new responsibilities, as laid out by the family support worker at the induction training session, made Martin catch his breath. He concentrated on the music instead. It sounded a lot better on a real piano, although he thought Toby was still rushing through some parts.
“Andante, Toby. Don't speed up just because you're nearly at the end.” A woman's voice from inside the room confirmed his thoughts. “Shall we finish with something jolly?”
“Gershwin?” Toby's idea of jolly was clearly not that of the average 13-year-old, but a moment later Martin recognised a bouncy rendition of S'Wonderful. He couldn't help joining in a little, murmuring under his breath at first.
By “S'awful nice!” however, he was singing properly, which was of course the exact moment the front door opened and Toby's piano teacher peered out.
“Hello, mysterious stranger with a lovely voice,” she said, with a crooked smile that lit her pretty eyes. “Are you Mr Crieff?”
“Um. Hello. Yes. Er, call me Captain... I mean Martin... I... yes, I'm Toby's uncle. Good to meet you Ms Choudhury.”
“Call me Neela.” she said, managing not to laugh at his bumbling introduction. “Would you like to come in for a moment? We need to discuss Toby's exam.”
Of course. It had been one thing just to pick Toby up from his lessons, but now he would have to make decisions about things like this. It was a long round trip for a half-hour lesson and he wasn't even sure whether he could afford things like exam fees on top of the already worrying lesson bill, but Toby had asked for nothing else and the last thing Martin wanted to do was take away that bouncy Gershwin rhythm from the boy.
“Hi Uncle Captain!” called out Toby as they walked in, confirming that he had overheard Martin's lamentable effort at simply talking to an attractive woman. “Great singing!”
>>>
He spotted his ridiculous brother from the far side of the visiting room - not difficult, given that he was wearing that absurd airline uniform. No doubt it was intended as a vindictive reminder that funny little Martin now had his dream job, while he, the golden boy and successful businessman, was stuck in jail for taking a few short cuts and twisting a few truths. Nothing more than anyone did who wanted to make money.
Martin was fidgeting in a plastic chair as Simon was delivered to their table by a guard.
“How are you doing Simon?”
“Just wonderful!” he snarled sarcastically. “Five star service in Her Majesty's over-crowded prison. Never mind that - did you manage to rescue much from the house before those POCA vultures got there?”
“Oh. Yes.” Hmm, maybe he hadn't given his brother enough credit for initiative, after all. “All the kids' school stuff, plenty of clothes - Olly managed to squeeze a remarkable amount of stuff into one suitcase. I couldn't find any photo albums, but I picked up all the framed family pictures I could find.”
“Kids' stuff! Photo albums!” spluttered Simon, leaving to one side the fact that his brother was using Toby's dreadful pet-name for Olivia with such easy familiarity. “You idiot, that house was stuffed with antiques and expensive designer pieces.”
Martin looked crestfallen. “There... there was a policeman there,” he stammered.
“Some ordinary plod wouldn't have a clue what was valuable. Didn't you save anything?”
Martin's features froze. “Oh, he knew exactly what’s really valuable,” he said. There was something cold and angry in his voice that Simon had never heard from his brother before. “It’s a shame that you don’t. Your children are fine, by the way, thanks for asking, apart from, you know, the huge emotional trauma of almost losing both their parents and their home on one day. But never mind that, eh? So long as the silver candelabra are okay.”
The idiot was shouting by the end of this little diatribe, and out of the corner of his eye, Simon could see that a couple of guards had spotted the commotion. Within moments they’d hauled Martin away from the visiting table and thrust him without ceremony through the door to the outside world.
Fuck! thought Simon as he slouched back to his cell. He’d not had a chance to raise the topic of transferring money from the investments that were held in the children’s names into the secret Swiss account. Not to worry though, there was still plenty more.
>>>
“You're looking awfully pleased with yourself Douglas.”
“Indeed I am. I've just exchanged £180 worth of Spanish saffron for a set of Japanese chef's knives, worth considerably more than that. And we should easily be back in Fitton in plenty of time for me to pick up my daughter from the station.”
Martin had never paid much attention to his first officer's shared custody visits before, but given his new circumstances, perhaps it was something they could bond over. Well, no, that was going a bit far, but they could talk about things.
“How long is she staying?”
The frown that chased across Douglas' face was a clear clue that that was the wrong question to ask.
“Just three days. Well, we're off to Moscow after that, aren't we?” said Douglas, sounding decidedly tetchy. “And Alex has school near her mum's and she doesn't have any friends here, so she never really wants to stay all that long.”
“Oh, that's a shame. Wait, she's what? 12 now? Would she... would you maybe... no, you probably have plans already.”
“Spit it out Martin. What?”
“Olly's a shy kid and doesn't have many friends here yet either.” That was putting it mildly. The poor girl seemed to have inherited all of her uncle's social ineptitude right along with his undertable hiding skills. While Toby had made instant friends in his new class and the school orchestra, Olivia had so far brought home no invitations to play at other girls' homes.
“Are you seriously suggesting that after spending the best part of 48 hours trapped in your company in this flying tin can, I might want to spend my hard-earned time off with you and your kin?”
“Sorry. Forget it.”
Douglas sighed. “No, actually it's not a bad idea. I'd promised a trip to the leisure pool on Sunday afternoon, would the Crieff enfants like that?”
“Yes, I think they would,” said Martin, brightening. “Mind you, after that refresher course in Ipswich, I rather got the impression you weren't all that keen on swimming.”
“They swim Martin. We find a nice table in the café, with a good view of the bikini-clad lovelies in the fast-lane of the grown-ups' pool, and we read the papers over a cup of coffee.”
Part 5