Homesick Halloween

As an unchosen mystery housemate, Ellie had to admit they'd lucked out. She wouldn't ever have chosen a bloke, but the guy was clean, 'vacuumed' occasionally and kept the kitchen reasonably tidy, didn't take too long in the only bathroom, and was polite, obliging and reasonably friendly.

Not too loud or in your face as she'd feared. Much as she liked Shannon and Mike, she'd have hated living with them, all high volume and energetic enthusiasm all day. They said it was because Chad was from New England -- he was 'more like the English'. He didn't seem to see it the same way, but then she was hardly the best person to comment on the English!

She'd noticed he was a pleasant sight in the mornings; of course she had, but after Steven had driven her to dumping his sorry arse, she'd had enough of men for the while. Declan didn't count. Complaining she didn't hang around when he announced he was doing a whole-day gaming event, after he'd invited her to stay for the weekend, had been the final straw, despite him managing to be considerate and satisfying on the occasions they'd made it to bed together. Perhaps that had been less him being caring and more simply showing off? She wasn't sure.

At least he'd been an improvement on Rob -- similar half-arsed attempts to slot her in around his busy social life which didn't include her. Him trying it on when she'd been asleep had been the end of that one. She'd had a word with Liz first thing in the morning, resulting in Paul getting the house key back off the guy and Liz and Paul together ushering him out the door. Point made.

Before that there had been Stuart, another charmer who'd lured her in, then lost interest after they'd shagged. Like his predecessor Chris.

Really, Ellie sighed, she clearly had abysmal taste when it came to men. She vaguely recalled drunkenly telling Rachel to take over and find a man for her, though Rach had had enough discretion never to mention that again. And hadn't.

Ellie figured she'd enjoy snuggling with Chad during the horror film. And then she could enjoy the luxury of her spacious large bed. The novelty still hadn't worn off for her. She could chill out for a while, then drift off to sleep with thoughts of George Clooney.

"Getting a beer," Paul called. "Want one, Chad?"

"Thanks. A lager from the fridge, please." That way, it would be cold.

"Here you go."

Chad took the opened bottle of Budvar. "Cheers." He still wasn't sure when 'cheers' could or couldn't mean 'thank you', but he knew it was a good thing to say when someone gave you a drink.

"Cheers." Paul raised his can of warm brown filth, then drank.

Chad would never understand ale, bitter, mild, or stout -- beers served warm, sorry, 'room temperature'. He had learned to respect cider -- like every British fourteen-year-old, Liz and Ellie had assured him, cider always being at least 5% alcohol in Britain -- but he had to admit the available range of European lagers was excellent. Ellie and Marion were planning to take him to a Belgian restaurant where he could try a dozen lagers to go with 'moules and chips' -- mussels with some bread but piles of French fries. 'Only don't call them French. Frites or chips. Fries, if you must.'

He was getting a taste for Budvar, though Amstel, various blond beers like Hoegaarden, and Stella were also good.

He settled back, necked a deep swig of beer, and then took a handful of popcorn from the tub Ellie passed him. Finally, he could relax.

Until he spat out a piece of popcorn.

"It's sweet!" More than that, it was an odd sweet with no salt. So much for the Brits constantly complaining American food was too sweet! Yet another unexpected culture shock. He fought off a tired emotional tear coming to his eye.

"Oh, you wanted salty? No worries." Some shuffling, and a different box of popcorn made it across the crowded room to Chad's lap. He bit a piece gingerly. It was, at least, salted popcorn. Some butter would have made it perfect.

And that was achievable! He hauled himself up -- "Save my spot, Ellie," -- found the butter dish in the kitchen, applied it to the popcorn, gave it a few seconds in the microwave, and squeezed back to his seat.

Ah, bliss. Actual edible popcorn, just like home.

"You all right?" Just as he'd got used to that as a greeting, it seemed Ellie was asking an actual question.

"Sure. I got my beer and my snack. We're good." He was exhausted. Tired both physically and emotionally.

The opening credits rolled. Chad sipped his beer, finally relaxing. As far as drunkenness went, he was about average. One advantage of public transportation; no-one needed to drive home from the party. Ellie had been given another pint glass half-filled with wine.

Some people shouted out at the movie. Others laughed. Chad wasn't a horror fan, so this all made it more entertaining.

He started to doze. Ominous music rose.

Suddenly a jump scare resulted in screams all round, and a panting Ellie curled up against his chest.

He put his arm round her. "It's okay."

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Stay put. Don't want me catching cold."

Ellie had finished her wine, so spent most of the rest of the film with her head buried between Chad's just-about-visible pecs, squealing rapidly almost every time she ventured out, and returning to what she clearly regarded as safety.

Chad did wonder briefly why Ellie was remaining in the room, but given he seemed to have lost his ability to speak clearly, he guessed she was too tipsy to want to move. He wasn't complaining about her curling up on him, though. Her warmth and affection was nice.

When the movie ended, he went up to bed, exhausted. Socialising with mostly-Brits, following their rapid-fire speech, and the not-quite-right Hallowe'en had done him in.

His room was even smaller than at college, and more sparsely filled, but it was all his. The single bed was comfortable, which was all he really needed. After waiting in line for the bathroom he brushed his teeth. He shucked off his shorts and jockeys and got into bed. He could hear Liz and Paul firmly ushering guests outside.

Slowly, all muzzy-headed from the drink, he stroked himself to ease into sleep. His usual mental pictures of memories and fantasies faded behind some brighter, wavier hair and a warm head on his chest.

Ellie.

If he never let on, it was okay to dream, right?

Suddenly the door burst open.

Ellie herself blearily stumbled through the doorway.

"Hey!"

"Huh? Ach a fi!" Another couple Welsh exclamations came before Ellie grasped who she was speaking to and switched back to English. "I'm so, sorry!" She tripped drunkenly over the door despite gripping its handle, clearly mortified at her mistake.

There was no way Chad was going to run after her. Nudity could be swiftly covered with a towel or robe -- 'dressing gown', the girls said, making it sound all classy, like Alexis Colby -- but dripping arousal? No way.

For once the tiny room was an advantage. He pushed the door shut with an outstretched arm, kicked the chair over to block anyone pushing it open again, then returned his hand to where it would do most good.

This time he couldn't even pretend to himself he wasn't thinking of Ellie. Her smooth clear skin, that charming accent, her face on his bare skin.

How she'd basically deep-throated her donut hole.

And various of her quiet deadpan jokes came back to him. No, she couldn't be as innocent as she came across. Especially given her string of exes, however shitty they'd been.

If she only went for assholes... Chad liked to think he wouldn't qualify.

No, she'd complained they seemed 'lovely', at first.

Could that mean he might have a chance?

He doubted it. He was only in the country for another three to four months. So was she, most likely. Liz and Rachel had confirmed she wasn't the type for meaningless flings. Besides, it was a small house. It would be impossible to avoid each other if they had sex but then got embarrassed.

It would be a terrible idea, the sensible front of Chad's brain told him.

His primitive hindbrain simply encouraged him to move his wrist faster.

Chad vowed to keep his feelings well hidden.

Next day, he joined Liz and Paul for breakfast. Neither was at all worse for wear, which was unfair, but they had cleaned up the house, for which he thanked them.

"So, how inauthentic did that feel as a Hallowe'en party, Chad?" Paul asked.

Chad took a sip of coffee as he considered how to answer. His housemates had gone to a fair bit of effort to give him a good time, and it really had been fun.

"Don't feel you need to be polite!" Liz assured him.

"No, no!" he protested. "It was great! Just -- different. I mean, it was full of guys talking in British..."

"Obviously..."

"I guess, it's sorta an optional extra for you guys? You haven't all been planning your party costumes since the start of summer..."

"How much effort does a scary mask need?"

"Yeah. See. Totally different! Kinda weird, I think -- so much time between summer and Christmas, which I know is your big deal, and you don't have Thanksgiving at all. That's a long time with no holidays. Things to celebrate," he added hastily, recalling how 'holidays' to them only meant vacation days. "You'd think Hallowe'en would be leapt on."

"Oh, it is," Liz told him. "We've always done guising -- that's basically trick-or-treat -- in Scotland. And various parties and making bats in arts and crafts at school, not to mention having to write out Burns' poem and Hallowe'en prayer in your bestest handwriting and sing it in Assembly. Did you escape that, Ells?"

"We did it once. First year of secondary school. Like, seventh grade?" she explained. "It was bad enough getting used to doing all our lessons in English, then they throw bloody Rabbie Burns at us!"

She demonstrated. "From Ghoulies an' Ghoosties an' lang-leggety Beasties, and Things that go Bump in the Ni-i-i-ight, Good Lord, Good Lord, Good Lord, deliver us!"

Chad could tell it was a terrible attempt at Scots, even without Liz wincing. Her singing voice was nice, though.

"Did you go trick-or-treating, too?"

Ellie shook her head. "No. Too rural. None of our close neighbours had kids, and no-one's going to be driving up a farm track on the off-chance."

Liz continued, "We'd walk up and down the street for a few sweets in exchange for a joke. But that's about it. Neds chucking eggs at people, too. Like the same bampots wouldn't be making as much trouble any other night!"

"Still seems pretty low-key."

"I suppose it has to compete with Guy Fawkes," Ellie mused as she bit into her toast.

"Who he?"

"Guy Fawkes? Bonfire Night?"

"Fireworks?" Liz added.

Chad screwed up his eyes, trying to recall.

At which point Ellie, Liz and Paul began to recite: three flat doom-laden voices chanting in unison:

"Remember, remember,

The fifth of November.

Gunpowder, treason and plot.

I see no reason

Why gunpowder treason

Should Ever. Be. Forgot!"

The rhyme ended with a shout. He shuddered. "You guys are suddenly spookier than your Hallowe'en! What's all that about?" He dimly recognised the rhythm and name from the V for Vendetta movie a few years ago, but he'd only caught the trailer.

Liz began. "Back in, er...?"

"1605," Ellie chipped in obligingly.

"James the Sixth,"

Paul interjected, "Of Scotland,"

"Had recently taken over the English throne, becoming their James the First, after Elizabeth the First died. He was a Protestant like her, much to the disappointment of English Catholics who hoped he'd support them.

"So, this bunch of Catholics decided to blow up Parliament when the King came to do the State Opening, as the Queen still does each year. They put lots of barrels of gunpowder in the basement, and this chap Guido Fawkes was there keeping an eye on it.

"Only someone grassed up the gang. Or was it, he was found and gave the others away after torture?"

"He was tortured, all right," Paul confirmed. "The rack. Our history textbook showed his before-and-after signatures. He could barely control a pen for his confession, after."

"Anyway, they all got executed. But since then there's celebrations, big bonfires and burning of the Guy -- a life-size effigy on top of the fire."

"Great use for your dad's old clothes," added Paul.

Ellie added excitedly, "Yup. The big thing is firework displays. You'd always be all huddled round in the cold, trying to get near the bonfire, eating jacket potatoes and drinking soup."

"Or hot chocolate. Or Bovril."

"Mm. It was the only time of year I'd get a pot of Choc Dips, too," Ellie remembered.

"And it was always a bit drizzly and foggy."

"Aye," Liz agreed with her partner. "But then the fireworks would start and make it all worth it. All the wee kids on their dadda's shoulders pointing, and the whole crowd going 'ooh!'"

"We'd go to one on the beach. You'd see all these reflections in the sea," Ellie remembered.

It sounded like any firework show like on Fourth of July, Chad thought, but the difference between this Bonfire Night and British Hallowe'en was stark -- now his housemates were speaking with genuine enthusiasm and affection. Their air of 'this is ironic apple bobbing' had vanished.

Liz giggled. "Though I bet you were celebrating it properly, unlike at my school!" she said to Paul.

"What?" Ellie didn't understand.

"You're supposed to be thinking that Guy Fawkes and his pals failed, so it's a celebration of Government triumphing over terrorism."

"Well, yeah?"

"Aye, right. I went to a Catholic school. We celebrated the fact that they tried!"

Paul shrugged. "I think most of the country is a bit torn on that, and then goes 'fuck it, let's set off some fireworks anyway.' The ones where it's firmly the Catholic patsy on the fire are always a bit suspect. Look at the hoo-ha about the Bonfire Societies in Lewes each year, for example."

"Why? What do they do?"

Ellie laughed. Chad liked her laugh. "In Lewes, there's no doubt it's an anti-Catholic thing. Or was. They always burn the Pope."

"And any infamous celebrity. There's usually about a dozen effigies, they all parade through town in fancy dress, carrying flaming torches and banners and their huge guys, before dumping them on their giant bonfires and doing the best fireworks of anywhere. Thatcher always used to be burnt, now you get George Bush, Blair..."

"Colonel Gaddafi, Kim Jong-un, Cameron..."

"Yeah. It's amazing. The races with flaming tar-barrels are pretty special, too. And best displays in the land."

"They're not to music, though," Ellie objected.

"Like you'd hear any," Paul scoffed.

"No, you do, like at Battersea! It's all choreographed, music and fireworks, it is!"

"Like you can set fireworks to music," Paul scoffed, sure Ellie was having him on. Or as she'd say, 'taking the piss'.

"I love choreographed fireworks!" Chad remembered the Boston Pops show on the Fourth of July each year.

"See, he knows you can!"

"All red, white and blue in the twilight, band playing, drinking beers on a hot summer evening..."

"This is different. Pop and rock music, pitch dark, cold foggy nights, every colour you can make into flame. It's well lush!"

"That sounds really cool, actually." He had a soft spot for fireworks.

"Right, what are you doing on Thursday? Don't need to work late? Good. I'm taking you to Battersea Park there, to see fireworks done right!" Ellie was unusually dogmatic.

"Okay," Chad figured. This could be fun.

Only on the day, as he ensured his experiments were at a stage they could be left for the evening, did it occur to him that a girl taking him to fireworks might be simply being friendly, but given that no-one else seemed to be venturing south of the river, it did look rather like a date.

How rude would it actually be, if he said 'fuck off, Marion', who had pointed that out? It would probably come across as a worse insult than if the Brits said the same thing, because he generally didn't. On the other hand, she was French and wouldn't know that...

Dmitri came to his aid. "Ah, yes, you must experience the English fireworks! Battersea, yes, is good place. Don't get lost! Big, big crowds!"

Two hours later, he'd been steered through rush hour crowds to change on the Tube, then onto a train to Battersea: "Warning. Battersea Park station is Southbound only. After the event, trains will be stopping Northbound only," and into a swarm of people all heading into the dark, tree-lined park. The throng became stifling, herded between tall fences, but once past the ticket check teams, people were funnelled in various directions and there was room to move again. The dark felt less oppressive. The odd white-globe old-fashioned lamp-post didn't cut it.

The stomping down dimly-lit paths felt endless. Eventually they emerged into a huge open space. Bonfires the size of houses blazed in two far corners. Stalls offered the chance to buy food and drink and light-up toys.

"Don't go to that death van!" Ellie caught his arm as he made to approach the nearest white metal trailer offering burgers.

"What? Why not?"

"All right, it might not actually give you food poisoning, here -- I bet they check them carefully, unlike all the ones in student areas. They're called death vans for a reason! But what it is, it'll be a rubbish burger. Come, let's try that one by over there!"

A shorter queue made up for the higher prices. Soon Chad had his Aberdeen Angus burger with blue cheese, brioche bun, crunchy salad, and had to admit that while the cheese and potent English mustard were threatening to send steam through the top of his head, it was one of the tastiest things he'd ever eaten. He offered Ellie a bite, and she offered her own Cumberland sausage in a bun in exchange.

"This is good!"

"Yes, there's lovely! Glad you didn't go for the sub-McDonalds offering?"

"Very." He saw her shiver. "Are you cold?"

"A bit. There should be hot chocolate to warm up with, somewhere."

There probably was some, somewhere, that Ellie didn't dismiss as 'powdered shit', but they found hot mulled wine, instead.

"You know this is alcoholic, right?"

"Yes."

"I was just checking, mun! Just in case it's like cider and it's a soft drink where you're from! I can't be carrying your body all the way home!"

He mock-fell on her as they waited in line, and she laughed. Possibly even appreciated it.

She held his wrist as they manoeuvred closer to the roped-off area from where the fireworks would be set off, but her hand soon slipped into his.

Chad held her small hand. Tender soft skin, yet those fingers were apparently highly skilled at manipulating samples in the lab.

He really mustn't think about the girl having highly-skilled fingers.

They finished their drinks and stood close to each other against the cold, stepping sideways to allow a family with small children a better view.

"Why are we waiting?" sang a jocular chap. Not many people joined in.

Chad checked his watch. A couple minutes to eight. In the darkness, he could make out a dozen figures in black scurrying about, making arm signals to each other.

"What time is it?" Ellie asked.

"Spot on eight."

Whoosh!

Six columns of gold shot into the air, turning outwards to rain down golden droplets. Bright white and gold erupted in the sky, but more impressive than that was that every bang really was coordinated with the music.

Cyndi Lauper's 'Shine' rang with explosions on every beat, and the sky lit up at the chorus.

A Spice Girls song had red, white and blue fireworks, then some rap with small popping flashes from columns all round.

Wild red flashes illuminated the sky to the Rolling Stones' 'Satisfaction', the whole audience singing along.

Then the air quietened. Purple glows appeared, to accompany Prince's Purple Rain.