Seacliff

Chapter fifty-three: In with the new

1938

Squinting, Aidan blew out a cloud of steam and rubbed his reddened hands together. The cornfield, which had gone from green to golden to earthen, now stretched immaculate ad infinitum. It hurt his eyes as much as bright sunshine might have, but the perfect snowman demanded a worthy sacrifice.

Aidan crouched down and tumbled his massive snowball forward a few more times. "I think that's big enough now, Aoife," he told his sister. Their snowman's base came up to his knees, almost.

The girl pouted for a long second before passing her verdict. "All right," she nodded, "that'll do. Now for the middle!"

The middle snowball required more effort, as it had to be smaller, but not too small, and needed to hold together once raised on top of the base. Which meant that Aidan had to pack the snow in nice and tight, which, in turn, would make it heavier to lift.

While he sculpted this elusive middle snowball, Aoife busied herself polishing the base into a flawless, solid sphere.

Her dedication and precision amazed her brother, who shook his head with a smile as she added snow, patted it in, sliced it off, and rounded it up as needed. During one such moment of inattention, a different kind of snowball entirely came flying through the air and crashed into Aidan's head.

Jemmy's booming laughter followed the hit.

Aidan rose to the challenge. He launched a snowball of his own as soon as he stood up, cutting Jemmy's amusement short.

A fierce battle ensued.

Aidan chased his friend across the field, his steps crunching in the snow. There was nowhere to hide, so they had to take each attack head-on. The winner would be determined by whoever managed to tackle the other down first. The treacherous terrain underneath the soft layer of snow made for a dangerous pursuit, but neither of the boys stopped.

They'd grown up running after each other on these fields. Their feet knew every chunk of ploughed, frozen earth and leapt with grace over perils. Every now and then, they'd pause to snowball one another. Jemmy always opted for a flurry of quick offensives, just so he could dash to safety again. He was fast – but Aidan could be faster.

He'd usually let Jemmy win, but today something spurred him to run harder. Once he closed in, Aidan threw himself at his friend and rubbed snow into his face. Jemmy fought back, in vain.

Aidan did not budge. "Done packing?"

Jemmy rolled his eyes. "As a matter of fact, I am." His hot breath tickled Aidan's nose. "Your Christmas present included, although I'm not so sure you deserve it anymore."

Flustered by the charged look in Jemmy's eyes, Aidan weakened his hold and lost the upper hand. Jemmy sensed it right away. He flipped them over, pinning Aidan to the ground. At least the snow gave the selkie boy a good excuse to have red cheeks.

"Aidan!" the abandoned Aoife shouted after her brother. "Aidan!"

The boys glanced her way.

"Mortimer, mate," Jemmy said, panting, "we better go finish that bleedin' snowman or your sister will kill us both."

Aidan laughed, the weighty tension from just a moment ago, erased. "Yeah, sounds about right."

Jemmy heaved himself to his feet and held out a hand to haul Aidan up. Aoife waited for them with her arms crossed over her chest and an angry little pout on her face.

"I brought help." Aidan shoved his thumb in Jemmy's direction. "Won't you say hello?"

Aoife huffed, then mumbled a greeting through gritted teeth.

Jemmy dropped to one knee in the snow, like a knight before his queen. "May I assist in your quest, oh, beauteous Lady Aoife?"

It had the girl giggling and, after a hug of peace, work continued jointly on the greatest snowman Scotland – or at least East Lothian – had ever seen.

*

After putting his exhausted sister to bed, Aidan brought up mugs of mulled wine to his room, for him and Jemmy. His friend had lain down on his bed and nodded at a small package on the desk.

"What is it?"

"Open it."

Aidan put the mugs down and picked up the package. He tore at the brown paper, revealing a lacquered wooden pendant attached to a leather string. The pendant was no bigger than a coin and just as round, etched intricately in the shape of an Irish tree of life.

"So that everyone can see you're a Fenian now," Jemmy explained.

Aidan chuckled. "It's beautiful, Jem. Thank you."

"You're welcome." The boy grinned, sitting up and reaching for his wine. "Where's mine?"

Aidan scratched at the back of his head. "It's... Well, it's under the tree, downstairs..."

"Well, go get it, then!"

Aidan chucked the paper wrapping at his friend before fetching the parcels from the front room. James had left something there for Jemmy, too. A wristwatch, identical to the one he'd gifted his own son. Grown men needed reliable timepieces, the doctor had claimed.

"How very thoughtful of your da," Jemmy smiled, "thanks. Now, what in the world is this?"

He grabbed the clunky silver package tied with tinsel – Aoife's idea – and opened it with hesitant caution. It was a stack of Iliad volumes bound in blue leather.

"Aidan..." Jemmy stroked the smooth, golden letters embossed on the cover.

"Achilles and Patroclus, now at your fingertips, always."

Jemmy looked up, eyes glassy with grateful tears. Sniffling, he wiped at his cheeks with his sleeve and took a sip of wine. The mug trembled in his hand.

"Thank you," he whispered. "But you better not be asking me to do your classics homework now, university boy."