A Trip To The Country

(some violence to animals)

The drive leading to the house must have been a mile long, at least. It was as straight as a die, affording an unashamed view of the estate’s grandeur. On both sides, immaculate lawns stretched away into the distance, punctuated here and there by mossy stone statues of indeterminate subjects – possibly animals. And there up ahead, at the vanishing point, the mansion itself, imposing even from a distance. Behind and in front of us, other limousines swept along in an impressive caravan, neither rushing nor dawdling, rather cruising – as limousines do.

Beside me in the back of ours, Grace, radiant in light-yellow chiffon. I could feel the warmth of her, a warmth that seemed only to increase as we neared the house.

Grace had invited me. I was very interested in her, and not in a platonic way. I’d been obsessed ever since freshers’ week, when I first clapped eyes on her. She was by far the most attractive woman of the intake, and that’s a perfectly objective observation.

She boasted an impressive tan, apparently obtained with great care from some exotic holiday destination; from England it certainly wasn’t. Her hair was a silky black, straight and long. Her eyes were such a dark brown that in a certain light, the irises appeared to merge with the pupils. When she smiled, her brilliant white teeth gleamed, an effect enhanced by the contrast with her deep-golden skin. In short, I was smitten at first sight.

I would normally have baulked at even approaching such a vision of loveliness; she wasn’t obviously out of my league so much as she was playing in a completely different championship. I suppose it was partly down to the impetuousness of youth that I went for it as soon as I got the chance – one evening, when I bumped into her at a disco.

The lights were low, which complemented the Dutch courage that came from the beer I’d already imbibed. The dim lighting also played down my clothes, several notches below an acceptable level of quality and style to be in her presence. But perhaps her pleb-seeking radar was ultra-sensitive because she rebuffed me even before I’d got to the end of my invitation to dance, turning her back on me and continuing the conversation she was having with friends. The funny thing was that I didn’t feel at all humiliated. I knew my place, and I accepted without question that it wasn’t within a light year of this goddess.

I saw her about the campus on occasion but never again dared to approach her, and she didn’t give me as much as a glance. Imagine my surprise then, many months later, just before the summer break, when I got a knock on my door in the hall of residence. It was Grace, resplendent for a change. I invited her in. She took a peek over my shoulder and winced, staying right where she was.

“Thank you … Basil, isn’t it?”

“Barry, actually,” I corrected her, quite understandably. “But you can call me Basil if you like.”

I’d temporarily lost control of my brain.

“Well, Ba–…” She was a little confused. “I remembered our nice chat in freshers’ week, and…”

She paused, allowing me to cast my mind back to the disco and re-assess what had happened, half-doubting now that the meeting had been little more than an unfinished sentence from me and a shrug of the shoulders from her. She went on.

“I am going to the country in the first week of the holidays – a wedding – and wondered if you would like to accompany me.”

“Of course!” I spluttered, forgetting that I’d arranged to go on holiday with my parents.

She wasn’t at all taken aback by my rapid response, evidently already confident that I’d say ‘yes’.

“Splendid. Then I will pick you up here on Saturday at eleven o’clock. Morning dress, naturally.”

“Of course!” I repeated, making a mental note to look up ‘morning dress’ on-line after she left.

And so here I was, uncomfortable in the first suit I’d ever worn, uncomfortable in the searing presence of Grace, and uncomfortable at the prospect of meeting her family. The now-looming mansion seemed to mock my own family’s poor, semi-detached council house.

We hadn’t spoken during the journey – me because my tongue was tied in knots, Grace because it was apparently beneath her. She did say something as we got out of the limo, though.

“Be nice.”

I thought it went without saying – I think I’m a nice bloke – but then she wouldn’t have known that because she knew me hardly at all.

I was introduced to her father first – an imposing, aloof man with pallid skin but Grace’s eyes. Then her mother, also pale, also with Grace’s eyes. And her siblings – five of them – ditto. And half a dozen of her cousins – ditto ditto.

I and the human contents of all the other limos stood around on the gravel near the grand front door of the house looking a bit lost, while Grace’s family climbed the stone steps as one and stood at the entrance.

“Blimey!” I heard someone at my elbow say.

I turned to face a woman of about my age with a bright face. It was a relief to look at someone and not be gobsmacked at their beauty. I liked her immediately – call it chemistry.

“You took the word out of my mouth,” I said.

“Sarah.”

“Barry.”

We shook hands. Hers was warm but, I noted with pleasure, not scorching.

“Who did you come with?” I asked.

“Henry,” she said pointing to one of Grace’s brothers. “You?”

“Grace,” I said, pointing her out.

“She’s beautiful,” Sarah said admiringly.

I nodded, but the presence of a normal person and the minimal conversation we’d had seemed to have broken some kind of spell, and I’d suddenly lost a bit of the awe for Grace that had been striking me ever since freshers’ week.

“Please,” Grace’s father bellowed from the top of the steps. “Come!”

We followed Grace’s family through the main doors and into a cavernous entrance hall, then through to an even more cavernous ballroom, with tables exquisitely set out for lunch. Food first, nuptials next, I imagined – which was a strange order of things, to be sure.

I thought I’d be sitting with Grace, but she and her family took up their places on the long, main table and we mere mortals were left to find somewhere to sit. Sarah and I stuck together and sat near the main table. Grace looked over at me; there was a blankness on her face that I found a little disconcerting. I smiled but got nothing back.

Her father stood and chinked a glass with a spoon. The room fell silent.

“Friends, welcome. I and my family are grateful that you have accepted our invitations to witness a most auspicious occasion: the wedding of Betty and Billy.”

I wondered who they were; I didn’t remember those names from the earlier introductions.

“As you may know, our family have important agricultural interests.” He clapped his hands and curtains hissed open on one side of the ballroom to reveal high windows and vast fields of what looked like corn beyond. I’m no agriculturalist, but I didn’t think it should have been brown at that time of year. Grace’s father confirmed this.

“Sadly, the weather and a little touch of weevils has … shall we say, decimated this year’s crop. It’s a minor tragedy.”

He paused to have a sip of water and dab at his eyes with a napkin.

“So we look forward to next year, which is why we are here today. Being believers, we know that the gods must be angry with us…”

He took another sip of water. Sarah and I looked at each other.

“Gods?!” we murmured.

“We must show them that we see this, that we can serve, that we are capable of sacrifice.”

He clapped his hands again. Large doors to the side of the main table swung open and two servants entered, leading – even now I shudder to remember it – two goats. One wore a kind of morning suit, the other a wedding dress with a veil.

Those of us that were not family – basically most of the room – let out a collective gasp.

“Betty and Billy, ladies and gentlemen. Be honoured to witness the joining of these two fine creatures in sacred matrimony.”

Sarah grabbed my hand and gripped it hard.

The servants led the goats to the front of the main table and wheeled them round to face Grace’s father.

“Betty and Billy,” he boomed. “Be wed!”

All the family – the parents, the siblings, the cousins – stood and applauded. There was a smattering of tentative, nervous applause from the rest of the room.

I saw Grace leave the line of family members and come round to the front of the long table.

“And now,” her father said, silencing the room with his hands, “My daughter will perform the next part of the ceremony.”

Grace bowed to him, turned, bowed to us, then produced – I don’t know from where precisely – a long knife that glinted in the sunlight coming through the windows. She held it high above her head.

“For the gods!” she cried; it was almost a scream.

In a flash, she drew the knife across the throats of Betty and Billy. They had time for no more than a weak bleat before crumpling to the floor. Their bodies writhed for a few seconds and then were still. The family began chanting.

“For the gods! For the gods!”

I put my arm around Sarah, who was sobbing in great gulps. I looked around and a number of people were doing the same. Others were sitting with their mouths agape.

I felt a presence at my shoulder.

“So, Ba–… how did you like it?”

Grace still had the knife in her bloodied hand. The front of her pretty yellow dress was shiny with blood, too. Her face, speckled scarlet, was twisted into a hideous smile.

Naturally, any remaining desire I’d felt for her had left my mind and body the moment the jets of blood left poor Betty and Billy. I kept my wits.

“A very … striking ceremony, certainly,” I said.

“I see you’ve made a friend?” she said, pointing the knife at Sarah.

“Oh, we’re not friends,” I said. “She was just a little upset, that’s all. It’ll pass.”

Grace nodded and glanced over at her family, as if to check that her parents weren’t watching. She leaned in and whispered.

“Now that is over, we can begin to have fun. There are many rooms upstairs. I have some tasks to fulfil for my father, but perhaps we can meet there later?”

Just an hour before I would have jumped at the chance to get to know Grace carnally. Now it was the last thing on my mind.

“Yes, that would be nice,” I said feebly. “Just as long as you don’t want my blood!”

I always joke when I’m anxious. She laughed a croaky kind of laugh that sent shivers up my spine. Almost immediately, the laugh stopped.

“No, no. At least, not all of it…”

I searched her dark eyes for a hint of humour; there was none. I swallowed drily.

“See you later then,” she said seductively and made off to rejoin her family.

“Are you going to sleep with her?” Sarah asked between sobs.

“Not on you nelly!” I said, giving her a hug of solidarity.

I started casually reconnoitring the ballroom. The servants had retired somewhere – possibly to help with the upcoming lunch. The doors were clear. I figured we could slip out unseen and walk to the main road, then call a taxi from there.

“Sarah,” I said under my breath. “Do you want to get out of here?”

She looked me in the eyes, and at that precise moment, I felt we made a full connection. What she said, I would get to hear again from her a couple of years later.

“Oh, yes,” she smiled, the sobs subsiding. “Yes, I do.”