Boadicea- Britannia
Dylan- Wales
Angus- Scotland
Connor- Northern Ireland
Joey- Wy
Erik- Ladonia
"Next stop: Carroll."
Arthur groaned, blinking and rubbing his face at the train speaker's announcement. When he came to, he blinked while scanning his surroundings. The train's interior was darker now- a dark, sleek indigo in contrast to the nectarine orange before. Francis had dozed off, lying back on the seat as his chest rose and sunk, his hand draped over his laptop. A smile spread across Arthur's face at the sight. Recollecting the announcement, a realisation struck.
Carroll.
His town! They've arrived! Arthur stood up and stepped to the window. His heart hammered against his ribcage, his head spun from the boiling concoction of fear and excitement. This was it. With a hand on the cool, glass surface, Arthur took a deep breath and peeked outside.
A gasp escaped his mouth.
Even with the dying sun staining everything a shade of blue, the old footbridge managed to keep its warm colour, fading from bright red to a faint persimmon. But still that was the same footbridge he thought he will never see again.
"Francis? Francis, we're here!" Francis groaned, shifting and furrowing his brows as he squinted at Arthur.
"What?" The breaks screeched as the train slowed down. Francis raised his eyebrows and sat up. "Oh! We're here already?" Arthur nodded.
"Yep." The train slotted into the station platform, its steel exterior such a contrast to the faded, red bricks and the platform's concrete ground. It slid with a screech, dragging on and on, until it stopped. The doors hissed open, prompting the other passengers to stand up and collect their belongings.
"Merde, I need to pack up my stuff!" Francis pulled out his suitcase and stuffed his laptop inside, and pulled out Arthur's suitcase down next.
As Francis got ready, Arthur looked outside the train doors. The passengers blocked the outside view. He gulped, easing his thumping heart, the suitcase's handle digging deeper into his palm. Two or three more steps. Only two or three more steps. That was all it took before he will be back, standing in his town.
A reassuring pat on the back prompted him out of his train of thought. "Ready?" Francis asked. Arthur glanced at Francis, and back outside. Already, the cool evening breeze leaked inside the train, impatient to encompass him again. Closing his eyes, he nodded. Gripping his suitcase tighter,Arthur inhaled, stepped out onto the platform's concrete.
The afternoon breeze chilled his ears, his face, his fingers in a cool, tender embrace. Arthur opened his eyes.
Everything was just as he left it. The faded red bricks, the vending machine waiting near the exit, the green, copper clock with its hands forever frozen at 12. Everything, like a forgotten photograph, waiting to be found again.
A strange, euphoric sensation welled in his belly and pricked his eyes. He was home.
Some steel seats had replaced the wooden ones, however. Finally, the town community had been meaning to replace the rotting wooden seats for a long time. Good to see that they've got something done. His hands brushed a wall. Like the footbridge, the red bricks had faded into a more persimmon colour. As Arthur looked around, couldn't help but notice how empty the station was. In contrast to the London Underground station's myriad of businessmen he was so used to seeing, to see so few people here was jarring.
He glanced at Francis, who looked down at his phone, texting someone. "Dylan's here at the station now!"
"Now!" Arthur looked around the station. With so few people, Dylan bound to show up at anytime.
"Uh-huh-"
"ARTHUR!" Another voice called out. His head whipped towards the direction- he knew who it belonged to. Dylan.
Dylan waved vigorously from the station entrance. His hazel, curly locks of hair had been cut into a clean office cut. As Dylan walked in their direction, Arthur noticed still towered over both him and Francis (to his disappointment), but that same warm brown eyes and grin were there.
"Dylan- HMPH!" Dylan's fleece muffled his speech as his great big arms wrapped around him into a great big bear hug.
"Arthur, goodness, I never thought that I'd see you again! I-"
"Dylan!" He muffled into his jumper.
"And then I saw that you were coming after all, and everyone-"
"Dylan, save your sob story for later, you're suffocating me!"
"Oh!" Dylan's grip loosened, and Arthur stumbled back, gasping for air. "Sorry," he apologised with a sheepish grin. Noticing Francis beside him, Dylan stuck out a hand. "Hi, I'm Dylan. I heard a lot about you!" He said with a smile.
After Dylan and Francis finished introducing each other, they left the station. To Arthur's surprise, they walked to the station's parking lot, a small thing with barely 10 parking spaces and even fewer cars. Dylan walked towards a silver Hyundai and pulled out a keyring, unlocking the car.
"You got a car!"
"Yup!" Dylan patted the hood. "The new place Mum works is a little farther, so we got a car."
"The new place?"
"Yeah. She got a new job at another town nearby while you were away- pays a little better." Arthur frowned.
"How come? I thought we were doing fine." Dylan didn't reply, busying himself with opening the car trunk and placing Francis' suitcase inside. Arthur raised an eyebrow. Why didn't Dylan answer that? Oh, right. Because Dylan was the person hated confrontation. Good to see that some things never change, he supposed. Arthur huffed, and placed his suitcase into the trunk.
As Dylan drove, Arthur leaned against the window, watching his town flash by in a merry-go-round of memories. Like the train station, red bricks made up as the foundation of most of the town, different from the grey concrete of London City. But it tugged his heartstrings to see how small everything was now. The shops, the streets… over the last 7 years, Arthur had grown used to all the towering skyscrapers of London. The shops, no higher than two storeys high, three at the most, cowered, crouched on the ground, too afraid to stand tall. Had his town always been this sad?
"So... your family's never had a car before?" Francis asked as he clicked on the seatbelt. Arthur glanced towards Francis.
"Nah." He shook his head. "The town's very small, so you could walk to the other side easily in an hour or two. Most of the time, we travelled either through bikes or by feet." A small smile crept up his face. "I know, it's very tiny compared to major cities such as London or Paris or something. Hah." Francis nodded, glancing outside of the window.
"I suppose your town's still lovely in its own way," Francis noted. "In this quaint way."
"Lovely?" Arthur glanced outside. Some of the shops remained, their red brick interior showing through the peeling paint. Some of them replaced with newer supermarkets and offices. Sawed from their respective origins and stitched together into a Frankenstein of a tapestry. Steel and glass to bricks and paint, sleek blue and modern white next to crusty red and eggshell beige. He sighed.
"I guess. Though Carroll's not like the must-go-to destination of the year on TripAdvisor or anything." Perhaps it would've looked better if more of the original buildings remained. "I beg to differ. I don't know, i-it looks a little sad now."
"Sad?"
"I've been living in London for so many years now. And, well," a glance outside, to confirm everything, "I dunno. I know that things are bound to change after I left, but modernising Carroll. It… it doesn't feel right. London's supposed to be modern in some places, since it's the capital. And there are still heritage sites and all. But here, it feels like Carroll's pretending to be something it's not. See that supermarket?" Arthur noted as he pointed outside. Francis leaned over.
"Uh-huh?" he replied.
"There used to be a shoe shop, a fishmonger's, and pet store there. Probably some more, too, but I don't quite remember now."
"Yup, they closed down quite a while ago," Dylan piped in. "Erhm... round about 5 years ago. But you know," he sighed, turning the steering wheel. "Just the sign of the times. Even if something's dear or precious to you, you can't always keep it. Can't stay in the stone age forever, you know- when the world changes, you need to keep up. That's how we grow."
Arthur raised an eyebrow; Dylan had always been the most resistant to change, the most hesitant to throw away old toys, to bid old friends farewell, to accept an old bridge being rebuilt. Why? Why is he accepting change now?
His train of thought stopped when the car and Dylan pulled the keys out. Arthur whipped his head up. His eyes widened as he looked behind the car. All these orderly, red, two-story houses... this was his neighbourhood.
Arthur turned to face the house that lined the street. It was a humble thing, no taller than the rest, yet stood, defiant and expecting. Still identical to how he had left it. Arthur chewed his lip.
"We're here!" Dylan confirmed as he stepped out of the car. Arthur and Francis followed, and watched as Dylan opened the trunk. "I need to go to the wedding venue and practice my lines, however," Dylan mentioned as he handed Arthur his suitcase.
"Lines?"
"I'm the best man!" Dylan replied with a wink while pulling out Francis' suitcase.
"The best man!"
"Yep! And one of the musician!" Remembering Dylan's hobby of playing the violin, Arthur nodded.
"Alright, just don't work yourself to exhaustion. Hey, speaking of weddings, where is that groom-to-be?"
"Angus and Marianne are at the wedding venue to sort out last minute adjustments." Dylan's phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket. He frowned. "Yeah, they really need me there now. Mum would like a helping hand in the kitchen, by the way," Dylan said to Arthur. "Hope you'll enjoy your stay here, Francis!" He finished before he stepped into the car and revved up the engine. "See you both soon!"
The Hyundai's engine roared to life and sped away. As it muted, the sounds of the evening caved in. The rustling leaves, the stirring wind, hushing the navy twilight. Hearing all of these again… Arthur had to admit, he missed this.
Francis patted him on the shoulder. "Would you like me to knock?" Arthur shook his head.
"No, don't fret, I can do it." Gripping the suitcase handle tighter to ease his nerves, Arthur walked to his house. "I'm a little nervous, but I can do this." The same brass number 6 remained on the door, the same iron knocker fashioned into the head of a lion.
With Dylan and Angus out, Arthur knew that behind this door was Mum.
Nerves too jittery, he breathed to calm his pulsing heart. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Cold sweat chilled him as the wind blew.
Holding his breath, he knocked thrice.
Arthur took a step back, sweat gluing his bangs to his forehead, his heart threatening to erupt, while every nerve ached to rest. Did he need to knock again? No, did he make some sort of mistake? A corner of him prayed that no one was home, yet another begged for this wait to end already. He let go of his suitcase, welts on his hand pained enough to form calluses, and rubbed his face. Begging for time both to speed up and to stop, begging for himself to relax-
The door swung open.
It almost hurt to see Mum again. Streaks of frosty white mingled with her Autumn orange hair. Wrinkles etched deeper into grooves only a slight nick not long ago. Crow's feet, eyebags, forehead wrinkles, their prominence stood out.
But her muted, hazel eyes stayed the same.
They embraced each other for a long, long time.
"I missed you," he murmured into her shirt. Even after all this time, it still had that smoky cedar smell.
"Me too, Arthur. Me too," she murmured, rubbing his back. After one final rub, his mother parted. "Welcome home," she greeted with a warm smile her voice cracking, a silver film glazing her eyes. She patted his shoulder. "Come in, tea's on the table." Just like that? With no fuss at all? Arthur was disappointed to admit, but he didn't know whether to be grateful or suspicious. Rubbing his neck, he nodded, returning a smile, and walked inside.
"You must be Francis. Angus told me a lot about you. Nice to finally meet you."
"You too! Err, Ms. Kirkland? May I call you that?"
"Ah, no, Boadicea's fine."
Years after he had gone, the house still had that smell of fresh tea towels and freshly baked goods. The savoury aroma of beef and pastry told him that a beef wellington sizzled in the oven. Arthur palmed the walls. The sun had bleached the wall a paler colour, the wall closer to the shade of paper. Framed photographs covered the wall as always, tinted a blue hue. Baby pictures, photos of him and his siblings when they were kids… new photos hung on the wall as well, most notably, Angus and Dylan in graduation gowns. Eyebags hung under their eyes, though they smiled. Arthur figured that their medical degrees must've been exhausting.
The sound of energetic fantasy music and sword clashes emitted from the living room. He squinted. Video games? Arthur turned around, and took a peek.
The TV screen displayed some sort of action RPG. A PlayStation console sat in the TV compartment. He had wanted one of those when they came out, but they weren't able to afford one. Remembering how Mum got a new job, Arthur thought to himself that perhaps they could afford all kinds of luxuries they could not.
His attention drifted to the ground. Lying on the ground was Peter.
Peter had grown so much! Even lying on the ground, Arthur could see that Peter had inevitably grown taller, though he still had that neat bowl cut. He even wore the same polo shirt uniform that he had worn! Arthur had to give himself a moment to stop himself from tearing up that his little brother had grown that much since what only seemed yesterday.
Peter hadn't noticed him yet, and continued to play his video game, chatting to Connor beside him.
"Arthur, come, I'll fix you a cup of tea." Arthur's mother guided him back to the dining room. Now in the kitchen, Arthur's mouth watered at the more potent scent of beef wellington, though he realised that there was also the smell of roast vegetables, gravy, roast potatoes, with many more cooked items. Perhaps they were having guests over tonight. Miscellaneous treats sat modestly on the table. Those were storebought- his mother was never the best at baking sweet treats. Biscuits, brownies, tea cakes, even scones. (Christ, his mother did welcome him back with tea and scones) Francis glanced up, already comfortable and sipping a cup of tea.
"Heh, fattening us up like Hansel and Gretel, aren't you, Mum?"
"Very funny, Arthur. Now hush, the tea's getting cold."
Pulling out a chair for him, she poured tea into a teacup, scooping in a generous dollop of cream and honey.
"Mum, can I bring Joey and my other friends to the wedding?" Peter called out from the living room.
"Depends. How many?" She replied as she stirred the tea, the honey dissolving into the milky brown mixture, not clinking to the cup even once.
"Erhm, 3 or 4, maybe 2 if Erik's too busy. Oh! I think he asked me to go to a sleepover. So can I-" She tapped the spoon on the cup's rim.
"Peter, your brother's having his wedding tomorrow, that will have to wait. I'm sure Erik will understand." A small grin appeared at the corner of Arthur's mouth. Even now, Mum stressed about the small things.
Peter grumbled out a fine and resumed with his video game. As the phone rang, his mother walked to the corridor to fetch it, leaving both him and Francis by themselves.
He exhaled. Both Dylan and his mother welcomed him back with… no hint of scornfulness nor vinciction at all, but welcoming. Only as if he had came home from a tiring trip, still part of the family. Granted, something about how calmly they carried on seemed strange. But he dismissed that thought. Maybe what was important was that he was here. Maybe he needn't to stress this much in the first place.
"That… that was surprisingly normal," Arthur muttered. Francis nodded as he finished a biscuit.
"You know, I was actually a little scared for you. But everything actually turned out ok!" He replied, a joyful, gentle smile on his face. Arthur smiled.
"It did. Thank God!" Arthur nodded, twirling a fork between his fingers. "Heh, I don't need to dig my grave anymore!"
He had said it with a smile. But that smile disappeared when a shrivel of suspicion snuck and got the better of him. Everything was calm. Too calm. Too normal towards someone who left for 7 years. As if his family purposefully held back everything they had against him. Out of habit, panic swelled up. What if they were scared he'll leave again? What if there's something going on that he didn't know going on? Arthur reasoned himself to calm down- he was gone for 7 years, of course they would miss him. Of course they didn't want him to leave again. Even if there's this "something" going on, what would it be? Chaining him to the house? Besides, what solid evidence was there to prove that his family actively worked to keep him pleased aside from mere speculation?
"You alright?" Francis asked.
"Uh-huh. Don't fret, just my nerves, I've got them under control now." He picked up a scone and bit into the buttery treat.
Due to Arthur and Francis' late arrival, no vacant rooms at the nearby motel were available for them, so they were offered a spare room upstairs.
"I could've booked one earlier. I'm sorry, I'm a bit of a scatterbrain," Francis muttered, carrying his suitcase as they went up the stairs. Oh well, Arthur decided that he couldn't bring himself to hate that face. Arthur stroked his chin, trying to think of a positive outcome.
"On another hand… since I came late, if you've pre-booked a motel room months prior, it's likely that it would've been one with a single bed."
Francis' face twisted as he raised an eyebrow. Pausing for a moment, he exhaled, and ruffled back his hair.
"Putain de merde," he muttered. "I guess we've dodged a bullet, then." Arthur blinked. Realising the implied outcome of having to share a bed, he inhaled a hiss, and rubbed his neck as cold sweat pricked up his skin.
"Yup. It'd be… it'd be awkward." His brain ceased to function as they went up the stairs. The awkward situation occupied his mind for a moment before Francis tapped him on the shoulder, and he glanced up. His mother had swung open the first door next to the stairs. It was his room.
"Wow. This was my bedroom." His mother nodded.
"Yep."
Arthur scanned the room as they entered. None of his original furniture was left. His posters, his bed, his desk, they were all replaced with plain furniture looking like they came out of a hotel. A bunk bed hid in the corner of the room, possibly added once his arrival with Francis was announced. He fingered a dark square on the custard wall next to the door, blocked out by an Allan Poe poster that had since been removed. It distressed him to see his favourite things packed away and replaced. This had been his bedroom all his life, where he'd write his stories all day long, so to see all this removed proved startling. Granted, he wasn't sure if Francis would appreciate the Edgar Allan Poe poster staring him down.
"Alright, I'll be downstairs if you need me." With that, Boadicea left the room.
Arthur nodded. After she left, he placed his suitcase on the first bed and unpacked. Glancing to his right, he saw that Francis' clothes and other belongings already splayed out on the bed. Arthur raised an eyebrow at Francis' suits.
"Why do you have 2 suits?" Francis looked up and shrugged.
"In case I couldn't decide which one to wear, of course." Arthur realised that Francis had an indecisive streak, with bringing 2 suits and forgetting to book a motel room. Meanwhile, Francis eyed Arthur's suit that rested in his hands, and furrowed his eyebrows. "Isn't that your regular work suit? Hah, a little shabby for a wedding, don't you think?"
"Well, yeah, I wasn't, well, going to come here, and I only had one suit." Arthur huffed as he sat on the bed, "Would he even notice? The seams aren't that visible. Would… I-I know it's a little ridiculous," he laughed to ease his nerves. "Of course he'd notice the splitting seams and shit." The suit crumpled like scrunched paper into a rug of lint. Arthur realised that bringing his work suit instead of buying a new one may not have been the best option after all.
"Here." Francis picked up an indigo suit jacket.
"What?"
"Try this." He held the jacket by the collar with a hopeful smile. "I think you'd look nice in this."
"Oh. Thanks, Francis." Arthur stuck out his arms as Francis put on the jacket. Unfortunately, the shoulders drooped when Arthur put his arms down, a little wide for him. Francis stroked his stubble, his brows furrowed in concentration.
"You know sewing, right?"
"Embroidery, I can't sew for shit. Well, unless I could stitch in a flower or two, that might distract everyone." Francis stifled a chuckle.
"Alright, alright. Is there a suits shop here somewhere?"
"Erhm…" Arthur scratched his head. "There was one, not sure if it's still around. But… now that there are newer stores, I suppose that there might be one anyway."
"Ah. Right, good point. We can go there tomorrow," Francis said with a wink, to which Arthur nodded.
After they've finished packing, they went downstairs. With their belongings unpacked, they were left at their own accord. Francis read a book while Connor and Peter played a new videogame. Arthur tapped his fingers on his knee. After jittering for a while, he went upstairs and fetched his laptop. Soon, along with Peter's video games, the sound of tapping keys occupied the empty space-
"So, how's your writing business going?" Boadicea asked when she appeared behind the couch. Arthur jolted and slammed the laptop close so hard, he swore he heard a crack.
"Mum, Jesus! At least give a warning next time!" Boadicea raised an eyebrow, and crossed her arms. She wanted Arthur to continue. Arthur took a deep breath in. "It's… it's going well." To his surprise, his mum held his hand, and stroked the inside of his wrist with her thumb.
"If it's not providing enough for you, you can come back-"
"No!" Arthur replied, jolting away.
"No?" Boadicea echoed, "What do you mean no? It was just a suggestion, no need to be all worked up over it!"
Did he send out the wrong impression? That he doesn't want his mother's help? "Oh. Sorry. Erhm… what… what I mean is that I'm doing well."
"How well?"
"Well… well enough."
"Janitors do well enough, but they sure don't live like the Queen, do they?"
A small no dropped out of Arthur's mouth. His mouth twisted into a frown. Realising the tension in his body, he took a deep breath in. "Mum, relax, I can put food on the table, I have a roof over my head. It's not like I'm living on the streets. I can pay rent, too, which you know is expensive as fuck in London-"
"Language, Arthur." She crossed her arms, and gave him that knowing glare Arthur simply knew too well.
"For what?"
"The F word is a swear, not a simile." His mother brushed off his shoulders. "You ought to know that, especially being a writer and all."
"Mum, I'm an adult, it's not that bad of a swear word."
"It is not a vulgar swear word, 'not that bad' is 'not that clear', Arthur Kirkland."
Don't do that! Arthur swallowed. Goddamn, why did his mother have to be a teacher, too? "Not that bad is… not clear enough."
"Better. Keep in mind that no one would buy your books if they're not spelt correctly."
"Hey-!" The sound of crunching gravel caught their attention. She patted his shoulder as she looked at driveway outside, where the silver Hyundai rolled in.
"Hang on, poppet, Angus and Marianne's come back," she said, still patting his shoulders. While patting them, she frowned as tugged at his fleece's material. "Ay, Arthur, you've had that fleece since you were 16! I'll buy you a new one, alright?" A kiss on his cheek startled him. "Love you," she said, giving one last reassuring pat before walking down the hallway. Arthur stared as she walked, frowning and rubbing that weird kiss on his cheek. What was that for? His mother'd never do that in any other circumstance, being the reserved woman that she was.
Arthur looked out of the window. Diamond stars studded the black velvet night. A graceful Brunette came out with an elderly couple, who Arthur presumed was the bride and her family. The bride (Marianne?) lent a hand and helped her parents outside. She seemed kind, not a bad choice, Arthur had to admit.
Then Angus stepped out.
Angus had glasses now. The pinched off fat from the sides supported his wide shoulders, and his small stubble had been shaved, instead having a pair of sideburns planted on his cheeks.
His mother welcomed Marianne's parents with a handshake outside. Angus shifted for a bit before he made eye contact with Arthur. Arthur looked down, a quiet gulp sliding down his throat.
He shrunk in the corner, staring at his shoes, cross armed.
Everyone walked to the dining room straight away. Everyone except Angus.
Angus' shoes stayed in front of Arthur's vision. Even without looking, Arthur knew that Angus was staring at him. Even without looking, Angus' icy blue eyes chipped into his skull— eyes narrowed, mouth stretched thin from a frown as he crossed his arms, waiting for Arthur to say something. A chill up his spine made Arthur's squirming guts twist into a knot, tighter and tighter the longer this went on.
Come on, leave already, he wanted to say. Even without looking, Arthur could see him clear as day. Judging, angry, waiting. The image of Angus' steel cold glare seared into his head. A cold prickle climbed up his spine as the air stiffened and squeezed.
Arthur exhaled. It was okay, it was okay. True, Angus wanted him here. But if he wanted to confront him? Well, he will have to confront him like a man.
"Long time no see, Angus," he said, forcing his head up. Arthur's mental image matched Angus' expression exactly. Taking in controlled breaths, he braced himself for whatever Angus will unleash on him.
"Angus," their mother called. Said person must've heard, because he shifted away to the dining room. His eyes remained on Arthur as he frowned, his expression unchanged and cold. Whatever Angus had wanted to say, Arthur will have to face it later.
When Angus turned away, he transformed from a formidable beast to a jolly man light on his feet, strolling down the hallway.
"Francis!" Angus slapped his back, his mood now jovial and aloof, "glad that you've finally come!" Arthur's eye twitched. Bitter poison boiled in Arthur's gut. Angus wanted to piss him off. Bastard wasn't even subtle. If Angus really was that mad with him, why doesn't he say it to his face already?
As Angus spoke, Francis turned back for a second, his eyebrows knitted in concern. Arthur loosened his tensed nerves. No, Francis wasn't responsible for that. Francis twisted his mouth, wanting to say something, but turned back when Angus asked him a question.
As Marianne and her parents went into the living room, Arthur stayed, biting his lower lip and shifting as he replayed and today's events. Dylan's ignored question, his mother's calm attitude, Angus' frustration… Both Dylan and his mother were fine. Angus was a different story, with his cold, piercing glare. Arthur wondered how much bitterness remained in his family.
Dinner didn't seem quite right after that.
Fun piece of trivia: Arthur's town is named after Lewis Carroll, the author of Alice in Wonderland ;)
I'm really excited to post this chapter! Hence why it took this long to post it, ha XP
Thanks to probablysomebody on AO3 for beta reading this chapter!