Everything to do with the original Flushed Away is the result of the inestimable brain-power of DreamWorks and Aardman Animations studios. This story will use characters of my own devising which were introduced in Yet Another Change of Scene- please forgive any trouble this causes.
Readers may notice that some kind of temporal distortion appears to have taken place- this story takes place around Christmas, despite an early snowmelt being featured in a previous one. I plead dramatic necessity as my only defence.
Grateful thanks, as always, to the reviewers of previous pieces.
The door to the shop opened, causing a small silver bell to ring brightly.
The two figures who had just entered- a man and woman, both bundled against the London winter in expensive-looking coats- rubbed their hands and looked around. On the glass of the shopfront windows, the name 'Kensington High Street Pets' could be read in reverse. Multicoloured lights glowed around the edges in an attempt to procure a festive air for less than ₤5.20.
"A stroke of luck we found this place, isn't it dear?" said the man in a refined accent. "Not many places are open on Christmas Eve."
"Yes, and it was so close to home," said his wife. "I just know Tabitha will be so pleased."
Their conversation had attracted the attention of the only creature in the shop to still be awake. A young rat was peering curiously at them over a pile of shredded paper. The shopkeeper emerged from behind the desk and nodded to them.
"Good evening, madam and sir. What can I help you with?"
"Ah, good." The man stepped forward briskly. "Well, we're in a bit of a bind. You see, we promised Tabitha- our daughter- a new friend for Christmas but we seem to have left it to the last minute."
"That can happen," said the shopkeeper, sagely.
"It usually does," said the wife, with that kind of brittle cheeriness which indicates a recently-declared ceasefire. "Anyway, we were rather hoping...that we could pick something up tonight."
The keeper scratched his head. "Well, there's not many here. We've just about sold out of most things. What kind of pet did you have in mind? Dog? Cat?"
"Well, she wanted a pony of course," said the man. They all laughed. "But I think the Council would have something to say if they found it in our kitchen! So something a little smaller. Something easy to take care of."
The keeper looked around and spotted the rat, who was watching them with interest while nibbling on a piece of food.
"Well, there's always rats."
"Rats?" said the woman, in a tone that was far from convinced of the merits of that notion.
"Don't let the reputation fool you," said the keeper. "They're very good. Loyal, dependable, nice and small too. Cheap to keep. They won't leave a mess, you don't have to walk them every day."
"It sounds perfect," agreed the man. "All right. We'll do that, then."
The shopkeeper smiled and went over to the young rat's box. With practised care, he picked up the rat and put it into a small travelling cage. It looked momentarily confused at this change of scene, and then relaxed. Events looked to be taking a turn for the better!
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" said the keeper.
"Well, we'll need somewhere to keep the little fellow," said the man. He pointed to a large gilt cage in the corner. "We'd better take that as well."
The keeper began ringing up the cost of the sale. "I'll throw in some food as well, just to get you started."
"Thanks awfully," said the man.
"By the way," said his wife. "Does he have a name yet?"
The shopkeeper looked somewhat put-off. "Shouldn't you have asked that before you married him?"
"No, no, I mean the rat." She laughed. The young rat had his face at the bars of his little cage and was admiring the Christmas lights glowing around the shop window.
"His name is Roderick, madam. Roddy for short. Roddy St. James."
Below the deck of the Jammy Dodger II, Rita Malone glared at the condenser in the hope that it would get the message, but her thousand-watt emerald stare had its limits and an inanimate engine component was one of them.
She sighed and stuck out a hand.
"Pass me the pipe cleaner, please. We'll have to do this the hard way."
Roddy St. James, who had been balancing the pipe cleaner on his palm to see how long he could do it, flicked it into the air, caught it again and passed it to her.
"What's the problem with this, anyway? The engine still runs."
Rita began working over the inside of the condenser with the pipe cleaner.
"That's because we've got two condensers. We're running on the other one now, but this one's stuffed. Look." She withdrew the pipe cleaner. It was coated in what looked to Roddy like hard-baked dust.
"Scale," said Rita, with disgust. "Now that's something that shouldn't even be possible in a condenser. This is what happens when you're running impure water through it- the dirt and salt builds up in the pipes and blocks it. Do you see?"
"I'm just enjoying the novelty of watching you doing routine maintenance for once," said Roddy, grinning. Rita feigned a look of annoyance.
"I'm only doing this because I wouldn't trust you with it. You're getting better, Roddy, but you're not an engineer yet. I want you watching what I'm doing, not watching me."
"Since when did that become a problem?"
"Since I needed to show you how to clean out the primary condenser, of course. There'll be time for everything else when we've fixed it."
Roddy peered over her shoulder. Obsessive maintenance and attention to detail was one of Rita's characteristics, inculcated from birth and eminently justified in a world where a functional condenser meant the difference between a working motor and a pile of dry scrap.
"Well, remember where we're been. Ever since we left Dover, the boat's been either in sewers or salt water. Goodness knows what's been sucked into the intakes. And the beaching on Burhou won't have helped. We probably took on a lot of sand there and sand in an engine is like a..."
"Cheese-grater in a soufflé?" said Roddy.
"That'll do for now. What we really need now is an evaporator. We're going to have to flush the whole system clean and I'm not putting dirty water through it again." Rita straightened up and closed the condenser. "Where can we possibly get enough pure water to do that?"
Roddy looked around. "We've still got the kettle. And we've still got electricity to boil it. If we divert steam from the kettle into the auxiliary condenser we'll soon have pure water to use."
Rita laughed as she saw the sense of that. "Okay, maybe I should take back what I said about you not being an engineer yet."
"Oh, you think that'll work for the engine? I just wanted a cup of tea but if it'll work on the other thing, I guess that's fine too." Roddy grinned.
"It'll take a long time though. It could take whole litres to flush out the circulation system." Rita looked slightly doubtful.
"So? Where do we have to be that can't wait?" Roddy looked at her.
"Home, of course," said Rita. "I know, they're probably not expecting us."
"They probably didn't expect most of what happened." Roddy put his arms around Rita and rested his head on her shoulder. "Funny to think that only a couple of days ago I was hanging from Jasper's plane with the Toad trying to kill me."
Rita relaxed into him. The chaotic events on Burhou were still fresh in their memories. "Funny? I don't remember you laughing much at the time."
Roddy conceded that. "Okay, maybe 'funny' isn't the right word. It was nice seeing them all though...Jasper, Sofia, Rhys...just like Monaco."
"You nearly got killed in Monaco," pointed out Rita.
"Yes, and I nearly got killed on Burhou as well. So as I said: just like Monaco."
Rita said nothing. The 'holiday' her parents had orchestrated for them had seen them face more danger in a matter of months than in their lives to date, but it had also made possible some things that previously weren't. The way they were standing now, for instance. She resisted a desire to sink further into her companion's arms and remembered the engine problem which had brought them below in the first place.
"We'd better get started if we're to put your brilliant idea into practice. Get the kettle ready." She moved to a locker and produced a short length of insulated tubing. It was a simple effort to plug one end securely over the kettle spout and the other over the condenser's steam intake. Roddy filled the kettle with water and put it on the coil of copper wire which served as the Jammy Dodger Ii's hotplate. It was a simple device- current was fed through it by the alternator- but highly effective. The kettle was boiling in no time.
"Be careful to keep the water topped up. Don't let it run dry or it'll burn out the bottom." Rita watched it carefully. The first drops of purified water were already dripping out of the condenser. She placed a bucket underneath it to catch them.
"It's not very fast, is it?" said Roddy. "We've got larger metal containers. Why not use one of them?"
"Because we need to get the steam into the condenser and the hose won't fit anything else." Rita shrugged. "Nothing to do but wait." She made her way on deck. Roddy followed with a bucket, which he dipped into the water.
"Don't they say that a holiday is ninety-five percent waiting and five percent pure terror?" he asked jovially.
"I think that's meant to be the life of a soldier," said Rita.
"Close enough for me," said Roddy. He straightened up and looked around.
The Jammy Dodger II had arrived in Portsmouth Harbour having proceeded through the narrow entrance in the wake of HMS Illustrious, an aircraft carrier so huge that Roddy and Rita could barely believe that it could still move. They were now moored in a drain near The Hard. Rita had decided to call a day of maintenance because, as she put it, there was no way that they were going to survive everything they'd survived only to break down near home. They'd never hear the end of it. Roddy picked up the bucket and went back below to top up the kettle. He'd never hear the end of it if he let it burn out. Putting the bucket aside, he noticed a large box in the corner of the engine room. Frowning, he went to investigate it. To his surprise, it was filled with small items wrapped in paper- any paper that had been available. One little package bore a headline from Le Monde while another was a shiny duck-egg blue. He sifted through them curiously and then went back on deck.
"Rita? What's going on with this box down here?"
She was examining the finger joints on the mechanical arm as she answered.
"Oh, them? Just presents. You know, for my brothers and sisters."
Roddy felt a pang of guilt. "Oh, dear...I'm sorry. I haven't been collecting anything...should I have been? I mean, I could go and look around here..."
Rita smiled at him. "Don't worry, Roddy. They're not your brothers and sisters yet, despite what my parents would have you think. I've taken care of it. Besides, even if they were your brothers and sisters I know you'd have forgotten."
"My memory is fine," said Roddy.
"Oh? Then why didn't you realise I was collecting the presents? You didn't notice that I bought nine model Eiffel Towers in Paris?"
"I assumed they were souvenirs."
"It didn't strike you as bizarre that I had nine of them?"
"Rita, if I made comment about everything you do that strikes me as bizarre-" Roddy began, a broad grin spreading over his face.
She chuckled. "Okay, I'll pay that one. Anyway, that's what they are."
Roddy nodded. He remembered that when he had first met Rita's family, he had watched through the window as she distributed gifts to her various siblings and felt that first real pang of longing, the wish that he had something similar in his life. "I should have remembered," he said.
"No, it's all right." Rita wiped her hands on her Union Jack trousers and stowed the mechanical arm away. "We'll tell them they're from both of us. It would only have complicated things if you had. We'd have been arguing about what to get them." She looked at him with mock severity. "You have no sense of taste."
"I have no sense of taste? Oh, that's rich." Roddy grinned and clambered onto the deck. "Tell me, do the words 'situational aesthetic' mean anything to you?"
"Marginally more than does the Principia Mathematica, but otherwise no." Rita joined him at the stern.
"Well, in simple terms it means that 'it seemed like a good idea at the time'." Roddy dipped another bucket over the side. "And then you get home and look at what you've bought and you wonder whether you were on drugs."
"You could help me sort them out. I've not really decided who should get what." Rita followed him down to the engine room and helped him refill the kettle. She looked approvingly at the small but steady stream of water trickling out of the condenser. "This is working better than I thought, Roddy. Well done, that was a good idea of yours."
"You say that like it's some kind of rarity." Roddy put the bucket down and raised an eyebrow at her.
"Either that or I'm just ignoring you the rest of the time." She walked past him, brushing a hand against his side. "Come on. Help me get the box up top and we'll go through them."
Roddy looked up. Above them the eerily skeletal Spinnaker Tower glowed against the sky, draped in multicoloured lights.
Multicoloured lights...
"His name is Roderick, madam. Roddy for short. Roddy St. James."
"Pardon?" The words had come so clearly through his memory that he thought they had been spoken aloud. Rita looked up quizzically.
"Fergus?" she said again.
"Roddy," said Roddy.
She poked him. "My brother Fergus, genius. Do you think he'd like one of the model Eiffels?"
Roddy remembered the largest member of the Malone clan. "I think the real one would be more appropriate."
Rita laughed. "All right, we'll find something else for him. That means that the last Eiffel goes to...Seamus." She looked at a list in her hand. "Yeah. That's right."
Roddy wrote the name on the newspaper wrapping around the ninth souvenir model. "I'd better check on the kettle. It's been a while since I did last." He stood up and went below. "Why do you want to get home, exactly?
I mean, obviously you do. So do I. But you seem insistent on it."
Rita put the list aside. "Well, we might as well try to get there in time for a family Christmas."
"A what?" Roddy came on deck again.
"A family Christmas," repeated Rita. "Don't tell me that you don't..."
She trailed off and took in the polite confusion on Roddy's face. Of course he didn't. She sometimes forgot about the world that Roddy came from. He had no family- he was closer to the long-dead August St. James, whose uniform hung in a cupboard down below, than to any living relatives. To Rita this was an unthinkable situation. Her family had been a constant in her life, at once a source of strength and a cause for concern. But for Roddy, it was still something to adjust to. She kicked herself for forgetting.
"Sorry. I forgot for a moment that you...that you..." She sought for a way to end that sentence that didn't sound harsh. She gave up and abandoned it. "Well, anyway, the whole family spends the day together. We share presents, a big meal. You must know the sort of thing I mean."
Roddy nodded hesitantly. His old family (the word 'owners' stung his pride) had not been especially garrulous and their well-ordered lives stood in stark contrast to the Brownian phenomenon that was the Malone family.
"So...you spend the whole day together?"
"Yes."
Roddy paused again. He liked Rita's family. He knew he did. But the idea of voluntarily spending more time with them than was necessary struck him as interesting to say the least. Rita watched his face carefully and must have detected that thought.
"It isn't as bad as all that, Roddy. Grandma goes to bed mid-afternoon anyway."
"I wasn't thinking about that, actually…" Roddy looked profoundly distracted. Rita watched him for a moment and gave up.
"And it'll be Mum's birthday when we get back as well," she said. Roddy looked up.
"Do we need to find something for her for that? We could have a look around here but I'm not sure if we'd be able to find anything."
"No, no. Her birthday's always been on Christmas Day." Rita smiled to herself. "We always thought that meant she should get two presents but she'd say that having us all together was present enough. Plus we couldn't really afford it anyway."
"It's always difficult to know what to do when someone's born close to a holiday," said Roddy. "I remember that problem as well."
"You? But who did you have to give presents to?" Rita raised an eyebrow.
"Well…nobody of course. But my…family…"
"Owners?"
Roddy winced. It was the accurate term, of course, but still…
"Y…yes…they never knew when I was born of course so they always said that my birthday was the day they…"
"Bought you?"
Roddy winced again. Again, she was right…he would have preferred her not to be, but Rita was nothing if not an uncomplicated speaker.
"Yes."
"What day was that?"
"Christmas Eve." Roddy closed his eyes. He could still see the shop lights glowing softly. He opened them again and saw the lights of the Spinnaker Tower, almost mirroring his memory.
"Well, that's tomorrow!" said Rita. "You should have told me! In fact…I don't think I knew when your birthday was. Funny, that. I should know. So you said that was when your owners celebrated it…but when was it really?"
Roddy shrugged. "You know…I don't know. I don't remember."
They sat in silence for a long time before Roddy voiced the thought both of them had formed.
"In fact, Rita, you could say that my life was a blank sheet of paper before I met you."
She smiled gently. Maybe she'd gone too far. Roddy was never at ease talking about his past, as if it was some kind of embarrassment. He'd been terrified of her finding out about it when they had first met. Rita had tried to tell him then that it didn't matter but he'd pushed her away and since then she hadn't worked out a way to bring the matter up. Perhaps it would have been better if she hadn't. Roddy was looking pensive. His eyes were raised to the Spinnaker's lights, but they weren't focused on anything that Rita could see. Her face softened and she leaned across and kissed him, breaking whatever spell he had been under.
"Blank pieces of paper are what symphonies are written on, Roddy. Remember that."
He smiled faintly. "I had no idea you were a musical type."
"I can hold a mean tune. And you know I can dance." She patted his hand. "Now come on. We should check the kettle. We should have enough water by now."