fly | madderton

ONE

"Here, I've got this. Don't you worry, Mrs P." The older woman turned around from the shopping bags in her car, a smile forming when she recognised the friendly figure approaching.

"Oh, thank you, Taron. I'll take this one, it's got the eggs in-"

"Nonsense. I've got this," Taron said, beginning to pick up the bags, and then carry them through the house and into the kitchen.

This was the sort of behaviour that earned Taron his name amongst his neighbours. He was the talk of the town. Everyone knew everyone in their tight knit community, but everyone knew who Taron was. He had always been polite and respectful towards adults, but as he grew older he developed a habit of helping. He would help anyone with anything, and never expected anything in return. He just enjoyed the feeling of knowing he'd made someone's day easier.

"Oh thank you, son," Mrs Parker smiled at Taron when he set down the last bag carefully on the counter, the bag with the eggs. "Here, I have something for your mother. Are you going to the festival?" The woman turned away to look through a cupboard, leaving Taron to lean against the counter and look over the multitude of photographs covering the wall.

"I'm on my way over now, actually. Mum's roped me into helping set up Grandad's stall, after I've been helping him make jam all week. Think she's just looking for excuses to get rid of me, 'cause every time she cleans I get in the way." They both laughed, and the woman turned back to Taron after finding what she wanted in the cupboard. A recipe book.

"Here, I borrowed it the other week, about time she got it back. And, for your troubles, you can have one of the cookies I made. Not quite as good as your mother's, but I think they're nice." She pulled the lid off of a plastic box on the counter and held it out to Taron, who deliberated over the biscuits for a moment before picking one out. "Thank you for your help, Taron."

"My pleasure, Mrs P. I'll see you at the festival?"

"You sure will, son."

Taron smiled and waved before leaving the house and continuing to walk in the direction he was heading before, now with a cookbook in one hand and a cookie in the other. She was right, they weren't as good as his mother's, but they were still damn good.

The festival he was heading towards was a yearly party held in the centre of his village. Almost everyone attended, and everyone had a great time. There were funfair games and a few small rides, as well as selling stalls, a few competitions and usually some live music. As the day went on, the sellers would pack up and join in on the party. It was always good fun, and definitely the highlight of the year for the village.

Taron had offered to help out his grandfather, as he did every year. Everyone in the village knew his jams, and he'd been banned from entering the jam contest after winning it every year. Instead, he settled for selling his and judging the contest. This worked great for Taron, as he followed his grandfather around with a clipboard, scribbling down his notes in between tasting the jams for himself. It was rather just a day for him to eat a lot without any guilt about the fact.

His grandfather had beaten him there, and already had the table set up ready. Taron had little more to do than help put the tablecloth on (which seems like an easy task, but took them almost half an hour to get it perfectly level) and help put out all the jars. They'd almost finished by the time the first customers approached, and already a crowd was starting to build on the green. After the first customer, the stall became manic. Taron interacted with the first few, starting conversations about any and everything, but it soon got too busy for him to even recognise who he was serving. People just asked for a flavour, and he gave them it, with a short exchange of words as he handed them the product and took the money. It was mostly old biddies, with a few kids doing the rounds whilst their parents ran similar stalls. It was too busy for him to look up and put a name to every face, but certainly not too busy for him to recognise such a strong, foreign accent.

"I'll have a jar of strawberry please, duck,"

Taron's head shot up, and his jaw dropped down. There was a moment of stunned silence, before his agape expression transformed into a grin.

"Well, if it isn't Dicky Madden! Where the bloody hell do you think you've been?" Taron whipped around the table to throw his arms around his friend, gripping him in a suffocating hug. He was so overwhelmed at the prospect of seeing his best friend again that he completely forgot about the stall, and the fact that he was supposed to be helping his granddad sell jam.

"Scotland, actually." Richard quipped, earning a smack on the shoulder from Taron.

"I knew that, you little-" They pulled back from the hug, both boys grinning ear to ear. There was another moment of silence as they took each other in. It had been a whole three years since Taron had seen Richard, and he'd changed a hell of a lot in that time. He'd gotten taller and broader, and the changes to his shape in these ways made him appear slimmer, as if he'd grown into his own body. Puberty had worked wonders on him. His jaw had set sharper, and there was a hint of stubble across his chin. Taron would even stretch as far as to call him handsome.

"It's good to see you, T," Richard finally broke the silence, reaching out to take Taron's hand.

"As it is you... Jamie and Charlie are going to go mental when they find out, and- and, my mum!"

"I've spent all morning with them. And her. They picked me up from the train station, took me to yours. Your mum made us all biscuits."

"That's why she was trying so hard to get rid of me. You're all awful people. I can't believe nobody told me!" Taron protested, pulling Richard away from the stand and to the other side of the car so they could talk in peace. "Horrid, horrid boy."

Richard laughed, squeezing Taron's hand before letting go to pull him into another hug once they were away from the crowd. This one lasted far longer, and occurred with no beatings, or feigned anger. There was a mutual comfort in the hug, and an understanding of what each boy was feeling. Overwhelming feelings of joy crashed over Taron like a tidal wave of relief, all over finally seeing Richard again. Tears were beginning to well in his eyes, and he didn't want to pull away from the hug for fear he would look ridiculous. Little did he know, Richard was feeling the exact same.

It was as if the world stopped spinning in that moment, to allow them to make up for all of the lost time. Neither boy wanted it to end, but both were conscious that they could be ripped apart again all too soon, so had to make the most of their shared time. When they eventually pulled apart, they did so with a quiet laugh, both boys having to wipe their eyes with their sleeves.

"I've really missed you, T."

"How long are you here?"

"Don't ruin it-"

"Rich."

"Three weeks."

"Three? Is that it?" Taron's face fell when he heard the words Richard so desperately hadn't wanted to say. Richard just nodded, but Taron was quick to shake his head and gently squeeze Richard's shoulder. "It doesn't matter. All we can do is make the most of the time we've got. Come on, I'm still king of the ring toss. I'm going to win you a teddy."