Biggles and Son: Chapter 3.

by Sopwith

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. 

Algy made the necessary introductions for Ginger and Bertie before asking the boy, “Got any clothes or luggage with you?”

“No.”

“Thought not.” Algy drained the last of his tea and stood. “I’ll go get the car round and we can get you some new clothes; that uniform of yours looks in danger of falling apart.” To the others, he added, “You can stay here and get the paperwork for that smuggler sorted. I’ll take him back to Mount Street after we’ve picked up the things he needs.”

“Mount Street?” echoed Ginger. “You’re not letting him stay in the flat?”

“Where else would he stay?” retorted Algy, as if that much was obvious.

“A hotel?”

“Don’t be a fool. He’s fourteen. He can’t stay in a hotel by himself.”

“He could stay in one with Biggles.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Algy was getting impatient. “He’s a boy, not a wild bear. He won’t bite.”

“He’s not just any boy.” Ginger lowered his voice. “He’s her son. And you know what she—”

“It’s not his fault who his parents are. Look, I’ll drop him off at the flat and then go straight to Gaskin’s and get those files we need.”

Bertie’s eyes widened with horror. “I say, old boy. Steady on. You won’t leave him in a bally hotel by himself, but you want to put him in the flat on his own?”

“He won’t be on his own. Mrs. Symes will be there. And you two can go home and keep him company after you’ve finished here.”

“Keep him company?” The horror on Ginger’s face suggested that Algy had just invited him to put in his hand in a nest of rattlesnakes. “Are you serious? What on earth will we talk about?”

Algy turned a frosty eye on him. “Well, you were fourteen once, weren’t you? I know it was quite long ago, but no doubt you’ll come up with something if you think hard.”

&&&

Having made Sebastian the owner of several bulging bags worth of clothes, Algy drove the boy back to the flat.

“We don’t have a spare bedroom, I’m afraid,” Algy said, as he unlocked the door to the flat. “But you can have my bed, if you like—I share a room with Biggles, I mean, your dad.”

Sebastian shrugged. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just have a bed made up in the living room or something,” he confessed.

“All right,” said Algy easily. “I’ll have Mrs. Symes make something up. Will you be all right here by yourself for an hour or so? The others should be back by then. I’ve got to go out and pick something up, but it shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours.”

“I should be all right.” Sebastian nodded his head towards the television. “I can watch that, or read, or something.”

“Our housekeeper’s just downstairs. Give her a shout if you need anything.”

“You mind if I ring up some of my mates on the phone?” called Sebastian, as Algy turned to leave. “Some of them live near here.”

“No. Go ahead. Phone’s just behind the settee.”

“Thanks.”

&&&

The sight that greeted Ginger and Bertie as they entered the flat was somewhat unexpected. Sebastian was lying on the settee, and a girl was lying on top of him, apparently trying to eat his face off.

Bertie emitted a splutter of indignation, but neither of the occupants of the settee appeared to notice. It was not until Ginger demanded, “What on earth is going on?” that the couple broke apart and, rather sulkily, sat up.

“Hello, Uncle Ginger, Uncle Bertie,” greeted Sebastian, as if it were quite normal to be kissing girls on the settee in someone else’s living room. “You’re back.”

“What on earth is going on?” repeated Ginger.

Pouting, the girl extracted a monographed cigarette case from her pocket and shook a cigarette out of it. Without asking for permission, she produced a silver lighter, placing the cigarette between her lips before lighting it with practiced fingers.

“What d’you think you’re doing?” Ginger’s voice was bordering on hysterical shrillness.

The girl raised her head. Her hair looked as though it had been dragged through a hedge multiple times, and her face was drowning with makeup. “Push off, granddad,” she retorted.

“Who are you calling granddad?” demanded Ginger.

The girl rolled her eyes.

“You’d better go, Char,” suggested Sebastian.

“That’s a jolly good idea, what?” murmured Bertie, regarding the girl with dislike through his monocled eye.

The girl huffed out a breath and put her cigarette out on one of the books lying on the coffee table, leaving a gigantic scorch mark on the cover. Ginger made a pained sound, but the two youths ignored him. “I’ll be seeing you then,” said the girl to Sebastian, rising to her feet.

“Sorry about this, babes,” said Sebastian. “I didn’t know they’d be so uptight.”

“Uptight?” protested Ginger, somewhere in the background.

“You’ll ring me, yeah?”

“Course.”

The girl departed.

“What on earth was all that about?” Ginger started the shouting even before the door had fully shut behind the girl. “Kissing unknown girls on the settee? What were you thinking?”

“Well, where else was I supposed to kiss her? On dad’s bed?” retorted Sebastian.

Ginger was breathing as if he had just run a marathon. “You’re fourteen. You shouldn’t be kissing anyone, you should be—”

“I’ll be fifteen next week, and anyway, Char’s a friend.”

“I don’t care if she’s the Queen of Egypt—”

“Her dad’s an earl, actually,” muttered Sebastian.

“—you don’t do that sort of thing here, understand?”

“Uncle Algy said I could have some mates over—”

“Uncle Algy,” began Ginger, in a dangerous voice, “is a—”

“I don’t see why—”

“Here, steady on, chaps,” murmured Bertie. “No need to shout and all that sort of thing, what?”

Ginger glared at Sebastian in silence for almost a minute, breathing hard as he pulled himself together. “Your dad’s going to love you,” he muttered finally, in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

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