by Henry Sands
At the ford you would cross the river and come back on yourself on the other side by climbing the banks of the valley where the flowing water had cut into the hill, leaving a landscape resembling cascading waterfalls of soil, mud and rabbit holes.
From the top of the valley you could look down on Castle Acre village in its full glory. It stretched from the ruined priory and the church onto the Ostrich pub in the centre of the handsome village, before reaching the Old Bailey Gate and, finally, the remains of the castle itself, which had been an old Norman fort.
There they sat, looking down on the village, towards Ferryman’s Cottage. Smoke still faintly billowed from the chimney where Anthony had restarted the fire after breakfast, before triple-checking that he had put the fireguard in place as they left the house.
‘Merry Christmas, guys,’ said Sophie, breaking the silence. ‘Much as I love this spot, it’s getting seriously cold and, aren’t some elves due back in the kitchen?’
Sophie linked arms with Jack and pulled him back down the hill towards the river crossing at the bottom. Unlike the previous ford near the Mill House, which was well signposted, this one was more of a car undercarriage booby trap, and entirely unsuitable for normal vehicles to use. That didn’t stop satnav continuing to send poor, unsuspecting drivers through it, only to lose a significant part of their car in the process and sometimes even require rescuing.
*
Back at the house, Anthony bellowed life back into the embers of the fire before throwing on some extra logs, while Lucinda and Sophie perched themselves on the sofa next to the pile of presents surrounding the foot of the Christmas tree. They had an hour until the Queen’s speech was broadcast, after which they would sit down for lunch.
Jack had bought Sophie a beautiful aquamarine necklace from a trinket seller in Tulum. Blown away by his own generosity with her gift, he realised somehow, incomprehensibly, he’d forgotten to get a present either for his mother or Anthony.
Shit, he thought to himself, all this time I’ve had. Even yesterday in London, and I completely forgot to get them anything. Anything at all.
‘C’mon, Jack, we’re just waiting for you now,’ shouted Sophie from the sitting room.
‘Will be right there, give me one sec. Just need to… finish something…’ Jack shouted back.
‘It’s a bit late now for Christmas shopping, Jack!’ Sophie responded, semi-jokingly.
Anthony got up from his armchair by the fireplace and went to the kitchen. He returned shortly afterwards with four glasses and a fresh bottle of Champagne. ‘Well, we might as well have a drink while we wait.’
Upstairs, Jack frantically emptied out his bag, hoping to find something he had picked up on his travels that could be wrapped up as a present, but short of a pair of Havana flip-flops or the new Ray-Ban sunglasses he’d bought duty free at the airport, it wasn’t looking good.
He had seen something on a film last year about a boy giving his grandparents “time” as a present, meaning he wrote twenty-four hours on a piece of paper and allowed his grandfather to decide what to do with it.
Somewhat corny, perhaps but, given the current lack of alternative options, he might just have to give it a try.
He searched his room for a piece of paper, before grabbing one from the printer he had under the desk. In his backpack, he knew he had a pen and went rummaging through the endless scraps inside it as he reached for it. As he dug deeper, he came across an envelope which he was about to discard before he twigged. It was the holiday prize that Leonardo had so generously handed him at Papaya Playa.
Daft bloody Leonardo, he thought affectionately, wondering if his friend would ever wake up to the real world. Jack’s new job was starting in the New Year, and he knew there would be no way he would be able to go back to Tulum within six months.
Then the idea occurred to him. He was in dire need of finding a present for his parents, who themselves had plenty of time on their hands. ‘Genius,’ he muttered, congratulating himself as he realised that giving the voucher to his mother and Anthony would kill two birds with one stone. The parents would be delighted – it would definitely be the most generous gift that year – and Leonardo’s voucher wouldn’t go to waste.
Sure, Tulum, especially not Club Mayo, perhaps wouldn’t be their traditional choice of holiday, but there was lots to do there beyond the clubbing and dancing. TheAztec ruins, for example, and plenty of beaches and restaurants.
Besides, it would do them some good, Jack thought, to have a little adventure together. Although Jack was blissfully unaware of his mother’s plan to leave Anthony in the New Year, even he could appreciate their life had become a little lacklustre recently. In fact, it’s literally exactly what they need right now, his thought process continued. What’s more, it was guaranteed to be better than whatever present Sophie had got them. So why not? The only thing that they didn’t need to know was how or why he had ended up in possession of the envelope in the first place.
He delved into the hall cupboard, which contained a disorderly collection of random bits and pieces, including wrapping paper, and tried his best to make his parents’ present look like it had been considered before 2pm on Christmas Day itself. Satisfied with his wrapping, which, after all, had never been a strong point, he drew a couple of smiley faces on the envelope and headed back downstairs.
‘What’ve you been up to? I didn’t know Amazon offered extra-special instantaneous delivery,’ Sophie probed once more, with the bottle now almost empty.
‘Must admit I did forget to wrap something, that’s all. Right, who’s first?’
Sophie began handing out the presents, and the four family members each took great interest in watching who had been given what by whom. First, there was a thick green wool cardigan that Lucinda had given Anthony; Sophie had got her mother some of her favourite Aromatherapy Associates bath oil; Lucinda gave Jack a large box of wine from Majestic and a new brown wax jacket; and Anthony handed Lucinda a small rectangular box with Monica Vinader printed on the side. Somewhat surprised, she opened it to find an 18ct gold chain with a diamond-encrusted pendant on the end.
She recognised it immediately. One of Diana’s more fashionable friends, Sarah, had been wearing the same design during their weekend at Bickham Hall, fetching compliments from all of the female guests. Either Anthony had been paying more attention that weekend than she had realised, or more likely, Diana was involved in the selection of the gift, which was as much unexpectedly thoughtful as it was inconvenient, given Lucinda’s intentions.
Regardless of the timing, she was quietly touched by Anthony’s efforts. His response, of course, had been a gentle pat on her leg and a mumble of, ‘So glad you like it, darling.’
‘Gosh! I ought to hurry up and get the rest of lunch ready—’ Lucinda announced as she looked at her watch, in an attempt to distract from having given Anthony a rather obviously less considered present.
‘Well, hang on, Mum. Don’t be so rude! I haven’t even given you your present yet,’ Jack interrupted, grinning. He continued, ‘In fact, it’s a joint present this year. To you and Anthony, and I think you’ll both really like it.’
He handed them the envelope as Sophie looked on with intrigue from the corner of the room.
Lucinda opened the first layer of wrapping paper before handing the envelope to Anthony to open. He pulled out the card, perched his glasses on the end of his nose and started reading.
‘A week’s holiday in Club Mayo, Tulum.’ Lucinda’s faced dropped. ‘Well, that sounds lovely, Jack. How generous! Thank you very much indeed. Now what on earth is Club Mayo, Tulum?’
‘It’s where he’s just returned from, Anthony,’ fumed Lucinda, with a little more aversion to the idea than Jack had anticipated. ‘I mean, it’s a traveller’s destination. Of course we can’t go, Jack! We’re not on our gap year! What are you thinking?’ Lucinda said.
‘That’s not actually true, Mum. It’s just been voted CNN traveller destination of the year, with some of the best beaches, spas and restaurants in the world. And there’s no better place on the coast to base yourself than Club Mayo,’ Jack retorted, having memorised the branding on the back of the leaflets Leonardo gave him to hand out as one of his first jobs on arrival.
- Chapter Six -
Castle Acre, Norfolk
Boxing Day had been spent with the Turners, who had their annual family rough shoot, based around their relatively small area of woodland.
Norfolk was known for having many first-class shoots, but the Turners’ was most certainly not one of them. It did, however, have the benefit of bordering a large commercial shoot on one side, so by positioning a number of bird feeders on the borders of their wood they were able to entice in a few of the thousands of pheasants and partridges that lived nearby in order to have their little family shoot once a year. The aim of reaching double digits was nearly always proven to be too ambitious, and the previous year they only managed one cock pheasant and two pigeons.
With all the Turner cousins and uncles staying, plus Jack and Anthony, they had twelve men shooting. Together they formed “the guns”. Unlike proper shoots where a team of beaters would efficiently flush out birds using dogs to fly over the waiting guns, the Turners’ shoot worked by splitting the twelve guns into two teams of six, which they split between the two generations. The logic was then that the teams would push the birds towards each other and shoot them as they came over.
Freddy Turner, the eldest of the brothers, would give the safety briefing beforehand, which always consisted of the same sentence: ‘You’ve all done this before, and therefore you know that this is by far the most dangerous form of shooting there is. Make sure you see sky where you aim, particularly towards the end of the walk. And as you know, the team with the fewest kills at the end will receive the forfeit.’
The forfeit was always the same: a skinny dip into the River Nar after lunch, which the younger generation had (willingly) received for the last three years. Naturally, the senior crew put this down to skill, while the youngsters mumbled something about the positioning of the feeders as they raced down to the river wearing absolutely nothing, while trying to keep their footing in the deep, muddy puddles.
The first team, which was mainly the younger generation, including Jack, would march a mile down the lane to the far side of the wood and would walk in from the rear. Freddy Turner, the eldest of the brothers, was still considered the younger generation, as his father, Bill, now ninety-one, would insist on joining the shoot each Boxing Day. With the help of a 28-bore shotgun and an electric wheelchair, Bill would take his position on the lawn by the front of the house. He hadn’t shot anything for years, and some doubted whether it was wise for him to even handle live ammunition, but everyone accepted that only death would stop him participating, preferably his own.
Meanwhile, the rest of the older generation team would line up on the front side of the house, facing the woods. At 10am precisely, both teams would start walking towards each other, apart from Bill, who would stay exactly where he was in case anything flew back over.
As they set off, an early pigeon flew up which Anthony picked off surprisingly well, given how rarely he shot these days. A roar went up from the older generation. This would happen every time a shot was fired, regardless of whether anything was actually hit or not, as a way of sledging their opponents into a false sense of concern.
A few moments later, two pheasants got up right in front of Martin Turner, Freddy’s youngest brother, who raised his gun as quickly as he could but missed with both barrels. Anthony watched one of the pheasants turn towards the house, while the other one turned back towards him. He raised his gun and fired, bringing the cock pheasant down cleanly right on the feet of his neighbour. A roar went up again but was brought to a swift end by the sound of another shot from behind them. Everyone fell totally silent before they heard high-pitched shrieking from the direction of the house. Contrary to the whole team’s initial fears, it wasn’t because of a deathly misfire from Bill, but instead he had hit the stray pheasant which had then landed very nearly on his head, a sign of a good shot taken out in front.
‘Surely old Bill’s bird counts for double?’ shouted someone on the line, reminding the team that it was the first bird he had shot in years from his position on the lawn.
‘It might well do,’ Robert, the middle Turner brother, responded, ‘particularly if Martin continues to miss everything in sight!’ jabbing at his brother’s earlier miss. The older generation were already 3-0 up, which, if last year was anything to go by, would secure them victory.
For a brief moment, silence fell and all you could hear was the sound of twigs cracking under strides of Wellington boots as the teams marched forward, deeper into the wood. By the time both lines were within 20 yards of each other, several further shots and roars of delight had taken place, and knowing it was close, everyone grinned at their opposite man enthusiastically, waiting for the count. Just as Freddy lifted his arm and raised the whistle to his lips to signal the end of the shoot, bang! Another shot was fired.
They quickly realised that the shot must have been old Bill again in his chair, but unlike last time, there was no sound of a subsequent roar. Either he had missed, or the long-suffering women standing with him had had enough of the nonsense and gone back inside.
Both sides emptied their bag. Two partridges and a pheasant from the young, and two pheasants and a pigeon from the old. Everyone shook hands and turned back towards the house, carrying the game with them. It seemed the younger generation had escaped their skinny dip in the icy river this year.
Arriving back in high spirits, they found Bill in his electric chair, gun broken on the ground, pointing a stick towards a thick bramble bush behind a nearby yew tree. He was using the stick to command his granddaughters, Tasha, Alice and Sophie, and Antonia, one of the grandchildren’s girlfriends, to search for something in the brambles on their hands and knees.
Just as the guns were approaching behind him, Antonia jumped up with a yelp, holding a dead squirrel by its tail. Old Bill’s squirrel had given the older generation the win for the fourth consecutive year, in the most triumphant of circumstances.
The younger generation handed their guns over and headed down to the river for their forfeit. As he entered the silty river, naked and shivering, for the fourth year in a row, Jack questioned why his Boxing Days always ended up like this. But as soon as he submerged his head under the frosty water, which despite evidence of global warming elsewhere in the world seemed to get colder every year, he knew in his heart that there was nowhere else he would rather be at that moment.
From the large bay windows of the Turners’ Georgian rectory, Lucinda looked on at the river with the other women, all of whom were in hysterics at the scene of nudity unfolding below.
While the boys were swimming, Anthony and Robert had snuck down to the river and grabbed the clothes left by Jack and Freddy, who were now chasing them up the banks of the river, while desperately trying to preserve what little dignity they had left, having been fully submerged in freezing water just moments ago.
Lucinda wondered what on earth had got into Anthony. He never got this stuck in. Then there was the Christmas necklace she had agreed to wear today, even though it was hidden underneath her thick, cashmere polo-neck jumper. Christ, he was even starting to look like a good shot!
As the whole episode unfolded, she hadn’t noticed Diana arriving for lunch. She’d been carefully watching Lucinda’s reaction and was pleased to see her smiling even if she did look a little surprised. Coming up from behind, she said quietly to Lucinda,
‘You’re not still thinking of doing anything silly, are you?’
Lucinda, somewhat caught off guard, composed herself before saying simply,
‘Diana, how lovely to see you, and Happy Ch
ristmas.’
Though she had given nothing away, Diana looked at her knowingly, with one eyebrow sharply in the air.
Unbeknown to either of them, Sophie had been perching on the sofa behind them both, and observed their exchange curiously.
*
Back at Ferryman’s Cottage later that afternoon, Sophie began packing up her bags, before making the long journey back up to Angus in the morning. Jack was staying another day, before heading to London to prepare for his job starting the following week, and to move his belongings into his new home for the year, renting a room off his friend Archie on the New King’s Road.
While Jack ran a hot bath, he opened up the Iberia Airlines website to finalise the flight dates for Anthony and Lucinda’s trip. He knew that if he didn’t sort it out straight away, then it probably wouldn’t happen at all.
He entered the voucher code he’d been given into the website, which opened up all available flight options. But just like his previous attempts to book trips on air miles, “all” of the options amounted to just three different dates over the next six months. The best he could find were flights from Heathrow via Madrid, and returning via Houston to Madrid, and then Madrid back to London. And they left in precisely one week’s time.
Next to the booking option there was a little flag saying only two seats were remaining, so Jack, decisive as ever, felt that it would be too risky to waste time getting out of the bath, drying himself off, heading downstairs and checking with his mother and Anthony. Instead, he just booked the flights there and then.
Booking confirmed. Great! He carefully put the iPad down on the floor, wrapping the towel around the screen to stop any water splashing on it, and submerged himself in the bath, ensuring that any leftover dirt from the river was removed.