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“I,” Wensleydale announced, in tones of an accountant divulging a world-shaking revelation,[1] "am hot."
Pepper fanned herself with her cap. “I’m hotter,” she countered.
Brian illustrated his own feelings on the weather by tipping half the contents of a water bottle over his head.
The four Them were sitting — or slumping, or lying — around their usual clearing, the aforementioned heat evident in their languid poses. On the ground beside Adam’s throne (i.e. his tree stump) lay Dog, who was multitasking between panting, sleeping, and periodically summoning enough energy to thump his tail a couple of times.
“Hey,” said Adam, surveying the others with his usual air of a youthful demigod assessing his trusty compatriots, “Dog’s thirsty. Brian, give him some of that water, okay?”
Wiping at the droplets still running down his forehead — adding a fresh layer of grime in the process — Brian obliged, emptying most of the remainder of his bottle. Dog lifted his head to lap gratefully at the stream of water pouring across his tongue, then flopped down again.
Pepper, meanwhile, returned to the previous point. “It’s September. It’s not s’posed to be hot, not like this. September is s’posed to be nice and cool an’… an’ crisp. An’ it’s not supposed to rain so much either, but it rained all last week and my mum says it’s going to again Tuesday. An’…”
“Crisps are nice,” Brian interrupted irrelevantly.
“I have some potato ones. They’re with my bike.” It was Wensley again. “Pepper’s right, though, actually.”
“Duh.” Pepper stuck out her tongue.
Wensley made a face back. “We always used to get proper autumn weather.” He glanced to their de facto leader for confirmation. “Didn’t we?”
Staring pensively into space, Adam didn’t seem to hear.
Brian nudged him. “Weird weather, huh?”
“Not really weird,” Wensley interjected. “Heatwaves are becoming increasingly common all over the planet. I read about it in my comic.”
“That’s true. My mum told me, an’ so did Anathema. It’s a big problem.” Pepper looked briefly somber. “But things like that shouldn't happen in Tadfield. We’re not all over the planet. Right, Adam?”
Silence.
“...Adam?”
“Yeah,” Adam said slowly, finally. But there was a subdued note in his voice that caught the others by surprise. Even Dog’s eyes opened, ears twitching. “Yeah, that’s right. We used to get proper September weather. Nice an’ crisp. That’s right…”
He trailed off and rubbed his eyes, somehow seeming confused. Uncertain, in a way that didn’t suit Adam at all. Almost… guilty?
The others looked at him, then at each other.
Wensley frowned.
Pepper shrugged.
“Right,” said Brian. He stood up. “Race to the bikes!”
“Winner gets crisps!” Adam suggested, returning to the conversation with a vengeance.
“They’re my crisps—”
Everyone ignored Wensley. But even he couldn’t mind too much, if the challenge had successfully roused Adam from whatever uneasy reverie he’d fallen into.
The eleven-year-old incarnate flashed a mischievous grin. And, unseasonable heat forgotten, the Them took off running.
1 It happens. Occasionally. Probably.⤴︎