He'd accosted me in the doorway, as I passed through into the courtyard at the rear of the bar, making my way towards the toilet I'd knew I'd find there. He was tall, as tall as my six foot and small change, a little younger than me, wavy hair of a golden colour, probably from a bottle, but who knew? Handsome, I suppose, tanned, again rather artificial looking, wearing a jacket and an open-necked shirt, giving the overall impression of a rather cheesy daytime TV host, with all the associated implications of sliminess and insincerity. Not my kind, at all. I'd ignored him, and carried on towards my goal.
"Damn!" I exclaimed aloud, finding the entry to the toilet barred by a padlocked steel gate. The whole facility looked uncared-for, almost derelict - how could that be, I'd only been here a few days ago, it couldn't have deteriorated so much in such a short space of time, surely? I needed to head back to the main building, to enquire where I needed to go instead, to relieve the internal pressure which was building to urgent proportions. I turned, and instinctively recoiled. He was there again, right in front of me! No more words, he just reached out and grabbed me. I felt helpless, defenceless, like a child snatched by a kidnapper. All I could do was to scream, but even that expedient was unsuccessful, no real sound emerged from my mouth, just a thick, strangled croak seemingly trapped in the back of my throat. I tried to cry out, again and again, but nothing more audible found its way past my lips. His hands were all over me, groping, grasping....don't, leave me alone, I don't want this, noooooo....
I woke, sweating and gasping for breath, my throat sore, my head aching. But safe, safe in my bed, waves of relief washing over me as I realised it had only been a dream. My bedmate stirred, and, as my eyes adapted to the dim light, I saw the golden, wavy hair on the adjoining pillow. I barely made it to the bathroom before the tide of nausea overcame me, and I vomited what seemed like my whole being into the sink....
****
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
Wednesday 21 March 2012
Monday 12 March 2012
Reasons
Please don't ask me, because I just don't know
Where the feelings come from, why they just won't go
Understanding your hurting, but I simply can't lie
How I wish I could tell you the reasons why
I beg for forgiveness, believe me, it's true
My caring, my loving is still there for you
You tell me I'm lying, I need you to see
When push comes to shove, I can only be me
Pretending and hiding, all these long years
Denying my being, suppressing the fears
Wasting my old age, like I lost my youth
Wishing it different can't alter the truth
Sorry's a word it's not easy to say
I know deep inside there's a price I must pay
I might die alone, but please look in my eyes
I just can't, any longer, live in disguise
****
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
Where the feelings come from, why they just won't go
Understanding your hurting, but I simply can't lie
How I wish I could tell you the reasons why
I beg for forgiveness, believe me, it's true
My caring, my loving is still there for you
You tell me I'm lying, I need you to see
When push comes to shove, I can only be me
Pretending and hiding, all these long years
Denying my being, suppressing the fears
Wasting my old age, like I lost my youth
Wishing it different can't alter the truth
Sorry's a word it's not easy to say
I know deep inside there's a price I must pay
I might die alone, but please look in my eyes
I just can't, any longer, live in disguise
****
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
Wednesday 7 March 2012
Garden
The summer afternoon was suddenly punctuated by a succession of unexpected sounds from the adjacent garden. The rhythm of a ball being bounced on patio flagstones, then running feet, followed by a loud thud on the opposite side of the heavy wooden fence panel closest to where the man was sitting, as, presumably, the ball rebounded from it.
"Goal!" A young boy's high-pitched voice whooped in celebration.
"Joe, not against the fence, please!" A woman's voice, one the man recognised as that of his new neighbour, Mrs Willis, who'd moved into the house with her husband just a few weeks earlier.
"Sorry, Grandma."
"Kick your ball against the garage wall instead."
"OK."
"And mind the windows!"
"Yes, Grandma." The weary, heavy note in the boy's voice was obvious. It wasn't the first time the boy had fallen foul of his grandmother, seemingly.
The sound of the ball striking its target resumed, slightly further away, from the man's perspective. A minute or two later, a bright yellow plastic football sailed over the fence and landed in the middle of the man's lawn.
"Oops!" The man heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the patio, then clunking against the fence, before, moments later, a small face appeared.
"Oh, sorry! I didn't know anyone was there. I wanted to see if I could see where my ball had gone." The boy hesitated for a moment, before continuing, politely. "Could I have my ball back, please?"
"No problem, young man! Just wait there a moment."
The boy smiled, and the man felt a pang, from somewhere deep inside him, a pang of disquiet, of something hidden, almost forgotten, nameless, shapeless. And a moment of familiarity. This boy, with his white blond hair and sweet smile, was like....like....who? The man fumbled around in his memory to try and disinter a name, a face, but failed. He handed the ball back to the boy.
"Thank you, Mr...."
"Campbell, but call me Derek, please - you're Joe, aren't you, I heard your grandma call your name before."
"That's right. I'm staying with Grandma and Grandad for a few days, Mum and Dad have gone away, on a second...." The boy's voice faltered, as he searched for the unfamiliar word.
"Second honeymoon?"
"Yeah, that's it. I like Grandma and Grandad's new house, but there's no-one to play with, that's why I was kicking the ball around," His voice lowered, conspiratorially. "It's a bit boring, really - and Grandma moans a lot, too!"
Right on cue, the woman intervened.
"Joe! What do you think you're doing! Get off of that chair!"
The boy's eyebrows went up in almost comically exaggerated exasperation. Derek felt the need to put the boy's side of the story, and stepped towards the fence, which, at his 6 foot 2, he was easily able to see over.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Willis. The boy was just asking, and very politely, I might add, for me to pass his ball back to him. It accidentally found its way over this side just now."
"Oh, Mr Campbell. I'm sorry, I thought Joe was just being nosey."
"It wouldn't have been an issue, even if he was being curious - we aren't harbouring any state secrets here!"
The woman's lips thinned a little, the attempt at mild humour evidently not going down too well. "That's all very well, but you're entitled to your privacy. Joe, I think that's enough football for now, go and find something else to do, please."
The boy jumped down from the chair, dropping his ball as he landed, by the sounds from beyond the fence, and headed back into the house without another word.
"I apologise again for your having been disturbed, Mr Campbell. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
"Mrs Willis, he's just being a boy. There was no damage done, and, as I said, his manners were impeccable. It's nice to see a bit of youthful energy around every now and again."
"Energy? He's like a whirling dervish! He's only been here since last night, and I feel exhausted already. He can't sit still for more than two minutes. His mother, when she was his age, could sit quietly for hours doing a jigsaw or reading a book. 'Quiet' and 'still' aren't in his vocabulary at all. I don't know how I'm going to cope until the weekend, when his parents get back, I'm sure."
"Well, don't worry yourself about his footballing exploits, at least - if his ball comes over the fence, I'll just throw it back. We lived next to an elderly couple when I was a boy, and my brother and I were always losing tennis balls and footballs over the fence, but they were always kind enough to send them back. I don't see any reason to act differently. Apart from anything else, if Joe runs around enough, he might tire himself out - eventually!"
She chuckled, almost despite herself. "Eventually is the right word, I think! Thank you for being so understanding, Mr Campbell."
"It's Derek, by the way - Mr Campbell was my father! Oh, and I told Joe what my first name was, and asked him to use it, so please don't think he's being rude if you hear him speaking to me." The man didn't want the boy to get into any more hot water on his account.
"If you're sure, Mr....um, Derek, I mean."
"Of course. I'm not a great fan of Victorian formality, I had more than enough of that when I was growing up - respect has to be earned, as far as I'm concerned, not just taken for granted. And, from what I've seen of him, I'm sure he's a thoroughly nice lad. I can't imagine him running wild all of a sudden."
"Well, I don't know." The compressed lips again. No wonder her daughter learned to be quiet, Derek thought. "I'd better go and see what he's up to, anyway. Goodbye....Derek."
"Goodbye, Mrs Willis." No crack in her carapace of propriety, evidently - he wasn't worthy of being on first name terms, so it seemed. Poor kid. He'll be tearing his hair out by the weekend, Derek thought. That hair, though. Why did it seem so familiar, stir such uneasy feelings?
****
Joe didn't appear in the garden again that day, but the following morning, another sunny, blue sky day, the sound of the ball was in evidence again. And, predictably enough, it wasn't long before it was sitting in the middle of Derek's lawn once more.
"Oh, poo! Not again!"
Derek smiled to himself, and went to retrieve the ball.
"Good morning, Joe. Don't worry, the ballboy's on duty."
The boy giggled, invisible beyond the boundary. "Good morning....Derek."
The man walked up to the fence, and dropped the ball into the boy's waiting hands.
"Thank you."
"You're more than welcome, young man. Careful, though, or Grandma will be on your case again!"
"She's gone shopping. Grandad's watching TV, and I think I was disturbing him, so he was happy when I said I wanted to go in the garden." The boy pouted a little. "I'm in the way, wherever I am."
"I guess they're used to their quiet life, so you being around is a bit different for them. Don't worry about it, I'm sure they're not being unkind."
Joe sighed. "I suppose so. It's so boring, though!"
"How old are you, Joe?"
"Nine, nearly ten."
"That's much too young to be bored with life! You're only here for a few days, then you'll be back home with your friends around. Look on the bright side!"
The boy smiled wanly. "Yeah, I guess, but I'm still bored now!" He opened his mouth to speak again, but then seemed to think better of it.
"What, Joe?"
"Well....I was sort of wondering....do you want to play football with me? I know Grandad won't, he's always going on about his bad leg, but you seem more....fun."
Derek smiled again. "Flattery will get you anywhere, sunshine! Well, I'm not really in any fit state to run about much, but I can throw the ball to you, if you like, and you can head it or kick it back to me, maybe. How does that sound?"
"Yeah, great!" Joe threw the ball back over the fence, and Derek caught it. "My dad does that sometimes. On my head!"
The man lobbed the ball gently in Joe's direction, and the boy met it with a firm header, just powerful enough for the ball to fly back onto Derek's territory, clipping the top of the fence as it went.
"Good one, Joe! Here it comes again!"
The boy grinned, and once again headed the ball back. The game progressed for some minutes, with the ball flying to and fro between the two gardens. Joe, perhaps inevitably, got a little overexcited, and launched at one of Derek's deliveries with a ferocious volley, which, probably more by luck than judgment, he connected with perfectly. The feather-light ball sailed high over the man's head, lodging in the branches of a small conifer which grew against Derek's back fence, some ten feet up.
"Oops a daisy, little man! That one was a bit over the bar!"
"Where has it gone?"
"Up in my tree. I'll see if I can reach it."
The man stood on tiptoe, stretching as far as he could, but was a foot and a half short of reaching where the ball had come to rest. He tried shaking the tree, but only succeeded in moving the ball down a couple of inches, entangling it still deeper amongst the branches and foliage.
"Damn! I haven't got my ladder at the moment, either, my friend's borrowed it for a few days."
"What are we going to do, Derek?"
The man considered for a few moments. "How about if you sit on my shoulders, Joe? If I hang on tight to you, you should be able to reach it."
"OK. How do I get into your garden, though?"
"There's a back gate in your garden, and in mine. Just come through to the path at the back, and I'll let you in."
"Grandma said I'm not allowed to go through that gate....she won't know, though, will she?"
"It should only take a minute, I doubt if we'll have a major diplomatic incident on our hands!"
Joe scampered to the high wooden gate which gave onto the alleyway, and drew the bolt, the metal cylinder sliding easily from its hasp, pulling the gate closed behind him. Derek, in contrast, struggled to release the bolt on his gate, thinking wryly that he should follow Mr Willis's example, and oil the mechanism once in a while. After a little worrying at the device, though, it came free, and the man opened his gate to reveal the boy's grinning face.
"I didn't think you were going to let me in!"
"I had trouble with the bolt - we haven't used this gate for ages!"
"Let's get the ball, then, Derek!"
The pair walked to the foot of the conifer, and both looked up.
"It's high. That was a good shot of mine, wasn't it?"
"Very powerful, young man! Allez-oop, then!"
Joe was a little heavier than Derek was expecting, and the man found he had to make the lift a two stage affair, standing behind the boy to raise him to chest level, then moving again to elevate him to above head height and settle the youngster's thin thighs on his shoulders. The man looped his arms over the top of the boy's legs, holding him firmly in place before taking a step forward to allow the boy to reach up to where his ball was resting. Derek heard a little grunt from behind and above his head as the boy stretched his arms upwards.
"Can you reach, Joe?"
"I think so....just a second....yeah, got it!"
"Drop it down on the grass, then, and I'll lift you down." The ball hit the ground and bounced, somewhere to Derek's right hand side, before the man began the reverse process of lifting Joe back over his head and then down. The boy's weight again caught him unawares, though, and then everything seemed to be slipping out of control, the boy starting to fall, letting out a squeak of alarm, a tangle of arms and legs as Derek tried to react to prevent a nasty accident, flinging his arms around the boy anyhow, gripping, grasping. The second of danger was over, the boy held firmly in the man's arms. One of Derek's large hands had come to rest on the boy's breastbone, the other between his legs. The man heard the boy's involuntary exhalation of breath, then a soft giggle.
"Ooohhh, that tickles!" Another giggle.
Derek gulped in a ragged breath, forgetting to breathe out again. The name, the face, he'd been searching for in vain the day before sprang out of his memory, into the forefront of his mind. The scars that had been suppressed and then forgotten, opened and bled.
"David," the man whispered.
****
"Ooohhh, that tickles! I like it, though!" A sweet, childish giggle emerged from the little boy's lips.
Derek grinned, his twelve year old face a mask of happiness as he looked down at the laughing features of his little friend. David was eight, and Derek thought he was the most special, lovely, beautiful, wonderful person in the whole world. Some of his schoolmates teased him for being 'best friends' with someone so much younger than himself, but he didn't care. As long as he had David, he wasn't bothered about the rest of them. Derek often daydreamed about he and David being alone on a desert island somewhere, just the two of them for ever and ever. He couldn't have framed it in such a way at that time, but Derek was deeply in love with David, no doubt about it.
"Shall I do it some more?"
"Ooohhh, yes! Don't stop! It feels so nice, Derek."
Derek slid his fingers back and forth, as David's squirming became more erratic, and his breath came faster and faster.
"Derek, I'm getting that feeling again! Make it happen!"
The older boy looked with rapture at his friend's face, the little boy's eyes tightly shut, his mouth fallen open in an almost perfect 'O', then he felt the flesh under his fingertips begin to throb and twitch. David whimpered.
The bedroom door flew open. A deep voice boomed across the room.
"What the hell is going on here! Derek, what on earth do you think you're doing!"
Derek leapt to his feet, and shuffled backwards, until his body was pressed against the far wall of the room. David squealed, and fumbled around, trying to pull his underwear and shorts back into place. The voice resumed its terrifying tirade.
"You filthy little devil! Interfering with a little boy. You're disgusting! Come here!"
Derek was frozen in place, utterly petrified by his father's fury.
"Come here, I tell you, or you'll be sorry! Very sorry!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw David heading for the door. The adult noticed, too.
"Stay there, you! Don't you dare leave until I tell you that you can!" It was David's turn to freeze in place. He started to cry.
Derek still hadn't moved, so his father strode the couple of steps necessary, and grabbed his son roughly by the shoulder.
"I'll show you what happens to those who can't keep their dirty hands to themselves!"
Derek found himself flung on the bed, face down, then felt his lower garments being pulled down, leaving his buttocks exposed. There was a hiatus, a composite of rustling sounds, then a swish. Derek heard the first blow, a crack like a rifle shot, a fraction of a second before his brain registered the pain. Then he screamed. He'd been smacked on occasions, by both of his parents, but those punishments were nothing compared to this. Another swish, another stripe of agony painted across his bottom. Again. And again. Derek was hurting so much, he couldn't even cry out anymore. David could, though, and sobbed hysterically as the belt continued to thrash against his best friend's flesh.
"Stop it, stop it! You're hurting Derek, stop it!" The little boy was coughing, almost choking, in his distress. Still the blows fell, eight, nine, ten times. Then a single word.
"Shit!" Even through his haze of excruciating pain, the word registered in Derek's mind. He'd never, ever heard his father swear before. And then Derek heard David wailing again.
"He's bleeding, you've made him bleed!"
The man turned to the still crying little boy, shouting angrily.
"Get out of my house! And don't ever even think of coming back. Get out!" Derek heard his friend's footsteps, almost running down the stairs and away. "And you, you stay there, and don't dare move!"
Some minutes later, Derek's mother had come into the room, had wiped his buttocks with a cold flannel, rubbed some cream onto his stinging skin with unsympathetic fingers, pulled up his underwear and trousers. Then left him alone, still face down, tears soaking into his bedspread.
****
"Derek! Derek, are you alright?"
The man was dragged back from fifty years earlier in a moment, back to the sunny summer garden. He set Joe down gently on the ground, before the shudders rippling through his body put him at risk of dropping the boy again.
"Sorry, Joe, I nearly let you fall. Are you alright?"
"Yes, thanks. Thank you for helping me get my ball."
"My pleasure. I think I need to sit down for a minute though, after that scare. I could do with something to drink. Would you like a drink, sunshine?"
"Oh, yes, please!"
"Come this way, then!" Derek led the boy towards the back door of the house.
The kitchen seemed cool and dark after the sunlit garden. Man and boy took a few moments to adjust their eyesight to the lower level of light. Derek poured a glass of orange juice for the boy, from a carton in the fridge, and drew himself a large glass of ice cold water from the dispenser in the fridge door.
"Shall we sit down for a minute, Joe?"
"OK."
The pair walked through into the lounge, and sat on the sofa. Joe drained his drink thirstily, and set the glass on a coaster on the side table next to him. Derek placed his glass on the matching table at the opposite end of the sofa.
"It shook me up a bit out there, Joe, nearly dropping you. I would've hated to hurt you, because...." The man's voice tailed off, as he found himself thinking he was going to say too much to the boy.
"Because....why?"
Derek closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. "Because....I like you, and because....you remind me of someone, someone who was my best friend, once upon a time, a long, long time ago."
"When you were a boy?"
"Yeah, when I was a bit older than you are now."
"Was his name Joe, too?"
"No, he was called David. He looked a bit like you, had the same colour hair, the same sort of smile. And he laughed like you, too, that was what made me remember him, really, when you laughed just now, in the garden."
"Did you play football with him, too?"
"Sometimes. We played....other games, too."
"What sort of games?"
"Games that made us feel good." The man's heart rate was steadily increasing. Joe was like David in so many ways. Maybe.... "Games you might like to try, Joe."
The boy was starting to feel uneasy. He couldn't have said why, exactly, but he didn't like the way the conversation was going. Derek was getting a bit....scary.
"Thank you for the drink, and thank you for playing football with me, Derek. I'd better go now, Grandad will wonder where I am." The boy started to get up, but felt a tug on the waistband of his jeans, pulling him back down again. He let out a soft squeal.
"Ssshhh! Don't go yet, Joe, please!" The tone of the man's voice was strange, unnerving, not ordering Joe, but almost begging him to stay. The boy was getting more flustered and confused by the minute.
"I....I've got to go, Derek. Please let me go home!"
The boy squealed again, a little louder this time, as he was lifted onto the man's lap.
"Not yet, Joe. You're so pretty."
The boy struggled, but couldn't break the man's grip. He was shaking, as scared as he'd ever been in his life. He felt one of Derek's big hands move over the front of his trousers, between his legs, where Mum and Dad had said that he shouldn't ever let anyone touch him.
"Don't, Derek, that's rude! I don't like it!"
"David liked it. Relax, you'll like it too."
"Noooo, don't. I thought you were my friend." Joe began to cry as he felt his zip being undone, the elastic of his underwear being stretched forward and down, felt large fingers touching his private places.
"Derek, stop it now, or I'll tell!"
A booming voice echoed in Derek's head. 'I'll show you what happens to those who can't keep their dirty hands to themselves'. David, don't tell, you're my best friend, you don't tell on your best friend. He'll hit me again, hit me with that belt, again and again and again. David, please, please, don't tell!
The small figure had stopped struggling. There were no more tears. Derek found his hand was over the boy's face, how did that happen? He hadn't put his hand there.
"Joe? Joe, are you alright? Joe, I'm so sorry."
No answer. No movement. Derek lifted the boy back onto the sofa seat, then looked in abject horror at the lifeless little body.
****
Mrs Campbell hurried in through the back door.
"Derek, quickly! Mrs Willis's grandson is missing, he's wandered off from the garden, she says. She's frantic, come and help us look for him!"
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, an empty pill container and a half-drunk glass of water stood on the bedside table. As his heart lurched, one last, agonising time, the last sound Derek Campbell heard was his wife's scream.
****
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
"Goal!" A young boy's high-pitched voice whooped in celebration.
"Joe, not against the fence, please!" A woman's voice, one the man recognised as that of his new neighbour, Mrs Willis, who'd moved into the house with her husband just a few weeks earlier.
"Sorry, Grandma."
"Kick your ball against the garage wall instead."
"OK."
"And mind the windows!"
"Yes, Grandma." The weary, heavy note in the boy's voice was obvious. It wasn't the first time the boy had fallen foul of his grandmother, seemingly.
The sound of the ball striking its target resumed, slightly further away, from the man's perspective. A minute or two later, a bright yellow plastic football sailed over the fence and landed in the middle of the man's lawn.
"Oops!" The man heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the patio, then clunking against the fence, before, moments later, a small face appeared.
"Oh, sorry! I didn't know anyone was there. I wanted to see if I could see where my ball had gone." The boy hesitated for a moment, before continuing, politely. "Could I have my ball back, please?"
"No problem, young man! Just wait there a moment."
The boy smiled, and the man felt a pang, from somewhere deep inside him, a pang of disquiet, of something hidden, almost forgotten, nameless, shapeless. And a moment of familiarity. This boy, with his white blond hair and sweet smile, was like....like....who? The man fumbled around in his memory to try and disinter a name, a face, but failed. He handed the ball back to the boy.
"Thank you, Mr...."
"Campbell, but call me Derek, please - you're Joe, aren't you, I heard your grandma call your name before."
"That's right. I'm staying with Grandma and Grandad for a few days, Mum and Dad have gone away, on a second...." The boy's voice faltered, as he searched for the unfamiliar word.
"Second honeymoon?"
"Yeah, that's it. I like Grandma and Grandad's new house, but there's no-one to play with, that's why I was kicking the ball around," His voice lowered, conspiratorially. "It's a bit boring, really - and Grandma moans a lot, too!"
Right on cue, the woman intervened.
"Joe! What do you think you're doing! Get off of that chair!"
The boy's eyebrows went up in almost comically exaggerated exasperation. Derek felt the need to put the boy's side of the story, and stepped towards the fence, which, at his 6 foot 2, he was easily able to see over.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Willis. The boy was just asking, and very politely, I might add, for me to pass his ball back to him. It accidentally found its way over this side just now."
"Oh, Mr Campbell. I'm sorry, I thought Joe was just being nosey."
"It wouldn't have been an issue, even if he was being curious - we aren't harbouring any state secrets here!"
The woman's lips thinned a little, the attempt at mild humour evidently not going down too well. "That's all very well, but you're entitled to your privacy. Joe, I think that's enough football for now, go and find something else to do, please."
The boy jumped down from the chair, dropping his ball as he landed, by the sounds from beyond the fence, and headed back into the house without another word.
"I apologise again for your having been disturbed, Mr Campbell. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
"Mrs Willis, he's just being a boy. There was no damage done, and, as I said, his manners were impeccable. It's nice to see a bit of youthful energy around every now and again."
"Energy? He's like a whirling dervish! He's only been here since last night, and I feel exhausted already. He can't sit still for more than two minutes. His mother, when she was his age, could sit quietly for hours doing a jigsaw or reading a book. 'Quiet' and 'still' aren't in his vocabulary at all. I don't know how I'm going to cope until the weekend, when his parents get back, I'm sure."
"Well, don't worry yourself about his footballing exploits, at least - if his ball comes over the fence, I'll just throw it back. We lived next to an elderly couple when I was a boy, and my brother and I were always losing tennis balls and footballs over the fence, but they were always kind enough to send them back. I don't see any reason to act differently. Apart from anything else, if Joe runs around enough, he might tire himself out - eventually!"
She chuckled, almost despite herself. "Eventually is the right word, I think! Thank you for being so understanding, Mr Campbell."
"It's Derek, by the way - Mr Campbell was my father! Oh, and I told Joe what my first name was, and asked him to use it, so please don't think he's being rude if you hear him speaking to me." The man didn't want the boy to get into any more hot water on his account.
"If you're sure, Mr....um, Derek, I mean."
"Of course. I'm not a great fan of Victorian formality, I had more than enough of that when I was growing up - respect has to be earned, as far as I'm concerned, not just taken for granted. And, from what I've seen of him, I'm sure he's a thoroughly nice lad. I can't imagine him running wild all of a sudden."
"Well, I don't know." The compressed lips again. No wonder her daughter learned to be quiet, Derek thought. "I'd better go and see what he's up to, anyway. Goodbye....Derek."
"Goodbye, Mrs Willis." No crack in her carapace of propriety, evidently - he wasn't worthy of being on first name terms, so it seemed. Poor kid. He'll be tearing his hair out by the weekend, Derek thought. That hair, though. Why did it seem so familiar, stir such uneasy feelings?
****
Joe didn't appear in the garden again that day, but the following morning, another sunny, blue sky day, the sound of the ball was in evidence again. And, predictably enough, it wasn't long before it was sitting in the middle of Derek's lawn once more.
"Oh, poo! Not again!"
Derek smiled to himself, and went to retrieve the ball.
"Good morning, Joe. Don't worry, the ballboy's on duty."
The boy giggled, invisible beyond the boundary. "Good morning....Derek."
The man walked up to the fence, and dropped the ball into the boy's waiting hands.
"Thank you."
"You're more than welcome, young man. Careful, though, or Grandma will be on your case again!"
"She's gone shopping. Grandad's watching TV, and I think I was disturbing him, so he was happy when I said I wanted to go in the garden." The boy pouted a little. "I'm in the way, wherever I am."
"I guess they're used to their quiet life, so you being around is a bit different for them. Don't worry about it, I'm sure they're not being unkind."
Joe sighed. "I suppose so. It's so boring, though!"
"How old are you, Joe?"
"Nine, nearly ten."
"That's much too young to be bored with life! You're only here for a few days, then you'll be back home with your friends around. Look on the bright side!"
The boy smiled wanly. "Yeah, I guess, but I'm still bored now!" He opened his mouth to speak again, but then seemed to think better of it.
"What, Joe?"
"Well....I was sort of wondering....do you want to play football with me? I know Grandad won't, he's always going on about his bad leg, but you seem more....fun."
Derek smiled again. "Flattery will get you anywhere, sunshine! Well, I'm not really in any fit state to run about much, but I can throw the ball to you, if you like, and you can head it or kick it back to me, maybe. How does that sound?"
"Yeah, great!" Joe threw the ball back over the fence, and Derek caught it. "My dad does that sometimes. On my head!"
The man lobbed the ball gently in Joe's direction, and the boy met it with a firm header, just powerful enough for the ball to fly back onto Derek's territory, clipping the top of the fence as it went.
"Good one, Joe! Here it comes again!"
The boy grinned, and once again headed the ball back. The game progressed for some minutes, with the ball flying to and fro between the two gardens. Joe, perhaps inevitably, got a little overexcited, and launched at one of Derek's deliveries with a ferocious volley, which, probably more by luck than judgment, he connected with perfectly. The feather-light ball sailed high over the man's head, lodging in the branches of a small conifer which grew against Derek's back fence, some ten feet up.
"Oops a daisy, little man! That one was a bit over the bar!"
"Where has it gone?"
"Up in my tree. I'll see if I can reach it."
The man stood on tiptoe, stretching as far as he could, but was a foot and a half short of reaching where the ball had come to rest. He tried shaking the tree, but only succeeded in moving the ball down a couple of inches, entangling it still deeper amongst the branches and foliage.
"Damn! I haven't got my ladder at the moment, either, my friend's borrowed it for a few days."
"What are we going to do, Derek?"
The man considered for a few moments. "How about if you sit on my shoulders, Joe? If I hang on tight to you, you should be able to reach it."
"OK. How do I get into your garden, though?"
"There's a back gate in your garden, and in mine. Just come through to the path at the back, and I'll let you in."
"Grandma said I'm not allowed to go through that gate....she won't know, though, will she?"
"It should only take a minute, I doubt if we'll have a major diplomatic incident on our hands!"
Joe scampered to the high wooden gate which gave onto the alleyway, and drew the bolt, the metal cylinder sliding easily from its hasp, pulling the gate closed behind him. Derek, in contrast, struggled to release the bolt on his gate, thinking wryly that he should follow Mr Willis's example, and oil the mechanism once in a while. After a little worrying at the device, though, it came free, and the man opened his gate to reveal the boy's grinning face.
"I didn't think you were going to let me in!"
"I had trouble with the bolt - we haven't used this gate for ages!"
"Let's get the ball, then, Derek!"
The pair walked to the foot of the conifer, and both looked up.
"It's high. That was a good shot of mine, wasn't it?"
"Very powerful, young man! Allez-oop, then!"
Joe was a little heavier than Derek was expecting, and the man found he had to make the lift a two stage affair, standing behind the boy to raise him to chest level, then moving again to elevate him to above head height and settle the youngster's thin thighs on his shoulders. The man looped his arms over the top of the boy's legs, holding him firmly in place before taking a step forward to allow the boy to reach up to where his ball was resting. Derek heard a little grunt from behind and above his head as the boy stretched his arms upwards.
"Can you reach, Joe?"
"I think so....just a second....yeah, got it!"
"Drop it down on the grass, then, and I'll lift you down." The ball hit the ground and bounced, somewhere to Derek's right hand side, before the man began the reverse process of lifting Joe back over his head and then down. The boy's weight again caught him unawares, though, and then everything seemed to be slipping out of control, the boy starting to fall, letting out a squeak of alarm, a tangle of arms and legs as Derek tried to react to prevent a nasty accident, flinging his arms around the boy anyhow, gripping, grasping. The second of danger was over, the boy held firmly in the man's arms. One of Derek's large hands had come to rest on the boy's breastbone, the other between his legs. The man heard the boy's involuntary exhalation of breath, then a soft giggle.
"Ooohhh, that tickles!" Another giggle.
Derek gulped in a ragged breath, forgetting to breathe out again. The name, the face, he'd been searching for in vain the day before sprang out of his memory, into the forefront of his mind. The scars that had been suppressed and then forgotten, opened and bled.
"David," the man whispered.
****
"Ooohhh, that tickles! I like it, though!" A sweet, childish giggle emerged from the little boy's lips.
Derek grinned, his twelve year old face a mask of happiness as he looked down at the laughing features of his little friend. David was eight, and Derek thought he was the most special, lovely, beautiful, wonderful person in the whole world. Some of his schoolmates teased him for being 'best friends' with someone so much younger than himself, but he didn't care. As long as he had David, he wasn't bothered about the rest of them. Derek often daydreamed about he and David being alone on a desert island somewhere, just the two of them for ever and ever. He couldn't have framed it in such a way at that time, but Derek was deeply in love with David, no doubt about it.
"Shall I do it some more?"
"Ooohhh, yes! Don't stop! It feels so nice, Derek."
Derek slid his fingers back and forth, as David's squirming became more erratic, and his breath came faster and faster.
"Derek, I'm getting that feeling again! Make it happen!"
The older boy looked with rapture at his friend's face, the little boy's eyes tightly shut, his mouth fallen open in an almost perfect 'O', then he felt the flesh under his fingertips begin to throb and twitch. David whimpered.
The bedroom door flew open. A deep voice boomed across the room.
"What the hell is going on here! Derek, what on earth do you think you're doing!"
Derek leapt to his feet, and shuffled backwards, until his body was pressed against the far wall of the room. David squealed, and fumbled around, trying to pull his underwear and shorts back into place. The voice resumed its terrifying tirade.
"You filthy little devil! Interfering with a little boy. You're disgusting! Come here!"
Derek was frozen in place, utterly petrified by his father's fury.
"Come here, I tell you, or you'll be sorry! Very sorry!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw David heading for the door. The adult noticed, too.
"Stay there, you! Don't you dare leave until I tell you that you can!" It was David's turn to freeze in place. He started to cry.
Derek still hadn't moved, so his father strode the couple of steps necessary, and grabbed his son roughly by the shoulder.
"I'll show you what happens to those who can't keep their dirty hands to themselves!"
Derek found himself flung on the bed, face down, then felt his lower garments being pulled down, leaving his buttocks exposed. There was a hiatus, a composite of rustling sounds, then a swish. Derek heard the first blow, a crack like a rifle shot, a fraction of a second before his brain registered the pain. Then he screamed. He'd been smacked on occasions, by both of his parents, but those punishments were nothing compared to this. Another swish, another stripe of agony painted across his bottom. Again. And again. Derek was hurting so much, he couldn't even cry out anymore. David could, though, and sobbed hysterically as the belt continued to thrash against his best friend's flesh.
"Stop it, stop it! You're hurting Derek, stop it!" The little boy was coughing, almost choking, in his distress. Still the blows fell, eight, nine, ten times. Then a single word.
"Shit!" Even through his haze of excruciating pain, the word registered in Derek's mind. He'd never, ever heard his father swear before. And then Derek heard David wailing again.
"He's bleeding, you've made him bleed!"
The man turned to the still crying little boy, shouting angrily.
"Get out of my house! And don't ever even think of coming back. Get out!" Derek heard his friend's footsteps, almost running down the stairs and away. "And you, you stay there, and don't dare move!"
Some minutes later, Derek's mother had come into the room, had wiped his buttocks with a cold flannel, rubbed some cream onto his stinging skin with unsympathetic fingers, pulled up his underwear and trousers. Then left him alone, still face down, tears soaking into his bedspread.
****
"Derek! Derek, are you alright?"
The man was dragged back from fifty years earlier in a moment, back to the sunny summer garden. He set Joe down gently on the ground, before the shudders rippling through his body put him at risk of dropping the boy again.
"Sorry, Joe, I nearly let you fall. Are you alright?"
"Yes, thanks. Thank you for helping me get my ball."
"My pleasure. I think I need to sit down for a minute though, after that scare. I could do with something to drink. Would you like a drink, sunshine?"
"Oh, yes, please!"
"Come this way, then!" Derek led the boy towards the back door of the house.
The kitchen seemed cool and dark after the sunlit garden. Man and boy took a few moments to adjust their eyesight to the lower level of light. Derek poured a glass of orange juice for the boy, from a carton in the fridge, and drew himself a large glass of ice cold water from the dispenser in the fridge door.
"Shall we sit down for a minute, Joe?"
"OK."
The pair walked through into the lounge, and sat on the sofa. Joe drained his drink thirstily, and set the glass on a coaster on the side table next to him. Derek placed his glass on the matching table at the opposite end of the sofa.
"It shook me up a bit out there, Joe, nearly dropping you. I would've hated to hurt you, because...." The man's voice tailed off, as he found himself thinking he was going to say too much to the boy.
"Because....why?"
Derek closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. "Because....I like you, and because....you remind me of someone, someone who was my best friend, once upon a time, a long, long time ago."
"When you were a boy?"
"Yeah, when I was a bit older than you are now."
"Was his name Joe, too?"
"No, he was called David. He looked a bit like you, had the same colour hair, the same sort of smile. And he laughed like you, too, that was what made me remember him, really, when you laughed just now, in the garden."
"Did you play football with him, too?"
"Sometimes. We played....other games, too."
"What sort of games?"
"Games that made us feel good." The man's heart rate was steadily increasing. Joe was like David in so many ways. Maybe.... "Games you might like to try, Joe."
The boy was starting to feel uneasy. He couldn't have said why, exactly, but he didn't like the way the conversation was going. Derek was getting a bit....scary.
"Thank you for the drink, and thank you for playing football with me, Derek. I'd better go now, Grandad will wonder where I am." The boy started to get up, but felt a tug on the waistband of his jeans, pulling him back down again. He let out a soft squeal.
"Ssshhh! Don't go yet, Joe, please!" The tone of the man's voice was strange, unnerving, not ordering Joe, but almost begging him to stay. The boy was getting more flustered and confused by the minute.
"I....I've got to go, Derek. Please let me go home!"
The boy squealed again, a little louder this time, as he was lifted onto the man's lap.
"Not yet, Joe. You're so pretty."
The boy struggled, but couldn't break the man's grip. He was shaking, as scared as he'd ever been in his life. He felt one of Derek's big hands move over the front of his trousers, between his legs, where Mum and Dad had said that he shouldn't ever let anyone touch him.
"Don't, Derek, that's rude! I don't like it!"
"David liked it. Relax, you'll like it too."
"Noooo, don't. I thought you were my friend." Joe began to cry as he felt his zip being undone, the elastic of his underwear being stretched forward and down, felt large fingers touching his private places.
"Derek, stop it now, or I'll tell!"
A booming voice echoed in Derek's head. 'I'll show you what happens to those who can't keep their dirty hands to themselves'. David, don't tell, you're my best friend, you don't tell on your best friend. He'll hit me again, hit me with that belt, again and again and again. David, please, please, don't tell!
The small figure had stopped struggling. There were no more tears. Derek found his hand was over the boy's face, how did that happen? He hadn't put his hand there.
"Joe? Joe, are you alright? Joe, I'm so sorry."
No answer. No movement. Derek lifted the boy back onto the sofa seat, then looked in abject horror at the lifeless little body.
****
Mrs Campbell hurried in through the back door.
"Derek, quickly! Mrs Willis's grandson is missing, he's wandered off from the garden, she says. She's frantic, come and help us look for him!"
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, an empty pill container and a half-drunk glass of water stood on the bedside table. As his heart lurched, one last, agonising time, the last sound Derek Campbell heard was his wife's scream.
****
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
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