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.
"Arthur, laddie. You've finally dragged your arse over here, how's life doin' for ya?"
The brother facing away from them in the kitchen with the Christmas jumper on turns in surprise at hearing the greeting, a smiles widely.
"Artie, you're home!"
He puts down the kettle and approaches to give Arthur a hug. He notices Francis and says hello.
"I'm Dylan, Arthur's brother. Lovely to meet you. And that was Alistair with the red hair."
"Thank you, Dylan." Francis returns the smile politely, and introduces himself. Dylan's first impressions are good, and Francis likes him. His hair is a dark cinnamon brown, a little longer than Arthur's though similarly unruly, complimented by bright jade eyes. He is friendly looking and again comparable to Arthur in body shape - slim, but taller and with slightly wider shoulders.
Francis and Arthur sit on another sofa, and Francis notices the person trapped under Alistair's feet staring at him.
"Bonjour? I am Francis, Arthur's friend. Who are you?"
The boy pouts slightly. He looks to still be in high school, presumably the youngest of the brothers, and is clutching his phone like his life depends on it. With earphones plugged into his ears, Francis can only guess he is still going through his grumpy, antisocial teenager phase.
"Sean."
Francis is expecting a little more from him, but in the continuing silence afterwards he realises that's all he's going to get. Sean is looking away again, eyes glued to his phone. They're a little lighter but still the Kirkland green, shielded by a thick layer of eyelashes. His hair is more of a light auburn with a casual side fringe, covering some of his lightly freckled face. He is lanky, well fit in skinny jeans and an relaxed shirt.
Arthur rolls his eyes, tutting quietly. "Sorry about Sean, he's been acting aloof for a while now. Thinks he special or something."
Harriet walks in at that moment and she frowns at Arthur. "Hey, it's hormones, he's still young. Give him his space. You were the same in your mid-teens."
Both brothers give a whine of "Mum!", and she chuckles at her embarrassed children.
Dylan brings a tray with tea and biscuits to the coffee table and sits down next to Arthur, proceeding to dunk biscuits into his hot drink while Francis gratefully accepts a cup. They chat for a while as Harriet prepares dinner.
"You mean to tell me you actually have a pet sheep?" Francis questions incredulously.
Dylan nods eagerly. "He's really sweet and friendly and his name is Dewi. He's out in the garden at the moment, but I can introduce him at some point."
Francis is starting to understand what Arthur meant when he was warning him of his family. They aren't exactly normal. Though it makes it easier to understand how Arthur himself came to be such a strange one. Lost in thought for a moment, Francis jumps when two cats both jump onto his lap at the same time. They walk over him and Arthur, lightly purring and sniffing the unknown Francis.
"Oh, hello." He stokes the felines, smiling as at their softness. "Who are these?"
Arthur pets one of them, scratching its white and beige fur behind the ears and under the chin. "This is Crumpets. He's more my cat really, especially since I named him."
Francis laughs internally, of course Arthur would name it that.
"He's a Scottish fold, and he's very loving."
"To you maybe," Sean says, glaring at the cat. "I swear he wants to kill me."
"Well I'm not surprised, I would probably do the same."
"Why you little.."
"I'm older than you, you brat."
"Not taller though."
Arthur splutters, getting more and more frustrated.
"Boys, shut up." Harriet tells them sternly. "Arthur I know you're an adult, but you're in my house and you're my son."
Arthur pouts and crosses his arms in a sulk. He somehow looks rather cute acting so childish, and Francis has to actively drag his eyes away.
"This one is Meredith." Dylan says, cuddling the other struggling cat. "She's precious and adorable and she's mine."
"She's everyone's, ya soft idiot."
Dylan narrows his eyes at Alistair.
"Mine."
Meredith the cat does indeed look cuddly and adorable, though Francis can't ignore her pudginess. In fact, she's closer to obese rather than just pudgy, though it adds to her cuteness in a way. She looks be a British Shorthair, mostly a bluey grey with patches of cream.
The sound of footsteps is suddenly acute to Francis, and he has a moment to wonder who on earth else could be in this house before a woman prances into the kitchen.
"Mmm, I smell food. Oh Mum that smells so good."
Francis, completely baffled by the appearance of a brand new sibling, pokes Arthur and asks in a whisper who this new person is.
Arthur replies out loud, forgetting his sulking state quickly. "Oh crap, yeah I forgot about her. That's Aoife*, our sister. She's the oldest of all of us."
Aoife, who had just been crouching down to peer into the oven, stood up with vigour.
"Arthur! You mean to tell me that you forgot about me? Jesus Christ, I'm offended. What would've happened if your friend had encountered me on our own and he thought I was an intruder or something, you remember what happened when Ali brought a girl home without telling any of us and Sean walked in on her - a complete stranger - doing her hair in the bathroom. Jeez, that was havoc. Anyway," she turns to Francis and introduces herself, Francis politely doing the same. She seems nice enough, maybe a little loud, but she they are around family so it is probably natural. Her attention returns to Arthur. "I'm your bloody big sister so you should at least respect me a little more."
Arthur rolls his eyes, "I get it, I get it. I have a bad memory."
Aoife gives a disbelieving snort.
"Enough of this." Harriet butts in, while reading the newspaper, though not really angry. "Arthur, you ought to take Francis to your room. I made your beds so you should be grateful."
Arthur hauls himself up from the sofa and heads to the stairs, Francis following behind, and calls out "Cheers, Ma." as they leave.
They haul their bags up the stairs and enter through one of the doors. They path a few doors decorated with various old 'Keep out, danger of death!' signs.
Arthur's room is moderately sized, large windows providing both plenty of natural light and a lovely view out onto the quiet main road, pretty front garden and mixture of evergreen pines and bare deciduous trees. The bedroom is rather mature, containing very few childish adornments but still having a personality and looking lived in. Some large maps scatter the light walls, as well as a small Sherlock poster and a couple of awards. A bookshelf lines an entire wall, dozens - or probably hundreds - of books are neatly organised alphabetically by author on the many wooden shelves.
A small double bed sits near the window, and a large wood desk is scattered lightly with abandoned stationery and books. There are two clocks on the walls, one on each side of the room, ticking away quietly. A blow-up bed accompanied with a pillow, duvet, and multiple woollen blankets, is sitting in the middle of the floor space, obviously for Francis, and Arthur steps over it to collapse onto his own bed.
"Ah, I've missed this bed. And all of my books."
Francis can't resist a smile he looks around the room, seeing subtle things that are just so Arthur, leaving him with no doubt that he grew up here. An old guitar in the corner, a poem from primary school plastered with a big 1st sticker, a large collection of likely unused notebooks, a sewing kit and knitting bag. Francis puts his bag on the floor, there is still space despite the mattress, and sits next to Arthur on his bed.
"Your bedroom is so lovely, I can imagine you growing up here."
"Eh, well I like to keep things tidy and get rid of things I grow out of, so I guess that's kept it quite nice. I'd always wanted the loft bedroom but Aoife got it since she's oldest, but I do like this room."
"I'd never got to accumulate memories very easily since I was always moving house as a kid; my dad has probably already left the place I was last in."
Francis can sense Arthur's mild discomfort, and feels a little guilty for bringing such a thing up.
"Well, you can accumulate memories wherever you live in when you're older, and in our flat, and with me."
Francis laughs; he got over that well. "Yeah, merci."
"At least you were an only child. I can understand it might have been a little lonely, but four annoying as hell siblings? My mum is pretty cruel, heh. Seriously though, with me, Alistair is a complete arse a lot of the time, Sean is an annoying brat, Aoife is bossy and thinks she's better than us because she's the oldest, and just in general Dylan is really fucking weird."
"I guess that's the beauty of families. Maybe."
They chat and giggle for a while, Francis feeling more and more at home in the pleasant environment, until they're called down for a hearty dinner.
~~~~~~~~~~
*Aoife, pronounced EE-fa. Irish pronunciation is strange, or maybe I'm just bad.
Just to clarify (in age order):
Harriet=Britannia
Aoife=Republic Of Ireland
Alistair=Scotland
Dylan=Wales
Arthur=England
Sean (pronounced Shawn if you didn't know)=Northern Ireland
Crumpets=Iggycat
Meredith=Literally my cat (sorry not sorry)
I hope that wasn't too much of an info shock with all of these new people, and I'm afraid they are basically OCs, especially Harriet and Meredith (hellooo) hehe. But they're fun and new so whoo. Also, I edited a couple of things in chapter 5 but you probably don't need to worry about that. So yay, a new, pretty long chapter. Tbh there's going to be a fair bit more of this fic so it's not finishing just yet. Btw, I've found it actually really difficult to write Francis so I'm sorry if he seems a little OC or boring. But I'll see you soon, sorry if I can't get in an upload next week but I'll try. Ciao!!!