by Dawn Sister
“I’m suddenly very warm again.” Jack grinned, and to Liam’s surprise, there appeared to be steam coming from Jack’s clothes. Liam’s too. The unseasonably warm winter sun seemed to be drying them out with surprising speed.
Liam opened his mouth to say something more but stopped as something caught his eye. A flash of yellow amongst the dull green of the sleeping winter grass.
“What the hell?” He asked as he fell to his knees beside a bright yellow daffodil.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Jack gasped, also kneeling beside it. “What is it? I’ve never seen a flower like that before.”
“What?” Liam asked, his shock at seeing a daffodil in December overtaken by Jack’s statement. “You’ve never seen a daffodil?”
“No.” Jack shook his head. “I’ve seen snowdrops, obviously, but they’re the colour of winter, aren’t they? Everything is white, or grey or dark, or black. Snowdrops match winter. This flower….” Jack gasped and met Liam’s eye. “It must be a spring flower, is it?”
“Ye-es.” Liam was hesitant. Jack’s expression was troubled. “And it shouldn’t be here. Not now.”
“Right.” Jack frowned down at the flower. “So, what is it doing growing now?”
“No idea.” Liam stood and scratched his head. “Nothing is making any sense. Leaves, floods, localised storms. No ice, then thick ice and….” He gasped as he spotted something in the sky.
Jack glanced up, standing beside him and trying to follow his gaze.
“No!” Liam exclaimed. “Can’t be.” He continued to watch the sky as he made his way through Mrs Appleby’s garden gate and out onto the lane.
“What is it?” Jack asked, following him. “What do you see? Oh look, more of those daffodil things and some lovely red flowers too.” He pointed at the grass verge on either side of the lane.
Liam looked down and saw that both sides of the lane were packed with daffodils and poppies in full bloom. They had not been there when they had walked down the lane just over an hour ago and the fact that they were growing together was even more unfathomable. What the hell was going on? He looked back up into the sky, caught sight of what he’d spotted before and took off up the lane with Jack in pursuit.
“Liam, wait there, big feller, I’ve not got such long legs as you.” Jack called.
Liam waited by the gate of another garden, staring inside with wide eyes, unable to make any sense of what he was seeing.
Mrs Appleby’s garden had been like autumn, full of crisp, colourful leaves that seemed to have just fallen from the trees. Jack had even found a fresh apple, weeks after the windfall apples had gone rotten. Raphael’s garden was flooded, like spring, and then they’d found the daffodils, with more in the lane alongside poppies of all things. Here though, in the vicarage garden, summer seemed to be in full swing, complete with….
“Swallows.” Liam squeaked. “Look.” He pointed at the tiny birds, swooping about in the garden, hoards of them.
Jack gave a delighted whoop and ran through the gate and beneath the rose arch to get a better look. He skipped into the centre of the vicarage lawn and spun about as the swallows swooped down and around him, skimming the tips of the grass before sweeping high into the sky.
Liam wanted to enjoy the sight, but something else caught his eye as he stepped through the vicarage gate: the rose arch, neatly trimmed and bare two days ago, was now in full bloom.
Jack called his name and he looked up, feeling his heart skip several beats. Jack’s face was glowing with joy. Liam stepped into the garden and stood on the edge of the lawn. His friend was dancing about with the swallows and Liam didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so lovely. Whoever Jack was, he was beautiful, and Liam’s emotions were in turmoil. Whatever was happening here, he knew he didn’t want the end of it to spell the end of his association with Jack. He wanted to know more, see more, touch more. He wanted to be with this man more than anything he’d ever wanted in his entire life.
“Who’s you’re energetic friend?” Father Jacob’s deep voice startled Liam and he whirled around.
“Father Jacob.” He gasped. “I didn’t hear you. We, er, came to investigate the swallows.”
“Yes, it is rather unusual.” Father Jacob noted. “As is the warmth for this time of year.”
It was then that Liam noticed Father Jacob’s attire. Whilst he still wore his black shirt and white collar, his usual thick, hand-knitted sweater had been ditched and he was wearing shorts and sandals as he usually did in the summer months. He held in his hand a tall glass filled with cloudy lemonade and ice, topped with a paper cocktail umbrella. The temperature in the vicarage garden was considerably higher than it had been out on the lane, or anywhere else.
“Would you care for some lemonade?” Father Jacob asked. “I know it feels a bit wrong to be serving iced drinks the day before Christmas Eve, but this weather is too glorious for mulled wine. We’ve been blessed with this lovely day and this fine display of Swallow aerobatics before they all go off to warmer climates. We should make the most of it, I say. Aren’t we lucky these swallows took a little longer to leave?”
Liam frowned. “Father Jacob, the swallows left three months ago. They shouldn’t be here. They should all be in Africa by now. There shouldn’t be any roses on your rose arch, and there shouldn’t be bloody daffodils and poppies growing in the lane. There’s no way any of this….” He waved his hands about, indicating the blue skies, the heated air and the swooping swallows, “should be happening at all.”
Father Jacob regarded him with a slightly thoughtful expression. “Tell me more.” He said, not in a patronising, indulgent sort of way, but in a way that spoke of knowing something more himself but wishing Liam to put his own words to it.
Liam took a deep breath. Where the hell did he start?
“That man over there is Jack.” He said, deciding to start at the very beginning. “I don’t know his last name. I met him on the track to my cottage two nights ago, when I fell and hit my head. He helped me home and stayed with me overnight. He came back last night after work, for dinner, and he’s been with me ever since.”
“Oh.” Jacob continued to regard him. “And he appears to be wearing your coat if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not.” Liam huffed. “He arrived wearing nothing more than a t shirt and tatty jeans.”
“And shoes?” Father Jacob raised one eyebrow.
“Nope.” Liam shook his head. “Wasn’t wearing them, in fact…” He took another deep breath, ready to off load some of the weird onto someone else and see how they reacted. “He says he never wears shoes. They interfere with his…,” Liam waved his hands about again in frustration this time, screwing up his nose and blowing out his cheeks, “...equilibrium.”
Father Jacob turned back to watching Jack dance about on the lawn. He’d gone from watching the swallows to chasing them, whooping and laughing. His antics made Liam smile, and want to run and join him, he was so carefree and full of the joy of life. Father Jacob was smiling too, as a parent might whilst watching a child.
“He is rather spirited, isn’t he?” He commented. Liam didn’t think he needed an answer, so he simply nodded. “It’s all very fascinating,” Father Jacob continued, “and rather romantic.” Jacob had turned his attention back to Liam and was watching him with his shrewd, grey eyes. “But telling me about Jack does not explain the heatwave we’re having today.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Liam agreed. “Nor does it explain why Mrs Appleby’s lawn was buried, knee-deep in Autumn leaves with a fresh windfall of apples despite her trees being bare for two months now. It also does not explain the flooding in Raphael’s garden, although, that was partly due to Mrs Appleby’s leaves. It doesn’t explain the daffodils or poppies growing outside on the roadside, nor does it offer any reason for the sudden, almost biblical storm we had at my cottage, or the fact that an hour before that Jack and I were skating on the frozen lake in the next valley.”
“Goodness, the weathe
r does appear to be experiencing some sort of fugue.” Father Jacob mused. “What do you think the explanation is?”
Liam glanced at Jack, took a breath to say something then stopped. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Father Jacob that Jack had turned into a fox. Not because it was fantastical, but because it felt like he would be divulging a secret, somehow. Plus, there was no reason why anyone, even a priest with an interest in the supernatural, would believe him. It was too weird to think Jack might have something to do with the chaotic weather. But it had started the day they’d met and had been only getting more and more extreme as the time went on. It certainly seemed to have been spiralling out of control since Jack had apparently lost his memory, but what could one man, who may or may not turn into a fox, have to do with the weather and the seasons? There had to be some other, more plausible explanation for the extreme weather today.
“Global warming.” Liam blurted out. “That has to be the explanation. People still deny it’s happening, but the evidence is right in front of their bloody noses. They watch YouTube videos of whales dying because their stomachs are full of plastic, and then go off and buy yet another bottle of water and put the empty bottle in the bin, even when there’s a bloody recycling bin right next to the regular one. Does my head in, Father Jacob, it really does.”
“I see.” Father Jacob mused, rubbing his chin and suppressing a smile. “And you think that’s what’s going on here, do you?”
Liam heaved a deep sigh, staring at the ground and toeing at a small pebble that had been dislodged from the garden path. He shook his head.
“No.” He shook his head, sighing. “Global warming is a problem, but I doubt what’s happening here could be put down to that alone.”
“You think it has something to do with Jack?”
Liam gave him a startled look, and then glanced over in Jack’s direction. He had finished chasing the swallows, like a child in the playground, and was now inspecting the roses in the archway. As if he sensed them watching him, he looked over in their direction and gave them both a cheery wave.
Liam waved back, unable to suppress his smile. Jack was lovely, and full of life and spirit and joy. He made Liam feel alive like he’d never felt before, but there was something wrong, and Liam had to face up to some facts, no matter how fantastical they seemed.
“What can I say,” Liam asked, “that won’t sound like I’m going mad, or that I’ve just had some sort of intense day dream, or nightmare?”
“Try me.”
Father Jacob looked more serious than Liam had ever seen him. Liam was struck with the knowledge that the priest was perhaps more prepared to hear weird than anyone else he knew, and if he couldn’t share a confidence with a priest who could he share it with?
He took another deep breath, to get his thoughts in order, before beginning with the most unbelievable thing he knew about Jack. If Father Jacob accepted that, then anything else would be child’s play.
“Remember the white fox I told you about?” He began.
“Yes.” Father Jacob’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Liam to Jack then back again. “You’re not serious.” He gasped. “Are you trying to tell me that this young man is somehow also a fox?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, and I’m not guessing this, or imagining it, Father. I saw it with my own eyes. He changed right in front of me, twice: from man to fox and back again.”
“But….” Father Jacob’s breathing had become very fast, as his face paled. “But that’s impossible.”
“As impossible as Summer in your garden, Autumn in Mrs Appleby’s, Spring outside on the lane and midwinter up the hill?” Liam asked. “It all started happening when I met him, and then it all went tits up when he lost his memory.”
“He’s lost his memory?” Father Jacob gasped. “How?”
“We fell through the ice.” Jacob rolled his eyes. “Well, he fell through the ice and then I did, trying to rescue him. When we eventually got out of the water, he was hurt somehow. The ice. The cold. I don’t know what, but it affected him, and he changed into a fox and he was frozen. I mean, there was ice forming on his fur and in his eyes.” Liam shuddered at the memory. Swallowing hard, he continued. “I carried him home, and he changed back when I’d warmed him up, but he’d forgotten all about it: the ice, the change, everything except that we’d….” Liam grimaced, not really wanting to talk to Father Jacob about such intimate things, but not really knowing how he could avoid it. “We spent the night together.” He admitted, feeling like he was now making a confession.
“Was this before or after the accident with the ice?” Father Jacob asked, taking Liam by surprise because he hadn’t expected the priest to be so intense.
“B-before.” He stuttered.
“And he can’t remember you say?”
“He can remember the night we spent but not falling through the ice or being a fox or even that his name is Jack. He remembered my name, though.”
“Are you talking about me?” Jack asked, having finished inspecting roses and joining them, moving as silently as he always did. “What can’t I remember?” He asked giving Liam one of his fox-like squints. “Are you talking about the fox thing again?”
Liam regarded him, his expression softening and his heart melting as Jack slipped a warm arm around his waist. The sudden warmth, even when the temperature in the vicarage garden was above what it should be, was a reminder that there was something profoundly wrong with Jack. He’d been cold, cool to the touch in a way that had thrilled Liam every time they’d touched, and now he burned, feverish hot. There was no way to avoid it now. They had to talk about this.
“Yes. I’m talking about the fox thing, because I know what I saw, Jack, and I know there’s something wrong now. We can’t avoid this anymore.”
For a moment, Liam thought Jack might argue, his expression was almost defiant, and then he crumbled, his shoulders dropping and brow creasing. His eyes clouded with doubt and confusion and he sighed.
“I know.” Jack agreed. “I need to remember but I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to have forgotten.”
“That you’re a fox?” Liam asked him helpfully.
Jack gave him a sideways look, rolling his eyes. “Apart from that. Because if I am, as you say, a fox, and now I’m...” he waved his hands up and down his body, “…like this, there must be something else about me that enables me to make such a change.”
“Perhaps you’re a garden sprite.” Father Jacob suggested.
“A garden sprite with a Scottish accent?” Liam asked sceptically.
“We all have to come from somewhere, Liam.” Father Jacob interjected, before turning his attention back to Jack. He studied the man, rubbing his chin and deep in thought. “Now, why don’t we go onto the patio and have some lemonade while we think?”
Liam exchanged a look with Jack, who nodded in agreement and they were about to join Father Jacob on the steps up to his patio when a gust of wind caught them. Not just a gust, though, as the wind howled with freakish strength, catching them all completely by surprise and sweeping them all off their feet.
Liam fell heavily onto his backside, winded, with Jack on top of him. He glanced quickly over to Father Jacob, to see the priest was lying on his side, groaning. “Father?” He called, having to shout above the noise of the wind.
“I’m alright.” He called back. “What on earth is happening?”
Liam had no idea except what he could see with his own eyes. The wind swirled around in a furious funnel in the centre of the vicarage garden, sucking everything into it as it grew in strength.
“A Tornado, in Northumberland?” Liam gasped, shielding his eyes from flying dust and debris.
“It’s the air pressure.” Jack shouted. The noise of the wind had risen to a scream as he scrambled to his feet, buffeted by the onslaught. “All these different seasons in one day plays havoc with the equilibrium.” He glanced down at Liam who was still struggling to stand under the onslaught of t
he wind. “How could I have forgotten that?”
