A Costume Party

It recently occurred to me that I may have given people the wrong impression about my brother in law. Reading through my writings, you might think I find Burdock Rowan Ivory untrustworthy and that I don't really like him much. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am sometimes wary of his tales, and Rowan will be the first to admit that he can be his own worst enemy with his practical jokes. That does not mean I dislike him. I want that on record.

The truth is, years ago Rowan and I were very good friends. We'd go out with Chris Snow-Warren, Charlie Furbanks and assorted others, visit places like Jimbo's Coffee Bar (sadly no longer there) and talk about all sorts of nonsense. Rowan told the best jokes, and we wasted many an hour enjoying ourselves once we'd finished work for the day.

On an early visit to Rowan's home I met his sister, and she seemed nice. That said, things always seemed to get in the way so I didn't get to spend too much time in her company. I now realise that Rowan was being a little overprotective - but as time went on and Rowan got to know me better, he relaxed his attitude. In retrospect, I think he had decided that I was a good match for Cecile, and started to work in my favour. This was clearest with an occasion we now call the Costume Party. I shall explain.

o 0 O 0 o

One night at Jimbo's, Rowan and I were hanging about after the rest of our gang had left. He gave me a friendly punch on the arm.

"Hey, Jack. I have a favour to ask."

"Tread carefully, Rowan. I remember your last favour. Buying some of your beetroot bubble bath - remember? I'm lucky I wasn't the first to use it. Newton's only just forgiven me now the bright pink has worn off."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I got the quantities wrong. But this is nothing like that."

"Go on."

"It's Cecile's birthday in a couple of days. I've been planning a costume party."

"First I've heard about it."

"That's because it's a surprise party. Cecile doesn't know anything about it. All the invitees are sworn to secrecy. Even they don't know who else is coming."

"Unusual."

"Yeah, well I'm unique. Thought you knew that, Jack."

I had to smile. Rowan was one of a kind. "Okay, you loon. What's the favour?"

"I overlooked something when I was doing the invitations. I invited Cecile's friends, but didn't think to invite anyone to keep me company. I will need someone there to keep me sane."

"Sane? I think you might be too late there, mate," I said, watching him curl his lip in response. "But your sister won't want me there. Remember? You said Cecile thinks I'm an idiot."



Rowan actually looked embarrassed. "Ah. Not strictly true, Jack. I told all our gang the same thing, knowing what young rabbits can be like. When you're trying to take care of your only sister..."

"She didn't call me an idiot?"

"No. And I regret misleading you now..."

"Lying."

"Okay, okay. But I know you better now. You're a decent guy, Jack. And I could really do with some good male company at this party. What do you say, eh? Pretty please?"

He looked so earnest, I thought his request worth considering. "Okay, give me the details."

With a wide smile, Rowan began listing his requirements. "First, we need to find you a costume."

o 0 O 0 o

I'm still not sure how I ended up in a knight's costume. Rowan mentioned something about chivalry but I didn't fully understand. It was something to do with obscure legends that Cecile enjoyed reading about, but the main reason was that it fitted in with the theme of the event.

The costume party was to be held in the village hall, but Rowan said he wanted me to wait in the adjoining kitchen area until all was ready.

"It'll be dark," whispered Rowan, "so be careful when you go in. You won't be alone, so wait until someone puts the light on. I'll have to leave you a bit whilst I go and get my costume. You'll like it."

He ushered me into the darkened room and I didn't move too far. I didn't expect him to be too long as the door closed behind me, but then I heard the key turn in the lock.

My heart sank. "Rowan," I muttered, "what are you up to now?"

The light came on and I looked around the room. At first I thought I was alone, but someone emerged from an alcove and a lovely face stared at me. It was Cecile.



"Jackson Butterglove? Is that you, underneath all that... metallic stuff?"

"Er, yes," I said, a touch unsettled, raising my visor. I then remembered why she was there. "Happy birthday."

She raised a perfect brow and regarded me curiously as she walked across the kitchen. "It's not my birthday. It's Christian Snow-Warren's birthday." She paused. "At least that's what my brother said."

"It's not Chris's birthday either. It looks as though Rowan's played a trick on both of us." I looked at her, elegant in her costume. "Lovely outfit, by the way."

She looked down at herself and smiled. "Thank you. I take it Rowan also conned you into wearing that... what is it, exactly?"



"A knight, apparently. It's part of the obscure legends that you... don't read about, do you?"

"No. That's Rowan's thing. This dress is also supposed to be something of that nature."

"When will I learn my lesson about your brother?" I said, rolling my eyes. "I think he's locked us in too. Do you have any idea why?"

"No." She sighed. "No doubt everything will be made clear soon. Is it definitely locked?"

I reached out and tried the door knob. "Yep. Locked."

From the corner of my eye I noticed Cecile straining her neck to look at my costume. "There's something on your back," she said. "Here, turn around."

I twisted so that Cecile could reach the item she'd spotted. When I turned back she was already  unfolding a piece of paper. With the cutest frown I'd ever seen she remarked that the paper was a note addressed to her. She read it out.

"It's from Rowan. It says, 'I'm sorry Cecile. He's not an idiot. I am.'"

"He told you I was an idiot? And he said that you thought that."

Cecile found a seat and lowered herself gracefully. "No, he was the one that said it when I asked about you, months back. I should have realised."

"That he was trying to protect you?" I said as my thoughts whizzed. She had asked about me?

"Yes. Ever since our dad died we have been both mother and father to each other. I can't be too mad with him considering what he's given up to keep us together. Still, despite having been unfair to you, I think this note proves he regrets it."

We continued to discuss Rowan - how he'd intended to channel his adventurous nature by traveling Sylvania but had given up the idea to stay with his sister. Talking with Cecile was comfortable so I don't think either of us noticed when the conversation morphed so that we were talking about each other. And we did talk. For hours.

We were so engrossed we barely heard the click of the lock and only looked up when we became aware of Rowan standing nearby.

"A good night?" he said, and I could tell he was being especially wary before his sister.

Cecile stared at her brother and the silence mounted. She waited until Rowan visibly squirmed and then she smiled and winked at him. "Yes Rowan. I believe he is."

o 0 O 0 o

And that's how Rowan's "costume party" became my first date with the gorgeous rabbit who would become my wife. For that reason alone, I could never dislike the mischievous bunny who is Burdock Rowan Ivory.

He had tricked us both, but we had our revenge. You see, I still had the rest of that beetroot bubble bath.

o 0 O 0 o

Warm Drinks on Cool Days

The temperatures have been noticeably lower in Mellowdene over the past week. The children haven't commented much on this but I note that they are less eager for ice cream and seem to crave hot chocolate drinks more frequently.

I should give you a quick update on the children:

Cecile was able to quickly wash and dry Orton's fragrant coat before he missed it. He is clearly more used to warmer climates as he always grabs his coat before going outside. This is so unlike Brendan, who doesn't mind running about outside even when it's raining. Brendan is delighted to have a boy his age in the family and in the same house, and I'm pleased to report that Orton is responding well. The only other lad of comparable age in the family is Rowan's boy Figwort, but he is still a touch uncertain and shy; he's a nice lad and we obviously need to make more effort to include him, to bring him out of himself. Conversely, his sister Aster is starting to enjoy joining Beverley and her other cousins Biddie and Lena in their girlie mayhem. I use the term advisedly.

Seven children, not including the titchies, so we're getting through the hot chocolate at a fair rate! Should frequent visitors Lucky and Lisa Snow-Warren, Coco and Freya Chocolate, Daisy Cottontail, Suzanne Seadog and Jane Hamilton plus newer Kittie Camp friends Hughie Grunt and Nolly Persis also descend upon our household, stocks will tend to run out much quicker!

I know from previous years when the weather is poor, there are times our big living room fills up with combinations of the above youngsters. Any songwriting work with Chris where we need the piano usually needs to be postponed and I'll find myself seeking sanctuary elsewhere. It's just as well that Cecile and Eliza thrive in such an environment. They don't seem to mind when Merlin and I seek peace elsewhere. We are lucky to have such tolerant wives!

Where do we go? Sometimes we toddle off towards the docks and visit the snack bar. Horatio Seadog has a decent amount of spiced blackcurrant tisane that he brings in from his journeys along the east coast. Served hot, traditionally with sugared bread sticks (although we will eat what's available), we chat with Horatio's brothers and waste time playing jindik - which is an odd combination of draughts and ludo.

There's also the Blackcurrant Café, although we don't spend too much time there just in case Marion Brighteyes should overhear something she shouldn't and this finds its way to Cecile's ears. They do serve the best coffee though. Funnily enough, the next place on our list was first mentioned by Francesca Osbourne who also works in the Blackcurrant Café.

This place is an out-of-the-way basement venue where Finley Osbourne works. It is known as the "Bear Pit" and is a sort of club where they serve an assortment of drinks and snacks and provide music. The music is generally what one might call mellow jazz. Sometimes they ask me to play piano, but I only do that occasionally - after all, Merlin and I are there to relax, chomp on cheese snacks, enjoy mulled fruit drinks or toffee cocoa. It's perfect for preparing us for the walk home in cold weather.

Of course Chris Snow-Warren provides us a bolt hole sometimes. His charming wife Charity and bubbly daughters Hope and Susan always make us welcome, but we don't stay too long because we know that baby Connor needs a lot of attention. That said, Charity has a recipe for hot citrus bang-bangs that has to be tasted to be believed. A mug of this, and you won't need anything else to fight off an autumn cold.

 

When we arrive back home, the juvenile horde has usually left, leaving solely our own immediate family. Orton is a little clingy at the moment, so he will give Merlin a big hug when he sees him. Brendan and Beverley will nudge each other, happy that their new cousin is finding his place.

Cecile will raise an eyebrow. "I hope you've not spoiled your appetite, Jack."

"Of course not, my love," I will say.

You see, I learn my lessons. A pint mug of Horatio's lobster bisque, a slice of Marion's rich egg custard with my fresh coffee, an Acorn Valley cheese and pickle toastie with my Bear Pit cocoa, and wedges of Charity's honeycomb cheesecakes with my hot bang-bang are all rather filling.

When you have a dinner awaiting you at home, you should never consume all of these in one afternoon...

o 0 O 0 o

Welcome, Autumn

A few days ago I was reflecting on the differing seasons in Sylvania. This chain of thought followed from a comment Chris Snow-Warren made when he was leaving after one of our work sessions. We were ambling through the garden, enjoying the late sun, when Chris nodded to a yellowed vine in the border.

"The leaves are turning, Jack. We should enjoy their colour while we can; they'll soon be dropping," he said. "Autumn has sneaked up on us this year. Haven't you noticed how the wind has changed? It is decidedly nippy."

I had to agree. Out of the sunshine it was definitely colder than of late; we had been spoiled with a spate of warm weather, so the change did seem abrupt. As I waved Chris goodbye, I thought how lucky Mellowdene was to have the protection of the mountains to the north. Other parts of the country would have moved into autumn a few weeks back. More weirdly, according to Rowan, there were some regions where the seasons were completely reversed - although I'm never quite sure how much of what he tells me is in jest... No matter. I'd never be an expert on geographical variations when it came to the climate of our country. Some places are uncomfortably hot, some unpleasantly cold, but we are nicely in the middle. The fact was - Chris had it right; we should welcome autumn, the reds, golds and russets in the trees, and be glad to be alive.

Back in the house, Brendan ran up to me, his eyes bright, a smile splitting his face so much I wondered if he'd dislocate his jaw.

"Gopher's alive!" he yelled, then he ran off again. I would later find out that he had just returned from an early Telly Party at Lucky's house, that he had gone because a new autumn television schedule heralded a new season of Flash Gopher shows - this one called Flash Gopher and the Gonks of the Emerald Planet - and the hero had survived whatever had saddened Brendan earlier in the year.

There was an appetising fruity odour from the kitchen - damsons, I thought. Cecile was singing whilst jam making. That in itself was a reason to welcome autumn.

I smiled. A productive day songwriting. A deliriously happy son. Damson jam. Time for a doze.

o 0 O 0 o

I opened my eyes to see we had visitors.

Captain Horatio Seadog was standing there, a grin on his face. He was accompanied by his crewman - young Oscar Marmalade - and another small figure wrapped up in a pale brown hooded coat. Cecile called belatedly from outside the room. "Visitors, Jack."

I swung my legs down from the sofa. "So I see. Hello, Horatio. What's new?"

"Disturbing you, eh, Jacky boy?" he smiled.

He always called me that as if he was a generation older than me. He wasn't. I knew his words were always good-natured so I treated his question as rhetorical. I gave him a smile and turned to his companions.

"Hello, Oscar. How's your family?"

"Good, thank you, Mr Butterglove."

I looked at the third visitor, barely visible beneath his hood. "And who's our friend, here?"

"That's why we're here, Jacky boy. He was a surprise passenger on the Marita May."

"I found him," said Oscar.

"That's right," said Horatio. "In the forward hold. He weresn't there when we last looked. That was somewhere between Possum Creek and the river mouth. We made a few short stops along the way so he must've come aboard at one o' them."

"Okay," I said, knowing that our grizzled captain would come to the point when he was ready.

"Well, I asked who he was, but he weresn't saying much. Once ashore we took him to the dock snack bar, gave him a drink and a bowl of soup, but he barely said a word. He said he wouldn't take off his coat but that was about it."

"Shy?"

"Maybe. Or maybe he's used to warmer climes."

"But he wouldn't tell you his name. Curious."

Oscar spoke up. "I asked who he was when I found him in the hold. He said 'Autumn', Mr Butterglove."

"Not likely to be his name, Oscar lad," said Horatio.

"We have to call him something. It will do until we know any different," I said, smiling at the hooded figure that was turning slowly to look about the room.

"Fair point," said Horatio.

"So why bring him here, Horatio?"

"Oh yeah." He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a piece of folded paper. "He showed us this when he'd finished his soup."

Unfolding it, Horatio handed it to me. It was an article torn out of a music magazine. There was mention of "the song-writing partnership of Butterglove & Snow-Warren, based in Mellowdene." My name was circled.

"You think he came to visit me?" I asked, and when Horatio shrugged, I moved to look into the depths of the hood.

"Welcome, Autumn. I'm the Butterglove in this article."

Nothing was said for a few moments, then the figure reached up and pulled back its hood. It was a young rabbit.

"It's not 'Autumn'. It's Orton. Orton Butterglove."

o 0 O 0 o

I was conscious of the silence that followed but wasn't sure what I wanted to say. This young rabbit had been - it appeared - searching for me because we shared a family name. However, he still appeared a touch uncertain and I didn't want to scare him by saying something inappropriate. It was Horatio who broke the silence.

"Well, I'll be a blue-spotted haddock. You're a Butterglove like dear Jackson here! You won't want me and young Oscar hanging about when you've got private things to talk about. We'll be on our way if that's okay with you, young Orton. Ha! Autumn, Orton." He lowered his voice to ask me a question. "Do you want me to find Cecile?"

I nodded. "Kitchen."

Orton watched as Captain SeaDog and Oscar Marmalade left the room and then he turned to me.

He chewed his lip, and I had the impression he was deciding what to say - after all, he'd traveled an unknown distance to find me. I didn't have too long to wait.

"My dadda's granddad came from Mellowdene. He was called Hubert."

I had vague memories of being told about a great-uncle who left the village before I was born. I was fairly sure he was called Hubert. "So, we're related?"

"Don't know. Think so."

"Come on, take off your coat..." I began, immediately sensing that he wasn't yet ready to do that, "...or at least remove your hood so that we can talk properly."

He appeared to debate this before unbuttoning his hood, laying it carefully on the floor. He backed up to the sofa and perched on the edge.

"Where are your parents, Orton?" I ventured.

His eyes started to well up with tears, which he tried to wipe away with the back of his sleeve. He sniffed.

"My dadda and mamma are explorers. We travel about and look for special animals. Last time I had a cold so they made me stay behind for the day. But they didn't come back." His voice dwindled to nothing and his chin dropped to his chest.

Cecile entered, drying her hands on a towel.

I briefly explained the situation whilst Orton continued to sniff.

"Okay," she said in a business-like voice, giving me the towel. "Go and see Merlin and ask him to delay the meal. Explain what has happened and have him look after the children. Then bring Eliza back here."

She turned to Orton and held out her arms. "I'm your Auntie Cecile. Come here, dear."

o 0 O 0 o

It emerged that Orton's parents were scientists, documenting rare animals around Sylvania. On their expeditions they took Orton with them, home-schooling him rather than being separated from him for long periods. Three weeks ago, like Orton had said, he had been suffering from a cold and his parents had decided that he shouldn't accompany them on their brief sea journey. This was so they could check a reported sighting of some obscure reef-dwelling creature. They had prevailed upon the boarding house to keep an eye on Orton for the afternoon, but their boat never returned.

Searches were made, but these proved fruitless. There was concern for the boy's welfare, not knowing whether to make long or short term provision, as there was no record of any other family to take care of him. This resulted in a decision to have him stay at a local orphanage - which did not go down well with Orton. He didn't socialise with other residents and felt they'd given up on his parents. By chance he found an article in a magazine Sylvanian Arts and Music, and this led to his decision to seek out his relations until his mamma and dadda returned.

When Cecile told us all this, I was amazed that she had managed to extract all this information in such a short time, but the boy was still understandably sad and withdrawn. That was until Eliza left us and then re-entered with Snorker on her heels.

Orton's eyes became as round as the Marita May's portholes when he saw Eliza's adored pet.

"It's a Snodgrass-Hepple Hog!" he declared, the excitement undisguised. "Isn't he great?"

Eliza ushered Snorker towards him, and the mountain hog issued friendly kissing noises as per usual. "He's lovely isn't he?" said Eliza,  "He's called Snorker."

"Can I stroke him? Will he mind?"

"If you're gentle he will love it."

Orton fell to his knees, stroking Snorker with exaggerated care. Snorker responded happily.

Cecile picked up the hood and sniffed it. Looking at me she mouthed, "Needs a clean." To Orton she remarked, "You know - Snorker would love a cuddle, but your coat may get in the way. That's right, isn't it, Auntie Eliza?"

"It is," said Eliza, chuckling.

Coat discarded, Orton and Snorker cuddled whilst Eliza continued to smile, watching them. She inclined her head toward Cecile. "We can hope his parents are found, but in the meantime he'll need lots of support. Snorker will help,"

"We all will, Eliza."

"And we've got that spare room, you know."

"I know, Eliza."

o 0 O 0 o

And that's how our family gained another member. For how long, we wouldn't know. All we could do was welcome Orton into our hearts and, like autumn, enjoy the colour he would bring into our lives.

Merlin, Eliza and Snorker welcome Orton
as Beverley, Jackson, Russell, Cecile and Brendan watch