Family Portrait, Part III - Snow White (Various Pairings)
Title: Snow White (Family Portrait, Part III)
Pairing(s): Gary Neville/Ryan Giggs, Nemanja Vidic/Rio Ferdinand
Rating: G
Warning(s): Snow - in April; although the snow is real this is AU; people behaving silly.
Disclaimer: This is not real, I do not make…you know all this, don’t you.
Summary: After the day that lay behind them, Ryan just wasn’t surprised at all.
Author’s Notes: Funny thing, this global warning, innit?
For the first-ever (and thought-to-be-last) episode, click here, and here if you feel brave enough for the one with the morning grouches.
Cross-posted to
unitedslash ; sorry if you see this more than once.
The water stood knee-high in the utility room; slowly, but steadily and surely, like the tide on the beaches of Whitby or Scarborough, the level rose, and hadn’t it been for the two steps up into the corridor that led to the kitchen, Ryan thought in a desperate attempt to relieve the tense situation with a bit of humour, he would have had to get the red rubber boat out to prepare dinner tonight.
“Fuck,” he muttered and watched Wayne’s new pair of trainers - and expensive they had been, too - bobbing on the dark surface of the water, which had by now mixed with the dirt of years from under the cupboards. He would definitely get into that spring cleaning thing now, Ryan thought - although it was a bit late, he added warily and watched a helpless spider struggling by.
On top of everything, it was a Sunday morning, and Gary, who would usually refuse to move in the slightest when Ryan asked him to take the children for a Sunday walk, remark that they said it would rain later in the afternoon and disappear behind his newspaper again with the exasperated rustle of pages, had chosen just this day to ‘go out and see an old mate’ of his.
Just bloody fantastic. Gary had the car, the knowledge on where to reach a bloody plumber on a Sunday and all the peace one could possibly get on a fine Sunday, while Ryan was stuck with burst pipes, a bunch of over-excited and under-occupied boys and a nosy toddler who would touch and taste about anything, even if it was swimming in a mucky broth and kicked all its eight legs to get out of its misery. Then, Ryan remembered something Gary had, and rushed to get the phone. It took him a while to find the faded, once yellow post-it with Gary’s mobile phone number, but finally, he listened to the strangely soothing steady beep that told him that Gary was out there somewhere, right now, fumbling for his phone in the pockets of his jeans to the tune of his prehistoric Nokia ringtone.
“Hello, this is -”
“Gary, you don’t have to shout, you know. It gets you just fine if you speak normally.”
“I know! But that wouldn’t frighten those prank-callin’ idiots off, now would it?”
“It wouldn’t frighten all the people who seriously have to tell you something off either.”
“Doesn’t matter until I’ve figured out how to get to t’messages anyhow.”
With a sense of horror, Ryan listened to himself and Gary continuing the conversation while the mailbox was still recording, until finally - “Bloody ‘ell! ‘ow do you turn this off?”
There was the beep, but Ryan didn’t bother. He pressed the red button, threw a worried glance into the utility room (just in time to watch as if in slow-motion how Ole’s canvas bag wobbled insecurely on the edge of the work top, then fell and landed with an ugly splashing sound, spattering droplets of dirty brown water on the freshly washed white washing nearby) and made a decision.
After a second dig in the stack next to the telephone for another, newer yellow post-it, he dialled the number on the little piece of paper, held the receiver to his ear and - hoped. And finally, after he had uttered several silent prayers, making all kinds of promises to the man up there or anyone who listened to that sort of thing, Nemanja answered the telephone.
“’lo?”
“Nem, it’s me!” Ryan almost shouted into the receiver. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so glad to hear his oldest son’s sleepy morning mumbling that was so annoyingly hard to understand.
“’sup, Dad? Somethin’ happened?”
“Listen, Nem, the washing machine just broke this morning, and I can’t reach Gary to - hang on a second - ” helplessly, Ryan watched as the water turned a stack of old newspapers into a mushy, grey lump (he vaguely remembered reading ‘emergency services’ when he checked the TV programme yesterday) “- you still got yesterday’s newspaper?”
“You alright, Dad?” Nemanja, more alert now, sounded slightly concerned.
“For the emergency services!”
“Hang on, I’ll check.” A rustle told Ryan that his son had put the phone down, and he distantly could hear what sounded like bare feet on tiles. He’d get a cold, Ryan thought absently, while watching a wet towel bravely swimming on the surface of the floods that now firmly had the utility room in their grasp, before it sank quite unceremoniously.
“Sorry, Dad, ‘s gone.”
“Holy mother of…does your boyfriend know anyone?”
“Dad, I can’t…”
”…leave me and the washing machine to ourselves! We have washed your clothes for years!” Ryan knew there probably was an insane edge in his voice right now, but he could feel cold panic rising up in his chest as he thought of the washing machine that had to be replaced - they’d have to clear out the utility room, as well, possibly re-paint the walls - he swallowed, and didn’t dare to think of either the bill or Gary’s face when he came home. Peaceful Sundays, his a…untie’s dog.
“I’ll ask, don’t hang up.”
This time, Nemanja just covered the receiver with his hand, but he was either covering the wrong bit, like he’d done when he was first shown how to do it, all those years ago, or was doing it rather sloppily, because Ryan, by now drumming his fingers nervously on the edge of the table, could hear every single word.
“’s Dad, you know someone who works as a plumber?”
“Nah, but we still got the overall from yesterday -”
“- Rio -“
“- must have gone under the bed somewhere while you were fixin’ me up -”
“…Rio...”
“- so your old man’s into role play? Way to go, man!”
“For heaven’s….a real plumber! The fucking washing machine is broke, and will you fucking stop shouting? He’s right there at the other end of the line!” Nemanja’s hushed voice reached Ryan’s ears.
“Oh. Nah, sorry. No plumbers - you want breakfast?”
“Yeah, I’ll just be a second.”
“Okay.” And with something that sounded like the wet towel in the utility room smacking against the now to-be-painted wall (Ryan supposed it was a sloppy kiss though), Rio sauntered off, presumably into the kitchen, while Nemanja brought the receiver to his ear again.
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll call Grandad,” Ryan said, still digesting the unwanted piece of information he’d received just now, “thanks anyway, Nem.”
“No problem,” Nemanja replied, “hey, breakfast’s ready, talk to you later, kay?”
“Talk to you later, son,” Ryan said, and after a short, awkward pause, he hung up.
Blast.
The carpet on the steps down to the utility room was thoroughly soaked when Ryan dialled another number, from memory this time, worriedly eyeing the corridor’s laminate floor, scanning for treacherous wet spots like a rabbit for predators before entering the clearing.
Cathy seemed to have waited next to the phone.
“Hello, Ryan!” she warbled and he cringed, holding the receiver away from his ear. “How are you, how’s Gary? The little ones keeping you busy?”
Usually, she would continue in this fashion until Ryan handed the receiver over to the children, who would then glare at him and disappear into the living room, from where the occasional ‘yeah’, ‘of course, nana’ and ‘I’ll pass you on to him, wait’ would be the only pieces of conversation to be heard, before the child in charge of the telephone came dashing out of the living room, hollering the name of their nana’s next victim upstairs and racing back to whatever it had been doing before; today, though, for the first time, Cathy was cut off in the middle of a meticulous report of her last bridge meeting.
“Cathy, I need your help.”
Silence on the other end; a true Catholic woman with a heart bigger than her bosom, which was quite an achievement, Cathy prepared to race to the rescue.
“But of course - what is it, darling?”
“The washing machine has broke and…” He didn’t get any further.
“Oh, why don’t you say that straight away - just wait a second, love, I get Alex to pick the kids up - if he can be bothered to get changed, that is, has been out in the muck with Carlos all morning!” She huffed in an indignant way that made it perfectly clear to Ryan that Grandpa was sitting at the kitchen table next to her, perfectly able to hear everything she said, and continued: “Don’t worry, Ryan, we’ll take them till tonight and you and Gary have enough time to limit the damage, what do you say?”
For a while, Ryan said nothing. Watching a formerly white table tennis ball amble along on the water, he thought that it really was the best solution to have the children out of the way for the day, so he could try to save whatever was left to save (probably not much)…
“Are you still there, dear?”
“I am - I am, Cathy, are you really sure you can…”
“Oh, don’t you worry, I still remember everything you told me when we took them last time - and I’ve been practising changing nappies on Theresa’s little girl, you do get out of practice after all those years!”
And then she laughed, loud and hearty, and Ryan was suddenly convinced that everything would be okay, that Cathy and Alexander would have the children for the day and that the utility room needed to be done anyway, so now Gary wouldn’t have an excuse to lay it off any longer…
Half an hour later, Grandpa pulled into the driveway, and in the buzz that ensued when he announced in front of the boys that Cathy was making her special cake right now, Ryan managed to pull Wayne away from the lake that had taken the place of their utility room (“but Dad, it really is drowning, look!”), put Ole in charge of Noa, race upstairs to coax Alan out of his room and convince Wayne, in a team effort with Grandpa, that he really didn’t need to take all his Lego because there would be plenty of other things to do at Grandpa’s house.
The car had barely disappeared around the corner when Gary returned; and maybe he really didn’t take the news as badly as Ryan had expected, or Cathy’s laughter still worked its magic and Ryan still thought that it could be worse - in any case, it was hard work to get the cupboards out of the utility room and into the garden, but they were spending a Sunday together without the kids around, although Ryan couldn’t help behaving like one and gave Gary a little nudge when he was just taking his wellies off, leaning against the corridor wall. Gary’s stare as he stood motionless in the mucky broth, trouser legs slowly soaking up the water, was priceless, and Ryan couldn’t even get a yard away when Gary had finally got out to chase after him because his sides were hurting so badly from all that laughter.
“Bloody ‘ell, now look at that,” Gary panted when they lay exhausted on the sofa a minute later, socks dripping on the radiator.
“What is it?” Ryan, who had just been drifting off with his head rested against his partner’s shoulder, sat up and looked out of the window. Outside, snow flakes were swirling around in a strong wind, moved left, moved right, and then floated to the ground where they settled and soon formed a thick, white blanket of snow that covered the entire garden and the cupboards they had saved from the utility room.
Snow in April - after the day that lay behind them, Ryan just wasn’t surprised at all.
***
Several miles away, at the Fergusons’ house, it was Wayne who first noticed the white landscape outside. His excited yell gave Isis, the cat, such a fright that it leapt out of the armchair it had been sleeping in, bolted past Noa, who was peacefully building a tower with a couple of buildings bricks on the floor, to get to the door, knocked over the tower and almost reached light speed when Noa started wailing like a burglar alarm.
“What on -” Cathy’s large figure appeared in the doorframe, but before she could even think of something else to say, Wayne dashed past her, almost knocking her over, and raced into the kitchen where Paul and Ole were playing cards with Grandpa and Carlos.
“Last one outside is a rotten egg!”
He raced on, into the living room, where Alan was lying sprawled out on the couch, watching Corrie, shouting his message and bounced from one leg to the other whilst taking a handful of sweets out of a bowl on the side. The little things rained down on Alan, who was up in an instant and raced after the annoying little git.
“What the…come ‘ere, you!”
But Wayne was several years younger and already swashbuckling upstairs to drag Owen and Cris out of their dad’s old room, where they had been rummaging around in the drawers in the hope to discover any hidden secrets. In any other situation, Wayne would have joined them and Cathy would never have been able to tidy it up before her son noticed; but these were exceptional circumstances and as soon as Wayne had pointed this out, the three boys raced back downstairs.
“Must be the elephants are back in the house!” Grandpa said, and laid down his cards. “Like with your dad and Uncle Roy, that is - only Cathy would have to fix up one of them after!”
He chuckled to himself and got up; however, he quickly sat back down when the door into the kitchen opened with a bang, three shadows whizzed through (“Hi -bye!”) and the door leading to the hall on the other side of the kitchen slammed shut behind the boys.
“Lads - bloody ‘ell,” he said, shaking his head.
A couple of minutes later, the three were joined by Paul, Ole and Alan (who had finally been persuaded to come outside, even though it was just because Paul had nicked his phone and run out to Ole with it). His screams mingled with Noa’s whining when she was brought outside by Cathy and, for the first time in her life, saw the world covered in snow; but she was to learn hat although it looked like a fluffy blanket, snow wasn’t nearly as warm, and after a few tentative steps, another attempt to pick up these glittering crystals and more cold hands, Cathy saw that this wasn’t the right thing just yet, and carried the little girl back inside, where Noa stood at the kitchen window and wailed on because she wanted to join the others outside.
Meanwhile, Owen was lying flat on his back in the snow, moving his arms and legs to create two snow angels; and when he got up, he looked down on them and wondered if they came to life at night and flew away as real angels. He was just making a mental note to himself to ask Daddy about this when he got home, when a snowball flew narrowly past his left ear, and it didn’t take long before he was involved in the wildest snowball fight the Fergusons’ garden had ever seen.
Ole, Paul and Alan made up one side, with Wayne, Cris and Owen on the other; and while Alan and Owen were quickly assigned to the task of preparing new munitions for their respective party, the snowballs flew over their heads, followed by either a triumphant yell from the opposite team or sneers from their own, depending on whether the oncoming snowball had hit its target or not.
While the war was waging, Carlos trundled past with his wheelbarrow full of tools and logs for a warm fire in the fireplace later on, whistling a ditty that was ever so slightly out of tune; the boys way too occupied in their fight to notice. A snowball hit the kitchen window, and Cathy’s round face appeared for a while, shouting something - or the other, the boys could not listen as the war was now getting into the critical stage where their arms got tired and their hands cold. Giving up, however, was not an option, and so they continued until Paul and Ole, having been forced to back down until they could move any further because Carlos’ shed was in the way, launched one last, desperate attack.
They watched tensely, making more snowballs in case the little ones were up to something, but no snowballs came. One minute passed, two, and nothing happened. Finally, Paul thought that enough was enough, and punched the empty air with his fist.
“Win!” he shouted triumphantly - and just then, a snowball came flying, slowly cut through the air, but seemed to miss its aim completely; it sailed over Paul’s head, and hit the roof of the shed with the rich sound of victory.
Not for Paul’s team, however.
The little ones’ laughter howled through the garden as the snow from the shed’s roof rained down on Paul in a little avalanche, leaving nothing but a big pile of snow with a little crop of ginger hair on top.
Twenty minutes later, they were assembled in the living room, trying to get as close to the warming fire as possible, they clutched their mugs of steaming hot chocolate and munched away on Nana’s special cake.
“That was ace,” Ole announced and stroked Isis, who had finally scraped its guts together and left the safe place under the cupboard; and for once, none of the others, not even Paul, could find anything to say about that. They disagreed about who had finally won the snowball fight, though, and spent the rest of the day battling it out with several challenges while waiting for their parents to pick them up; Wayne narrowly won the round called ‘Annoying Alan’ by chucking cake crumbs into his brother’s sweater, but Paul and Ole won on Trivial Pursuit and managed to make Grandpa laugh in just under two minutes; they imagined victory to be theirs until Cristiano scored a wonder goal in table football; and then things went horribly wrong when the ball miraculously changed directions in mid-air (or so they tried to explain it afterwards) and landed in Grandma’s mashed potatoes with an audible splash.
After that, Cathy firmly declared that the competition to be over and that it really should be a draw, rewarding everyone with a bag of crisps and allowing them to watch the Cartoon Network after tea until Ryan and Gary finally arrived.
Usually, journeys by car were a loud affair, with Game Boys beeping and headphones buzzing and general shouting and anarchy until someone got hurt or Gary got angry; this time, however, Ryan turned around several times on the way home, just to check if everyone was still there. Exhausted after a long day at their grandparents, the kids had fallen asleep the very moment they’d got into the car.
Pairing(s): Gary Neville/Ryan Giggs, Nemanja Vidic/Rio Ferdinand
Rating: G
Warning(s): Snow - in April; although the snow is real this is AU; people behaving silly.
Disclaimer: This is not real, I do not make…you know all this, don’t you.
Summary: After the day that lay behind them, Ryan just wasn’t surprised at all.
Author’s Notes: Funny thing, this global warning, innit?
For the first-ever (and thought-to-be-last) episode, click here, and here if you feel brave enough for the one with the morning grouches.
Cross-posted to
unitedslash ; sorry if you see this more than once.
The water stood knee-high in the utility room; slowly, but steadily and surely, like the tide on the beaches of Whitby or Scarborough, the level rose, and hadn’t it been for the two steps up into the corridor that led to the kitchen, Ryan thought in a desperate attempt to relieve the tense situation with a bit of humour, he would have had to get the red rubber boat out to prepare dinner tonight.
“Fuck,” he muttered and watched Wayne’s new pair of trainers - and expensive they had been, too - bobbing on the dark surface of the water, which had by now mixed with the dirt of years from under the cupboards. He would definitely get into that spring cleaning thing now, Ryan thought - although it was a bit late, he added warily and watched a helpless spider struggling by.
On top of everything, it was a Sunday morning, and Gary, who would usually refuse to move in the slightest when Ryan asked him to take the children for a Sunday walk, remark that they said it would rain later in the afternoon and disappear behind his newspaper again with the exasperated rustle of pages, had chosen just this day to ‘go out and see an old mate’ of his.
Just bloody fantastic. Gary had the car, the knowledge on where to reach a bloody plumber on a Sunday and all the peace one could possibly get on a fine Sunday, while Ryan was stuck with burst pipes, a bunch of over-excited and under-occupied boys and a nosy toddler who would touch and taste about anything, even if it was swimming in a mucky broth and kicked all its eight legs to get out of its misery. Then, Ryan remembered something Gary had, and rushed to get the phone. It took him a while to find the faded, once yellow post-it with Gary’s mobile phone number, but finally, he listened to the strangely soothing steady beep that told him that Gary was out there somewhere, right now, fumbling for his phone in the pockets of his jeans to the tune of his prehistoric Nokia ringtone.
“Hello, this is -”
“Gary, you don’t have to shout, you know. It gets you just fine if you speak normally.”
“I know! But that wouldn’t frighten those prank-callin’ idiots off, now would it?”
“It wouldn’t frighten all the people who seriously have to tell you something off either.”
“Doesn’t matter until I’ve figured out how to get to t’messages anyhow.”
With a sense of horror, Ryan listened to himself and Gary continuing the conversation while the mailbox was still recording, until finally - “Bloody ‘ell! ‘ow do you turn this off?”
There was the beep, but Ryan didn’t bother. He pressed the red button, threw a worried glance into the utility room (just in time to watch as if in slow-motion how Ole’s canvas bag wobbled insecurely on the edge of the work top, then fell and landed with an ugly splashing sound, spattering droplets of dirty brown water on the freshly washed white washing nearby) and made a decision.
After a second dig in the stack next to the telephone for another, newer yellow post-it, he dialled the number on the little piece of paper, held the receiver to his ear and - hoped. And finally, after he had uttered several silent prayers, making all kinds of promises to the man up there or anyone who listened to that sort of thing, Nemanja answered the telephone.
“’lo?”
“Nem, it’s me!” Ryan almost shouted into the receiver. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so glad to hear his oldest son’s sleepy morning mumbling that was so annoyingly hard to understand.
“’sup, Dad? Somethin’ happened?”
“Listen, Nem, the washing machine just broke this morning, and I can’t reach Gary to - hang on a second - ” helplessly, Ryan watched as the water turned a stack of old newspapers into a mushy, grey lump (he vaguely remembered reading ‘emergency services’ when he checked the TV programme yesterday) “- you still got yesterday’s newspaper?”
“You alright, Dad?” Nemanja, more alert now, sounded slightly concerned.
“For the emergency services!”
“Hang on, I’ll check.” A rustle told Ryan that his son had put the phone down, and he distantly could hear what sounded like bare feet on tiles. He’d get a cold, Ryan thought absently, while watching a wet towel bravely swimming on the surface of the floods that now firmly had the utility room in their grasp, before it sank quite unceremoniously.
“Sorry, Dad, ‘s gone.”
“Holy mother of…does your boyfriend know anyone?”
“Dad, I can’t…”
”…leave me and the washing machine to ourselves! We have washed your clothes for years!” Ryan knew there probably was an insane edge in his voice right now, but he could feel cold panic rising up in his chest as he thought of the washing machine that had to be replaced - they’d have to clear out the utility room, as well, possibly re-paint the walls - he swallowed, and didn’t dare to think of either the bill or Gary’s face when he came home. Peaceful Sundays, his a…untie’s dog.
“I’ll ask, don’t hang up.”
This time, Nemanja just covered the receiver with his hand, but he was either covering the wrong bit, like he’d done when he was first shown how to do it, all those years ago, or was doing it rather sloppily, because Ryan, by now drumming his fingers nervously on the edge of the table, could hear every single word.
“’s Dad, you know someone who works as a plumber?”
“Nah, but we still got the overall from yesterday -”
“- Rio -“
“- must have gone under the bed somewhere while you were fixin’ me up -”
“…Rio...”
“- so your old man’s into role play? Way to go, man!”
“For heaven’s….a real plumber! The fucking washing machine is broke, and will you fucking stop shouting? He’s right there at the other end of the line!” Nemanja’s hushed voice reached Ryan’s ears.
“Oh. Nah, sorry. No plumbers - you want breakfast?”
“Yeah, I’ll just be a second.”
“Okay.” And with something that sounded like the wet towel in the utility room smacking against the now to-be-painted wall (Ryan supposed it was a sloppy kiss though), Rio sauntered off, presumably into the kitchen, while Nemanja brought the receiver to his ear again.
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll call Grandad,” Ryan said, still digesting the unwanted piece of information he’d received just now, “thanks anyway, Nem.”
“No problem,” Nemanja replied, “hey, breakfast’s ready, talk to you later, kay?”
“Talk to you later, son,” Ryan said, and after a short, awkward pause, he hung up.
Blast.
The carpet on the steps down to the utility room was thoroughly soaked when Ryan dialled another number, from memory this time, worriedly eyeing the corridor’s laminate floor, scanning for treacherous wet spots like a rabbit for predators before entering the clearing.
Cathy seemed to have waited next to the phone.
“Hello, Ryan!” she warbled and he cringed, holding the receiver away from his ear. “How are you, how’s Gary? The little ones keeping you busy?”
Usually, she would continue in this fashion until Ryan handed the receiver over to the children, who would then glare at him and disappear into the living room, from where the occasional ‘yeah’, ‘of course, nana’ and ‘I’ll pass you on to him, wait’ would be the only pieces of conversation to be heard, before the child in charge of the telephone came dashing out of the living room, hollering the name of their nana’s next victim upstairs and racing back to whatever it had been doing before; today, though, for the first time, Cathy was cut off in the middle of a meticulous report of her last bridge meeting.
“Cathy, I need your help.”
Silence on the other end; a true Catholic woman with a heart bigger than her bosom, which was quite an achievement, Cathy prepared to race to the rescue.
“But of course - what is it, darling?”
“The washing machine has broke and…” He didn’t get any further.
“Oh, why don’t you say that straight away - just wait a second, love, I get Alex to pick the kids up - if he can be bothered to get changed, that is, has been out in the muck with Carlos all morning!” She huffed in an indignant way that made it perfectly clear to Ryan that Grandpa was sitting at the kitchen table next to her, perfectly able to hear everything she said, and continued: “Don’t worry, Ryan, we’ll take them till tonight and you and Gary have enough time to limit the damage, what do you say?”
For a while, Ryan said nothing. Watching a formerly white table tennis ball amble along on the water, he thought that it really was the best solution to have the children out of the way for the day, so he could try to save whatever was left to save (probably not much)…
“Are you still there, dear?”
“I am - I am, Cathy, are you really sure you can…”
“Oh, don’t you worry, I still remember everything you told me when we took them last time - and I’ve been practising changing nappies on Theresa’s little girl, you do get out of practice after all those years!”
And then she laughed, loud and hearty, and Ryan was suddenly convinced that everything would be okay, that Cathy and Alexander would have the children for the day and that the utility room needed to be done anyway, so now Gary wouldn’t have an excuse to lay it off any longer…
Half an hour later, Grandpa pulled into the driveway, and in the buzz that ensued when he announced in front of the boys that Cathy was making her special cake right now, Ryan managed to pull Wayne away from the lake that had taken the place of their utility room (“but Dad, it really is drowning, look!”), put Ole in charge of Noa, race upstairs to coax Alan out of his room and convince Wayne, in a team effort with Grandpa, that he really didn’t need to take all his Lego because there would be plenty of other things to do at Grandpa’s house.
The car had barely disappeared around the corner when Gary returned; and maybe he really didn’t take the news as badly as Ryan had expected, or Cathy’s laughter still worked its magic and Ryan still thought that it could be worse - in any case, it was hard work to get the cupboards out of the utility room and into the garden, but they were spending a Sunday together without the kids around, although Ryan couldn’t help behaving like one and gave Gary a little nudge when he was just taking his wellies off, leaning against the corridor wall. Gary’s stare as he stood motionless in the mucky broth, trouser legs slowly soaking up the water, was priceless, and Ryan couldn’t even get a yard away when Gary had finally got out to chase after him because his sides were hurting so badly from all that laughter.
“Bloody ‘ell, now look at that,” Gary panted when they lay exhausted on the sofa a minute later, socks dripping on the radiator.
“What is it?” Ryan, who had just been drifting off with his head rested against his partner’s shoulder, sat up and looked out of the window. Outside, snow flakes were swirling around in a strong wind, moved left, moved right, and then floated to the ground where they settled and soon formed a thick, white blanket of snow that covered the entire garden and the cupboards they had saved from the utility room.
Snow in April - after the day that lay behind them, Ryan just wasn’t surprised at all.
***
Several miles away, at the Fergusons’ house, it was Wayne who first noticed the white landscape outside. His excited yell gave Isis, the cat, such a fright that it leapt out of the armchair it had been sleeping in, bolted past Noa, who was peacefully building a tower with a couple of buildings bricks on the floor, to get to the door, knocked over the tower and almost reached light speed when Noa started wailing like a burglar alarm.
“What on -” Cathy’s large figure appeared in the doorframe, but before she could even think of something else to say, Wayne dashed past her, almost knocking her over, and raced into the kitchen where Paul and Ole were playing cards with Grandpa and Carlos.
“Last one outside is a rotten egg!”
He raced on, into the living room, where Alan was lying sprawled out on the couch, watching Corrie, shouting his message and bounced from one leg to the other whilst taking a handful of sweets out of a bowl on the side. The little things rained down on Alan, who was up in an instant and raced after the annoying little git.
“What the…come ‘ere, you!”
But Wayne was several years younger and already swashbuckling upstairs to drag Owen and Cris out of their dad’s old room, where they had been rummaging around in the drawers in the hope to discover any hidden secrets. In any other situation, Wayne would have joined them and Cathy would never have been able to tidy it up before her son noticed; but these were exceptional circumstances and as soon as Wayne had pointed this out, the three boys raced back downstairs.
“Must be the elephants are back in the house!” Grandpa said, and laid down his cards. “Like with your dad and Uncle Roy, that is - only Cathy would have to fix up one of them after!”
He chuckled to himself and got up; however, he quickly sat back down when the door into the kitchen opened with a bang, three shadows whizzed through (“Hi -bye!”) and the door leading to the hall on the other side of the kitchen slammed shut behind the boys.
“Lads - bloody ‘ell,” he said, shaking his head.
A couple of minutes later, the three were joined by Paul, Ole and Alan (who had finally been persuaded to come outside, even though it was just because Paul had nicked his phone and run out to Ole with it). His screams mingled with Noa’s whining when she was brought outside by Cathy and, for the first time in her life, saw the world covered in snow; but she was to learn hat although it looked like a fluffy blanket, snow wasn’t nearly as warm, and after a few tentative steps, another attempt to pick up these glittering crystals and more cold hands, Cathy saw that this wasn’t the right thing just yet, and carried the little girl back inside, where Noa stood at the kitchen window and wailed on because she wanted to join the others outside.
Meanwhile, Owen was lying flat on his back in the snow, moving his arms and legs to create two snow angels; and when he got up, he looked down on them and wondered if they came to life at night and flew away as real angels. He was just making a mental note to himself to ask Daddy about this when he got home, when a snowball flew narrowly past his left ear, and it didn’t take long before he was involved in the wildest snowball fight the Fergusons’ garden had ever seen.
Ole, Paul and Alan made up one side, with Wayne, Cris and Owen on the other; and while Alan and Owen were quickly assigned to the task of preparing new munitions for their respective party, the snowballs flew over their heads, followed by either a triumphant yell from the opposite team or sneers from their own, depending on whether the oncoming snowball had hit its target or not.
While the war was waging, Carlos trundled past with his wheelbarrow full of tools and logs for a warm fire in the fireplace later on, whistling a ditty that was ever so slightly out of tune; the boys way too occupied in their fight to notice. A snowball hit the kitchen window, and Cathy’s round face appeared for a while, shouting something - or the other, the boys could not listen as the war was now getting into the critical stage where their arms got tired and their hands cold. Giving up, however, was not an option, and so they continued until Paul and Ole, having been forced to back down until they could move any further because Carlos’ shed was in the way, launched one last, desperate attack.
They watched tensely, making more snowballs in case the little ones were up to something, but no snowballs came. One minute passed, two, and nothing happened. Finally, Paul thought that enough was enough, and punched the empty air with his fist.
“Win!” he shouted triumphantly - and just then, a snowball came flying, slowly cut through the air, but seemed to miss its aim completely; it sailed over Paul’s head, and hit the roof of the shed with the rich sound of victory.
Not for Paul’s team, however.
The little ones’ laughter howled through the garden as the snow from the shed’s roof rained down on Paul in a little avalanche, leaving nothing but a big pile of snow with a little crop of ginger hair on top.
Twenty minutes later, they were assembled in the living room, trying to get as close to the warming fire as possible, they clutched their mugs of steaming hot chocolate and munched away on Nana’s special cake.
“That was ace,” Ole announced and stroked Isis, who had finally scraped its guts together and left the safe place under the cupboard; and for once, none of the others, not even Paul, could find anything to say about that. They disagreed about who had finally won the snowball fight, though, and spent the rest of the day battling it out with several challenges while waiting for their parents to pick them up; Wayne narrowly won the round called ‘Annoying Alan’ by chucking cake crumbs into his brother’s sweater, but Paul and Ole won on Trivial Pursuit and managed to make Grandpa laugh in just under two minutes; they imagined victory to be theirs until Cristiano scored a wonder goal in table football; and then things went horribly wrong when the ball miraculously changed directions in mid-air (or so they tried to explain it afterwards) and landed in Grandma’s mashed potatoes with an audible splash.
After that, Cathy firmly declared that the competition to be over and that it really should be a draw, rewarding everyone with a bag of crisps and allowing them to watch the Cartoon Network after tea until Ryan and Gary finally arrived.
Usually, journeys by car were a loud affair, with Game Boys beeping and headphones buzzing and general shouting and anarchy until someone got hurt or Gary got angry; this time, however, Ryan turned around several times on the way home, just to check if everyone was still there. Exhausted after a long day at their grandparents, the kids had fallen asleep the very moment they’d got into the car.