The Happiest Days by Jonah
This is a story about love - real love - at work in the lives of good people. It follows on from "Halls of Academia," but the story really began many, many moons ago with "A Letter from America". There are no real people herein so, if you think one of the characters is based on you, or on somebody you know, have another think and come up with a different answer. Having said that, I didn't invent every character. A couple of them were originally crafted by another author. I have to (well, actually, it is my pleasure to) thank Jacob Lion, in the USA for his permission to use his characters in my stories.
I hope you will enjoy this story, and I'm grateful to Nifty for enabling me to bring it to you. Nifty does not charge either me or you for doing so, but it does cost money to do it. Please consider donating to Nifty at https://donate.nifty.org/ to help keep this site going.
Chapter 11 Auld Aquaintance
It was certainly light when we rose and showered on Friday morning. I didn't see the other three go to school because Philip and I had already set off for Newton St Faith. We went via the outskirts of Norwich since we wanted to stop at the Tesco Expresss in order to put provisions in the cupboards and fridge.
On arrival at home we unloaded the car and stocked up the cupboards. That was the signal for a cup of tea, now that we had the makings, and a couple of biscuits. As soon as we sat in the kitchen to drink our tea the Argos van parked across the end of our driveway. Within a few moments we were supervising the positioning of the suite in the living room, the sideboard in the hall (for now) and the bedding at the foot of the stairs.
I warmed the tea in the microwave and Philip and I drank our tea before stripping the cardboard wrappings from the three piece suite. Those were torn up and placed in the recycling bin before Philip helped me to move the sideboard in from the hall. While I assembled the flat-packed drawers and inserted them, Philip brought the rugs in from the hall and positioned them appropriately.
The next job was to unpack the bedding and air it on the washing line in the back garden.
We determined to give it half an hour before bringing it in and making the beds. That called for a lie-down upstairs during which, surprise, surprise - Philip's socks came off.
They remained off half an hour later when we recovered the bedding and set about making both beds.
"Anything I can do to help?" said a voice behind us.
The front door still being open, I had not seen Riku approach but that was not what made the situation seem surreal.
Riku was, of course, Japanese and would probably, like so many Asiatics, continue to look like a teenager until he was just shy of fifty. It was as if the intervening eighteen years had never occurred. We could have been lying on the floor in the TV room in Ashfield yesterday.
I tried to conceal the shock by saying, as casually as possible,
"You could put the kettle on please Riku. I'm sure you're thirsty after your journey, and I certainly am."
"Does, er..."
He stopped, a question having formed itself.
"Philip," I supplied.
"Does Philip drink tea too?" he resumed.
"I'm sure he'd like one," I said, looking to the boy for confirmation. He nodded vigorously.
"We're about to have lunch in a little while,Riku." I told him. "How does pizza sound?"
"It depends," he replied. "While it's in the oven it bubbles and sizzles a bit. At other times it doesn't make much noise at all."
Philip was taken in a fit of giggling which, I'm sure, Riku found gratifying. In any case he aimed a friendly wink at the boy. What is it with these winks? If I was not careful Philip would be in lust for the second time in under a week.
Riku made tea while Philip and I finished making beds, then we sat around comfortably catching up on news. Riku, as was to be expected, had jumped to the conclusion that Philip was the orphan whom we had adopted. I disabused him of that notion and explained as much of the situation as I could with Philip sitting there listening. I didn't tell him that we were considering starting adoption proceedings because I didn't want to get Philip's hopes up. I was aware that there was,potentially, a large stumbling block in the way of that.
After a bit I proposed that, if they would tell me what they wanted, I would phone in our pizza order and then collect it from the Pizza Hut Delivery on the Aylsham Road. We did that and I left Philip in the charge of Riku - or did I leave Riku in the charge of Philip? I certainy hoped that Riku's sexual urges had calmed down in the past eighteen years. He was, after all, a married man now, though Stephen saw a lot less of Riku than I did of Garret. That is to say, he saw him less often. I wouldn't .... never mind.
I collected the order and returned home to find them upstairs. The raucous laughter from Philip told me where they were. Philip had found somebody else who could tickle his feet. Now there was a surprise.
With lunch out of the way we unloaded those of our possessions that I had brought back from Jean's and got those put away. Riku's suitcase was installed in our room and his clothing installed in our wardrobe, since there wasn't one in the boys' room. Garret and I had never decided which of us was to sleep with the boys. Well, that wasn't true. We had both decided. Unfortunately, our decisions did not concur.
Lloyd and Garret joined us just after four o'clock. That was the signal for all five of us to get showered and dressed for dinner. At five thirty we climbed into Garrets 4x4 and set off for Cringleton.
Jean had also dressed for dinner and looked radiant. We were quickly settled in her lounge with beers all round (well not quite - orange juice for two of our number). Lively chatter ensued until Jean invited us to go through to the dining room.
If you've ever seen a regimental dinner of the Black Watch, the place-setters take lessons from Jean. The polished silver sparkled and it was plain that it had been positioned using two tape measures. Crisp, white damasc napkins had been carefully folded into scallops to grace each place, a silver serviette ring sitting behind each one. Two crystal glasses sat beside each place, while a bottle of red wine and a water caraffe sat either side of the lighted candelabra. Riku, as guest of honour, was seated at the head of the table, facing Jean at the other end. Garret and I sat facing each other, as did the boys.
Having made sure that all who wanted had been served with wine, and that the boys and anybody else who wished had water, Jean excused herself, refusing Garret's offer of help. Bread sauce and a gravy boat were placed on the table and so were covered dishes of new potatoes and vegetables. Jean then brought out the best blue and white willow pattern. Holding each one with a folded cloth, she advised us that the plates were hot. Indeed they were and each one held slices of best silverside of beef, medium cooked and thinly sliced with a portion of Yorkshire pudding that had obviously been cooked around the joint. When everybody was served she seated herself.
"Simon, will you say grace?" she requested.
I was taken aback, but quickly recovered. Bowing my head I said.
"Lord bless this food, this home, and those gathered here. For these, your bountiful gifts, we thank you Lord. Amen."
"Thank you Simon, "said Jean. "Riku, please help yourself."
After that we all helped ourselves and you may believe that the end result was clean plates. Jean didn't cook the sort of meal that you sent back to the kitchen uneaten.
For a dessert Jean served up an almond pudding of the sort that you can normally only obtain in Derbyshire - specifically in Bakewell. It was sweet, sticky, and drowned in creamy custard. It was certainly a surprise. If you wanted to serve something traditionally English, you could not have done better. So-called Bakewell Tarts you can buy anywhere, but proper Bakewell Pudding - the only way you'll get it outside Bakewell is if you know somebody who has just been on holiday there. For a moment I wondered if Jean had obtained it by this means, but it was unlikely. I could only conclude that she had manufactured it herself. She was certainly a lady of rare and unusual talents. I mentioned this to her and discovered the answer straight away.
"Simon," she said in a soft Northern accent that I had never noticed before, "where do you think I come from?"
After that the port was passed. Garret certainly passed as he had to drive us home. He joined the boys in orange juice. We returned to the lounge where Riku, having earlier noted the upright piano in the corner, insisted that he should earn his dinner.
We all made ourselves comfortable as Riku played a few bars from the prelude to Handel's "Zadok the priest" then he fell silent. the room was hushed. Almost silently the old piano began the lovely notes of Debussy's "Clair de Lune". Nobody was going to make a sound now. There were tears in my eyes as I recalled my Grandmother playing this self-same tune on the old upright piano in their cottage at Carrbridge. She too had the gift of doing what Riku was currently doing - making an old upright piano sound like a concert grand. People were holding their breath as Riku released the moonbeams.
At the conclusion of the piece people looked at each other, not wishing to break the silence that the final note had engendered. We started to tell each other that there were no words to express what we had just heard. Gradually it dawned on us that the piano was doing a quiet, Pom - Pom - Pompompompompompom, Pom- Pom - pompompompompompom,
"You doing a vamp till ready Riku?" Garret asked.
"I'm vamping till you're ready mate," Riku replied.
"Oh! OK," said Garret, rising and walking to the piano.
Pom - Pom - Pompompompompom
"A bold hippopotamus was standing one day
On the bank of the cool Shalimar;
He gazed at the bottom as it peacefully lay
By the light of the evening star:
Now high on the hilltop, combing her hair;
His fair hippopotomine maid:
The hippopot-a-mus
Was no ignoramus;
He sang her a sweet seranade;
Mud, mud, glorious mud;
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood;
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow in glorious mud:"
There's nothing like a bit of Flanders and Swann for lightening the atmosphere and, believe me, it was lightened. Not for nothing was Riku world-famous.
After that, Riku took requests and Jean asked if he knew Sir Arthur Sullivan's "The Lost Chord"
Of course Riku did, though he pointed out that he had a piano to play, and not an harmonium.
Jean stood to sing in her fine Alto voice as Riku played the opening bars.
"Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease;
And my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys;"
We held our breath as Riku, once more, made the old upright into a concert grand and Jean perfectly pitched the many accidentals in this difficult piece. A shiver ran up every spine as Riku performed the walking crescendo that brought the final stanza up to Forte, and then guided Jean through the sliding crescendo up to Fortissimo. There is a big difference between being a concert pianist and an accompanist. The concert pianist's aim is to sound good, whereas the accompanist's aim is to make the vocalist sound good. Riku, it was clear, was master of both arts.
The sun had long bid East Anglia adieu when we finally said our goodnights, though it was far from completely dark. We drove back to Newton St Faith in a happy frame of mind. Nobody wanted more than a hot chocolate for supper.
The boys were put to bed and tucked in by Garret.
I went in and crept in next to Lloyd, meaning that Philip's cute little feet were between us. I heard Garret and Riku go to bed a few minutes later. I didn't hear much after that.