Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the Biggles series characters used in this work. This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered part of the official storyline.
Warning: Non canon type fan fiction works may contain severe time mix-ups and character deviations.
It was almost eight o’clock in the evening,
but Algy still showed no sign of leaving. Ginger exchanged a look with Bertie. “Let’s
go,” he muttered, reaching for his jacket. There was no point in asking Algy
whether or not he wanted to leave with them; he had ignored their departures
and arrivals for the last two days. The hotel room they were staying in only
had two beds anyway, although Ginger would have gladly slept on the floor if
that could have accomplished anything.
“Algy?” he said, tentatively. “We’ll be
off, then.”
To his surprise, Algy looked up from his
work and answered. “All right,” he said briefly.
Ginger had never thought of Algy—or
Biggles, for that matter—as old, but now, looking at Algy, his eyes
heavy-lidded with exhaustion, the deepening lines on his face, the weary droop
of his shoulders, and the despair that seemed to be etched into every fiber of
his being, Ginger felt a pang in his chest. Even if he had not known about
Biggles, it was obvious to even the most casual passerby that Algy was a man in
pain, and severe pain at that.
“Do you…want to come with us?” he asked.
“No.”
Bertie, perhaps wisely, put on his jacket
and moved towards the door of the office, staying out of the discussion
altogether.
Ginger plucked up the courage to say, “Come
on, Algy. You’ve been glued to that desk for the past three days. Come and have
something to eat, and get some sleep. You look as though you could do with it.”
“I’m fine,” said Algy, tonelessly.
“You’re not accomplishing anything with
this,” persisted Ginger, growing bolder. “You’re not doing any real work,
anyway; you’re just pushing files from one side of your desk to the other. Don’t
be stupid, Algy. Do you suppose Biggles is sitting at home pining after you?”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say the
moment the words tumbled out of his mouth. Something flashed in Algy’s eyes,
and for the first time since he had known him, Ginger genuinely thought that
Algy was going to strike him.
A long silence fell.
The moment passed.
Algy turned away. “Get out,” he whispered, and the raw hurt contained in those two
words was so strong that Ginger wished with all his heart that Algy had hit him
instead.
&&&
It was almost ten when Biggles woke up the
next morning. For a moment, he wondered why the flat was so unusually quiet,
and then he remembered. Turning over onto his side, he looked across at his
still-sleeping wife. She looked so peaceful and serene that he decided not to
wake her. Instead, he got dressed as soundlessly as he could and went out.
“Will you be wanting tea, sir?” called Mrs.
Symes, as he hurried down the stairs.
“No, thanks,” said Biggles. “I’m in a bit
of a hurry. But my wife will probably want something when she wakes up.”
“All right, sir.”
Biggles got into his car and decided to go
for a quiet drive. The long, serious conversation he and Jane had had
concerning their future together had shaken him more than he cared to admit,
and he felt like he needed some time and space alone to think things through.
He was driving down the streets, not
particularly caring where he went, when he saw a familiar figure a few hundred
yards in front of him. Parking the car, he rolled down the window and called, “Ginger!”
Ginger walked over to the car, opened the
door and got into the passenger seat. “Hullo, chief!” he greeted. “What are you
doing here?”
“Just out for a drive. What are you doing here?”
Ginger displayed the newspaper in his hand,
covered with circles and scribbles in red pencil. “I’m flat hunting,” he
explained, with a faint note of pride in his voice.
“Oh,” said Biggles, rather awkwardly. “And,
er, how is that going?”
Ginger shrugged and glanced out of the car
window, away from Biggles. “It’s all right,” he replied, after a pause. Then,
somewhat forlornly, he confessed, “I’ve never been flat hunting before, so I
don’t know what to look for, to tell the truth. I’ve been living with you ever
since I needed a flat.”
Biggles opened his mouth to speak, and then
shut it again when he realized that he had nothing to say.
“Well, Bertie’s looking too, so maybe he’ll
find something,” said Ginger, with false heartiness.
There was a long silence in the car, and
then Biggles said, trying to sound casual, “How’s Algy?”
“Algy?” said Ginger, his voice also too
casual to be natural. “He’s all right. By the way, when are you coming back to
work?”
“Why? Is there a case you’re working on?”
“No, I’m just asking.”
Biggles was silent for a whole minute
before he replied. “Ginger,” he said. “I don’t think…I mean…I…well, I might not
be coming back.”
Ginger stared. “What d’you mean?” he
stammered.
“Well, I’ve been thinking. I’m not getting
any younger, but the crooks seem to be getting faster and younger, and I really
am finding it hard to keep up with them. We never meant to be doing police work
for this long, anyway. It was always supposed to be temporary until we found something
else we wanted to do.”
“Was it?” queried Ginger. “But what is it
you’re going to do? Where’re you going to go?”
Biggles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well,
Jane and I had a talk, and we thought we might do a spot of flying, perhaps go
somewhere out of the way for a few years. Jane doesn’t really want to stay in
London anyway—her family are all in America, you see.”
“America?” echoed Ginger, looking stunned. “You’re
going to live in America? You’re going to leave England?”
“Nothing’s definite yet,” said Biggles
quickly. “We’re still talking about it.”
“But…are you still coming back to work,
then?” Ginger asked, in a very small voice.
“Well…I don’t know yet.”
Ginger glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to
go,” he said. “I’m meeting a landlady here in five minutes, and I don’t want to
be late.”
“All right,” said Biggles, wishing he could
say more but not knowing what he could say. “Look after yourself.” Just as
Ginger was getting out of the car, he called him back. “Ginger!”
Ginger paused in the act of closing the
door.
“Look,” said Biggles. “If you ever need
anything—even if it’s just money, or anything else….you will call me, won’t
you?”
“Of course,” said Ginger, but the finality
expressed in those two simple words seemed to indicate otherwise.
&&&
Algy looked around the office and sighed.
He glanced at the overflowing ashtray on his desk—the ashtray he had just
emptied two or three hours ago. He knew that he was smoking too much, but
somehow he couldn’t seem to stop.
Ginger and Bertie had gone out, ostensibly to
go flat hunting, but he could tell that it was partly an excuse to get away
from him and his foul mood.
He tried to rearrange the teetering stack
of files by his desk, and then, with an irritated snarl, he lashed out and
scattered the files far and wide. What did files matter when his world was
falling apart? As if putting files in alphabetical order could change anything.
Algy stared at the mess he’d made and
suddenly felt the desire to weep hysterically and melt into a little puddle on
the floor. With an effort, he pulled himself together and did what he could to
get the mess in order.
“I can’t stand much more of this,” he
announced aloud, to the empty office.
Sopwith wrote:
ReplyDeleteAlgy stared at the mess he’d made and suddenly felt the desire to weep hysterically and melt into a little puddle on the floor. With an effort, he pulled himself together and did what he could to get the mess in order.
“I can’t stand much more of this,” he announced aloud, to the empty office.
FRANKLY, NEITHER CAN I.
And the REAL Biggles would NEVER go and live in America. It's all a dastardly plot to destroy Biggles and, by so doing, destroy Algy too.
Sopwith wrote:
ReplyDelete'Algy turned away. “Get out,” he whispered, and the raw hurt contained in those two words was so strong that Ginger wished with all his heart that Algy had hit him instead.'
Oh Algy...! I hate to see him so hurt!! I just can't believe Biggles would EVER do such a thing....has he any idea what he's DOING?? He's destroying the both of them, and he doesn't even realise it yet.
I've been itching to have Algy give Ginger a good smack for all the times he was so rude and cheeky and annoying. And then I realized that some things can hurt and be much much worse than getting hit--hurting your friend because you can't keep your mouth shut, for example...
ReplyDelete(Take that, Ginger. Let's see if you ever dare be rude to Algy again....)
Really, of course... Algy ought to stop being miserable, and just sit down quietly and work out why Biggles is behaving so out of character. Then he might get everything sorted out - to our satisfaction :-)
ReplyDeleteBlimey - talk about intense!
ReplyDeleteI think the only person still happy in this story right now is Jane....How can she sleep so peacefully knowing all the trouble she's caused?!
Just proves she has no conscience either...: - (
Incidentally,I wonder what poor Mrs Symes makes of losing her boys and gaining the dreadful Jane instead. Not much I would imagine.
ReplyDeleteI bet Jane complains about her scones, and how she makes the tea, and interferes with her house-keeping routine....
I bet if Algy offered her a job as his new housekeeper the loyal Mrs Symes would leave Biggles like a shot....
I think Mrs Symes was also Biggles' landlady, as well as his housekeeper?
ReplyDeleteBut I agree. Jane would probably want black coffee with lots of milk and sugar, not morning tea. And I don't think Jane would know what a scone is!
I don't think Mrs Symes was Biggles' landlady, which indicates she owned the flat and rented it to him.
ReplyDeleteI think I got the impression she was his landlady because of the way she told Biggles and the others off for leaving mud on the mat in Flies West. Although I suppose a housekeeper might do that as well...
ReplyDeleteA housekeeper would definitely tell them off for leaving mud on the mat that she would have to clean up. I've got the impression that Biggles actually owned the flat, not sure why, so if that were the case he wouldn't have a landlady.
ReplyDeleteJust had an awful thought. You don't suppose that Dastardly Jane is a Black Widow,by any chance?
ReplyDeleteEeeeek! It's a possibility! : - o
ReplyDeleteIt's probably not a good idea to give a fanfic writer ideas that you DON'T want happening....just a thought...
ReplyDeleteI don't suppose that anything I could suggest would make the stories any less hair-raising than the ones you write, Soppy. Jane can be a Black Widow as long as she's defeated in the end and ceases to be a threat to any of our boys. :)
ReplyDeleteDo you know I'm actually getting to like her now. It would be a pity to let her go...
ReplyDeleteWell, if you like someone who's been instrumental in making Algy a miserable wreck, I can only say I'm surprised, shocked and stunned. Poor Algy and poor Biggles. Jane and Marie can go off together, they're well suited.
ReplyDeletePoor Biggles??? Apart from the Algy issue, he seems to be enjoying himself quite a lot!
ReplyDeleteJane and Marie going off together? Like some sort of Evil Sisterhood??? Going off ruining the lives of airmen everywhere...? *shudder*
Awwww poor Algy! I now have an image in my head of him curled up in a ball in a corner crying and trying to pull himself together before Bertie and Ginger get back.
ReplyDeleteYes, Algy could do with a little love. He's having a hard time at the moment...
ReplyDelete