Fic: 'The Unspecified Product', Patsy, PG-15
Title: The Unspecified Product
Author: PurpleFluffyCat
Fandom: Absolutely Fabulous (Britcom)
Rating: PG-15
Words: About 1600
Summary: Patsy and her past have an uneasy relationship...

Notes: Written for yuletide 2008 for strawberryroan, who asked for a Patsy-centric fic. I was a little surprised that a somewhat serious story came out of this comedy fandom, but, well... heigh ho...





"Hey, Eddy. Look what I picked up from those boys last night."

"A venereal disease?"

"No one asked your opinion, Saffy dear. Just... go and eat a book... or whatever it is you do. What sort of pills are they, Pats?"

"Dunno. Supposed to be good, though."

"Oh, great! Give me some."

"Ha? Are you two really going to take unknown, unspecified drugs in the middle of the kitchen in broad daylight-"

"-Better than talking to you. God, it's like a waxwork of Ann Widecombe come to life. Can't you shut her up, Ed?"

"They could kill you, you know. There could be anything in there."

"Well, just make sure you get me a Lacroix coffin, won't you sweetie? And not an off-the-peg one, either; I want couture de la morte!"

"It's alright Ed, she knows how to do it - she buried her sense of humour years ago."

"If you really think that is a mature, reasoned response to a potentially life-threatening situation-"

"-Oh, can it, will you, sweetie? Just let Mummy have a bit of fun, eh? For once in your dried-up tweedy little life?"

"If you would just listen to reason!"

"Oh yes, aren't we sensible? Clever little goody-two-shoes, never-been-high, wouldn't-know-a-good-time-if-it-hit-us-in-the-face-with-a-polyester-cardigan-"

"Well, someone around here has to be responsible-"

"Oh god, Eddy, I can't take this any more..."

"..."

"..."

"Ahhh, she's swallowed the whole packet... Mum! Do something! She might be dying!"

"Really darling, loosen up will you? She's just... um, she's um...."

"I'm going to call an ambulance."

"Err, Pats, how are you down there? Is it good? Got some for me? Erm... Pats....? Can you hear me? Pats?! Patsy....?!"

The room was cluttered with drapes and lace and paint and dust but there was very little that a young child was permitted to touch. Guttering candles provided little light to play by, and their suffocating scents made the small girl cough and wheeze.

Patricia looked forlornly down at the doll in her hands. Mirabelle didn't have much hair left and one eye was hanging by a thread. She was, however, the only toy left after Jacqueline had been taken away, so she was precious, none-the-less.

The woman cross-legged on the bed began to hum, straggly hair quivering as it hung about her shoulders and tarot cards slipped from her limp fingers.

"Mummy?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to meditate."

Always the same response. Patricia felt hungry, but there was no point in asking whether there was any food; there never was. She would go outside but the door was locked and she couldn't reach the key.

A chime of bells announced the end of a round of chanting, and as those dull sounds echoed from the walls, Patricia had an idea.

"Mummy?"

"What the hell is it now?"

"Can I... can I go and see Daddy, please?"

"Wha? Who? ....Oh, him. Ha! No, you can't. He's dead."



~*~*~*~*~*~*~


"Oi! New girl! Where are you from, then?"

Patricia turned around, still unaccustomed to the chafe of a second-hand polyester school uniform, to face the plump red-head behind her. "We um... I used to live in Paris."

Surprise clearly registered as the girl yaffled her bubblegum. "Oh, that sounds quite cool, actually. I'm Edwina. Although not really. As soon as I'm old enough I'm gonna change it...Maybe to something French."

"Ok, well shall I call you Eddy for now, then?"

"Yeah, ok. And you are...?"

"You can call me Pats."

The school bell rang and a sea started to move towards the doors.

"Not that way, stupid!" hissed Edwina, "Do you actually want to go to History, or something?"

"Well, I..."

"Come 'round the bike sheds with me. I've got some wine gums and half a packet of sugar fags."

"Cheers, Ed! Thanks a lot."



~*~*~*~*~*~*~


His name was Mick and he rode a motorbike. Leather-clad and revving, he waited at the school gates, calling out to her in an accent as rough as his stubble. The envy of all the girls in 10B, Patsy's spirits and hemline both rode higher than ever.

They did it in a bus shelter round the back of the bowling alley. He smelt of sweat and lager and yesterday's aftershave. It did hurt, but not too much - after all, she thought, they were doing it because they loved each other.

"Err, Mick?"

"What is it, sugar?"

"Now we've... you know... That means we're going to stay together, right? That we might get married and-"

"-Yeah, listen, Penny-"

"It's Patsy!"

"Right, sure. Listen, Patsy. Just hold off a minute will you?"

"Oh...ok. But, you do love me, don't you? Like you said?"

"'Cause I do. Well, yeah... I best be off. See you around."



~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Wow, she felt lucky to be there! Straight from school with no results to speak of, but spotted in the street and asked to come in for a trial modeling session. Everything was so shiny, and new and expensive, even the waiting room. And bloody hell, she'd have to save up for years to buy one of those dresses!

They hung, twinkling seductively on a rail in the corner of the room; the siren song of silk and Aladdin-cave Armani.

"Next!" Patricia scrambled to her feet as the secretary glared at her, and several pairs of beady, mascaraed eyes followed her into the adjoining studio. There sat an artfully bald man wearing a sneer above his Japanese-collared shirt.

"And your name is...?"

"Patricia Stone, sir."

"Patricia? Well, that will have to go. 'Stone' isn't bad, though. Turn around again. Mmm, yes. And sideways? Mmmm. And how old are you?"

"Sixteen, sir."

"Sixteen? Not bad. Don't eat anything for three weeks then come back. Next!"

Dumbfounded, Patricia hesitated before him. "Not...anything?!"

"Look, girl. Do you want to be a model, or not?"

"Why yes, sir!"

"Right then. See you in three weeks. I said, 'next.' "



~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Lipstick on the collar was one thing, but scarlet-daubed boxer shorts took it to the next level. That should be her lipstick, danm it; how was she supposed to get along if someone else's secretary kept sleeping with her boss?

Not that Patsy was exactly the picture of faithfulness... But that was beside the point.

"Where's my dry-cleaning?"

"On the coat-hook, where it always is. But I must say, Mr. Thompson, that's an unusual place to use rouge."

"None of your sodding business, though, is it?"

"Tosser."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Quite right. And by the way, you needn't come in tomorrow. Jane's going to take over here, and you can bugger off back to the typing pool."

That did it; Patsy saw red. Shags she could live with, but that sort of slight was beyond the pale. Three executive toys narrowly missed her boss' head as they bombed across the room, leaving dents in the week's posterboard proof.

"You crazy bitch!"

"Eff off, you bastard."

"Glady. You'll never amount to anything, you know. I'll put you back right where I found you."

Patsy steeled herself, icy glare upon his red piggy-face and sweaty palms.

"I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you, Thomas. I'm going to get that promotion; I'll do anything it takes. And before you know it, I'll be wiping your sorry arse from this company's records. Just you bloody wait."



~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Absolute sodding disaster. The police on her tail about some photos or other, apartment fallen into the hands of her dealer and dropped as a model on grounds of age.

At least Eddy was going to make a break for it with her - Argentina here they come! The boy lived with the ex, after all, and he provided plenty of money for two. Eddy should get a rebate, really, Patsy thought - or at least she should have done if she had had a figure to ruin in the first place.

"This is awful. I can't wait for us to be gone, Eds. Just you and me and the world. No more bloody London. No more arsing work. Rid of your fart of a husband!"

Eddy chewed her lip and adjusted her bangles. "Yeah... Um, Pats? I was meaning to talk to you about that."

"About what? We're leaving in two days, aren't we? I'm all packed, I've got the flight tickets and everything."

"Um, yeah. ...But the thing is you see... I can't go. I'm... I'm pregnant again, Pats."

"What? Well never mind, zap it while you can."

"I... I couldn't. You can lie low here for a while, though ...And they probably won't send you to jail for very long, will they?"

It didn't show - or at least, Eddy was no wider than she usually was. It must have been in the early stages. However unformed the thing was, however, Patsy was sure that she hated it almost as much as she loved her friend.

"Pats? Pats?! Pats! Oh god, are you ok?"

"Yeah... cool. Yeah."

"Are you sure, Pats? You looked awful just then. Like you were seeing monsters or something."

"I'm fine."

"And then you sort of... screamed... and were crying and everything... and..."

"Cheers, Ed, but I said I'm fine."

"Oh. So it wasn't a bad trip then?"

"Nah."

"Was it a good trip? Are you going to get some more? Maybe some for me?"

"I wouldn't bother. They were crap, anyway. Pass the Bolly, will you? One each."

"Sure. Cheers, Pats."

"Cheers, Eddy. Merry fucking Christmas."