Jackson reverses into a space, his hand on the back of my chair as he twists his body.
We step out into the frigid air, breathing in the fresh country air. Jackson waits for me to round the car before we head towards the old manor house.
“I’ve wanted to come here for ages.”
“How come?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, I used to drive past it on my way back home and I used to tell myself that I’d come have a look but I never did.”
“Who lived here?” he asks.
“No idea.”
Jackson laughs and rubs his hands together. “Let’s learn. I hope they have an audio guide.”
He orders both our tickets and pays despite my protest. He also pays extra for us both to use a personal guide and he fits the orange headphones over my head.
“You’re taking this so seriously,” I laugh after he lines both our guidebooks up so they start at the same time.
“Shh, you’re going to miss it.”
“Welcome to Ealbury House. This tour starts to the right of the grand staircase,” the automatic voice drawls in my ear.
“This way,” Jackson says eagerly, grabbing my hand and tugging me towards the starting point.
I can’t help the giggle that escapes as he doesn’t let me go, dragging me along the predestined route and stopping at every single picture, artifact or talking point.
“Did you know they used to use this as the prayer room?” Jackson asks when we walk in the room.
“Yeah, I learned that when you did, you dork.”
“Fascinating.” His earnest expression is adorable. I’ve never spent this long on any kind of museum tour, instead walking at a regular, if not speedy, pace and taking in everything in the periphery. I can barely even concentrate on the droning voice of the tour guide, eventually pulling the headphones around my neck and waiting for Jackson to burst out with tidbits and fun facts. (“This is where they bathed!”)
Eventually, the tour ends and we are thrown outside into the setting sun. The air is significantly chillier now, summerofficially on its way out and a light fog settles on the horizon, the sprawling garden bathed in sunlight.
“That was fun,” Jackson says with a grin.
“I didn’t expect you to enjoy it as much as you did,” I laugh, rubbing my cold fingers together before tucking them in my coat pocket.
Jackson gently eases my arm out of my pocket and loops it around his own. “I love an audio guide. My dad used to load us all up in the car and take us somewhere new every weekend. If the weather was bad, he’d drag us out to museums and would get each of us a guide. Then he used to test me and my sisters on everything we learned on the drive home. We used to be so competitive about it but the older I get the more I think he just wanted a few hours of peace without us screaming and running around. Then I just got used to them.”
“I love that,” I tell him softly. I’ve heard a lot about his mother and sisters, but he’s never brought up his dad willingly. “What’s your dad’s name?”
“Oliver.” He says, gazing out over the quiet gardens. “He didn’t really believe in a lazy weekend, so we were always doing something.”
“I don’t think my parents ever took us anywhere that wasn’t a shopping center, and even that would usually end in a screaming match. Well, no, they went to Buckingham Palace one year for Cleo’s Duke of Edinburgh award.”
“The what?”
“It’s like a torture regime they give teenagers in England,” I say dryly. “It’s a week of camping in the Brecon Beacons with a map and a soggy tent. But at the end of it there’s a fancy trip to the palace to get a certificate.”
“I can imagine teenage you in waterproofs,” Jackson teases.
“I uh—I didn’t do it.” I say, glancing out into the distance. I came home from school after the teachers announced it was time to sign up, and I was thrilled to tell my mum. To go shopping for supplies and get a hug as soon as I got off the bus when I came home with a tired grin, then later dressing up fancy with my parents and going to London without my sister. Just me and them.
“Why not?”
My mum left the permission slip on the counter where it stayed until the winter.
