Perihelion

"Grandad!!" I was instantly wrapped up in a flurry of arms and legs as a small figure did his best to hug me and climb me like a tree simultaneously.

"Aidan! What a wonderful surprise! How's the best boy in the whole world!"

It was a surprise, too, and most out of character for my daughter. She was, in normal circumstances, one of those people whose life was organised with military precision, seemingly weeks in advance. For her to turn up on my doorstep, together with her eight year old son, completely unannounced, suggested something highly unusual was afoot. Whether good unusual or bad unusual....well, that remained to be seen. Her face, when I saw it, didn't enlighten me much, either - she smiled indulgently at Aidan's exuberance in greeting me, but her features rapidly returned to an unreadable shade of neutral as soon as he scampered off, doubtless on the hunt for my fruit bowl to pillage every grape in sight, if I knew my favourite boy.

"I know what you're going to say, Dad - there must be something wrong if we've just turned up."

"No, I wasn't thinking that, since you mention it - I was thinking how unexpected it was, but I didn't assume it had to be bad news. You could've won the lottery, for all I know!"

"Oh yeah, I wish! Actually, it isn't such bad news....I think."

"Well, Laura, are you going to keep me in suspense indefinitely, or am I deemed worthy of elucidation?"

Laura smiled, just for a second or two, before continuing, her deadpan carapace restored. "Well....I could be a deputy head, at least for a while. I've been headhunted for a secondment, covering maternity leave. I haven't exactly been offered the job, but I've been made aware that I could well be in the running, if I was interested."

"But....?"

"I didn't say there was a 'but', Dad!"

"But there is a 'but', isn't there? I've not been your father for thirty-six years without learning a few odd things here and there!"

"Touché!" A huge grin momentarily lit up my daughter's face, before she returned to 'professional detachment' mode

"So? You evidently want something, so why not just come out and say it? That way, I'll be able to say no straight away, and both of us can stop wasting our time!"

Laura looked at me somewhat askance, as though she wasn't quite sure if I was joking or not, although, given our shared propensity for rather ironic humour - she wasn't her father's daughter for nothing - I would have expected her to have known. Maybe this was all rather more serious than I'd thought. I decided I'd better treat this conversation with a little more respect.

"Look, Laura....you know I'm teasing, don't you? If I can help, I will, you should know that."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, Dad, but this is a big deal for me, and, being so unexpected, it's thrown me a bit. The thing is, the school where the vacancy is....well, it's right down west, near Penzance, and the interview process will be over two days, a formal interview and presentation on the first day, and a 'Q and A' forum with the children the following morning - the head there is very much into pupil participation, and while he and the governors obviously still have the final say, he likes to take the kids' views into account. With it being so far, I'd prefer to stay overnight rather than driving there and back each day, so I was wondering....if Aidan could stay with you for a couple of days, please?"

I only hesitated momentarily, just for a few seconds, but it was long enough for Laura to glance up at me, a questioning look in her eyes.

"It will be alright, won't it, Dad? There isn't really anyone else I can ask, anymore." And there wasn't, either - my wife had died of cancer a year earlier, my other daughter lived with her husband in Scotland, Laura's ex-partner, Aidan's dad, had long been out of the picture, and she didn't even know where he'd been for the past couple of years, while the boy's paternal grandparents, who'd been decidedly more supportive of Laura and Aidan than their son had ever been, had recently retired to the warmth of the Costa Del Sol.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, Boo." She smiled a little at my use of her childhood nickname. "I guess it's just as unexpected for me as it is for you." Had she but known the real reason for my hesitation, she'd have done anything but smile.

****

"Uncle Pete! We're here!"

There wasn't any doubt about that assertion. A veritable whirlwind of roiling energy, with no volume control whatsoever, had blown in through the back door and swept into our kitchen. I came through from the dining room, and was immediately engulfed by what really seemed like a force of nature, rather than a ten year old boy.

"Uncle Pete!" he repeated, at barely less of a bellow than before, although he was hugging me tightly, and thus was only inches away from my ears. "It's been ages, I've missed you!"

"I've missed you too, little man. But now here you are!" It had, indeed, been a long time since I'd seen my only nephew, over a year, an eternity for a boy of his age, since my brother-in-law had found his dream job, in the then just beginning to burgeon software development industry, and moved with my sister and their son to the sunshine of California. But now they were back at home for an extended holiday, and would be staying with us for much of the next four weeks, although they had a few trips planned to catch up with friends and family. And there was no artifice on my part when I told my nephew I'd missed him. Richard, Ricky as he was known by one and all, even before his departure Stateside, was, to me, like the son I'd never had. Much as I loved my daughters, Laura and her sister Lindsey, I'd always felt a certain sense of something missing in my life in not having a boy around. That sense had been mitigated more than a little by Ricky, living, as he did, just a few miles away, and, as he grew past the baby and toddler stages into a bright, happy and very affectionate bundle of fun and energy, I came to absolutely adore him. He just seemed to tick all the boxes that anyone could imagine to make the ideal little boy - he was boisterous, and loved the rough and tumble of childhood games, but was also just as fond of curling up in my lap for a quiet cuddle, equally at home in charging about the park chasing a football for what seemed like hours, or sitting peacefully reading a book, often one aimed at those two or three years older than himself, given his well above average intelligence from an early age. He was also developing into a very good-looking boy indeed, with light brown hair and lovely hazel eyes, a sprinkle of freckles dusting the bridge of his button nose, and a gorgeous, almost ever-present smile. I saw more of him than I ordinarily might, because his dad worked away, including overseas trips, for much of the time, which led to my sister bringing him over to our house most weekends. There would then often be a 'gender split' as far as our activities would go - my sister would team up with my wife and daughters, going off shopping and the like, while Ricky and I would go and do 'boy stuff', as Laura dismissively, but amusingly, described it. It suited me just fine, though, having quality time with my beloved 'little mate', and it seemed to suit him just as well.

It had all come to an end, though, during the Easter holidays the previous year, when, after a last family weekend in London, we'd seen them off at Heathrow en route to their new life. Ricky, for the most part, had been too excited about the prospect of California to be downcast about what he was leaving behind, and I tried my best to reflect his mood. By the Sunday evening before their scheduled Monday morning departure, though, the realisation that this was the proverbial 'it', and that he was, to all intents and purposes, flying out of my life in around 12 hours' time, left me feeling very down. I found a quiet corner of the hotel lounge, and sat nursing my drink, trying hard not to cry. After some minutes, a small movement at the edge of my visual field caught my attention. Ricky stood beside the leather armchair I was inhabiting, an unwonted solemn look on his handsome face.

"I wondered where you'd gone, Uncle Pete. Mum says I have to go to bed soon, we've got to be up at 6:30 in the morning."

"Yeah, you'll need your sleep tonight, sunshine, it'll be a very long day for you tomorrow."

"Uncle Pete....don't be sad, we'll see each other again soon."

"Yeah, I know, little man. I'm....I'm going to miss you, though. It's not like you're moving to Exeter, or even London. It's the other side of the world." I teetered even closer to the brink of a tearful meltdown.

Ricky's eyes suddenly seemed to grow misty, as though the idea of the distances involved had struck him for the first time. Within seconds, big, silent tears were rolling down his cheeks. Wordlessly, I opened my arms to him, and he stepped into my embrace, as the first tears squeezed from the corners of my eyes.

"Oh, Uncle Pete, I'm going to miss you too, I love you, lots and lots."

"I love you, Ricky," I managed to choke out, before emotion took me over altogether, and my tears flowed as freely as my nephew's. How long we clung to each other, I couldn't say - it seemed like hours, but was probably only a couple of minutes. I fumbled around in my pocket to disinter a clean handkerchief, and dried his eyes, and mine. He kept his arms around my neck, even while I was wiping the tears away, and when I'd finished, he did something he'd never done before, something that caught me totally unawares. He turned his face up to mine, and planted a melting kiss full on my lips. I caught my breath, and felt a shiver run down my spine. He drew back, looked at my wide-eyed surprise, smiled slightly, and repeated the delightful dose.

"Oh, Ricky, that was lovely!"

"So you don't forget me!"

"Never, sweetheart, I'll never forget you."

And then he was gone, and I was bereft for weeks, a situation made worse by the fact that I didn't feel I could be honest about why, even, almost, to myself. That parting had made me realise that I didn't just love Ricky, I was in love with him. It had never happened to me before, I'd never been consciously attracted to boys, and now, here I was, seemingly smitten by my nine year old nephew. Perhaps, I thought, it was just as well that he was an ocean and a continent away.

As the months passed, his absence began to become, if not less painful, at least more familiar. Then, speaking to my sister over Christmas, the first tentative plans for their summer visit began to take shape. It was so strange, speaking to Ricky over the transatlantic phone line - I could hardly remember ever talking to him on the phone before, and the knowledge that I was hearing his sweet voice from 5000 and more miles away was bordering on the surreal.

The weeks and months soon passed, though, and the day of their arrival dawned. Ricky and his parents had stayed in London for a couple of days after their arrival back in the UK, to help them get over their jet lag, then travelled down to Cornwall by train. My wife was due to finish work around the time their train was due, so she volunteered to pick them up at the station, leaving me pacing the floors at home, impatiently awaiting the arrival of my best boy.

And now, here he was, hugging me as though he had no intention of ever letting go. His parents followed him into the house at a more sedate pace, my sister smiling as she caught sight of her son, wrapped around my waist.

"I see he's found you, then! He's talked about nothing but seeing you again for weeks, Pete!"

"Yeah, well, I've missed my little mate, too - or should it be little buddy, Ricky, now you're a fully-fledged Yankee?!"

"I'm not American - I'm a 'Limey'!" the boy replied, in his best midatlantic accent. "And I'm glad I'm back, even if it is only for a holiday."

"Well, that makes two of us, sunshine - I'm glad you're here, too."

Our eyes met, and neither of us could contain the broad grins that had been threatening to break out for the previous few minutes.

"Oh well," My wife uttered in mock exasperation, "it looks like we've got two young boys in the house for the next few weeks!"

As is the way with such things, the days of their visit seemed to fly by, and in no time at all, nearly two weeks had passed. Ricky and his family had headed for Hampshire for a few days, to catch up with my brother-in-law's side of the family, my brother-in-law staying on there for the forthcoming weekend, to attend a rugby club reunion. My wife and sister had booked tickets for them and the kids to attend a musical at the modern theatre in our nearby city centre on the Saturday night, an expedition I'd politely excused myself from, as decidedly not being 'my thing'. I got the feeling Ricky wasn't overly keen on the idea, but he hadn't been able to convince his mum that it wasn't 'his thing', either, and was pretty much told he was going to enjoy himself - like it or not! Shortly after lunch on the Saturday afternoon, though, events took an unexpected turn. Ricky appeared in the living room, complaining of feeling sick, and he certainly did look rather pale and sorry for himself. Seconds later, he was rushing for the downstairs toilet, with his mother in hot pursuit, quickly followed by the unpleasant sound of retching. After a couple of minutes, the sounds had abated, to be replaced by water running and teeth being brushed, before the pair returned to the living room, Ricky looking a bit better, but still more than a little pallid. He was laid on the sofa, while my wife bustled around finding a blanket and pillow, and a bucket in case of any further digestive difficulties.

"Well, it looks like you might have got yourself out of the theatre, after all," his mother said, not entirely sympathetically.

"Sorry, Mum, I can't help it. I don't want to be sick."

"No, I suppose not. At least there will be someone to look after you," - my sister glanced meaningfully in my direction, and I nodded - "so we'll only be wasting one ticket."

"No need to even do that," I said. "I'm sure one of the girls' friends would be able to go, even at short notice. I'll get them down here, and you can have a chat about it." I called my daughters, who clattered down from their bedroom, and after a couple of phone calls, it was arranged for one of Lindsey's classmates, who lived locally, to go in Ricky's place. By that time, the boy was asleep, seemingly peacefully, and by the time he woke, an hour or so later, he appeared to be much more his normal self, if rather quieter than usual.

The girls had clamoured to eat out as part of their trip, so it was only a little after 5:00 when the group left to pick up Lindsey's friend before going into 'town' for a pizza before the show, Ricky and I standing at the front door to wave them off. As the car disappeared down the street, and I turned back into the house, closing the door behind me, I couldn't help but notice Ricky grinning wickedly.

"Yessss! I knew it would work!"

"Work? What have you been up to, young man?" I asked him, rather sternly. His smile vanished, and he looked abashed.

"Ohhh, Uncle Pete....don't be cross with me....please! I really didn't want to go to the theatre, but Mum wouldn't listen....so...." His voice tailed off, and he started to cry.

I knelt down in front of him, and gathered him gently into my arms. "So....you made yourself sick, yes?"

He nodded, and broke into full blown sobbing.

"Ssshhh, little man, don't cry. What did you do, though? I'm only asking in case you've done anything that could hurt you, in case we need to talk to a doctor."

Through his tears, he managed to tell me that he'd made up a glass of heavily salted water, held his nose, and swallowed it down quickly, inducing the result he desired within minutes. What I knew of such things suggested that he wouldn't come to any lasting harm, to my relief.

"Ricky....you know what you did was wrong, don't you?" He nodded unhappily, still sniffling a little. "Where did you learn about that, anyway?"

"My friend, my next door neighbour, in California, told me about it - he did it when he didn't want to go to school one day, there was a test he didn't want to do. He was alright afterwards, but he got the day off. I....I'm sorry, Uncle Pete, I promise I won't do it again. Are you going to tell Mum?" His face was etched with worry. "She'll kill me!"

"I probably should tell her, but since you've been honest with me, and promised not to do anything like it again - you do promise, don't you?" He nodded vigorously. "Well, in that case, I think it should be our little secret, OK?" The boy's customary smile returned. "Are you feeling alright now, by the way?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Despite my potential disapproval, he couldn't suppress a mischievous smirk. "A bit hungry and thirsty, though."

"I'm not surprised you're thirsty, at least, after all that salt! Let's see what we can find in the kitchen to remedy that state of affairs, then!"

After a drink and a light meal of beans on toast, he was more or less fully restored.

"What are we going to do with our buckshee boys' night in, then?" I asked the youngster as we returned to the living room.

"Can we put the computer on, please?" I'd recently bought a Commodore 64, then the height of modern gaming entertainment, ostensibly for the girls, but, in all honesty, with myself more than a little in mind. Ricky, with his dad working in the industry, was already more than averagely familiar with the technology.

"I don't see why not. Let's get it set up!"

After an hour or so of virtual space battles, we were both ready for a break. As we'd done so often in the past, I sat in my favourite armchair, and Ricky climbed without hesitation into my lap, straddling my thighs to put his arms round my neck for a hug. I sighed happily, as Ricky pecked at my lips with a couple of little kisses.

"I've really missed our cuddles, Uncle Pete."

"Me too, sweetheart. But then, I've missed everything about you." He smiled, and kissed me again.

"Uncle Pete, can I ask you something?"

"Course, little man."

"It....it's another....secret, though." He looked thoroughly serious, and more than a little worried.

"Is it bad, then?"

"I....I don't know. That's why I wanted to ask. I can't ask Mum and Dad about it, it's too...." He looked as though he was struggling to find the right word.

"Embarrassing?" I suggested.

"Yeah, embarrassing. And they might get angry. You won't though, will you?"

"Angry with you? I very much doubt it. I can't totally promise, though, until I hear what it is."

Ricky hesitated again.

"Look, Ricky, tell me if you want to, as long as you know I might be....concerned, not angry, but if it's something that might harm you, I might need to do something about it."

"Not tell Mum and Dad, though?"

"I can't honestly make you that promise, little man. Your parents would never forgive me if I knew about something that was hurting you, but didn't do anything about it. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yeah....I suppose so. It's not hurting me, though, Uncle Pete - I'm just....confused."

"OK, let's see if we can't do something about that," I told him gently. "Ask away."

He looked me in the eye, as if confirming to himself that he was safe to speak to me, before continuing, still very hesitantly.

"Well....what I want to know is....can boys....love other....boys?"

"What do you mean, Ricky? Do you mean love like friends, or brothers, maybe....or more than that?"

He licked his lips instinctively before speaking again, in a very small voice, little more than a whisper.

"More than that - like....boyfriends?"

Much as he was evidently nervous, I doubt that he could have had more butterflies in his stomach than I did at that moment, trying to frame an answer to his question. My mouth seemed as dry as it had ever been in my life, wanting to say something, anything, that would help him, but knowing, all the while, that I felt just that way about the beautiful boy whose face was mere inches from mine, almost too close for me to focus my eyes properly. A huge sigh, almost out of my conscious control, seemed to emerge from some deep, dark place within me, a place I didn't even know existed.

"Yes....yes Ricky, boys can love boys, men can love men. A lot of people think it's wrong, though....but....but I'm not one of them. Do you have....someone....someone you feel that way about?"

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Two people," his voice now an actual whisper.

"Do you want to....tell me about it?"

"I....I think so, if you....don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind, sweetheart, you can tell me as much or as little as you want."

He began to tell me the story of his neighbour, the same boy he'd learned the salt and water trick from.

"TJ - that's what everyone calls him, his real name is Terrence, but he doesn't like it - was really nice to me, right from the first day we were in California. He showed me around the area, and when I started at his school, he really looked after me and helped me to get used to things. Then, one day after school, we were at his house on our own - his dad was at work, and his mum had gone shopping, or somewhere - and he said he had something to show me. He had this....magazine, I think it was his dad's, and he'd found it in a drawer. The magazine was full of....pictures....nudey, sexy pictures, men and women....doing stuff to each other. His....willy went hard, I could see it making his shorts stick out, and he saw me looking at it. I thought he'd be angry, but he just giggled, and asked if I wanted to see it. I was really....embarrassed....but I did want....to see, so he pulled his shorts down. When I saw it, it made mine get hard, too, it was a lot more....sexy than the pictures, I'd never seen another boy's willy before, not hard like that, anyway. He asked to see mine, so I showed him, and....he touched it, and I touched his. It felt really nice, especially when he rubbed mine up and down, so I did the same to him. Then he heard his mum's car arriving, so we had to stop. A few days later, we were in his room again, and he said he'd found another magazine, in the fields at the back of our houses, and did I want to see it. This magazine was different - it looked really old, and had mostly black and white pictures, except for the cover. The pictures were of....boys, boys our age and a bit older, doing....sex stuff to each other. My willy got really hard straight away, and so did TJ's, we took our clothes off, and sat next to each other on his bed, and rubbed each other while we looked at the pictures. After a few minutes, I started to feel really funny, all tingly and tickly, and then my willy started jumping about, and it felt so nice, I didn't want it to stop, but it did after a few seconds. TJ said did I like that, and I said yes, lots, and he asked me to make it happen for him, too, so I did, and felt his willy jump in my hand. It was so fun, and we started doing it whenever we could, and other stuff we saw in the magazine, too, kissing, and licking each other's willies, even...." His voice dropped to a whisper again. "....even putting our fingers in each other's bum holes. I thought that would be horrible, but TJ said he'd do it to me first, to see if I liked it. He put some slippery stuff, like baby lotion, on his fingers, and it felt great, so I did it to him, too."

"And both of you wanted to do all this stuff?" I asked him. "He didn't make you do anything you didn't want to, and you didn't make him do anything he didn't want to?"

"No, we both really like it. We talk a lot about things, as well, and we've talked about....girls, and other boys, too. He said he likes girls a bit, but not very much, but I don't like girls at all, I don't think. A few months ago, he was talking about one of his other friends, a girl in our class, and how she'd just got a boyfriend. He sounded a bit disappointed, so I asked if he wanted to be her boyfriend instead. He didn't say anything for a minute, but then said no, he wanted to be my boyfriend. I didn't know what to say, but he must've thought I was angry, because he started crying and saying sorry, and could we still be friends. So I hugged him, and told him I loved him, and I'd love us to be boyfriends. So we are. We can't tell anyone, though, can we?"

"It might be a good idea to keep it to yourselves, at least until you're older. Like I said, a lot of people really don't like the idea. But, as far as I'm concerned, if it's what you both want, and it makes you happy, then I can't see the problem."

"Why will we go to hell, then?"

"Who's told you that?"

"Well, no-one, not exactly told, but another boy, Jason, he's 12, who lives opposite us, said 'faggots go straight to hell'."

"Why did he say something like that? Does he know about you and TJ?"

"No, but TJ showed him the magazines a couple of months ago. He liked the first one, with the women, but when he saw the other one, the boy one, he snatched it away from TJ, and ripped it up, saying it was a faggot magazine, and only a faggot would look at it. TJ asked him what a 'faggot' was, and he said a queer, like the boys in the pictures, a boy or man who does sex with other boys or men, instead of girls or women. Then he said it was evil, and that God sends faggots straight to hell. I don't want to go to hell, Uncle Pete, but I can't help loving TJ. That's why I'm so....confused. Am I evil?" His eyes glittered with unshed tears.

"Ricky, darling, of course you're not evil. And please don't call or think of yourself as a 'faggot', either - it's a horrible, hateful word. You're just you, and if being you means you love other boys, and you know that's what you want, and as long as you don't try and force anyone else to do something they don't want or be someone they're not, there's nothing even slightly wrong with that, and certainly nothing anywhere near 'evil'. And I certainly don't believe you'll go to hell, because I don't even believe there is a hell. Why that boy said what he did, well, only he will know for sure, but I suspect it all boils down to fear - when people don't understand something, they can become afraid of it, and when they're afraid, they can say and do horrible things. And when religion gets involved, and people start believing God said this or that, it can get even worse, because then they stop even trying to think for themselves."

The look of concern on Ricky's face seemed to have eased a little, to be replaced by thoughtful consideration.

"So, if I love someone, and they love me, and it's what we both want, then it's alright, even to do sexy stuff? And God won't send me to hell, or anything?"

"Well, Ricky, I don't actually believe in God, to be honest, but if I'm wrong, and God does exist, I'm sure that he wouldn't send anyone to hell just for loving and caring about one another, even if it's two boys, or two men doing the loving and caring. And, yes, I believe if two people love each other, and both agree with what's happening, then whatever they do is totally up to them, and shouldn't be judged as right or wrong by anyone else."

"So....if I asked the....other person I love, and who loves me, to do sexy stuff, and they wanted to as well, it would be alright?"

"Well, what about TJ? Wouldn't it hurt his feelings if you did something like that?"

"No, he doesn't mind - we talked about it before I left. 'Cos the other person's not....in America, anyway."

He looked me straight in the eye, and all the breath seemed to leave my body at once, as I realised who that 'other person' was.

"Ricky....we....can't...." I began, weakly.

"Why not? I love you, you love me, and we both want to do it."

"How do you know....I want to do it?"

"Your willy's been hard, ever since I got on your lap, hasn't it? I can feel it. And so has mine, because I know I want to do it with you."

His logic was unimpeachable, battering against the walls of 'morality' I thought I had firmly in place. I had to resist, had to, I told myself. How could I explain it to him without making him feel rejected? I was floundering, badly.

"Ricky, it's different, I'm a grown-up, I'm not allowed to do sex stuff with a young boy like you, even if we do both want it. I could go to prison if anyone found out - and that's if your mum and dad didn't kill me first."

"No-one will find out - I'm not going tell, not even TJ."

"But you've already mentioned it to him."

"I didn't tell him it was you, though, just that I had a friend over here that I'd probably see while I was on holiday, and that I'd like to do stuff with him, and he said he didn't mind."

It was obvious that the boy had been planning this for some time - he seemed to have an answer for everything. I tried a different tack.

"OK, assuming you and I keep it a secret from everyone else, we'll still know. And what I couldn't bear is if you thought about things in the future, in a year's time, in five years' time, even in fifty years' time when I'm dead and gone, and you think that I took advantage of you, and hate me for it. I love you so much, Ricky, you know that, it would kill me if you ever thought I'd hurt you, wanted to hurt you."

He lifted his eyes to meet mine again, and spoke in a slow, measured way, beyond anything that could have been expected of his tender years.

"I love you more than anyone, Uncle Pete, more than TJ, more than my mum and dad, even. I promise, whatever happens, I'll never, never hate you. I know you'd never hurt me. Please, Uncle Pete, please love me, please make me feel good, I want it more than anything in the world."

Tears brimmed in my eyes at his declaration of love, all my resistance crumbling. I realised that this wasn't about a man and a boy, one imposing his desires on the other, it was, as Ricky had said, about two people who loved one another. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Can we, Uncle Pete? Can we go and get in your bed?" He stood and tugged at my hands, his urgency apparent. He led me by the hand, and I followed, trance-like, in some strange reciprocal version of the Pied Piper legend, the adult bewitched by the child. He quietly closed the bedroom door behind us, and almost before I had time to think, he'd shed his clothes. I'd seen him naked before, as a much younger boy, taking a bath at our house, but that was several years earlier, and in utterly different circumstances. This was new, a whole, hitherto unimagined, new world. The boy was, quite simply, stunningly beautiful, head to toe. At the centre of it all, three inches of throbbing, engorged penis, standing at a sixty degree angle from his body, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, attracting my gaze like the strongest of magnets. He opened his arms to me in silent invitation.

"Ohhh, Ricky....beautiful boy, so beautiful...."

Three hours later, when the rest of the family returned, Ricky was soundly asleep on the air mattress he was using in what was normally Lindsey's room, which he was sharing with his parents. I was dozing in my armchair in front of the TV. We had totally worn each other out in our passion, I'd had to almost hold him up in the shower afterwards, so exhausted as he'd been. But he was so happy, smiling and smiling, kissing me over and over, even as he could hardly keep his eyes open as I'd put him to bed.

"Uncle Pete, that was so wonderful, can we do it again, soon, please, please!"

"I hope so, sweetheart, I really do. You're right, it was wonderful. I love you so much."

"I love you, too...." His voice thickened in his throat and tailed off, as sleep overtook him. I stood there, beside his bed, for long minutes, gazing down at his face. I'd never felt such love, for anyone, in my life.

In the event, we didn't really have any more time to ourselves as the holiday progressed. I did take him out to the moors one night, armed with binoculars, at his suggestion, to indulge in some 'dark sky' stargazing. While we were waiting for the last of the summer evening light to fade, he cuddled up to me in the front of the car, and guided my hand into his lap. A few minutes later, as his breathing returned to normal, he sighed, and kissed me gently.

"Will you come to California and see me, Uncle Pete?"

"I'd love to, sweet boy, but it's a bit expensive, especially bringing the whole family. Maybe next year, we'll see."

"I hope you can, I'm going to miss you even more, now."

Don't remind me, I thought, it's going to be a nightmare.

The day of our visitors' departure inevitably arrived, and, as we had the year before, we'd stayed in London for the previous couple of days. Ricky and I had sneaked hugs and kisses whenever we could, but nothing more. And then the moment came to say goodbye, as they completed the formalities at the check-in desk. I leaned down and wrapped my boy up in my arms, and he hugged me tightly in return.

"See you soon, Uncle Pete," he whispered. "Love you, love you, love you!"

"I love you too, sweetheart. Take care of yourself."

Then it really was time, and as they walked towards the departure lounge, Ricky waved and waved, and at the very last moment, before he disappeared behind the door, blew me a little kiss. How many times, over the years that followed, did I think, uselessly, if only, if only I'd known, if only....

****

The telephone was ringing. My eyes opened, but I still could see nothing in the pitch darkness of the bedroom for long seconds, as I struggled to focus. I squinted as I managed to turn the bedside light on, saw the time on the clock-radio, 3:07. The ringing continued, insistently, as I stumbled downstairs to the hall.

"Hello."

"Pete?" A male voice, not one I immediately recognised.

"Yeah."

"Ricky's dead." I realised the flat, expressionless voice on the other end of the line was that of my brother-in-law. What he'd said, though, didn't make sense to me. I didn't want it to make sense. I wanted it to be a sick joke, a bad dream, anything but the truth.

"Dead? Why? How?" I was shaking uncontrollably, almost unable to think. He couldn't be dead, my darling boy couldn't be dead, I'd been speaking to him just a couple of weeks earlier, as he'd passed his eleventh birthday.

"We....we don't know all the details yet, but....it seems like Ricky and his friend TJ were waylaid by some older boys....on their way back from school. Ricky got away from them, they chased him, he ran into the road....and a van hit him. I know how much he meant to you, Pete, and how much you meant to him...." His voice cracked with emotion. "I'll call you again later, Pete, I know....it's the middle of the night there."

"OK....thanks." It was all I could think of to say. The line disconnected. I stood with the receiver in my hand for long moments, then replaced it on the cradle with exaggerated care. I slumped down onto the floor, and cried, like I'd never cried before in my life.

The full story, when we heard it, was even more horrific than it had seemed at first. A gang of eight or nine boys had grabbed Ricky and TJ near their homes, and dragged them into a field, where they'd been stripped, 'so the world can see what faggots look like', one boy had said, and ordered to masturbate each other. As my brother-in-law had said, Ricky had somehow managed to get free from them, and had run, naked and hysterical, straight into the path of a delivery van. He was killed instantly. The police had investigated, but had seemingly decided it was a childhood prank gone wrong, and no-one was going to be charged with anything.

"You've got to go to the funeral, Pete," my wife was saying, "You'll never forgive yourself if you don't."

"We can't afford it. I've rung every airline and agency I can think of, and there's nothing even close to what we can sensibly spend."

"Look, just do it. I'll go to the bank and get a loan, if that's what it takes. You couldn't have loved him more if he'd been your own son. Your sister will want your support, too. Just go. We'll afford it later."

So I totally emptied our savings and current accounts, and flew across the Atlantic. Come and see me in California, Ricky had said the previous summer. My tears were as bitter as could be. My brother-in-law met me at the airport, at 7:00 in the evening on the day before Ricky's funeral.

"Do you....want to go and see him, at the funeral home," - an Americanism I'd always hated, and never more than at that moment - "they haven't sealed....the coffin yet." I hesitated, not really knowing the answer. "They've made a good job, he looks....like Ricky, like he always....did."

An hour later, I was gazing down at the face I loved, his eyes closed, looking, as clichéd as it might sound, as though he was asleep. I gently laid a finger on his cheek, and instantly wished I hadn't - it was cold, and so obviously lifeless, like a waxwork.

I'd shed so many tears over the previous few days, but nothing compared to the total meltdown I suffered in that room. I was blinded, found myself sitting, I know not how, on a chair against the wall, crying as though attempting to wash away the hurt, but all the time knowing it could never be washed away. Time had stopped, I had no idea how long I'd been there, or how my life could conceivably continue afterwards. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Pete, I'm so sorry, but we need to go." I nodded, dumbly, as a handkerchief was pressed into my grasp, as I looked up into the face of my brother-in-law, the tracks of his own tears glistening on his cheeks.

"J....just one minute, please." With every ounce of resolve I possessed, I made myself walk back to that dreadful box, which would soon be imprisoning my beloved boy for eternity. I leaned down, and kissed those cold, dead lips, just for a fleeting moment.

"Goodbye, my darling Ricky," I whispered. "Love you for ever and ever." Although I didn't believe in any sort of life after death, I fervently hoped his shade, somehow, had heard my words.

****

The morning of the funeral, in typical Californian style, was clear, warm and sunny. A beautiful day, in any context but the one we were in. As we waited for the cortege to arrive, standing on my sister and brother-in-law's porch, I looked around, and saw a young boy looking at me intently. The boy was dressed in a formal shirt, trousers and tie outfit, but it was almost impossible to imagine him, with his shaggy 'surfer dude' blond hair and crystal blue eyes, in anything other than a tee shirt and board shorts.

"Are you Ricky's Uncle Pete?" he asked politely. I nodded. "I'm TJ."

"Hi, TJ. Ricky....told me a lot about you, about how good a friend you were to him. I'd like to thank you for that. I love....loved Ricky very much, and I know you made him very happy."

The youngster's face betrayed a manful struggle against the tears that threatened to engulf him. My heart ached for him.

"Can....can I talk to you, after the....afterwards, I mean?"

"Of course you can, TJ, as long as it's OK with your parents."

"I'll check, but it will be cool. They're good friends with Ricky's mom and dad."

"OK, sunshine. Talk to you soon." He smiled wanly at the British idiom, and went off to find his parents.

I almost blanked the funeral service itself out of my mind totally, putting my brain in neutral being the only coping strategy I could come up with, the only way I could see of avoiding a public repetition of the previous evening's scene at the funeral home. Almost the only thing I remember clearly was standing at the graveside, my sister holding my right hand, and TJ gripping my left with ferocious determination. The boy looked almost as dazed as me, as though he couldn't believe, didn't want to believe what was happening. An hour or so later, we were back at the house, and TJ and I were sitting a little away from the others, on the grass of the front lawn, our backs against the trunk of a small tree that offered some shade from the now powerful sun.

"Pete," the boy began hesitantly, "Ricky told you about....us, me and him, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he told me....you loved each other."

"And he said you were cool with that."

"I don't see any reason at all not to be - love is love, as far as I'm concerned, it isn't worth more or less depending on who's doing the loving."

"I wish my mom and dad thought that way - before Ricky d...." He shied away from the bald expression of the realities. "....before what happened, they were trying to break us up, saying we spent too much time together. I overheard my dad call Ricky 'that little fag' while he was talking to my mom. I wanted to punch him in the face!"

His young body trembled in anger, matching the vehemence of his words. Then another thought seemed to intervene, and his shoulders slumped in obvious dejection.

"It was all my fault."

"What was your fault?"

"What....what happened....what happened to Ricky." The boy was obviously desperately fighting back tears once again.

"You know that's not true, TJ, you can't blame yourself."

"But it was my fault! We....we were horsing about, right here in his yard, wrestling and stuff, just....just last week." He sounded as though he couldn't believe it was so recent, that it must really have been in a whole other lifetime - and I knew exactly how he felt. "I pinned him down, he was laughing too much to get away. Then I said I'd only let him up if he told me how much he loved me. He got a real serious look on his face, and then he said it, so quietly, but like it meant everything in the world to him, he said...." The boy's voice tailed off, as though he didn't have the resources within him to continue, but then, with an almost visible effort, gathered himself again.

"He said 'I love you, TJ, I'll always love you.' I was so happy, I couldn't help myself, I....just kissed him, right here, right out in the open. He grinned, so I kissed him again. But then, when I looked up, I saw....Jason. Standing right there, on the sidewalk, watching us. Looking like he hated us. And then, not the next day, but the day after, they....caught us, when we were coming back from school...."

This time his voice did falter, and he couldn't continue. While I was trying to frame an answer, to try to convince him he had nothing to feel guilty about, I gently laid a reassuring arm across his shoulders. Almost as I did, all of TJ's muscles seemed to tense up, and his face changed to what I can only describe as a mask of hatred as he stared at something straight ahead. I withdrew my arm as though I'd been stung, thinking that he was reacting to my touch, but then I followed his gaze. It wasn't something he was looking at, it was someone. A boy, a little older than himself, a robust, tough-looking boy with close cropped black hair, was standing by the front door of the house on the opposite side of the street, beside a heavy-set man, a larger version of the boy, undoubtedly his father.

"That's him," TJ spat out, "that's the asshole who killed my Ricky."

"Jason?" I asked, rather redundantly.

"Yeah, him and his shithead buddies." TJ had started shaking so violently, I could feel it even though he didn't seem to be close enough to be touching. Then his emotions all became too much for him to contain, and he burst into tears. He leaned in against me, and my arm encircled him again, trying to offer what comfort I could. Just then, movement across the street caught my eye, and I glanced up. Jason was looking our way, an obvious sneer twisting his thin lips. His father said something, and the sneer changed to a nasty, humourless smirk. I was no lipreader, but the words 'another English faggot' were unmistakable in the boy's reply. I just snapped. Releasing TJ so abruptly he nearly fell on his side, I leapt to my feet.

"I'm gonna kill you, you little bastard," I growled, certainly not loud enough to be heard from across the street, but the pair instantly disappeared behind their front door, my intentions seemingly evident enough. I'd taken three or four purposeful strides across the lawn when it felt as though a house had fallen on me, and I crashed to the ground, all the breath knocked from my body.

"Don't be so bloody stupid, Pete! Do you think it will bring Ricky back? Well, do you?" My brother-in-law's voice hissed in my ear, as I began to struggle to release myself from his grasp.

"He's laughing, he murdered Ricky and he's fucking laughing about it. I'm gonna fucking kill him!"

"No, Pete, no you're not! You go over there, you'll just find yourself looking down the wrong end of that redneck's gun. This is the States, not sleepy bloody Cornwall! And even if you managed to get past that and do what you say you want to do, you'll find yourself on Death Row. Is that what you think Ricky would have wanted?"

I continued to try and free myself, but his strength, honed by his years of playing club rugby, was too much for me. All the fight went out of me, and I sank face down onto the grass, my body shuddering as uncontrollably as TJ's had been just a minute or two earlier.

"He's bloody laughing," I repeated weakly, before the grief and the pain washed over me like a tidal wave, and I collapsed into wretched, inconsolable sobs. I felt wetness dripping onto the back of my neck, as my brother-in-law broke down, and then small hands on the sides of my face, trying to lift my head. Sensing that the immediate crisis had passed, my brother-in-law released his vice like grip, and I knelt up, immediately finding myself with thin arms hugging my neck. My eyes met TJ's, and I instinctively returned his hug in kind, as we stayed there, unmoving, for long minutes, Ricky's two lovers coming together, clinging to each other, lending each other what comfort and support we could.

****

I kept in touch with TJ for several years. In those pre-internet, or at least, pre-widespread access to the internet, days, he and I wrote long letters to each other, three or four times a year. His family moved a month or two after Ricky's funeral, 30 miles or so, and into a different school district, so that TJ wasn't confronted by his assailants every day. He knew he was gay, probably from even before he'd met Ricky, but he could never tell his parents, at least in the time that I was in contact with him. And, although he never said so specifically, I was 99% sure he knew I was Ricky's 'friend' in the UK, the one he'd asked TJ's blessing to 'do stuff' with. Our 'pen pal' relationship finally came to an end when he left home to go to college.

My wife and daughters went on holiday to California, the year after Ricky's death, but I just couldn't face it, and stayed at home. The memories, the sense of loss, were just too raw. Everyone was very kind about my decision. They all understood.

Those memories had practical consequences in my life at home, too. I'd never been an especially gregarious person, and, as time progressed, I found it increasingly hard to connect with other people. Particularly with boys. As my daughters moved into their teen years, and began dating, new, young faces appeared at our house periodically, as the girls went through the cycles of 'young love', going out with a boy for a few weeks or months, then breaking up and starting again with someone new. I always tried my best to be polite and welcoming, but it was very hard work for me, and there were times when my aloofness was all too obvious. When Laura was around 13 or 14, she spent almost a year going out with a youngster of around the same age called Jack, a relationship that only ended when his family moved away. After we'd been out for a birthday meal for Lindsey, to which Jack had been invited, Laura confronted me in our living room.

"Why don't you like Jack, Dad? He was trying to talk to you all night, and you just kept blanking him. He was really upset!"

"I....I do like him, he's a nice lad, and I know he thinks the world of you. I wasn't blanking him, I was talking to everyone." I felt I was telling the truth, but, as I reflected on what my daughter was saying, I realised that I'd perhaps not gone out of my way to engage him in conversation. I was confused myself, I couldn't have said why I was so cool towards him. Then Laura, with her customary insight in her dealings with me, hit the nail on the head.

"I know why!" she exclaimed. "It's because he looks like Ricky, isn't it?"

And there was indeed a resemblance. Not like identical twins, or even close to that, but the colour of Jack's hair and eyes, the shape of his mouth and nose, all hinted at my lost boy. I tried to speak, but no words would come, for long seconds.

"I....I'm sorry, Laura. That's all I can say. It wasn't....conscious. It's only you saying now about....Ricky that's made me realise." Emotions that I'd begun to be able to suppress were rushing back to the surface, and my lips quivered. Laura noticed, and hugged me tightly.

"I'm sorry, too, Dad, I should've known. I know how much you miss Ricky."

You don't know the half of it, I thought, more than a little bitterly, but that was no fault of Laura's, of course, so I said no more, but simply returned her hug.

In addition to the specific problem Jack had inadvertently caused me, there were more general issues, too. TJ had tried to take the blame for what had happened, but what I hadn't told him, or anyone else, was the responsibility I felt. Over and over, I thought about the question Ricky had asked me on that Saturday night, and how I'd answered him. If I'd told him that it was wrong for him to love another boy, or man, even if it hadn't been a truthful answer from my perspective, would he have still been alive? Rationality said that there was no possible way of knowing, but I tortured myself, year after year, with the thought that I'd signed Ricky's death warrant. And then there was my own relationship with the boy, too. Every day, seemingly, the tabloid press was full of headlines screaming about 'paedophiles' and the damage they did to young lives, and each new story I read felt like it was aimed straight at me. I was one of those 'evil, perverted predators', I must be, I'd had sex with a 10 year old boy, hadn't I? I'd claimed to love him, but was it just vile lust after all? There were times when the depths of my self-loathing were almost limitless, to the point where my wife was trying to get me to see a doctor, thinking that I was suffering from depression. And she might well have been right, but I always managed to drag myself back onto something like an even keel, and carry on with life.

****

But then Aidan had come along. When he was born, I was thrilled to have my first grandchild, and thrilled for Laura, who adored him, but, almost before he was out of nappies, I found myself in some very dark places, contemplating what I might do to him if the wrong circumstances arose. So I resolved never, never to be alone with him, never to allow myself even the slightest hint of temptation. Because I was a 'paedo', and not safe to be around boys, after all. To make matters worse, as he grew, he was developing a distinct family resemblance to Ricky - Ricky had taken after my sister, and Laura after me, and Aidan, in his turn, after her. His hair was fair rather than light brown, and his eyes more greenish than hazel, but the likeness was there, nonetheless. Through sometimes tortuous convolutions and evasions, I'd stuck to my secret resolution not to be left alone with Aidan through his first eight years, but now that my wife was gone, the dreaded moment was on the threshold, with no way, other than to tell Laura everything, and doubtless losing her and my grandson for ever, of evading the situation.

"The interview is a week on Monday," Laura was telling me, "with the Q & A after assembly on the Tuesday morning. That Monday is a 'non-pupil day' at our school," - Aidan attended the school where she worked - "so if I could bring him over on Sunday afternoon, it would give me time that evening to do some final preparation, then if you could take him to school on Tuesday morning, I should be back in time to pick him up in the afternoon. If anything changes, I'll ring you. Is that all OK, Dad?"

It seemed to me that the scenario was getting worse by the minute - not only would Aidan be staying for two nights, but he'd be around all day on the Monday as well. I didn't feel I could hesitate again, or Laura would really start to wonder what was going on.

"Yeah, that's fine, I'm sure us boys will find something to do with ourselves. And there's no need for you to rush back on the Tuesday, I can easily meet him after school, and you can pick him up from here. Will you let the school know I'll be there - I don't want them to think I'm kidnapping him, or something."

Laura laughed.

"They've seen you often enough, Dad, you've been to his school plays and sports days before. But, yes, I'll tell them you might be picking him up."

Aidan bounced back into the room at that point, popping a large purple grape into his smiling mouth.

"Left any for me, little man?"

He smirked. "No, I ate them all up!"

"I'd better make sure to get a good supply in for next weekend, then." He looked at me quizzically.

"You'll be staying with Grandad for a couple of days," Laura told him. "I'm going down to Penzance for a job interview, and Grandad's kindly said he'll look after you."

"Really? Brill-i-ant!!"

"You're not going to miss me then, Aidan?" his mother said archly.

"Yeah, I will....but...."

"But staying with Grandad is better?!"

"Well....not really, but....sort of...." Aidan stuttered in his confusion.

"Come here, scamp, you know I'm only teasing!" The boy rushed into Laura's embrace. "I know you love me, but I know you love Grandad, too! And we both love you, lots!"

Aidan turned to me. "When am I coming, Grandad?"

"Next Sunday, if all goes according to plan, then staying till Tuesday morning."

He tried to calculate how many days away that was, before resorting to counting on his fingers. "Nine days time, then?"

"That's right, sunshine. And Mum tells me you don't have to go to school on the Monday, so you'll have to think about what you want to do that day, and let me know. The world's our oyster!"

"Our what? What have oysters got to do with it?"

I chuckled. "Just an expression, little man! It means we can do whatever we want - within reason, of course!"

"That gives me an idea! Can we go to the aquarium, and then have fish and chips from the chippy for tea? Please, Grandad?" Laura was a stickler for healthy eating, so a chip shop 'feast' was a rare treat for Aidan.

"I don't see why not! Is that before or after we go to the supermarket and buy a truckload of grapes?"

"Both!" Aidan yelled, before collapsing in fits of giggles. How much more special could that boy get?!

****

The following week or so passed quickly for me, and although I doubt Aidan would have agreed, almost too quickly, because my trepidation at the prospect of my grandson's visit grew steadily as the time drew nearer. It's just a matter of self-control, I kept telling myself, but memories of Ricky and what we'd done together were present, day and night. It culminated on the Saturday night prior to Aidan's arrival, when I had a lengthy and vivid erotic dream, with Aidan as the protagonist. I woke, in the small, dark hours of the morning, groaning, and it took a great deal of resolution not to call Laura and confess everything to her there and then, only my knowledge of how much the opportunity she'd been offered to further her career meant to her holding me back. I laid awake for what seemed like hours, trying to come to some sort of decision as to what to do, without achieving anything, before finally drifting back into sleep. And I dreamed again, this time of Ricky, of times we'd spent together, doing our 'boy stuff'. I heard the dream Ricky say 'It's been so much fun, Uncle Pete'. I woke again, with tears in my eyes, but curiously reassured - it had been fun, the vast majority of it, and, aside from that one night, and its brief sequel on the moor, nothing even arguably inappropriate had happened. I could spend time with a boy without his being at the slightest risk, I told myself. I've done it dozens, hundreds of times, and that realisation made me feel much better, leaving me to set about the preparations for Aidan's stay in optimistic good humour, a feeling I'd seemingly almost forgotten.

It didn't take long for that optimism to be not so much punctured as torpedoed, though, once my guest and his mum had arrived. Laura was, as mothers will prior to entrusting their offspring to another, running through a long list of Aidan's habits, likes and dislikes, most of which I knew already, but I humoured her concern. Then the bombshell dropped.

"Oh, and Dad, Aidan's due a bath tonight. I tried to get him to have one before we left home, but he wasn't buying it - 'bathtime's before bedtime' - you know how kids are." My heart lurched in my chest. "If you could run it for him, he can pretty much look after himself, but he'll need you to wash his hair for him, and if you can check that he dries himself properly, he has a tendency to get distracted and miss bits, and end up with wet patches on his pyjamas! Will that be OK?"

My head was screaming 'no, no, no!' , but I heard my voice say 'Yeah, no problem'.

Laura went on her way, Aidan and I waving from the front door in, for me, a poignant echo of the scene with Ricky, all those years earlier. And then I closed the door, leaving me in the place I'd vowed never to allow, alone with my grandson. He looked up at me, a happy smile lighting up his face.

"This is going to be fun, isn't it, Grandad?"

"I hope so, little man. What shall we do until teatime?"

In the event, we didn't do anything of any great consequence. Aidan wanted to look at the aquarium's website, so we went on the computer for half an hour or so, then he watched a little TV, before asking me to read him a story. All unremarkable enough, but all inexorably leading to the inescapable event horizon I was dreading, of Aidan's bathtime. I didn't even have to prompt him - just after 7:00, he turned to me.

"Is it time for my bath now, Grandad?"

"I guess so, shall we go and get the water started?"

Without further ado, the boy scuttled up the stairs, with me following in his wake, feeling like I would imagine a condemned prisoner must, making the last walk to the execution cell. By the time I entered the bathroom, Aidan had already stripped to his underwear. He unselfconsciously shed his last garment, and put it on top of the neat little pile of clothes he'd made by the door. I stopped as suddenly as if I'd walked into a brick wall, hardly able to breathe, as I saw a naked boy for the first time in a quarter of a century. And how like a smaller version of Ricky he was, the family resemblance extending to his slender body. He looked at me curiously, dragging me back to some semblance of my senses.

"Do you like the water hot or cool, Aidan?" I asked, as I opened the taps.

"Not too hot, but quite warm, please."

"Okey-dokey, let's see what we can do for you."

I left him to splash around for twenty minutes or so, looking in every so often to check that he was safe and sound. Then he called me.

"Can you wash my hair please, Grandad?"

"Have you washed the rest of you?"

"All over! Mummy's teaching me to wash my own hair, but I always get shampoo in my eyes, and it stings!"

"I know, I used to hate that when I was your age, too! Come on, then, let's get the job done. Keep your eyes tight shut!"

A couple of minutes later, with his hair rinsed and the few stray suds wiped away from his face, Aidan was ready to step out of the bath, and into the large, fluffy towel I was holding for him.

"Can you dry me, Grandad? Mummy does sometimes, and I like it!"

Again my breath caught in my throat, my chest constricting almost painfully. I really, really didn't want to be touching this lovely youngster any more than was absolutely necessary, and a comment about his being a big boy and more than able to look after himself was on the tip of my tongue. He picked up on my reluctance.

"Oh, pleeeease, Grandad!"

How could I resist? "OK, little man. Over here, then, on the bath mat." He grinned enthusiastically, and stepped towards me. I turned him this way and that in the towel, drying all the nooks and crannies of his smooth body. He had his back to me while I dried between his legs, and when he turned to face me again, I instantly saw his little penis had sprung into a full erection, the two inches or so of flesh almost vertical against his body. He noticed the direction of my glance and giggled, blushing slightly.

"Sorry, Grandad, it does that sometimes!"

"Yeah, you and just about every other boy in the history of the world! Just a natural reaction, don't worry about it."

"Mummy said it's natural, too, and happens to everyone. She said it's my body testing itself out, to make sure everything's working for when I'm older, in case I want to help a lady make a baby. Did it happen to you when you were a little boy?"

"It sure did, sweetheart."

"And it must've worked when you were older, because you made two babies with Grandma, didn't you, Mummy and Aunty Lindsey?"

"That's right, mate. There, you're all dry now, shall we go and find your pyjamas?" We walked hand in hand to his bedroom.

"Grandad, can I tell you a secret?"

My heart missed another beat. "If you like."

"Well, sometimes, in bed, or when I'm in the bath....I....tickle my willy and make it go hard. It feels nice to stroke it, it gets all....kind of itchy, but nice itchy. Mummy saw me doing it once, and told me to stop. Is it a bad thing to do, Grandad?"

"No, I don't think it's a bad thing, but it's a private thing. I don't think Mummy would be that worried about you doing it, as long as you don't do it so much you make yourself sore, but she wouldn't want to see you doing it. It's something nearly every boy does, though, especially boys a few years older than you, and quite a lot of grown-up men, too."

"Do you do it, Grandad?"

"Blimey, Aidan, that's a personal question!"

The boy let go of my hand abruptly. "Sorry," he mumbled. I looked down at him, to see his eyes were filling with tears.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, I was only joking, don't get upset." I put my hands on his narrow shoulders. "Anyway, an honest question deserves an honest answer. I did it a lot when I was a boy, although I didn't start until I was 11 or 12, and, yes, I still do it occasionally. Because you're right, it does feel nice. Don't go telling everyone I told you, though, especially not your mum!"

"Of course I won't! You won't tell Mum about me, though, either, will you?"

"My lips are sealed, little man! Our private thing, yes?"

"Yes, Grandad!" He was looking much happier.

"Good. Right, let's get you pyjamaed, then you can read me some of your book before it's time to put your light out."

An hour or so later, when I looked in on Aidan, he was soundly asleep. And I won't be far behind him, I thought, after my previous, dream-disturbed night. I slipped gratefully into my own bed just after 10:00, with the distinct feeling of having dodged a bullet.

I woke to the feeling of a small hand on my shoulder. I glanced blearily at the clock, 2:10.

"Grandad?"

"What's up, Aidan? Can't you sleep?"

"No, I....I'm scared, I keep hearing noises."

The central heating pump was in the airing cupboard in his room, I guessed that was what had disturbed him, cutting in and out under the control of the thermostat.

"There's nothing to worry about, little man. It's just because you're staying in an unfamiliar room, that's all."

"Can I sleep with you in your bed, Grandad?"

Once again, all sorts of alarm bells started going off in my head, but Aidan was looking so forlorn in the dim light from the landing, and my qualms were certainly no fault of his.

"Alright, then, just for a little while. Give me a second to find some shorts, or something, I don't usually wear anything in bed."

The boy's eyes widened. "You mean you're all nudey under that quilt? Grandad!"

"Come round the other side, and get in, while I put something on. I've not worn pyjamas or anything to bed since I was about 16. I'm not the only person in the world to sleep naked, by a long way."

"Wow, I'd like to try that, too. Can I take my 'jamas off?"

"No, Aidan, please don't. Your mum wouldn't like it."

"She wouldn't know - I wouldn't tell her." He'd unbuttoned his top already, and the pale skin of his chest and stomach seemed to glow in the gloom. I was frozen in place, my mouth dry as a bone, as he slipped the pyjama jacket off and laid it on the chair beside the bed.

"Aidan...." I tried to speak, but my voice refused to co-operate, and the boy took my silence as consent, as the bottom half of his nightwear followed its counterpart onto the chair.

"Now I'm as bare as you," he snickered, before climbing over me and sliding down underneath the duvet.

"Oh, wow, this feels nice, the sheets and quilt are so soft on my skin."  He snuggled himself into my side. "Your legs are all hairy, Grandad, and your tummy is, too." He laid his hand on my stomach, and rubbed gently, as though he was stroking a cat.

The silky sensation of his body against mine, the movement of his hand, had its inevitable effect. His hand stroked a little lower, and accidentally brushed against my erection. He gasped, and his head disappeared beneath the cover.

"Grandad! Your willy's gone hard. And it's huge!"

Huge I most certainly wasn't, but to his young eyes, my average stature doubtless looked that way.

"Aidan, we need to put some clothes on." He resurfaced, and looked at me confusedly.

"Why, Grandad? It feels nice cuddling up with you bare."

"It feels nice to me, too, but adults and young boys aren't supposed to be bare in bed together. People would think I was doing something horrible to you, hurting you."

"You're not hurting me at all. And it's not horrible, I like it." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "My willy's hard, too, now." He turned a little, onto his side, and I could feel his erection pressing against me. He wriggled his hips.

"Ooohhh, that feels really nice, better than when I stroke it, even."

"Aidan, sweetheart, we can't do this, we really can't. I love you to bits, but however much we might want to, I can't do sexy stuff with you, I'm just not allowed to, because you're too young, and you're my grandson, as well. Now please, darling, put your pyjamas back on, and I'll put something on, too. You can stay in here with me, but only if we're wearing nightclothes. I don't want to upset you, but that's the way it's got to be. You'll understand better when you're older."

My little speech had the desired effect, Aidan retrieved his pyjamas, while I found a tee shirt and a pair of sweat pants in one of my drawers. He was silent, though, and evidently disappointed, while I was aching inside, and completely ashamed of myself. Not because I'd allowed a naked boy into my bed, but because I'd both patronised him, in using his age as a 'weapon' against him, and, far more, because I hadn't told him the truth. I did love him, but, even after all these years, I loved Ricky more, and whatever else Aidan was, he wasn't Ricky. And that was the real reason I couldn't make love to Aidan. Not because he was too young, not because he was my grandson, but because I would've been unfaithful to Ricky. Aidan got back in bed, and was asleep within minutes. I wish I could have said the same about myself.

****

The remainder of Aidan's stay was uneventful by comparison. The boy had returned to his normal chirpy self by the time we got up on the Monday morning, apparently undisturbed by the events of the early hours. We had our day out, and Aidan's 'special tea', and after a lengthy chat on the phone with his mum, the boy was sufficiently worn out to both fall asleep earlier, and to stay in his own room until he heard my alarm go off at 7:00 on the Tuesday morning.

Aidan was used to leaving for school somewhat earlier than most of his classmates, going in with Laura as he usually did, so the fact that it was a half hour drive from my house to his school rather than his customary ten minute walk didn't disrupt his morning routine greatly. In fact, arriving at much the same time as his friends was something of a novelty for him, and one he seemed to enjoy. I left him at the gate, after reminding him I'd be picking him up again after school, and he walked in with a couple of other boys, chattering excitedly about his experiences at the aquarium the day before. As I turned to walk back to the car, I spotted someone, seemingly watching me. A youngish man, several days away from a shave, but otherwise superficially unremarkable in appearance, dressed in jeans and a hooded top. As soon as he realised he'd caught my attention, he vanished around the corner of a side street. I walked to the junction, but there was no sign of him. Something stirred in my mind, the thought that he seemed somehow familiar, and that I ought to have recognised him, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I stood there in thought for a few moments, but my mind shed no more light on the situation, so I shrugged inwardly, and headed for the car.

Laura rang me at lunchtime, telling me that the interview process seemed to have gone well, and that she was hopeful of a positive outcome. She'd taken the opportunity I'd given her by offering to collect Aidan after school to spend a little time investigating the rental housing market in the area, and said she'd be at my place by 5:00 to pick her son up. Aidan finished school at 3:15, so just after 2:30, I was in the car again, heading back to meet the boy. I arrived with ten minutes or so to spare, and, given that it was a mild, sunny afternoon, I ambled towards the school gate to join the throng of waiting parents and carers, predominantly female, as is the way of such things. Standing a little way from the others, partly hidden by the trunk of a large tree, was what seemed to be the same young man I'd glimpsed that morning - certainly it was someone wearing the same type of top, or one very similar. In so far as I later remembered thinking about it at all, I assumed he must be the father of one of the pupils - he was certainly of an age, perhaps just into his thirties, where he could easily be the father of a primary school age child. And, within a matter of minutes, that assumption was proven to be right, but not at all in any way that I was expecting.

The children had started to emerge, the youngest ones appearing first, the older a minute or two later. I craned my neck, keeping a careful watch for Aidan, in case he'd forgotten about my picking him up. He was heading my way with one of the boys he'd been talking to that morning, though, soon spotted me, and waved. I waved back, and moved to the right hand side of the school gate, to get Aidan pointing in the right direction to where I'd parked my car. As he said goodbye to his young friend, there was a sudden flurry of movement in front of me, as the young man rushed forward and grabbed Aidan's hand, pulling the boy roughly towards him. Aidan screamed, and numerous heads turned towards the disturbance. Instinct kicked in as far as I was concerned, and I grabbed the man's shoulder in turn, trying to pull him away from my grandson.

"Get your fucking hands off of me," the man snarled, as he half turned to face me. "My son is coming with me."

The recognition that had eluded me before clicked into place instantaneously. Brendan. Laura's ex, and, indeed, Aidan's father. Now I was in a position to see him up close, though, it was little wonder that I'd failed to identify him earlier in the day. In place of the handsome, clean-cut, if utterly feckless young man I'd known, the best part of a decade earlier, was an almost ghoulish figure, hollow-eyed, sunken-cheeked, with a look I can only describe as disconnected on his face. I had no idea whether he was under the influence of drink or drugs, or whether he was mentally ill, but he certainly didn't seem to be in any sort of control of himself. He again tried to shake himself loose of my grasp, while simultaneously attempting to drag the boy with him.

"Grandad, help me!" Aidan wailed.

"I said, fucking let me go, you old twat. That bitch has kept me away from him for too long, he's mine now!"

"Over my dead body, Brendan!" The sound of his name seemed, just for a moment, to stir a modicum of awareness in him, as if he knew, somewhere deep inside, who was confronting him.

"Over your dead body! If fucking necessary!" he sneered. That twist of his lips threw me back years in a heartbeat, to another sunny day, a world away. A composite of images flashed through my mind in a moment, tears in a hotel lounge, a boy hugging me tightly in my kitchen, the same boy whimpering in the ecstatic throes of orgasm in my bed, a kiss blown at an airport, cold, dead lips. Not again, I told myself, it's not going to happen again, I lost the best boy in the world, I'm not going to lose the second best, too. In the same moment, I was aware of a quick movement, a metallic flash, of searing pain in my left arm as I instinctively turned away from the blow, then everything in my head imploded into one movement, as my right fist smashed into Brendan's temple, propelled by every ounce of anger, hatred and hurt in my psyche. He collapsed like a house of cards in the wind, dragging Aidan down with him. The boy squirmed free, and rushed to wrap himself around me, sobbing hysterically. I sank to my knees as the adrenaline ebbed from my system and my nervous system fully registered the pain coursing through my injured arm, registered the sickly sensation of blood running down over my skin.

"Are you alright, Aidan?" I heard an male voice ask, and I looked up to see a middle-aged man with a school ID attached to a lanyard around his neck. "Oh, my God, it's Laura's father, and he's been stabbed! Has someone called the police, and an ambulance."

"On their way, Mr Abbott," someone replied, and I realised that it was the headmaster, Laura's boss, who had arrived on the scene. At that moment, Aidan evidently saw the blood that had soaked through my shirt and pullover, and wailed again.

"Don't die, Grandad, please don't die!"

I heard the sirens in the distance, and closed my eyes. Then, suddenly, there was a new sensation. No new pain, just a feeling of yawning emptiness in my chest, as though my heart and lungs had been sucked into a black hole. Then nothingness.

****

Until I woke up here. The cardiac unit at the general hospital. I've had a serious heart attack, it seems. I'm doing my best to keep fighting, to do what Aidan wanted, and not die. And to tell my story, while I still can. They've been helpful, in letting me use my laptop, for a little while, an hour or so, each day, and in keeping it charged for me. I'll have to buy the nurses a big present when I get out of here.

****

Epilogue


This is Laura.

Pete, my dad, died last week. He had another massive heart attack, and the hospital could do no more for him. I brought his things home, including his laptop. And I found this story.

As you might imagine, the contents of the story have shocked us all. No-one had any idea at all about Dad's sexual relationship with Ricky, my cousin. Certainly, if I'd known, I would never have let Aidan stay with him. But if Aidan hadn't stayed with him for those couple of days, and Dad hadn't been the one to collect him from school when Brendan turned up, who knows what might have happened, to my son, or to me? Aidan is heartbroken about his Grandad's death, naturally enough. But he has the resilience of youth on his side, and he's a tough little cookie, too, and I'm sure he'll come to terms with things in time.

But how do I feel? It's so difficult to say. The gut reaction is to hate him, to be disgusted by what he did. There's little doubt, though, that Ricky wasn't raped, or coerced into sex by my dad, if the way he told the story is true, but Ricky was only 10, and my dad should've known, did know, that what he'd done was wrong. But I have equally little doubt that he genuinely loved Ricky, and that Ricky loved him. Even though I was a only a young girl at the time, I remember the way they were with each other, and the love was so clearly there. And, ultimately, he was my dad, and I did, and do love him, even knowing what I know now.

There is, in the public psyche, a stereotypical image, largely fostered by sensationalist tabloid journalism, of what a 'paedophile' is, a monster, a predator, sub-human. But, as a teacher, and as the daughter of a person many, if not most people would attach that simplistic label to, I can attest that it's not always as straightforward as that. My dad was a good man, who found, unexpectedly, the greatest love of his life in a young boy. If he was a monster, then there are a lot of monsters in the world. I know Dad didn't believe in God, or in life after death, and neither do I, but if there is somewhere spirits go, I hope so much that he and Ricky can be together. Doing their 'boy stuff' for eternity.

****

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B