Chapter 2-3
614 Words
About four o’clock, Tom admitted he had to get out of the house.
“He gets cabin fever if he’s cooped up too long,” Cliff explained.
“It looks like it’s brightened up out there; do you two want to come for a walk with us?” Tom asked Mark and me.
Mark looked at me, and I nodded.
“Thanks. A walk will do us good,” Mark said.
As we walked along a footpath that wound its way through a field, I said, “It looks so bare now the crop has been harvested.”
“You should see it in the spring, or better still, during the summer months.”
“Why don’t we walk up Halter’s Hill and watch the sunset?” Tom suggested.
There was general agreement, so at the next intersection in the network of footpaths that seemed to span the area, we veered to our right. The path soon became steeper as we ascended the hill.
“I always think they are such stupid creatures,” I said, pointing to a field with some sheep lazily grazing in it.
“They aren’t the brightest of animals,” Cliff admitted. “But I quite like them, especially when they’re still lambs and are running around.”
Spotting a stile in the fence ahead of us, I quickened my step and was the first over it. Mark was next. I stuck out my hand to guide him across. He took my hand in preference to the fencepost.
“You planned that little act of chivalry.” Mark smiled at me.
“I cannot tell a lie,” I said, giving a slight bow. “If there had been a puddle, and if I were wearing a cloak, I’d have lain it over the puddle to aid your passage.”
“You daft bugger!” Tom said as he crossed over the stile. Though I noticed he, too, helped his man get over the fence.
We laughed at our silliness.
Eventually Tom stopped climbing and looked towards the setting sun. “I think this is as good a place as any.”
We agreed.
Tom sat on the ground, his back against a boulder. Cliff settled into the space between Tom’s legs, resting his back against Tom’s chest. Tom put his chin on top of Cliff’s head and wrapped his arms around the smaller man.
The size differential between Mark and me wasn’t as great. However, I spotted another rock close by, so sat on it and invited Mark to sit on the ground between my legs. We then adopted the same cuddling position as the other two.
The kaleidoscope of yellows and oranges as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon was magnificent. I kissed the top of Mark’s head, pleased I was able to share such a wonderful moment with him.
“We better get down while it’s still light,” Cliff said.
We wended our way back to the village, walking hand in hand when the footpaths permitted.
“Why don’t we stop off at the Coach and Horses for a pint before dinner?” Tom suggested.
We all agreed, so Tom led the way to the local pub.
Cliff had put a casserole in the oven on low before we’d set off, so there was no need to hurry back.
We made it to the pub just as the last of the daylight faded into darkness. As we stepped inside from the rapidly cooling outdoors we welcomed the warm, if smoky, atmosphere with gratitude. Alas, it would be many years before smoking in public places would be made illegal.
It being a Saturday night, the place was busy. We did manage to snatch some seats close to the snooker table. Our location did come with a few unexpected fringe benefits, however. The sight of the players’ bums as they bent over to take their shots wasn’t exactly unappealing. Mark gave me a knowing grin once he’d spotted what I was up to.
As time passed, the place became increasingly crowded, noisy, and smoke-filled. Once our glasses were empty, we decided to make our way back to Tom and Cliff’s place.
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