Black Books Fic: Notes from the Lint Trap, PG, Gen

[seren_ccd]

Title: Notes from the Lint Trap
Fandom: Black Books (tv)
Rating: PG
Summary: Manny attempts to do his laundry. It doesn't go exactly as planned.
Notes: A very, very big thank you to my wonderful beta, fringedweller. This was written for Yuletide 2009.



Manny liked doing laundry. He liked that the clothes went in the washing machine and came out clean. Or well, relatively clean. He suspected there was something coating one of the pipes because his whites were never exactly white and more like a pistachio green and things tended to smell vaguely of pimento.

So, when he woke up on Thursday morning and the sun was, well not shining, more like sulking behind a cloud, Manny was filled with a sense of purpose.

Laundry day.

When he said it in his head, the word laundry was accompanied by a loudspeaker that reverberated.

He cheerfully washed and combed his beard, happily anticipating the activity of laying out his clothes on the radiator in his room, and putting the next load in the wash.

Manny walked downstairs, laundry basket in hand, avoiding the stuff on the third step from the bottom which tended to sting when it came into direct contact with skin, and moseyed into the kitchen. He set the basket on the table and hummed a few bars of the theme to the Professionals while he got the kettle going. He turned to the washing machine and pressed the button to open the door.

Except there was no button.

No button and no door.

No button, no door and no washing machine.

Manny stabbed the air a few more times. Still no button. He turned around in a circle, searching the kitchen for the elusive washing machine. Missing. Maybe it did a runner and headed off to a commune for inefficient appliances near the Forest of Dean where it could live out the rest of its days rusting gracefully and brewing extremely alcoholic parsnip wine?

Manny shook his head.

"Ah, Bernard?"

"What?"

"Where's the washing machine?"

"The what?"

"The washing machine," Manny said. "You know the appliance that cleans your clothes?"

"Clean? Appliance? What? Speak English!"

Manny made a face and then went into the book shop.

Bernard was nonchalantly reading a book in his usual miasma of smoke and ill humour. The lone customer in the shop kept darting frightened looks in his direction.

"I need to wash my clothes, Bernard," Manny said slowly. "That means I need to use the washing machine. Which used to be in the kitchen. But is now no longer in the kitchen, it's missing."

"Oh, you mean that thing that spun round and round in circles and kept me awake during the day?" Bernard asked calmly turning a page. "I threw it out."

"What?" Manny sputtered. "It had my clothes in it! Bernard! My clothes!"

He ran to the front of the shop and peered out the window. "Bernard, they're in the street! You threw the whole thing in the street!"

"Oh, like the world is going to miss another shirt with flowers and colours on it," Bernard said waving his hand in the air. "Let it go. Be free from the strictures of clothing."

Manny studied him. "Have you been reading Tim O'Leary again?"

"Yes. No. Maybe. What of it?"

"Bernard, they were my clothes," Manny said his eyebrows pulled together in an expression of despair. "A shirt that I bought in a little shop outside Prague. A pair of trousers made with love in a village in Mexico. A t-shirt that my mum gave me for being her special boy. They, they have sentimental and fashion forward value."

Bernard rolled his eyes and put his book down. "Come here, come here," he said as he held out his arms and beckoned Manny to come closer. Manny frowned but shuffled closer and reached out to accept the hug, when Bernard clapped his hands over Manny's ears and said, "Deal with it. Go to Oxfam and buy cheap crap once every five years like the rest of us."

Manny held his hands over his ringing ears and furrowed his brow while Bernard lit up another cigarette. His lower lip in a true pout, Manny stomped out the front door, almost trampling Fran who was on her way in.

"What's that all about?" she asked.

"Cinderella's upset because he doesn't have a dress for the ball," Bernard said going back to his book.

"Well, you should congratulate me," she said sitting down next to his desk.

"Must I?" Bernard asked. "You know how I hate using words that could be construed as pleasant."

"Tough. Congratulate me! I have a job in a call centre," Fran said with a big smile.

"Really? A call centre?" Bernard asked then he sniggered.

"What?" she said. "I like talking on the phone. I'm good with people. It'll be fun."

"Fran. You hate dealing with people. Your shop closed because you hated it when people came in and talked to you," Bernard said. "You're going to hate this. You're going to quit after fifteen minutes because someone will be mean to you and make you feel worthless."

"Ber-nard," Fran said. "I will not. Look, it pays twelve pounds an hour. I'm broke. I can talk to people on the phone for twelve pounds an hour. And I will not take things personally. I will be cool, calm, collected."

"You're going to cry the second someone hangs up on you," he said. He pointed his cigarette at her and said, "And they will hang up on you."

"Ah! But they won't hang up on me," she said. "I'll be so beguiling; they'll stay on the phone just to hear my voice."

"Uh huh," Bernard said. "What are you selling?"

"It's a new product that shows how much electricity you use and when you go over a certain level, it beeps at you and starts to play What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong, that way you'll feel sooo guilty you'll have to turn something off," she said. "It's all very green and eco and friendly and green friendly and eco-green."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, do you?" Bernard asked.

"For twelve quid an hour I don't care what I'm talking about," Fran said. "Where's your wine?"

Bernard rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen.

Manny came back into the shop with an armful of wet and dirty clothes. Fran looked him over.

"Oh dear," she said in a tone that was more monotone than actually sympathetic.

"He threw the washing machine in the street," he said. "I can't find my favourite underpants. And all my shirts have tread marks on them."

Many dropped the wet load of clothes on a pile of Thomas Hardys and picked through them. "Laundry day, all ruined."

"There, there," Fran said absently digging through her handbag looking for her cigarettes.

"Say! Fran! Can I use your washing machine?" Manny asked. "Please?"

"Ha! No way," she said. "No, no, no, no way."

"Oh, why not," he said. "I'll be careful, I promise."

"Absolutely not," she said. "Not after what happened the last time I let someone from this place use my washing machine."

"What happened?" Manny asked.

"Well, Bernard had a cold and I was going through a benevolent phase and decided to help him out. So, I took some of his clothes that needed washing, a pair of trousers, some shirts and one pair of socks." Fran shuddered visibly. "I'll not go into the therapy I needed after handling those. Anyway, I put them into the washing machine at my flat."

Fran trailed off and looked off into the distance.

Manny hopped in place a little. "Well, what happened?"

"Oh, Manny. It was...horrible. The sheer amount of grime and dirt and... skin cells caused the washing machine to get blocked and the basement flooded and the drains overflowed all over the building. But, that wasn't the worst part. Something else was blocking the pipes." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "The super called a repairman who came and found what was truly obstructing the pipes."

"And? And?" Manny asked. Fran hitched a little sob.

"It was little mouse family. I drowned a little mouse family!" Fran said. "A mummy, a daddy and two little ones. They'd been living inside his trousers! They'd made a little home in the back pocket. The repairman pulled them out and tried to dry them off and resuscitate them, but there was nothing anyone could do."

Fran pinned Manny with a look and said, "Never again, Manny. Never, ever again."

Manny patted her hand awkwardly.

"I understand," he said. "I guess I'll go to a laundrette."

A crash sounded from the kitchen. Manny looked towards the curtains.

"Oh, here it comes," Fran muttered. "You had to say the l-word, didn't you?"

The curtains flew back with a woosh and Bernard appeared in all his black glory. The customer reading Milton let out an 'eeep!', dropped the book and scuttled out the door.

"I'm sorry," Bernard said politely. "Did you just say you would go to," he swallowed hard, "a laundrette?"

Manny twitched a little. "Um, yes?"

"I see," Bernard said. "Why? Why would you go to such a den of inequity?"

"It's a laundrette," Manny said bewildered. "Not a..."

"Oh, that's what they want you to think!" Bernard said. "They lure you in with promises of washing machines and dryer things. Then they take your money and don't give it back and your socks go missing and you find odd bits of clothing in your pockets and your hand gets stuck in the thing that holds the detergent and don't get me started on the lady."

"The— lady?" Manny asked.

"The lady," Fran said with a nod. "The lady."

"Don't go there," Bernard said flopping into his seat. "It will end in tears and you will be traumatized. Just don't."

"But, it's a laundrette," Manny said.

Bernard and Fran looked at each other knowingly and laughed.

"It's never just a laundrette," Bernard said.

Manny frowned and went back to his dirty clothes.

"Well, I'm off! Wish me luck!" Fran said as she headed towards the door

"Good luck!" Manny said.

"Fran, seriously," Bernard said looking her in the eyes. "Try not to cry all over the phones."

Fran glared at him and slammed the door on the way out.

Bernard settled back and picked up his book. Manny gathered up all his clothes and shot one last glare at the back of Bernard's head and walked into the kitchen to mourn his lost shirts.

***

Manny carefully laid his dirty shirts in the bathtub, sprinkled a tiny bit of detergent on them, looked it over, sprinkled a little more detergent, looked it over again and then dumped a large pile of the detergent on the shirts. He smiled in satisfaction and grabbed the shower head and aimed it at the pile of clothes and turned the cold water tap.

No water came out. Manny shook the showerhead. Not a drop. Grimacing, he turned the head to face him, but no water emerged.

Manny was puzzled.

Downstairs, Bernard lit a cigarette and smiled a little smile as he stood next to the water supply valve in the kitchen, currently switched off.

***

Bernard poured a glass of wine and calmly read his book.

Manny came into the book shop, laundry basket in hand and said, "I don't care what you say, Bernard. I'm going to the laundrette. It cannot possibly be as bad as you're making it out to be. I will have my Laundry Thursday!"

Bernard took a sip of his wine and looked at Manny. "Go on then. But, remember, I warned you. If you wish to not heed my warning, that is your lookout. But don't come crying to me when disaster strikes and leaves you feeling cold and used and victimized."

Manny rolled his eyes and with a flounce of his hair, left the bookshop.

Bernard watched him go and shook his head. "Poor bastard," he said. "Poor, foolish bastard."

***

Bernard was reading the penultimate chapter of his book when Fran stumbled in. Her hair was in disarray, her mascara ran in crooked lines down her face and she was wearing only one shoe.

She limped over to the chair beside his desk and sat down heavily. She sniffled and wiped her nose on her ragged sleeve.

Bernard continued to read his book, but without taking his eyes off the page, poured her a glass of wine.

Fran sniffled again as she reached over to take the glass. She drained the contents in one long gulp, then held the glass close to her chest.

"How many calls before the waterworks started?" Bernard asked still reading his book.

"Two," Fran said with a pathetic hiccup.

"And what did they say?"

Fran shut her eyes and shook her head vigorously. "I can't repeat it, Bernard. It hurts too much."

"Of course it does. Will you be going back tomorrow for more invective?" Bernard asked.

"No," Fran whispered.

"Not even for twelve quid an hour?" he prodded.

"Not even for twelve hundred quid an hour," she said.

"Will you admit that I'm right and superior in every way?" he asked finally looking at her.

"Don't push it," she said a little of her energy coming back. "Now, bring me some more wine, I'm starving."

Bernard smirked and went into the kitchen.

Fran leaned back in her chair. The front door slammed open, a dishevelled Manny dashed inside and hurriedly closed it again. He held his laundry basket so close to his chest the plastic was about to pop. His eyes were wet, red-rimmed and his lower lip quivered.

"Oh dear," Fran said tilting her head. "The lady, wasn't it?"

Manny nodded and shivered, his eyes still wide and terrified.

"Oh, poor you. Come here and have a drink," Fran said.

Manny scurried over and sat on the floor next to Fran, still cradling his laundry basket. He leaned against her leg and rubbed his head against her trousers. "She, she, she... And I couldn't... It was... Ohhh."

"Yes, yes, I know. There, there." Fran grabbed a mug off the desk and poured the remaining wine into it and handed it to him. He curled his hands around it and sipped.

Bernard came into the shop with another bottle and took in Manny's distraught whimpers.

"Let me guess," Bernard said dropping a bottle on the desk. "You went into the laundrette, happy as a little clam. You put your clothes into the washing machine. The cycle finished and you moved them into the dryer thing. All was going swimmingly." Bernard sat down and lit a cigarette. "But then, this little old lady with purple hair and yellow wellies came in. She went straight for your dryer, opened the door, took your still wet clothes out, threw them on the floor and put her own clothes in."

He took a long drag of his cigarette. "But, that wasn't the worst part though, was it?"

Manny squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"What was the worst part, Manny?" Bernard asked.

"Bernard, don't," Fran said.

"No, Fran! He has to move past this!" Bernard yelled. "What was the worst part, Manny?"

"She took..." Manny said.

"Yes?" Bernard said.

"She... She took one of each of my socks!" Manny wailed. "And now they don't match! Bernard, there was nothing I could do!"

"No, there wasn't," Bernard said as he refilled everyone's drink. "And what will you do the next time you want to do something as silly as laundry?"

"I won't do it?" Manny asked.

"Good boy," Bernard said. He went back to his book while Fran petted Manny's head.