Chapter 3 Guy Fox Is Coming to Town
Chapter three
Guy Fox Is Coming to Town
Jasper
The fireworks have just started. Big, slow blooms of light against the deep black sky, the kind of night where your breath hangs in the air and the smell of smoke clings to everything.
Lucy’s perched on my hip, her arms around my neck and one of her boots thudding rhythmically against my thigh. She’s still got her gloves on, miraculously, and is clutching a sparkler that fizzled out two minutes ago but she refuses to let go of.
Beside me, Theo’s got Ivy tucked into his side. Geoff’s nudging Christa again, winding her up— she’s quieter than usual tonight, but Geoff’s been on a mission to crack her since we arrived.
“I’m just saying,” he murmurs theatrically, “Bonfire Night moping is punishable by public shaming and enforced marshmallow consumption.”
“I’m not moping,” Christa replies, clearly moping.
“Then why do you look like a Jane Austen heroine left out in the frost?”
Despite herself, she laughs. One-nil to my brother.
Ivy throws Geoff a look. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Charming,” he corrects.
Theo snorts. “More like persistent.”
Another firework goes up, golden this time, fizzing and falling like a shower of sparks. Lucy gasps dramatically, holding tighter around my neck.
“They’re so loud!” she shouts in my ear.
“They’re meant to be,” I say, adjusting my hold on her. “That’s the whole point.”
From the loudspeakers near the clubhouse, the village volunteer starts reading the classic lines, voice warbling slightly over the mic:
“Remember, remember, the fifth of November, Gunpowder, treason and plot...”
Lucy immediately jumps in, shouting along:
“Rememba, rememba, the fifth of Novemba, Gunpowder, teasin’, and plot!”
I glance up at her. “Treason, Lu.”
She frowns. “That’s what I said.”
Theo turns to grin at us. “Honestly, I like her version better.”
Geoff nods. “Less political.”
Another firework bursts—silver this time, cracking loud across the sky.
Lucy squeals, delighted, kicking her boots and bouncing slightly in my arms.
“Alright, Ladybug,” I say, shifting her weight. “Shall we get that toffee apple before the mob hits the food stalls?”
“Yes please!”
I start weaving us through the edge of the crowd, careful not to elbow anyone still enjoying the last of the fireworks. The smell of fried onions and smoke thickens as we near the stalls, that unmistakable Bonfire Night blend of charred meat, sugar, and cider.
Lucy leans in, breath hot against my cheek. “Do you want me to tell you the story of Guy Fox?”
“Guy Fawkes. Absolutely.”
She nods like she’s just agreed to deliver a TED Talk.
“Okay. Once upon a time,” she begins, “there was a man called Guy Fox. He didn’t like the king. So he and some other naughty men got some... gunpowdies—”
“Gunpowder,” I say gently.
“Gunpowder, yes. And they hid it in a basement under the Houses of Palmen.”
“Parliament,” I correct.
“That’s what I said.”
“Of course.”
“And he was gonna blow it up,” she continues, widening her eyes for dramatic effect. “But someone snitched. So, the king’s guards found the gunpowder, and they said, ‘Oi! What are you doing, Guy Fox?’ And then he got arrested and they were not happy.”
“I imagine not.”
“And that’s why we have fireworks. Because he was naughty and got caught.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I say.
She beams at me, utterly satisfied with her version of events.
We reach the front of the food truck queue just as the crowds start surging over. I buy her a toffee apple, the woman behind the counter winking at Lucy as she hands it over like it’s made of gold.
Lucy frees herself from her gloves which she shoves into my free hand and then clutches the sticky apple with both hands like a holy relic, eyes shining.
“I’m not sharing,” she declares sternly.
“Didn’t ask.”
She grins, mouth already full of sugar.
We make our way back toward the others. Lucy’s fingers are a sticky mess now. There is probably a healthy amount on my jacket as well. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.
As we’re heading across the edge of the green, a group comes into view, moving in the opposite direction—Coop, Omar, Ben, and a few women I don’t recognise, chatting over each other and still glowing from the fireworks.
“Jasper!” Coop calls out, lifting an arm and waving.
I lift a hand in return, giving him a nod.
Lucy perks up. “Who’s that?”
“Coop,” I say. “Plays on the team with me.”
“And the other people?”
“The one in the hat is Omar. That’s Ben next to him.”
She squints. “Are they your friends?”
“Sort of. Mates from the football club.”
Her brow furrows, very serious. “Is that lady his wife?” She’s pointing with the apple now—vaguely in the direction of Amelia, who’s got her arm looped through Ben’s.
“His girlfriend,” I say. “Her name’s Amelia.”
“She looks nice.”
“She is.”
“And the lady in the big scarf?”
“No idea.”
She makes a thoughtful hum, rests her chin on my shoulder again, and crunches into her apple like it's the last meal she'll ever get.
By the time we make it back to the others, the last of the fireworks have burned themselves out and the green’s thinning fast. Theo looks up as we approach and holds out his hands.
“Ladybug,” he says, soft but firm. “Time to go home.”
Lucy lets out a theatrical sigh, then leans in for one last squeeze around my neck. She smells like toffee apple and bonfire smoke. It’s gross and perfect.
“Can I come again next year?” she whispers.
“Every year,” I murmur back.
She lets go reluctantly and I hand her over to Theo, who takes her with the ease of a father who, until recently, was single and the sole parent to this adorably little girl.
That was until he met Ivy and now they are a family.
Not yet in an official form, but Geoff and I are sure that it won’t be long.
Ivy pulls Lucy’s hood up and wipes some apple off her cheek with a napkin pulled from nowhere. Lu giggles and keeps on nibbling her toffee covered fruit whilst Ivy cleans her up.
We head toward the car park together. Geoff’s offered Christa a lift, and she’s clearly grateful not to have to navigate the train home on her own. Theo, Ivy and Lu are in the second car. They are already debating which chip shop is open on the way.
At the row of parked cars, we pause in that awkward pre-departure circle.
Geoff slaps a hand on my shoulder. “You need to come to the café next week. Theo's got that bloody ridiculous hazelnut thing back on the menu. You can come sulk in a corner and complain it’s too sweet.”
“I don’t sulk,” I say mildly.
“You brood, then.”
Theo gives me a one-armed hug, Lucy already strapped into the backseat, chatting to herself.
“Come by soon,” he says. “We’ll do dinner.”
“I might hold you to that.”
“You always say that,” Ivy teases.
I shrug. “Still true.”
Geoff leans on the car door. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing that you live out here in the wild and haven’t even got a bloody sourdough starter. Civilisation misses you.”
“You live in a two-bed in Highbury,” I point out.
“And it’s full of soul.”
“Full of damp,” Theo mutters, climbing into the driver’s seat.
They all laugh, and just like that, they’re off—headlights sweeping past me as they pull out, red taillights vanishing down the road.
I shove my hands in my pockets and breathe out into the dark.
It’s quiet now. The kind of quiet you don’t get in London. No taxis, no shouting, no sirens humming under your skin. Just the creak of branches in the wind and the occasional scuffle of something in the hedgerow. Rabbit. Fox. Possibly something hellbent on getting into my bins again.
The walk home isn’t long—ten minutes at most, along the edge of the lane, past the stone wall I still haven’t got around to repairing, then up the gravel drive.
I miss them, sometimes. The noise of it all. Theo talking too much, Geoff being smug in three languages, Lucy leaving her socks in places physics can’t explain. But I don’t miss London.
Moving out here was the best decision I’ve ever made. No neighbours on the other side of a paper-thin wall. No impossible parking. No fighting ten people for a seat on the tube. Just space. Time. A house so big it still feels a bit like trespassing.
The porch light flicks on as I step up to the door. It’s on a motion-sensor, but it still startles me every time.
I’m pulling off one glove when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I answer on the second ring. “Hey Ben”
“Jasper, mate. You free for a favour?”
I pause, pushing the door open with my shoulder, the warmth of the house spilling over me like a wave.
“That depends,” I say, toeing off my boots. “Is it the kind of favour that involves bailing someone out?”
Ben laughs. “No, no. Nothing that dramatic. Just… the annexe.”
I pause in the hallway, halfway out of my coat.
“Right,” I say slowly. “What about it?”
Ben exhales down the line, like he’s been half-running or trying not to talk too loudly near someone.
“So, Amelia’s friend Miranda… she’s just come out of a divorce. Proper shitshow. Husband’s a complete arsehole. She’s got an eight-year-old son and needs somewhere to stay. Somewhere steady. Quiet. Safe.”
I lean against the hallway wall, still holding my gloves.
Ben goes on, “We were all at the bonfire earlier, and it just sort of... came up. Omar mentioned the flat. Amelia would feel better knowing Miranda is close by so we thought we’d ask.”
I say nothing, so Ben adds, “Look, I know you were not planning to rent it out. And of course you can say no. But… she’s good people. Bit shell-shocked. And she doesn’t want charity, just a chance to land on her feet.”
I stare down the hallway into the dark. The annexe’s technically attached, practically its own little world.
After a beat, I ask, “Her child is quiet?”
Ben huffs a laugh. “Yes, and it is shared custody, so he won’t be there all the time.”
I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “How soon are we talking?”
“Soonish.”
I sigh. “Tell her to come have a look.”
Ben’s smile is audible. “Knew you’d say yes.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.”
I sigh. “Tell her to come by. Look at the place. No promises.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“Fine.”
“Thanks, mate. Seriously. You’re doing something good.”
I snort. “Careful. If you start getting sentimental, I’ll invoice you for emotional support.”
Ben laughs. “That’s fair.”
“Night, Ben.”
“Night, Jasper.”
I hang up and slide the phone into my back pocket.
I rub a hand over my face, already regretting offering to let this woman even have a look.
I lock the door, flick off the hall light, when my phone rings again.
“Callum!” I greet my best friend.
“I need your help, mate,” he replies instead of a greeting.
“Well, you are in luck, apparently I agree to anything today.”