Chapter Two
The next morning, James arrived in Mannerton, having taken the afternoon off so he could help Tristan pack up for the move back to Skeldale.
As he drove toward Tristan's flat, it suddenly occurred to him that this was only the second or maybe third time that he had been there. For a moment, he worried that he hadn't remembered the route to take to get there correctly and was relieved once he caught sight of Tristan's bright red MG parked along the sidewalk.
James parked behind it and when he got out of his car, he stood outside and studied the building in front of him. It was a comfortable lodging for a bachelor like Tristan. As well as being more than suitable for entertaining people.
So why had he and Helen made so few visits to Tristan's place?
Rather than dwell on this, James strolled inside and walked up the stairs to Tristan's door. Several knocks later, he was treated to the surprise of Tristan answering while still in his robe and pajamas, blinking sleepily.
"Good lord, you look rough," James chuckled. "Another farewell party? How late did you get back last night?"
Tristan yawned, but still managed to give him his usual congenial smile.
"Well, you know how these farewell parties can be, James." He scratched his head and blinked hard. "I've got some coffee going."
"I'll take that as an offer," James replied.
Tristan nodded and moved aside so that James could come in. He walked into the living room and found a sloppy pile of cardboard boxes sitting against one of the walls. All of them empty.
"Tris, you haven't even gotten started."
Tristan yawned again and waved a dismissive hand. "There's not much to pack. Don't worry so much, James."
James shook his head while Tristan trudged out of the room. Looking around, he could see that Tristan was probably right. The place was sparely furnished. Only the bookshelves and the stand that held Tristan's record collection were even remotely cluttered.
The rest of the place looked clean. No, not just clean. Unused. As if he didn't spend a lot of time here.
Then again, that didn't surprise James all that much. Tris always did have an active social life. He just wasn't the type to spend the bulk of his free time puttering around at home. Knowing Tris, he probably was busy most evenings with friends from the Min of Ag or from around Mannerton. Plus, there were all the times he came to Darrowby to visit or to help out at Skeldale.
"I'll go ahead and start on the books," James yelled. "Unless you need to go through them."
"No go ahead," Tristan yelled back from his bedroom. "I'm keeping all of them."
"Right," James replied. He picked up one of the larger boxes and set it down next to the short row of bookcases. Then he started grabbing small stacks of books and plopping them into the box, pausing to straighten the stacks every once in a while so he could fit in as many books as possible.
He had filled up one box and was about to start another one when one of the books in his current stack caught his eye. He sat the rest of the books back onto the shelf and stared at the cover of the book left in his hands: a rather obscure textbook about horses that James had lent to Tristan years ago.
James laughed softly and flipped through the pages. He had completely forgotten about letting Tristan borrow this until now. It wasn't one that he used very much even when he had it in his own collection. Siegfried usually handled most of the horse work and whenever James did need some additional information about horse-related topics, he usually consulted the Record or Siegfried's vast collection of equine reference books.
As he paged through it, James thought back to the night when he lent this book to Tristan….
It was almost three months after James had started working for Siegfried and had moved into Skeldale. Tristan had finished his recent term at veterinary college and had been back home for almost that long.
That night, Siegfried had gone to Brawton, supposedly to visit his mother although James had begun to suspect that that wasn't always the case. That left James on-call in the evening which he had started with a quiet drink while reading a book by the fire. Surprisingly, Tristan chose to stay in and was currently reading a textbook on horses at the table, stopping to take some notes from time to time.
This tranquil scene only lasted about half an hour after dinner. Then the phone call came from Bob Dawkins.
"I've got a right sick pig 'ere. Two of 'em. And ah don' know if they'll last the night."
James muffled the phone and let out a loud sigh. Dawkins' place was on the outskirts of Darrowby and had rusty gates which always required several tries to latch back up. And all of this was before some poor vet would deal with some of the meanest pigs James had ever come across.
"All right, Mr. Dawkins, I'll be out there as soon as I can."
James hung up and sighed again. Dawkins had a tendency to exaggerate so it wasn't likely that this was anything serious. However, there was always the chance that it was. A chance James was not willing to take.
Still, this would probably be a tedious job either way and would end up taking much longer than it normally would.
Unless….
James stuck his head back into the living room. "I've got to go out for a while, Tris. Bob Dawkins' place. A couple of his pigs don't look too good."
Tristan looked up from his book and smiled. "Oh yes?"
"I don't suppose there's any way I could convince you to come with me."
For a moment, James was sure that Tristan would say no. The expression of disdain that flitted across Tristan's face certainly indicated that that would be his decision. But then Tristan surprised him by popping up from his chair and closing his book.
"Why not? I'll grab a torch and get some more swotting in on the way. And the Golden Pheasant is only a quarter of a mile away from Dawkins' place."
"You come with me and I'll buy you a pint," James said.
A wide grin appeared on Tristan's face. "That's grand. Let's go."
True to his word, Tristan spent the entire trip over with a torch propped up so he could continue to read, puffing away at another Woodbine while he did it. It made for a disappointingly quiet trip, but James was able to forgive him for that once they arrived and Tristan took care of all the gates for him with only minimal grumbling.
By the time they made their way up the driveway, the sun had completely set. After James parked the car, Tristan tossed his book into the backseat and got out. The two of them strolled over to the nearest barn to find Dawkins standing in the doorway, swinging a lantern.
"Come on, come on. My poor pigs are doing right poorly. You've got a real job ahead of you, veterinary."
As it turned out, one pig was only suffering from a mild chronic mastitis. Treatment ended up being relatively quick and not difficult due to how flaccid the sow currently was.
The other one was a different matter. It had a long gash on its side, apparently from an exposed nail on the fence of one of the pens. It would require several stitches and the pig would need to be anesthetized mainly so it would stop thrashing about.
"Tris, could you give me a hand?"
Tristan put out his cigarette and came over to help hold the pig down while James gave it the sedative. After that, Tristan remained crouched beside him, handing over any materials James needed while he closed the wound.
While they worked, some of the pigs in a pen just outside the barn became agitated for some mysterious reason. Tristan kept looking up to stare at the glow of eyes that were catching the light from the barn.
"James, I don't like how that one sow is looking at me. It's like she sees me as her next meal."
"Almost done here, Tris. Just give me another couple of minutes."
Tristan fidgeted, but he complied with James' request. Just under two minutes later, James finished and stood up.
"Right, all done." Then James turned toward Dawkins. "I'll stop by in a couple of days to see how they're doing. But call us immediately if that cut starts to look any worse."
Dawkins nodded and James imagined that he was saying that he would do that, but the squeals and grunts from the pen had gotten significantly louder and were drowning him out.
Suddenly, there was a sickening crack and those glowing eyes outside began to rush toward them.
James' eyes bulged. "Look out, Tris!"
But Tristan hadn't needed any instruction. He had already shot out the back door and was running around the barn so he could get back to the car. It wasn't long before James was close behind him, having grabbed his bag and taken off as fast as he could.
At one point they stopped and realized that most of the pigs hadn't made it out of the barn. Dawkins must have managed to shoo them back into the pen. However, there was one determined sow, the same one that Tristan had been talking about earlier, that was still trotting toward them.
This time, James didn't waste any time with yelling. He grabbed Tristan's sleeve and yanked him along as he hustled the rest of the way to the car. They almost made it when, with a burst of speed, the sow caught up with them.
James and Tristan had managed to open the doors, but they jumped to the side once the pig made it to the car. The sow pushed one door open and rooted around inside. When it finally pulled its head out, it had a book firmly clamped in its jaws.
"Hey, that's mine!" Tristan yelled. "Give it back, you brute."
James chuckled. He doubted that Tristan was going to try his luck at snatching it back from that monster and James had no desire to give it a shot either. He was more concerned about getting that pig away from the car and was at a loss as to how to do it.
Finally, Dawkins appeared and began waving a broom at the pig which somehow had both a calming effect and inspired it to lumber back toward the pen.
"Here now, go on. Git back there with you," he shouted as he swished the broom back and forth.
Soon, both man and beast were out of sight, and James and Tristan were so relieved, they didn't bother to mention the purloined book to Dawkins. They both hopped into the car and left as fast as they could.
"Don't worry about it, Tris," James assured him once they got back onto the road. "I've got a copy that I can lend you."
"Well…all right," Tristan said with a pout. "Rotten pig. I hope it gets indigestion. And you owe me more than just one pint for this, James."
"Done," James said with a firm nod.
Tristan gave him a confirming nod in response. A few seconds later, they both started laughing.
"Something amusing you, James?"
Back in the present, James laughed again and closed the book. He looked up to see Tristan fully dressed and holding out a cup of coffee for him.
"Remember this?" James said, holding up the book. "About why I had to lend you this?"
Tristan's brow furrowed for only a second before he grinned again. "How could I forget? Beastly pigs. I was always quite happy to go out on a butchering job at that farm."
James chuckled while Tristan raised the cup at him again. "Oh yes, please." He tucked the book under his arm and took the cup from Tristan's hand. As he took a sip, James pondered that it wasn't as good as Helen's, but Tris was definitely improving on his coffee-making techniques.
"Don't bother packing that one," Tristan said after taking a sip out of his own cup. "I should give it back to you."
"Nah, you keep it," James said, tossing it onto the top of the latest pile of books in the box. "You've had it for so many years; it might as well be yours anyway."
Tristan nodded and moved to sit down on the couch while he drank his coffee. James sat down next to him and they quietly sipped for a couple of minutes.
"Tris?"
"Hm?"
James looked down into his cup and cleared his throat. "It really is good that you're coming back. We are very pushed, especially with Calum in Ireland right now."
"Yes well, that was obvious. What with how Siegfried is always grumbling every time I call him on the phone."
"And the kids are looking forward to having you back too. They're already asking me about when you'll make them bangers and mash again."
"That's because Helen raised them to have good taste," Tristan said, raising an index finger at him to emphasize his point. "You're very lucky to have her."
"Oh I know," James assured him. "And Helen told me that she wants you to teach me how to get those hospital corners when making the beds."
"Years of practice, James," Tristan grinned at him. "Not everyone can become a master at these things, you know."
James smirked at him, but let it pass. Any help with making the beds was welcome no matter how smug Tristan might be about it.
He cleared his throat again, louder this time. "And…well…I've missed you too, Tris."
"How could you?" Tristan scoffed. "I seemed to have spent all my waking hours in Darrowby. That is, when I'm not at work."
Irritated, James started to frown, but looking up and seeing the warm glint in Tristan's eyes put a stop to that. He gave him a lopsided smile instead.
"You know what I mean."
"I do," Tristan said. "Thank you for that, James."
The sincerity in Tris' tone produced an unexpected pang of guilt in James. Until that moment, he hadn't considered how much Tristan might need to hear that. To hear how glad someone was that he was moving back to Darrowby.
Despite the congenial atmosphere in the flat, James had to work hard to keep a frown off of his face, and he wasn't entirely successful. He should have told Tristan this before now. He should have dropped by to visit more often. He shouldn't have just assumed that Tris was so busy with work and socializing with new friends that he didn't need someone to check up on him every once in a while.
"James? Something biting you?"
James let out a sigh. He had made a lot of mistakes recently in how he had treated Tristan. Deep down, he knew that there was nothing he could do to change that, but the least he could do is try to make up for those mistakes.
He raised his head and made sure to smile back at Tris. "It's nothing." Then he finished what was in his cup and sat it down on the settee. "Right, we really should get back to work, Tris. I've only got this afternoon to help you pack. And these things always take a lot longer than you think they'd would."
"Oh James, stop worrying," Tristan replied. "I told you that there's not much to pack. We'll get this lot done in no time at all, you'll see. And we'll have plenty of time to go for lunch at the pub afterward."
James smirked again. It was just like Tris to underestimate a job like this. Although, James was generous enough to believe that it was as much due to Tristan's eternal optimism as it was his penchant for idleness.
"Tell you what, how about we just settle for a sandwich or something here and then we can have dinner at Witterly's. And I'll buy."
Tristan beamed at him. "Well, since you put it that way…I'll go make those sandwiches and then we'll finish up here."
Tristan jumped up from the couch and snatched James' cup before rushing out of the room.
"Tris! Tristan, I didn't mean right now."
But there was no answer from the kitchen, and James didn't feel like pressing the point. If Tristan hadn't been up for very long when he arrived, then it was likely that Tris hadn't had any breakfast. So it really didn't seem unreasonable to eat first before getting back to work.
James went back over to the bookshelves and filled up a couple more boxes while he waited. The thought that every item put into a box meant that Tristan was a little bit closer to returning to Skeldale was more than enough to energize James to keep going. He hoped that Tristan felt the same way.
"James…I might have put a little too much mustard on these sandwiches. But I'm sure they're still delicious."
James grinned. God, he had missed moments like this. Tris couldn't move back soon enough.
