A Peaceful Easter Sunday | Slow Fiction Story For Adults | Rewind

Before we begin, here's a quick ad break that keeps this free content possible. To go ad free, subscribe via the link in the show notes. You know, I think a lot of us wait until things feel overwhelming before we reach out for support. Not because we don't want to help, but because getting started can feel like its own hurdle. That gap between needing support and actually finding it. That's where Rula comes in. Rula is a healthcare company that connects you with licensed, in-network therapists and mental health professionals who work with your insurance, making care more accessible. And what stands out about Rula is how personalised it is. Rula takes into account your goals, your preferences, your background, and gives you a curated list of therapists who are aligned with what you need. There are no wait lists and appointments can be available as soon as tomorrow. Rula also partners with over a hundred insurance plans, which means the average copay is around $15 per session. 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With that in mind, I've decided to run a rare flash sale with 30% off our yearly plans, giving you ad-free access to our full library of bedtime stories and subscriber-only series so you can return to any of my 400 stories night after night. In this month on Premium, you can step into new Midnight Mysteries, a detective series set within the falls where each case unfolds slowly in the stillness of declaring. You'll also have access to the full A Song of Two Courts Romanticy Collection so far, with new chapters in the Sealy Court arriving every other month. So if you're ready to drift a little deeper this spring and into the year ahead, you can join now by tapping the link in the show notes or selecting Subscribe on Apple Podcasts. Hey, Jeffrey here with another tale from Night Falls. Hope we're helping you to sleep a little better. If so, please do hit follow, and why not leave us a review. It really helps the show, and I love to read them. Those of you in the Northern Hemisphere will be, like us, in the throes of spring right now. Winter is great. They're feeling of bedding in when it's dark and cold outside, and days spent curled up on the sofa with a good book in hand. But even so, it's hard to deny the glory of spring, but appearing on the trees, the sun warming your face, and the birds singing their merry tunes. It's magical, and brings a lightness into our lives that we didn't realize we were missing. We're going to enjoy all this and more in tonight's story, as we enjoy a picturesque Easter Sunday, where the whole family gets together to eat, laugh, and enjoy each other's company. What could be more relaxing? So get comfy, and if you're ready, let's begin. On Easter Sunday, it was a tradition for the Green Family to gather at one of the family homes scattered across the country, and share a meal together. This year, the responsibility of hosting fell to Delia, the youngest member of the family. Though these days, having children of her own, Delia did not feel so very young at all. The year before, Delia's older sister, Jennifer, had hosted at their home in the Gower. They'd all strolled down after lunch was over, to frolic in the sea, watching the lacy seam of water melting into the sand. The year before that, it was their parents' turn, the two of them in their 70s more full of energy than Delia could even hope to be now, putting on a spread that would put a royal banquet to shame. They could have fed the whole village. But now, this year, they were all coming to Delia's little farm cottage in the Gloucestershire Hills. There was much to prepare. Delia and her husband, Louis, arose early, just as the fresh April sunlight poked its finger through their curtains. Delia, blary-eyed, switched on the kettle and put the meat in the oven, so that it could cook slowly over the course of the day. Louis, meanwhile, snuck outside with a basket of chocolate eggs, so that he could hide them in all sorts of places around the garden before the children woke up. By the time he returned, there was a mug of steaming tea waiting for him, and a morning kiss on the cheek, and an hour of blissful, quiet companionship for just the two of them. Peeling potatoes, chopping vegetables, dicing herbs, and mixing the batter for a victorious sponge. Before the sound of tiny, thunderous feet on the stairs told them that the elephants, I mean, the kids, were awake. They wanted pancakes for breakfast, they said. Peter, with his pajama top twisted round the wrong way, and Katie, curious Katie, already opening the cupboards, searching for the flour, the sugar, the eggs. Okay, Delia said, ushering them over to the table. Two plates of pancakes coming up, and then you both need to shower. Granny and Grandpa will be here soon. Mercifully, in fact, Granny and Grandpa were running late. All of the family agreed that arriving late was the politest thing to do, and arriving early, practically unpardonable. How could you expect anybody to be ready on time these days? They turned up shortly after midday with a chug and bang in their rusty old Ford Mondeo. Delia's mother in a floral print dress and cardigan, her father in his customary dark brown suit. And soon after them, Jennifer and her husband arrived, along with their daughter, Lydia. My, my, Delia thought, going out to meet them. Didn't Lydia get taller and prettier each time she saw her? The years dropping by like seconds. And she just had a moment to give her niece a hug, before her own children, who idolized their older cousin, tumbled from the house in a squall, and carried her off inside. I can't believe how grown up she's getting, Delia told Jennifer, looping her arm around her elbow, and leading her in. You're telling me? Jennifer replied with a smile and a little roll of her eye. Twelve going on 23. Inside, the kitchen was warm and full of the rich, earthy smells of roasting vegetables, and slow-cooked meat. You didn't notice it when you'd been inside all morning. It required stepping outside for just a minute, and then returning to notice how all your hard work had transformed the air in the house. Lewis brought out a jug of iced lemon juice, poured the cloudy liquid into glass tumblers, and handed them all around, while Delia checked on the potatoes. Oh, yes, they were coming along nicely. A while longer, and they would have that golden crust, those dark and crispy ridges, and inside, she hoped, oh, she was sure, soft and fluffy as a cloud. I thought, she said, turning back to her family once she was satisfied all was going to plan with the food. I thought that we could all of us take a walk together before lunch, so that we can rustle up an appetite. I hear that there are a flock of newborn lambs just a few fields down, and then once we've come back and eaten, then may well be an Easter surprise for all you kids. Katie and Peter let out coos of excitement, but Lydia, who was not a kid, and certainly far too old for surprises, merely pursed her lips and blinked. Delia's own two, catching sight of their beloved cousin's show of indifference, reigned their giggles in. But Delia could still see the warm glow of childish anticipation in their cheeks, and Lydia, she knew, when it came to it, would not be able to resist getting involved too. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Delia's mother said, draining the last drops of her lemon juice. Oh, you kids! All three of them replied, yes, granny. They took a left out of the cottage and walked down the lane for a few minutes, quiet at the best of times, and completely car-free on Easter Sunday, before climbing over a style in the fence line and entering a field. The whole world turned green. A carpet of grass enrolled down a gentle slope until it reached another fence line, or a couple of horses, one bay and one grey, could be seen grazing happily. Wildflower blossomed everywhere, like a scattered handful of nature's gems. Pink and yellow primrose, the upright blue petitions of cornflower, and here and there the unexpected red flash of a poppy. Sparrows slipped in and out of waxy, shining hedgerows, and butterflies lifted themselves out of the grass where their feet came down, skipping and fluttering around their ankles for a few moments before dissolving into the air. They walked on, keeping their feet to the dry dirt path, the children up ahead, trailing their fingers through the hedges. Jennifer and her husband, Rab, were telling them how just a few days before, something rather peculiar had washed up on the sandy beach of the Gower. They'd been walking the dog down by the water, they'd been walking the dog down by the water's edge, when Rab had spotted something dark and glinting in the surf. It was an old bottle, thinking it was a piece of rubbish, a beer bottle that someone had irresponsibly tossed into the sea once they were done with it, he splashed out in his wellies and lifted it from the tide. That's when I noticed it was no beer bottle, Rab said, it was too big for that, and much older too. The glass was worn and hazy but you could still tell that it was an elaborate piece, with an embossed panel and a fluted lip. It looked like one of those old medicine bottles. And tell them what was inside it, Jennifer urged. She was smiling and a little flushed, enjoying the recounting of the story. Well, I had to pour all of the seawater out of it to get a proper look, Rab explained, but once it was empty, we could see that there was a small model of a ship inside it, a small but intricately designed. You could see each plank and rivet of the hull, the delicate craftsmanship of the mast, and you could still see a number hatched on its prow. 1888. 1888, Delia repeated. They'd reached the bottom of the field by now, and she pointed them over another style. The children had already gone ahead. As in the year 1888, do you think that's when the little ship was made? Well, that's just the thing, said Jennifer. It could be when the model was made, or it could have been a model made much more recently, but of some ship that was built in 1998. Hmm, sighed Lewis, putting out a hand to help Jennifer over the style. That is curious, but this thing was old, Rab said, very old. I'm sure of it. I mean, it was all grown over with tiny mollusks, minuscule clam-like things and seaweed and other growth, and I don't know, he added. I could just feel it. I felt like I'd found some buried treasure, something very, very old. Well, what did you do with it? Delia asked him. Well, I kept it for a few days, Rab admitted. I left it on a shelf in my shed, but began to feel I'd done something wrong, like even though I'd found some treasure. It wasn't mine to keep, so, in here he glanced at them almost shyly. I went back down to the ocean last night, and threw it back in the sea. Delia nodded. She could see the sense in that. Back where it belongs, she added. Yes, Rab nodded. Right. They had now reached the field where the lambs had been born. They were alerted to the fact and drawn out of Rab's story by the calls of Katie and Peter from up ahead. They were pointing across the field where a flock of ewes were eyeing them curiously, flicking their ears and chewing idly on cuds of grass. The lambs were less cautious, already trotting over towards the children with inquisitive faces, their cotton tails bouncing this way and that. How young they seemed to Delia, how young compared to herself and even her own children, though they were still curious creatures, young lambs still the both of them. Delia called the children over and handed them some thinly chopped up carrot sticks, which she had slipped into her pocket before coming out. Here, she said, feed them to the little lambs, but careful. She watched as Katie and Lydia held out the carrot sticks to the lambs, who gave them one little sniff and then nibbled at them with their teeth, chewing them down and bleeding with delight. And then Peter, who'd been hanging back a little nervously as was always his way, that reserve he had, that boyish timidity, reached out his hand to a little lamb. The lamb stuck out its soft wet nose, then took the carrot stick from his fingers, and Peter let out a quick, astonished giggle as though surprised that it had even happened. And looked around smiling as though to see if anyone else had seen what he'd just seen. The youths, seeing that they came in peace, had ambled over now, and the lambs ran back to their mothers, hiding beneath their stomachs and between their legs, before gambling back to the group to beg for more carrot sticks. But soon enough, the carrot sticks were all eaten, and the lambs were content. The kids waved goodbye to the lambs, and Peter, who had grown quickly attached to the sweet white bundles of wool, compelled all the adults to wave goodbye too. Then they all made their way back the way they'd come, climbing the same styles, retracing their steps. The lambs were happy, and the lambs were happy. Their timing was perfect. When Delia opened the oven door, it exhaled a billow of steam, which she batted away with her oven-mitted hands. Once it had cleared, she peered inside at the food sizzling away within. What a divine smell that is, her mother said, and the others made noises in agreement and appreciation. Let's hope, said Delia, that it tastes half as good as it smells. If history is anything to go by, Jennifer said, it's sure to. Louis gathered everyone up and sat them at the table, then helped Delia bring dish after dish of food over. Gold and roast chicken, honey-roasted carrots, parsnips with parmesan, potatoes roasted and mashed. Delia wiped her hands on the front of her apron, then pulled it over her head and hung it on the back of the kitchen door. She took her seat just as Louis was pouring out a glass of ruby red wine for the adults. Can I have some? Delia piped up, which caused her mother to glare at her. You, young lady, can dream on, she said, and everyone around the table laughed. Louis caught up to pour Lydia a glass of ribena into a wine glass before handing it to her, and she smiled at him gratefully. That, she seemed to say, would do. Katie and Peter, though, had their ribena in their normal cups. Delia asked her father to do the honors of cutting the meat, and with great ceremony, he stood up at the head of the table, sliding the knife in great sweeps down a sharpening steel, before cutting the chicken and passing it out. Plates were passed to and fro, accumulating broccoli and carrots, cabbage, and oodles of gravy. At last they tucked in, and then commenced the contented silence of hungry people satisfied. Punctuated only now and then by people passing compliments to the chef, or saying that they really must get the recipe. Soon enough the meal was finished. Stomachs were full. The children helped clear the table, balancing empty plates and dishes of leftovers in their wobbling palms as they transported them to the kitchen sink. Okay, Delia said when the table was cleared. That will do. We can do the rest later. For now let's head outside. There's a surprise waiting for us. She led them into the garden, where Lewis was waiting at the top of the lawn. In his hand he held an egg, boiled beyond belief the day before by Delia, and painted late last night with some old oil paints they found in an upstairs cupboard. Girdles of zigzagging blue, little yellow flowers, a white painted top. Do you know what this is? Lewis asked, looking from Katie to Peter to Lydia. Lydia just set her hands upon her hips, but Peter said, it's an Easter egg. That's right, Lewis said, and do you know what it's made of? Peter scrunched up his face and reached out a little finger to tap the egg. That's not a chocolate egg, he said, sounding a little suspicious. He had, after all, been preparing himself for plenty of chocolate today, and so far he hadn't had a bit. That's a real egg. Right again, Lewis said, this one isn't chocolate, but I will tell you a secret. He beckoned with his hands. He'll have to lean and close. Katie and Peter stabbed eagerly towards their father, and Deleon noticed that Lydia, in spite of herself, leaned the nearing to listen too. This is a secret, Lewis said in a heightened theatrical whisper. There are lots of eggs, real chocolate eggs hidden around the garden, and it's your job to find them. Are you ready? Katie and Peter nodded. Lydia squinched up her eyes. Okay, Lewis said, off you go. Katie and Peter trotted off down the lawn, and only able to put up a resistance for a few seconds, Lydia gave up and followed them. Before long, everyone was creeping around the garden, searching high and low for Easter eggs. They were hidden in the shrubbery. Little ones laid out on the flower beds, one had even been balanced in the arms of a garden gnome. Look up there, Deleon said to Peter as he scanned his eyes along the lawn. Deleon pointed up into the gnarled bark of the crab apple tree, where, nestled in one of its knotted crooks, a handful of eggs glittered. Peter pressed a finger to his lips, swearing silence. Thanks, mummy, he whispered, reaching up into the boughs of the tree. At the base of the willow tree, a small horde of eggs lay in a pile. Lydia found those, sweeping back the curtain of branches, and emerging with a bright pink smile on her face. And down at the very bottom of the garden, in the narrow brook that froze over in the winter, and dried up in the summer. But at this dawning moment of spring, flowed at full spate, Katie noticed something glittering under the babbling surface of the water. Fools gold, she whispered, dunking her hand into the cool stream. Well, buried treasure. But closing her hand around the object, she withdrew a gold-wrapped egg. Daddy, she called giggling, this one's all wet. Nevertheless, she wiped it off on the leg of her dungarees, and slipped the egg into her basket alongside the others. Soon the hunt was over, all of the eggs had been found. Most lay in piles in each basket, though some had been consumed already. The only sign of them, the brown chocolatey residue, staining the children's lips, and the grandparents too. Oh, it's time we headed off, said Jennifer, looping her arm around Delia's shoulder. Us too, said Delia's mother, crouching down to give the children a hug and slip a secret five-pound note into each of their closing fists. Ice cream money, she told them with a little wink. And so Delia and Louis and Katie and Peter stood at the front door of their house, waving their family away. The Ford Mondeo rattled into action and disappeared, chug-chugging down the lane, followed by the sleek and silent electric car that Rapp and Jennifer drove. When they had disappeared around the bend, the family turned around and headed back inside the house. The children were tired. The curled up on the sofa, books open and unread in their laps. Slowly unpeeling Easter eggs and slipping the chocolate into their mouths. Delia and Louis, meanwhile, finished the washing up. Louis squeezed washing up liquid into the empty serving dishes, chasing them with hot water from the tap that sent the soothing smell of soap, suds and lemon rising into the air. He scrubbed and scoured each one with his shirt sleeves rolled up around his elbows, and when the dried food and grease had been wiped clear, he'd hand the dish to Delia. He would dry it off with a tea towel and return it to the cupboard where it belonged. This, for years now, had been their method. He washing, she drying, quiet and content in the clockwork intimacy of their marriage. Oh dear, said Delia, her eyes falling upon the victorious sponge cake that said, pristine and untouched on the glass cake stand. The day was going so pleasantly that we completely forgot to cut the cake. Well, said Louis, wiping his hands on his shirt front and smiling at Delia. What say you and I have a slice now? Through the doorway Delia could see Katie and Peter passed out on the sofa. Hmm, she said, we really should wake the kids up and take them to bed. But Louis came up to her, planted his hands on the delicate skin of her upper arms and placed a kiss on her cheek. For a moment her senses were full of the smell of him, the dish soap and nutmeg and the wood smoke of his cologne. Come on, come on, come on, come on. And nutmeg and the wood smoke of his cologne. Come on, he said, we can take a little moment of peace, but be fine sleeping there a little while longer. And Delia sighed and smiled. He was right, a little peace sounded nice. She fished a knife from the drawer and sliced two generous portions of cake, which she slid onto small porcelain dishes, which she placed on the table. Meanwhile, Louis poured two glasses of red wine. How decadent Delia remarked to have wine with cake. And Louis laughed and said it was just what they deserved. And so Delia and her husband sat down at their table, their table covered in worls and pockmarks, heat stains and biromarks from where their unwieldy children had etched graffiti while their parents' backs were turned. Delia took a sip of wine, cut the end of her cake slice with a fork and had a taste. Mmm, divine, she thought. Just divine. When she looked across the table at Louis, she saw her own face, her own feelings. Her own feelings reflected back at her. Of contentment and peace and the simple satisfaction of a beautiful Easter Sunday complete. They sat there for a good while longer, happy in the simplicity of each other's presence, while their children slept soundly in the next room. And the dark lights of the sunset, its oranges and pinks and dancing reds flickered and fell across the kitchen wall. Wishing you sweet dreams and a magical night's sleep. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh