Fic: Ship-shape and Bristol Fashion by nepthys_uk, Green Cortina
Title: Ship-shape and Bristol Fashion
Author: nepthys_uk
Characters: Other (implied Sam/Gene)
Rating: Green Cortina for innuendo and implied slashiness.
Word Count: approx.1300.
Disclaimer: Belongs to Kudos and the BBC. This is just for fun, not for profit.
Summary: The fifth (and probably final) cleaning escapade with Edith and Edna. Gossip and slash-speculation gallore.
Notes: Thanks for all the feedback to previous installments. Unbeta'd, and concrit welcome.
Previous parts:
1. Spick and Span
2. Neat and Tidy
3. Bright and Shiny
4. Clean and Sparkling
“Urgh, Edith! What on earth is that smell?”
“I’m not sure, but I might need a clothes peg for my nose. There’s nothing in this bin. Where’s it coming from?”
“Oh, hang on - I think it’s from inside one of these desks…”
“Be careful, Edna, I wouldn’t want you having one of your funny turns!”
“Oh my God! Isn’t this Chris’s desk?”
“Yes - tut tut! Shame on him!”
“What’s he got in here - a dead ferret?”
“Poor lad - probably put his packed lunch in there and forgot about it.”
“Don’t tell me his mam still makes him sarnies?”
“Yes. His auntie was telling Beryl at bingo that he gets a bit spoiled. Gets his underwear ironed, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, I don’t hold with that, Edith. She’s just making a rod for her own back, his mam, mark my words.”
“Oh, I don’t know. He may be a bit daft but he’s a nice lad at heart, that Chris.”
“Hmpf. Sounds to me like he needs a firm hand.”
“Oooooh, I’d give ‘im a firm hand all right, given half the chance!”
“Edith, honestly!”
“Poooh! What is that whiff, anyway?”
“I think its fish paste. Pass me that air freshener, would you.”
“Never mind air freshener - we need a canary in here!”
“Oh, I know. What is it about men that makes them really mucky when they’re all together? I mean, take that nice Sam. He’s a lovely young man, and well kept by the looks of him last Saturday - well, apart from being a bit sweaty, but then he was mowing that lawn in a heat-wave, bless ‘im - but I bet he’s a right filthy devil when he’s with the rest of them.”
“Ooooh yes, I can just picture it!”
“Edith! You’ve just sprayed Pledge all over those files!”
“Whoops!”
“Oh, now that’s disgusting. Just look at that…”
“Urgh! I didn’t know fish paste could eat through tin foil.”
“I think we’d better incinerate this before it grows legs and makes a break for the door.”
“Honestly, I don’t know how that nice young woman can face working here with that sort of thing going on.”
“Edith, much as I like Phyllis, I wouldn’t quite call her young…”
“Not Phyllis, for heaven’s sake Edna, Annie Cartwright. You know: Betty used to babysit for her when she was little. Says she’s a lovely lass.”
“Is that Betty who’s got a lad in the forces?”
“No; her who’s mother went doo-lally and used to wander up and down the road in her nightie.”
“Oh, yes. Is she in a home?”
“No, she’s in the W.I.”
“I meant the mother, dear.”
“Oh! Yes, she’s in that place on West Park Road.”
“Ahhh. So what were you saying about Annie Cartwright…?”
“Well, just that she’s a nice girl, that. Clever, too, apparently. She went to University and everything.”
“She must be fond of a treat, then, working with this lot.”
“Mmm, poor lass. Although I reckon DCI Hunt would be a good boss. I mean, he did give us all a very friendly wave from his garden when we saw him last Saturday.”
“Yes. Just as well we’d broken the binoculars by then or it might have been embarrassing.”
“I’m really sorry for dropping them out the window, Edna.”
“Oh, don’t worry, George never used them, anyway. And I don’t blame you - it was a bit of a shock when Sam suddenly bent over like that.”
“Yes; fancy Marjorie’s sister having left her reading glasses in the middle of the lawn! Lucky he spotted them, really, and didn’t run over them with the mower.”
“Yes, well. He was very thorough. Speaking of which - Edith, does that telephone really need waxing?”
“Sorry - I was a bit distracted, what with thinking about him pushing that mower, looking all sweaty, and that. And what with him having no shirt on. And having quite a lot of muscles for a skinny bloke…what ever’s the matter, Edna?”
“I think the fish paste is getting to me - I just need a bit sit down for a mo.”
“Oh right. And he was wearing those shorts, and all. Marjorie’s sister said she’d seen him off out running, but I didn’t expect his legs to be so…are you sure you’re all right?”
“Mm-hm. I’m just having a quick fag and then I’ll get on with DCI Hunt’s office.”
“Good idea, Edna - the smoke might take the smell away! Still, it was a shame he couldn’t come in for a cup of tea when he’d finished.”
“Hmm, yes. He deserved a break, poor lad.”
“But it looked like DCI Hunt had other plans for him, if you know what I mean!”
“Edith! We only saw them talking. I expect they had their own gardening or something to sort out. Honestly, the way you go on I’m starting to think you’re obsessed…”
“Ah, but there’s definite evidence this time - because Marjorie’s sister has heard them at it!”
“At what?”
“It, dear! You know - making beautiful music together.”
“What, like playing the accordion or something?”
“No! She says that you can hear bedsprings going. In a rhythmical manner, if you know what I mean!”
“You didn’t tell me this!”
“Well it’s only since Sunday when she moved into the back bedroom. There’s less traffic noise, apparently.”
“Well!”
“Anyway, she says there was lots of groaning!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Well I never!”
“Marjorie says her sister reckons it’s very loud - you can almost hear them without using a glass!”
“Goodness me! So they really are doing it?”
“Yes! Apparently, her sister says the way the bed creaks they must definitely be doing it. Going at it hammer-and-tongs, she says.”
“Gracious!”
“But she said there was no way of knowing who was…you know - on the receiving end.”
“No, well, I suppose there’s a limit to what you can tell from creaking bedsprings - even for Marjorie’s sister.”
“Hmm. Though given all the work he did on Saturday, I’d have thought it would be Sam lying back and taking it easy, if you know what I mean!”
“Lying back? - I thought you said gays do it doggy style?”
“Well, they can do it missionary, apparently - if the one on the bottom can lift his legs a fair way...”
“Edith!”
“You asked!”
“Hmm. Well, I have to say, Sam does look the flexible sort… So, was it just the once?”
“Once a night, more like!”
“Good heavens! But…well, I still don’t understand why?”
“Oh surely it’s obvious. I mean, DCI Hunt is a fine figure of a man, and that young man from Hyde is quite the tasty morsel, as we now know…”
“No, I mean, why would they like doing it up the back passage?”
“They aren’t - they’re in the back bedroom.”
“Edith! I mean up there - you know - where the sun doesn’t shine!”
“Oh, well. Blokes have got that sensitive spot up there, haven’t they. You know - the prostrate.”
“Ohh-hh.”
“Maybe you should try and find your George’s - that might get him going.”
“You must be joking - the last time I saw George’s bare backside was 1968. I doubt even Houdini could get past those underpants.”
“You know, sometimes I think it’s a wonder you had your Barry.”
“You and me both!”
“Maybe it was an immaculate convection?”
“Either that or a bleedin’ miracle!”
“Well, I think I’m nearly done here. Do you fancy a cup of tea?”
“I’ll just give DCI Hunt’s desk a quick polish and then I’m ready to go.”
“Oh yes - you do keep it nice for him.”
“Yes, well, he works hard, that poor man, and ever since that mistake with the disinfectant I’ve tried to…Oh my. Edith, come in here!”
“What - it’s not a bomb site again, is it?”
“No. Look at these. They’ve got labels on them - see. This one’s for you.”
“To Edith - thanks for keeping the place fit to work in. From DCI Hunt. Ooooh - it’s a huge box of Black Magic! Lovely! Isn’t that nice of him!”
“Mmm.”
“What did you get?”
“Well, it says: To Edna with thanks for all your hard work - but do be careful where you and your friends are pointing them in future.”
“So what’s in the box?”
“A pair of binoculars.”
“OOOOH!”