"I hear you had a good afternoon, darling. That's nice."
"Eh? Oh, you mean James has been talking to you. Yes, he seemed to enjoy himself."
"He thinks the world of you."
That was a new one. They hadn't ever said that to me before. I wondered if she was laughing at me, and looked at her sharply. No, no trace of mockery, and I knew her well enough to know when…Not that it happened often.
"Well, he's not too bad himself, for a kid."
"You mustn't let him run your life for you while you're here, dear. I'm sure the Evanses wouldn't want you to start getting fed up with him and then leave him stranded."
"What? Leave him on one of the islands? Mother, what do you think I am?"
"No dear, I didn't mean literally. I meant that if he gets to rely on you so much that you suddenly say you don't want to be with him any more, then it'd spoil his holiday."
That was another new one. I didn't have to worry about things like other people's feelings at school, or whether I was leaving them behind when they thought they should be with me. God knows they never worried about mine. And I had few friends to worry about. No, on balance I was happy to have James' friendship for a week or so. He may be small. But I'd started to think life wasn't quite so sparkly when he wasn't around. Like now.
"I don't think that'll happen," I said out loud. "He's quite mature for his age…" Another of my mother's sayings, usually about me, dammit. "…And not bad company at that. It's nice to have someone else to sail with. Someone smaller than Dad, that is," as I noticed the hurt look come over her. She was partly convinced.
The gong rang for dinner. I'd made it to the hotel lounge to talk to my mother with five minutes to spare.
The Evanses and my father were already in the dining room when we got there. James's grin unzipped again in my direction and I smiled back more sedately. All through the meal he talked to his parents, and wondered what he could find to tell them that couldn't have been said in two minutes. I hoped he wasn't giving a blow-by blow account, or he might tell them about taking off his shorts, and us having a pee together, and me feeling his shorts to see if they were dry, and him having a shower with me watching, and how this lump kept appearing in my shorts…No! He wasn't that talkative, surely. I only half believed it, anyway. But I was still a bit anxious.
I cornered him afterwards, before he had time to follow his parents and mine into the lounge.
"What were you saying to them? You never stopped all through the meal."
"I just told them about what we did."
"What, all of it?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"And how you showered in my room?"
"Yes. Why, shouldn't I?"
"Well…" But then I thought that the Evanses hadn't complained, and I felt sure they'd have gone straight to my parents if they thought I'd done anything wrong. I hadn't touched him, after all. Well, only the once to see if his shorts were dry. But he was walking again, following them into the room.
"Well, Martin," said Mr Evans. I had stroke of panic. Was this it? "You had quite an afternoon with James, I hear. We've heard twice, in fact!" And he laughed, as did my parents. As did I, although I didn't know what he was talking about.
"You seem to have looked after him very well, and thank you." What? Was he praising me? I went almost weak with relief. "And even letting him use the shower in your room. That was kind. I hope you don't mind. I know he leaves our bathroom in a mess when he uses it…"
"Aw, DAD!"
"Shut up, Jimmy. You do. Where was I ?…Oh yes. I hope he didn't leave yours in a mess. And I hope you checked to see that he washed everywhere, too."
I didn't know what to say. Anxiety and relief are both strong emotions, and when evenly balanced the brain can't cope. All I could do was to grin at James' — I couldn't think of him as a Jimmy — discomfiture.
"Oh…er…no," I stammered. "I had a shower afterwards…" Good. I got that one in. "…and it seemed just as I'd left it."
"That's not saying much," said my mother. It was my turn to get the grin from James.
Mr Evans laughed. "I'm surprised you didn't have a shower with him. That would have left a battlefield."
I couldn't believe my ears. Was he really suggesting it? But why? I realised with a shock that I must be a good actor, or that James' parents were as innocent as their son. The whole family seemed to trust me. I heard myself say: "Perhaps after tomorrow" and smile weakly.
Now at that moment I could no more have stood up than fly, not without my physical state being obvious to everybody. So it was just as well that James latched on to my last phrase.
"I can go in the boat again tomorrow, can't I? Please, Dad?"
"Well, if Martin doesn't mind. I can't blame him if he does. He wants some time to himself. And I know he wants to take his father out too."
The pleading face fell. Then brightened. "Why don't we all go? All six of us?"
"No thanks!" "I'm not going in a boat that small!" These from the Evanses, father and mother respectively.
"James, we'd never fit all six into her. It'd be bad enough with three when Dad comes with us sometime," I said.
"Are you coming, Mr Finch?"
"Not tomorrow, James. His Mum and I are going into the countryside. We're walking. Do you want to come with us, Martin?"
I looked at them, half wanting to be with them and half wanting to be sailing with James. No, in fact it was more ¼ to ¾.
"I'll sail, if you don't mind," I said.
"And me?" asked James.
"I suppose so," I said, mock reluctantly.
I escaped, eventually, and half expected James to follow. I would have been embarrassed and rather annoyed if he had: as he didn't I was disappointed. I went into the garden, and then wondered about walking down into the village. So I went back and half told, half asked, my parents if I could.
"Can I come?" It was inevitable, I suppose.
"No, darling. I think Martin's had his fill of you today, and besides, it's bed time soon."
"Aw, Mum…"
"No, none of your 'aw Mums'. And if you moan I'll take you up there now, and get Martin to come up and tuck you in like a good little boy when he returns."
Her son glared at her, not knowing whether she was serious or not. I stood up hastily. "Right, I'll be going then. Goodnight James. I'll come and tuck you in later."
All the adults laughed. I felt double faced. I'd just made him feel small like I'd been made to feel so many times in the past, and I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I walked away. I didn't dare look back.
I was unhappy as I walked down the hill. I had this nagging thought that I might just have lost a friend. I'd lost them before, but that was school and didn't count. Anyway, they probably weren't friends anyway. Really. But I'd started to like James…Jimmy? Could I ever call him that? No! Mind you, I might not have the choice by the time I got back.
I was about three-quarters of an hour, and feeling happier as time got on. I felt sure he'd not have taken it seriously. I looked in at the lounge and found the adults in deep conversation, so I just said "I'm back. Goodnight" as I passed. I got a chorus of good nights in return, then Mrs Evans called to me.
"Martin, thanks again for looking after him. Don't feel you've got to take him with you, you know. I mean that. He's used to being with us as we go round."
"No, it's OK, Mrs Evans. I like his company. Oh…" I swallowed, having just found the courage from what had been said earlier to say what I was about to. "Should I go up and say good night to him?"
"Yes, my dear, of course you can. That'd be kind and I know he'd appreciate it."
My heart leapt. "Goodnight," I said gleefully, and sauntered as casually as I could from the room. But once out of earshot I ran. All the way to the back of the hotel where our tower opened up…I ran up the stairs all the way to his door.
And then paused, breathing hard. What was I doing here, outside the bedroom door of a kid? Being scared to go in. But why here at all? My brain refused to focus. I was about to tiptoe back downstairs when two things happened.
Firstly I realised that I'd asked his mother if I could come up. And the second…
"Martin? Martin, is that you?"
It sounded frightened, that voice. I couldn't just stay outside. So I pushed the door open and said "Yes" at the same time.
"You scared me. I just heard footsteps, then they stopped, and all I could hear was breathing. Phew!"
He laid back down on the bed again, the grin just starting to dazzle again. I'd been so worried that I'd been horrible to him that his ready acceptance of my being there warmed my heart. I had got to his bedside by now and just stood there, looking at him.
"Well, aren't you going to tuck me in, then?"
"Huh!" was all I could think to say.
"What you could have done was to wait outside the outside door for me, and I'd have gone to bed, then got up again and joined you."
"What, and have your parents worried sick if they came up to check on you?"
"Oh well, if you're going to be like that."
"I'm sorry I was horrible to you." There. I'd said it.
"Were you? When?"
"When I went out."
"Oh, that's OK. Are you really going to take me sailing again tomorrow?"
"Yes." I was so relieved that I forgot to be hesitant.
He bounced up and down in the bed. The springs creaked alarmingly.
"Shhh! You'll wake the bloke below!"
He stopped immediately. The double take took some time. "But that's you!"
And he started bouncing again, even harder.
"Good night, James." He stopped again.
"Good night. Can I use your shower again in the morning?"
"Yes."
"Good night."
I escaped. It took me very little time so get into bed, but thinking of his morning shower made me take some time in getting to sleep. Still no white stuff.
It was cold the next morning. I was woken early by a noisy milkman in his float as it crashed and rattled its way down the hill. My nose was cold and I pulled up the bedclothes to cover it, then tried to get to sleep again. I was just drifting off when I heard the quietest, politest knocking any door has ever received. I had already started imagining the forthcoming shower, and wondering if I had the balls (if you see what I mean) to strip off and get in it with him. So I was quite receptive to the idea of his coming into the room.
Only not at 5.30.
I took my hands away from between my legs where I had been sort of instinctively warming things up, and called "Yes?"
The door swung open and a voice shivered, rather miserably, I thought, "Can I come in?"
"Come on, then."
The door shut, and bare feet padded on the linoleum floor. The mat started just by the bed. I turned my head in his direction, thinking he was just anxious to get going, and saw just a bundle of misery, teeth chattering, red eyed, hugging a blanket round himself.
Now I may have been a hard-nut fourteen-year-old but this small bundle of misery really got to me. "What on earth's happened?"
"I've been awake ages," he sniffed. "My room's freezing and I can't get to sleep. Then the milk thing woke me even more and I don't know what to do."
I didn't either. Part of me was saying 'get him into the bed, for goodness sake, and get him warm'. Another part was saying 'no. You'll get into trouble, and you're not wearing anything anyway'. I looked at him in indecision, and as I did so and he shivered, a tear rolled down his face. That did it.
"You'd better come in here, then. But I've got no clothes on."
Did he worry? Did he heck. He'd pushed back the covers before I had a chance to make room for him. Damn, that other side of the bed was cold. He dropped the blanket, and I could see that he was wearing just a pair of briefs which slopped around his waist and didn't really seem to touch him anywhere. In his haste he dropped the blanket on the floor and was pushing against me so as to get in and covered as quickly as possible. He certainly was cold. His cold body was making me cold. My nice warm bed!
"You're freezing!"
"I said so."
"Yes, but I mean really cold."
"Sorry."
"Why didn't you come before?"
"I didn't want to be a nuisance."
"Idiot."
Sniff.
"Come here."
And I gave in to myself and put an arm over him. He immediately pushed closer to me and nearly froze me solid. But I could feel he was more comfortable. The arm that was over him felt around for the bedclothes and pulled them over us properly, and right up to my chin. Any higher and he'd probably get suffocated. The arm that was still in front of me was a problem. It was very near to his middle, and I didn't want any accusations of fondling…Mind you, his hand was near to my middle, and my middle was getting bigger.
"I'm going to put my pants on." I made to move.
"Don't go. It's nice and warm."
"I've got to wear something. It's not…right."
"Why?"
"It just isn't."
He was in no mood to argue. I turned away from him and wondered where I'd dumped my clothes. Damn: the floor, just near where he'd got in the bed. Well I couldn't ask him to pass me my underwear. I carefully got out, making sure my front was facing away from him. But how to get round the other side whilst still doing so? Fortunately the cold solved my problem for me, and although it meant he'd see me completely naked it was better than with a mast sticking up in front. I'd seen him naked the previous day, anyway.
As swiftly as I could I picked up my Y-fronts and clambered into them, then ran back to the other side of the bed. More at home this time, I arranged us so we were in a proper hug, his head just below my chin, and our arms more or less round each other. After a few minutes he sighed gustily, and I shivered as the draft from his nostrils chilled my chest.
"That's better," he mumbled. I could feel him wriggling, and soon he was in contact with my body for more or less his entire length. I hoped he was getting too sleepy to realise there was a bit more of me to rest against than there had been. But it least that bit was warmer than the rest of me.
I drifted off to sleep. He already had.
KNOCK, KNOCK.
I woke up with a start — unusual for me because I'm usually in a stupor for at least half an hour. I started grasping for the thistledown of my thoughts which, after the second knocking, became cotton wool and then suddenly the reinforced concrete of full awareness.
I was in bed with a boy. He was five years my junior. We were only wearing underwear. I had my arms round him. Somebody was about to come in.
"Just a moment!" My voice, in panic, had regained the high treble of childhood. My bedfellow woke with a start. Something about his eyes told me he was one of those appalling people like foxes, who are instantly fully awake. His wide eyes met mine.
"Someone's at the door!" I whispered.
"So what?" he said, and dropped his head back on the pillow.
"Get up. Go in the shower. Go ON!"
"Why?"
"Because you shouldn't be in here. It's…they wouldn't understand."
"Why?"
"Oh, for goodness sake, just GO! The shower. Start having one. We're probably late for breakfast."
At last the reinforced concrete had discovered its foundations and a coping stone. I looked at the clock. We were.
"We are."
"What?"
"Late for breakfast. It's ten to nine." Breakfast was at 8.30.
He flung himself out of the bed and across the room to the shower. I covered myself up again.
"Come in."
It was my mother. "What are you doing? It's breakfast. We've almost finished ours, and you know we want to go out today."
"Sorry Mum. Overslept. Couldn't let you in earlier 'cos James was just undressing for a shower."
"Ah yes, James. He's in there. Of course. Does that mean you're both going to be late?"
"Not very. But can you tell his Mum and Dad not to wait? We won't be long."
"I think you'd better get in there with him to save time."
Not with you standing there, I'm not.
"Yes Mum."
"All right, I'll tell them. They won't be pleased. Hurry up."
And she went off again.
Now here's a cleft stick. I've just been told to have a shower with James. Half of me wants to, but the other half doesn't want to be seen naked by him. I know I'd just had my arms round him, but…And what happens if I have an erection?
Damn.
I was having one.
I got out of the bed and walked to the cold linoleum. I dropped my pants. I was very worried. Do I just brazen it out? Do I climb back into bed? What will he say and think?
In desperation I went over to the door of the shower, wrenched it open and walked in. The small pink seal looked at me, wide eyed. Then grinned.
"You've got a stiffie!"
Blast.
"Yes. Men often have them in the mornings."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Are you going to make room for me under there or do I have to push?"
"What, with your stiffie?"
"Just move, will you?"
I kept my back to him as much as possible. It was a bit late, admittedly, but I had to keep some show of good taste going.
We made the breakfast table by a quarter past nine. The bacon was very stiff.
"Just like you," he said, and giggled. I ignored him.
I managed to meet up with my parents before they went, and he did the same with his. After apologising for the oversleep they seemed happier, and I asked if I could take a packed lunch. They told me to arrange it with the hotel, or buy something in the village if I couldn't.
"How about James? Are you getting one for him?"
"Yes. I'm going to see his parents in a minute."
"All right. Have a good day, and be careful!"
"Yes Mum. You too."
I ran the Evanses to earth in the lounge. There seemed to be a discussion going on. I heard the tail end of a sentence. "…but you've got to understand that he doesn't want you with him all the time." James' grin was buttoned right up. I stopped, blinking, not wanting to interrupt.
"Oh, hallo, Martin." Mrs Evans' voice sounded a bit strained. "I hear James was cold this morning and burdened you with his problem. You should have sent him to us."
Oh God. Was I being found out? I stammered, suddenly feeling weak. "Er…well…it was very cold, and it seemed the best thing to do. Perhaps I shouldn't have…I'm sorry." I'm sure I was blushing furiously.
Mrs Evans looked at me curiously. "No, no; you did exactly the right thing. I'm just sorry he woke you and lumbered you with himself."
Just a minute…that wasn't furious accusation. Was she being sarcastic?
"Well…er…I didn't mind, really."
"It's kind of you. But we've told James he mustn't bother other people."
"He's no bother, Mrs Evans. In fact I was cold too, and it was like a hot water bottle."
I don't know why I thought of that, but she laughed suddenly. "Well, he mustn't get into the habit of it. It's not fair. Now darling, are you ready?"
"Oh!" I said, my heart suddenly sinking a little. "Is he going with you?"
"Yes. We've been talking, and it's very nice of you to think of him, but you don't really want him with you. It's wonderful to find someone who'll put themselves out like you have for him, and perhaps if he could go with you now and again that would be nice. But you need your freedom. No, it's best if he comes with us today. 'Bye"
She was just ushering James and her husband out of the door when I thought of my trump card.
"But Mrs Evans…I've just ordered a packed lunch for us, so we can spend all day sailing and going round the islands."
She paused. I still wasn't sure if she thought I was 'after' James, or even if she thought I was the sort of boy who would go 'after' other boys. But she looked at me, then at her son's unhappy face, then at her husband. And she sighed.
"Well, I tried to give you your freedom, Martin, but if you're really sure and you're not just being kind, then so be it. Go on then, you. Go and get changed, but mind you're back in time for dinner. Showered first, if you're salty.
Once again the whoop of unexpected joy, and the hug for each parent, and I think he'd have hugged me, too. They laughed and said their farewells, and we were alone. He just looked at me. I raised my eyebrows.
"Come on then. We've got some lunches to order." The eyes went big.
"D'you mean you haven't got them yet?"
"I never had a chance."
"But you said…"
"Look, do you want to go sailing or not? And bring a towel this time, will you? We might go swimming."
It was another perfect summer day, quite a change for England in August. We visited another island after we'd sailed around a bit to give him the hang of using the tiller, and he wondered about lunch. I had the feeling that it wasn't lunch time yet (I never wore a watch on the water) and said we'd better wait a bit. He eyed the lunch bags hungrily.
"Look, we've moored in the shelter. Let's walk across the middle of the island and see if it's OK to swim on the other side. Then we can have lunch afterwards. It' safer that way, too. You know you mustn't swim after eating. You get cramp."
"What's cramp?"
"Don't know, but it hurts and stops you moving."
"Oh."
So we set off into the woods. I thought he'd crash about like any young kid, but he was surprisingly light on his feet and attentive. He pointed out some red squirrels which I'd have missed. I was glad to see them because we only got grey ones where I lived. Eventually the southern beach opened up in front of us.
Luckily all that coast is sand, except near streams where it's mud. This island had sand, I'm glad to say, which made life a lot more pleasant. I flopped down onto it, having spread my towel out first. He did the same, then started taking off his shoes.
"Come on!"
"What? Just rest a bit will you?"
"I want you to teach me to swim."
"Teach you…? But I thought you could swim a bit."
"Not very well. I only started learning last term, and we only got two lessons."
He shouldn't have been sailing at all.
"For goodness sake, why didn't you tell me? I should never have brought you with me. Even with a life jacket."
He was straight faced again.
"Please?"
"Oh, come on then. I hope you've got some swimming things this time."
"No. Why, should I? It's only us."
"We've been through this before. What if somebody else comes here?"
"I rush up the beach and get my towel while they're looking the other way."
I didn't answer. Something was nagging at my mind…Yes. I knew where my towel and swimming trunks were.
On my bed in the hotel bedroom.
I looked at him. "I can't teach you today."
"What? Why?"
"'Cos I haven't got my trunks."
"Good. You can swim in the nude."
"No I can't."
"Yes you can. Look, it's easy." And without a care he pulled off his shirt and threw it onto the sand, then pushed down his shorts and stepped out of them, standing deliberately just in front of me. I gave a sort of short whimper.
"I can't do that."
"Yes you can. Look. I'll show you. Stand up."
"Why?"
"I'll do it for you."
"You won't!"
"I will!" He danced round behind me, and I had to bend to see what he was doing. He did a sort of war dance behind my back, dodging first one side then the other so I had to keep bending one way then the other. I got fed up with this, and stood up so as to face him. With one swoop he had his hands on my shorts waistband and had pulled them to the ground.
I bent immediately to pull them up again, but he had rushed round the back of me again and had pulled my underwear unceremoniously off my bum. I tried to grip them with my thighs, but he just pushed me. I went sprawling; the shorts round my ankles saw to that. While I was off balance on the ground he somehow got my shorts completely off my feet, and stood there laughing while I lay panting on the sand with my bare bum in the air.
"Give me my shorts!"
"Come and get them! If you don't get undressed and come and teach me to swim I'll throw them out to sea."
"You dare!"
He walked down to the water and waded in, holding aloft the only piece of clothing I had with me that wouldn't get me laughed at or worse as I walked up the hill and into the hotel. Any erection I had when he was wobbling his way round me was long gone with the anticipation of the shame of that.
I called him some choice names which I'm sure he'd heard before, and then made up my mind. He'd seen me naked before. There was nobody else around. It wasn't a big deal, was it? It felt like it. His nakedness was hidden by water and mine wouldn't be.
"All right," I called. "Come back and put my shorts on the beach and I'll come in with you."
"Yeahhhhh!" Like a line from the Beatles. He waded ashore, but stopped at the edge of the water.
"Come on then."
"What?"
"Take 'em off."
I called him some more names and stripped off my underpants. He crossed to my towel and carefully dropped my shorts on the beach.
"You rotten little sod," I called him, as the breeze blew at parts of me it had never done before. " I've a good mind to drown you."
There was a silence at that. I looked at him. He was very serious.
"You won't duck me, will you." It was a statement, not a question.
"I might."
"I…I …oh."
He sat down with a bump.
"What's wrong."
"I don't like getting my head wet."
"But you have to when you're swimming."
"That's different."
"Well you weren't very nice to me."
"Well…you wouldn't play."
I realised that I was standing in full view, nude, holding a conversation. "Come on. I won't duck you, but let's just get in the water."
I made him show me what he could do. Doggy paddle, and that was it. I took charge again. I was still a bit sore about the ease with which he managed to get my clothes off. I mean, I'm not a fighting type at school, never have been. But I should be able to control the activity of a 9 year old. But I'd said that I wouldn't duck him, and I'd stick to that. But he was going to work hard.
Remembering when I was taught, I got him to hold his arms in front of him, bring his legs up behind, and kick. This put his head in the water, and he collapsed, spluttering.
"Don't be a baby. It's only water. Look, bend down and just put your face under water."
He did. It stayed there for half a second.
"No, longer. Count to ten."
He looked at me and took a deep breath, the blurted out "You're not going to hold my head under, are you?"
"I promised that I won't. I want you to be able to swim, remember? Come on."
Another breath. The body bent, the face went in. I counted to ten and he still didn't come up. I let him stay there, and at last there was a gurgle and up he came, breath and water blowing in my face as if he had been drowning.
"That's twenty," he shouted when he'd recovered.
"Good. Now you can do that, give me your arms, I'll support them, get your feet behind you and gently kick."
"How?"
"Like this."
I swam a few strokes away from him, hopeful there was nobody else around to see my bare bum sticking up out of the water.
"See?"
"OK." I took his hands again, and his bum came to the surface. I thought again how trusting he was. Nice.
He made a good show of the leg movements, but I made him keep going until he collapsed spluttering again.
"Every few moments you have to bring your head to the side and breathe. Try and breathe out one side, then a second later breathe in on the other."
He mastered it eventually.
"OK, not bad. Next, you've got to lean forward in the water and I'll support you on my right arm, then I'll put the left one under your waist. Just hang in the water with your face under it again."
I held the arm out, just under the water, and he leant against it. My left one went under his middle, and I slowly took his weight on it, lifting him onto his feet. I had him totally at my mercy, and the knowledge sent a thrill through me. If the water had been less cold I'm sure I'd have reacted. He still had complete trust that I wouldn't duck him, and I didn't have the heart to.
The next step was the obvious one of doing the same, but having him do the movements of the crawl. I told him he'd have to go on doing this for a long time, and as his co-ordination improved I felt it more and more difficult to stop him from moving in the water. At last he stopped, panting.
"How'm I doing?"
"Swimming, more or less. Get your breath, and we'll have another go."
It took him no time at all to resume, and he was now pulling so strongly that I lowered my arm slowly into the water. He started to move, and I felt his willy push over my arm……wow……and hurriedly put my right arm under his middle to keep him upright. He stopped.
"What did you do that for?"
"What?"
"Let go."
"I didn't. You swam off."
"What?"
"You were swimming."
"I wasn't."
"You were. Look. Do it again. This time I'm going to lower my arm, but it'll still be under you. OK?"
We got to the same stage as before, and I lowered the arm as I said I would, after letting him trail his willy over it again. Well, I had to have some perks. To my surprise he just kept going! I launched myself after him, catching up easily. On one of his breaths he saw me by his side and immediately stopped.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm trying to keep up with you."
"D'you mean I was SWIMMING?"
"Yes! What else?"
"Blimey."
We decided to quit while he was ahead and have lunch.