In the course of the next few months things got back to normal. My relations with my parents improved to more or less what they had been. But I knew that I would never forget Mark or the torture he was put through, nor would I forget that my parents tried to make me give up a friend.
Towards Christmas we got a letter from the Evanses. My heart sank when I heard: I had visions of history repeating itself. It was bad enough: they were moving to Canada where Mr Evans had been posted.
Now there would be nobody who I loved left from that holiday.
James had written on the bottom of the letter: 'To Martin, I'm sending a card. Love James.'
A week later it arrived. "To my big brother. Thanks for making the holiday so good. Sorry I wont see you next year. Hallo to the others for me. I'll send you cards from Canada. 'Bye, James."
On it was a picture of a ship, presumably the one they'd be travelling on.
Life became school, a few odd friends, parents and so on. I went on a canal trip with the school the next year rather than go to Amberdale. I couldn't face the islands without Mark. I went to school camp too, and managed to see almost naked the people I had wanted to see. But they weren't a patch on Mark.
Gradually I realised that I too was homosexual, and realised too that the reason I had so much enjoyed what Mark and I, and even James and I, had done together was down to this very fact. I hated myself for it. I felt I had let my parents down. I kept on asking 'why me?' And from time to time the tears would flow as I realised that I would never be able to start a family and have a son to call me 'Dad'. I would never have a real love, because love was with girls, and I knew deep inside me that none would attract me enough. Oh, I could see that some were pretty, had very nice curves, pretty faces, good, shapely tits, nice legs. But all those would be snapped up by the good looking boys, and I'd be left with…what?
But then real love was possible between boys. I knew that, and Mark would always be in my memory to remind me. Oh yes, I now had no illusions. Thanks to the reference library I found out what homosexuals are meant to do to each other all the time, and was disgusted. What Mark and I had done together was beautiful, and natural, and each of us was worshipping the other.
The fact that I had been attracted by little James ashamed me too. Someone my own age, yes; terrible but understandable. But this was a CHILD I'd found attractive. I couldn't get to grips with that for ages. But as time wore on it became less of a mental blot, and after a time — a long time - I got to an uneasy acceptance of it. After all, said my reasoning, he'd enjoyed everything we'd done, and I'd not ever forced him to do anything; nor would I.
All through school and the GCE 'O' levels I went, ignoring completely the possibility that there could be any one else there like me, or who could like me. When others at school were going out together and, eventually, chancing clubs and discos and girls, I watched TV, went for walks on my own, and got used to my own company, and the company of one or two others who also seemed to be natural loners (if that's not too much of a paradox.). The only times I really got together with others was on the annual canal bash. I enjoyed this so much because it was so low key and quiet. In fact I went every year. After the 'O' levels, when normally students weren't offered the chance of going on the trip I asked specially if I could go. They agreed, as I'd got really good at steering the awkward narrow boats and even manoeuvring them into and out of awkward corners.
It was reckoned that I could get to University, and who was I to disagree? It would get me away from home. Not that I really had anything against my parents, but I still had to put up with a child's lack of freedom in accepting visitors at home. Their home. Increasingly I felt as if I just lived there and that was all. And I was aware what would happen, even at nineteen, should I meet someone who I felt I could get on with and bring him home to sleep.
So I applied to various places, and got accepted by one, subject to good 'A' level results. I came up trumps, and for the first time for ages was actively pleased with myself. Dad's business was doing well now, and he could afford for me to take a flat on my own, near the University, and to furnish it cheaply, but adequately.
I insisted on a double bed. Mark was still in my mind, five years on, as I chose it. Oh yes, I was now nineteen. My voice had broken, and it had happened shortly after Mark's death. I wondered at the time if it was the potency of his most personal gifts to me that had started my body really going. It was then that I started ensuring that the things that should still work, did, and even started recording measurements again.
Everything had been getting very satisfactory.
My move north was both exciting and sad. I was leaving behind my youth: parents, friends (not many), but that something, apart from bricks and mortar, that was 'home'. If Mark had ever visited there it would have been worse, because his love would have made it even more of a break than it already was. But I settled in to my new pad with a sigh of relief and anticipation. Freedom. I was master of my own destiny at last. I even had a car, another gift from Dad. He must have been doing even better than I thought.
But night times were still lonely.