The first thing I remember in the morning was a perfunctory knock on the door, bounding footsteps, and the bedclothes being thrown back.
"Wasseremarrer?"
"It's time to get up."
"Go 'way."
"Come on, or I'll tickle you."
"Go 'way!"
The next minute I had doubled up, gasping, as two surprisingly strong arms had dug into me half way down my sides. He was tickling me unmercifully and my semi-comatose brain couldn't cope with getting free. Eventually I managed it, and held the marauding hands away from me while I recovered, panting. That wake-up was the quickest that had happened to me for years. I released his hands.
Big mistake. He was on me again in a flash, and was pinning me down on the bed by lying on top of me. But for the nerves which were telling me that he was attacking my sensitive sides again, having his body lying on mine was…so wonderfully friendly. It was really the closest I'd been to him. I couldn't get much closer. His pants clad body was pushed against mine, his face just inches from mine, and his laughter rang in my ears until I was dizzy. Or was that the tickling?
I felt the result before I could do anything about it. Fortunately we were both quite sweaty after the warmth of the night and a little more humidity around our nether regions went unnoticed. By him. I realised what had happened and it made me act. I pulled myself together and grasped his arms again, this time holding them, then transferring both to one hand, holding his wrists down in front of him. Too bad if the back of my hand was resting against his rather damp pants…The free hand wondered what to do. But it soon discovered he was even more ticklish than me, so the lightest touch on his chest and stomach caused severe giggling from the other end.
I was as unmerciful to him as he had been to me. Under arms, stomach, sides…I was trying for his feet, but obviously couldn't get near without rearranging my grip.
Eventually I went for broke.
"Are you going to give up, or do I have to tickle your willy?"
He was still gasping, giggling, half crying with laughter, from my last onslaught.
"You wouldn't dare…"
Silly boy.
It wasn't actually very pleasant, as he, too, had lost control for a moment. But he wriggled and bucked and tried to break free as I found it and traced its length under the damp clothing, then put my finger lightly on his balls. The eyes widened and he drew in his breath. I released hurriedly, fearing a scream. But he just lay still on top of me, breathing as heavily as I was.
"Are you awake now?"
I just looked at him. There is a moment when you just can't stop what you're about to do, and this was mine. I released the wrists from my hands, put both arms round him and squeezed gently. Yes, a hug, I didn't kiss him. Kissing was something you did to girls, wasn't it? But I held him in a gentle embrace, his head face down on my left shoulder, his breath blowing gustily still on me, and the length of his body still on top of mine.
I could have stayed there all day. But he would move soon, I knew.
"I think we'd better have a shower, don't you?"
"That's two in one day."
"Well? Do you want to go round smelling all day?"
He stood up. I was naked, of course. I put my hands on the waistband of his pants and pulled down. He stepped out of them, and I threw the rather unpleasant things towards the door.
"Not clean on, were they?"
"No. Yesterdays."
"Good."
We had another leisurely shower, washing each other without shame. I even soaped over his waist in the front and for the first time washed over his little willy and half-formed balls. He didn't bat an eyelid, just accepted it as if I'd been a parent. Which is how I viewed myself: as a part-time parent or an elder brother. I certainly felt the love of a brother for him, even though I'd never experienced it, being an only child myself. But that must be what it was. It couldn't be anything else — he was a boy, after all.
The day was the hottest so far. We sailed to a different island this time, in case the parents thought to follow us, and although it was smaller it was better. On its coast, and opposite the village on the mainland, but far enough away to be private, was a small inlet which gave even more shelter than the main bay did. As the inlet curved sideways from its mouth the privacy was greater too. But we explored it fully clothed first so we shouldn't be surprised. I had wondered if he'd go naked immediately out of devilment, but he made no move to. The south side, when we got there, had the remains of a small stream which had flowed into the sea. It was muddy, and the mud had caked and split. We put down our towels some way from it, as it looked as if it smelt.
As usual we stripped off. We didn't even discuss it by this time, it just happened. I didn't even check to make sure he was naked before me.
We swam for ages. Then we had lunch and lay in the sun, sweating. At last I couldn't stand it any more and thought I'd go and have a look at the dry stream bed.
Actually it didn't smell too bad. Earthy, yes, but not revolting. Carefully I put a foot onto the cracked almost black surface and pushed. No problem. I thought I'd walk over it to the other side, took two steps and was immediately up to my knees in soft goo.
After the initial panic I decided to wade further: the next step had me on my face in it. It was wet, very sticky, and clung on, as my uncle used to say, 'like shit to a blanket'. It was also cool. I wallowed, which, in the nude, was absolutely glorious. It was one of those things that mothers would hate on the grounds that it was unhealthy, dangerous and above all dirty. Which means to their sons that it's tremendous fun and an expression of freedom. To do the thing properly I made sure it was in my hair, round my mouth, just inside the cheeks of my arse, and certainly all over my willy and balls and under my legs.
I must have looked like a pygmy. At least I hoped so. I climbed out and walked the hundred yards or so to the sleeping, skin-reddened James.
"Hrumphhh."
He opened his eyes in my direction. Quicker than it takes to describe it, they opened so wide I thought he'd lose them, he gave a sort of wail and scrambled to his feet as if he'd just seen a raging tiger. He backed away fast, and when he saw that the raging tiger wasn't following he turned and ran. And, which I thought was sweet, yelled my name.
The effect was a bit too good. I yelled after him.
"It's me, you fool! Come back!"
He slowed, then stopped and looked back, still very unsure. I raised an arm. Rather, I tried to raise an arm, but the heat of my body and the almost oppressive warmth of the day had all but set the mud, so it was a feeble effort and a bit painful.
"It's ME, James. I'm covered in mud. Come back, do. It's great."
Slowly he walked toward me, completely straight faced. As he neared me he paused and looked hard, and gave a sheepish grin.
"You scared me." He sounded very shaky.
"I saw. It's good, isn't it?"
"I was really scared. What is it? Where did you get it?"
"Come over here. It's mud from a dried up stream."
Almost reluctantly he followed me to my wallow, and I showed him where I'd been. Tentatively he put a foot on the solid bit, as I had done, then tried walking over it. He broke through the crust and sank in to his thighs.
"Ugh! It's horrible!"
"Come over here, and splash about a bit."
"No. It's horrible."
"Oh, come on James, it's only mud. Look."
I picked some up and plastered it on my already black chest.
"I just want to get out."
"It's lovely. Just give it a try."
He tried to walk toward me, but was in too deep to make any headway. He looked a bit worried. I thought I'd better intervene. I crossed over to him, and yes, the mud was thicker there. I put two black arms round his waist and pulled upwards, over balanced backwards and fell into it with him on top of me. Fortunately he rolled off immediately, otherwise I think I'd have vanished under it. As it was my face was almost covered. We got up, he found he could stand, and gave me a shaky smile.
"You look awful."
"Yeah. Good. You don't look so clean, either."
He was heavily smudged. Not covered like me, but quite filthy.
"Come on, get it all over you."
I don't know why I wanted him to get covered. It just seemed like a good idea. To give him credit he started picking at the mud and smearing it on, but I wanted him to wallow like I had. I encouraged him over to where I'd rolled around, and did it again.
"Like this. Come on!"
He came over and sat in it, still smearing his legs. I grabbed some handfuls of mud and rubbed them over his back and neck. After much coaxing he got his face dirty, and I told him where the uncovered bits of skin were, so he could cover them. When he was done we both looked like pygmies, and I led the way back over the beach at a run. I no longer felt naked. The mud was my clothing. We went into the thin woods and played tracking games, although we never found anything apart from our own boat, so I made up a sort of Robinson Crusoe story for us and we tracked on…
When we got back to our towels we were both uncomfortable because the mud was really hard and flaky, and the edges of the flakes were inclined to stick in a bit. So we looked at each other and said, almost at the same time: "Swim?"
It melted off eventually, but getting it out of our hair took some doing, and I swear his looked a bit darker than it had started. It was good to get back into the cool water. The afternoon seemed to be heating up, and mud or no mud it was quite uncomfortably hot. I climbed out of the water and looked at my watch which I'd made myself wear for a change. It wasn't really time to go, but I thought we were both getting a bit red because of the sun.
We walked back to the boat, still naked, drying off as we went. Pulling her down to the water was a hot, sticky affair. She wasn't built to be hauled about by a 14 and a 9 year old. We were so exhausted by it that I waded into the water again to cool off. He followed suit, of course.
The voyage home was spent in just our shorts. It was too hot for anything else and we were both wet from that last dip. I was beginning to long for a cool drink and a shower. We moored, and the haul up to the hotel was hard work for us both.
"I don't blame you for coming back early," said one of our waiter friends from the previous morning's breakfast. "It's hot enough to boil the bay and make tea. And there's going to be storm. It's forecast for tonight."
I felt more than saw James stiffen and looked at him. He appeared uncomfortable. The grin was zipped right up. We left the man, got our drinks and headed off to the tower and my room.
"I hate storms."
"That why you looked like you did?. What don't you like about them?"
"Dunno. Everything."
"I love 'em. They're exciting."
He looked at me as if I was mad. "Well I don't."
It was too hot in the room to do anything active, even with the windows open. I lay on the bed, the drink at my side. Of course he did the same. And there we stayed, sweating, taking an occasional swig, until I thought it must be getting on for dinner time.
Cautiously I stood up, as slowly as possible to avoid strenuous movement.
"I'm going to have a shower."
He looked at me. "Can't be bothered."
"Come on. It'll be great."
"Don't want to move."
Well, he had got me that morning, and despite the mud incident I thought it was time I got one up. I climbed onto the bed and grabbed his ankles, and lifted straight up until he was just holding himself up by his hands and head — a sort of involuntary handstand. I ignored the calls of 'stoppit…stoppit…' and put my right arm round his calves to hold him up. The other hand descended to his shorts. How to do this? It was a bit daring, but by now I was getting careless with intimacy. After all, it was him who started going over the island without clothes. I carefully gripped the leg of his shorts by his thigh and worked my hand underneath, making sure not to touch anything. When I had a good grip I let go with the other hand. He saw what I was doing and flailed about, trying to support himself on the bed and hold his shorts up at the same time.
I won. I had the satisfaction of watching his rude bits and his legs sliding away from me, and he lay panting on the bed. I was left with a pair of shorts that I could no more get into than fly, so I dropped them on the floor and stood there looking down at his naked body. He had a sort of half smile, so it was all right.
He could move quickly when he wanted to, even if too hot. And before I knew it his hands were grasping at the front of my shorts. He wasn't as circumspect as I had been and grabbed a lot more than he should. I bent over, trying to get the delicate bits he was holding away out of his grasp, and eventually succeeded, although he didn't let go cleanly.
"Ow!"
"Well you did it to me."
"I didn't touch anything."
"Nor did I."
"You flaming well did. You nearly wrenched it off!"
"I didn't touch it, though. All I got was cloth."
"You know what I mean."
"Well, are you going for this shower?"
"Yes, and I'd better make sure you've not damaged anything."
Unselfconsciously I dropped my shorts, sat on the bed and looked at it, and checked the other bits all round. It looked all right, and it didn't hurt now, but I wasn't about to tell him that.
"Just as well."
"Why's it bigger than mine?"
"'Cos I'm older than you."
"Yeah, but it's thicker, and your balls are bigger. And why's it get stiff sometimes?"
"It all gets bigger when you get older. And it gets stiff on its own. I don't make it." I didn't say that was often a lie.
"Yeah but why?"
"So you can get it into a girl."
"What!?"
"When you have a girl, you stick it into her pussy."
"What's a pussy?"
"It's the hole girls have under their legs. Where we've got balls."
"Why?"
"'Cos that's what makes them girls."
"I mean why d'you put your willy in there?"
"When you love her and want to start a baby."
Biology, human relations and morality, all care of Martin. I felt proud of myself answering his questions. I must have known the answers myself for all of three months. And I wasn't embarrassed at all: quite an achievement for me. It must have given him something to think about. He was silent after that.
"Are we going to shower, or are you going down to dinner like that?" I asked him when I realised we'd finished off that bit of conversation.
"It's so hot, I just might."
"You wouldn't dare!" I said, and I knew he wouldn't. I'm glad he didn't dare me back, 'cos I wouldn't either.
We showered, same as before, and felt better for it. I was growing quite bold, and washed him everywhere, even telling him to separate his legs so I could do under there. I think the only place I didn't do was between the cheeks of his bottom. He started work on me and did the same. I reacted when he washed my willy, and he giggled as it grew in his hand and stood up. He washed it carefully, realising it was as tender as his, but without any special attention or overdue regard for it.
It was just nice knowing that we trusted each other, were happy with each other naked, and neither of us was scared of touching the other's body. Anywhere. It was real friendship.
Although the shower was cool, by the time we reached the dining room we were both hot. I had decided that I couldn't face the normal long grey trousers I was meant to wear to dinner, and put on as smart a pair of shorts as I could manage. My parents weren't too happy about it, but as I had coincided with the dinner gong there was no time to make me go back and change.
We all had salads, and I don't think any of the guests had anything afterwards except ice cream. We certainly didn't. The heat was still almost overpowering, although the evening was drawing on.
The lounge, for both our families, was out of the question. We sat in the garden, the adults talking in a desultory way and James and me just lying on the grass trying to keep cool as the haze seemed to gather round us all and make it feel even hotter.
He fell asleep first, and was woken up to be told to go to bed. What a silly thing to do! If you're asleep, sleep, especially when there's no way you're going to get cold. And in that temperature…
I lasted about another hour or so, and then they woke me too. I'm fourteen! If I want to sleep on the grass I'm entitled to! But there was no way round it, and at least if I was on my own I could check for signs of physical progress.
Which I did. There was none. But it was always very good trying.
I lay on the bed by the open window, trying without success to catch any slight breeze. Bedclothes were out of the question, as were any other sort of clothes, but then I never did.
I woke in the pitch black of night. All the street lights were out as it was past midnight. There was no moon. But in my disorientated state I had no idea what had woken me. My stomach was cold, and I felt it. Wet. My brain raced on. I'd heard of wet dreams, but never had one. Was this a first? Had my constant exercises finally persuaded my body that it was time I was enabled to start a family?
Then another raindrop came through the window and landed coldly on me.
Damn.
This was not pleasant. I pulled myself together enough to get to my feet and pull the window up a bit, even if that did mean even less chance of a breeze. I turned away from the window.
The flash lit the room with a blue flicker which tricked the imagination into seeing things move. The suddenness brought a gasp from me as my senses overloaded and my heart beat faster. The thunder, about ten seconds later, was less of a shock. I love storms, and turned again to the window to watch. The long gap eventually persuaded me to get back to bed, although the raindrops weren't so much falling as plopping, they were so big. I lay back and wondered If it was going to be as exciting a storm as the day had been hot.
The next flash startled me less, and the one after even less. Thunder rolled across the bay. Gradually nature built up her forces and the artillery gained strength. The noise was rumbling around, with the occasional louder crash as it all hotted up.
Suddenly there was what I could only describe as a near miss. The lightning seemed to be in the room itself and the noise was instant and mind-bogglingly loud. It scared even me, who knew and liked storms.
I heard a noise from above, a treble sound, just as another flash and crash shook our tower. This time the sound was recognisable as a wail, almost a scream, of terror. James.
Ignoring the need for clothes I flung myself across the room and bounded up the stairs. As I neared his door I could hear him crying like a young child. I knew I was right to be there and I knew I had to do something. I went in and switched on the light. He was under the bedclothes, shaking with the sobs off terror which had engulfed him.
"James…James…" I called. There was another crash from outside as if in answer and another wail came from under the sheet. I crossed to the bed and put my hands on his shoulders. He tensed for a moment, then went limp.
"James!"
"I'm scared!"
"It's all right, I'm here now. It's safe."
"Can I come down to your room?"
I thought. He'd been in with me before, and this was a better reason.
"Won't your parents mind?"
"I go in with them if there's a storm."
I had a mental picture of a four year old in bed with his parents, and then a nine year old doing the same. Well, if they did it I supposed it was all right.
"Come on then."
We were about halfway down the staircase when the door from the main part of the hotel opened. He was in front, and froze. Quite understandably, as we were both naked. Steps started up the stairway toward us. We turned as one and scrambled upwards again.
No sooner than our bare footfalls restarted than a voice called.
"Who's there? Is that you, James?"
It was his father. Thank goodness. Or should I? Here I was with his son, late at night, both stark naked. The thunderclap shook the hotel. James squeaked again.
"James, it's all right. You can come in with us." The steps came upwards again. He turned. His father's expression when he saw his son naked on the stair was quite a picture, but before he could say anything James spoke in a scared voice.
"I'm OK, Dad. Martin came up to be with me and we're going down to his room."
"Oh…er…is he there?"
"Yes, he's just behind me."
"Thank you Martin…um…do I understand you've got nothing on, either?"
I gulped. All he had to do was come up a few more stairs or follow us into his son's room which he had every right to do and he'd see for himself.
"Yes, sir."
"Oh. Right. In that case I won't come up and embarrass you. But thanks for going to him and being with him. I wouldn't dream of lumbering you with him all night. We're used to it and he can come with me now."
"But Dad, I want to be with Martin…ahhhh!" as yet another crash echoed round the tower.
"It's not fair on him, James. Now come on."
"But Mr Evans, I really don't mind. And…and he can't go round the hotel now or in the morning with no clothes."
"Martin, you're a great guy…" Here it comes, I thought. "…But it's just not fair on you. You need your sleep too."
"I can't sleep with all this going on. But when it ends I shall, and so will James. I'm all right with him, really. It's…company for me, too." Well, that was true, although not in the way he thought I meant.
"Well…if you're sure."
"Yes, I don't mind a bit."
"All right then, and thank you once again. James, you behave yourself, and if you wake early you're not to wake Martin. I don't mind what time you're down in the morning, and I'll suggest to your parents, Martin, that you probably need to catch up some sleep too. Good night, the pair of you."
"Good night, and thanks," from both of us.
I waited for him to go and then came back down the stairs to James who was by then looking really scared to be left on the staircase on his own, even with me so near. Quickly I pushed him into my room where we were welcomed by another tremendous flash and clap. The boy just turned round, flung his arms round me and buried his face in my chest, sobbing. What could I do but hug him back?
"It's all right. There's no danger. You're with me now, and your parents know you're safe."
The last bit was for me, really. I was so relieved that the Evanses were happy that we were naked together and were about to share my bed together. Between thunderclaps I guided him over to my bed and put him by the wall. I climbed up on the bed, leant over him and shut the window completely to keep both rain and noise out.
"That's better," I was saying, when right outside the window there was the most amazing flash I have ever seen in my life. It lit the garden and, according to James later, the interior of the room as if by full summer sun, but blue. But the thing that stayed in my mind for days afterwards was the sight of a mature tree, just at the far side of the hotel's tree lined garden, exploding. There's no other word for it. It just shattered into shivers of wood and bits of branch. There was a strong smell of burning and another smell which I couldn't recognise.
I made a strange sound and supported myself on the window ledge. The violence of the bolt had scared even me rigid, and my instinct was to get down and lie in bed, shaking. But the incredible sight of the tree just glued me to the scene.
I was aware that James was really crying loudly beneath me now.
"Come and look at this, James, you'll never believe it."
I don't think my weak, scared and annoyingly high-pitched voice gave him much confidence, because he just continued wailing and sobbing so much that I decided that his needs were greater than my curiosity. A last glance round the scene showed me there was no fire, just a smoking, shattered stump which was being very effectively damped down by the torrential rain. So I dropped down to the bed, joined him under the sheet and put an arm protectively over him. Immediately he turned towards me and once again buried his head against me, the free arm round my waist. Another crash outside, but not quite as violent as the first. I felt him tense, and the keening increased a bit.
I rearranged us so I had an arm round underneath his, so we were in a sort of joint bear hug. If it had been an ordinary night I think it may have been embarrassing for me and puzzling for him, for I should have been so affected by his nearness and dependence on me that I should have…grown. But as it was, he was scared and I was, well, not unaffected by what I'd just witnessed that it was for mutual comfort we were together.
Every time the storm spoke our hug tightened. He did everything he could to get as close to me as he could. But about five minutes later there was a knock on the door.
"Damn," I said, and made to release the hug, although we had just had another major crash. The door opened anyway, and the light went on. I looked over my shoulder. Dad.
"Martin. Thank God you're…Oh, and James too. Good. Are you both all right? We've just had a near miss and your mother and I were worried. Are you sure you don't want to come into our room? We don't mind, you know. I know you're too old really, but if you're worried…What the…?"
Another figure had appeared behind him. Mr Evans. Great.
Now I had a nine year old boy in my arms, we were both naked and our bodies were pressed together, and the fathers of each of us were at the door, watching. Apart from the thin sheet which covered us and the lack of the audience of the rest of the hotel's guests and staff it was just about the most embarrassing thing that could have happened.
"I had to come back. That was such an awful crash that I thought the hotel had been hit. Are they OK?"
"Yes, Pete. I think they're looking after each other."
I could see my father's face soften, with a smile that I'd not seen for years. I used to notice it every time he took me on his knee when I was really small, and we used to talk: he would talk and I would come out with some words and some baby stuff as if we were having a conversation. Then I outgrew that, and he was away a lot, and I missed him. But I still remember that smile and love it.
Now I knew that I was really all right.
"You know, I think they're OK together, don't you?"
James' father came over to us, just as another flash and almost immediate thunderclap rent the night. He looked at his son, whose face was still buried in my shoulder.
"James? Do you want to come in to our room?"
The head shook, wiping his nose on my chest. I don't think he even looked up.
"Well, if you're sure. I think the worst's over now, anyway, although it's still bad. But if you do want to come, just come in. Perhaps Martin could go with you, although I hardly like to ask him to do anything else for us. But if you need…well, it's up to you both."
They turned the light off and left us. I heaved a sigh of relief.
As he had said, the storm was dying down a bit, and as time passed our grip on each other eased, we found comfortable positions and drifted off to sleep.
We were still in a comforting, close embrace though. Comforting to him, that is. I didn't need it of course.
I woke up first to find the sun streaming into the room. In front of me, his back to me and pressed firmly against my front, was James. We were rather intimately touching, and as I awoke I found that my body was intent on pressing against him even harder. As I was in contact with him everywhere, any movement was bound to wake him, so I just let the pressure against a particular spot on his thigh grow.
I had never woken feeling as good as this, as warm, as right, as aware of someone else, before. This must be what it's like when you wake up with your wife, I thought. But now, at fourteen, it was James who was my most intimate friend, not a girl, and I smiled happily to myself. I felt like kissing his sleeping head. But that was between man and woman, wasn't it? Not between boys. But he was so much younger than me, and I did look on him as a young brother.
Very gently I drew near to his head and softly kissed against his hair. It seemed a bit impersonal, when I was feeling so close to him in mind, so I bent my head and kissed his neck too. Then I settled back and happily closed my eyes again.
He was next to wake, and his wriggling woke me up too. To my disappointment he moved away from me, then seemed to come to a bit, and turned over. He looked at me with no expression on his face.
"Hallo," I said, tenderly.
The grin unzipped a bit, tiredly. The eyes closed again. I remembered the night and how he'd needed that cuddle, how nothing else seemed to matter except physical comfort. I felt like that now. Timidly I put out an arm to go round his shoulders, and wriggled towards him. He looked at me as if surprised.
"Wassermarrer?"
"Nothing," I said, wondering whether to withdraw. "I'm feeling a bit cold, that's all."
"Oh."
I left the hand there.
"You OK?"
"Mmm. Warm. Comfortable. Nice."
It certainly was. I'd have liked him closer though.
"You tired?"
"Mmm."
"Going back to sleep?"
"Mmm."
"Rest your head on me, then."
He looked at me, puzzled once again. I wondered if I'd gone too far.
"You don't have to."
The smile returned. He wriggled again, toward me and we got our arms out of each others way by putting them round the back of each other. His breath blew on my chest. My damn body played up immediately.
"Your stiffie's touching my leg."
"Sorry."
"'Salright."
And there we lay, dozing. For the first time ever I just felt…complete. Based on a few days' acquaintance he had accepted me without reservation. I had accepted him the same way. If this was what being a father to a son was all about I couldn't wait for my body to register more than 3ΒΌ inches on the ruler, to start getting wet dreams, whatever they were, and start making a mess when I exercised it so I knew I could start a son of my own. Perhaps then girls would start to notice me and attract me.
Steps on the stairs. Knock knock. "Can I come in?" My father.
I rolled over, squashing James' arm so he squeaked. "Hang on!"
I hastily got out of bed and put on my dressing gown over my naked body, hoping the tie would hold and not allow my protuberance to peep out.
"OK!"
"Hallo, you two. You've woken up then? I didn't think you'd want to sleep the morning out. I checked earlier, but there was no reply and when I looked in you were both dead to the world."
So he'd seen us cuddled up together, had he? He didn't seem to mind or think it wrong. But then…he was my real father, whereas I was just James' honorary, part time father. Had he felt the same about me when I was nine as I did toward James now? But then he hadn't been fourteen when I was nine, so perhaps it was different. But he must have felt something along the same lines. My heart warmed to him at the thought, and unusually for me, I went up and gave him a hug. He kissed the top of my head.
"Recovered from last night, have you?" His voice sounded a bit choky, like mine used to before I started to cry. I looked at him sharply, but he was looking out of the window at something. Hmm. If a hug had that effect on him perhaps I'd better do it more often, especially when I wanted something.
We'd missed breakfast by over an hour, but there was coffee and biscuits in the lounge and we made do with that.
"The tree!" I exclaimed, remembering.
"What?"
"The tree in the garden. It exploded last night."
He looked at me, wide eyed, as if I was mad. Then the remembrance of the storm returned, along with how frightened he'd been. I saw it in his face. He shivered.
"Come on!"
I led the way out of doors. The day was fresh and cool and the air smelt clean and washed. It had an effect even on James. The remains of the tree made a sorry sight. The trunk was about six feet high, but ended in shards as if it had been made of glass and I'd knocked it off the mantelpiece. But the shards were blackened and smelt of a doused wood fire, like I knew at camp. There were the remains of branches all around — for some distance all around — and smashed twigs covered the ground. We were impressed.
"It could have been the tower." He was right, of course, and the thought silenced me too. What would I have done if he'd got killed by lightning? What if he'd not come down to me, or I'd refused him entry to my room and he'd got killed by lightning? I shook my head and got rid of the if's.
Fortunately the packed lunches were ready for us, and, very late, we started off to the jetty.
He'd got quite good at steering the dinghy over the last three days. I wondered if he'd be strong enough to hold the mainsheet and do the whole job. I looked at him, sitting on the centre thwart and staring ahead, trying to feel the wind on his cheek like I'd told him, so he could judge where exactly it was coming from.
"James." He looked round sharply, thinking I was going to let him steer again.
"Your turn."
Eagerly he made his way to the stern and I swapped sides. We'd got used to doing this, so the boat's trim was undisturbed. He took the tiller like an old hand.
"Here you are. Take this too." I held the sheet so he could reach it. He looked at me wide eyed.
"You mean…sail properly?"
"Yes. So long as you can handle her. Keep her like that. I'll take her if there's a problem."
Like a hawk he'd been watching every move I'd made since we started together. It wasn't surprising that he knew what to do. All he needed was to be able to join up the messages the wind gave him with the amount of sheet to pay out, and keep steering straight as well. He latched on quickly. I had to take her once when a squall hit us, but all the rest of the time he sailed like a veteran. I even trusted him to tack the four times we needed to in order to get to our island. I can't say they were the best manoeuvres the dinghy had ever done, but we got there. He turned her into the wind when I said: I lowered the mainsail and he went to attend to the jib.
I rowed ashore. He had been straight faced with concentration all the time he was sailing, but now the grin had unzipped as far as it could without causing physical damage. We anchored. Immediately he was out, had planted the anchor, had ripped off his clothes and was running up and down the beach like a spring lamb.
"I did it! I did it! I can sail!" he kept shouting. I was caught up in his excitement, ridiculously pleased for him — even if he'd still got a lot to learn — and laughing at his antics. As well as his sense of achievement I think now it was also a reaction against his imagined horrors of the night. I stood and watched, until his spring had unwound a little and he ran up to me He stopped about two yards off, and suddenly the face was serious.
"Did I do all right?"
Well, what could I say? "You did very well."
He looked gravely up at me, straight into my eyes.
"Thank you for letting me."
It wasn't the words, but the contrast between how he'd just been flying round the beach with nothing on, like some pale savage, and now was standing in front of me while I was still fully dressed: that and the tone of his voice.
Things suddenly got misty and I felt as if I was starting a sore throat. I looked away toward the village. Damn. It was blurry still. Next thing, I felt his arms round me in a quick hug, then he stepped away, embarrassed.
"Are we going to swim?" he asked, in a tone which was quiet for him.
I nodded, and started stripping off. We gathered up our clothes and packed lunches and crossed through the woods. Soon my sight had returned. I seemed to have fought off the cold, too.
We were walking in companionable silence, as books describe it. It was as we were nearing the shore with its thick belt of trees and undergrowth that we both stopped. He looked at me, shocked. Was it voices we could hear? On our island?