The chill of oncoming winter permeated the morning air after the trio had made their final purchase from the market stall and journeyed home. They strode along the dirt path - a slaughtered hog slung over one’s shoulders as a treat for dinner - beneath the thick canopy of leaves. Surrounded by the relaxing sounds of birds chirping in the trees and knowing they’d finished their work for the day, the Bear’s were in a jovial mood.
At first glance, they'd be mistaken for siblings. Only when approached closely would you notice the barrel-chested male who walked a step ahead was of greater age than the other two. A Father and his sons. The Patriarch was Paddington Bear, commonly known as Papa, who stood at six foot two, with a thick mass of curly brown hair atop his head. His forearms were the size of hams, his hands rough and calloused, and his skin weathered by the sun. He carried not an ounce of fat.
A large man, Paddington intimidated by size alone. Yet, not those who had spent time with him, and heard the laugh which emanated deep in his belly before it erupted from his mouth. Nor those not too taken by his breadth and width to notice that his brown eyes crinkled with warmth and good humour. Bear by name, bear by size, but not by nature. Unless provoked.
His two sons, Edward, ‘Teddy’ Bear and Rupert were men, but still young and yet to stop growing. Attired, as Aloysius was, in linen breeches and shirts of varying hues, with woollen vests, the boy’s features were alike enough to their Papa’s for there to be no doubt the three were related. There were also noticeable differences. Teddy, the youngest, had inherited his Father’s chocolate brown eyes and curled dark-chestnut hair, but was shorter and his shoulders weren’t as broad. Rupert would be larger than even Papa, but in contrast to Paddington and Edward had green eyes and blond hair. Like his mother, Wilhemina.
Wilhemina. The conversation and laughter abated when they entered a clearing and their dwelling came into view. As always, Papa experienced a mixture of sadness and contentment as he looked upon it. This was the house he’d slept in every night of his life since he was a boy, and where he’d enjoyed many happy times. When he was but six years of age, he’d helped his own Father, Aloysius, build it. Paddington had cut down the trees, sawed the branches into pieces, and hammered in the nails with his very own hands. Or that’s how he remembered it. Constructed of forest wood and topped with a thatched roof, the cottage hadn’t changed in all those years.
Inside, a small foyer opened into a spacious living area, in which the family spent most evening’s together. They’d rest in their favourite chairs, facing the open hearth, and stay up to the small hours reading, talking, laughing, eating and drinking. Off to the left sat a kitchen where Mrs Bear used to cook; duties now shared by the three men. Out of sight were areas for ablutions and laundering. At the rear lay the Master bedroom, the highlight of which was the four-poster bed Papa had fashioned himself. The boy’s bedrooms were on the Eastern side of the cottage. From the windows, they could look out over the green valleys where the Bear’s goats and cows roamed free.
A place of great joy, but also one of sorrow, as Wilhemina had died in the cottage. For a period three years ago, after she’d succumbed to a bout of food poisoning following a feast at Old Mother Hubbard’s and Papa was in the worst of his grief, he’d thought of leaving. To avoid the reminder of what he’d miss so terribly. But he knew in his heart he wouldn’t. Home held too many good memories. Though, if that had been the decision he’d taken, he could have afforded it. Buried In the back garden, untouched for two decades, lay a trove of gold coins.
The coins had been a gift to his Father from the Queen of a Faraway Land. A modest man was Aloysius, and it wasn’t until Paddington's teen years, only a week before the plague had stolen his parents, that he’d regaled his son with the story. Paddington had heard how his Papa had risked death, dismemberment, torture and worse. Of how he’d defeated a legendary troll and rescued a princess from a tower protected by a vicious ogre.
Aloysius had bested the ogre, too, in a battle which lasted for days, and returned the young lady to her rightful place as heir to her Country’s throne. He’d rejected all honours and accolades - it had been an adventure, what further reward did he need? - and accepted the gold reluctantly. He’d bequeathed the treasure to his only son, as he had the house, with the stipulation that Paddington would know the time to make use of it, but that time had never come. Leaving Papa to yearn for the opportunity for adventure that his Father had taken, and a chance to replicate his heroic deeds.
“Papa, did you forget to shut the door?”
Teddy’s voice brought Paddington out of his reverie. His head whipped around, then his eyes followed a pointed finger and he saw what his youngest son had seen. The front door was ajar, and anger rose in his massive chest. The trio dropped the produce in their arms onto the grass, and the same thought passed through each of their minds. Papa never forgot to close the door, and it was too sturdy and secure to have unlatched by itself. That could mean only one thing.
“Someone has violated the sanctity of our abode. Teddy, around the back. If they're still inside, we don’t want them to escape.” Papa shook with fury as he directed his youngest.
Who would be so stupid, or desperate, as to enter their home uninvited and try to steal their possessions?
“Teddddddddddddddddyyyyyyy.”
Of course, the boy ignored him and raced on into the house.
“Rupppppperrrrrrrttttttt.”
As did his second son
“Fuck it.” Muttering under his breath, pride flared in Papa as his boys sped headlong into the face of danger without a thought for their safety, before he followed their lead.
“Someone’s been eating my porridge.”
“Mine, too.”
The Patriarch looked from Rupert to Edward, who stared quizzically at their breakfast dishes on the dining table, then at his bowl. “Mine three.” An eyebrow quirked as he tried to figure out what it meant.
“And someone’s been sitting in my chair.”
“Mine too.”
Turning as Rupert and Teddy brushed past him, Papa eyed the seats in the living room, gaze roaming from one to the other. “Mine, three.” This was getting stranger and stranger. “Boys, check your....”
They’d already gone.
Seconds later, three doors opened simultaneously.
“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” called Teddy, peering in at the mussed sheets.
“Mine too.” Rupert.
“Someone is sleeping in my bed.”
It took his sons a moment to realise Papa had used the present tense. When it sunk in, the duo turned in unison and scampered towards his room. Arriving together, they collided in a tangle of limbs at the door, excitement and curiosity lighting up their faces. The two were still trying to make it inside when Paddington tapped the intruder’s feet and his booming voice echoed off the walls. “Out of bed, young lady. You have some explaining to do.”
