A Time to Blossom

The first supper

Nat smells different to Shane. Shane’s smell is sweet orange and ginger. I know it’s the shampoo and shower gel he uses, that I used too when he showed me where to buy it. I’ve run out of it now. Nat smells different. Kind of musky and strong. A bit like woodsmoke mixed in too. I know it must be the deodorant or shampoo or something that he uses, but it’s nice. Kind of masculine, makes you want to snuggle up to him.

Nat feels different. I liked snuggling up to Shane, even though he’s straight. I sort of wanted to hold him close, protect him, let him feel that everything was okay now. That he didn’t need to be scared any more. He was safe. Snuggling up to Nat is different. He’s the same size as me, nearly as muscled. There’s a kind of innate strength to him. Not just physical strength. He’s kind of powerful and dominating without even trying to be. He doesn’t need to be protected. He’s not scared of anyone.

I’ve only slept with two guys. Shane and Nat. Shane a few times because of the water fights and stuff in the dorm, and once when we shared a bed at the country club because the second bed in the room was too small for either of us. Sleeping with Shane was different. I had feelings for him, but he didn’t feel that way about me. He didn’t mind sharing a bed with me though, even when he figured out I was gay. Figured it out before I did.

Nat’s different. When I snuggle up to him, I feel like I’m embracing a tiger. Never quite certain what is going to happen next. That frisson of not knowing. You can never get complacent around Nat. We all said that about him back in the dorm at Allegheny. Being in bed with a guy, holding him close, is different to being with a girl. Girls are sort of soft and rounded and curvy. Guys aren’t. Shane, Nat, well, guys in general I suppose, are sort of harder, angular, more muscled. It’s different to snuggle up to them. I like it more.

It’s only six o’clock. The sun is just up, and it looks like it’s shaping up to be a good day. Good Friday. Nat fell asleep pretty quickly last night when we came to bed. After getting back from looking at York from the top of the hill, we spent an hour sitting with mom, dad, gran and grandad. Just talking. Talking about me and Nat and America mainly. Well, mainly Nat. He was telling them about Allegheny and what it is like living in America and being the Governor’s son. And what he wants to do in the future. Go to the Juilliard – that’s their big music and arts university – and then have his own jazz band. Maybe go into politics one day.

“You awake, Nat?”

“No. I can’t be awake, Boots. I’m dreaming I’m in bed with a hot muscley boxer with a cute English accent. So I must still be asleep. “

“Dipstick!”

“Now that sounds like I’m definitely awake. Pinned in place too. I’m sure I was trying to curl around you last night.”

“Yup, Natty, you did. I fought you back. Now I’ve got you.”

“Craig! Stop licking the back of my neck! I’m not a kitten.”

“You are Nat. Just a liddle puddy cat. Elizabeth said so. A caged tiger…”

* * *

“Knock, knock, boys, can I come in? I’ve brought a cup of tea and toast for you both. Keep you going until breakfast.”

“Er, yes, gran, just a second.”

Bloody Hell! I never heard gran coming upstairs!  Nat thinks it’s funny. He’s wide awake now.

“Come on in, gran.”

The door opened and Craig’s gran gently pushed it to one side with her elbow. She was carrying a large tray with a teapot, two cups, milk, sugar and a rack of toast on it.

“Good morning, Craig. Nathan. I hope you slept well. It wasn’t too cold up here, was it?”

“Err, no gran. It was fine.”

“That’s good. Now, I’ll just put this tray down over here, seeing as the bedside cabinet seems to have moved. Maybe the room is haunted after all.” She smiled and, placing the tray down. “Breakfast will be ready in about an hour, boys. Plenty of your favourite bacon and sausages, Craig. See you downstairs later.”

As the door closed, Craig and Nat looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Your gran didn’t bat an eyelid, Boots.”

“I think that stuff about it being cold up here was a hint, Nat. She didn’t exactly not notice we’re in bed together…  Now, pass me the tray. Bags I get the first slice of toast.”

* * *

“Hi, gran, we’ve brought the tray down for you. Morning, mom, dad. Grandad. Put the tray over there, Nat. By the kitchen sink.”

“Morning, Craig. Was the toast okay? It’s a new bread from down in the village shop. Made from locally grown and ground flour. A bit more expensive but better for the environment. Wholemeal of course.”

“It was fine, gran. We loved it, didn’t we, Nat?”

“It was excellent. And the marmalade too. We can get marmalade back home but it never seems as good as proper English marmalade.”

Gran smiled. “That’s because it’s home-made. I buy lots of oranges at the end of each year down in the market when they are going out of season and make marmalade by the gallon.”

Craig nodded. “That’s right, Nat. Gran’s marmalade is legendary. If I’m up here visiting, I get roped in to help make it. It’s like the witches’ scene from MacBeth. Big pans bubbling away and the whole house smelling of oranges. Everybody gets a jar for Christmas.”

Nat smiled. “I’ll have to put my name down on the waiting list. So long as the secret ingredient isn’t eye of newt and toe of frog.”

“Hey, mom, dad. Speaking of Christmas,” said Craig, “Look what Nat bought for me for Christmas. He gave it to me last night. A watch, just like I bought him. Well, not exactly like the one I bought him. This is a dress a watch and I bought him a dive watch.”

Craig unbuckled the leather strap and passed it over to his mom. “See mom, the face flips over and there’s a second dial on the back. One side is our time, and the other side is Nat’s time. Nat has one too. So we know what time it is wherever the other one is. Stops Nat calling me at stupid o’clock in the morning. Well, usually, if someone teaches him how to tell the time, it would. He’s not learned that bit yet…”

Craig’s mom examined the watch and passed it to Craig’s dad. There was just the hint of a raised eyebrow as he looked at it and passed it back to Craig but he said nothing other than, “Very nice, Craig, be sure to look after it.”

“Oh, I will dad, I won’t wear it when we go kayaking, that’s what my melted down tank is for, but this is definitely a nice dress watch.”

“Now,” said Craig’s gran as she placed two plates of full English breakfast in front of Craig and Nat, “What do you two boys have planned for today? It’s Good Friday remember, so York itself will be crowded with tourists, so a restful day here might be the best option.”

“Definitely, gran. We’ve got that sorted, I think. No, Nat, not ketchup. You have to have brown sauce on a full English. Anything else and you’re just a heathen. Isn’t he grandad?”

Grandad smiled. “Ketchup is fine, Nathan. If you don’t care about what others think of you, of course.”

“Brown sauce?” asked Nathan quizzically as he looked at the ketchup he’d been about to spread on his breakfast.

“Yes, this stuff,” said Craig, handing him the bottle. “It’s brown, hence the name.”

Nat took the bottle and read the label. “A subtle blend of molasses, spirit vinegar, dates, apples, tamarinds, mustard seeds, raisins, tomato and secret spices. Sounds good.”

“Just splatter it everywhere, Nat. No need to be subtle. Can’t have bacon and sausages without brown sauce.”

“Well, Craig can’t,” said his mom. “I swear he drinks it neat, straight from the bottle, when he thinks no-one is watching.”

“Mom! I do not…”

“What did you two plan for today?” asked Craig’s dad.

“If grandad will lend us a shotgun, I though me and Nathan could go for a walk round the farm. We’ll let Uncle Jack know first of course. Would that be okay, grandad?”

“Yes, that will be fine, if your dad is happy about it. I gather you’ve been invited to join your dad’s shooting syndicate as a full member. Skipped the waiting list, I hear…”

“Yes, grandad. I have my own shotgun licence now. We’re looking out for a nice old-fashioned side by side shotgun for me, aren’t we dad?”

Craig’s dad nodded. “Yes, Craig impressed the syndicate and they voted him in as a full member for next season. He’s going to cost me a fortune in fees.”

“Err, no, dad. They said they’d do us a special deal, remember, mainly because you are away so often.”

“Who buys the ammunition? And drives us there? And pays for your coats?”

Craig’s mum was quick to add, “You wouldn’t believe how fast he grows out of coats. He always needs a new shooting jacket every year. And it has to be tweed too: only the best will do for little Lord Fauntleroy.”

“He’s a growing lad, aren’t you Craig?” said his gran. “Almost as tall as you now, Mark. Getting to be as muscled too. You’re going to make someone a real nice catch one day soon, aren’t you Craig? Maybe already have…”

There was a moment’s awkward silence as Craig’s parents looked at each other and then at Craig’s grandparents. Nat and Craig looked at each other, then Craig smiled. “I did try running away, gran, but Nat still tracked me down and caught me…”

* * *

Craig’s grandad opened the gun safe’s door and paused a moment, looking at the half dozen or so shotguns inside it. “This one, I think. Nice and light if you’re going to be carrying it around for a few hours and as accurate as they come. “

“Oh, yes, definitely the Greener, grandad, that’s perfect for some rough shooting.”

Craig took the Greener shotgun and operated the lever below its single barrel, opening the Martini style action and checking it was unloaded. “Gun clear.” He turned and passed the gun to Nat. Nat looked into the action and repeated “Gun clear.”

Craig’s grandad glanced over to Craig’s dad, who nodded.

“Seems you both know how to handle a gun,” said Craig’s grandad.

“Yes, Sir,” said Nathan. “Never point a gun at anything you aren’t intending to shoot. Always assume it’s loaded, even if you know it’s not. Basically, Sir, guns are safe until you forget how dangerous they are.”

“That’s a good way of looking at it, Nathan. Have you used a shotgun before?”

“Yes, Sir, though only for clay pigeon shooting. I have a Perazzi back home.”

“A Perazzi? Now that’s quite a gun, or so I hear. Italian, I believe?”

“Nat’s a good shot, grandad, but his sister, Elizabeth, is even better. Kicked my ass when we had a competition at Nat’s house, didn’t she, Nat? I’m sure she’s secretly Lara Croft.”

Nat smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, Boots. Yes, she beat you, but it was a pretty close-run thing. Much closer than anyone else managed.”

Craig turned and smiled at his dad. “Beat by a girl, dad. What can I say? It’s an equal opportunities world these days.”

When everyone had finished laughing, Craig picked up the leather cartridge bag his grandad held out for him and looked inside. “Yes, that should keep us going. We’ll try and fill the freezer for you.”

“I’ve made some sandwiches for you, they’re by the door in the porch,” said Craig’s gran. “Some Cheddar and ham, and some roast beef with horse radish. Plenty for two growing boys.”

“There’s a couple of bottles of cider too,” said Craig’s grandad. “Just one small bottle each, mind. And make sure you keep within the boundaries of our farm, and old man Hexthorpe’s land too. He won’t mind you controlling his rabbits, we have an agreement between us. I’ve phoned him already and told him you’ll be around. And remember, be nice to any walkers or tourists, even if they are barmpots. Just send ‘em back t’ path.”

* * *

Nat sat down on a gritstone boulder at the edge of the field they had just crossed and looked down at the farm below them.

“Your family are cool, Boots. I like them. Your gran especially. Your dad seems to be coming round to me too. I was a bit pushy with him, using the need to get you and him to look at the legal papers to make you a junior partner in mine and Will’s company as a reason to talk to him about you, but he was pretty easy about inviting me over here. And what you said, about me catching you when your gran raised the subject, that didn’t get anybody too upset.”

Craig smiled. “Gran’s awesome, Nat. Nothing phases her.”

“Do your gran and grandad run this farm, Boots?”

“No, Nat. they both passed by on farming a long time ago. The farm belonged to my great grandad, my gran’s dad, then skipped a generation. Grandma decided she wanted to be an archaeologist, so the farm itself passed to her son, my uncle Jack. My mom’s brother. You’ll probably get to meet him too this week. He lives in another farmhouse just down the valley. He does all the farming. Gran met and married grandad, he’s a radiographer at York University. Apparently, she turned up at his lab with a clump of muddy soil from a dig and asked him to X-ray it so she could tell what was inside it. He fell for her on the spot.”

“What about your mom, Craig?”

“Oh, she decided my dad was more interesting than farming after she met him when the Royal Marines visited Whitby, a sea side town near here, to do a display. ‘Meet the public’ kind of thing. So, uncle Jack took on the farming, mom married dad and here we all are.”

“This is a strange shotgun, Boots. I’ve not seen one quite like it before,” said Nat as Craig opened the canvas shotgun case, slipped out the gun, showed it was empty and then passed it to him.

“It’s a Greener, Nat. William Wellington Greener. He invented it. It uses a Martini action – just pull the lever down to expose the breech so you can stuff a cartridge in – and it’s got just a single barrel. Amazingly strong, simple and easy to make. You remember that film I chose to watch back at Allegheny – “Zulu”? Those were Martina action rifles the redcoats used. Simple and robust. This shotgun’s the same. We’ll get plenty of rabbits if we are smart today. Use our best fieldcraft to sneak up on them. Come on, let’s go. Time to bag ourselves some wererabbits. There a sandy bank in the next field along, always has loads of rabbit holes in it and plenty of them out in the field munching whatever has been planted.”

Craig and Nat spent the next few minutes slowly creeping up the hill, bent almost double so that the boundary hedgerow shielded them from the view of any rabbits that might be beyond it. Several times Craig paused to scoop a handful of earth, ground it to a fine powder in his hands and then dropped it, watching which way the wind blew it.

“We always need to be downwind of them, Nat, so they don’t smell us coming. Keep low so they don’t see us. Keep quiet so they don’t hear us.”

With Nat following him, Craig crept to within twenty feet of the hedgerow, then dropped down and started to crawl forwards, indicating Nat should do the same. When they reached the base of the hawthorn hedge, Craig carefully lay down, brushed the grass at its base aside and scanned the field ahead of them before holding up four fingers.

“Four rabbits?” mouthed Nathan silently.

Craig nodded and slid back so Nat could move forward and cautiously peer through the small gap Craig had made in the grass. Nat looked, then slid back too and whispered quietly in Craig’s ear, “We’ve got a safe shot at all of them. Nearest first?”

Craig nodded and passed Nat a cartridge. Nat slowly operated the lever and dropped the cartridge into the action, then closed it quietly before sliding forward and poking the gun barrel through the gap in the grass. Craig slid up alongside him and lay poised at his side, a second cartridge in his hand, just inches from the breech of the shotgun. Nat understood immediately: the moment he fired, he would open the action and Craig would load the second cartridge. If they were slick, they might get a second shot before the remaining rabbits bolted to the safety of their burrows.

Nat took aim at the nearest rabbit, slowly exhaled and then, when his lungs were empty, gently squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

Nat quickly racked the action, vaguely aware of the empty case being flung out and spiralling over his shoulder as Craig leaned over and dropped the second cartridge into the breech. Nat snapped the action shut and rose quickly to his feet, looking over the hedge now and shouldering the gun as Craig rolled away and covered his ears. Three rabbits were bolting across the field, making for the safety of the holes tunnelled into the sandy bank. Nat selected the one closest to to him, swung the shotgun smartly onto it, followed it, moved the muzzle to point slightly ahead of the rabbit and then squeezed the trigger again.

Bang!

The rabbit seemed to disappear into a puff of dust and earth, emerged tumbling over and then dropped to the ground. Its legs gave an involuntary kick and then it lay quite still. As Craig rose to his feet and stepped forward, Nat, keeping the shotgun pointed towards the ground, ejected the empty cartridge and then, keeping the breech open, showed it to Craig and said “Gun clear.”

“Gun clear,” repeated Craig and then took the gun from him. Nat was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I got ‘em both, Boots! Two out of two.”

Craig smiled. “Just let me pop the gun back in its bag, Nat, then we’ll go and double check. I think you’re right though. You definitely got the second one, that was an ace shot. I couldn’t see the first one though.”

“Oh, I definitely got it, Boots.”

“Come on, Nat, let’s go check.”

The two of them moved a few yards down the hedgerow to where there was a small gap that they could just about push through, then set off at a quick pace across the field. Some twenty yards in, Nat pointed to a rabbit laying half hidden by grass just a couple of paces in front of him. “Told you, Boots, that’s the first one. And you can see the second one just over there.”

As Nat stood looking at the first rabbit, Craig paced out the distance to the second, then stooped and picked it up by the back legs. “Forty yards, Nat. That’s a pretty good shot at a running rabbit. The first one was easy, just sat there twenty yards away, but the second one, well, that’s a great shot. Don’t just stand gawping at that one, Natters, pick it up.”

“Oh, yeah, right, sorry Boots.” Nat bent down and picked up the rabbit. “My ears are ringing, Boots. I’d forgotten what it was like to shoot with no ear defenders on. We should have brought some.”

Craig nodded. “Why do you think I covered my ears and rolled away, Natty? Now, let’s teach you how to skin a rabbit. Follow me.”

Craig led the way to the corner of the field stood next to the waist high stump of an old tree. He placed the rabbit, cased shotgun and the cartridge bag at his feet before opening a small pocket knife he took from a leather pouch on his belt.

“This’ll make a perfect table, Nat. We don’t really need one, but it makes life easier. I’ll show you what to do to gut a rabbit with the first one, then you can do the second one. We won’t skin them here, we’ll leave the fur and skin on until we get back to the farm. That’ll keep the meat clean. Pass me a rabbit.”

Craig took the rabbit Nat passed to him and held it up by the forelegs.

“Face it away from you, Nat, then slowly squeeze down the stomach with your other hand. It might help if you trap the back legs against the tree stump like I’m doing. See?”

“Yeah, bud, but why?”

“I’m making sure it’s bladder’s empty, Nat.”

“You’re literally taking the piss out of a rabbit, Boots?”

“Yes, Nat. This one’s empty, must have gone before we arrived on the scene. Last thing you want to do when you stick a knife inside and gut it is to puncture the bladder and let all the urine out. That’ll taint the meat. So, empty it out before you start cutting. That’s why you face it away from you, obviously.”

“Yeah, obviously,” repeated Nat, trying hard not to laugh.

Craig placed the rabbit on its back on the tree stump serving as his table. “Next, just take two fingers and pinch the skin, down low near its back legs, and lift it up and pull it away from the belly. Then just use the tip of the knife and cut a slit an inch or two long. Just like that. Now, stick two fingers inside through the slit, pop the knife tip in too and then as you use your fingers to lift and stretch the skin away from the meat and guts, just zip the knife along all the way up to the neck. Basically, just unzip it all the way from its arse to the top of the ribcage.”

“It isn’t bleeding much, Boots. I thought there’d be a lot of blood.”

“It’s dead, Nat. No heart pumping away squirting blood out. And this is the one you shot first, when it was sitting up looking around. The shot looks to have hit it in the head, so probably no pellets in the body. We can check that later with a magnet, or gran’s metal detecting wand.”

“With what?”

“The cartridges grandad gave us are steel shot, not lead, Nat. He’s been using them for a while now. Better for the environment and easy enough to find with a powerful magnet and then pluck out of the carcase. There’s a metal detecting wand back at the farm, like the ones security staff have at airports. Gran uses it on her digs. Looking for stuff in the ground, Nat, it’s what archaeologists do.”

“I know that, Boots, I just didn’t figure out why you’d want one to use on a rabbit.”

“Well, now you know. Watch this next bit carefully, Nat. Now we’ve unzipped the belly, slip your hand in low down and get a good firm grip on the guts down near its arse. Then just lift and pull them out. Like this? See? Easy. Now, just use the tip of the knife to cut through the tissue where they connect up near the throat and they all fall out. Job’s just about done.”

Craig scooped out the rabbit’s guts and spread them over the tree stump, looking at them carefully. “See, there are the kidneys, the liver too. And the lungs. That’s the heart. Always look at those. These are fresh and clean, but if they were mottled and had lesions on them, it means the rabbit has a disease, so we’d throw it away. Sometimes the things like kidneys or lungs don’t come out easily, they kind of stick to the skin inside. That’s another sign to think twice before eating it. This one’s fine though. We can put it to one side now and take it back to the farm to finish skinning it. And we can just pop all those guts by the base of the tree stump. The crows or a passing fox will scoff them later. We can do that because there’s no lead in it. If we’d used lead shot, we’d bury them to stop scavengers eating them. People didn’t bother in the old days but now we don’t want to poison the wildlife.”

Nat nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Come on Nat, don’t put it off. Your turn now. Pick up the other rabbit. Remember what I showed you.”

Nat carefully, very carefully, lifted the rabbit and slowly squeezed it as Craig tried not to laugh.

“That’s fine, cityboy. Now the knife. Try not to cut the rabbit’s bladder or guts when you slice it open, you’ve got to stick your fingers in the belly so you don’t want piss and shit swilling around inside it.”

“You’ve got such a delicate turn of phrase, Boots…”

“Pee and poo then if you prefer. Anyway, quit stalling, Nat, and get on with the job. At least you’ve got plenty to work with. It’s much harder gutting a rat. Always make sure if you do get poor, get poor where’s there plenty of rabbits. Rats are no fun.”

“I wouldn’t call being up to my wrists in rabbit guts fun either, Boots.”

“Just scoop and spread, Nat. Take a good look at the innards. Nice and clean?”

“Looks okay to me, but I’m not an expert pathologist. Do you reckon we should call Quincy?”

“Is he still live and kikkin’, Nat? I’ve only ever seen him on the Golden Oldies channel. Yes, that’ll do. Just plop the guts down on the floor and pick up your rabbit. We’ll eat our sandwiches and then start heading back to the farm.”

“My hands are covered in blood, Boots.”

“At least it’s only blood, Nat. Could have been far worse. Anyway, I’ve got some wet wipes in the bag.”

* * *

“Hi, gran. We’re back! Where is everyone?”

“Hello, Craig. You’ve been out longer than expected. We thought you’d be back just after lunch.”

“We lost track of time, gran. It’s a beautiful day out there so we walked all around the farm, and then Uncle Jack’s farm too. Showing Nat round.”

Nat smiled. “Thank you for the sandwiches. We ate them for lunch, sat by a little river on the edge of valley where Craig says he sometimes goes fishing for trout.”

“We got a couple of rabbits too. Well, Nat got them. Two great shots. I’ve hung them up in the porch for a moment until the gun’s been put away, then I’ll show Nat how to skin and butcher them. Have you still got that cleaver in the kitchen drawer?”

“You’ll have to wait for your grandad to get back before you can lock the gun away. Just put it in the cupboard over there for now.”

“Where is he, gran? And mom and dad?”

“They all took a walk down to the village, via your uncle jack’s place. They plan on having dinner down at the pub there. I stayed here to do some paperwork for an event I have tomorrow, a ‘Meet the archaeologists’ thing in York at the visitor centre about the latest dig I’m involved with. I was going to ask if you and Nathan would like to come along to that tomorrow. I’ve finished the paperwork now so I can drive us all down to the village to catch up with the others for dinner.”

Craig thought for a moment, clearly torn between several different courses of action. “I’d like to go to the pub with you all for dinner, gran. But I’ve also told Nat I’d teach him how to cook rabbits. I was thinking I could do that tonight.”

“Well,” said his gran, “That option’s there. You’ll have plenty of other opportunities for a family meal with us all this coming week so if you want to stay here and cook for yourselves, have a nice quiet meal and evening together, you are welcome to do that. I know I can trust you not to burn the kitchen down.”

Nat smiled.” I don’t know if I trust him not to give me food poisoning.”

Craig’s gran supressed a smile and glared at Nat. “Craig’s a very good cook. I taught him, didn’t I Craig?”

“That’s right, Gran. I was thinking of doing pan fried rabbit with onions and rice. Maye a white wine and cream sauce. If you’ll let me use the last drops of that bottle of white wine of course.”

“Yes, you could do that, though there isn’t much wine left. You could open a bottle of cider though instead and use that, either with cream or, perhaps better still, a little cheese, to make the sauce.”

Craig nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, those would go well together Gran. Nat, you prepared to risk it? Or do you want to go down to the pub and eat out?”

Nat smiled. “I’ll risk it. If your gran says you can cook, that’s good enough for me. I won’t be much use to you though. I can’t cook. Apart from barbeques. I’m ace at barbeques.”

“Yes,” smiled Craig’s gran. “Most men think they are…”

* * *

“Right, Nat,” said Craig as his gran’s car disappeared down the hill towards the village, “Get your hands washed again and then we’ll crack on with dinner. First off, I’ll show you how to skin and butcher the two rabbits we shot. Get a move on.”

Nat smiled as he headed towards the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “Seems somebody made you king again, Boots.”

“In the kitchen, the head chef is King, Nat. Now, go bring me those two rabbits from the porch while I browse around the pantry to see what Gran’s got in stock.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Majesty, Nat. Your Majesty. You refer to princes and princesses as ‘Your Royal Highness’. Sovereigns are a cut above that. They’re Majestic. Probably best I don’t take you to visit the Tower of London just yet. They might lock you up.”

By the time Nat had dried his hands and brought the two rabbits into the kitchen, Craig had placed a large wooden chopping block on the working table and was busy inspecting a couple of knives and a cleaver.

“This knife will do, Nat. Watch carefully as I skin the first one. You’ll do the second.”

Nat nodded and looked on intently.

“First off, we need to get rid of the bits we don’t need. There’s no meat worth bothering about on a rabbit’s lower limbs and head, so we’ll chop those off. Just lay the rabbit flat on the board and then get the cleaver. Now, just swing it down sharply, like so, onto the neck…”

*Thump*

“And the head’s off. Same for the four feet. Take aim at the knee of each leg and repeat.”

*Thump*

“If you haven’t got a kitchen and a cleaver, you can actually do that out in the field. Like as if we were in a survival situation. You just place your knife in contact with the place you want to chop, then smack the back of the blade with a hefty lump of wood, like a big branch. It’ll chop straight through and disarticulate the bones nearly as well as a cleaver. I bet Travis knows how to do it.”

Craig swept up the rabbit paws and head in his hands and dropped them into the waste bin.

“Now, pick up the sharp knife and flip the rabbit over onto its back, spreading it apart where we gutted it so you can see inside. Just slide the point of the knife inside against the meat and that membrane there where it’s attached to the skin? See?”

Nat peered over and nodded.

“Then just gently ease the blade back and forwards, separating the skin from the meat and rib cage. It comes away quite easy. Some people pour a little boiling water into the cavity to help out but I don’t usually bother. Now, put the knife down and take hold of the skin. Just peel it back and away from the meat. You can usually just pop the legs up and through the skin too, like taking a glove off.”

“It looks easy enough, Boots.”

“There we are, one skinned rabbit,” said Craig as, with a flourish, he pulled the last leg through the skin and placed the prepared rabbit to one side. We’ll keep the skins, Nat. Gran sometimes uses them for her practical archaeology lectures. Shows people how to tan skins and make fur clothes. She might even be doing that tomorrow at the event she was talking about. We should go to it.”

“I’d like that, Boots.”

“Final bit of butchery now, Nat. We’ll quarter the rabbits, make them easier to cook and handle, Basically, just grab the cleaver again, aim just below the rib cage and cut the rabbit in half.”

*Thump*

“Now, take the lower half, spread the legs sideways and chop straight down the backbone to give two separate legs. Do the same for the upper half, so we end up with a leg and quarter of the body attached to each.”

*Thump*

*Thump*

“See? Easy-peasy. Your turn next. Grab the other rabbit.”

As Craig placed the four quarters of the rabbit he had just skinned and butchered on a piece of grease-proof paper, Nat picked up the second rabbit and the cleaver, then stood looking at the rabbit as it lay on the chopping block.

“What’s up, Nat?” asked Craig as he waved his gran’s metal detecting wand over the rabbit quarters in front of him.

“What do I do first, Craig?” asked Nat. “I was concentrating so hard that I’ve forgotten.”

Craig laughed. “Chop the head and feet off, Nat. One single, good, well aimed blow for each.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

“Not bad, Nat. Try to keep the cleaver blade upright as you bring it down, but otherwise, not bad. Now, pick up the knife and flip the rabbit over, start to separate the skin from the meat.”

For the next few minutes Craig busied himself with slicing some mushrooms and onions he had found in the pantry, trying hard not to laugh or criticise as he watched Nat struggling with the rabbit.

“Need a hand, Nat?”

“No, I’m good, Craig, I’ve got this.”

“You did shoot that one, didn’t you, Nat?”

Nat looked over at him, puzzled. “You know I did, Craig. You saw me.”

“Just checking, Nat,” laughed Craig. “I just thought that as it seems to be fighting back so much maybe you hadn’t killed it first.”

Nat laughed too, breaking the tension. “You made it look so easy, Craig. It isn’t.”

“Just plenty of practice, Nat. Dad taught me when I was about six or seven. Still, I’ll do the vegetables, they put up even more of a fight than rabbits do when you try and peel them. Potatoes can be especially vicious…”

Once the rabbits were both quartered, Craig switched on the gas hob and placed a big iron skillet on it to get hot. After a minute or two he picked up a butter dish, took the lid off, scooped out a pat of butter and dropped it in the pan. It immediately began to melt and sizzle madly. As the butter liquified, Craig sprinkled some salt and pepper on the rabbit pieces, then picked up a small glazing brush and basted each piece with a little mustard. Nat watched, enthralled.

“Now the pan is hot and we have the base of it sizzling with butter, we’re going to sear the rabbit pieces. Just chuck them in the pan as I hold it.”

Nat dropped the pieces of rabbit in the iron pan and stepped back smartly as they began to spit.

“That’s good, Nat, lovely and hot. I’ll flip them over and do the other side in about two minutes’ time. What we’re doing is sealing in the juices to keep them tender. Rabbit isn’t very fatty so what little fat there is, we need to keep trapped in the meat to help cook and flavour it. Pass me that spatula.”

As the rabbit chunks began to turn golden brown, Craig flipped them over and seared the back of each. After another couple of minutes he turned the heat down a little and looked satisfied.

“That’s the first bit done, Nat. Each piece is now its own little capsule of meaty goodness. Time to start on the rest. Pass me that bowl of chopped mushrooms and onions.”

Craig added the mushrooms and onions, stirred them well with the rabbit juices and sizzling butter, then left them for a couple of minutes to heat up.

“Pass me that bottle of cider and the cream, Nat. Thanks. Now put that pan of water on the burner and bring it to the boil. You can boil water, can’t you, Nat?”

Nat smiled. “I can just about manage that, Boots.”

Once the onions and mushrooms began to glaze, Craig reached for the cider and poured a healthy portion into the pan, then added several large spoonfuls of cream and stirred them in before turning the heat down even more.

“That’s most of the work done now, Nat. We just let it simmer and reduce down for twenty to thirty minutes or so. I’ll add a few herbs in a moment, probably tarragon if Gran has some, but not too much, we don’t want to spoil the delicate flavours. Then, about five minutes before its ready, I’ll turn off the heat, add another spoonful of cream and leave it to stand as the last of the cream gets absorbed into the mix.”

“It’s smelling pretty awesome already, Craig,” said Nat.

“You just concentrate on boiling your water, Nat, then when it’s boiled, decide if you want pasta or rice to accompany the rabbit. Like I said, we’ll give spuds a miss until you’ve done the advanced peeling course.”

* * *

As the old clock on the stairs chimed seven, Craig served the rabbit pieces onto a bed of rice, drizzled each with the cider and cream sauce and carried the two plates to the dining room table where Nat was pouring them each a glass of cider from the opened bottle.

“That smells delicious, Craig,” said Nat as he sat down and looked at the pate before him. “I know you said you could cook, but I didn’t think you meant like this.”

“I learned most from Gran. Mom isn’t really into cooking, she prefers to do stuff from frozen or even tins, but I like doing it the old fashioned way. It takes longer, but it’s worth it.”

“It certainly is,” said Nat as he tasted his first forkful of rabbit and rice. “This is amazing. Just like Milly makes, and she has a diploma from a college in Paris.”

Craig smiled as he took a sip of cider. “Tell Milly I’ll swap her this recipe for her recipe for proper baked beans. Those were really awesome.”

* * *

“That’s the dishes finished, Craig. I did them when you went up to the bedroom to change into your shoes.”

“You didn’t need to, Nat. I would have helped.”

“I wanted to, Craig. You did the cooking, so I did the washing up. And I’ve poured us both the rest of that bottle of cider. We’ve got half a glass each.”

Craig picked up his glass and smiled. “Whilst we were out, Gran’s made a change in the bedroom. She’s taken off the single sheets and duvet and replaced them with doubles. So we won’t get all tangled up in them tonight.”

Nat smirked. “Do you think she’ll tell your mom and dad?”

Craig smiled. “I expect they’re talking about us right now over their dinner. It’s easier when we’re not there.”

Nat smiled, then looked across the room. “Do you think your grandparents would mind if I had a play on that piano, Craig?”

“Not at all, they’d approve. Both gran and grandad can play. Mom, too. I think, secretly, she likes that I have started to play bugle and drums.”

Nat picked up his glass of cider and strolled over to the baby grand in the corner of the room, lifted the lid and sat down. He paused for a moment, then tapped on a few odd keys.

“That’s not much of a tune, Nat.”

“I’m just checking it’s in tune, Philistine.”

“Oh, right, crack on Paderewski…”

Nat ignored the comment and ran his fingers lightly up and down the keyboard, then began to play.

Craig sat spellbound as the notes flowed from Nathan’s fingers, filled the room, drifted out through the open window into the night beyond. He sat, rapt, for what seemed like an eternity yet no time at all as Nat’s hands slid effortlessly across the keys. The tune was alternately slow and melancholic, then dramatic and controlling.

After a time, Nat let the final notes die away and then turned to Craig, seeking comment.

“Wow. What was that?”

“A selection from Chopin’s Nocturnes,” came Craig’s gran’s voice from the doorway. “Finishing with Opus 27, no 1, in C Minor, but all with a decidedly unorthodox jazz undertone. Very well done too, Craig. Your friend has talent.”

Craig’s head span round. “Sorry Gran, I didn’t hear you come back.”

Craig’s gran smiled as the rest of the family crowded in to the room behind her. “It was such a nice evening we decided to walk back rather than drive, we can pick up the car tomorrow morning. As we came across the yard we heard the piano playing. We’ve been standing outside on the patio for a few minutes listening so we didn’t disturb you.  Nathan, that was very well played, and such a unique interpretation.”

Nathan smiled. “Thank you. I like classical pieces, but my heart is really into jazz and blues. My mom taught me to play, and I have lessons on the cello at college. I try to combine classical and jazz. I hope one day to go to the Juilliard School in New York.”

“With skill like that,” said Craig’s mom, “It would be a waste of talent not to. Maybe you can give Craig a few tips too. He’s learning to pay the bugle.”

“It smells like someone cooked a pretty good meal here too,” said Craig’s grandad. “Do we have a pile of dishes and pans to wash?”

Craig laughed. “No, grandad, Nat even washed the dishes too. He does have some uses after all. Besides playing the piano. Could do with some lessons on skinning and gutting though, dad.”

There was a ripple of laughter as Craig’s family moved into the dining room and his grandad wandered over to the drinks cabinet. “Anyone for a drop of whisky, or a glass of wine before bed? Craig, come and help me pour.”

“Right you are, grandad. Mom, Gran, wine?”

Nat got up from the piano and went to sit alongside Craig’s mum on the old leather sofa. “Craig cooked us an amazing meal tonight from two rabbits we shot this morning. He’ll make somebody a great wife.”

Craig’s mum smiled and replied. “I think you’ll find that Craig inherited his talents for cooking from my mum, not from me. That particular skill skipped a generation. If it can’t be microwaved then I’m not good for it. Craig, on the other hand, loves to cook.”

Craig paused from pouring from a fresh bottle of white wine. “Wife? Me? Not on your Nelly, Nat.”

Nat glanced conspiratorially at Craig’s dad. “Yes, Boots. Wife. Stands to reason. I hunted and shot the rabbits. You cooked them. So, me, hunter; you, cooker. Makes you the wife.”

“Gran, mum, look away. I think I need to batter a point into Natters.”

Craig’s gran smiled at Nat and Craig. “Hmm, maybe I should go upstairs and turn that double bed back into two singles…”