Evan, Nina & I

Nina and her boyfriend lead quiet, uneventful life until Evan, an old friend and journalist, shows up and disrupts their routine.

Evan, Nina, and I

Evan called me up out of the blue last month asking if he could come stay. It had been over four years since I’d seen him, at his brother Liam’s wedding. He was doing a piece for N*E*O*N, the magazine he worked for in London. He’d told me it was something about bloodsports. Illegal deer hunting, specifically. His research had led him to a group that met in Wild Cherry Woods, just up the hill from our neighbourhood in Hutton-le-Hole. It’d be neutral, he said, despite him being vegetarian. Purely an observation piece. Just facts. He said he’d need a week, tops.

The following Tuesday, I saw him trudging up the driveway, looking like a man who spent five hours on the motorway, which he had. I couldn’t help but notice how little he’d changed since I last saw him - same shaven head to hide his early onset of baldness, same ill-fitting clothes that begrudgingly hang from his body. I opened the door before he could knock. 

'Dude!' he greeted me. Still with the dude. Huh. He lugged in a suitcase, much too large for a week’s stay.

'This is my wife, Nina' I said. Evan smiled, brushing himself down. I put my arm around Nina’s torso. 'You actually met at…' 

'Yes I remember.' Evan cut in, his smile widening.

*******

That night, we all spent an hour at the back door, calling for Millie, our cat. We hadn’t seen her since yesterday afternoon when she chased a bullfinch over the fence. Nothing out of the ordinary, mind, but Nina was worried. She showed Evan photos on her phone, and the giant portrait of Millie that hangs above the fireplace.

With no sign of Millie, the three of us settled in front of the TV and watched a documentary on the Falklands War. Evan thumbed through a copy of N*E*O*N magazine that he’d brought with him. Nina absentmindedly picked bits of fluff from her cardigan.

'This is priceless' Evan chuckles, pointing to a photo of a bride with her dress splatted with blood. 'The groom accidentally kneed her in the face during their first dance!'. He passed me the magazine.

'We’re outselling Esquire now,' he boasts. I handed the magazine back, my interest waning. 'London just needed something new, you know? Something fresh' he added with pride.

I nodded, trying not to sound sarcastic. 'Well done, Evan. I’ll have to have a read one day'. Nina and I exchanged glances as Evan continued reading his magazine. 

*******

The next morning, I drove to visit my mum. She kept the house after dad died, and it felt far too big for an immobile woman of age, but it was paid off. We sat and ate crumpets and I told her about Evan’s visit. 'Oh, that’s nice' she said. That’s all she ever said.

I returned home to find Evan and Nina had set up the ping pong table. Evan had sketched a tally chart on a notepad that lay on the windowsill. One of them was winning 25-11.

'Uhhh!' he barked, mid-swing. He made a good connection, but the ball flew past Nina without a bounce. They both chuckled and he drew a line on the right-hand side of the scorecard. Nina set down her paddle, signalling the end of the game.

'I’m off to the shop. We need eggs'. She kissed me on the cheek, and with a frown added: 'I’ll have another look for Millie too', as she left the room.

'She’s quite something, dude' noted Evan as he folded away the table. 'Give us a hand, would ya?'

*******

The next day, we stood in the garden and waited for the Red Arrows to fly over the house. They were commemorating the 800th anniversary of the signing of the Magna Carta, it said online. Nina had her camera poised.

'Make sure the shutter speed’s on slow' advised Evan, surveying the cloudy sky. 

'No, it needs to be fast to avoid motion blur' I countered.

Evan moved behind Nina, peering at the display. 'No, no, it’s too dark. You need to let enough light in'

'Well, turn up the ISO' I suggested.

'The what? Just make the shutter slower'

'But the planes will come out blurry'

'They’re moving at 600 miles per hour, of course they’ll be blurry.' he shot back. I was impressed with his aeronautic knowledge, but none-the-less irked.

He grabbed the camera and scrolled through the settings while the Red Arrows zoomed above us.

*******

On Sunday evening, Nina prepared vegetarian bigos; a recipe her Polish mother had taught her. We watched Sky News before switching over for the last hour of Little Shop of Horrors. Evan had spent the whole evening sat in an armchair, fidgeting, preoccupied with his thoughts. I could have asked him what was wrong, but I’ll be completely honest, I couldn’t be bothered.

'I’ve seen this before. Great movie. Really great' declared Evan. 

I let out a noise as if to say ‘that’s really interesting, Evan’.

We watched for a while, Evan still restless, scratching various parts of his body, constantly repurposing his fringe with his fingers. He punched the cushions into shape more than once. Just as the Venus Flytrap pulls the shop ceiling over Rick Moranis, Evan reached for the remote and muted the TV. He levered himself out of the chair and turned to us both, his face serious.

'Right. Ok. This morning I went to meet a group in Wild Cherry Woods' he began, his tone urgent. 'I didn’t tell them I was a journalist. I went undercover. They had planned a hunt that evening. I said I’d done it before, was a bit of a pro'. 

He was visible shaking but it felt like his speech was rehearsed. He described the group - The Smokers as they call themselves - a collective of skinheads with tribal tattoos and nationalist tendencies.

'They’re up there a couple of times a week' he said, pointing out the window up at woods. 'It’s not just deer they go after. It’s rabbits, squirrels, foxes… anything that moves'. The TV shone bright as Rick Moranis electrocuted the Venus flytrap with a live wire.

'I was just there to observe, really.' Evan said, slinking back into his chair. 'But then the leader, Billy, handed me a gun.'

I finally spoke. 'But… you’re vegetarian?'.

Evan shot me a glance. 'Yes, but I’m a journalist. How can I write about hunting without trying it myself?'. I held my hands up to apologise, and let him continue.

'Billy spotted something dart under a tree. I thought it was a hedgehog. He told me to shoot it'

Evan was out of his chair again. 'I crept up on it but as I got closer, it was clear it wasn’t a hedgehog.' His gaze nervously drifted towards the portrait above the fireplace.

Nina was fully attentive now. 'Millie!'

Evan nodded. 'I’m sorry �" I just pointed the gun and..'

'..you shot our cat!'. Nina’s shriek practically stopped the population of North Yorkshire in their tracks.

'I had to,' Evan defended himself. 'I told them I’d killed hundreds of animals before. That I’d been to Zambia, Namibia, Botswana. I made up a whole backstory. Told them I was there when that dentist killed a tiger, they loved it!'

Nina moved towards Evan and gestured wildly. 'Couldn’t you have missed on purpose? Lied?'

'I’m a journalist!' bellowed Evan, towering above her. 'You can’t just write ‘oh, this happened, and then this happened’… that’s bullshit. We’re not GQ, you know! I had to hold the rifle. I had to feel the trigger. I had to empathise with these people. Empathise!'. That last word echoed around the house. He composed himself.

'If it helps, it was quick. Turns out I’m a dab-hand with a Highland rifle.' he said with a glimmer of pride. 'Billy reckons it only took two shots to kill it, though I must have fired 5 or 6 times.'

'You need to leave. First thing tomorrow.' Nina said, voice breaking, as she gathered our plates and stormed into the kitchen, muttering something in Polish. On the TV, Rick Moranis and Ellen Greene embraced.

*******

The next morning, Nina left for work without a word. I woke late to find Evan in the kitchen, eating scrambled eggs he’d made himself.

'I hope you don’t mind' he said between mouthfuls, 'Nina hadn’t left anything out. Don’t worry - there are a few eggs left'. He pushed his food around his plate, then looked up at me.

'Uh - I wanted to do something for you, to say sorry'.

He led me outside to the large flowerbed at the end of the garden. There, driven into the soil, was a plank of wood with 'MILLY' written on it in marker pen.

Evan smoothed the soil with his foot. 'I don’t know �" maybe you could plant some flowers around it, make it look nice. Maybe put a paving slab on top so foxes don’t dig it up'.

'Thanks Evan.' I said, 'that’s really… thoughtful'.

We returned back to the house and Evan finished his breakfast, before driving back to London in his Subaru Impreza.

*********

That evening, Nina made potato pancakes and we watched Newsnight. A Tory MP was on defending some new tax policy.

'It’s just not the same without Paxman, is it?' I huffed. 

Nina got up and went out into the garden. The security light flicked on and, through the window, I watched her kneel by the Millie’s resting place. Her shoulders trembled, though I was unsure if it was from the cold or the weight of her grief.

I shovelled more potato pancake into my mouth.