SEBASTIAN
SEBASTIAN
"You're all ridiculous! " Craig hisses at no one in particular. "Completely and utterly absurd."
"But what's a superhero without the crazy, right?"
"Don't even dare with that shit, Ash."
"Yeah, Shay," Alex doesn't miss a beat. "Our Captain has no patience for smartassery."
"Okay, enough. The both of you. Shut up."
I gave Craig as much warning as I could before leading him into the farmhouse, short of betraying Ashleigh's confidence entirely. Little more than a word has passed between us since. I'm certain he was clued in enough to sense that something more was going on than I claimed. He must surely have known that I'd felt nervous as hell — a wholly warranted feeling, as it turns out — and by this point, I'll be damned if I can hazard him even a glance.
Judy, Alex, and Ashleigh held off on their greeting when my deliberate front door slam announced our entrance. We made our slow way through the burrow, not a peep to be seen or heard from them until the instant we stepped foot beyond the kitchen's threshold.
The low-key welcome party is a condition I'd set upon my involvement in this, and it’s a term they honoured, I guess, for the most part. Dobby wasn't overwhelmed, at least, quick to settle once returned to his basket, back home safe where he belonged. Nor had Craig spun on his heel and bolted when eager hands seized him, lurching him clumsily forward into phase one of their scheme.
His Victoria sponge decorated in Roxy's likeness was one thing. The banner arching the entire wall width was quite another, reading 'You Are Awesome, Capt. C!' in glitter paint. However, the giant poster beneath it completely caught us both by horrifying surprise.
"Ha!" Craig barked, knocking a full year off my life. "Ha. Ha. Ha." Each laugh an individual exclamation. "Wow. Good one, Ash," he flapped a dramatic hand at the caped superhero wearing his face, and I failed to stifle my snort. "You're so creative and clever and ever such a delight."
An explosion of colour, with a cutesy pup tucked under one arm and the other outstretched to the side, Capt. C pummelled an almighty thwack into the villainous chops of a masked nemesis whose identity was no mystery. It'd been very distinctively Ashleigh's handiwork, and she preened like the weirdo she is. It'd also been splayed across Alex's t-shirt, worn proudly. And the pair spared us too little chance to recover ourselves, let alone cut into the cake, whip-sharp in throwing the back door wide on phase two.
"I couldn't rein them in any tighter, I'm afraid," Judy had murmured close to my ear, straightening from her crouch next to me at Dobby's side.
I'd honestly wanted nothing more than to stay put, assured beyond a doubt that this afternoon was about to go epically off-track. But whether curious or resigned or simply baffled beyond all sensibility, Craig allowed his brother to sling a cajoling arm around his shoulder, guided swiftly outside on Ashleigh's heel.
The bonfire I built this morning is still merrily ablaze at the yard's furthest corner. Its thick smoke billows out over the fields on the brisk Easterly wind, and any telltale signs that may have warned of what's to come next are whipped away alongside. Not until we've veered wide around the storage huts do the muffled sounds of voices and the aromatic wafts of barbecue begin to reach us. A hand's count of parked cars makes for a distracting obstruction. Yet, only once the vast spread of North Yoverton's pastureland fills our view does the full extent of my error present itself.
By the narrowest margin, I avoid a collision with Alex as he launches past me, vaulting the wide wooden gate from dirt track to unruly grass at a sprint while hollering, "NOW!"
The barn in which Craig and I have spent many a long afternoon is revealed, cresting the gentle rise, and bodies swarm around it like bees at a hive. A trio of daring reprobates perched atop its roof are swift to pick up Alex's call with an eruption of whoops and whistles heralding our arrival. Beneath them, in the barn's open doorway, Desperate for Aces launch into a lively cover of Sting's 'Roxanne' . Cheers spread, those gathered on blankets or lounging in deck chairs jumping to their feet with the sharp uproar. And I'm stricken to a jarring halt.
'Relax,' my aunt has the good grace not to say, readily falling back a step beside me. Instead, she hooks my elbow and leans in to confide, "Craig has nothing to run from anymore, honey. This is his opportunity to reconnect. It's a show of support from those who care about him, and I have faith, truthfully, that this could be good for you both."
But my head is shaking, and my panic is swelling. Because, no, this is not at all what I okayed. Ashleigh has outdone herself, and it's me who Craig will blame. Then, what?
There are two grills on the go, both tended by a bespectacled kid wearing a naked torso apron. My old trestle table has been set up alongside, laden with food and drinks in place of tools. Perhaps a dozen people are milling around the refreshments, and another dozen or so surround the band. 'RO-O-OXANNE ,' a rowdy chorus of voices squall. A wayward kite takes a sharp nosedive at the three rooftop watchers, sending them scrambling, its handler squealing as she struggles to regain control of the line.
We've never hosted so many guests since my uncle's send-off, a memory I don't wish to recall, and these folk are mostly strangers. So in what possible way could Judy consider this to be any good for either of us?
Steph propels herself at Alex, almost knocking his legs from under him. "You were supposed to be here half an hour ago, cockwomble!" He's berated, struggling to recover his balance while she clings to him like a monkey to a tree.
"You cannot blame me for my brother's tardiness, bitchtits!" She's rebutted as he hikes her legs up to hook his hips and spins her around.
Dodging wide of the twirling couple, Lyndsay rolls her eyes at them. "Well, that's nauseating," she approaches the stone wall, smiling.
"Yep," Ashleigh snorts, already hopping the gate.
I can't avoid looking at Craig any longer. I also can't brace for the sweep of his gaze, the glint of something volatile as he pins me causing a flip of something vital inside my chest.
Then, "Yo, bro!" Alex shouts, intruding on the moment. "There'll be no sitting on the sidelines for you this time. Get a move on!"
One corner of Craig's mouth kicks up. And if I'd somehow held even the remotest disbelief of my place, forever a step behind when it comes to him, that's abandoned as the keen nick of his dimple robs me of sense.
Nothing gets past my clogged throat before he's pitching himself over after Ashleigh, taking hold of Lyndsay's proffered arm. Time seems to stand still and flit by all at once. In the same blink that his absence dawns, he has already been intercepted by a rapidly swelling entourage on the other side.
"Fuck's sake , Craig," I recover my voice too late, expelling it on a skyward huff.
“Shall we?” Judy prompts.
That most of those present are YCSers doesn't take me long to grasp, appearing comfortable in each other's company as they jostle for a slice of Craig's next hour. The flustered guy burning the burgers is called Callum, I learn. He unwittingly got lumbered with grill duty, and the haste at which he surrenders responsibility of the tongs into my volunteered care is unsurprising. Better to stay busy, my brain sagely advises. Possession of his hairy-chested apron, though, does not pass to me. Instead, that’s snagged by an arrogant beanpole who introduces himself as Naz- zee-Notorious , and whose brash assistance I'm quick to reject.
"Suit yourself, man," Suave-vee-Normous winks, sliding a hip flask from his blazer pocket. "I need to be drunker for this shit anyhow."
A conspicuous absence of alcohol amidst the plentiful feast on the table only sharpens my notice of the generous amount that's sneakily going around. And when the one guest I actually knew to expect this afternoon blindsides me in an emphatic embrace, distinct unconcern for the surrounding chaos does not fail to register either.
"Mum," I return the hug, a touch belated, as a lipstick mark is planted on my cheek, the pendant at her throat nipping into my collarbone. "Might I be right in assuming you were in on this, too?"
"Wholeheartedly, my darling boy, yes."
"Might I also be right to suppose our lunch date yesterday wasn't so innocent?"
"A necessary hardship to endure for the cause."
"Well, that's just lovely. Thanks so much."
"You aren't seriously mad about it?"
"I haven't decided yet."
Suckered with another kiss, I'm released on a heavy sigh, and Mum takes a step back. "Or are you perhaps stubbornly overthinking it to a fault?"
"It's exactly that, Ree," Ashleigh answers in my stead from across the refreshments table. I admirably refrain from flicking a merry middle finger at her impish grin when the glance I dart fails to shrivel her like a salted slug. "Too stuck in his head to even try and enjoy himself."
Denial seems pointless. But, hell, for all that it may tweak my last nerve to acknowledge, I'm not wholly immune to what they've pulled together here.
The field is a spectacle of camaraderie as the band closes their set on a crowd-pleasing original. "Love to each and every uniquely beautiful soul!" Derek's parting shout stirs up an almighty roar of support, and some wannabe DJ steps in with a laptop to take over.
My aunt's cackling laughter sounds through the interval while I tray up the last of the meat for anyone hungry enough to risk it. She's surveying the party from a blanket by the wall with Alex's mum, and whatever tale Lorraine is spinning her has them both giddy.
Spirits are as high and bright as the neon kite still soaring overhead, an anticipatory thrum in the air as a game of rounders begins to take shape. I watch as Craig is readily recruited to play. The sportive assault on him provokes little cause for concern. And it's bewildering, honestly, how hyper-sensitive my own smile has become to each stolen glimpse of his.
Even so, my unease of feeling ever more overtly out of place just won't relent.
Impatient to make the acquaintance of Judy's new friend, I give Mum my blessing to excuse herself. The game gets underway with an upswing in noise, teams taking their positions, and Ashleigh looks set to jump me when her invitation to join in is met with a shake of my head.
It's Lyndsay, though, who waylays my move almost before I've decided to make one, her touch to my elbow an unexpected check. "You're going somewhere?"
Naz's smooth attempts to woo the girl have been increasingly hard to ignore, occurring too close beside me for comfort. Only now do I wonder if she needs rescuing. "Yeah, uh, just for a bit," I reply, and the stab of my glare knocks her suitor back a step, but he continues to linger. "Just want to call in on Dobby."
"Oh, of course. How is the poor pup?"
"Okay, I guess. Or, at least, he will be."
"Good," she smiles. Then, sending a glance back over her shoulder, she asks, "Could you grab me a Dr Pepper, please, Naz?" And it seems an assist wasn't necessary after all.
I'm mighty confused, made that much more so when I feel my sleeve gripped tighter. But Lyndsay doesn't hurry to continue, tracking the beanpole's obedient departure with a coy grin. It’s already an interaction I’d rather have dodged.
"I just wanted to thank you," her words come out in a rush once she begins. "For, you know, being a better friend to Craig than I have. This is as happy as he's looked, like, maybe ever, and I'm glad to see his smile again, even if I can't take any credit."
"Oh." I determinedly do not flick a searching glance across the field. I don’t react to the soft flutter in my chest either, and that this has nothing whatsoever to do with me isn't how I respond. "No, don't sell yourself short, Lyndsay. I can assure you Craig's pleased you're here."
"To new beginnings, right?"
"Absolutely."
"And to fixing up what's broke."
"Indeed."
"For real, though. Exciting things are happening." She abruptly frees me, and my guess is that she's likely taken a sip or two from Naz's flask. "So hurry back before we miss you."
The urge to catch one more peek at Craig doesn't let up. But the guilt of being missed becomes an ever-lessening pressure as I make it off the field and around the storage huts, returning to the house without further interruption.
I haven’t lied; I am fully intent on checking in with Dobby. There’s a fair probability that I will rejoin the party at some point before it’s over, too. Between those truths, though, I don’t at all plan to rush from one to the other.