Lucid & Lucent: republication

Author's note (December 2010) - I hope my longer term readers will forgive me a little self-indulgence in reposting a pair of stories I wrote some months ago, but this time in a rather more user-friendly format. 


****

Lucid

I'm hovering on the scumbled border between sleep and consciousness, not knowing which way I'll go next. Forward to face the day, or back into the warm embrace of dark comfortable oblivion. Back seems best at first, it looks like finishing that bottle of wine last night wasn't the best idea I've ever had in my life, mild hangover symptoms are creeping around the edges of my awareness. I haven't opened my eyes yet, but I've got a feeling that the sunlight which will be washing through my bedroom window on this summer morning will feel like shards of glass being pushed into my brain...then I'm wide awake, because of...

"Hello."

Who? How? When? A plethora of questions all flood into my mind simultaneously, short-circuiting each other and leaving me devoid of the power of rational thought. I turn towards the voice, but I still can't focus either my eyes or my brain on its source.

"Not woken up yet, then?" Gentle laughter.

Suddenly, a clashing of mental gears. There's a boy in my bedroom, what the hell is going on? My wife should be here, my daughter in the next room, but here, as I start to process the scene, is a boy, an early teenage boy, a very good looking boy, and he's wearing...a pair of my daughter's pyjamas, unless I'm mistaken. The first question is on my lips, the "Who?" question, and then it all clicks into place. Leaving the station yesterday morning after dropping off my family to catch the train to the Midlands, they're visiting my wife's family, I couldn't go because of work later in the week, leaving the station and walking back to the car, I saw a boy, on his own, at the bus stop, a boy crying as a bus pulled away, looking...desolate, that's the only word that came to my mind. I stopped and looked, my first reaction to walk away, not to get involved, if you go up to a child in the street you don't know you're immediately a potential if not actual child molester. Then he looked back at me, saw me looking at him, and he was, I don't know how I knew this, but I knew it with certainty, asking me for help.

"What's the matter, young man?".

The tears were still running down his cheeks, as he said "They've left me behind."

"Who?"

"My mum and dad, they've gone to grandma's and left me behind."

"Didn't they know you wanted to go?"

"They told me I couldn't go, they didn't want to be anywhere near me, they said I wasn't fit to be their son."

He slumped against the bus shelter and huge sobs wracked his body. This boy was about the same age as my daughter, and he'd been dumped, on the face of it, at a bus stop by his parents.

"Can't you go back home and wait for them to come back?"

"They've locked me out, I haven't got a key and my dad told me he'd changed the burglar alarm code anyway. They don't want me anymore, I haven't got any money or anything." More sobs.

Something this boy had done had seemingly been so anathema to his parents that they'd just abandoned him, but what on earth could it be? He was, in my limited experience of boys, at least since I was a boy myself, just a normal looking kid, albeit one whose face was reddened and contorted by his anguish. I sat down on the bus shelter bench, and the boy came and sat down beside me.

"What happened?", I asked, "Can you tell me?"

He sniffled, and shrugged. "I don't know. If I tell you, you'll hate me too."

"I don't do hating people, especially those I've only met two minutes ago." I tried to sound reassuring, but doubted that I was making a very good job of it. He was just about to speak again when an elderly couple walked up to the bus stop, looking at the obviously distressed boy sitting beside me and then at me with suspicious eyes.

"Shall we let these people sit down?" I said, standing up and walking a step or two away. He stood up as well, and we walked a little way down the street, the eyes following us.

"They think you've done something to me, don't they?"

"It certainly looks that way. You don't know them by any chance, do you?"

"No, we only moved here a few weeks ago. Apart from some people at my new school, I don't really know anyone round here." He began to cry again.

"Look, I know you've probably been taught not to speak to strangers and especially to stay away from their cars, but would you come and sit in my car while we work out what we can do for you? You've got no reason to believe anything I say, but I promise I won't do anything horrible. I just feel like everyone's watching us out here on the street."

"OK."

The car was parked in a side street a couple of minutes walk from the station. I opened the passenger door and he climbed in. I walked round to the driver's side and joined him. He was looking across to the back seat where some of my daughter's bits and pieces were lying - a magazine and a hairbrush, and an empty sweet wrapper.

"Have you got children?"

"One daughter, she's gone with her mum on the train this morning, that's why I was at the station."

"Which school does she go to?"

I told him - my daughter had passed her 11-plus last year and had started at the local girls' grammar school.

"She's clever, then."

"Yes, she's a bright girl."

"You're proud of her?"

"Yes, very much."

"I go to the boys' grammar, my parents were proud of me when I passed my exams where we used to live, they said we wouldn't move here unless I could go to this grammar school, but now..." His voice tailed off and more tears seeped from under his half-closed eyelids.

"Look, before Mr & Mrs Pensioner interrupted us at the bus stop, I asked you if you could tell me about what had happened..." It occurred to me that I didn't even know his name. "Here I am asking you about your life story, and I don't even know what you're called. I'm Dan."

He smiled wanly, the first smile I'd seen, a smile that almost transformed his face - he was a really handsome boy, I couldn't help but notice. "I'm Alex."

"Well, Alex, do you want to talk about what led up to you being so upset as that bus left - it's up to you, just tell me to mind my own business if you like".

"I dunno - like I said, you'll probably be the same as them", the way he spat the word out, it sounded italicised, "if I tell you."

It was an awkward moment - he seemed to want to talk to me, but, without knowing what had taken place, I was finding it hard to work out how I could facilitate that.

"Alex, I can't promise not to react to what you tell me, if you choose to tell me anything, but I promise I won't dump you on your own at the side of the road with no money, whatever you say."

He closed his eyes again, apparently gathering himself for a decision. "It's my friend."

"What's wrong with your friend?"

"Nothing, I...I really like him, and he really likes me."

"That's how friends should be."

"He's gone away on holiday today, so yesterday was the last time I was going to see him for over two weeks, and he came round to my house. My dad was at work, and my mum said she was going out shopping for an hour, but if we behaved, we could stay on our own until she came back. We hadn't been on our own together before, I've only been here a few weeks, like I said, we were in my bedroom, and..." He faltered again.

"It's OK, Alex, don't get upset, I'm still listening - if you want to carry on, that is."

"She came back. My mum came back, she'd forgotten her purse, or something...and..." Suddenly it all came out in a rush. "We didn't have any clothes on, we didn't hear her come in, she came into my room, we were touching each other...she called us filth, sluts, she told Lawrence to get out, never come back, she wasn't even going to let him put his clothes on before she threw him out, I had to stand between him and her to give him the chance to get dressed, once he'd gone she rang my dad at work and told him to come home. She told him what had happened, he rang Lawrence's parents, I heard him shouting at them on the phone, telling them they'd raised a queer, a whore, he wasn't having his son corrupted by their scumbag offspring. Then they must've told my dad that they knew Lawrence was gay, because he started shouting again, about letting their son near other boys when they knew what he was like, it was disgusting, Lawrence should be locked up, they should be locked up. Then he came and started yelling at me, what was I doing with this queer, he didn't go to work to pay for his son to grow up a homo, it was unnatural, what did I have to say for myself? I didn't know what to say, except to tell the truth - my parents have always gone on about me telling the truth - I told him I loved Lawrence, I knew I'd been gay for a couple of years, but I'd never found anyone before that I wanted to be my boyfriend. He started shouting again, saying if that was what I wanted, I was no son of his, and to stay in my room until he told me I could come out. Then this morning, he told me to get dressed and go and wait for him in the garden. We've had talks in the garden before, so I didn't think too much about it. When he came out with my mum, that's when he said that they were going to grandma's and I couldn't go, and that he'd changed the alarm code. They got a taxi to the station to catch the bus, I ran down there but the bus was leaving by the time I got there...and that's when you found me."

I didn't know what to say - you hear words like dumbstruck, but they don't have much real meaning until it happens to you. Alex looked at me, and when I didn't respond, his face began to screw up again, and he made to get out of the car. "I knew you'd hate me."

"Wait, Alex, please wait,"  I managed to say, "I've just never heard anything like this before, not in real life, give me a minute to think." He closed the car door again, but looked ready to run at any moment. "You're telling me that your parents have thrown you out with nothing, no money, no clothes apart from what you're dressed in, a 12 year old boy..."

"Thirteen", he corrected me.

"Sorry, a 13 year old boy, because you're gay?"

"I don't know, I think so."

"Have you had any breakfast?" I asked Alex.

"No, I haven't even thought about it."

"Do you want something - my treat."

He hesitated, then said "Yes, please." The pale, but beautiful smile reappeared briefly.

There was a supermarket with a decent cafe near where I lived, and I suggested this to him.

"That would be great, Dan, thank you".

Half an hour or so later, and a portion of cereal and two bacon rolls heavier, Alex was starting to look far more like an everyday teenager than the distraught waif I'd come across at the station. We hadn't talked much while he was eating, which suited me, because I still didn't have a clue what to do about him, and his preoccupation with food gave me time to think a little. The obvious answer was to simply take him to the local police station, tell them the story and let them sort him and his parents out. As we walked across the supermarket car park, I told him that was what I was thinking of. He looked horrified.

"NO, no way, they'll put me in a children's home!" He looked like he was going to run again.

The vehemence of his reaction and the evident fear in his voice brought me up short, it immediately smacked of a bad memory. I tried to be the logical adult to his, as I saw it, irrational child.

"Maybe overnight or something, until they can contact your parents. It's not as if they've left the country."

"NO. I'll sleep at the rubbish dump before I go to one of those places. My friend at my old school, his mum and dad were killed in a car crash and he had to go to a home. He got beaten up and all his stuff was stolen, and no-one did anything about it, and he wasn't even gay. They'll kill me if I go there." The panic was almost palpable.

"OK, I can understand why you're worried, but you need to understand something about my position. Can you calm down and listen to me for a minute?" He nodded uncertainly.

"Alex, if I keep you with me and don't tell anyone, I could be charged with abducting you."

"What does abducting mean?"

"Kidnapping, basically. Keeping you against your will, keeping you away from the people who are supposed to be looking after you."

"But you're not keeping me against my will, I'd rather be with you than sitting at that bus stop or in my garden."

"That's not how the law would see it, I'm afraid. Anyway, I haven't asked you yet, isn't there anyone else who could look after you, aunts, uncles, that kind of thing?"

"There's only my grandma, and my mum and dad are there - I don't want to go and have them shouting at me and calling me names all over again, and anyway, I haven't got any money to get there."

"They wouldn't call you names in front of your grandma, surely?"

"They might - I've heard my grandma talking about 'queers' like she hates them, it frightens me, because I know I'm one of those people she hates."

This was becoming more difficult by the moment - I was standing in a supermarket car park with a child I'd only met about an hour earlier, who was in a very fragile emotional state, who was terrified of the authorities and almost equally terrified by his own family, probably more justifiably in the latter case than the former, if everything he said was true, and I had no reason to disbelieve him. I did what many others have done in the face of difficult decisions - I vacillated.

"Alex, I live near here. Are you all right if we go to my house to give us more time to decide what to do? The same promise I made you when you first got in my car still applies."

For the first time that day, I was treated to the full-on Alex smile, dimples and all. I think I knew the answer to my question at that point.

****

Lunchtime had come and gone, the afternoon had passed in a mixture of chitchat, video games and TV, he told me about his school, his old school, his primary school, his friends, with the pointed exception of Lawrence, his life, interests, hobbies, I told him about my family, my job, all of the same kinds of things that he talked about, all pretty inconsequential and certainly not getting us any nearer to the resolution of the basic problem - what the hell was I going to do about this boy who was sitting in my living room as though it was the most natural place in the world for him to be. I knew my wife would ring me at some stage, probably the early evening, to let me know that she and my daughter had arrived safely and to catch up on the news of our respective days, so I asked Alex if he could be quiet while I was on the phone - I felt guilty about misleading my wife, but I couldn't see any way at that point of explaining to her what was going on - and he was as good as gold, he would've put the proverbial quiet mouse to shame.

"Thank you," I told him when I hung up the phone, "it could have been a tricky moment if I'd had to tell the unexpurgated story of who was here, and why."

"Un-what?" he giggled.

"Unexpurgated, it means nothing left out."

His face fell noticeably, as though a cloud had just passed over a sunny landscape. "Sorry, I'm causing you a lot of trouble, aren't I?"

"Nothing we can't cope with, sunshine, at least at the moment" I said, as light-heartedly as I could manage in the circumstances.

There was another hurdle approaching, after I'd cooked an evening meal for us, and Alex broached the subject while I was still thinking about how best to deal with it.

"Dan...can I stay here tonight?"

Given that it was almost 10:30, it was a question that almost answered itself - I wasn't about to throw him out onto the street, and the only other option would've been to revert to Plan A and take him to the police station, which I knew wasn't on any realistic agenda of Alex's, and, in any case, I'd had a couple of large glasses of wine and wasn't really in any legal state to drive.

"I guess that's the only sensible thing we can do at this time of day - you can sleep in my daughter's room. The only other problem is what you wear - you don't want to sleep in your outdoor clothes, and there's nothing of mine that won't be way too big for you. I know boys get very sensitive about this kind of thing - I was a boy myself, about a million years ago, so I really do know - but how about wearing some of my daughter's pyjamas, she's about the same size as you?"

Alex wrinkled his nose, but he didn't really have too many other options. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Yeah, I'll get hold of the Town Crier and tell him to announce it on the Guildhall steps!" Luckily, he realised I was pulling his leg and the Alex smile lit up his face, something that had happened more and more as the day had progressed. Once again, though, the darkness caught up with him for a moment, and I could tell he was about to say something.

"Dan...thank you for what you've done today, I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't helped me."

Then he did something that took me completely unawares - he threw his arms around my neck and kissed me full on the lips. I was stunned, both at what he'd done, and at how delightful it felt. I couldn't remember ever kissing a boy before, in my whole life, but it seemed like something that was just perfect, tailor-made for me. It was unbelievable, two seconds of physical contact that had the potential to change everything for ever. Alex looked at me, and a slight smile, Mona Lisa-like, pervaded his face.

"Dan...I think I've done something for you now." My God, if only you knew, I thought. But he did know, how he knew, I've no idea, but he knew. He leant towards me and there was that sweet, so sweet gentle pressure again, longer this time, I would have guessed at hours' worth of bliss, but it must've been only a few moments, I could taste the soft drink he'd had earlier, he could no doubt taste the Chardonnay I'd been drinking. The timeless moment ended, one entity became two. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"Nice?" he asked.

"What do you think? I've never, ever, been kissed like that in my life."

Alex chuckled, the sound like a stream bubbling over rocks on a moorland hillside. "Lawrence taught me that, he's so sexy." The first mention of Lawrence since Alex had told me the story of their being caught in flagrante. "You're not bad yourself, either." the boy continued. What was he trying to say, trying to suggest?

"Alex, it's been a long day for both of us, why don't you go and take a shower and get ready for bed - I'll go and sort you out some towels and bedding and find the least girly pyjamas in my daughter's wardrobe."

There was an unspoken question in his eyes as he looked up at me when I stood up, but I shook my head very slightly, bringing tears close once again for him. "Save yourself for Lawrence. You're very special, but it just wouldn't be right." He nodded, he understood. That slight, enigmatic smile returned, at the same time as a single teardrop rolled down his cheek.

****

"Not woken up yet, then".

"Alex, hi. Sorry, it just took me a few seconds to get my head round why there was a boy in my bedroom."

"Shall I open the curtains?"

"OK - just give me a minute, though, I think I've got a bit of a headache."

"You were a very good boy last night, Dan - I would've got in bed with you if you'd let me." He reached out and gently held my wrist - odd, that, my wrist, as though he was about to take my pulse, then the curtains were pulled aside, and my world exploded into oceans of pain.

"Some indications of consciousness, a good sign, after the injuries he suffered. A little more sedative might be in order until we can assess the brain damage more accurately, and some extra analgesia - we don't want him waking up with the worst headache of his life."

"What happened to him, anyway, I wasn't on duty yesterday."

"He stopped a father beating up his son outside the station, saved the boy's life by all accounts, the father had gone berserk, something about the boy being gay. The boy ran off, but the father picked up a road worker's shovel and beat this poor sod about the head with it. It took four or five men to haul the father away, too late for our man here, though. Can we have the sedative, please?"

The blessed darkness returns.

****

Lucent

Author's note (June 2010):  This is a sequel to my story 'Lucid'. There wasn't originally meant to be a sequel, but thanks to a kind comment by 'A Wandering Pom', I saw a way there could be. Thank you, Mark.

A mini-disclaimer as well - I don't want to offend anyone, so please note there is one use of the dreaded 'F-word', close to the start of the story. It's the only one, and, in my humble opinion, it isn't used gratuitously, but if you're likely to be offended, please note that it is there.

****

Sometimes, when you least expect it, life can write a postscript. This is mine.

My life had changed, in a moment. That moment had been on a summer morning, a bright, beautiful summer morning, three years ago, on the unlikely stage of the forecourt of the railway station in my home town. A classic example of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or, dependent on perspective, the right place at the right time. Each day, each moment, you make decisions, and those decisions ramify in ways that you can't begin to calculate, still less understand, eventually making you a completely different person in a completely different situation than you would have been had you chosen to follow an alternative path. There is a version of quantum physics where each of those decisions is like a fork in the road of history, every firing of every neuron in every brain, every random decomposition of a nucleus in a radioactive element creating a new, parallel universe, infinite bifurcations ranging from the almost identical to the unrecognisable, all according to the random occurrences or conscious decisions that make up each instant of time. In my case, the immediate series of events that led me to this particular point in the continuum of multiverses were, amongst, no doubt, myriad others : that my mother-in-law had been ill, and that my wife wanted to visit her; that I hadn't been able to go because of work commitments, which meant that my wife and daughter had to catch the train rather than us going together by road; that I hadn't been able to park close to the station because of road works, and had needed to leave the car a few minutes walk away; that a few minutes earlier the same morning, a 13 year old boy had chosen to tell his parents that he was in love with another 13 year old boy; that, unbeknownst to anyone, the boy's father had a brain tumour which left him vulnerable to fits of uncontrollable anger, but which had never manifested in that way until that moment: that the father caught up with his son, who had run out of their house when the man had turned into a screaming maniac, and had begun to beat the boy with the apparent intention of killing him, immediately outside the station just as I walked out of the main doors of the building.

"Dad, stop it! Dad, it's me, Alex! Oh, Lawrence, help me, I love you!" the boy choked out between gut-wrenching sobs and cries of pain as the blows rained down on him.

"You filthy little bastard, I'll kill you and that other little pervert!"

The man, in the intensity of his rage, obviously didn't see me approach him, so that when I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up and away from the boy, he was taken completely by surprise, stumbled back and almost fell over the plastic fencing protecting the road works. The boy, aware that something had changed, even if he wasn't quite sure what, looked up, looked straight into my eyes for two, maybe three seconds, before instinct kicked in, he jumped to his feet and ran for his life, almost being knocked down by a bus in the process. In the few seconds it took for the bus to pass, the boy had completely disappeared, presumably through the alleyway opposite that led towards the town centre. I was drawing breath for a sigh of relief when it felt like a tree had fallen on me, such was the ferocity of the blow to my head.

"You queer-loving bastard, you should mind your own fucking business!"

Then another massive blow, then darkness.

****

Any account of my next few weeks is, perforce, a combination of what I remember, what I was told later and what I could reconstruct. I was taken to my local general hospital, which, to my good fortune, had a unit which specialised in head injuries, mostly because of the considerable number of military installations in the area. Of the immediate aftermath of the incident, I remember almost nothing, except intermittent bouts of terrifying pain in my head, interspersed by periods of complete oblivion which could have lasted for seconds or months, so utterly dark as they were. Almost the only thing which I clearly recall from those early days was...it's difficult to know how to categorise it...an experience, let's say, dream or hallucination could cover it, I'll leave that to the psychologists, but an astonishingly vivid experience, like watching a high definition, almost 3D, film - no, not watching it, but living it, that's how real it seemed - about me and a boy called Alex, who was having trouble with his parents because of someone called Lawrence, who seemed to be his boyfriend. The names, the situation meant nothing to me, I didn't know any boys by the name of Alex or Lawrence, or indeed any boys at all - my daughter went to an all-girl school, wasn't really old enough to have a boyfriend herself, none of my friends had school age boys, although there were one or two toddlers around. There was one other thing that stuck in my mind about the dream, or whatever it was, though - Alex had kissed me, twice, delightful, never before or since in my life kisses that seemed to go straight to some deep place in my psyche that I hadn't even known was there, then looked at me with what I can only describe as 'bedroom eyes', an implicit invitation that it had taken every ounce of resolution I possessed to decline.

I'd never bothered about dreams, I didn't often remember them, and when I did, they didn't seem to make any great sense. I'd read that they were the brain's sensory processing apparatus trying to make sense of random firings of neurons during sleep, and presenting sounds and pictures that were a 'best guess' based on the input, and that anyone purporting to 'analyse' your dreams was basically a charlatan. This dream, though, was so different in quality, in intensity than anything I had previously experienced, that I asked my neurologist about it, some weeks into my rehabilitation, although I didn't go into the subject matter in any great detail.

"Bright lights and medication, in a nutshell. It's nothing to worry about in itself - many people report similar things, I'm convinced it's where most of the stories you hear about 'near-death' and 'out-of-body' experiences come from," he explained.

If that was nothing to worry about, there were plenty of other things that were. I'd found out what had happened at the station, my wife had told me on one of her first visits when I was reasonably conscious and able to hold some sort of conversation.

"You were a hero, Dan."

"I don't feel very heroic, I just pulled this guy away from the boy he was attacking, felt a massive bang on the head and woke up in here."

"You've been a celebrity round the area, you've been on the local TV news and in the local papers, you know,  'Have-a-Go hero saves boy from brutal attack', that kind of thing. It turns out that he was ill, though, the father, he has a brain tumour, inoperable, he's not expected to live more than a few weeks, and when he came to his senses he was so upset about what had happened, trying to kill his son, and you as well, and then finding out he's going to die on top of that. Poor man."

"Poor man?! He tried to kill me with a shovel!"

"He couldn't help it, though, his tumour meant that he couldn't control himself. I mean, if you had that illness and found out that Lucy was a lesbian, what would you do?" Lucy was our daughter.

"What has Lucy got to do with this?"

"Nothing, but it turned out that the reason that the man had flipped out was that he'd found out his son was gay. Still, at least if the boy had been killed, it wouldn't have been any great loss to the world, there are plenty of other gays about."

"Is that meant to be some kind of joke?"

"What difference does it make to you? You don't like gays any more than I do."

"I've got nothing against gays, I know at least one at work and he's just one of the lads. If you met him in the street, you'd never know in a million years that he was gay, unless he told you. I certainly wouldn't think it acceptable for someone to be killed, just because they're gay."

"Well, I know you've had a bang on the head, but I didn't think it would mean you were signing up for the Gay Liberation Front."

"If that's the smartest thing you can think of to say, I think you'd better go. I'm due to see the psychologist shortly, anyway."

"If that's your attitude, I will go. I was going to bring Lucy down after school, but I don't think I'll bother now, we'll come tomorrow instead. You might have calmed down a bit by then."

Looking back now, that conversation was the beginning of the end of our marriage. Liz and I had been together for almost 20 years, we met in our late teens, she wasn't a local girl, she was from the Midlands, at college in the area studying tourism management, she never did use her qualifications, we fell in love, boyfriend/girlfriend, engaged, big white wedding, 2 or 3 years after the wedding when it was just the two of us, then, just as it was starting to look as though we might be fated not to have children, the positive pregnancy test and its inevitable upshot at the end of the regulation nine months. The ideal child, pretty from a baby, nice personality, intelligent. Sold our first house for a pretty good profit, used the equity to move up to something nicer, so far, so conventional. But then something unconventional, unforeseen happens, things are said and done, and the person you thought you knew and expected to spend the rest of your life with turns out to have facets that you'd never seen and wished you never had. I couldn't believe how callous she sounded, let the boy die like a rat in the gutter, and then use access to our daughter to get at me because I'd said something she didn't like. If she didn't like that, how much more would the contents of my dream upset her.

We drifted apart pretty rapidly after that, especially as it soon became obvious that I wasn't going to be able to go back to my old job, it was classed as safety critical, and no-one in authority in my company was going to take the risk of passing me fit when I suffered from blinding headaches on a weekly, if not a daily basis, and when I was prone to lapses of concentration, even to the extent of sitting for 20 or 30 minutes at a time staring vacantly into space. The company were very good about it, they didn't want to be seen to be treating the 'Have-a-Go hero' shabbily, bad for PR, of course, so I was given a reasonable severance package and a pension, I also had some critical injury insurance and received some criminal injury compensation, so money wasn't going to be an immediate problem. The issue of what to do next, still in my thirties and having effectively taken early retirement on health grounds, turned out to be a game breaker, however.

"Now you haven't got your job to tie you down around here, Dan, we can move nearer to Mum and Dad. It's not as if you've got any family to speak of locally," Liz said one day not long after I'd come out of hospital.

"I don't want to move to the Midlands, our life is here, we've got a nice house, Lucy's happy at her school, all her friends are around here. What's brought this on?"

"Well, you can't drive any more, and if anything happened to my parents, I wouldn't be able to get home, and if you were to...if anything was to happen to you, I'd be stuck here on my own. It's not my part of the world."

"It's easy enough to catch a train, and, anyway, you know how to drive, it's just that you normally chose to let me do it, when...when I was able to. You've lived down here for nearly 20 years, nearly half of your life, you've got more friends here than you have in the Midlands."

"You're just being selfish, you've never liked my family."

"What's given you that idea? I've never had a cross word with any of your family. And as for being selfish, I've lived here all my life, Lucy's lived here all her life, you've lived here for years, and now you want to uproot us all on a whim - I reckon you should think about what you're saying before you start throwing words like 'selfish' around."

"Whim!" she shouted, "You call wanting to look after my parents a whim? You've changed, Dan, I can't seem to talk to you any more."

Physician, heal thyself, I thought, but I just wasn't in the mood to argue. I withdrew into myself, into silence, perhaps the change I'd most noticed about myself since I was injured was that withdrawal, even from myself, certainly from the world, as though I was becoming a hermit of some kind. It was as though I was looking for something that my current life couldn't provide. I'm a bit young for a mid-life crisis, I thought with wry humour.

As winter approached, I spent most of my time at home, lacking the motivation to go out into the world as it became colder and wetter with the season. Liz and I were becoming more like 2 people who happened to share a house than a married couple. One outlet I was finding and enjoying was through a programme run by the hospital, a kind of an occupational therapy course where I was learning to draw and paint. I'd always been terrible at art when I was at school - I remember one especially humiliating experience when my art teacher had made me hold up a particularly inept painting in front of the class, as an example of how not to do it, presumably. Whether it was anything to do with my injury, or whether it was just a case of finding the right teacher, I don't know, but, all of a sudden, I found the techniques of art falling into place, and progressed very quickly from pictures that might have shamed an infant school class to some which looked almost professional. I became very enthusiastic about my twice weekly sessions, though whether Liz didn't notice, or did notice and didn't care, I'm not sure, but it led to another deterioration in our relationship after one particular lesson.

"I'm really getting into this art course - I've never been able to draw or paint before, but I've surprised myself with how well it's going."

"Oh yes," she said, non-committally.

"The teacher even thinks that I might have a real talent, that I could paint professionally."

"You, a painter! You can't even paint the bathroom wall without making a mess of it. Your teacher must be blind!"

"Thanks very much for the vote of confidence," I said bitterly. "You accuse me of not wanting to do anything, then when I find something I enjoy, you just want to shoot me down in flames."

"Be realistic, Dan, you're nearly 40, you can't just expect to wake up one morning and be the next Picasso."

"I'm not suggesting I'm the next Picasso, but then neither are the artists who sell their stuff to the tourists down in Cornwall."

"If you think I'm going to live in Cornwall, think again, mister. I'm already far enough away from my family without moving to the ends of the earth. Anyway, speaking of my family, I've got something I've been meaning to tell you. I'm taking Lucy to Mum & Dad's for Christmas, she hasn't seen them for ages."

"And I have no say in this, evidently".

"Look, you're not exactly sparkling company, are you? All you do is sit around all day like some kind of zombie. It won't make much difference to you whether we're here or not."

"Has it occurred to you that this might have something to do with my head injury? If I act like a zombie, it's because you seem to treat me like one. Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the one who said the person who tried to kill me was a 'poor man' who 'couldn't help himself' because he was ill? Now you're treating me like I'm a criminal!"

"You're getting hysterical.  We're going away for Christmas, get used to the idea. You can go to Cornwall, or Timbuktu if you like, just don't do anything to spoil it for us."

She got up and stormed out of the room. I sat staring fixedly ahead for a few moments, all I could think was that the last vestige of the person I'd loved for almost the whole of my adult life had just walked away. Then, for the first time since that fateful summer morning, I broke down and cried.

****

The ringing of the telephone woke me. It was just before 9:00, Christmas morning. I let it ring a couple of times, so that I wouldn't sound half asleep when I picked up the receiver.

"Hello."

"Merry Christmas, Dad!"

"Merry Christmas, Lou. Have you opened your presents yet?"

"Just now. Grandma & Grandad said I couldn't open any until after breakfast, so I made them breakfast in bed at 8:00!" Ever my bright and practical daughter.

"Did you like what I bought you?"

"Yeah, it was really pretty. Thank you, I love you." I'd bought her a gold watch, very delicate and grown up, just right, I hoped, for a 12 year old little lady.

"What are you doing later on, anything good?"

"I'm going to church with Grandma in an hour, then we'll be having dinner this afternoon, I'm going to help Grandma with the cooking. Aunty Julie and Uncle Sean are coming, with Katie and Siobhan." My sister-in-law and her family, Lucy would be happy to see them, I knew, she always got on well with her cousins, one a year older than her, the other a year younger. I was the only child of two only children who had married late and had both died relatively young, so I had very little in the way of family.

"Well, you have a good time, sweetie, I might speak to you again later on."

"You have a good time too, Dad - I hope you're not feeling lonely."

"I'm fine, Lou, don't worry about me. Just get busy enjoying yourself."

"OK, I will. Mum's here, she wants to speak to you."

There was a longish pause, broken only by a stage whisper from Liz to Lucy "Close the door on your way out, please."

"Dan?"

"Hello Liz, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas. Did Lucy wake you?"

"Yes, but it was time I was up, anyway."

"Sorry, I told her it was too early. You know what she's like. Why did you buy her such an expensive Christmas present?"

It wasn't the next question I'd been expecting. My reply was probably a little sharper than it should have been, especially on Christmas Day.

"Why, am I not supposed to spend money on our daughter? It wasn't that much, anyway, it probably looks dearer than it actually was. I just thought she'd like it."

"There's no need to jump down my throat, I was only asking. You always seem to read more than there is into everything I say these days."

"Sorry, I've only just woken up. Have you got any news?"

There was a long silence, much longer than I would've expected after a superficially simple question.

"Yes, Dan. I have," she said slowly. "You remember Suzanne?"

"Your schoolfriend who came to our wedding? I don't think I've seen her since."

"That's her. I've only seen her a couple of times, she moved to London. I bumped into her in town when I was doing some last minute shopping for Mum the other day, and we went out for a drink the night before last, she came back here and we ended up talking until 2:00 in the morning."

"You had a lot of catching up to do."

"You could say that. She's a millionairess now, she owns a chain of travel agents, built the business up herself from nothing. She's back home for Christmas, to see her family, but she's on business as well, apparently her firm is taking over a local travel company, coach hire, coach holidays, that kind of thing. She's offered...."

The flow of words stopped abruptly.

"Go on."

"She's offered me the job of managing the company, and...and I've accepted. You've always said I should have used my qualifications, so now I'm going to."

"Where are you going to be based?" I had to ask the question, even though I was 99% certain I already knew the answer.

"Here. The depot and offices are just on the edge of town. It was an old family firm, Suzanne has bought it lock, stock and barrel, so there's even a house for us to live in on the site, at a peppercorn rent."

"Us?"

Another awkward hiatus. "Lucy and I. I didn't think you'd be interested, you said you didn't want to move up here."

I teetered on the brink of completely losing my temper, of shouting down the phone, asking her who the hell she thought she was to pull the plug on our marriage and take my daughter away from me, but it suddenly struck me that, firstly, she'd just hang up on me, and, secondly, I wasn't that bothered. It was as though a light had been switched off in my mind, or another, brighter one had taken its place.

"What does Lucy think about it?"

"She doesn't know yet. I wanted to talk to you first."

"Well, don't you think it might be a good idea to tell her?"

"Of course, I'm going to speak to her later on today. Dan, I'm amazed that you're taking this so calmly."

"Frankly, so am I. I told Lou I might speak to her again later, but I think it would be better if you get her to ring me when she's had time to digest everything. It's going to be a big upheaval for all of us."

"Dan...I'm really sorry." The tone of her voice had changed, softened, the old Liz I'd been in love with for so many years was somewhere near the surface. "If it hadn't been for...what happened to you..." her voice tailed off, and I heard a stifled sob.

Tell me about it, I thought. So there it was. I'd woken up at 9:00 a husband and father, and by 9:45 I was, apart from the legal niceties, an ex-husband and parent with access rights to be decided. Merry Christmas, indeed.

****

It was all pretty amicable, our parting of the ways. Over the winter, Liz and Lucy moved to their new home, and new job and school respectively, our house was put on the market, we had a big going away party, mostly for the benefit of Lucy's friends, and I began looking for my new 'bachelor pad', with the vague idea that I might like somewhere that could double as an artist's studio. After what had been a pretty disastrous old year, the new year began with a huge stroke of luck. I happened one day to be reading our regional daily newspaper, something that was far from being a regular occurrence, when I spotted a classified advertisement for a forthcoming property auction. One of the lots caught my eye, a holiday cottage, 'in need of renovation and modernisation' , as the estate agents' jargon had it, in a village on the North Cornwall coast. Given that I still couldn't drive, it led to a tortuous journey by public transport, two trains and two buses each way, a fourteen hour round trip, to go and have a look at it, but as soon as I saw it, I knew it was the place. It was the end house in a row of five cottages, presumably fishermen's cottages when they were originally built, on a steep hillside overlooking a sandy bay well known for surfing. It had belonged to a company that had used it to give their managers the perk of a weekend break by the sea, but the company had gone into liquidation - too many weekend breaks, and not enough work, I guessed! - and the cottage, along with the company's other assets, had been put up for sale. Apart from the basic 'two up, two down' cottage accommodation, the hillside site of the house had brought another benefit, from my perspective - a large cellar, on the downhill, garden side of the house, which had been converted into a sun room with huge picture windows opening onto a decked patio, to take advantage of the sea view. My studio, I thought. The elephant in the room, of course, was that it would probably sell for way above any price I could realistically afford, especially as the 'renovation and modernisation' that was required was actually fairly minimal, but I contacted the selling agents and registered my interest. I had to pay a deposit of 10% of the estimated selling price, and that was as close to 'my' house as I expected to get. On the day of the auction, as I'd decided not to attend myself because of my still less than robust health, but bid by phone using an agent, the call was set up and I sat, literally on the edge of my seat in the living room of our soon to be sold family home as the auction progressed, until, to my astonishment, my last bid wasn't trumped by anything higher, I heard the sound of the gavel falling over the phone line, and then heard the agent say "Congratulations, you're the new owner of Guillemot Cottage."

It was another couple of months before everything was finalised, but the big move was set for the beginning of April. That had given me the chance to finish my art course, towards the end of which the teacher suggested that I enter one or two of my paintings in a local exhibition for amateur artists. I'd found that landscapes were my best subject, so I put a couple of those forward, and was surprised and flattered when not only did one of them receive a 'highly commended' award in the landscape category, but that the exhibition organisers had received a few enquiries as to whether my pictures were for sale. Thus encouraged, I spent more money than I probably should have done on buying equipment and materials for the studio, but it kept me occupied during those early days at the cottage.

Lucy made her first visit to the cottage during the Whitsun half term holidays, despite her mother panicking that she wasn't old enough to make such a long journey on her own, but it passed off successfully and she came down fairly regularly from then on, although the distance meant that it wasn't worth her coming just for a weekend, so I didn't see quite as much of her as I would've liked. That, and the fairly perfunctory and more or less amicable divorce proceedings Liz and I went through apart, I spent my first summer in Cornwall as a virtual recluse. The other 4 houses in the same terrace as mine were all rented out as short stay holiday cottages, so that I was the only permanent resident in the 'street'. By the time I'd got onto nodding terms with my neighbours, they'd be gone and replaced by another set. I had to go to the general hospital in Truro every 3 months or so for physical and neurological tests, but apart from my 'zombie' moments, which were becoming less common as time went on, I was living a reasonably normal life, apart from the fact that I still couldn't get my driving license back. I'd got to know a local art dealer, who had a gallery in the village aimed at the relatively well-heeled tourists, weekenders and second home owners who shared the area with the surfer dudes, and he'd taken a few of my landscapes, and one or two more abstract things I'd started to experiment with, for sale - with a handsome commission for him, of course. I would've been starving in my garret if I'd been relying on the money from the pictures I sold to live, but I was making enough, when taken with my pension, to be comfortably breaking even.

So life rolled on for the next couple of years. I was becoming better known as an artist, some of the second homers' friends began to ask where they had bought their pictures, so that by the third summer, I was starting to receive an occasional commission. My health, while it was never going to return to what it had been, was good enough not to cause me any insurmountable problems, and my neurologist was even starting to concede that "we might get you back behind the wheel, sooner rather than later." Even that wasn't too much of an issue, I didn't really want or need to go anywhere else too often, and when I did, a combination of the intermittent local buses and the taxi company based in the nearest town five miles or so away rendered the necessary service. Anything I couldn't buy in the handful of shops in the village, I simply ordered on the internet, mostly my artist's materials and birthday and Christmas presents for Lucy. Life was, not to exaggerate too much, pretty idyllic, and nothing seemed as though it was going to change. Until the Sunday morning in August when the past arrived on my doorstep.

****

Saturday was the changeover day for the rental cottage next door to Guillemot Cottage, and most weekends in the season, and sometimes even in the middle of winter, there would be a flurry of activity in the morning as the outgoing tenants departed, then the cleaners would arrive at around lunchtime, followed by another session of car door slamming and luggage transference in late afternoon as the new people arrived. This particular Saturday, the first in August, the lady who organised the cleaning service tapped on my door as she was leaving.

"I'm sorry about this, but the landlord has asked me to let you know that the people taking Puffin" - the next door cottage - "this week are going to be arriving very late tonight, something about having to work today and not being able to set out from home until early evening. If it's any consolation, they're here for two weeks, so at least you won't have to put up with the hubbub next Saturday!"

"Thanks for letting me know, I'm sure they won't make too much noise - if they do, I'll let their tyres down!"

We parted laughing. In the event, their arrival must have been very late indeed, as well as very quiet, because I didn't go to bed until almost midnight, I hadn't heard them by that time and they didn't disturb me at whatever time they did eventually turn up. Arrive they had, though, because a fairly new and fairly upmarket estate car had appeared in the bay across the road, next to my unused and uncared for parking space, when I got up at 8:30 on the Sunday morning.

Not surprisingly, there were no signs of life from Puffin Cottage, even though it was a spectacularly beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky and crystal-clear visibility as I looked out across the bay and out to sea. Far too nice a day for an artist to waste, so it wasn't long before I'd set up my easel on the patio and was setting about what was probably about the hundredth version of the view from my garden since I'd moved here, nearly two and a half years ago. After about an hour, next door began to stir. I heard the back door open, and, to judge by the voices, two teenage boys emerged into the garden, brothers, presumably.

"Wow, Lar, that's some view! It was too dark to see last night.".

"Great, isn't it. Is anyone surfing yet?"

"Nah, there's no wind, the sea's as flat as a pancake. I want to try surfing while we're here."

"You, surfing! You have trouble standing up when you're walking down the street!"

"Sod off! I'll be better at it than you, I bet! Hey, look, Lar, that guy next door is painting the view."

"Sshh. You'll disturb his concentration."

I was used to people watching me paint from over the fence, as my patio was a few feet lower than the garden of Puffin Cottage, and didn't find it a problem, unless someone fancied themselves as an art critic and started pontificating about technique.

"That's really good, look. He must be a professional. I wonder if he does portraits, I'd love one of you, Lar - as a sexy surfer dude!"

Oops, not brothers, then, or probably not, anyway! At that moment, I found I needed something, I can't remember what, from the studio. As I got up, I turned towards the right and faced towards the two previously disembodied voices next door. Two boys, both about the same height, head and shoulders above the top of the low fence, which meant about my height, 5 foot 9 or 10, as I knew from previous experience, one with fair hair, the other slightly darker. As I glanced towards the fair haired boy, on the right as I was looking, his mouth fell open and he looked like he was going to faint. I looked again, more closely, and then I saw the eyes, eyes I'd seen before, in reality and in a submerged, but now reawakened dream.

"Xan, what's the matter," the brown haired boy was saying, "Xan, talk to me, sweet."

"It's him," he whispered, almost inaudible to me, although he was only about six or seven feet away, "it's him".

"Who, sweetheart, who is it?"

"The man from the station, the man who saved me."

Five seconds later, we were both in floods of tears.

****

"It's unbelievable."

"My love, you've only said that 15 times in the last 20 minutes."

"That's because it's true. It must be more unlikely than winning the lottery three weeks in a row."

This exchange was between Malcolm and Jackie, who I'd met about 20 minutes earlier, when they dashed into the garden of their rented holiday cottage to find their son's boyfriend crying his eyes out, and a strange man in the next door garden, also sobbing uncontrollably. We were now sitting around the kitchen table in Puffin Cottage, while the two boys were snuggled in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, the dark haired boy cradling his friend's fair haired head against his chest.

"Don't you think it's unbelievable beyond words, Dan?" Malcolm asked me.

I'd only just about calmed down enough to be able to speak, so that coming up with a coherent answer to any sort of question beyond my name, rank and serial number was almost beyond me at that moment.

"I don't know what to say. It certainly wasn't what I was expecting when I got up this morning."

Malcolm turned towards his son. "How is he, Lawrence?"

"I think he'll be OK in a few minutes, he's stopped crying now." He stroked the fair head gently, lovingly.

"I'm alright now, I think." A muffled voice from the depths of the rocker.

The boys unfolded themselves from each other and from the chair, and inched towards to the table.

"I don't think we've been introduced," I said gently.

"I'm Lawrence, and this is Alex."

"And I'm Dan."

There was a moment of complete stillness, as though everyone in the room was afraid to even breathe. Then Alex took three purposeful steps, bridging the gap of time and space between us in less time than it took to think it, put his arms round my neck and, yes, he was kissing my lips in that familiar but somehow unknown sweet way, flavoured this time by the salt of his tears, feeling as though he was going to melt his way into the centre of me, that I was going to melt into him, and then he was gone, I opened my eyes half expecting to find myself in that hospital bed with my head swimming with pain, but, no, I was still in the kitchen of Puffin Cottage, Alex was just a step away from me, grinning from ear to ear.

"That wasn't the first time I've kissed you, Dan."

"I don't know how or why, but I know you're telling me the truth - tell me the story, please, soon."

"I will. Dan, thank you. Thank you for my life."

****

The five of us spent the most of the day together, I gave them the guided tour of the village, which took all of about ten minutes, before the boys wandered off to have a look at the beach. I gave Malcolm and Jackie a potted history of how I'd come to be living in Guillemot Cottage, sitting at a table outside the beach café, before asking them if they minded some questions about Lawrence and Alex.They assured me that they were happy to tell me pretty much anything, trusting to my discretion that I wouldn't ask anything too personal.

"Did you know Lawrence was gay before he met Alex?"

"Yes, we were pretty sure about Lawrence from when he was about 11. His cousin used to sleep over quite often, they were the same age - actually, they were in the same class at primary school," Jackie said. "One Friday night, I wasn't feeling well, so I went to bed early, only about ten minutes after Lawrence and Tim had gone upstairs. Lawrence's bedroom light was still on, and the door was ajar. I was going to tell them to settle down for the night, but as I got to the door, I could see what was happening - the boys were kissing, and had their hands down the front of each other's pyjamas. I talked to Malcolm about what I'd seen, and we decided to ask Lawrence about it gently."

"It seems odd, looking back," Malcolm added, "when we asked him, after Tim had gone home, about what had happened and how he felt about it, he seemed surprised that we'd had to ask. He just said 'I like boys, I don't like girls like my friends do', as though it was simply an everyday thing, like we'd asked him what his favourite flavour of ice cream was. We found some books, sex education books, appropriate for his age, and talked about the subject with him, but his outlook never changed. He just wasn't interested in girls, only boys. Then shortly before his 13th birthday, he came home from school one day waxing lyrical about this new boy who'd just started in his class, could he come to his birthday party, could he come for a sleepover, Lawrence showed every sign you could think of that he was head over heels in love."

"And that was Alex?"

"That, indeed, was Alex."

"Do you know anything about what had happened on the day I was...attacked?"

"The first we knew of it," Jackie said, "was when the phone rang at about 9:00 that morning. It was Jayne, Alex's mum, asking if I'd seen Alex. She sounded really agitated, but, of course, I couldn't help her - it was the school holidays, as you know, Lawrence was still in bed. She asked...if we knew Alex had a crush on Lawrence. I said, I don't know if I should have, but it all happened very quickly, that yes, we knew the boys were fond of each other. Then she asked, straight out, if Lawrence was gay - all I could tell her was the truth, I said yes, we think so, she called me a bitch, and slammed the phone down."

Malcolm continued. "Jackie rang me at work, I'd only just arrived. My office is quite close to the station, and I saw a police car and then an ambulance heading that way, blue lights flashing. It was obvious something was going on, though, of course, we had no idea what at that point. Jackie said it looked as though something had happened with Alex, but she didn't know any more than that. Then about 15 minutes later, she rang again, telling me I'd better come home straight away, Alex had turned up on our doorstep, absolutely hysterical, saying that his dad was trying to kill him and that he was going to kill Lawrence as well. We called his mother, we called the police, and. for the rest, we only know what was in the local papers and on the TV."

"But the boys stayed together, even after what had happened?"

"It was pretty difficult for a while, as you might imagine," Jackie replied, "Jayne was being pulled all over the place, her husband was under arrest, then collapsed at the police station and was rushed to hospital - I believe he was in the same Intensive Care Unit as you, at one point - her son was refusing to go home, refusing to visit his dad in hospital, he basically just hid in Lawrence's bedroom and wouldn't budge for anyone, not even Lawrence, then they had the diagnosis, that Derek, Alex's dad, was almost certainly going to die within weeks, at which point Alex demanded to be taken to the hospital - it was all very fraught for quite a few days. As time went on, Alex pretty much moved in with us - his mother had all the problems with her husband, and his illness, and then his death - he lasted about six weeks, in the end - and, on top of that, having to come to terms with the fact that her only son, her only child, was probably gay. Officially, Alex was still living at home, and still does, but, in reality, he's probably only spent, in total, a couple of months' worth of nights sleeping in his own bedroom in his family home in the last three years. He has his own room at our house, we're pretty strict about the boys not sharing a room, certainly on schooldays, but now that they're both 16, in legal terms, at least, the choice is theirs as to what they do. They've been together for well over three years now, and, as far as we can tell, they've made a long-term commitment to each other. They're still very young, of course, and no-one can predict the future, but we certainly wouldn't be surprised if they spend the rest of their lives together. Jayne, I think, has come to terms with what Alex is and what he wants, even if she doesn't like it very much, but we think, ultimately, that she'll take the same attitude that we have towards Lawrence - what's important is not what would make us happy, but what makes his life happy."

"That is such a wonderful, magnanimous attitude to take towards your child and their life - thank you both for sharing that with me."

As that Sunday came to its end, I found myself sitting on my patio with Alex and Lawrence, Malcolm and Jackie having retreated to Puffin Cottage to read and relax. Lawrence's parents had said it was OK for the boys to have a couple of bottles of beer, in which I joined them, and we sat and chatted about anything and everything that came to mind. I told them about my life and work in the cottage, about my daughter and how I missed her, while they told me about the joys and difficulties of their lives - they got by at school, most people knew they were a couple, although they never flaunted the fact - they didn't want to be expelled, apart from anything else - they had to put up with a certain amount of verbal abuse and the odd veiled threat, but that was as far as it went, although they had both taken self-defence classes, just in case. What came through above all, though, was the fact that they genuinely loved each other, and the fact that they were young and both male was irrelevant to that fundamental point, their love was just as real and sincere as anyone else's.

"Alex, I don't want to you to think I'm being a nuisance, but you owe me a story."

"Story?"

"About a kiss."

He grinned self-consciously, and blushed a little. "Oh yeah." His smile suddenly vanished, as though another, much darker, memory had intervened. His change of mood was so obvious that Lawrence immediately took hold of his hand.

"Sorry, Alex, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, Dan, I want to tell you. It just reminded me of my dad, that's all."

"Only if you feel you can, Alex. I don't want your holiday spoiled by bad memories."

"I'm fine. There's not that much to tell, really. I didn't want to go to the hospital at first, after what happened, but when my mum told me that my dad was...as ill as he was, I changed my mind. I was really scared, but I thought that it was the right thing to do. Dad was in the intensive care place, all sorts of tubes and monitors everywhere, but he just looked like he was asleep. Then someone said, kind of in the background - I think it was one of the nurses - how it was strange that all three people who were involved 'in that business at the station' had ended up in the same room the next day. I realised you must be there as well, but I didn't know why, I didn't know you'd been hurt when you helped me, so I looked round, and saw you - well, I guessed it was you, you were so smothered in bandages and equipment, but the only other patient in there was a lady, so I knew it must be you, you were there all on your own, no visitors or nurses or anything. So I went over to your bed, and you were lying there with your eyes closed, but your face was kind of twitching, you reminded me of our old dog, he used to twitch a lot in his sleep, my mum used to say that he was dreaming of chasing rabbits. That made me think you must be dreaming, and because you'd saved me, I wanted you to have nice dreams, so I leaned down and gave you a little kiss, like my mum used to give me sometimes when I was small. It looked like you smiled a bit when I did that, so I gave you another one, a bit like the one this morning, and this time you really did smile, but then my mum saw what I was doing and told me to leave you alone. So that's it, that's how I'd kissed you before today." He blushed again, but his dark moment seemed to have passed, and he even had that little enigmatic half-smile I remembered from my dream.

"You were right, I was dreaming, a really vivid dream - I was dreaming of you, or, at least, that was how I remembered it afterwards, and I dreamed you were kissing me as well, and that they were the nicest kisses anyone had ever given me." He lowered his eyes, and really did blush, deeply. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I was right about one thing in my dream, though - I told you to save yourself for Lawrence, and you have, and it's turned out to be the right thing for both of you, from what I can see."

****

That August Sunday morning, over two years ago now, was the start in a new phase of my life, a phase where things really started to go my way. Alex and Lawrence did begin to learn to surf during that holiday, and while neither of them are ever likely to cause too many sleepless nights for the professionals over at Fistral Beach, they both really enjoy it. They spent many weekends at Guillemot Cottage, even more after Alex passed his driving test a couple of months after his seventeenth birthday and they could get down in about 4 hours rather than the 6 or 7 it took by public transport - my weed-strewn parking bay was finally seeing some use! I even travelled up to my old home town to visit on odd occasions - Malcolm and Jackie were very generous with their hospitality - and I got to know Jayne, Alex's mum, although our dealings were characterised more by politeness than any real warmth. I also caught up with Vickie, the art teacher who'd done so much for me in the early days after my injury, and took her and her husband out for dinner - it was the least I could do in the circumstances.

****

As far as my own career went, the spring after the Alex and Lawrence fortnight was when it all began to take off. I was in my dealer's gallery in the village, chatting and showing him a portfolio of the work I'd been doing over the previous couple of months, when a guy I thought I recognised, but couldn't place, came in. He gravitated towards one of my seascapes which was hanging in the gallery, at which point my dealer, with his salesman's instincts, intervened.

"Excuse me, Sir, if you're interested in that particular canvas, you might like a word with this gentleman - he's the artist."

I chatted with the potential customer for a few minutes, he asked to have a look at my portfolio, we chatted some more, and then he went on his way.

"Do you know who that was?" my dealer asked.

"He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place him."

It turned out that he was a TV celebrity chef who owned a chain of high class restaurants around South West England, and the upshot of our chance meeting was that I was commissioned by him to paint both conventional seascapes on canvas and a series of murals for several of his restaurants. The murals were a problem on two fronts - firstly, I had almost no experience of painting them, although, as luck would have it, I seemed to have the knack when it came to the crunch, and, secondly, I still didn't have any transport of my own to get to the various places where I needed to work. The school Easter holidays were approaching, which gave me an idea. I rang Alex.

"How do you fancy a holiday job in Cornwall?" I knew Lawrence was due to be away on a language exchange trip during the Easter break.

"Sounds good. What would I be doing?"

"Driving me around to various posh restaurants so I can decorate their walls with my expensive daubs!"

"Any posh food thrown in?"

"You never know your luck!"

"I'm there! You haven't got a car, though."

"I'll buy one - I'd hire one, but you wouldn't be old enough to drive a hire car yet. With a bit of luck, my accountant should be to offset it against tax as a business expense."

"Free food, and a tax dodge, you'll be a millionaire yet!"

We had a great couple of weeks, got lots of work done, and did get some gourmet seafood for free, although not as much as Alex would've liked. We were sitting in the studio late one night, after a long day driving and painting - it was a bit chilly for the patio.

"Back to school on Monday, then."

"Thanks for reminding me, Dan. Still, this time next year, I'll just be getting ready to start my A-levels."

"Got any plans after that?"

"No, not really. I've kind of drifted into doing the subjects I'm doing, without thinking too much about what happens next. Media Studies seems to be going the best - I like photography, and then playing about with the results on the computer. It's not exactly much that you could put on a C.V., though."

I'd seen some of his graphics work, and it was pretty impressive. "Unless you want to be a photographer and computer graphics artist, of course."

"I guess. Not the sort of thing you find much in the local Job Centre, though."

"Why don't you come up with a portfolio of some of your stuff? I'm starting to get to know a few people here and there who might be interested in looking at the sort of thing I know you can do - I've seen some of the work on your laptop, don't forget."

"Maybe. It won't be tonight, though," he yawned expansively, "I'm knackered! You're a slave driver!"

"Last day of work tomorrow, and it's pretty local, only in Padstow, then we'll have a chill-out day on Saturday, go for a meal - even if we have to pay for it ourselves! - before you have to go back on Sunday."

On the Saturday afternoon, the weather was as warm as it had been that spring, so Alex took the opportunity to surf for an hour or so. He arrived back at the cottage, and was soon out on the patio, wrapped in sweat gear and towels.

"I'm glad this is a suntrap, Dan, I'm freezing."

"Well, if you will go surfing in the North Atlantic Ocean in April, you impetuous young man, what do you expect?"

"You're warm enough, dressed like that." I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts.

"That's because I'm not so daft as to go in the sea."

"I could do with a hug, that would warm me up more quickly."

"Your hug bunny is on his way back from France, though - it looks like you're out of luck."

There was a pause in the banter. I wondered what was coming next.

"You could give me a hug, Dan."

My first instinct was to carry on with the light-hearted repartee of the last couple of minutes, but the tone of Alex's voice had changed, and I knew another airy remark wasn't what was called for.

"You're right, I could. There are all sorts of things we could do in life, but they're not all necessarily a good idea."

"You do so much, have done so much for me, Dan, but I never seem to do anything in return."

"Of course you do. You're my friend, probably my best friend, although Lawrence would be a close second. I don't want anything else from you, that's more than enough."

"Maybe...maybe I want more from you, though. I'm very greedy."

"Alex...I could recite a litany of reasons 10 feet long as to why I shouldn't get involved with you, I'm old enough to be your father, my health is pretty fragile, it would be breaching the trust of your mum, after she's let you stay here with me, and numerous other things, but, when it comes down to it, there's only one word I want to say to you...Lawrence."

"Do you think we haven't talked about it? Lawrence has known for weeks that I was coming down here to stay with you, he doesn't expect us to be like monks."

I'd reached the point where I'd been in my dream, but this time the question was far from unspoken, and Alex wasn't a child any more.

"I don't think I can, Alex. You're very special to me, more than anyone in my life apart from Lucy, but that's different, she's my flesh and blood. But Lawrence is special to me as well, and you two are way beyond special to each other. I could never forgive myself if I did anything, or allowed anything to happen, that would jeopardise that."

"It wouldn't, I promise. I can prove it to you." He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, pressed a few buttons, and handed it to me. "Press the 'Play' icon, and watch."

I pressed, and watched. It was a short video, lasting about two minutes, and had been made, according to the date and time stamp in the corner of the screen, that morning. After the video finished, I pressed the 'Replay' icon and watched it again. Then a third time. Then I closed my eyes. Alex's light footsteps sounded on the wooden decking. I felt his hand rest gently on my shoulder.

"You see, Dan. That's what we want. Lawrence can't tell you personally, because he's probably on a Eurostar at the moment, so he recorded the message earlier and e-mailed it to my phone. But we've been thinking and talking about it for months - it's what we really want."

"What will your parents say?"

"Malcolm and Jackie will be fine with it. We know, we've already spoken to them. My mum will hate it, but she hates me being with Lawrence, although she'd never say so. She'll just have to get used to it."

What was in that message? In effect, the words that Lawrence spoke, on behalf of himself and Alex, constituted a 'marriage' proposal. From both of them, jointly, to me. The last two sentences, spoken by Lawrence looking directly at the camera, as though he was looking me straight in the eye, were "You've given Alex his life, and me mine through Alex. We want to live with you, happy ever after."

"Can I have my hug now, Dan? I'm still cold."

****

Later that evening, we were back in the cottage after having had a long, slightly boozy dinner in the nice restaurant in the village. Neither of us were drunk, but we'd shared a pleasant bottle of wine, and I'd finished with a brandy, so we certainly weren't 100% sober.

"Thank you for this evening, Dan, I've really enjoyed it."

"Me too - it must be the company."

Alex smiled broadly. "Time for bed, then?"

I knew from the way he'd said it that it was a question rather than just a statement.

"Yeah, you know where your room is."

He looked up at me - surprised?, disappointed?, relieved? It was difficult to tell.

"Dan..." he began hesitantly, "I thought...maybe I could sleep..."

"With me?"

"Yes...please?"

I heaved a huge sigh. "This is difficult for me, Alex."

"I know - it's what I want, though...what Lawrence and I want."

"Did you speak to him earlier?"

"Yes, I managed to get a signal on my mobile in the village, for once. I rang him from the Gents at the restaurant."

"Very romantic! How is he?"

"He's fine, tired after that long journey, though. And very nervous...about how you'd react, I mean."

Yes, I thought, I can relate to that. I was feeling like I had when I was a teenager, approaching my first date.

"When I say this is difficult for me, Alex, I don't mean just about the ethics of the situation - I mean about what's inside me, what I am myself. I haven't been to bed with anybody since I split up with Liz, but more than that, I've never been involved with anyone of my own sex before - as far as I can remember, I've only ever even kissed two males in my life, my dad when I was a little boy, and you. When you kissed me in my dream, it felt straight away as though something had changed in me, but that was, after all, just a dream, even if the kiss was real. This is difficult in another way, as well - as I'm sitting here talking to you, I'm desperately trying not to say the wrong thing, I don't want to you think I'm rejecting you, because I'm not, but it's such a big step for me, for us - all three of us - that I'm...afraid to make it. Once that step is made, there's no going back, ever, and I'm not ashamed to say that the prospect frightens me."

Alex moved from the armchair where he'd been sitting, and plopped down beside me on the sofa, close, but not touching. We looked at each other.

"There's nothing to be frightened of, Dan. It's only love, you love me and don't want to hurt me, I love you and don't want to hurt you. Lawrence feels the same way about you, and I think you feel the same way about him. Nothing more or less than that."

He leaned towards me and laid his head on my shoulder, I tentatively put my arm around him.

"How about a boring compromise, Alex. A halfway house that I can cope with as I am at the moment. We'll sleep together tonight, but just that, sleep. Keep our night clothes on, maybe just a hug or two. Then the next time you're both free, you and Lawrence come down for the weekend and we'll talk everything through. I'm sorry if that's not quite how you saw this evening panning out, but that's the best I can manage for now."

"Dan, that will be absolutely great. Come on, I'm getting cold again, you can warm me up!"

****

The boys came down to Guillemot Cottage for the May Day bank holiday weekend, which gave us an extra day for our conclave. The weather was rotten, cold, wet and windy, but it hardly mattered, because we spent virtually the whole weekend talking about their proposal, and what it would mean for all of us. By the Sunday evening, we'd got pretty much everything sorted out. Alex would turn 18 in November, Lawrence in the following February. They both had just over another year of school to complete, up to their A-levels, due the summer of the following year. After they finished school, Alex was going to come and work with me in a company we would set up to market our art, while Lawrence was aiming to go to university to take a degree in Business Studies and Modern Languages, hopefully at Plymouth, after which he would manage our company and leave Alex and I to look after the 'creative' side.

"I've got some good news on the commercial front, as well," I told them. "Mr TV Chef liked the murals we did for him so much that he's planning to use the designs on a range of merchandise, crockery, placemats, coasters, that kind of thing, and all at the top end of the market. We'll get royalties on every cup, plate and tea towel that he sells! We won't be rich overnight, but it'll get the company off to a flying start. It's a good job, too, because if we're all going to live together in our little commune, we're going to need something a bit bigger than poor old Guillemot Cottage."

"I like it here, though," Alex said.

"So do I, but it's a bit small for three adults to live in permanently. Don't worry, though, I'm hopeful, with this merchandising money on the horizon, that we'll be able to keep the cottage - it's all paid for, don't forget, we haven't got a mortgage or anything like that to worry about - and still be able to afford to buy a new, bigger place as well. Then, when we get sick of the sight of each other, we'll have a bolthole to escape to!"

"What are we going to do about telling the world about us?" Lawrence asked. "My mum and dad and Alex's mum know about some of it, what about your family, Dan?"

"Well, my family pretty much consists of Lucy, period. She's coming down here for half term at the end of this month, so I'll talk to her then. I'll speak to Liz just as a matter of courtesy, but I don't think she'll be too interested - she's too busy making money with her travel firm. As far as the rest of the world goes, how does a joint 18th birthday and commitment party, around the time of your birthday, Lawrence, sound?"

"Well, it would certainly be different from the average 18th party - 'We'd like to thank you all for coming, and, by the way, we're spending the rest of our lives with this eccentric artist' - should catch their attention, at least!" Lawrence laughed.

"Seriously, though, would you rather wait until you've left school before telling everyone anything quite so radical - I wouldn't want you to have problems because of me."

"It's not because of you Dan, it's what we want. It was us that proposed to you, don't forget," Alex said. "Anyway, Lawrence is a black belt now, they won't argue with him, and I'm big enough to look after myself as well."

The only issue that still hadn't been resolved was what, if any, physical relationship I was going to be involved in. As I'd told Alex at Easter, it wasn't something I was going to find easy to deal with. It had been nice sharing a bed with him for that one night, I'd enjoyed the warmth and closeness after so long sleeping on my own, but when I'd woken the following morning with him snuggled up to me and visibly aroused, I felt a nagging sense of wrongdoing, as though I'd taken advantage of him. It was a barrier that had to be crossed in some way, or it would risk driving a wedge into the heart of our interactions with each other. If we were going to make this unusual relationship work, it would have to be as equals. Lawrence was the one who made the decisive move.

On their last night of that weekend, Alex made his excuses and went to bed early - he had to drive back the following morning, Lawrence had only just started taking driving lessons. Lawrence and I talked for a while about details of how we would set up our joint business and how it would be run. As the time passed 11:00, the conversation started to flag a little.

"I think that's about as much management-speak as I can manage for one night, Dan. There's something else we need to talk about, anyway."

The purpose in his voice was obvious. I braced myself for what I guessed was coming next.

"We've agreed that we're all going to be equal partners in this relationship, Dan, but you're evading one really big issue. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but we need to 'talk about sex, baby', as the old song goes."

"I know, I did talk about it with Alex the last time he was here, we slept together."

"Yes, slept, and when he woke up with a hard-on, he said you left the room so fast, he couldn't see you for dust."

"I don't want to sound patronising, or worse still, prejudiced, but you've known you were gay since you were a boy, this is all a bit new to me. I also really care a lot about you and Alex, and I don't want to do anything to hurt either of you, in any way."

"You still see us, especially Alex, as little boys sometimes, don't you Dan?"

"I never knew you as a boy, Lawrence, I just had a picture of you in my mind's eye. I never really knew Alex, either, but I did have a real picture of him, lying on the ground, hurting, terrified, while his dad attacked him. And my dream, that was how I remembered him, the real life, frightened Alex was suppressed, I only thought of the pretty, blond boy who'd kissed me in my dream. I know you're not little boys, of course I do, but sometimes images are so deeply ingrained in your mind that it's hard to get past them."

"That's why it should be me you should go to bed with first, Dan." He smiled. "No ghosts in your head. Come on, I'll look after you, I promise."

He took me by the hand, and quietly led me upstairs.

He was so gentle with me that first time - he was gentle by nature anyway, and all the more so because he knew how fragile I was in this regard. I think he was afraid I'd run away if he showed any passion at all. Even then, I cried for at least half an hour afterwards, Lawrence was so patient with me, he just let me cry on his shoulder, as though I was the little boy who needed comfort and reassurance, which, in a way, I was. In the morning, Alex tapped quietly on the door, before coming in and sitting on the bed beside me.

"OK, Dan?" He must have been able to see I'd been crying.

"Yes, I think so. I still feel very emotional, though, I feel like I might burst into tears at any moment."

"There's no need to take it so seriously, it's supposed to be fun."

"I know, just give me a little while to get used to things, I'm sure I'll loosen up soon."

"I hope so, it's my turn next time!" He almost dazzled me with the brightness of his mischievous smile.

****

The final piece in our jigsaw fell into place just before Christmas. We'd been doing a bit of house-hunting, mostly online, but nothing we really liked had come on the market. Then one afternoon, I was working in the studio when the phone rang. It was Lawrence.

"I think I might have found one, Dan. It's a bit expensive, though." He gave me the details of the estate agent's website, and I told him I'd have a look when I'd finished what I was doing. The house he'd seen was indeed at the very top end, price-wise, of what we could afford, four bedrooms, large garden, sun terrace with sea views and a separate garage and workshop block which could be adapted as a studio. It was in a large village on the south coast of Cornwall, not as touristy as the village where Guillemot Cottage was, close to one of the restaurants where we'd worked on the murals earlier in the year.

Alex and Lawrence came down the weekend before Christmas, immediately after school had finished for the holidays, and we went to see the house on the Saturday morning. As it had been with me and Guillemot Cottage, it was love at first sight for all of us. Estate agents' descriptions usually exaggerate the charms of a property, but this one, if anything, undersold how good the location was. From the sun terrace, you could see something like 10 miles of coastline, arcing away in both directions. We put in an offer the same day, rather below the asking price, and after a little bit of haggling over valuation of fixtures and fittings, had a slightly higher offer accepted, which still left us with enough in our 'property fund' to afford to have the workshop converted to a studio for me, with a small computer suite for Alex as well. Everything was ready by the end of January, a few days after Lawrence had passed his driving test at the second attempt, and I moved in just under two weeks before the night of the big party.

****

We were all getting extremely nervous as the week of the party progressed. It was on the Saturday night of school half term holiday week, towards the end of February, a couple of days after Lawrence's actual birthday, and almost three months after Alex's. Malcolm and Jackie, and to a lesser extent Jayne, had made most of the arrangements, so I stayed in Cornwall until the Friday morning, using new house duties as an excuse. Lucy travelled down from the Midlands on the same day, and we met up in, of all places, the station buffet, just yards away from where Alex and I had been attacked, four and a half years earlier.

"Hi, Dad".

"Lou, lovely to see you, how are you?"

"Fine. How's the new house."

"Just about liveable now, although we've only got two of the bedrooms set up at the moment. We've got some more furniture due next week. You'll have to come down and see it soon, it's in a great spot."

"I will. How are the rest of the triumvirate?"

"Fine, thanks, they're running around getting stuff ready for tomorrow. We're going to meet up later on and then going out for a family meal tonight with the various parents, I don't think you've met Jayne, have you?"

"Alex's mum? No, she's never been down to Cornwall, has she?"

"No, she doesn't really approve, to be honest, but, to be fair to her, she's always polite, if not exactly overflowing with warmth. Come on, let's head over to Lawrence's house, that's where we're both staying this weekend."

As the day went on, everyone gradually got together - Lucy and I arrived, then Alex and Lawrence returned from their separate missions, and finally Malcolm got back from work. It was a convivial day all round, with everyone catching up on everyone else's news, before we went out for the evening meal to a local pub, within walking distance for everyone - Alex had gone home to walk his mum to the pub shortly before the rest of us set out. It all went very well, the only awkward moment coming when Malcolm made an off-the-cuff remark about me enjoying my last night as a single man, which Jayne didn't find very amusing, but, that apart, a fine time was had by all.

Then the night of the party, and I was as jittery as a kitten as we arrived at the function room, a feeling that got worse as the guests started to arrive, and rounds of introductions were made. Apart from a scattering of older family members, most of the guests were Alex and Lawrence's school friends and their assorted girlfriends, and people they knew from their self-defence classes and the like. A few of them remembered me from the local press and TV coverage after the attack, but most of them didn't, some regarding me with curiosity bordering on hostility. Lucy stayed close to me for much of the night, as she didn't really know anyone apart from our immediate circle, and helped to keep me on an even keel.

Alex, Lawrence and I hadn't really spent too much time discussing how we were going to phrase things when the time came to say our collective piece, and we found it hard to get together for more than a few seconds at a time at the party, with so many people wanting to speak to the boys, so, in the end, we decided to make it up as we went along.

The DJ started things when he announced  "Can I have your attention please, everyone. There are three gentlemen here who would like to say a few words to you."

Lawrence spoke first. "Four and a half years ago, some of you might remember, something happened that changed our lives. If it hadn't been for the way chance works, at least one, and probably two of us, wouldn't be here tonight. All I can say is that I'm glad that chance did work out the way it has, because I've found not one, but two wonderful people to love. Thanks."

Alex was next. "Some scientists say that at every moment, the universe takes one or other of two paths, probably pretty much at random. I'm glad that those random paths have led me here, I couldn't imagine being happier. I love you, Lawrence and Dan. Thanks a lot, everyone."

Then it was my turn. "On that day outside the station, my old life ended. Thanks to two very special people, my new life is even better. From the bottom of my heart, I want to say to Alex and Lawrence, I love you both very much, and I expect us all to live HAPPY EVER AFTER!"

****

Love & best wishes to all

Sammy B

Jamie

Author's note: This story includes explicit sexual content, involving contact between boys below the age of consent. If you find this in any way offensive or distasteful, please read no further, and/or if it is illegal for you to read such material in your jurisdiction due to age or domicile, please read no further. The author does not condone or promote any illegal activity. This story is entirely a product of my imagination, no minors were involved in any way in its compilation, and the characters and actions portrayed are entirely fictitious. The characters in this story may not engage in safe sex, because, being fictitious, they don't need to. You, as a real person, do.


****


"What's the matter?" a nervous, high-pitched little voice, like the resonant sound of a crystal tumbler tapped by a fingernail. "Why are you staring at me?"

The meaning of the words didn't register with me immediately, didn't even register as words initially, just a sweet sound. As I returned to the present from the twenty year ago past I'd been inhabiting in the previous few moments, and refocused on the young face in front of me, the words came together with an almost audible click, and I flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. You just look so much like Jamie....I mean, you reminded me of someone I used to know, years ago. Sorry." I hurriedly turned away, walked a few yards down the street. Poor kid, I thought, standing there on his own at a bus stop with a madman, or so he must've thought. But, oh, how like Jamie he was. A spitting image of the boy who had changed my life.

****

Growing up, I didn't really feel I was different from others of my age. I went to school, played football or cricket, went into town with my friends. My senior school was a boys only grammar, and I didn't have much of a chance to meet girls, not helped by the fact that I was rather on the shy side and didn't make friends of any sort very easily, so I got to the age of 13 or 14 without ever having had a girlfriend, but I was far from being unique amongst my schoolmates on that front. I suppose that sort of age was when I began to wonder about myself, although I was pretty ignorant about love and sex, because when my peers bantered about girls, what they'd done with or to them (or imagined they had, at least!), or wanted to do, I was left feeling rather cold. Girls, what use were they to me, I thought. Then two things happened that crystallised the feelings of 'otherness' that I was beginning to experience.

The first incident wasn't earth-shattering in itself, and didn't have any real consequences, apart from sowing seeds of doubt in my mind. I was in the toilets at the same time as a boy in my form who I wasn't particularly friendly with, but obviously knew fairly well. We were a few places apart at the urinal, when for some reason, I glanced in his direction. I saw straight away that he had, whether by accident or design I've no idea, a full erection. He was evidently rather further on in puberty than me, although we were roughly the same age, because his penis looked huge compared to mine. I was fascinated by what I'd accidentally observed, and kept my head turned his way for much longer than etiquette allowed. To my horror, he 'caught me looking', and having finished relieving himself, turned away from me as though I'd stuck a red hot wire into him, muttering "Do you mind!". I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me, feeling my cheeks burning up with guilt and shame. I was convinced he would go straight to the rest of our classmates, if not a teacher, and tell everyone what had happened, knowing that if he did, my school life would become a complete misery. There was one boy in our year who may or may not have been gay, but was certainly rather on the effeminate side, and who was the focus of all sorts of bullying, if not outright hatred. I crept into our next lesson, expecting the sky to fall on me as I did, but nothing was said - the boy had seemingly decided not to say anything, whether from consideration or embarrassment on his part I don't know. When the rest of the day had passed without incident or any reference to what had happened, I began to relax slightly, although I remained on tenterhooks all week.

That night in my bedroom, I thought back to those moments in the toilet, and what I'd seen there. It didn't take long before I was sporting a serious erection of my own. What did it mean? Was I what the bullied boy was called - 'queer', 'poof', 'fairy'? I'd never thought so before, but I wasn't very interested in girls like most of my friends claimed to be. There was no-one to talk to, no-one to ask - I would've died before speaking to my parents or my friends, and this all happened before the internet had been heard of. All I could do was to lie on my bed and stew in my own doubts and fears, while experimentally touching and squeezing my hard boyhood.

It wasn't that night that I discovered masturbation, but it wasn't very long afterwards when I overheard a couple of boys in the year below me giggling about 'having a wank', and in my bookish way, I spent the next day or two trying to find a dictionary which included a definition of the mysterious word. There turned out to be such a volume in the public library, and after surreptitiously reading the relevant page, and a few others for words arising from the first definition, I had the information I needed. Later that evening, I put what I'd learned into practise, tentatively at first, but after the initial, successful attempt, with increasing enthusiasm, to the point that after a couple of hours and three or four gut-wrenching bursts of pleasure, I ended up rather sore, as well as very tired. I also became more confused than ever, because nothing I'd read gave me any idea of what ought to be in my head while I was developing my new-found skill. It seemed to me that the strongest feelings coincided with thinking about my classmate in the toilet, and what I'd seen. No-one at school had called me any names, or treated me any differently from normal, and yet I was becoming more and more convinced that I was 'queer' - it was almost as though I was bullying myself, rather than waiting for someone else to do it. I was looking forward to the forthcoming long summer holiday with more than usual anticipation, hoping the time away from school would give me time to sort my head out. In the event, it brought the second life defining experience, and from a totally unexpected direction.

****

The school summer holiday was just coming to the end of its first week, when my dad made an announcement at the dinner table.

"Graham, I'm afraid you're going to have to share your bedroom for a few weeks."

I must have looked a bit shocked. "Aww, why Dad?"

"You remember Geoff and Sally? They came to my fortieth birthday do a few years ago." My dad's cousin and his wife. I nodded. "Well, they've been in a car accident. They should both make a full recovery, I'm relieved to say, but they'll both be in hospital for about a month, it seems. As we're the only ones in the family who aren't going away on holiday this summer, they've asked if we can look after their son until they get better, and we've agreed. Jamie will be arriving here tomorrow, one of his dad's friends is bringing him, and as we haven't got a spare room, he'll need to share with you. I'll set the camp bed up in the morning."

"But Dad, he's only a little boy, and I don't even know him properly."

"He's not that little now, he's just turned 11. He'll be going to senior school after the holidays. I'm sorry, Graham, but his parents wouldn't have asked us if there was any choice - they wouldn't send Jamie hundreds of miles from home just for the sake of it. He'll be good company for you this summer, and I expect you to make him welcome."

I was ready to continue fighting my corner, but one look at my dad made it clear that resistance was futile, so, despite my inward groans, I simply said "Yes, Dad." I couldn't believe it, not only was I going to have my holiday ruined, as I saw it, by having to babysit my little cousin, but I wouldn't even be able to enjoy my new nocturnal hobby, with him being in my room - that would just be too embarrassing. Why me, it's so unfair, I thought, like the stereotypical teenager I partly was.

The following morning was taken up with rearranging my bedroom, which was little more than a large single, to accommodate its temporary second occupant. The camp bed was set up opposite my single, leaving a gap of only two or three feet between the two. This was going to be even worse than I expected, I thought miserably - there isn't going to be room to swing a cat. After my dad was satisfied with the new layout of my room, and my mum had made up the camp bed with fresh sheets, pillowcases and a lightweight summer duvet, I was left on my own to contemplate my fate - how many weeks, months, or could it even be years, would pass before I regained my privacy?

I didn't know exactly what time my unwelcome roommate was due to arrive, although I knew my dad had taken a call from his cousin's friend, and had been given an ETA of mid to late afternoon. I hung around in the house like a condemned prisoner, even though it was a super summer day, not wanting the appointed hour to arrive, but unable to able to drag my mind away from its inexorable coming. Predictably, after spending almost the whole day thinking about nothing but Jamie's arrival, I missed the actual moment - I was in my room at the back of the house, and didn't hear the car arrive or the knock at the front door. The first I knew was when my mum shouted up the stairs for me to stop moping in my room and to come and help Jamie with his luggage. I trudged heavily downstairs, turning left at the bottom of the flight towards the sitting room, which was where I heard voices, walked into the room - and stopped in my tracks. Looking straight at me was without doubt the loveliest creature I had seen in my life to that point, and, in terms of instant impact, probably since. My dad was right, he isn't a little boy now, was all I could think of in those first moments - Jamie was tall for 11, only a couple of inches shorter than me at my age of 14, with a build in perfect proportion - not skinny, but lean, and with hints of muscle definition (I later found out he was a keen and very able swimmer) - neatly cut fair, almost blond hair, but, most arresting of all, huge, beautiful pale blue eyes, eyes that were gazing so intently at me that I half expected to be physically pierced by their impact. My heart simply turned over, I'd never felt anything remotely like my emotions at that moment. I didn't even have a name for those emotions, although I know now what it was - love at first sight. You hear about these things happening, but unless you've experienced it yourself, it must seem too unlikely for words, a naïve fantasy. This apparition then lost his serious expression, breaking into a broad smile, a hint of white teeth glimpsed between the pale pink lips, and spoke.

"Hi, Graham, I've been looking forward to seeing you again." A lovely, light, boyish voice, all adding to the impression of perfection I was already feeling inadequate to live up to.

"H...hello, Jamie," I managed to stammer, "it's....nice to see you."

I was rooted to the spot, unable to drag my eyes away from the delightful face in front of me. Jamie's smile grew even broader, as though he knew and approved of the effect he was having on me. It was my mum who broke the spell.

"Come on, Graham, show Jamie to your room, and take one of his bags for him."

"Yes, Mum. This way, Jamie," I said as I led the boy out into the hallway and up the steep flight of stairs.

"In here, Jamie. I'm sorry, but it's a bit on the small side, especially with two beds."

"Don't worry. Everything will be fine." The radiant smile lit up his face again, making my heart feel as though it was going to explode. I was completely tongue-tied, not even able to see how I could begin a conversation with this paragon of boyhood. His penetrating eyes fixed on mine.

"Really, Graham, everything will be alright. I want us to be friends, I hope that's what you want too."

"Yes, of course - I just didn't expect you to be so...." My vocabulary, and my nerve, failed me. If I told him how I felt, in so far as I understood it myself, surely he'd hate me.

"To be so....what?"

I took a deep breath, not knowing until almost the last second which word was going to come out of my mouth.

"So....so....beautiful," I whispered.

There was a moment of complete stillness, then Jamie stepped towards me, put his arms around my neck and tenderly kissed my cheek. My knees almost buckled at the touch of his lips. He drew back, looking into my eyes again, and, seemingly satisfied with what he saw, broke into another happy smile.

"It's going to be alright," Jamie murmured, as if to himself.

****

The next few weeks were a strange mixture of dream and nightmare for me, as Jamie and I spent virtually all our waking hours together. I knew, within a matter of a day or two, that I was head over heels in love with this gorgeous boy, but, despite the kiss he'd blessed me with on that first afternoon, I had no idea how he felt about me. I was still struggling with my sense of not being worthy of his attention, that it was all just a case of his tolerating me to make the time away from his family bearable. Whenever I thought he was unaware of my gaze, I'd watch his face, committing every detail to memory. More than once, he looked my way, and I always turned away in embarrassment - I knew, just knew, that he'd think I was 'queer', and then all would be lost. I was trapped in an agonising 'Catch-22' - I felt I had to tell this boy how much he was coming to mean to me, but if I did, I was convinced I would lose him forever. There didn't seem to be any way out of the impasse - until Jamie himself took a hand.

He'd been speaking to his parents on the telephone, and came up to our room looking obviously upset. Even I, with my teenage heedlessness, could see that.

"What's up, J?"

He was silent for a few moments, as though he was fighting some deep emotional battle.

"It's....it's my mum and dad."

"Jamie - what's happened? They're alright, aren't they?"

He bit his lip. "Yeah, they're fine - they'll be out of hospital next week."

"That's good, isn't it? You'll be able to go home."

Big, silent tears began to run down his cheeks. "I don't want to go home. I want to stay here with you."

I was stunned, struck dumb. Confusion reigned supreme - surely this boy I was so smitten by couldn't feel the same way about me. Could he? The silence between us became almost palpable. I had to say something, but what? This was completely unknown territory for me. His tears continued to fall.

"Jamie..." I began hesitantly, "please don't cry. I really....like you, I hate it that you're crying, it makes me really sad."

Our eyes met, his damp with his tears, mine glittering with tears unshed. Then, impossible to say on whose initiative, we were in each other's arms. I held him close, stroking his back through his tee shirt, as he sniffled against my shoulder. He pushed himself against me, with inevitable consequences - I started to become uncomfortably aroused. He must know, I thought, what am I going to do? I tried to pull away from him, surreptitiously, but he just hugged me all the tighter.

"This is what I want, Graham, don't make me stop, please."

He lifted his face towards mine, and I instinctively closed my eyes as he approached me. The touch of his lips, against my own this time, was the most intense experience of my life, redolent of love and delight. The kiss seemed to go on and on, beyond anything I could've imagined being possible. I was breathing in his very essence, even if I couldn't have expressed myself in that way at that time, and it was an experience I never wanted to end. End it had to, though, and we eventually eased a few inches away from each other. I let out a deep, almost unconscious, sigh.

"Jamie, that was....amazing. I've never felt like that in my life. Oh, Jamie, I think....I think...."

"Say it, Graham, I think I know what you're trying to say."

My voice dropped to a breathless whisper. "I think I....love you."

An unreadable expression passed over Jamie's face, and I instantly misgave. What have I done, I've ruined everything. Seconds later, I went just as quickly from agony to ecstasy, as the wonderful smile I'd been entranced with since the first day he'd arrived lit up his features.

"I love you too. I thought you'd never get around to saying it. You're the nicest person I've ever met. I'm so happy...." A shadow passed across his face. "....except - I've got to go home soon." The tears seemed close again.

"That isn't happening yet, and, anyway, we'll see each other more often, holidays and stuff. I'll tell my mum and dad I want to visit you. I'm old enough to go on the train on my own, even if they won't take me in the car. It'll be fine, you'll see."

I really believed, in that moment, that it would all work out for us. I couldn't have been more wrong.

****

Once we'd crossed that first threshold of intimacy, events took an inexorable course. That night, as we laid in bed, Jamie whispered across to me.

"Graham?"

"Yeah."

"Do you ever....play with your....dick?"

I felt embarrassed about the question, but I didn't see any reason to lie.

"Yeah....sometimes."

"Me too. It feels really nice. Have you....ever done it with anyone else?"

"No. I've only been doing it for a couple of months myself. Have you ever done it with someone else?"

There was a loaded pause. "Promise you won't tell?"

"Promise."

"I've done it with a boy in my street. I had a sleepover at his house, he's got a double bed, and it....just....sort of....happened."

"Did you like it?"

"Not much. He was too rough."

Another, almost glutinous silence fell between us.

"Graham?"

"Yeah."

"Do you....you know....want to....do it together?"

I gasped, the breath hissing over my teeth and tongue. For some seconds, I felt unable to control my voice.

"If....if you want to."

Seconds later, I felt his bare legs touching mine as he slipped into my bed, having shucked off his pyjama bottoms.

"Take your shorts off, Graham."

Impossible to resist such an invitation, I slid my lower garment off without a second thought, kicking it out of the bottom of the bed and onto the floor. He turned onto his side, and scooted up against me. I felt his steely erection pressing into my thigh. I was still too hesitant for him, so he took my hand and guided it onto his penis. His young hand grasped my rigid member, and began stroking gently. I took my lead from him, working his shaft with fingers and thumb, making him gasp as my fingertips slid across his sensitive glans. Neither of us were going to last very long, that was obvious, and indeed that was the case, as my climax more or less coincided with his dry orgasm.

"Wow, Graham, you can make sperms. Was it good?"

"Fantastic! What about you?"

"The best ever. Thank you so much. I'm still hard, let's do it again."

And we did. Several more times that night. To the point of discomfort, if I'm being honest, but you don't think of such things when you're young and in love.

****

The discovery of how good we could make each other feel, and the knowledge that it was going to come to an end all too soon, inevitably made us careless. The same family friend who'd brought Jamie to us was going to be picking him up on the last Friday of the school holidays, so by the Wednesday evening, Jamie and I were grasping, like doomed souls, at every bit of pleasure we could. We spent what seemed like hours, kissing and cuddling and stroking, naked in each other's arms. Each night up to that point, we'd separated at the end of our sessions and he'd returned to his own bed, but we'd worn ourselves out so completely on that fateful occasion that neither of us could even remember falling asleep. And, needless to say, the morning after was the time that my mum decided she needed to come into our room to check why we were so late in getting up.

The duvet had fallen onto the floor, so as soon as the bedroom door was opened, it would have been obvious to a new-born baby what had been going on. Two naked boys in one single bed, no powers of deduction required. I'll never forget, as long as I live, the look of disgust on my mother's face.

"Get dressed, both of you. And then come downstairs."

By the time we got to the foot of the stairs, it was obvious that my dad had been fully appraised of the situation. I flinched inwardly, expecting the storm to break at any moment. But there was nothing. My dad looked straight through me, as though I was a complete stranger. He spoke, but only to my mum.

"I'll ring Geoff shortly. I'll move Jamie's camp bed into our room for tonight. Once he's gone tomorrow, they'll never see each other again."

I was frozen inside, but Jamie picked up on what was being said, and burst into tears. My dad looked at him as though he had a very nasty taste in his mouth.

"Go and pack your bags, Jamie." He headed for the door, and I made as if to follow him.

"Not you. Sit there." Pointing to the couch.

Once Jamie had packed and moved his bags into my parents' room, he came back down. My dad had moved the camp bed at the same time.

"Right, now you can go to your bedroom. I don't want to see you again today."

As I turned to leave the room, Jamie caught my eye. "I love you. Never forget," he mouthed.

"Love you too, " I replied in the same silent fashion.

****

Our family life effectively came to an end that day - it was the beginning of the worst four years of my life. I wasn't allowed to leave my room, apart from using the toilet, until after Jamie had left - my mum had grudgingly brought me a couple of meals on a tray. Looking back, years later, it occurred to me that it would've been better if there had been shouting and mayhem, because that would at least have constituted discussion, communication. As it was, what had happened between Jamie and I and what it meant was never mentioned, because nothing was ever mentioned. I was like the disowned wayward son, but one still trapped in the family home. Hardly surprisingly, I couldn't wait to get out of that situation, so after my A-levels, I looked for a job where I could be as far away from home as possible. I settled on going to college to train as a merchant navy engineering officer - the other side of the world was just about far enough away from my troubles, I thought. My parents had made it clear that they thought the further away I was, the better as well, so my career choice suited everyone.

My emotional life had been put into deep freeze by what had happened. I'd found the true love of my life, I thought, and he'd been taken away from me, so why bother to try again. Illogical, I know, especially given how young we'd both been, but that was the way I saw it. I drifted in and out of more or less casual relationships, even one or two with women, but I could never commit. My nomadic nautical lifestyle wasn't really conducive to settling down with a long term partner, in any case.

After 15 years of criss-crossing the world, however, I felt the need for more stability in my life. I found a managerial job with an engineering company on the outskirts of London. Nearer to my home town, and its unhappy associations, but not on the doorstep by any means. It was several years since I'd even sent my parents a Christmas card - they seemed to have decided I didn't exist, as far as they were concerned. I'd saved enough during my naval career to be able to get a mortgage on a fairly pleasant flat a bus ride from where I worked, and it was nice to have a permanent base again. I settled into my routine - boring, some might have said, but after my desperately unhappy teenage years, and my time away at sea, it suited me just fine.

****

I'd thought of Jamie many, many times over the years, wondering how he was, what he was doing, whether he was happy. Happier than me, I hoped. I love you, never forget, he'd said on that awful day. But he was only 11 then, no doubt just going through a phase. Probably married with a couple of kids now. He'd certainly have been a good catch for any girl, even if he was only half as handsome as he'd been when I knew him.

The bus approached, breaking into my reverie. The boy was still standing at the bus stop, and I seriously thought about letting the bus go by and waiting for the next one, but they only ran every half hour, so I swallowed my embarrassment, and followed him aboard. He went upstairs, so I found myself a seat on the lower deck. No point torturing myself for nothing, I thought.

I was looking out of the window, watching the world go by, when a small voice sounded beside me.

"Excuse me."

It was the boy from the bus stop.

"I was just wondering, do you know my dad? His name is Jamie, and everybody says I really look like him when he was my age."

It couldn't be, I thought, that would just be too much of a coincidence to be credible. But my curiosity was piqued. I asked the obvious questions, what's your surname, do you know how old your dad is, where was he born? Three right answers. I must be dreaming, I thought, things like this just don't happen in real life. I was so choked up, I could hardly speak.

"I think I do know your dad. I haven't seen him since we were children, though. He's my...." 'Heart's desire' was the phrase that sprang to mind, but I knew I couldn't say that, especially as he was obviously married after all. "....cousin, if he's who I think he is. Could you tell him....Graham says hello."

"I'll tell him. He's talked about you," the boy gave me a thoughtful look, "quite a lot."

"Thanks. Well, this is my stop. See you."

I walked home in a daze. Twenty years, and I end up living just round the corner, loosely speaking, from Jamie. Married, grown up Jamie. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

****

I'd had my unsettling encounter with the boy on the bus on a Friday afternoon, so I had plenty of time to mull over the implications through the subsequent weekend. By Monday morning, I'd decided not to make any effort to try and contact Jamie. It would just be a case of opening old wounds, and for what? To be a 'friend of the family'. I thought not. I was completely different, he would be completely different, all that had made our glorious summer so special would be gone. Why, then, was all that was going through my head was 'I love you. Never forget.'

I'd had a busy day at work, and was still wrapped up in various problems I'd had to deal with as I walked towards the bus stop. There were a number of people waiting for the bus, but, in typically reserved British fashion, I studiously avoided eye contact with any of them. Then someone spoke.

"Hello, Graham, it's been a long time."

I turned so quickly I almost wrenched my neck. There was no doubt, none at all. The eyes would've given it away, those beautiful pale blue eyes. He smiled. Not quite the radiance of old, something more melancholic.

"Jamie - oh my God, Jamie, it is you."

"The very same. It's been too long, Graham, much too long. Are you free this evening? I think we've got some catching up to do."

"Of course. Even if I wasn't, I would be, if you know what I mean!"

"Great. I've got my car parked round the corner. Come on, I'll take you home, you can get ready, then we'll drop my car off, pick Danny up, and go out for a meal."

"Danny? Your son, I guess."

"Yes, a chip off the old block, as you noticed!"

"He's nearly as good looking as you were. What about your wife?"

"No wife, never was. I'll tell you the story later."

The catching up process took about six hours, starting in the car, continuing in the pub where we ate, then, after taking Danny home and getting him to bed, carrying on in Jamie's living room. Jamie had had a better experience than me, in that his parents accepted his sexuality, albeit a little reluctantly.

"My mum said she'd always suspected I was gay, right back to when I was 5 or 6. She never did say why, and as it embarrassed her, I've never pressed her on it."

"How....did Danny come along, then. Or shouldn't I ask?"

He grinned wickedly. "Just one of those happy accidents. His mum was the younger sister of one of my uni friends, but she was too young, only 17, just doing her A-levels. She spent her gap year having Danny, but she wasn't really interested in motherhood. I'd almost finished my degree by then, and mum and dad helped a lot, while I did my PGCE."

"You're a teacher, then?"

"Yeah, primary school juniors. Nice age group to teach, willing and able to learn but not yet into the rebellious phase. The best of both worlds, really."

"But now you're on your own - just you and Danny, I mean."

He regarded me levelly. His gaze seemed to be asking me a question, and I thought I knew which question.

"I don't know whether you're thinking what I'm thinking, but I'm going to say it, anyway," I said. "'Never forget'. And I never have. I've had a few flings here and there, but only one person has ever had my heart."

Jamie's bottom lip quivered, as he struggled with his emotions.

"Graham....if you really mean that....it would be a dream come true."

"Of course I mean it, but we'd have to get to know each other all over again. We're certainly not boys any more. Why don't we just take it one step at a time, and see how it goes. Plus you've got Danny to think of. He might not like me, and he needs you more, at his time of life. Don't forget, I know what it's like to have your relationship with your parents break down."

"You're right, of course. But I think neither of us have forgotten. To find a real soulmate is rare enough, but to find a lost soulmate again is fate, don't you think."

"I don't know about fate, but, just now, I'm feeling very, very lucky."

****

We're twelve months on now, and things are still going well. Danny was a bit jealous of me at first, because he didn't have his dad's undivided attention any longer, but he soon got over that, realising that his life would be even better with two people to spoil him. Jamie's parents have been supportive - I think they're happy that he's finally found someone to be with, and someone who's waited for him for all those years, as well. What my parents would think, I've no idea, because I haven't told them. Maybe we'll invite them to our civil partnership ceremony. Maybe not. Either way, we certainly won't allow anything to stand in the way of our happiness. After all, it's been a long and winding road for us to get here.

****

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Alone

There's nothing here but me and my memories, my desires, my regrets. It's quiet, except for the almost unheard music from downstairs, of which I can distinguish little apart from a syncopated bass beat, irregular like the beating of my ailing heart.

I sit here in this cream painted box, fifteen feet by eight, dead, blank television in the corner, soon to be joined by myself in that deadness and blankness, if the aching in my chest is anything to go by, and yet the discomfort, rather than scattering my thoughts, has the effect of concentrating the mind. All I can think of is love and loss, how much I loved, how much I lost, all those years of life wasted because my dreams and yours didn't quite mesh together. I don't know why it didn't work, you said, something inside just wouldn't let me.

Something. Inside. All that happiness, just thrown away like the dead stems of the flowers from the vase, flowers beautiful while they bloom, but soon fading and dying without nourishment from the roots. So we moved on to other people, other places, but, for me at least, it was never the same. My thoughts, like the moth drawn to the flame, were always drawn to you. How it could have been. My attempts at substitution were doomed to failure, because my heart wasn't in it, the others could never be, would never be you. But then, you're not you either, now. The you I fell in love with is gone forever, swept away in the inexorable current of the passage of time. If I met you again now, the reality of the present would eclipse the lambent beauty of my memory, taking away even that small piece of the vanished past. and then, truly, I would be alone.

****

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Climactic

Under you, over you, twisting and turning
I'm flowing all round you, touching and tasting
Surrendering to you, seeing and feeling
Blending myself with you, melting and pooling
Sharing my joy with you, gasping and crying
Giving my heart to you, loving and keeping.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Hallowed

Matt hurried homeward, he'd lost track of time while he was in town with his friends, and was nearly an hour late - his mum had told him to be home by 4:00, in time for dinner and to get ready for the evening's fun and games, but it had been later than that when he left the shopping centre, the shops had all closed, being Sunday, and it was rapidly getting dark, the clocks having gone back in the early hours of that morning, 'the first day of winter' as his dad always called it. He reached a point where he had to choose which way to go next - it would take him another 15 minutes to get home if he followed the roadway, but there was a short cut that he'd taken from time to time, through an overgrown, almost derelict garden, over its back wall and across the open ground left by the demolition of the old factory, which would bring him out almost opposite his front door in not much more than five minutes. He hesitated for a second, the darkness under the trees by the garden gate unnerving him slightly - he couldn't remember ever going through that way at night - but his qualms seemed juvenile when he thought about it. He wasn't a little boy any more - he'd be 14 in a few months - and it wasn't even fully dark, more like deep twilight. As long as he didn't break his neck climbing the wall, it would be fine, he thought - although he'd still probably be dead meat when he got home.

The boy slipped between the tall brick gateposts, rusted hinges all that remained of the gates they'd once supported, and walked along the pavement of cracked flagstones. From what he could see in the gathering gloom, the garden had been tidied up since the last time he was there, the grass looking recently mown and the flowerbeds weeded. As Matt took perhaps his tenth step since entering the garden, he started violently as the area around him was suddenly bathed in bright light. He turned, ready to run back the way he'd come, but relaxed when he saw the security light mounted on top of the left hand gatepost. Just set off a sensor, Matt thought, it's like the one on the neighbour's patio that seems to light up with every passing cat. The pool of light around him, he noticed, had illuminated what looked like a new wooden bench, with a metal plaque fixed to its backrest. Matt glanced at the inscription, then looked more closely as its wording registered with him:

In Memoriam

Ronald Brown (Ronnie)

1933 - 1985

Miss you every day

Your J

Unless there was some huge coincidence, Matt thought, this bench was in memory of his grandfather, his mum's father who, he'd been told, had died young after splitting up with his grandma, who had herself only died a couple of years ago, although the boy hadn't seen her often enough to have grown close to her - she lived at the other end of the country, and seemed not to have welcomed too many visits from her daughter and family. Matt realised he knew next to nothing about his grandparents, but he did know his grandma's name had been Rosemary, so who was 'J'? As he stood there pondering his discovery, the security light went out, leaving him almost blind in the near darkness for a few seconds as his eyes adjusted. He was just about to walk away when the light flared into life again, and this time the boy almost jumped out of his skin, because almost within touching distance was a tall figure in a long, dark coat.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked, but without the harshness Matt was expecting, the voice gentle and sounding educated, like a teacher, or even a vicar, the boy thought.

"I...I'm sorry, I didn't know it was private here," Matt stammered.

"It isn't my garden, if that's what you mean," the man said, "it belongs to the local Church of England diocese. We have had some problems with vandals, though, that's why the security light was installed. Didn't you know this used to be a churchyard?"

"No - it's always just been like an overgrown garden as long as I can remember. My house is just over there," - he waved his hand vaguely towards the open ground at the rear - "and...I use it as a short cut sometimes. I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

"It has been rather neglected in recent years, I have to admit. Some local residents decided it was becoming rather an eyesore, and we've got together to do something about it. It hasn't really been properly looked after since Ronnie...since its last caretaker died."

Matt, even at his tender age, recognised the catch in the man's voice as he mentioned 'Ronnie'. He looked at the bench again.

"Was it that Ronnie who looked after the churchyard," the boy asked, "because I think he might be my grandad."

Now it was the turn of the man to look shocked. He gazed into Matt's eyes, and then held his hands up in a kind of rough rectangle, as though trying to frame a particular view of the boy. The security light went out again, and the man shifted his position so it would spring back to life, before resuming his inspection of the teenager in front of him.

"My God, you look so much like him - apart from the hairstyle," the man whispered.

Matt shifted uncomfortably under the man's scrutiny.

"Sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you. It's just that there's a photograph...he was about your age, showing off a trout that won him his first fishing trophy. He was your grandad, I have no doubts about that."

"I don't know anything much about him, he died 12 years before I was born. My mum has said about me taking after him, but I've never seen a picture of him, so I can't say. You must have known him, though, if you know I look like him."

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, the man thought. He couldn't find a way to speak for a few seconds, leading to an awkward silence. The boy was looking towards him, waiting...for what? An explanation? The man didn't know whether he could bring himself to draw any such thing out of his depths, today of all days, even after a quarter of a century. Deep breath...say something, quick, quick.

"Yes..." Another loaded pause. "Yes, I knew him. More than that. I loved him, and he loved me. He loved me more than anyone in the world, before or since." Matt looked at the man, stunned, disbelieving. "And I loved him more than anyone in my whole life. I still miss him, even now, every single day." The boy's face began to register some understanding.

"So....you're....'J'?"

The man sighed, the sigh coming from some hidden place, deep inside.

"Yes, I'm James. He called me Jamie, though. His Jamie, his special one. That's what I called myself - 'your Jamie'. I was so happy, he was so happy. Both of us were lonely, no-one had ever shown either of us any real love before. Especially not your grandma. She hated him. She hated me. I don't know, from that day to this, why they ever married. Even your mum was an accident, he said, your grandma got drunk one night and it just happened. It was her life's work to make him unhappy, that's how it seemed. When she found out that I was helping him look after the churchyard, she started making comments, going on about him being a child molester. He never did anything like that - ever. I was 14 or 15 anyway, I was bigger than him, I could have easily stopped him doing anything I didn't want. I just loved being with him, he made me feel like the most important person in the world. I wanted him to make love to me, but he always said no, it wasn't right, wasn't what he wanted from me. Only one thing ever happened, and that was...my fault. That day..." James's voice was shaking with emotion. "That day, he bought me a present. Only a small thing, a little silver St. Christopher on a chain. He found out that he'd missed my birthday, it had been a week or so before, I don't know who told him, it certainly wasn't me. It was beautiful, I was so pleased with it. I...I couldn't help it. I put my arms round his neck and kissed him. Kissed him on the cheek. But she saw it. Your grandma. She walked past the churchyard right then. She started shouting at him, calling him horrible things, telling him she was going to call the police. He didn't say a word back, he just stood there and took it. She went off, but she didn't go to the police. Later that night, he found out what she'd done. His garden, his own garden at his house, it was so wonderful, he spent hours and hours working on it, rain or shine. That night - it was Hallowe'en, just like today - a gang turned up at the house wearing masks, kicked the side gate in, and destroyed his garden. Totally trashed everything he'd worked so hard on. Painted 'Trick or treat, paedophile' on his garden shed. Your grandma had got some thug she knew somehow to come round with his mates and do it. She laughed while they were doing it. He didn't say anything, didn't cry - he just went up to his bedroom, they didn't sleep in the same room - wrote a letter to me, went out and posted it, then went back to his room and took all of his heart pills, the whole bottle. They say he was dead within an hour...they killed him, because I kissed him, they..."

James became aware of a sound, a gasping sob. Shaken away from his memories, he focused on Matt, standing in the dark churchyard in front of him, the faint glow filtering in from the street lights outside reflecting from the tears streaming down the boy's cheeks.

"Oh...I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I've never really told anyone the whole story, I couldn't help myself, I felt I had to tell you - it just happened, like that kiss."

"They killed him...he died, just because of love, just because of a kiss? That's so awful. Why do people do things like that, I don't understand."

"I'm not sure I understand myself - anyone who's different in any way seems to upset some of these people. It's like 'if you're not with us, you're against us'. That's all I can think of. He said something to me in the letter he wrote the night he died though, that he might have said to you, if he'd lived long enough to meet you. It's something full of love and caring, full of everything Ronnie was. Maybe that's why I was fated to meet you tonight, he wanted me to pass his message on to you. He said 'Whatever you do, be true to yourself, and be true to the ones you love, and you'll never regret your life. I haven't been true to myself, and I haven't been as true as I should have been to you, and this is where it has led me - too many regrets, and nowhere left to go. Follow your heart, and as long as you can do it without hurting others, be yourself and don't hide. Love is the thing that matters, if love is shared, then it can never be wrong.' I haven't come across a better philosophy of life since, so that's what I try to live by. You have to decide what's best for you, but I think your grandad's words are a pretty good basis to start from."

Matt couldn't think of any immediate answer to James's words, but they sounded right to his young ears. He looked again towards the inscription on the bench, and whispered, as if to himself, "Love is the thing that matters, I'll always try and remember, Grandad."

****

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Grey

Colour drained from the sky
Colour drained from my soul
No more tears to cry
Life has taken its toll

The ones who tore us apart
By way of their bigoted view
Have left a void in my heart
That no-one can fill except you

I know you can never be mine
Though I think of you every day
And so, come rain or come shine
The hue of my life is dull grey

****

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Submerged

Staring at the sea. Blankness in his mind. Blankness because to think of what had happened was too painful, too raw to contemplate. From heaven to hell, 'without passing Go', without collecting anything except torment and loss. He knew that he was the one to blame, the adult, the one who should have been responsible, should have shown self-control, should have submitted to societal norms. But it had been too much to resist, after all the years of yearning, finding the missing piece in his jigsaw, the perfect match. They had both wanted the same thing, there was no doubt, they had fallen into each other as though nothing else was possible, conceivable, love and desire at first sight made manifest. Love, the most important thing, what so many people search for so diligently and so long, found and consummated without hesitation or qualm. Mutuality without question, the man would never have become involved on any other basis, however insistent the hunger, his self-esteem could never have countenanced anything less. But the contemporary world could not accept their commitment, could not accept the possibility of their love, it was unequivocal 'abuse', the boy a 'victim', unable to think for himself, unable to take control of his own emotions, unable to escape the 'manipulation' of his innocence by a 'predator'. Their affinity was too obvious, however carefully they tried to dissimulate, questions were asked, answers were assumed, authorities alerted. The man knew there was no escape, managed to engineer a last, clandestine, meeting, fleeting minutes, so brief, so brief, so many tears, shed and unshed, but they managed, in those moments, to find a way to express all that they felt inside, to part without guilt or condemnation for each other, but both knowing that the parting was irrevocable, for ever, for ever. Darkness was falling, it was time. The man swallowed a last pill, washed down with his favourite wine, shame to drink from the bottle, but this was no time for niceties, stood unsteadily, teetered across the sand, walked past the water's edge and just kept walking. A last breath of life-giving air, the next inhalation filling his lungs with salty fluid, a moment of instinctive panic, and then darkness.

****

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B