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England was at its best in these days of early June, a place of blue skies, gentle breezes, and vibrant colour that filled the parks and gardens. America often teased England about his rain, insisted that it was never sunny, that the sky was always grey, but he knew better. Now, as he made his way up the tree-lined drive towards England's house, America felt his stress slip away, lost in the smell of lavender and freesia, of the freshly cut grass of the impossibly green lawn dotted with molehills. There was no response to either his ringing of the doorbell or his insistent knocking, so he went round the side of the house, opening the wrought iron gate that closed off the back garden. The crunch of gravel beneath his feet was loud as he made his way to the back of the house, peering in through the patio doors. He noticed the door leading off from the conservatory was open, a sure sign England was outside gardening or simply enjoying the day.
America wandered through the garden, traditional English roses with their open petals and heady smell mixing with honeysuckle. The ground was damp beneath the birdbath which was full to the brim, and the numerous bird-feeders were full, so England had been nearby recently (he'd seen how quickly the grey squirrels and doves converged on the bird-table and emptied it, so within the hour at least). "England?" When he got no response he wandered past the herb garden, through the rose garden, past the fishpond, on towards the fruit orchard. He wandered past the healthy looking apples trees and plum trees, knowing by now not to be worried as he passed the bee hives, knowing they were the source of the honey that England would be serving with afternoon tea later that day.
England had always had a gift for gardening, every plant, every tree, even the grass America was stepping on as he moved towards the woods attached to the garden looked cared for, cherished. On either side of the earth footpath the last of the late-flowering Spring bluebells gave their last burst of rich scent, forming a splendid violet-blue carpet. A ladybird alighted on his arm for a moment as he trod the path that cut through the ancient woodland that made up half of the grounds owned by England. Once it had been suggested that perhaps England should have a smaller garden with less acreage by a very foolish Prime Minister. Word had it England had ... well, 'wiped the floor with him' was the expression America had heard used. England was undemanding and accommodating these days, compared to his past as an empire, but there were some things close to his heart such as his beloved garden. Whatever the truth, England retained his gardens, kept his woods, had his fields of long grass and wildflowers that America could see now as he left the cool shade of the trees and stepped out into bright sunshine.
The ladybird flew off, heading for the long grass with its mix of different grasses, flowers and even occasional cereal crops that had sprung up due to proximity to farmland. America could see no sign of the other nation but he knew England liked to lie out in the grass and have picnics, such outings among the happier memories of his childhood, so he called out.
"Hey! England! Come on out, dude, you need to be a good host!"
There was movement to the left, long grass rustling as something ploughed through and headed towards America. He frowned; it was too short for England so a rabbit maybe? Or a fox, he knew England had...
... a small child, apparently.
"Hey there, little guy, what are you doing out here? Did you... Whoa!" America's eyes widened as the child stepped closer, dragging a green cloak filled with what looked like strawberries behind him. He looked to be three years old. The child's face was open, curious, gazing at America with no fear or suspicion. A mop of short blond hair, large green eyes - familiar green eyes - framed by long eyelashes and soft-looking thick eyebrows.
The resemblance was too great to miss. "No way. England has a kid? No, wait, we can't... Are you a wannabe nation like Sealand?"
The child smiled. "I'm England. What's your name?"
"Seriously?! Uh, I'm America. You don't remember me? Wait, what happened to you? Who did this? I'm a hero, I can help you, just tell me and I'll-"
"England did this.”
"Wha-?" America swung round, startled, to find his fellow North American nation sitting on a log at the fringe of the woods.
"Canada, I just found England and something awful has happened!"
"It's fine. This was planned," Canada responded, his calm demeanour contrasting with America's near-frantic state.
America stared at Canada with horror. “You did this? Sure, you’re sneaky, live near communists and you get violent playing hockey and -"
Canada stared open-mouthed for a few seconds before protesting, “What? No! England does this sometimes when he's feeling stressed, he said he feels relaxed afterwards." He turned his attention to the child who was listening to the exchange with a mildly curious look on his face. "England, would you like something to drink?"
"Yes, please!" The child walked over to Canada, tilting his head and smiling up at America as he passed.
Canada crouched down and rifled through a large cooler bag, pulling out a carton of Ribena juice.
"May I do the straw?" England asked.
Canada smiled at the little nation. "Sure. Be careful."
"I will." England popped the straw into the carton with painstaking care, darting a look at Canada to see if he had noticed the bead of blackcurrant juice that escaped and quickly licking it away when Canada looked the other way. Satisfied the straw was pushed through firmly, he tugged on Canada's shirt until the other nation leaned in closer. "America has glasses like you," England informed Canada solemnly before sucking on his carton of Ribena.
"Yes. That's America, he's from North America like me, I guess you could call us brothers.”
England blew down his straw, making the carton inflate and his juice bubble. “Is he nice?”
Canada darted a look at America, poorly suppressing a smirk. “Yes. Most of the time.”
America pouted. "I'm right here, guys. So. England did this.”
Canada gave England's tousled blond hair a brief ruffle before standing up to talk to his brother in a quieter voice, sparing a glance to check the child nation was busy with his juice and sorting his bundle of strawberries. “Yes. You know he uses magic. I don't know if he does it himself or asks his...fairies to do it."
"Dude, you know the fairies aren't real."
"According to France they are, he’s seen them, and I've seen things when I've been here that can't be explained otherwise."
"Fairies are real," England interjected, the straw dangling from his mouth dripping blackcurrant juice onto his blue and yellow t-shirt which proclaimed Fireman Sam was 'the hero next door'.
Canada looked taken aback and muttered to America, "Little pitchers have big ears."
"Um. Sure, England," America said with a placating smile, unwilling to get into an argument with a child.
Canada looked as if he was debating whether to continue the conversation or not. After a moment he shrugged. "Whatever. He tells me and I come take care of him."
America ducked his head, digging his toe into the ground to loosen a pebble. “Why you? Why do you get to take care of him?”
“Why not? He took care of me when I was a colony,” Canada responded mildly.
America looked up at that, his expression suddenly fierce. "Me too! We both know I was his favourite!"
"Sure. Until you left," Canada said bitingly, surprisingly stung by America's words.
"I had to! Jeez, you're not going to bring up that now?"
Canada sighed. "Fine. Then I guess, well, he trusts me. We're in the Commonwealth, share the Queen..."
"I've saved his ass! We have a special relationship!"
"You're seriously going to argue about this?" Canada asked in somewhat mocking tones, his normally mild manner ruffled by America's attitude. He was eyeing America like he knew exactly what the other nation's problem was and that if America didn't back down he was going to tell him exactly what that problem was, using big words and as many hours as it took.
America deflated, looking uncomfortable and a little wary. He still had vivid recollections of the last time Canada had let rip at him and the three hour rant had not exactly been a fun highlight in his life. "Well..."
"Why is America angry?" England asked as he chewed on a strawberry.
Canada visibly collected himself, taking a deep breath before turning to face the child England. "Ah... he's just upset."
"Why is he upset?"
"Because he wanted to take care of you."
"Why?"
"Because he's your friend."
"Oh. He can stay too. Do you want some of my strawberries, America? Big me growed them myself."
America took a few seconds to work out that statement then blinked down at the proffered strawberry clutched in grass-stained grubby fingers. "No thanks. You should wash those before eating them."
England grinned. "The rain washes them, silly. Do you want a cup of tea?"
"I don't drink tea. It tastes like stale boiled leaves."
England giggled. "You're funny," England said. He popped the strawberry in his mouth, staring up at America with wide fascinated eyes as if waiting for the bigger nation to do something interesting.
America squirmed a little under the child's scrutiny. He offered a sheepish smile.
England smiled back and dropped his half-chewed strawberry to take hold of America’s hand trustingly.
America was taken aback. He stared down at their clasped hands, his fingers flexing testingly against the smaller fingers which gripped a little tighter in response. "Uh. Thanks. Canada, how long is he like this?"
"A week at most. A few more days then he'll be back to normal, feeling rested. It's been a couple days already. Why don't you go home and I'll call you when he's himself again?"
"Is America going home?" England gazed up at America with wide disappointed eyes. There was a distinct pout on his lips. His hand clasped onto America's fingers as if trying to hold him back.
America felt something warm, almost painful, bloom beneath his ribs. "No, I'm not," he said firmly. "The hero is staying! I think I should stay and take care of you." He gave Canada a defiant look. "He took care of me, I'm returning the favor and you can't stop me."
"Sure, until you-"
"Don't start that again! My mind's made up!" He turned to the child beside him, hunkering down to speak to him. "Hey England, you want me to take care of you? We could do cool stuff like Disneyland."
"He can't leave the country. No passport." Canada stared down at his brother nation in a measuring fashion, a frown furrowing his brow.
America tilted his head up to ask, "He has a Disneyland here too, right?"
"No."
"But I thought there was one in Europe," America said, confused.
"Yes. In Paris."
"Paris?! What the hell! But they don't speak American!" America wailed.
"I'm getting a headache..." Canada muttered.
"Well there must be theme parks here, right?"
"Of course."
"There you go," America said, sounding satisfied. "I'll take care of England and you go watch hockey or something."
"Taking care of him involves more than theme parks. In case you hadn't noticed he's a three year old."
America shrugged. "Sure, but no nappies and he eats regular food right?" He turned to the child who was playing with the zipper on America's jacket. "Right, England?"
"Right," England said, adding a nod and a long look from big green eyes to add weight to his agreement.
"America..." Canada began to protest weakly.
"I wanna do this. It'll be fun."
"It's not a game! You're just pissed because England asked me instead of you," Canada said, revealing what he believed to be America's motivation for wanting to babysit.
America clamped his hands over England's ears which made the child giggle and squirm. "Hey! Quit swearing in front of the kid! Jeez, some carer you are. You probably have marijuana on you right now.
"What?!"
"Your people are pretty relaxed about that stuff. I've made up my mind, I'm doing this."
"America!"
"No objections! Hey, England. Would you like me to look after you?" America smiled his most winning smile.
Canada muttered something about looking like a psychopath, which America chose to ignore, instead focussing his attention on the child in case he needed to pull out the big guns of puppy dog looks and candy bribes if the kid needed further persuading.
England needed no bribing or further coaxing. He smiled back happily and leaned in close, placing his hands on America's cheeks and squishing them together. "Okay. But will Canada feel sad?"
"No, he's fine. He needs to go do stuff with polar bears and moose and shi- stuff."
"Do you want to see my fairies?"
"Uh. Kid. Fairies don't..." A cough and a glare from Canada made him rethink his words. "I can't see fairies."
"Oh. Poor America. I'm sorry." England patted the American nation consolingly on his arm then linked their fingers together until he was holding America's hand. "Don't worry, don't be sad, lots of people can't see them. I can draw you a picture so you can see them."
"Sure."
"Later. I want to play in the field now. I'm in charge because it's my house" he added, firmly, before wandering towards the field, tugging America along with him.
"Canada, go home. I got this," America threw over his shoulder, letting himself be pulled through the long grass.
"You better not mess up!" Canada yelled.
"I won't."
"And America, don't ... just ... Try not to get too attached! Remember, this is temporary. And no trying to get him to agree to be your 51st state!"
"Dude! Give me some credit!" America yelled back, more focussed on keeping his footing as the child pulled him further into the field.
"Well, France tried to rename him New Brittany!"
America stopped dead. England, pulling at America's hand, was jerked backwards and toppled down into the long grass, whereupon he started giggling.
"France knows?!" America yelled in outrage.
"Frog knows?!" England yelled, imitating America's tone, which he apparently found hilarious given how the child's body was shaking with his laughter.
There was no response from Canada, unless one counted the way he was backing into the shelter of the trees.
"Who else knew and I didn't!" America roared.
"Well... Australia and New Zealand sometimes take care of him. Scotland. Wales..."
America’s face was taking on an alarming expression.
Canada started backing further into the woods. “Um, I'm just going to head home now. Bye England! Take care of him!"
"Okay! I will!" England called, still lying on his back.
America swung round to face England. He looked down. "Kid, he was talking to me."
England blinked up at him. "Are you really really really sure?"
"I..."
"Are you hungry?"
"Uh. Actually, yeah."
"I want tea. We can come back here, it's my field." England clambered to his feet. "Come on." England slipped his hand into America's, small and trusting.
"America?" England looked up at the other nation as they headed towards the woods.
"Yeah?"
England gazed up at America like he knew all the answers to all the questions in the world. "What's marrywana?"
***
America eyed the many cupboards in England's kitchen, his gaze a tad suspicious as he opened several and peered inside, as if some evil tea monster lurked in them, ready to leap on him in payback for certain events in Boston. "I don't know where the tea is," he was forced to admit.
"In that drawer there. This one. Just pull it out."
America pulled out the drawer as instructed and his jaw dropped. "Whoa! I knew you were an addict but that's..."
"What's a naddick?" England asked absently as he cast his eyes over the treasure trove of tea.
"Uh.. It means you can't do without it, you like it a lot. Which one do you want?"
"You can pick one!" England offered in the tone of one bestowing a great gift.
Where to begin? "Okay. Uh. Let’s see. Assam. Darjeeling. Ceylon. Lapsang Souchong. 1706 -what's so special about 1706 it gets its own tea? English Breakfast. Lady Grey. Earl Grey. Moroccan mint. Nettle.. Wait, nettle? Seriously? That’s like drinking poison ivy, right?”
"Pick one!” England said encouragingly.
"There are too many! Green tea with jasmine? White tea with pomegranate?"
"Pick one, America." England sounded just a shade less encouraging and a tad more demanding as befitted an Englishman - albeit a small one - being denied his beverage of choice.
"Pomegranate?" offered America.
"Not that one."
"How about masala chai? Huh. Masala? Isn’t that a curry?"
"Not that one."
America cast the little nation an accusing look. "You said I could pick."
"You can," England said in a reasonable voice. "But not that one."
"Yunnan?"
"Or that one."
"Assam?" America offered, using the theory that it was near the front of the drawer and was therefore a favourite.
"Okay!" England agreed happily.
"So what do I do?"
"Fill the kettle with water and switch it on. Put the tea leaves -"
"Leaves? Don't you have bags or something?" America gave the child a pleading look .
England sighed heavily. With the manner of one offering a great sacrifice he said, "Okay, America, you can use a teabag. That box there at the back."
***
Over tea and Rich Tea biscuits, America decided to find out what exactly England could remember. "Hey. You remember being bigger?"
"Yes. May I have another biscuit please?"
"Sure. So... I can’t believe I’m asking this. Remembering you were bigger, how does it make you feel?"
England looked thoughtful. "It makes me feel taller."
"Uh. No, I mean feelings. Emotions. Like, you remember everything, even the stuff that stresses you out?"
"What's stresses?" asked England as he dunked his biscuit in his tea.
"Worries you, makes you angry, makes you want to change into a kid for a while," America explained.
"I remember some bad stuff so then I don't think about it and it goes away," he said sunnily. A soggy piece of biscuit broke off and fell into his tea. "Oops."
"You think that's how Italy deals with life?"
England gave that some serious three year old level thought. "Italy makes nice food."
"He sure does." America suddenly frowned, and threw the child an accusing look. "Wait. He doesn't know about you being a kid sometimes does he?"
"No. Can we have pasta?"
America’s expression relaxed. "Sure we can."
"Can I have a lolly-ice if I wipe my bottom and wash my hands?"
Taken aback, America stared blankly at the child. "Huh?"
"Canada says if I wipe pro’ply and wash my hands I can have one. Can I have one?"
"What the heck is Canada teaching you...." America muttered to himself before saying, "I...guess so?
As though sensing America’s unease England pushed aside his biscuit-riddled tea to reach forward to clasp America's hand. "America?"
"Yeah?" America asked warily, wondering if the kid was going to say something from out of left field again.
"Don't worry. If you wipe your bottom and wash your hands you can have one too," England assured America.
***
"How is it possible to get spaghetti in your ear?" America asked the universe in general as he helped England undress for his bath.
"The fairy did it," England told him.
America gave the child a searching gaze and had to stifle a laugh at the utter transparency of the child's expression. England might as well have been wearing a sign over his head with a flashing arrow and the words 'Here be bullshit'. "The fairy so didn't do it."
England looked shifty. "Maybe she did." England suddenly jerked his head to the right and loudly shushed an 'invisible friend' by his shoulder. America snorted in amusement. "Come on, kid. In you get. You have a lot of bubble bath for a guy," he remarked, eyeing the collection of coloured bath concoctions arranged on England's bathroom cabinet.
"I like bubbles. They tickle and pop. But don't put too many in or I'll float away," England said with a grin.
"I don't think that's going to happen but I'll go easy."
"You mustn't eat the bubbles," England said more seriously, just in case this piece of wisdom had passed by America.
"I'll try to resist."
"When big me bathed you it took a long, long, long, long time to fill the bath."
"You remember that?" America asked, strangely moved that this was something England would recall.
"Yes. The water would be heated up and the bath tub was heavy. You pretended to be a whale."
"Huh. Yeah, I remember that," America said, his tone somewhat wistful. He gazed down at the child who was staring up at him, wet spiky eyelashes framing familiar eyes topped by a crown of bubbles and America had the sudden and embarrassing urge to cry.
England's mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise at the other nation's reaction. His own eyes teared up in response. He cupped his hands and scooped up a mound of froth. "I'll share my bubbles with you," he offered, his voice sounding very small and choked up. A tear slipped down one flushed rounded cheek.
Something inside America broke. He hugged the child gently, his cheek pressed against wet hair, and for the first time that day he desperately missed adult England.
***
The serious emotional moment lasted as long as it took to get England out of the bath and reach for a towel. Within seconds England was running away giggling and squealing loudly with excitement and announcing to the world, "I'm naked! I'm naked!"
"Kid, you're not France! Get your naked butt back here!"
"Ha ha ha! I’m the Froggy! I'm naked!"
"England, I need to dry you." America set off in pursuit, armed with a fluffy towel. "Do you do this to Canada?"
"Yes!" England yelled and started jumping up and down on his kingsize bed.
"How does he not tease you about this when we're at World meetings?" America managed to wrap the child in the towel and with a combination of patting and tickling, managed to get England dry and in pajamas, though England insisted on putting his pajama bottoms on his head first. "Come on, let me brush your hair."
England stilled abruptly. "You can't brush my hair it has baby fairies in it."
"England, tell me the truth," America ordered firmly.
"Not really," England admitted then offered his most charming smile.
America told himself he wasn't melting into a puddle of goo whatsoever. "Okay, buddy, let's fix that shaggy mane of yours."
As America ran a soft brush through England's hair, the child decided now was a good time to clasp his arms round America's neck and cuddle in close. "When your were little I brushed your hair didn't I, America?"
"You remember that?" America asked, abandoning the brush and using his fingers to smooth the child's hair. Canada's words about not getting too attached popped in his head and he sighed inwardly.
"Yes. I remember lots of things." He pulled back a little so he could gaze directly into America's eyes. "I remember you got in my bed because you were scared."
"I remember that too," America admitted.
"America? Can I sleep with you in your bed?"
"What's up? You scared of something?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you're my best friend," England said as a matter of fact.
Oh...
"Canada is my best friend too and Australia and New Zealand but you're my best favourite best friend more."
America told himself he wasn't going to tear up again. He was a superpower, dammit! "Come on, then, you need your sleep when you're a kid. And...England, you're my best friend too. Whatever size you are. I just want you to know that, okay?"
"Okay. America?"
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow I want to take a picnic and watch the rabbits, and feed the fish and then I have a surprise for you!" England revealed. "I'm going to show you my favourite place in the woods." He leaned in, forehead to forehead with the older nation, hands cupping America's face and stared so intently and so close his eyes were almost crossing. "America, not even Canada and Australia and Wales and Froggy know about it."
"I'd like that," said America. "Come on, let's get you to bed so you have lots of energy in the morning."
***
Sunlight was filtering through a gap in the curtains, promise of another beautiful June day. America shifted beneath the bedcovers, careful not to jostle the little nation that had cuddled up against him last night - then realised he was alone in the bed. Movement at the foot of the bed made him sit up abruptly and his befuddled gaze met that of a full grown England as the other nation was buttoning up a shirt.
"England? You're back?"
"Yes."
Wary of England's neutral expression, America began, "I can explain..."
"It's quite all right. I remember what happened, I always do, no need to explain."
Though England's reply was softly spoken and he seemed unruffled, there was a definite flush tinting England's cheeks.
Opening his mouth to make some flippant comment, America was as surprised as England when he asked accusingly, "Why didn't you tell me?"
America thought England flinched.
"It was my personal business, I'm sure you don't tell me every one of your secrets, America."
"Then how come you asked everybody except me to take care of you?"
England froze then seemed to make a deliberate effort to relax. "I had no wish to be mocked," he replied so casually it had to be a front.
America tossed back the bedcovers and got out of bed, moving to stand before the other nation who was now sitting down on the bed while he pulled on his socks. "I wouldn't do that. I goof off to blow off steam, you know. I have my ways of de-stressing."
"It's not really the same thing, acting childish and being a child for a while," England pointed out, eyes fixed on a sock which he was unfolding so it was no longer inside out.
"You do seem more relaxed," America said, gently.
England darted a glance upwards, briefly meeting America's gaze before looking away again.
"It was fun. Looking after you. Kinda nice. You liked me a lot and you said so."
"Yes, well that's over now," England said firmly, the flush on his cheeks intensifying.
"You sure were a cute kid," America said with a grin.
England frowned. "I was never that child, America. It was a de-aged me, so to a degree it was me, but a child me that had no concept of suffering, a me that had no reason not to be happy."
"But you were young once," America protested.
England seemed to be having an internal debate with himself. He appeared to reach a decision and rose up, meeting America's gaze head on. "By the time I was that child's age I'd been invaded by so many tribes and armies I'd lost count. That was why the Blue Fairy offered her magic to me. If I simply wished to turn into a child with my memories then I would simply... Well. Britannia Angel has certain abilities. This was something only the Blue Fairy could do. She offered to turn me into a child so I could have that for a while, a happy childhood."
"England..." America said achingly.
"Fairies do exist!"
"It's not that," America said gently. "Never? You were never that happy?"
"Don't feel sorry for me, you great pillock. I went on to have the largest empire the world has ever seen! I don't want or need your pity."
America gave a frustrated hurrumph of a sound and waved his arms in surrender. "Okay. Fine. But I still liked the kid you were but I don't get why it was just a day while I was there. Canada said you usually stay like that for a week."
England gave an elegant shrug. "I stay like that until I'm ready to return. I was ready."
"I wasn't!"
"America..."
"You raised me and read me stories, and we played together, you taught me to ride, to fish, to make sailboats and...I didn't get to do any of those things. I thought I had a week!"
"Are you suggesting I turn back into a child to indulge your selfish need to treat me like a child?" England asked, outraged at the idea.
"No! I just... I wanted longer." America hesitated then grasped England's hands in his own, resisting when England automatically flinched and tried to withdraw. "I wanted to do things with you you did for me when you were taking care of me, because those things were fun and I miss them. I know we don't talk about that stuff because you get drunk and cry and I have to pretend I don't care and make fun, and it's because I do care, I do, England." America's voice grew even more impassioned as he continued, "I know I left you and I had to become independent, but there was lots about being with you when I was a kid that I loved and there was lots about being with you, with you as a kid, that I loved. I just..." America stuttered to a halt and stared helplessly at the older nation.
England stared at America, bewildered by the torrent of words that had poured from the younger nation's lips, by the distinct pout of the usually smiling mouth and the unhappy face. "I see." He cleared his throat quietly, mulling over America's words. There was a drawn out moment of stillness between them, as if something might snap if the wrong sound slipped out, the wrong words uttered. Finally, England's fingers curled a little tighter round America's fingers, the gentlest of pressures. He tilted his chin up, courage under fire, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with the other nation. "Life does have a tendency to be stressful and I like to escape. I could...make sure I call you first, see if you want to come and look after the child...me. If you want to, of course, this puts you under no obligation to-"
"Yes! Good idea," America spoke quickly. "You'll call me first, right? Not Canada or Australia or-"
"America, you sound jealous." There was a faintly teasing lilt to England's voice, a teasing tilt to the small smile gracing England's lips.
"Yes. I mean no! I'm not... Just... call me first." America stared down at the still-clasped hands. "There's a place called Gulliver's Land I think you - kid you - would like, and we could go to Whipsnade zoo, they have wallabies and deer running around loose and they walk the elephants outside among the visitors, that would be cool."
"Fine. I'll call you first," England agreed. He gently tugged his hands free, pausing to pat the other nation on the arm before retreating a little.
America watched England, a thoughtful look on his face. "You know... We could do the zoo when you're like this, you know, grown up. Now, the two of us. It could be fun, right? I took the week off thinking you'd be a kid so...we could go tomorrow?"
For a moment England looked pleased until his English reserve kicked in and he strove to hide his emotional response. "Certainly. Though why not today? We're not very far from there, just a few junctions up the motorway."
The smile that blossomed on America's face was one of his brightest, the kind that won hearts and made people believe in impossible things. "Because today I want to take a picnic. I want to watch the rabbits, feed the fish and visit England's favourite place in the woods."
England tried to stiffen his upper lip and failed. "I think that can be arranged," he said with a smile.