The Unlikely Heroics of Sam Holloway

by Rhys Thomas

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘Isn’t it awesome?’ she said.

  The lane snaked and the trees grew denser. Even without summer leaves the branches made a near-impenetrable, knotted canopy, giving the impression of hundreds of snakes inter-tangled. Glimpses of deep-green moss carpets punctuated by brilliant red toadstools, a fairy-tale world.

  Ahead, the trees relented and the lane became more of a sweep, the colour of the gravel ochre. A stone fountain covered in lichen patterns and then, beyond it, a house: Arcadia. Maybe three times the size of Sam’s own house, two sets of bay windows protruded either side of a small portico held aloft by grand columns. Three storeys and a small slate roof with a few red-and-yellow-bricked chimney stacks, the stonework stained dark by dirty rain. Dead vines crawled around the windows.

  The front door swung open and a tall, lean person came out, skipping down the low steps and hurrying towards the car.

  ‘You made it!’

  The American accent was recognisable right away, though it was soft and generic.

  ‘You must be Sam,’ he said, shaking his hand and smiling, revealing a perfect set of pearly whites. ‘I’m Kabe.’

  There was an energy to him, but not a fast one, a solidity to his essence; a presence. He was cool-looking, if not quite as handsome as Francis, with a well-formed nose and big, brown, alert eyes behind long lashes; vaguely androgynous. He was wearing a pair of ragged cords and a striped, woollen sweater that looked hand-knitted; he had the kind of skeleton that all clothes look good on. Sam guessed he was a few years older than him, around thirty maybe, but it was hard to tell.

  Overhead, a V of geese crossed the opal sky and there was a hushed silence.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you guys inside,’ said Kabe. ‘It’s freezing. Lunch is almost ready.’

  He led them into the house, from the bright, winter-slanted light to a dark atrium with peeling wallpaper and damp patches. Aware that decaying decadence was in vogue, Sam nevertheless thought it a great shame a lovely house like this was in such a state of disrepair. How could someone Kabe’s age even afford a place like this?

  They came to an old kitchen where a blonde girl stood guard over a bubbling pot of gravy on a 1970s hob.

  ‘Kristen, look who’s here.’

  The girl turned. ‘Hey, you,’ she beamed to Sarah.

  The two hugged and, over Sarah’s shoulder, the girl smiled at Sam. Her hair was very blonde, cut messily at her shoulders. As he stood there he felt a sensation fizzle up. Welcome. It was the feeling of being welcome.

  In the open area of the kitchen a farmhouse table was laid with steaming food; a rustic meal of potatoes and vegetables and a big orange pie in the middle.

  ‘Sweet potato, pumpkin and butternut squash,’ said Kristen when she saw Sam eyeing it. ‘Hope you’re hungry.’

  Two men entered the room from a side door and sat at the table. Both older than Sam, they smiled and nodded to him. Then a woman came in, mid-forties, with unkempt greying hair but a pretty face; French-looking. Quite who these people were Sam had no idea and Sarah didn’t introduce them. They took their seats at the corner of the table and Sarah spooned some cauliflower on to her plate. More people came in and the room flooded quickly with conversation, streams criss-crossing.

  Kabe sat next to Sam and poured himself a glass of wine, lifting the bottle with long, elegant fingers.

  ‘Thanks for having me,’ said Sam.

  ‘Absolutely no problem at all,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, man, and you’re welcome here.’

  This surprised him. Sarah had told people about him?

  ‘I’ve got you a present.’ He went into his bag and handed Kabe a wrapped parcel. ‘To say thanks.’

  ‘There’s no need to—’

  ‘It’s only small,’ said Sam, thrusting it towards him.

  Kabe took the parcel. ‘Should I open it now?’

  ‘You can open it now.’

  Kabe’s eyes glanced across to Sarah and a smile fell on his lips. He unwrapped the present.

  ‘It’s the best,’ said Sam. ‘It’s from Marks & Spencer.’

  ‘Oh man, I love shortbread,’ said Kabe, examining the picture of a mother and son stag standing in a misty Scottish glen. ‘Thanks, Sam. This is really cool.’

  Sam beamed. ‘That’s OK.’

  He turned to Sarah and found her smiling at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re so funny.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  She laughed. ‘Eat,’ she ordered.

  Sam looked at all the food on the table.

  ‘So, Sam, you work in a Japanese screw factory, Sarah said.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Japanese screw factory. Love it! Do you like it?’

  Kabe grabbed the pumpkin pie and used his free hand to expertly shift a slice on to Sam’s plate.

  ‘Thanks. It’s OK. It’s different from working in a British office.’

  ‘I bet, yeah.’

  Despite Kabe’s friendliness Sam felt self-conscious about how normal his life must appear to someone who lived in a place like this, how unimpressive.

  ‘They’re a mysterious people,’ he said, trying to compensate, though he knew as soon as he said it that it must have come across as racist.

  ‘Its land too,’ nodded Kabe, surprisingly. ‘They’ve got all those sacred islands and sacred mountains. And their art. It’s, like, so in tune with more . . . elemental things. Makes you think they know something deeper than us.’

  ‘Listen to you two,’ said Sarah.

  Kabe turned to her. ‘Ignore her, Sam. Sarah believes the days of the polymath are over.’ He put a small slice of pie on his plate and nudged Sam. ‘This is the best pie in the world,’ he whispered.

  He was so friendly! Sam felt a little overwhelmed by how well he was being treated. So unused to this, he didn’t know how to respond.

  ‘So what do you think of the house?’ said Kabe.

  ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘It was made grand like this by a coal magnate in the nineteenth century. There are two hundred species of trees here, apparently, from all over the world.’

  Someone else joined them at the table, sitting next to Sarah, so she had to shuffle up and press into Sam.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ said Kabe, quietly.

  Sam wondered just how much Sarah had said about him. Did he know what had happened to his family? Was that why he was being so nice?

  ‘We’re gonna have an awesome Christmas,’ Kabe said.

  Sarah pressed into him a little more.

  In the last hour of daylight a lane running alongside the house took them down a hill to a line of overgrown cottages with roofs half collapsed and brambles in the smashed windows and, after these, on the left, to two stone gateposts with no gate.

  ‘Does he own all this?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Come on.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He won the lottery.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yup. He won eight million pounds, bought this place, sold off lots of the farmland to farmers who always used to rent as his concession to social justice, and now lives off the interest on his winnings.’

  Sam thought about this.

  The gateposts gave to a steep path matted in leaf mulch. Steps cut into the path carried them down a dark curve beneath thickly knotted branches, so dense the light of the late afternoon was gone. The suggestion here of deep age.

  ‘These are rhododendrons. You should see them in spring. They’re so beautiful.’

  Slow and the world will reveal itself, his father had once said during a walk in the woods, explaining how chaotic and fast things had become, how the world is harder to understand because it operates at a speed non-conducive to humanity and how in hectic moments the act of slowing down, closing your eyes, taking a breath, offers a fresh perspective. Here in the dark forest of giant rhododendrons the natural pace of the world dominated. He felt the stra
nge connection you sometimes make with nature when you suddenly fit perfectly into it. They stopped, and in the gloom he could hardly make out her face.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For bringing me here.’

  There was the briefest of pauses, like they were about to kiss, but instead she smiled and punched him on the shoulder, quite hard.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘The lake’s not far.’

  At the bottom of the steps they came to a small clearing where it was brighter again, with stacked logs and a paddock of horses. Tall trees hemmed the horizon, and the soft sound of running water was nearby.

  Sarah looked somehow smaller among nature. The white rims of her Converse boots were muddy and her winter coat engulfed her.

  ‘Come and look at this,’ she said, and dragged him to a stand of brush.

  A stone staircase led down to a pond. A wall next to the staircase was inscribed with scripture from Genesis. In the centre of it a tiny archway leaked spring water.

  ‘You can drink it,’ she said.

  The pond released a gentle mist to its surface. Sam loved how a place like this just . . . existed . . . while the world happened around it.

  She slipped her hand into his and he said nothing when this happened, like it was nothing, as if a lightning bolt hadn’t just shot through his body.

  They found themselves wandering down a path between beech trees, a brook from the pond running alongside. The mist thickened around their feet and through the trees he caught glimpses of open water on the right. From the main track they found a narrow walkway, a spit of land, and at the end of it rose the white steps of a stone bridge. Water to the right and left, they were at the waist of a figure-eight-shaped lake. Mist swirled. Up the steps on to the bridge, Sam breathed what felt like the cleanest air he’d ever tasted.

  ‘There’s no need to thank me,’ she said, leaning against the stone balustrade. ‘I wanted you to come. You do know that, don’t you?’

  Her cheeks were white in the dying light as she stared out across the glassine water, this perfect space.

  ‘I’m really glad you’re here,’ she said.

  The fire was roaring in the stone fireplace of the drawing room. There were lots of old sofas and chairs, and Sam and Sarah found themselves tucked away in a warm corner. Kristen came over and refilled their glasses with some of Kabe’s home-made cider. It was very strong so Sam made sure to only take small sips.

  ‘How long have you been together?’ Kristen said, her head tilting on its neck and her fringe flopping out from behind her ear.

  ‘Oh, we’re not a couple,’ Sam got in first before Sarah was embarrassed.

  ‘Oh,’ said Kristen. ‘Sorry, I thought . . .’

  ‘I haven’t got my talons into him yet,’ Sarah said, reaching across and trying to squeeze his cheek.

  He pulled away and some of his cider sploshed over the top of his glass.

  ‘Shoot.’

  Kristen laughed and took the cider to the next group along.

  Sam watched the particles in his drink drift, having to squint to focus because, despite his best efforts, the cider was going to his head.

  ‘You know,’ said Sarah, ‘you always dress very smartly.’

  He was wearing a pair of navy cords and a tucked-in gingham shirt.

  ‘Have you ever seen when Mormons go door to door?’ he said. ‘They always wear very simple clothes but good quality, and very smart.’

  ‘You’re going for Mormon chic?’

  Sam smiled. ‘Yes! I don’t know. I just think . . . clothes like this. They help you disappear into the background, don’t they?’

  Sarah sipped some of her cider and grimaced. ‘This is fucking awful,’ she said, holding the glass up and staring at the contents. ‘You know, you might be ahead of your time. I read the next evolutionary step for hipsters is going to be norm core. Which is wearing smart clothes, like you.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ he said. ‘So how come you’re here for Christmas? Don’t you want to visit your folks?’

  She shook her head, seemingly not noticing his segue. ‘Nope.’

  ‘I still don’t really know much about you.’

  ‘Sure you do.’

  ‘I don’t, though.’

  She drank some more cider. ‘Look, I was in a relationship and it ended badly.’

  Sensing it might be OK to push a little, he said, ‘But how does that affect your family?’

  She went to say something but stopped.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ he said. ‘Ages ago you said you didn’t like yourself. Do you remember? You said you weren’t a nice person. When we were looking for shooting stars.’

  She put both her hands around her glass.

  ‘Did I? I didn’t mean it. Not really. I mean, I used to not like myself, but I’m better now. I’m not the same person I was then, when I was in Edinburgh.’

  ‘You’re awesome though.’ He looked down, hoping she didn’t realise he’d just said that.

  Sarah was silent for a moment, thinking something over.

  ‘Look.’ She paused, thought again, and lowered her voice. ‘My old boyfriend used to deal drugs.’

  ‘That’s not that bad,’ said Sam, quickly, though he hadn’t expected her to say that.

  ‘It is bad, Sam. He wasn’t a good person. And I was complicit in his happiness, and I don’t like that. I shouldn’t have done what I did and it’s always going to haunt me. I mean, I thought I loved him, he was so much fun and things, but . . . he did ruin people’s lives, you know?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘You don’t wanna hear this.’

  ‘Sure I do.’ Though he was getting the same twisted feeling in his stomach he got whenever Francis was around.

  The low chatter of the other guests cocooned them. She drank more cider and smiled at him. ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she said.

  ‘He cheated on you.’

  ‘No, not that. Look, I don’t want to talk about it, OK? Can we just have a nice time? Who cares about the past? Everyone has a past, right? We’ve all done stupid things.’

  ‘Let the past inform your future, but not define it,’ he said, quoting another of his father’s maxims.

  ‘That’s good,’ she said, yet again changing the subject from whatever it was that had happened to her in the past. ‘I like that.’

  He woke up freezing and hard of breath. Reaching over to the bedside table, he took a deep pull from his asthma pump. Checking his watch, he saw it was already Christmas Day. It was Christmas Day and there was no sense of crushing despair. Instead, he felt excited with anticipation.

  He was in a tiny room with an iron-framed bed, like something from the 1950s. He curled his legs over the edge and pulled his blanket around his shoulders. At the window he gazed at the silver hoarfrost encrusting the grounds in the dawn light and could feel the tremendous cold coming through and off the glass, an encroaching force. He stared at the beauty of the landscape, out over the silvered terraces at the back of the house and the rhododendrons, up the other side of the valley. A fox appeared on the lowermost lawn and padded across it with its wiry strength, leaving dark paw prints in its wake.

  He’d once heard an expert on the radio say a sign of depression was the inability to imagine a future, and this was something Sam had suffered for years. He could never imagine being fifty, couldn’t imagine having children, leading a balanced, normal life. It was impossible to see himself as a seventy-year-old going out the front door to fetch a pint of milk. Sometimes, late at night, he would wonder how long he’d be dead in his house before anyone noticed. But now . . .

  It almost felt as if the universe was giving him a chance.

  He was startled by somebody knocking on his door. He opened it to find Sarah standing on the other side, in white pyjamas patterned with green Tyrannosaurus rexes in red Christmas hats.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, quietly. ‘Let me in.’

  She pushed past and a wave of awesomeness swept over him. He was
in a gothic country manor on Christmas morning with a girl he was crazy about.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ he said.

  ‘Come here,’ she said, and gave him a hug.

  He was still tired and wasn’t fully aware of what was going on, but he knew it was suddenly making his blood course.

  ‘What’s this?’ she said.

  For an awful moment he thought she meant the bulge in his shorts, but then he saw she’d spied the wrapped present on his bedside table.

  ‘Oh. It’s your Christmas present,’ he said, sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling his T-shirt down.

  ‘You got me a present?’

  She was sitting over the other side, her knee hitched up. There was a red crease mark on her cheek that for some reason set off a chain reaction, the lust falling away and remoulding itself as he realised, fully, how deeply he now cared for her.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t have, but it was something I thought you might li—’

  ‘I got you one too!’ And she took from behind her back a small box.

  ‘Oh,’ he said.

  His first Christmas present in years.

  ‘Heads up.’

  She tossed the present and as he tried to catch it, it hit the tops of his fingers and dropped to the bed.

  ‘Butterfingers,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s open them together,’ she said, wide-eyed.

  They pulled off the wrapping and, seeing their respective presents, fell into a pause.

  She opened her copy of Cathedral. ‘A first edition? Oh my God.’

  But he didn’t respond. The sensation of profound affection bloomed. He was holding in his hands a small replica of the Batmobile from the Tim Burton films. It was so shiny and beautiful. He didn’t recall ever mentioning it, but they were his favourite Batman films. He looked up from the toy and was struck by the face of happiness staring at the book.

  ‘I can’t believe you got me this,’ she said. ‘Sam, this is the best present I’ve ever had.’ She looked at him. ‘It’s so thoughtful.’

  In turn, he couldn’t comprehend that she’d bought him such an amazing present, and he wondered then if maybe it was possible for two people to know more about one another than they did about themselves. Deep down.