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The boys had colonised the old cottage the summer after they turned eighteen.
“Dad said it was somewhere around here,” Gerald had muttered, fussing with the glass brick Gair had learned was called a ‘phone.’ “Bet he’s forgotten, dammit. Could be right the way across the moor, for all we—”
Gair shushed him. “Let me try,” he said.
“Fine.” Gerald extended the phone towards Gair, but the shorter youth shook his head. Gerald shoved the device in the pocket of his jeans as Gair knelt, pulling his camouflage cloak tighter around his shoulders. Crouched like that, he blended into the moor, looking so much like a large, lumpen rock that Gerald struggled to find him again after looking away.
After a few seconds, Gair looked up. “I think I’ve got it. This way.”
The two wandered up and down two small hills, through copses and across streams. They climbed over a craggy set of jutting rocks where Gerald slipped and found himself boot-deep in mud. Grabbing his hand, Gair helped him out of the mire, and then spoke the words of drying and cleansing. As the mud flaked away, he pointed down the other side of the crag. “That way feels right. We’re close.”
The derelict cottage was halfway up the next hill, shrouded in mist and surrounded by thorny trees. To say that it stood would have been overly generous: it was little more than four crumbling, ivy-covered walls and a partially collapsed roof. Both boys grinned as they approached it, though: Gerald because he was excited to see it, and Gair because he was proud that his gift had led them there.
“D’you think you’ll be able to find it again?” Gerald asked as Gair slipped under the broken eaves.
“Yes,” Gair replied, his voice muffled. “Will you?”
Gerald poked at his phone and frowned. “Er…” He poked at it a few more times. “Maps isn’t loading, but I’ve got what3words.”
Gair stuck his head out of the building. “What three words?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gerald said, stowing the phone away again. “Let’s have a look at this…”
After a week of procrastination and drinking stolen mead under the slightly less collapsed part of the roof, the two finally got to work. Gerald, following his father’s advice and information he had found online, began assessing the damage and planning the repairs. It soon became clear, however, that years of helping his father repair fenceposts and chicken coops hadn’t prepared him for the level of manual labor required to repair the cottage. Gair found himself having to take the initiative. Every night, he quizzed Ayna on the best way to fit roof joists and join corners until she grew exasperated and told him to figure it out himself.
Eventually, though, their plans took shape. Gerald was lanky, but his Giant size and endurance meant he could easily haul materials to the cottage in a wheelbarrow while Gair used the right words to make their hike easier. They worked in tandem, with Gerald fixing the structure while Gair chanted words to make his work sound and weatherproof.
As the days passed, the cottage came to life. The roof was repaired, the walls were strengthened, and the two even managed to make windows that closed on metal hinges, which Gerald had found in his dad’s overstuffed shed.
Inside, they worked just as diligently. After they lay down a new floor, Gair made sure the little woodburning stove inside wouldn’t burn their cottage down. Lastly, he invited the bees there.
As the summer drew to a close, the two inaugurated the cottage. It was a rare clear night on the moor, and the Milky Way spanned the sky overhead. The two lay side by side out on the hillcrest, heads spinning with drink, bellies full of mediocre kebabs Gerald had bought that afternoon and a honey cake Gair had snitched from Garholt's kitchens.
“Y’know,” Gerald said, staring up at the stars. “I thought this summer would be the worst, with Brenda off in Italy and all. But this was great.”
Gair was quiet.
Gerald turned his head and squinted into the darkness, trying and failing to spot him. “You there, mate?”
“Yes.”
A shuffling noise sounded by Gerald’s side, and Gerald felt Gair’s shoulder press against his. Comforted by his friend’s presence, Gerald smiled. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“When are you leaving?”
Gerald’s smile faded. “End of September. I’ll be back for Christmas, though, and Exeter isn’t exactly a million miles away.” He forced his voice into a jollier shape. “Hey, you can still use the cottage while I’m away, though. Bring a girl over sometime. Or, y’know. Anyone you like.”
“This was our place, though.”
“It was my dad’s first,” Gerald said. “I think I might’ve been conceived in there.”
Gair snorted and play-retched before taking another swig from their bottle. He passed it to Gerald. “Not much left.”
Gerald upended the bottle, and spluttered when over a mouthful forced itself down his windpipe. He doubled up, coughing, and Gair whacked him on the back three times while murmuring words to stop him choking.
“Wish I’d learned those,” Gerald laughed shakily, his eyes streaming. “Would come in handy during fresher’s week.”
“I’ll write them down for you,” Gair said.
“Better,” Gerald said. “You can text me them.”
“Text?”
“Yeah. Got you a phone.” Gerald reached for his backpack and started rummaging in it. “Actually, I got it last year, but I… well. Forgot to give it to you, I guess. But I want you to have it now.”
Gair took the white box Gerald passed him. As he did, the awful truth he had been trying to avoid all summer pulsed through him.
This friendship will fade. When he leaves, he will forget you.
Gair blinked back tears unbecoming of a chief’s son. “I’m glad we finished the cottage,” he muttered.
“Me too,” Gerald said. He grinned up at the stars, oblivious, as the night mists began to roll in.