A New World Begins

Should auld acquaintance be forgot…

New Year’s Eve seemed to fly by.

We were all up quite early and after that huge dinner last night no-one wanted a large breakfast and so we were able to leave the hotel just after eight. I led the way down The Mall towards the river and our first planned stop of the London Eye. Needless to say, the Eye wasn’t actually our first stop: we’d hardly got out of St James Park when everyone wanted to get some more photographs on Horse Guards’ Parade after which we had to swing by Downing Street to take yet more photos before continuing on our way.

As we passed down Parliament Street on our way to Westminster Bridge I pointed out the Cenotaph ahead of us and as we approached it I explained what it was and that it was traditional for uniformed servicemen to salute it, or, if out of uniform, to make an ‘Eyes Right’ or ‘Eyes Left’ gesture. I was going to do that anyway but after I’d told Kyle and Shane they said that as cadets they wanted to do it too. The three of us stepped in front of Lee and Mr and Mrs Masters and, as we got to within about ten feet of it, we all straightened up and I quietly said, “Squad, Eyes Left.” We held our heads turned until we had passed beyond the Cenotaph and then I gave the command, “Squad, Eyes Front.” I don’t think anybody saw us, but that wasn’t the point.

You can see the London Eye from Westminster Bridge, well, from most parts of London, but though it was probably only four hundred yards away on the opposite bank of the Thames it took us forever to get there. We stopped on Parliament Square so everyone could take their picture alongside the statue of Winston Churchill, then I was daft enough to point out the statue of Abraham Lincoln and so that needed photographing too. Mrs Masters then suggested that it would be nice to take a very quick look at Westminster Abbey and so that was another hour gone! Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament stood between us and the threshold of Westminster Bridge too but fortunately the queues for tours inside them were already quite long and so I was able to suggest that we skip them today and got off relatively lightly with just a walk round the outsides. I think Mr Masters sensed my exasperation because he grinned and said, “Just think how fortunate you are to have all this history condensed into a single quarter square mile.”

“Boots, what’s that big statue across on the other side of the highway?”

“That’s the Boudicca Rebellion statue, Lee. Somewhere near here Queen Boudicca rocked up about two thousand years ago and burnt Londinium - that’s what the Romans called London - to bits. She didn’t like Romans. You weren’t the first lot to get uppity about taxes and stuff and chuck tea in the river…”

It was nearly eleven by the time we jumped into a Pod on the London Eye and because it was a cold, crisp, sunny, high-pressure day without a cloud in sight we got some brilliant views over the city. I’d not been on it before and it was absolutely fascinating just how far we could see. As well as all the ordinary sights nearby like St Paul’s Cathedral, Buckingham Palace and Nelson’s Column, because the weather was so clear we could see the Queen Elizabeth suspension bridge downriver and the tops of Windsor castle upriver. That’s probably fitting: ‘er Maj bookending the whole bloody city!

At half past twelve we were down on the Thames Embankment again and wandering upriver towards Lambeth Palace. Fortunately, Mrs Masters didn’t want to pop in to the palace for a cup of tea with the Archbishop and so we were soon walking out along Lambeth Pier where some of the river cruises start from. There was a big tourist boat at the end of the pier and I assumed we were going to board that but Mr Masters smiled and led us right past it and to a flight of steps going right down to water level. At the bottom of the steps a bright red, six-seater RIB was moored. It had the serial number ‘007’ stencilled on the side in big black letters.

“This is for us,” he said. “I looked it up and booked it last night after Shane talked about James Bond escaping from the secret service HQ in a speedboat. It might help us recover a little lost time in your schedule too, Boots.”

I’ve been on a fast RIB before, the Royal Marines use them, and so when Kyle and Lee donned their obligatory life jackets and grabbed the two front seats and began to strap themselves in I wasn’t quite so disappointed as Shane was. I sat next to Shane on the second row of seats, and Mr and Mrs Masters took the two rear seats just in front of the con. The two crewmen gave us all a set of electronic ear defenders - the big engines on the back have a real growl to them at full throttle. After checking we were all strapped in and had our headphones switched on, the crew played us the safety briefing, cast off the mooring lines and slowly backed us out into the Thames, turned the boat around and started to head upstream at barely more than walking pace under Lambeth Bridge and on towards Vauxhall Bridge.

Whilst the second crewman gave us a commentary on the sights to be seen on either bank, Lee turned around and looked puzzled.

“I thought you said these boats were fast, Oregon? People on cycles up there on the path are going faster than us.”

“They are fast,” I said, “The ones my dad took me and some cadets on can easily do forty knots. But that’s at sea. People will get upset here on the river if we go much faster than this.”

“It’s not just that,” said the crewman giving the commentary, “But that’s a part of it. We’re heading upstream, slowly, just to take you as far as Chelsea Bridge. You’ll notice the tide has been on the turn for the last half hour or so: all the mud flats are disappearing. By the time we get to Chelsea the river will be backing up on the incoming tide and a good ten feet deeper at least. Once the tide is really coming upriver our wake won’t do any harm to the submerged mudflats and beaches and so we’ll be able to go a fair bit faster on our cruise downstream.”

 At Chelsea Bridge we turned around and moved out onto the centreline of the river, separating ourselves from the very few, slow moving, barges that were still working their way up or downstream. With it being New Year’s Eve, there weren’t many of them and so the crew opened the throttles a little, much to the satisfaction of Kyle and Lee up front who were now grinning from ear to ear as the occasional wisp of spray came up over the bow and splashed them.

“On your right you’ll see the site being prepared for the new American Embassy,” said the crewman over the earphones as he resumed the commentary, “And then as we go under Vauxhall bridge, which is just coming up, you’ll see the HQ of our Secret Service. It pays to keep an eye on the enemy.” We all laughed, like I think we were meant to do.

As we passed under Vauxhall Bridge and the Puzzle Palace came into view, Shane looked over excitedly and said, ”Look, you can see the hatch in the building where James Bond came out in his speedboat!” He was right, there really is a hatch in the building facing the river. I guess it’s just an air conditioning grille or something, but it looks intriguing.

The captain of the boat looked at Mr Masters and said something I couldn’t hear, then the two of them grinned and Mrs Masters checked her seat belt was tight. Our earphones crackled as we were switched in to the radio feed.

“Harbourmaster, Harbourmaster, this is Vauxhall Experience double-oh seven requesting fast passage downriver, over.”

“Vauxhall Experience zero zero seven, you are cleared to proceed with caution. Maintain track along the river centreline. Over.”

The James Bond theme tune started to play in our earphones and as I turned to look at Shane, and both Lee and Kyle turned back to look at us, the Captain switched on a flashing amber light over the wheel station and opened the throttles. The two huge engines roared and the bow of the boat lifted up as we surged forward and began to accelerate. The cyclists weren’t keeping up with us now! We weren’t going at anything like the maximum possible speed, but it was certainly no sedate pleasure cruise either and there was enough spray coming up to make both Kyle and Lee need to fasten their coats to keep dry. We kept on downriver, passing the Houses of Parliament, the Eye, under the Millennium Bridge and then past HMS Belfast, the Tower of London and under London Bridge.

“The river’s much deeper here now we’re through the Pool of London,” said the Captain over the intercom and, as if that were explanation enough, pushed the throttles further forward to really lift us up on to the plane. Propelled by the two roaring banshees we skimmed round the bend in the river at Canary Wharf, throwing up a huge plume of spray in our wake and zoomed off further downriver, passing the Cutty Sark and the old Naval College and Hospital at Greenwich before reaching the O2 arena at Blackwall. As we drew level with the O2, the Captain throttled the engines right back, dropping us down off the plane, and turned the boat around.

“That’s as far as we go today, I’m afraid, but I hope you’ve enjoyed the trip. I’ll spin us round and we’ll head back upstream a little way so you can take in the East End sights at a more leisurely pace.”

Shane and I were grinning at each other like loons, and both Kyle and Lee looked pretty bedraggled because of all the spray they’d taken coming over the bow but they didn’t seem to mind. When I looked back over my shoulder, Mr and Mrs Masters were grinning too.

“Wow!” said Shane. “That’s way faster than Nathan’s boat. I can’t wait to tell him and Travis we raced downriver like James Bond.”

At our slower speed, it took us a good twenty minutes to work our way back upriver from the O2 to the bend at Limehouse which is where Tower Bridge starts to come into view.  I tapped Lee and Kyle on the shoulder to get them to turn around, then pointed to the opposite river bank.

“We’re just coming up to Execution Dock, where we were yesterday, guys. The Captain Kidd pub will be coming up any moment now.”

Kyle grinned and before he could say anything the boat began to slow right down and then, after the Captain gave a good look around, cut across the river towards the north bank and edged us in alongside a small wharf.

Kyle was smiling. “After you and Shane went to bed last night, me and Lee planned this with mom and dad. We’re booked in for lunch.”

Mrs Masters leaned forward. “We couldn’t get a seat at the Captain Kidd for lunch, but we did manage to book a table right here at this pub, ‘The Prospect of Whitby.’ The online guides rate it just as highly. Pepys and Dickens used to eat and drink here. I hope you’ve built up an appetite, I certainly have with all the sightseeing this morning.”

I glanced at my watch as I waited for Kyle and Lee to disembark, then turned to offer a hand to Mrs Masters as she stepped ashore too.  It was nearly three o’clock. No wonder I was feeling hungry.

We made our way inside the pub from the landing stage and found it was heaving. It looked like everybody in this end of London had called in for their lunch but, amazingly, there was a ‘reserved’ table with a window view over the river awaiting us. As the rest of us sat down to chat excitedly about the day’s events, but especially the boat trip, Kyle and his dad went to the bar to get some drinks and a menu for us. It was at least fifteen minutes before they came back. I guess money can get you a table reservation but London pubs don’t yet have a ‘fast track’ lane for bar service. As Kyle put three pints of bitter on the table for him, his dad and Lee, Mr Masters grinned and passed me and Shane our drinks.

“Best shandy in the whole of London, boys,” he grinned, mainly at me.

“Don’t look too disappointed, Boots, I’m having shandy too,” laughed Mrs Masters. “Shane recommends it, don’t you?”

“It’s so busy in here today,” said Mr Masters, “That instead of bringing menus over, I’ve already ordered proper English fish and chips for everyone to cut down on waiting time. It used to be a real favourite dish of me and your mum, Kyle, when we were stationed here. How’s the shandy, Shane?”

Shane licked his lips as he lowered his glass. “It’s awesome, Ed.”

* * *

The fish and chips arrived pretty quickly, and were very good. Not whale size portions admittedly, but definitely enough to keep us all going for a while. I was a little disappointed that we got garden peas rather than mushy peas but well, this is London. It’s a shame we don’t have the time to travel up to Yorkshire so I can show them what proper fish and chips are, complete with mushy peas and scraps.

Once the fish and chips had been devoured, Kyle and Lee went to the bar and brought us all back a second round of drinks. As he put my pint in front of me, Lee smirked and my first taste revealed that he’s bought me a proper pint! Shane still got a shandy though but he didn’t seem to mind, or even realise that I had some real beer.

As we approached the end of the second round of drinks Mrs Masters looked at her watch and announced that we needed to get moving: apparently, we were due to go on a tour at six o’clock and needed to be at the meeting point. It was now quarter to six! Curious, we all followed her outside and along the road past Shadwell Basin towards Wapping Wood.  No matter how much we asked, Mrs Masters refused to tell us what the tour was about!

At the corner of Wapping Wood a policeman appeared and came towards us. As he got closer I spotted that he looked a bit odd: his uniform was very old fashioned for a start! He was about as old as Mr Masters, and had big old fashioned mutton chop whiskers too.

“Good evenin’ mam,” he said as he got close to us. “Beggin’ your pardon for sayin’ so, but it’s not safe hereabouts for a lady to stroll at night. Would you allow me to accompany you through Whitechapel? Can’t be too careful until we’ve caught Jack the Ripper…”

“Why thank you, constable,” said Mrs Masters, “That’s very kind of you. Perhaps you could tell us more about these awful murders we’ve read about in the paper.  Do you have any suspects? Are you close to apprehending a culprit?”

A Ripper Tour! So that was the plan! Lee had said something about Jack the Ripper yesterday. Mrs Masters must have found out and set the tour up for us.

As we walked from Shadwell through Whitechapel towards the Tower, the Victorian era policeman guided us to some of the sites of the murders and filled us in on the details of what had happened and who the main suspects were. He definitely knew his stuff, he didn’t need to refer to notes at all and he recounted it all as though he been there, been one of the policemen out pounding the streets every night trying in vain to catch the Ripper. It turns out it wasn’t just Jack the Ripper who had been a murderer there, we also heard about the earlier Ratcliffe Highway Murders and were shown the crossroads where the alleged murder had been buried with a stake through his heart!

The tour guide was a brilliant actor! Even though cars and buses and people in modern clothes were passing by us every few seconds, he managed to completely immerse us in Victorian London so we hardly noticed the modern stuff. If there had been a fog about that would have definitely sealed it as time travel! Actually, I think we must have time travelled as it was suddenly nine o’clock, but fortunately the end of the tour popped us out right alongside the Tower of London and so we were able to be at the main entrance a few minutes early where Mr Langton was waiting for us, now in his red uniform.

“Hi Craig, running on military time I see. Good lad.”

I turned to Mr and Mrs Masters and introduced them, then Kyle, Lee and Shane, to Mr Langton, explaining how he’d been one of my dad’s Sergeants-Major until he retired and, as he had an exemplary service record, had been enrolled as a Yeomen Warder and now lived at the Tower of London.

“Now,” he said, looking directly at Shane, “You’ll be the one with the invitation, may I see it?”

Shane opened his jacket, took out the invitation card and handed it over. Yeoman Langton studied it carefully and then counted us all, very theatrically. “Yes, that’s right, five guests, Shane. Can you vouch for them all? We’re very careful who we let in at this time of night.”

Shane nodded eagerly and then looked very relieved when Yeoman Langton handed back the card for him to keep as a souvenir.

“Okay, step inside with me.”

I guess it’s always busy outside the entrance to the Tower, but with it being New Year’s Eve it seemed especially so as hundreds of people were flocking not only to the usual restaurants and bars nearby but also the special events that had been set up for the night. Every one of them seemed to be watching us as the great wooden door opened briefly to admit us, then shut behind us with a resounding thud. Inside, the Tower grounds were almost silent.

Seemingly from nowhere, Mr Langton produced a small, silk looking bag and held it out.

“If you’d like to place your cameras and phones inside please. Switch the phones off first.” He smirked, “And even if you don’t like to, best to do it anyway. The axeman is in need of a bit of practice…”

We all placed our phones in the bag, but Mr Langton kept it held out and looked hard at Mrs Masters. “Even diplomatic phones, please, Madam Secretary. Think of this as a diplomatic bag. It’ll be quite safe.”

Mrs Masters smiled and slipped a second phone from inside her jacket.

“You can leave that one switched on if you really need to, but please put it on silent mode.”

With all our phones taken care of, Mr Langton led us down between the inner and outer walls towards the Byward Tower. Ahead of us, another Yeoman was stewarding a small group of about twenty people to a viewing point near Traitors’ Gate. “Those are the VIPs,” he said. “Just ordinary VIPs. You’re getting special treatment, Shane. I hope you enjoy the night.”

We took up a position where we could see the whole length of the lane running from the Byward Tower to Traitors’ Gate and Mr Langton explained all about the ceremony of the keys and how it was the oldest military ceremony in continuous existence. Over 700 years without a single break, even despite Hitler’s Blitz.

“At exactly 21:53 hours, Shane, just as he’s done for over 700 hundred years, the Chief Yeoman will step out from the Byward Tower with a lantern in one hand and the Tower’s keys in the other and walk down Water Lane towards us.  When he gets here, he’ll be met by an escort of soldiers waiting at the Bloody Tower and they’ll then march off to start locking up at the Middle Tower where you came in. The sentry will challenge them when they come back here and if they give the right response, the Chief Yeoman and the Escort will be allowed in to lock up the rest of the gates. The White Tower and the Crown Jewels, and the Ravens of course, are then safe once more.”

He didn’t ask us to be quiet, but everyone was. It’s hard to describe how different the Tower feels at night. Silent. Deserted. Soaked in history, good and bad. I was beginning to understand why some of the sentries have reported seeing ghosts. Especially here near Traitors’ Gate. Obviously, it must just be the effect of the wind and moonlight shifting around, picking up a fleeting drift of mist rising up from the Thames…

We heard the Chief Yeoman Warder before we saw him.  Preceded through the Byward Tower gates by the Crunch! Crunch! of his hobnail boots, he marched smartly down Water Lane towards us.

“Wow!” whispered Shane, “Those are the best keys I’ve seen.”

The Chief Yeoman wheeled around towards the Bloody Tower where the Escort of five guardsmen awaited in their grey greatcoats and bearskin helmets. Four of the soldiers were armed with rifles, but the fifth was unarmed. The Yeoman handed the lantern to the unarmed soldier and then took position in the centre of the Escort. The Sergeant commanding the Escort barked an order.

“Escort to the Keys, by the centre, QUICK MARCH!”

The Keys and Escort stepped off and crunched their way back to the Middle Tower, where the Escort was halted and the Chief Yeoman, assisted by two waiting Yeoman Warders, slammed the giant gate shut and locked it. The Escort then about turned and came back down towards us and the Bloody Tower once more. As the Escort approached the gate this time, a sentry stepped forward, lowered his rifle with fixed bayonet to the ‘Ready’ position and challenged them.

“Halt. Who comes there?”

The Chief Yeoman and the Escort crunched to a halt, the sound of their boots reverberating off the thousand-year-old walls. The Chief Yeoman responded to the challenge.

“The Keys.”

“Whose Keys?”

“Queen Elizabeth’s keys.”

“Pass, Queen Elizabeth’s keys. All’s well.”

The sentry raised his rifle and the Chief Yeoman and the Escort marched through the gateway. As they entered, the door was slammed shut behind them and we heard the heavy iron draw bars being locked in place. From inside the now locked Inner Yard, the Chief Yeoman’s voice then pierced the night.

“God Save Queen Elizabeth!”

“Amen!” responded the sentry at the gate.

We stood in silence for a few moments, then Mr Langton turned to Shane and looked worried. “Well, that’s the ceremony over, at least, as much of it as you’re allowed to see, but now we have a slight problem, Shane.”

We all turned to look at Shane. “A problem?” asked Shane.

“We can’t go forward, through the Bloody Tower, you’ve just seen it locked,” continued Mr Langton. “We can’t go back out through the main entrance either, you just saw them lock that up first of all. We’re trapped between the inner and outer walls…”

He paused for effect…

“Unless, of course, we can beat then round to the final gate and get out before they lock it. Come on, follow me, no dawdling…”

Of course, we made it to the final gate on time. Even the ordinary VIPs following on behind us managed to make it out. I guess they have done for about 700 years. It was still spooky though as we suddenly emerged out in to the hustle and bustle of London as the gate slammed closed behind us and the Last Post was sounded on a bugle. Before vanishing inside, Mr Langton handed me the silk bag containing our phones and smiled. “Have a great New Year, Craig. Say ‘Hi’ to your mom and dad for me.” Then he was gone. It was just a few minutes after ten.

* * *

We started walking along the north bank of the Thames towards Trafalgar Square, not in any particular rush, just enjoying the festivities and street life, along with a short detour to take a closer look at St Paul’s Cathedral too. It was about twenty minutes to mid-night when we arrived in the Square to find the party in full swing. As it was by now quite some time since we had eaten, and we’d just trogged three miles along the river, I grabbed Shane to lend me a hand carrying and bought everyone a burger from a stall to keep us going. We were all busy munching as the final few seconds of the year were counted down and then, dead on ‘Zero’, the sky to the south of us over the Thames suddenly erupted in a blaze of light and crackles as a curtain of wriggling silver fireworks heralded in the New Year. It looked pretty awesome, then the curtain effect was replaced by rockets and maroons, booming out over the city, filling the sky with flowery blooms of red, blue, gold and green. The firework display lasted for about ten minutes, there never being a moment when there wasn’t something going BANG! or POP! up in the sky and making the crowd Ooooh! and Aaaah!

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and hit my main speed-dial number.

“Hi Dad, Happy New Year! Is mom there?”

“Hi Craig, Happy New Year to you too. Yes, mom’s here. I’ll put her on in a second. You having a good time up in London?”

“Sure am, dad, we’re in Trafalgar Square, just watching the last of the fireworks. We went to the Tower too, Shane and everybody loved the Keys Ceremony. They say thanks for arranging it. Mr Langton said to say ‘Hi’ to you both too. He looks dead good in his uniform.”

“Hi Craig, Happy New Year!”

“Hi mom! Happy New Year to you too!”

“What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it, mom. We’ve been on the London Eye, then in a speedboat down the Thames, just like on the James Bond film, then on a murder tour of Whitechapel and hunted Jack the Ripper, then to the Tower of London. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. Got to go now, just wanted to wish you and dad a Happy New Year.”

“Okay, have a great night.”

“You too mom, I love you. Bye.”

* * *

It’s not far from Trafalgar Square to our hotel and we soon arrived back after strolling down Pall Mall once the fireworks were over.  The streets were still really crowded with partygoers and people out celebrating the arrival of the New Year. There was a party going on inside the hotel too and we joined in briefly for a small glass of champagne in the bar area before heading up to Mr and Mrs Masters’ suite and stepping out onto their roof terrace to take in the views over London. There were still a few sporadic fireworks going off here and there and the streets were busy in every direction.

Mrs Masters was thanking me, again, for organising the visit to the Tower of London when Mr Masters appeared with a tray of drinks: flutes of champagne for himself, Mrs Masters, Kyle and Lee, a glass of shandy for Shane and a small tumbler of… whisky for me! He smiled and passed the glass over. “I heard a rumour that your dad occasionally lets you have a small glass of whisky. I think today seems as good an occasion as any. Happy New Year, everyone.”

* * *

It was almost three o’clock by the time Shane and I were back in our room and climbing into our beds. Shane sat up for a moment, setting the alarm on his phone.

“What time have you set, Shane?”

“Four-fifty, Boots.”

“But we don’t need to be up that early. It’s New Year’s Day. Breakfast doesn’t start until eight, that’s when we said we’d meet everyone down in the restaurant. No, nine o’clock they said. We can have a lie in for a change. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t need to get up at dark o’clock to go swimming or something. Let’s enjoy it. Just one day a year.”

“I’ll be quiet, Boots. I won’t wake you up. You can sleep through. It’s just that when it’s five here, it’ll be midnight back in Pittsburgh. I want to phone Amelia and wish her a Happy New Year too.”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten that. Of course, you should phone her. Don’t worry about me, I’ll just stuff my head under the duvet. In fact I probably won’t even wake up when your phone bleeps, that champagne and whisky will deactivate my internal alarm clock and my ears too.”

Shane was laughing as he reached over, put the phone by the edge of his pillow and then lay down. I think it only took him thirty seconds to drop off to sleep. He’s not going to get away without being called “Shandy-pandy” all tomorrow though.

The last few years must have been a real maelstrom for Shane. All that trouble with his parents eventually coming to a head and him getting taken into care. That had to be a real low point. I still can’t really imagine what it must have been like for him. The months after that, in a Social Services home, couldn’t have been much better. I know he says it wasn’t a bad place, and it had to have been better than what he’d been going through for the few years before it, but, well, it’s not a real home is it?

It’s lucky there are some good people left in this world. Good people like Mr and Mrs Masters, who stepped in when he needed someone. They could have just turned away like other people did, after all, they’re only very distant relatives of his. They didn’t need to get involved, but they did even when closer relatives said he wasn’t worth the effort. How can anyone think Shane isn’t worth the effort? He’s not his parents. And I can’t stop thinking about what he said yesterday. He’s not thinking about the money and privileged lifestyle he’s suddenly found himself with. That doesn’t matter to him. I don’t think it ever will. It was just that simple comment he made. “I’ve got friends now, and somewhere safe to live.”

I’ve never had to think anything like that. My parents have always loved me. I’ve always been safe. I’ve always had friends. That’s more valuable than any big mansion, or private jet, or luxury yacht.

* * *

Beep beep.

Beep beep.

BEEP BEEP.

BEEP! BEEP!

Shane grimaced apologetically as he hunted frantically under his pillow and turned off the alarm on his phone.

“Sorry, Boots. I didn’t mean to wake you up too. The phone must have moved as I slept. I couldn’t find it when it started beeping. I set it to start off dead quiet, honest.”

I laughed. “I know, Shane, it’s fine. It did start off quiet.”

Shane sat up and looked at the phone, focussing on the display. “Just a few minutes to midnight back in Pittsburgh. Amelia will be up. She says they always stay up to welcome in the New Year.”

I sat up and then swung my legs out of bed, looking for my slippers.

“Where are you going, Boots?”

“I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be out of your way for a few minutes so you can call Amelia without me listening in.”

“There’s no need, Boots. I’m only going to wish her a Happy new Year, and her mom and dad too. You can stay.”

“There is a need, Shane. All last night’s beer and champagne for starters. If I stay here, I’ll wet the bed. We don’t want to start the New Year with that, do we? Amelia might object to you phoning her with me sharing your bed again. Not to mention what Kyle would say!”

Shane laughed as I climbed out of bed and wandered over to what I’d already christened the ‘Elginarium’ the moment he had shown me round the room on my first day here. Well, there’s nearly as much marble in the bathroom here as there is in the British Museum.

“Boots,” said Shane hesitantly.

“What, Shane?”

“Why don’t you call Nathan? I think he’d like it…”

* * *

The phone rang a few times, then connected to Nat’s voicemail.

“Hi Nat, it’s Craig. I guess you’re busy right now. Probably doing your performing seal act or whatever your parents have you do on New Year’s Eve to keep the votes pouring in. I thought I’d just give you a call to wish you a Happy New Year. So, Happy New Year, Nat. Hope it’s a good one for you. Wish Elizabeth and your mom and dad a Happy New Year from me too. Enjoy your night, Nat. Oh, and Nat, remember, swallow any fish they throw you, head-first.”

I lowered the phone for a moment. It would have been good to hear Nat’s voice, but at least he’ll get the voicemail later.  I raised the phone up again, was about to switch it off, then thought better of it.

“I love you, Nat.”

* * *