The Virtues Of Literature

Part 14

Chapter 14

The trundling of suitcases seems far too loud for the peaceful neighbourhood of Arthur's home, feeling to Francis like a disturbance to the singing birds and whispering trees swaying in the icy wind. He looks around with a smile on his face and feels happy in the calming environment, despite the grey skies. He had been raised in the middle of a city, and he tries to imagine what a childhood like this would have been like, whether he would have become any different of a person.

A scowl is apparent on Arthur's face as they walk from the bus stop and Francis questions his grumpy expression, thinking that he would be happy to see his family.

"I'm just remembering what a pain it is in this house, sorry for inviting you here. Just try to avoid anyone who gets mad, it doesn't usually end too well."

Francis wonders if he should have possibly received a little more prior warning, feeling a lot more nervous than before. Arthur points out the house as it comes into view, and Francis is pleasantly surprised it isn't the dark haunted shack he had been starting to imagine. A large cottage sits under some old oaks and willows, made of faded red brick with a steep roof and a substantial dark wood door.

"You grew up in such a lovely environment Arthur, I'm jealous."

"It may look pretty, but I don't know if being stuck in a house with my family counts as a lovely environment. And I was rather naïve to city life at first after I moved out; living in a small community was completely different."

They approach the front door and Arthur sighs before giving a knock. Francis hears some voices and footsteps from within the house, until the door is flung open.

A smiley, albeit slightly manic looking women stands in the doorway, undoubtedly Arthur's mother. She has bright grass green eyes, fierce but twinkling. Her thick, ash-blonde hair is up in a bun and she is wearing a Christmas jumper on top of a long skirt with large fluffy slippers. She reaches forwards to grab Francis' hands and greets him with fervent enthusiasm.

"Hello there, it's so lovely to meet you, you've got to be Francis. I'm Arthur's mother, you can call me Harriet. I'm so happy to have you, now come on in out of the cold."

She immediately stands out of Francis as being the reassuring and motherly type; someone who could be both delightfully kind but also utterly terrifying if she gets angry. As Francis is ushered in, he hears Arthur sigh.

"Hello to you too, Mother."

"Come on Art, you're my son. Do we need such formalities?" Harriet laughs heartily as they follow her in.

What a wonderfully strange lady.

They walk through a small tiled hall, past a twisting staircase, and into an open plan kitchen and living area. The ceiling still has old wooden beams showing and Francis is curious to the age of the house. These old English buildings are quite unfamiliar to him; he is not very well versed with the old French country, let alone any of Britain. The kitchen looks to have been redone a while ago, and the area houses a relatively modern but lived-in set of furniture.

Three men come into view, one of which is standing at a counter making tea and wearing a Christmas jumper, and the other two lazing on one of the sofas. One of them looks up with their entrance, and his lips curl up in a sly grin. He is lying along the length of the sofa, feet resting on the other occupant who looks none too happy about it. His hair is a bright, fiery red, contrasting with his distinctive but recognisable green eyes. He looks to be one of the oldest of the (assumed) brothers. He is big and vaguely scary looking, and Francis reckons he must be a hell of a big brother to put up with.