It was a typical summer's day in the vast, open countryside of Sheffield and the sun was giving the crops a golden glow. All the eye could see was field beyond field of swaying profit in the slight, but needed wind. The heat was immense and the landscape was a picture perfect view.
It was obvious that they had travelled into the upper class section of the suburbs and it was practically deserted. Jim Moriarty was surprised at the minimum amount of houses, but again each astonished him even more. Every couple of miles another was passed. Each house they passed was enormous in size and at least two hundred years old. The old stately homes possessed dominant features, with Victorian carvings and the rich colour they held bringing history to life in front of his eyes.
It was 1984 and the young, enthusiastic Jim was six years old. He had been anticipating this trip for months, as well as his parents. In the first three years of his existence, the life he lived was of unimaginable luxury. From what he remembered, his house was even grander than the one they were going to visit. In the lush, green outback of England, many miles to the east of Rotherham was a gigantic mansion, which his family had ownership of. In fact, the family had possession over it for many generations. Staff waiting on his every move and all the material possessions a human being could ask for in a lifetime. He felt like the luckiest boy in the world and that nothing could ever go wrong.
Then a global recession occurred and his father, who owned a business in which 95% of the sales were bought from American industries, completely crashed. The money quickly disintegrated. Before the three year old even had time to take in this devastating event, all he had ever known in his life was gone.
The family packed the few remaining items they owned and moved to a small town just outside Dublin to go back to the ancestor's roots. Everything that mattered to them was lost and now they were living in a two bedroom semi-detached house with only necessary items. Jim had no understanding of the lower-middle class life and it took months to adjust. The young boy still continued to struggle after his impressive upbringing and never fully got in to the swing of things.
His mother and father were distraught. They felt Jim was let down by their failure. All the wealthy people they had called friends disowned their existence completely, except one. The Holmes family gave them financial support in a time of crisis. Whilst Mr Moriarty searched for a job, the Holmes family were not shy in donating money. Over the next couple of years the money began to gradually build back up, with the father's experience in business. They weren't rich, but making a way in the world.
Now the Moriarty family had travelled back across the waters to repay their debt. They were all so grateful and staying in a rented house like the olden days seemed like a dream come true.
Truthfully, the Moriarty's loved the Holmes family. It was as though both had been friends for generations. The catch up would be exhilarating and being able to give back what they had borrowed felt like a gaining of respect. This would be a remarkable holiday, which hadn't been possible until this current year with their financial difficulties.
As they drew closer to the house of their saviours, Jim got even more childish flutters in his stomach. The problem was, some were of nerves. This became worse at the fact Jim didn't understand why these jitters were happening.
The six year old sunk into the back seat with the murmurs of adult common chatter fading away. He hoped it was all a figure of his imagination. Jim's gut feelings were rarely wrong though. The rest of the journey would be used to convince himself that he was wrong. These next couple of days would be spectacular and he had nothing to worry about.
Or so he sincerely hoped.