Snzluckys

“Dnoh, I can make it back in time. Ihht doesn’t start uh-until eight.”

“Good lord, that's late. I must be getting old, everyone’s out so late nowadays.”

“HhHRSCHhhhhhuhw!!…ffhhh…”

“Have you taken anything for that?”

“Yes…”

His throat was hurting from talking, a foreboding warning for later that day.

“I’ll ask one of the tea ladies to get you something with extra lemon in it. Or! Maybe you should crack an egg into a bit of honey and wash it down with milk. I’ll lend you some of my cognac, it'll make it smooth.”

That sounded…less than appetizing, and he couldn’t see how it would work but the thought was enticing. Something about the thought of milk and cognac stirred up something in his chest. He was desperate. 

“I’ll have that actually.”

“Good. And hand those in when you’re done, won’t you?” 

A sturdy finger pointed at the thin stack of documents he’d yet to go through. Biddley nodded. 

————

“HHgnNNSgkk!! Ouch…hhHRSCHHHhhhw! Hahh…Jesus…”

The sun was setting, a much cheerier evening than the rest of the week. A faint breeze cooled his head; not feverish, but warm with the swelling. His throat felt a bit tingly, and the lingering scent of alcohol stung the back of his sinuses. He still couldn’t breathe from his nose. 

Biddley left the station, taking his bike and tossing his leather messenger bag over the handlebars to walk with. He needed a hand free, something he concluded earlier because if he didn’t hold his handkerchief within proximity to his face, he’d be dealing with a visibly runny nose within a minute. 

He was left to snuffle his way back home, getting pitying glances from a few passers-by. When he returned, he left his bike on the porch and groggily shouldered open the door. 

This was a manor-turned-boarding-house, and he was just one of the smorgasbord of residents. All of them were older than him, some by a few years, others by decades; he found himself settled into the role of the introverted lad who was always being doted on or lectured or fed gossip between the daily routine of chores. His room was upstairs, pretty bare, save for his trunk of belongings and a collection of books that ranged from medical textbooks to novels about crime and the paranormal. 

Biddley rubbed at his brow and looked at his pocketwatch. 

There was a small window of time where, reasonably, he could take a nap. His head was pounding from the pressure, and he was desperate to get some rest in before what he knew would be a long evening. 

“Having dinner before you leave?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Dunn…” Greeted first by the old lady who lived on the main floor, he gave her a polite nod before undoing his boots and sliding off his cap. He’d mentioned he’d be going out, it was to the lady across the hall from him, part of a socialite couple (who just loved any sort of gossip.) That news must’ve been passed down but he minded less than when his coworkers did so. 

“hHEH!…hhHDSSCHHhhhhew!!…huh.”

“Bless you!” Passing him on the stairs was another one of the housemates, a salesman. He was likely on his way to work, but seeing Biddley slink up the steps gave him pause, “You needed a suit, yes? I made the adjustments this morning, they should be fine! Left it on your bed!”

“Thagks—“ He turned to sneeze again. God, this handkerchief was not in its best state, he tried to ignore the damp feeling on his hands, “I’ll…I’ll try it od later…”

“Aren’t you going to leave later?” 

“J-juhst…just about seved thirty…nnGGSHHhuhw!!…sdnk-!”

That was an odd noise. He couldn’t excuse himself quick enough, feeling the drip sneak past his handkerchief and onto his chin. Thundering upstairs, he could hear the quiet chatter of the others below. 

He closed his door behind him, a rattly old thing, and slouched slightly. The first order of business was to exchange his current handkerchief for the one that was hanging by his window. He hasn't had time to properly iron or starch or soften any of them, it was probably why his nose was so raw. A harsh blow would be followed by a sigh of relief before his attention turned to the suit. 

It was a proper event and he realized far too late into the week he hadn’t anything to wear. Thankfully there was someone in the house with an old one they were willing to part with, and a salesman who worked in textiles, able to get it fitted right away. Nothing like a professional tailor but nobody would mind. He eyed his watch. Five twenty…

A nap until six…then have a small bite to eat, which leaves…a full hour and a half before he had to leave. Perhaps he’d get some reading done, wash up and get into this suit. It was perfect. He eyed the bed longingly. A last-ditch effort to fight this headache away. 

Biddley undid his jacket as he snuck from his room to the bathroom; one objective was to get medication, an aspirin would do wonders, and the second was to wash this handkerchief so he would be alright for tomorrow. Holidays were rarely afforded for civic servants, not that he minded, but he was given one for this weekend only on the pretense he would make up for it soon.  

“HhHSCHHHheeuhww!! For God’s sake…” He croaked, rubbing his sleeve forcefully against his nose. There was no reason for it to itch so consistently. It was the sheer amount of congestion that was making him sneeze, he had a hunch. It was becoming annoying; his brows furrowed and he flexed his nares to fight back against the itch.  

“Excuse me! Mortimer?” A knock on the door. The other gossip, he recognized his voice. 

“HHEH!hhy—yh-Yes?”

“Did you still need to borrow my cuff links?”

“Uhm…” Not really his style. The tickle seemed to fade and he coughed, “Uh, no, thank you. I’ve decided against it…”

He ran the tap, indicating he was busy with something. The voice on the other side of the door answered something short before he vanished down the hall. With a huff, Biddley rubbed his cheek and watched the water turn hot, soaking into the fabric of his handkerchief. 

Once he had choked down a pill, he'd asked for someone to wake him at six, and they did without fail. In bed, the lack of airflow helped him go from drowsy to full-on asleep, and left him snoring with his mouth open until he was dragged from slumber. His nose was still running, and he was unfortunately still stuffy. Not sick, he didn’t have the chills, but definitely not his best.

A cough cleared up anything that had settled during his brief nap and he pulled himself miserably into the kitchen to boil some water. 

Ough, bother…

He shut his eyes with a grimace of self-pity. His sinuses ached and the tickling refused to let down; every moment it felt like the tips of a feather were dancing around the inflamed flesh just below his skin, annoying him on purpose. 

He could sneeze, sure, but it did nothing to quell the feeling. He rubbed his eyes and groaned aloud. 

So many times he thought to cancel but abstained, on the hope he’d be recovered. But it was much too late now, and he had no way to reach Maud unless he walked. Standing with his head over the kettle made blowing his nose a little easier, but the tremor in his sinuses only provoked another fit. Wet, crackly, and overall a nuisance. No matter how much he smothered them, the sneezing would result in a mess, either in his handkerchief or clinging to his face like glue or smeared on his sleeve. There was truly no escaping it and that's what infuriated him the most. 

A simple bite of bread, ham and cheese distracted him for a moment. Despite his predicament, he forced himself to have a snack. He didn’t ask if there would be food at this event, assuming there was. Maud mentioned drinks, and nobody would drink on an empty stomach, right? To his chagrin, he knew he would be barely able to taste anything anyway. His throat masked the taste of most things with the sensation of sickness. 

“Someone’s brooding. Don’t you have a date to go on? That’s not the mood you want to be presenting,” The salesman was back, sliding his briefcase onto the counter, “You’ll scare her off!”

“My head hurts…” He answered miserably. Admitting so made him want to cry, which, luck have it, made the pain intensify. 

“You need some coffee. Once you wake up, you’ll get dressed up, you’ll be ready. Come on man, show some gusto!”

The kettle decided to whistle at that moment, and the nod indicated a cup of coffee would be in order. He sipped gently at it, trying to keep his eyelids from drooping shut and his nose from leaking any further. Maybe he should get dressed and show up early, would that be rude? Maud seemed like someone who would appreciate being on time. 

Enough moping. His brows furrowed and he tightened his grip on the coffee cup. 

When he was back upstairs, Biddley, determined as ever, threw his window fully open and forced himself to get changed. The collar was stiff — fashionable — and the suit hugged his body in a way that was unfamiliar. It was form-fitting, thanks to his housemate, but it didn’t leave too much wiggle room and left him feeling a bit awkward. It wasn’t until he brushed his hair to the side did he realize how out of depth he looked. Who was he going to fool? He obviously was not part of the 'academia' crowd, he looked like a weird mannequin in a storefront. Oh, but the thought of abandoning Maud just hours before would be murder, he couldn’t! His pride would just have to take the walloping of a lifetime. He stuck his head in front of the open window and let the cool air hit his face once more. Focus, focus!! Don’t let a little self-consciousness get the better of you! 

“Hhuh…!” He retreated and quickly grabbed his handkerchief, smothering it to his face as another gasp caught in his throat, “Hhk—hHHDSCHhhhheuhw!!…ghhuh…”

Wiping up his nose with the handkerchief was a delicate ordeal now, he realized. To preserve the appearance, he had to make it quick and effective. A sniffle in front of the hallway mirror revealed how red and chapped his nose had become, and how drowsy he seemed in general. It's because he was slouching. Right yourself. The sound of his sergeant's voice wriggled its way into his skull.

Open your eyes a little wider. Stand up straight, square your shoulders.

There...

Looking like a proper gentleman now.

A few practice rounds of swiping the cloth over his face, tucking it away, and drawing it seemed to satisfy the image of a put-together date, and he confidently put it into his pocket before heading downstairs. Well...maybe he should pack the spare. Now he could go.

“Leaving already?”

“Yes…!”

“Have fun…”

Biddley heard a few other doors opening somewhere as he slid on an overcoat and his shoes, making sure to buff them one more time before stepping outside. The chatter that arose would be lost to his ears, no doubt the gossips were getting their fill. 

----------

The brisk walk to the university did clear his head. He made sure to slow his usual gait, really take in the fresh air, keep this suit tidy, all that. When he arrived, the sun was beginning to dip, and he noticed how warm the campus appeared with its towering sienna brick arches and gold embellishments. 

The dormitories were off to the side, his legs remembered the wooden steps and dim hallways after having walked Maud home. 

He was early, very early. If she was busy then he’d help himself to the library. It was a good plan, he reassured himself. You’re on top of things!

He made sure to tidy his nose up once again before knocking on the door. Rashun night answer, he considered, but Maud would have told him about this, for sure!

There was a bit of conversation before someone approached the door…has his hearing always been so foggy?

“You’re here!” Maud swung the door open, “Come in! I wasn’t expecting you yet, goodness, I haven’t got anything ready…!”

“I am...I came before planned too. But I can leave, if you want.”

“No, no, stay! Come in! Oh, gosh, I haven’t even gotten changed.”

“We don't have to. I thought perhaps we leave later, but I ended up rushing,” He repeated, trying to emphasize he knew he was imposing, “So you don’t have to hurry! I can just, um, sit here. I’m fine with that.”

“It doesn’t start until eight!” Came a familiar voice from further in the dorm. Rashun, naturally, “You two have plenty of time.”

Maud had been walking in circles for a moment or two before tossing her hands up in the air and hurrying to her room. Her hair was done up, and she looked like she was in the midst of tidying up.

Biddley did not know better than to pry, but she had shut the door. He wandered into the little study where books lined the small shelf beside the window. Unlike his own room, there was a staggering lack of trinkets…hopefully, neither resident would mind if he took a moment to—

“HUH-!! HH!HhdtsSCHHhhheuhw!!” 

He hadn’t felt it coming on, a sneeze that he only caught the latter half of with his backhand. A knuckle pressed to his nose, he hurriedly reached for his handkerchief. There was no blessing, which was a bit reassuring. 

A little way in, Maud had called for Rashun’s help with something and Biddley caught a glimpse of him as he wandered over. Maud had insisted Rashun wouldn't interfere with them, which was fine, even if he did. Biddley fidgeted. It was customary to have someone escort them around when their courtship was so informal.

No idea what they were going to do once she was ready, both fully dressed with time to waste. Perhaps lounge around the hall or sit outside in the park…

The dorm provided a nice view of the green of the main building. Maybe take a walk.

He’d been engrossed with the first few pages of The Time Machine with his handkerchief pressed to his upper lip when Maud came out of her room. 

She had on an evening dress, pale blue with just a few embellishments on the train and sleeves. There was a mesh of pale tones around the bust and her hip, which was offset by a pair of dark blue earrings and her white gloves, which went up to her forearm. Rashun was behind her, doing up the last button. Very…proper and classy. She was probably wearing a corset. His hand instinctively went to his stomach at the memory of the feeling. Was he underdressed? No, no... 

“Will you put this on?” She motioned Biddley over, holding out a small necklace. It was so fine, his fingers trembled a little. As he nodded, sliding the book back blindly, it toppled over and sent him into a scramble to get it back on the shelf, undamaged. 

“I like your dress…” He muttered, doing up the clasp. A basic compliment was all he could manage as he fumbled with the chain, resisting the urge to sniffle behind her. She was definitely wearing perfume — not a lot, but enough to notice. He held his breath, swallowed, and added, “It’s a nice colour.”

“Thank you…I had to get it dyed to the exact shade. I think it matches my eyes.”

It did. He’d been so caught off guard the first time he saw them in the light, with her staggeringly blue irises. Something about it unsettled him but in an admirable way. He could not focus on that now. The tickling in his sinuses was starting to spread to his throat and he felt a familiar sting as he choked up an answer.

“It’s beautiful…god, I’m suh-!! Sso sorreHH—sshHCHHhhuh! UDTSCHhhhuhw!!”

He managed to pinch the end of the necklace so it wouldn't fall, freeing up his hand to cover his mouth as he wrenched away. Maud jumped slightly, as did Rashun, who gave him a look. 

“…excuse me-“ He breathed, hand still cupped over his mouth. There was a wet sniffle that followed before Maud’s fingers brushed up against his, going to fix the necklace herself, “I-I’m going to borrow your bathroom for a moment.”

“By all means! And bless you!”

He could hear the two talking as he nudged the bathroom door shut, quickly running the tap to drown out the noise. Was this going to be a habit? Vanishing into bathrooms to get himself together? After washing his hands he pinched at his nose a few times to clear it, blearily staring as the water swirled down into the drain. He’d wash his face too if he could, but it would get on the suit…

The tap remained running a while longer as he pressed his ear to the door. Rashun was making teasing comments to Maud, she was chuckling. Biddley raised a brow and squinted. Neither of them sounded to be particularly bothered or disgusted, which was good. He paced around for a second before shutting off the tap and stepping back out. 

“I thought you said you’d be ‘over it’ by tonight!” Maud said the second he was back in view. He eyed the necklace on her chest, distracted by how colourful it looked against her pale sternum. 

Clearing his throat he looked back up. 

“I am! I haven’t got a fever. I think I may have…um, a bit of an allergy with the fragrance you’re wearing. And a sinus…thing,” Probably shouldn’t bring up the idea of a sinus infection on a date. It sort of killed the mood. Comically, he chose the moment to sniffle, “But I’m still ready to go. Did you want to get out so soon?”

....probably d/azai's fault somehow smh 😔 (your speculation on this matter is of course, welcome...🤭)

Suddenly, a familiarly deep, good-natured bark from the lady in question emanated up through the floorboards from downstairs, followed by the sound of her nails skittering across the kitchen floor towards her bed.

They both looked at each other, shared humour in the glance, and laughed at the hilarity of it.

“Not you thinking I was the bloody dog! My kisses can’t be that slobbery, surely…”

“Look, in fairness to me, with the amount of times I’ve fallen asleep on that sofa downstairs and been woken in quite a similar fashion-” James argued. Although, his lingering smile was stubborn as he cut himself off mid-thought, taking an extra few seconds just then to study the loveliness of her face, feature by feature in the muted half-light of November daybreak.

He’d never get over the novelty of this, surely? Her being the first thing he saw every day, and the last thing at night? The idea felt impossible. He couldn’t imagine ever not feeling how he did right now, chest light and fluttery, giddy with how lucky he knew he was.

His hand slid mindlessly up from the skin of her thigh left exposed by the rucked-up nightdress, to her waist.

“Sorry,” he tactfully muttered instead.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, discovered in the few weeks it’d been now since they’d gotten back from their honeymoon, not being able to stop smiling at any random given point in the day. In true Yorkshire fashion, Maggie from behind the Drovers’ reliably sticky bartop, had warned him his “face would get stuck like that” if he wasn’t careful.

Like all good things though, he wasn’t sure how long this dream-like, rose-tinted tableaux of marital bliss could last before it began to subside, give way as they settled further into a domestic normality (as much could be called normal at Skeldale House - that being precious little), but they could live in hope. He’d decided to take every last molecule of it he could; was determined to hold onto it.

In any case, Helen’s smile mirrored his own, he could feel it against his mouth when she leaned down for a kiss, her lips still a little sleep-warm.

“Good morning,” she said, like she was finally getting around to it. He surrendered to it easily, repaying the kiss with a murmured ‘Morning’ in return, wrapping his arms around her back and holding her tight against his chest.

“D’you have any water there on your side?” He asked when they pulled apart and he reluctantly released her from his clutches, brow furrowing as the thickness in his throat refused to budge with another attempt at clearing it, emanating a dry, persistent ache instead.

“Mm” she affirmed, reaching over to hand him the glass from her nightstand, his own taken up completely by the phone he had to be by for any manner of emergency out of hours call-outs. She shifted a little, allowing him the room to sit up a bit. “Save me a mouthful though, will you? You know I’d never dare say, not to Mrs Hall, but-“

“Aye,” he said with a short, knowing chuckle, the water blessedly cool against the rawness of his throat. Ever since she’d moved in after they’d gotten back, Helen had been trying to find her place within the inner workings of both the house and the surgery. Which wasn’t proving to be as totally seamless a task as she’d like, not when the boys and Audrey all had such well-defined and long-entrenched roles at this stage. Either way, offending the de facto ‘woman of the house’ was the very last thing she wanted to be at. “The beef last night was on the salty side.”

They allowed themselves to indulge in the rare privacy of only the other’s company for a few more minutes, knowing they were unlikely to get another until it was time to get back into bed later that night. With Siegfried being away for a couple of days at a special bovine veterinary sciences conference in Darlington, and a still very newly-qualified Tristan only being trusted to run small pets surgery, a list of farm visits as long as his arm had ended up falling into James’s rather unfortunate hands.

They couldn’t prove it, but they reckoned it was secretly punishment for James daring to take a full week’s leave for their honeymoon, but regardless, with the way the weather had taken a turn it was certainly starting to feel like one, whether intentional or not.

They were in that awkward pocket of time in the year between late autumn and early winter, when the trees were still adorned with hues of orange, red, and brown, but sparser than earlier in the season. Many of the leaves instead ending up wet and trampled into mush underfoot between the grooves of the cobbled streets. When the harvesting was finishing up as the nights drew in earlier, the chill in the air beginning to nip with a little extra teeth.

Also, because it’s Northern England…

“Miserable ol’ day, that,” Helen remarked idly as they finally set about getting ready for the day, removing the satin scarf from around loosely tied fabric curls as James slipped a freshly laundered shirt over his undershirt. She nodded her head towards the window as she said it, just as a particularly relentless sheet of rain pelted against it, the wind that accompanied it so bracing it nearly had the frame rattling.

An involuntary shiver raced up James’s spine just for having heard it, and he made even quicker work then of doing up the buttons and slipping a jumper on top.

“It’s apparently set to be like that all week, and all,” he nodded, smiling ruefully. “Perfect day for Siegfried to have skipped town, I should think.”

With the beckoning scent of toast and bacon filtering up through the house and into the bedsit, the two of them seemed to wordlessly and simultaneously hurry themselves along a bit, the thought of a hot breakfast and, particularly for James at least, an even hotter cup of tea like an oasis in the middle of the desert.

“Have you seen my other shoe?” he asked at one point as they manoeuvred around each other in the poky space, brandishing a lonely brogue in one hand as Helen dropped into the stool at her dressing table, now fully dressed. She looked up at him in the reflection of the mirror, seemingly amused.

“Wherever you left it, I’d imagine?” she quipped, her tone softening as she once again gestured towards the heavily rain-spattered window. “Would you not be better just stickin’ your wellies on for the day and leaving it at that?”

James gave a little huff of discontent, dropping down onto his belly by the side of the bed. Peering underneath, he made a grab for the vaguely shoe-like shape lying on its side. “Well aye, I’ve got them in the boot of the car for the actual calls themselves. Got to maintain some semblance of professionalism in between though,” he said, voice straining a little as he reached, before finally getting a hold of it.

“On your own head and your nice dress shoes be it,” Helen replied, resigned. The Yorkshire Dales could be a cruel beast this time of year, that she knew well. “They’ll be soaked through before the day’s end…”

She trailed off, glancing upwards to meet his eye in the mirror once more as she realised he wasn’t listening to her. “James?”

The persistent twinge of an ache in his throat had crawled up into his sinuses, leaving him heavy-lidded as his nostrils flared in imminent warning. Both hands still occupied by the shoes he was holding, with how fast it came upon him he only just barely had the mind to twist off to the side, sneezing haphazardly down towards his arm.

“hH’AESSSH’hh!..... ih’IDZSSSSsh’ue!”

God, if she hadn’t been paying attention to him beforehand she likely would have jumped. For the overwhelmingly gentle, softly-spoken man that her husband was, by heck could his sneezing half-deafen you.

“Bless you, love,” she said, reaching for her lipstick as James groaned, the sneezes having scratched up his throat like a sheet of sandpaper. Dumping the shoes on the floor by the chair, he dipped into his nightstand drawer for a handkerchief, sniffing wildly.

“Thank-you,” he mumbled genuinely from behind it, burying his nose in its folds, and then because he can simply never resist the urge to apologise for something, anything, “Sorry.”

Helen shook her head, expression long-suffering but unquestionably fond. “Don’t be daft, up here’s needed a going-over with the hoover for days and I haven’t gotten round to it.”

Ironically, ever since they’d gotten back, and she’d subsequently moved into Skeldale with James and the Farnons, she’d been making sure to spend as much time as she could up at Heston Grange. Trying to maintain some degree of normality for her dad and Jenny amongst all the change, ensure they were coping okay with the workload without her there all the time as she had been. It’d been such a big change, and it all happened so quickly. Sometimes Helen herself didn’t know whether she was up or down. It’d even shocked her, flipping through the post and her name reading ‘Helen Herriot’ rather than ‘Alderson’.

“I’ll see to it later, yeah?”

Aye, James thought, with not an insignificant amount of relief, of course. That makes sense. Case closed, then. No more need to worry. It was the dust; the irritation of it was burning a little even still.

Giving his nose one last definitive swipe, he pocketed the handkerchief and set about at last putting his shoes on. “Of course. Don’t worry about it.”

He knew it was an adjustment for her, one he probably couldn’t fully understand having not had to go through it himself. Going from the farm to Skeldale House, a lifelong farmer to the wife of a vet, living in the village with him and not in a farmhouse out in the Dales with her dad and sister. The last thing he wanted to do was put pressure on her, or unfair expectations. He was resolute in his intention to never be a husband who simply demanded and expected from his wife simply by virtue of having been born a man and her a woman. It wasn’t how he’d been raised, wasn’t how his dad had been with his mum, and it wasn’t how he’d ever want to treat his wife either.

At the end of the day they were a partnership in all things. A team.

All throughout his life, as most people probably do, James had imagined himself being married at some point. Knew it was to some extent inevitable. Having a wife, children, a family of his own. Not that he’d not looked forward to it, but he’d always just had so much else to focus on - school, then college, final exams, certification, and then the nine months it took him to eventually find a job. Moving down from inner city Glasgow to the rural depths of the English countryside. Getting settled into his rather… unorthodox way of life here; earning people’s trust and respect with their animals, their livelihoods, and making himself part of the community.

He’d always had some vague sort of outline of a picture in mind depicting what his future would look like, but it’d been like trying to read it through a screen of smoke, rendering it blurry and indecipherable.

The day he met Helen though (properly, not counting when he’d been ploughed through by Jenny getting off the bus on the very first day he arrived), on one of his first days in Darrowby, it all came into view with a clarity so startling it could have taken his breath away. He wasn’t a greatly religious man, but it’d been as if God himself had picked him up from where he’d been and dropped him into the arse-end of nowhere in the middle of the Yorkshire countryside, right where he needed to be to find his wife.

And what a woman to have found.

“No, no,” Helen insisted as James gravitated back across the room and into her orbit, his broad, but yet still tender hands, a little calloused from the hard work they weathered each day, finding their way to her shoulders. “If it’s bad enough it’s got you sneezing all over’t shop, it definitely needs done. I’ll see to it before I head up to the Grange later on.”

He knew better than to challenge her when she set her mind to an idea, so he backed down, his expression soft. “Thanks. I appreciate it,” he near-whispered, resting his chin on the top of her head for a second, before dropping a kiss down onto the crown.

Helen glowed under the affection, the honey-sweetness of it, the ease with which the instinct seemed to come to him, infusing into her bloodstream, and she let it warm her from the inside out. She brought a hand up to grasp one of his own, letting her thumb swipe against his knuckles.

“Suppose that’s why you were snoring an’ all last night as well,” she teased, the urge to do so unable to be quelled.

His body went rigid with affront, bringing his face out of her hair just so he could shoot her a disapproving look. “You’re having me on now, I don’t snore!”

“Well you certainly were last night! Trust me, I was there.”

He rolled his eyes, words dying in his throat as he backed down. What could he say to that?

A faint inkling of unease crept back in. He, reportedly, only really tended to snore when he-

No, he thought, quashing it quickly. I’m being a big hypochondriac, fretting over nothing. It’s the dust, she’d said so herself. He’s grand.

“Which one?” Helen asked, indicating towards the small metal jewellery tree where her necklaces hung, a couple of plain, simple ones she gravitated towards for everyday wear, and a couple more she’d only pull out on special occasions. It’d become a silly little game they’d play in the mornings, James having to pick one, trying to match it to what she was wearing and what kind of mood she was in. He’d gotten pretty good, he liked to think. She never really complained no matter what he chose.

He smiled, taking a longer, more deliberate look at what she was wearing, a cream woollen jumper, a long, blue cotton skirt, and two pairs of tights to protect against the cold. Ready for a blustery day as winter encroached.

With only one option for it, he leaned over her shoulder and plucked a simple gold chain from the metal hook, the one with a little, understated golden thistle on the end. He’d gotten it for her as a little extra surprise wedding present; the way it matched the bouquet and boutonnieres immediately catching his attention, something that’d last far longer beyond the day after the flowers themselves had wilted away.

“If you’re no’ having either the ceremony or the honeymoon in Scotland, you’s’d best have a part of it with you on the day at the very least,” his mum had groused, influencing their choice of flowers for the wedding.

He looked at her then as he picked it up, awaiting judgement. She pretended to give him an appraising look, but couldn’t bite back the smile for long, accepting his choice with a nod. Glowing with pride, he opened the clasp and draped it around her neck, letting his fingertips linger against the delicate skin, trail upwards with a featherlight touch.

Helen shivered, but made no move to displace his hand.

“James! You know I’m ticklish there,” she whined, though the breath seemed to catch in her throat, the chastisement coming out stilted and a little breathless.

“Do I?” he replied innocently, but with an incorrigible smirk, as he bent down, replacing his fingers with his lips against the side of her neck. He inhaled deeply, intent on savouring the soft, floral notes of her favourite perfume before a day full of farm visits. He met resistance though, the movement sounding more like a sniff not even just once, but the two times he tried.

Huh, it was fainter than usual. Maybe she hadn’t put that much on today.

Either not having sensed his trouble, or simply not minded, her hand snuck round to clutch the back of his neck, mouth hanging slightly open, eyelids fluttering against the onslaught of sensation.

“Don’t start something you don’t have time to finish” she managed out, brittle and edged in warning but making no effort to stop him all the same. We can but live in hope.

“Who says we don’t have t-”

“JIM! HELEN! If you’re not downstairs in the next 30 seconds, your bacon is fair game! Just a warning, heed it at your leisure!” Tristan’s voice suddenly boomed from the bottom of their stairs, giving them both a start, jumping apart as if he’d burst into the bloody room and all.

It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, two pairs, in the opposite direction, as if he was being frogmarched back down the hallway.

“Don’t listen to him, I never agreed to that!” Mrs Hall’s voice followed, not quite as loud, but characteristically firm, if marginally harried. “But even so, I’d recommend not taking the chance, y’know what he’d like.”

It succeeded in piercing through whatever romantic fog had settled in around them. They felt it melt away into reluctant acceptance as they sighed, James retreating as Helen got up from the stool.

Alright, maybe they didn’t have time for that.

“Drovers later on?” she suggested as they made for the stairs. “I think Audrey’s out at the pictures with Gerald, so we’re fending for ourselves anyway. We could grab a drink and something to eat?”

“You’re on.”

—-------------------

By the time James made it back to Skeldale House later that evening, despite it only being just gone six o’clock, it was just dark enough outside that he didn’t feel self-conscious about letting his head fall forward onto the steering wheel in an exhausted heap.

Resting his eyes. Just for a second.

Suffice to say, it’d been a long day.

The rain had continued its relentless downpour all day long and now into the evening too, managing to sneak up on him and soak him through to the bone even in just the short time it took to dash from the car to the barn, stable, coop, or any such place with a blessed covering over the top of it. Once the chill set into his bones after the first couple of calls though, it’d been rather hard to shake.

He’d expected the sore throat and tenderness in his sinuses from the morning’s escapades, maybe naively chalked up to a mere dusty carpet, to shift as the morning wore on, after getting some fresh air in his lungs. Blowing the cobwebs away. That should’ve done the trick.

Instead, with each chilly, draughty barn one after another, the aches only embedded further, almost melding into one eventually. As the hours ticked by he only got more lethargic and bone-weary, his entire face started to feel more and more swollen in that unmistakable, ominously viral kind of way that left little question about what he was in for. He could drink enough readily offered cups of tea to fill Loch Lomond, pass the incessant sniffling and throat clearing through appointments off as being down to the weather as much as he wanted.

As much as he liked to think himself an optimist, at the end of the day it didn’t change the now inescapable fact that he was definitely getting the cold, and there was likely very little he could do about it. At the worst time bloody possible, too.

Upon returning to the house, he’d reversed into the driveway rather than just driving in, and only far enough that the tip of the hood was just shy of cutting out onto the pavement. Yet more reluctant acceptance in his consideration that, with Siegfried not due back until late the following afternoon, he’d be heading back out to do it all over again first thing tomorrow morning as well.

He let out a sigh, pressing his forehead a little harder into the smooth, leather-covered metal, finding blissful, if momentary, relief in how it kneaded into the pressure gathering between the top of his nose and in between his eyebrows.

There’d been a point earlier when, wrist-deep inside the business end of a labouring heifer no less, he’d swallowed absentmindedly and had been caught off guard when the ache wasn’t quite as piercing as it had been before. Trying again and again it seemed not to be a fluke, and by the time he’d been making a bolt back for the safety of the car the sting had, miraculously, all but gone.

Perhaps it was hubris, letting himself feel relieved and self-satisfied at that point, because not too long after it had become clear the sore throat had simply ceded centre stage, and-

“hhH’AESSSSZH’uh! hh…hu’EHDZSSSSCH’uh!” he sneezed, desperate and ragged, caught in the hurried cradle of his hands.

That had started. In an embarrassingly conspicuous, rather frequent kind of way.

James sighed. Did he have to get out of the car? It was rather chilly, and the thought of finally getting to sit down in front of the fire inside and warm up a bit was a tempting fantasy, but had he not been rained on enough for one day? Actually, he was rather content out here for the time being. Helen wouldn’t-

Helen.

Helen’s waiting for me in the Drovers. Helen’s waiting for me in the Drovers. Helen’s waiting for m-

Cutting off the feedback loop, James forced himself upright again.

By virtue of gravity and the fact that his nose had been running like a leaky tap for the better half of the day now, the movement forced a hurried, watery sniffle. Then another. Then another in quick succession before he gave up, pulling a now well-worn handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket, pressing it to the sore, wind-bitten underside of his nose.

His gaze flitted up across the village square to the Drovers Arms, only the faintest hint of light making it through the frosted glass windows shrouded by blackout curtains.

He needed to go. Shouldn’t keep Helen waiting any longer. On the other hand he could also feel, though, that he was likely going to sneeze again, sooner probably, rather than later, and admittedly at this point he’d rather it be in private, if possible. His nose had been so sensitive all day, set on a hair trigger, come to think of it, it’d probably be easy enough to just-

On that thought, James lowered the handkerchief, and pressed his fingertip into the bridge of his nose with what he hoped would be a teasing pressure, then moved to the side, rubbing circles into the tender passages, letting the edge of his knuckle scrape featherlight against the edge of his nostril.

It took barely a few seconds of effort before his eyes slammed shut, brimmed with moisture, and-

“hH’AESSSSHUE!” he sneezed, crushed into the fabric. “hhheh’AEHDSSSZ’uh! …..hihhH…. H’IHDZSSSS’ssh!”

Bloody hell. It was as if they were angry and resentful for having been forced from him in such a manner.

“Goodness! God bless you, Mr Herriot.”

James started, his heart skipping a beat, the voice having come out of nowhere. He rushed to look up through the tears of irritation, and found old Mrs Barton on the pavement in front of the car, lead in one hand with little Josephine the terrier on the end of it, and an umbrella in the other, looking on with a kind, genuine kind of sympathy that had any urge to be short-tempered quickly melting away.

He nodded her on, a polite smile still hidden behind the handkerchief.

“Thank you,” he said, the words coming out thick and a little muddled, before another instinctive sniffle. Mercifully though, she accepted it, walked on and let him be after that, and he was finally able to give his nose the blow that it needed.

Privacy? In Darrowby? Honestly, he should’ve known better than to assume such a thing was possible.

—-----------------------------------

When he finally psyched himself up sufficiently to brace the elements and run across the road to the pub, James found Helen at a table by the lit fireplace (by God whether it was foresight on her part of just plain luck, he could’ve married her all over again then and there on the spot), having a drink with Mrs Hall. She’d changed into a more practical pair of trousers since he’d last seen her that morning, a little splatter of mud, no doubt from the farm and on account of the rain making the entire landscape mucky, caked up the side, her soft brown curls a little wild and windswept, held up at the sides by a couple of barrettes.

“Sorry! Sorry, I know I’m late, I have no excuse,” he stuttered out in a rush as he hurried in, making sure to close the door quickly behind him before Maggie had a chance to give off about letting the heat out. Ducking down, almost by force of habit, he went to give Helen a kiss but, suddenly overly aware of his own condition, pressed it to the corner of her mouth instead at the last moment.

She tried not to look surprised at the diversion.

“But I kind of do have an excuse,” he tried, cautiously, as he sat down in the booth seat beside his wife. “In fact, I’d say that you’re lucky you’re seeing me at all considering how Mr and Mrs Dowson tried to rope me into staying for tea at my last visit. Pie, it was. Steak and kidney.”

Helen immediately turned her body towards his, her eyes suddenly saucers. “Mrs Dowson’s pies are the best in the county. They’ve won best in show at Darrowby Fair every year for the last five.”

“Are you saying I should’ve stayed?” James said, slipping his hand in behind her, letting it rest in the dip of her back, just about resisting the urge to melt into the warmth. “Left my wife here sitting all alone, waiting for me?”

Helen choked out a short, unbelieving chortle. “No, I’m saying you should’ve said ‘Ta ever so much for the offer, it’s very kind. I actually have to go and meet my wife, but if there’s bits of pie going spare, I’ll surely take two off your hands for you, one for the both of us.”

They all laughed.

“Helen Herriot!” Mrs Hall reliably chastised, even despite her own grin.

James guffawed. “If it were you in my position, you wouldn’t dare be so bold!”

Helen just shrugged. “Aye, but it don’t mean you couldn’t.”

“Goodness me, what are the pair of you no like?” Mrs Hall remarked, shaking her head. Eyes alight with amusement, she couldn’t help but laugh, even as she rose from her seat.

“Oh, don’t leave on my account!” James insisted. “Sit where you are, you’re grand. I’ll get us all a round in.”

Mrs Hall shook her head, bringing her wrist up to check her watch. “Oh no, I was only keeping Helen company ‘til you got here, I’d best be off anyway. For Gerald…”

James and Helen both gave her a silent nod of understanding, and muttered ‘good luck!’ and ‘have fun!’s as she set off.

Before the two of them so much as had the opportunity to breathe, never mind ask how the other’s day had been, Mrs Hall was quickly replaced at their table by Mr Sharpe, who seemed to have been lurking by the bar beforehand. James had been up at his place earlier in the afternoon, seeing to a beautiful dapple grey mare of his who’d gone off her food.

“Sorry to cut in, you two, I just wanted to thank you again, Jim, if I could,” Mr Sharpe said, sticking his hand out over the tabletop. As remiss as James was to shake anyone’s hand in his current state, the embedded urge against being rude won out, and he let the other man take it. “Greta’s doing much better after that shot you gave her, even just since you left earlier. I’m just sorry you had to catch a chill an’ all just to come out.”

James felt the flush rise in his cheeks, and he knew not to turn to Helen, as he’d only be caught out immediately if he did, though he could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head all the same.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Mr Sharpe continued, oblivious. “For the trouble?”

“Ach no, don’t worry about it. I’ve to get Helen another anyway,” James rushed to wave it off, with an evasive, slightly nervous, chuckle that bubbled into a light, crackling cough somewhere in his throat. “I’m just glad Greta’s feeling more like herself again.”

“Offer’s open to the missus as well then,” Mr Sharpe said, finally seeming to pick up on the way she was looking at him. “What’ll ya have, love?”

When it was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer, they both just asked for a simple ale each, thanked him, and left it at that.

As soon as he left though Helen, with one eyebrow raised, nudged him in the side, concern in the set of her brow. “What’s all that about? Are you not feeling well?”

He doesn’t know why he said it, symptoms starting to weigh heavier and more obvious by the minute, but it escaped him before he had the chance to consider it further.

“No! No. It’s just… a wee touch of a chill,” he stuttered out, tone insistent but then deceptively smooth as he caught himself, even if he didn’t believe what he was saying. Not with how he instinctively sniffled after having said it. A misguided sniffle, apparently, as it stoked the dormant, underlying tickle that seemed to have situated itself firmly in the back of his sinuses.

Conscious of how crowded the pub was, how he could practically feel the person on the other side of him’s shoulder barely more than a couple of centimetres from his own, James jammed his nose into the side of his hand, the sneezes pitchy and demanding as he squashed them down.

“hh’IHGT!...... eh’XGT!........ hH…IH’GHXSTC’huh!”

“Bless mbe,” he breathed off-hand, with a sdnff. “Just… with the weather and everything,” he continued, with significantly less resolve than before, like the sneezes had sapped it from him. “I’m alright, sat by the fire now, really.” 

“You do talk some load of nonsense sometimes, y’know that?” Helen said after a pause, studying him, voice soft with some degree of acceptance even if she didn’t seem to fully believe it even still. “Silly man,” she muttered with unmissable affection, shifting an inch closer into his side, and gave his arm a little rub before Mr Sharpe returned with their drinks.

Over the following hour or so, one more round, and bowls of the hearty autumn stew the Drovers had on that evening, they finally got round to talking about their days - James about the animals he’d treated, Helen about how her dad and Jenny were getting on preparing the farm for hunkering down now winter was quicking descending on them. Her dad even reckoned snow could come as early as the next couple of weeks, so they’re to watch themselves in the car for frost on the roads in the mornings to come.

Minute by minute, James could start to feel himself flag more and more. The air around them was hot and stuffy, making breathing more of a chore - not ideal when he was already coming up against issues in that department - and his head feel all thick and soupy. At one point, what felt like half the men in the place seemed to all pull out their pipes at once, adding a thin but pervasive layer of smokiness into the equation, drawing sneeze after tired sneeze from him with a newly reinvigorated effort.

Sometime around then, he had a mental word with himself and admitted defeat, pulling his by now barely usable handkerchief from his pocket and just held it in his hand, read on hand for speedy utilisation. By the way Helen kept looking at him, he could tell he was maybe starting to look about as miserable as he was beginning to feel, anyway, though it did nothing to dissuade the steady stream of people wanting to come up and chat, whether to Helen about Heston or village going’s on, or take the opportunity to try and wrangle some free advice from James about one livestock issue or another.

Eventually, after finally managing to prise themselves out, she ended up more or less marching him back over to Skeldale House and he easily let her, a hand on his back and her own umbrella open keeping the both of them dry, even if the walk was short. With the congestion settling in more and more noticeably now, and news of an empty house upon finding Tristan’s note that he’d be out at some dance hall over in Braughton for the night, she insisted that a hot bath would help set him right and went off to draw it herself.

He assumed, maybe a little disappointedly, that she’d run it and then leave him to it. Oh God, is the cold making him clingy? She’d almost certainly sat and listened to him sniffle in her ear quite enough at the-

Just as he lowered himself into the tub however, the hot water almost euphoric against his wind-chilled skin, there was a knock at the bathroom door that cut the thought off.

“Yeah?” he called out quickly, a little hoarse.

“Don’t worry, s’only me,” Helen said, popping her head round the door.

Oh… he hadn’t even considered it being anyone else. Suddenly struck by the, frankly, horrifying thought of anyone else who lived here walking in on him in the bath, he forcefully pushed it to one side almost as rapidly as it sprung itself upon him.

“I’m… very glad to hear that.”

She chuckled, his robe, pyjamas, and a fresh handkerchief in one arm, leaving the latter on the floor where he could reach it before draping the other two over the radiator, and a cushion from her vanity chair in the other.

“Feel free to tell me to clear off if you were lookin’ a minute to yourself, but do you want some company?” she asked, infused with a quiet, muted hopefulness.

His smile was wearied, but it came easier than any others that entire day. “Of course. Always. Come, sit.”

Content, she laid the cushion down at the side of the bath and let herself drop down onto it, crossing her legs so her feet stuck out a little, bereft of shoes and adorned only in the thick, woollen socks James’s mum had knitted and sent up last Christmas. They were a light, feminine lilac colour, but were also massive, and she hadn’t specified in the card which one out of the two of them they were intended for so neither of them had any idea. Helen mainly just wore them either in bed or around the house over the top of her normal socks, to keep her feet warm on the cold tiles and creaking hardwood.

They idly chatted for a bit, before James gave into the desire to duck his head back under the water, mostly to wash the firm grip of the pommade out of his hair, but maybe partly also to warm his face, the tip of his nose particularly bitten by the remnant chill of the outdoors. The irritation of the water, combined with the steamy air starting to loosen everything up a bit in his head, had him twisting his head away from her nearly as soon as his head rose again.

“huH’EHDTZSSS’sh! hhh’H?.... iH’TCHSSSH’ue!”

The sneezes came out ragged and raw, sprayed down into the water in the general direction of a semi-raised wrist, followed in the next breath by a groan of complaint.

“Ugh, sorry,” he bit out, bringing his hand up to cover his nose, growing sore and pink at the edges and corners, where he could feel it running readily.

“Bless you. Oh, James,” she clucked her tongue, reaching for the handkerchief to pass it over to him, and he took it gratefully. It could’ve sounded cloying or patronising from anyone else, but the little laugh that had slipped out alongside the sympathy made it okay. It made him feel warm instead, somehow; cared about.

“I know, I know…” he croaked, after blowing his nose, able to laugh at himself along with her.

“Well we’re certainly getting a jump start testing our vows,” she joked. “Go ahead and check ‘in sickness and in health’ off the list.”

“What, you can honestly say you still fancy mbe, want to have and to hold mbe, like this, sdnff, bunged up and sneezing my head off?” he asked, with an incredulous laugh. “Hand on heart, God as your witness?”

Rising to the challenge, Helen tilted her head to the side, squinting a little as if taking a second to survey an interesting painting, or a sculpture of some kind. She let her eyes trail from the top of his head, to where the water had matted together his fair eyelashes, down the length of his strong Roman nose, to his lips and then the angle of his jaw. Then, to the width of his shoulders where they peeked out over the surface of the water, and the hair that covered his chest, firm and rather serviceable as a pillow, from her own experience.

“Yes, absolutely,” she concluded, not even a hint of teasing to be found.

James rolled his eyes, huffing out a disbelieving breath of a laugh. “Give over.”

“I’m being serious!” she pressed, and when his expression didn’t shift, she continued. “Alright, well, if I end up in the same way in a few days time, would you still fancy me?”

“Of course, 100%” he replied immediately, face suddenly serious.

Helen threw her hands up “Well there you go, then! And you’ve not even seen that yet, so really you should be more inclined to believe me than the other way around.”

Shaking his head but rendered momentarily speechless, James sighed, letting himself sink back against the back of the bath, his elbows hooked over either side, anchoring him in place. “I’ll try mby best to keep mby germs to myself,” he said, maybe edging on a little self-consciously.

Scrunching her face up in rejection, Helen shifted in place a smidge closer to where his arm hung over the side, and leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his wrist. “Nah, don’t be worrying about it. I’m not made of sugar.”

Overcome with the affection laced in the insistence, James rubbed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, letting his own cheek rest against his shoulder so he could comfortably hold her gaze. It overwhelmed him sometimes, just how much he loved her. He felt like his heart could burst under the sheer pressure of it sometimes, especially when she looked back at him, eyes shining, like that. It humbled him to some degree that she felt the same way about him, it always had, and he suspected it always will.

Rising up to her knees, and then to her feet, Helen cupped his cheek, wet and flushed pink in the humid heat, and leaned down to kiss him with firm intention. She paused for a second before dipping back in, that second kiss slower, sweeter, more savouring.

When James’s eyelids fluttered open again, he looked a little dazed, and when he opened his mouth it was like he was powerless against the words as they uttered up from his chest with a slight, tickling cough.

“I love you.”

Helen smiled a small, secret smile, one that was just for him, and gave his cheek a little swipe with her thumb before unbending and resuming her seat on the floor. “I love you too.”

“Anyway,” she said, leaning back on one arm, failing to suppress a smirk, “I was gonna say, this whole, uh, image here, is taking me back. To ‘The Spring’.”

James groaned as the memory flooded his mind, the sheer mortification he’d felt and all. When, only a couple of weeks into his stay in Darrowby, she’d somehow accidentally managed to walk in on him swimming naked in this remote little spring one morning in a wood nearby to the village, Jess having failed in her duties as a guard dog to let him know someone was coming.

“Wait,” he burst out suddenly, eyes alight like a cat that’s caught a mouse in its clutches. “Are you saying you fancied me as far back as the spring incident?!”

Helen’s mouth dropped open, struggling for the right thing to say, all that came out was, “What?”

It wasn’t that big of a deal, all that business with Hugh. Not since officially burying the hatchet with him back at the annual cricket match that one year, and now that all parties involved are happily married. So James continued pulling the thread.

“Aye, we never really talked about it, not properly. I always just sort of assumed it happened much later.” When she didn’t respond immediately, looking off as if trying to find a more palatable way to explain it other than “Yes, I fancied you while I was in a serious relationship with another man,” he lightly prodded. “Did you?”

“None of your business!” she finally exclaimed, trying ever so hard to look serious, though was failing spectacularly.

In impeccable timing, the laugh he’d been chiming in with caught in his throat and had him smothering a bubbling of coughs into a closed fist. Then, following a desperate gulp of air, sneezing full and harsh and dripping into the hastily unfurled cradle of his hands, left with no time to make a grab for the handkerchief.

“hhhH’AEHZSSSH!”

Helen just shot him a smug look, this time, without even an ounce of sympathy. “See? That’s what you get for being a cocky bollocks, in’t it? Instant retribution.”

Put to bed sometime later with a hot, spicy herb-spiked whiskey in hand, the very last thing he wanted to do was get up and do this all over again in a precious few amount of hours.

Maybe he'd get lucky and head the worst of this thing off tonight.