Holiday

Chapter 22

We got going again soon afterwards. But we did get dressed first.

It seemed a good idea to put some distance in, so we ignored the Blue Bell pub and all the others we saw on the map. At Yardley Wood we thought we'd better take on some water, so stopped at the tap there. The area was a bit noisy and overlooked, so we weren't too sure about mooring. A mile or so further was the Horse Shoe, right on the canal, but also right on a noisy main road. We looked at it regretfully. But as we continued the banks got higher…and higher… and at last we realised we were near the short Brandwood tunnel.

Going through that was a wettening experience, and the other end of it was noisy too, and publess. We pressed on. And on. Turned left onto the Worcester and Birmingham. Passed a pub. And just as the light was fading we entered Kings Norton tunnel. And for those who know the Midland canals and say 'he doesn't know what he's talking about, you turn right to Birmingham', yes I do. Now.

Odd things, long canal tunnels. You either love them or hate them. But even if you love them they're boring, Lots of bricks, lots of drips, lots of anxious moments as you try to avoid boats coming the other way. Except there weren't any for us. It was too late in the day.

As he got bored with the darkness, when he'd got one too many drips down his neck, he went down — I supposed — to put the kettle on. The lights went off in the kitchen presumably to avoid dazzling me as he came out. I could hear the doors open, and expected a cup of tea to be put in my hand at any moment.

What I did feel was a hand come and rest itself on the fly of my jeans. I jumped, and was glad I wasn't steering a light dinghy or we'd have been all over the place. But I didn't stop him.

The hand pulled down my zip, and the next thing I knew it was feeling the bulge in my underwear. Not content with that it pushed into the top of the underwear and fondled and stroked…and there I was, steering a damn great narrowboat through a tunnel with an erection sticking out of my jeans.

Oh. With a mouth on the end of it.

And then came the thing I was hoping not to see. The light of an approaching boat as it entered the other end of the tunnel. As they always do, as they entered they sounded their hooter, the sound reverberating through the confined space making my ears ring. It startled me, too. More to the point it startled James, and when you have a mouth full of glans it's a very unsafe time to be startled. For the owner of the glans, that is.

"Aaaaarrrghhhhh!"

Our narrowboat didn't need a hooter if he was going to do that to me

"Sorry…oh Martin, I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

"Take the tiller. Go slow." I shoved it into his hands and bolted into the boat. I looked down, dreading what I might find. Blood? Worse?

There was a line of five tooth marks half way down, back and front, but on the skin of the shaft, not the glans, thank goodness. No blood. No damage. And by now no erection.

I let him stew for a while, until the boat passed us. If he was going to be so careless, why shouldn't I?

As I opened the door and looked up, he looked down at me. I don't think I'd ever seen him really scared, adult-scared, before. He was white, there was no unzipped grin, the eyes were…what? Red rimmed? Tears? I switched the kitchen light off again and came out to join him.

"Are you…is it…all right? His voice was very shaky and suddenly treble.

"It's fine."

"No damage?"

"A few tooth marks."

"Nothing…else?"

"No."

It was like watching a spring suddenly release. He put out an arm and drew me to him, the arm went round my waist and he looked me in the eyes.

"I thought…I thought I'd…"

And, once again, fourteen years or not, he was in tears. I throttled the boat right down, eased him off the tiller and corrected the boat's path through the tunnel. His arm was still round me, and mine round him, and he had buried his face into my shoulder and I could feel the emotion draining from him. Once again he looked at me.

"Sorry."

I just squeezed his shoulder. "Put the kettle on?" He went down to the kitchen like a startled rabbit. It was still heating when he reappeared and just stood next to me. I got a shaky grin when I looked at him, but returned it encouragingly.

I had realised that I still couldn't see the end of the tunnel, although we'd been in it for some time. The mind tries playing tricks on you. Are you lost? Has the tunnel re-formed into a circle? Are you doomed to motor along it into eternity? Then almost without warning the colour of the blackness just a few yards ahead of the boat changed subtly, the quality of the engine noise changed dramatically, and we were out into the near darkness of late evening. To emerge from blackness into darkness is an odd sensation. The brain, which registered entering the tunnel in the light, looks around for it again, can't find it, and loses its equilibrium temporarily.

We moored after the second bridge as the map told us of a pub nearby. Only a few words had passed between us since his shock, and they were to do with mooring. When at last we were sitting at the table nursing our rapidly cooling tea he didn't want to meet my eye, and was talking in monosyllables. I got up, and he threw a look at me. But all I did was to join him at his side of the table and slip an arm round him again.

"Don't worry," I told him. "It's OK, really."

"I shouldn't have done it."

"I wasn't objecting. It was great until the other boat hooted."

"I know. But then I knew I shouldn't have been doing it."

"Why?"

"It's…silly."

"No it's not. What would you have felt if I'd been doing it to you?"

"That's different."

"No it's not. Why should it be?"

"I'm younger."

"So what difference does that make?"

"You can do more to me than I'd dare to do to you."

"I thought we'd done most things with each other. There's not much left to do without repeating ourselves, unless you want to try coming inside me."

"I did."

"No, inside me like a man would a woman."

He paused. "D'you want me to?"

"No. I don't think so. It's something I've always thought was unpleasant. But then I was taught lots of things were unpleasant which are really good. Anyway, you wouldn't want me to do that on you, so if we neither of us want it we won't do it."

Another pause.

"D'you really mean that you didn't mind?"

"Yes. I mean no. I mean I didn't mind. In fact I was pleased that you're at ease enough to do something like that with me."

At last his arm went round me and he looked up and sighed.

"I am sorry, you know. Are you sure it's all right?"

"Want to look?"

He nodded. I got out from behind the table and stood up in front of him. "There you are then."

He looked up, surprised, then dropped his eyes and hand to my fly and started pulling down. When he'd finally freed me from the constraints it stood up. The red marks were still there, but fading already. He gently touched, and was pleased there was no pain. Come to think of it, so was I. Very gently he just kissed it, top and bottom, and carefully pulled my underpants up again.

"Sorry."

"If you say that one more time I shall hit you. Better still, I'll bite yours off."

"Sorry." But this time the voice had a ring to it, the eyes were direct on my face, and the grin was unzipping again.

We fixed something to eat, and naturally ended up in the pub. It amazed me that all these places were happy to serve me with beer for James, even if he was sticking to half pints. We were quiet about it, though. Once more we were playing bar billiards, and were at 'best of nine' when a scruffy looking type came over.

"You gonna be on that all night?"

"Sorry," I said., "I didn't know you were waiting."

"Been waiting ages."

"Sorry. Where I come from they put a coin on the table or write a name up to book it."

"Be fucked if I'm gonna book a table in my own pub."

I really didn't like his attitude.

"'Kay then. We'll finish this game and it's yours."

"Think so too."

"Nice guy," said James when he was out of earshot. "Hope they're not all like that round here."

We were as good as our word, and moved away from the table to get out of the scruffy one's way. When I next went to the bar the landlord motioned me aside.

"Not giving you any trouble, was he, the chap who took over the table?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly polite."

"You want to watch him. Not a nice man. Queer, you know. Been done once for assault."

"Assault!?"

"Yes. Left a bloke well shaken. Bit more than that too, if you see what I mean."

"No, not really."

"Well, he's queer. And this bloke wouldn't play. We knew him. He's straight as a die."

"What, he raped him?"

The man looked uncomfortable. "Something like that."

"Thanks for the warning."

I went back to tell James. Like me, he was amazed that anyone so awful could be homosexual. "Who would like his company?" he asked. "No wonder he had to grab someone and force them, if that's the way he is."

"That's no excuse!"

"Oh I know. But you can see how someone might get that way."

Could I? The psychiatrist side of James was not something I had seen before.

We went to sit well out of the way of the table and its new occupants, although I felt an urge to go and watch to learn what another one of 'our sort' looked and behaved. But discretion is the better part of valour. It struck me that I had someone infinitely more attractive to watch and to be with, and at that moment it had also swum across my mind again that he was actually only fourteen. Even if his brain worked better than most twenty year olds' and his body was tough and healthy, his muscle power in relation to that of a man of thirty years old would not be enough if he got nasty. Nor, in fact, would mine. No, we were well out of the way.

But peace didn't last long.

The sound of glass breaking and shouts, then a crack and a thump, all nicely spiced by shouts and cries and eventually a groan, indicated that not all was well in the pub. James looked at me, I looked at him, and we both looked at the barman, who was holding a telephone to his ear. At the other end of the pub there was a crash as the door slammed.

We two looked at each other again, as there was a rush from other parts of the pub towards the bar billiards table. James looked agitated and stood up.

"Want to go?" I asked. He shook his head and looked round the corner to the scene of the activity. Then to my surprise he just disappeared off in that direction, and before I had a chance to follow or say anything to warn him I heard a firm voice that I hardly recognised as his.

"I'm a St John's first aider. Can I help? No, don't kneel there, there's broken glass. Here…hold his arm up…that's it…"

And as came round to look at the scene I was amazed. Five adults were standing around uselessly, whilst a sixth was holding the arm of a young man the rest of whose body was prone on the floor. As I gaped, James was telling his assistant to apply pressure to a gash on the raised arm. And then…

"Hallo…can you hear me? Hallo…?"

There was a grunt from the figure on the floor. Very gently James crouched by the man's head and cradled the head in his hands, feeling it all round, at the back too. But the only injuries apart from the gashed arm seemed to be an angry red mark on the temple and another on the jaw below, which James was now tracing down with his fingers. At one point he stopped and looked at the man.

"All right, don't worry. But don't move your jaw for the moment. Just say yes or no. Does it hurt anywhere else?"

"No."

"Are you feeling more with it? What's your name?"

"Kenton Drew."

"OK, Kenton. We'll get you more comfortable in a minute, but just trust me at the moment. You've got a cut on your arm and a bruise on your head, and it feels as if your jaw may be broken, but it's nothing that won't heal as good as new. I'm going to get an ambulance to take you to a hospital where they can take care of it for you."

He looked swiftly up at the barman who was now hovering nearby, gaping open mouthed at him, as were we all.

"Can you do that?"

"I have. And the Police."

"Thanks." Just as if he was the doctor and in charge. Well, I suppose he was in charge. Nobody else was doing anything. Kenton looked dazed.

"Where do you live, Kenton?"

"Here."

"What, at the pub?"

"No. Village."

"What street?"

"Water Lane."

"What number?"

"Five."

"Anyone we should call to go with you?"

"No. Live alone."

"Okay. Just lie calm. Can you find something to go behind his head, please? And keep the pressure on that cut. Change hands if necessary. Got a first aid kit?"

This was to the barman, who was still hovering uselessly. The man nodded and shuffled off.

The door opened, and in walked the absolute prototype of an old fashioned English country policeman. Large in all directions, face reddened by years of all sorts of weather, and a face which looked permanently surprised. I expected him to start with "'allo, 'allo, 'allo," but he didn't.

"What d'you think you're doing, young man? Leave things like that to those who knows what they're doing." And he made to kneel down to take over.

"Don't kneel there, sir, there's broken glass on the floor. And I'm a St John's Ambulance first aider."

The long arm of the law just stopped himself in time, stood back up and regarded my James solemnly. I had been about to say something to the bulky officer, but James was doing too good a job on his own.

"Oh," was all he said before turning to the barman. "What's been happening, Henry?"

"It's that Bill Solomon. He was in here again, and Drew was with him. They were playing on the table, and the next thing I knew he was smashing a glass against Drew's head, then broke it on the table, and it caught his arm as he shielded himself. Then he went, and I phoned you, and this boy comes round like an ambulance driver and patches him up."

It took quite a few moments for this to sink in.

"Better use your phone, hadn't I?"

Soon after, the ambulance arrived. By then, James had done as neat a bandage on Kenton's arm as I'd seen anywhere, and had done his best to support the suspect jaw bone. The ambulance man took one look at it, then glanced at James.

"Any glass in it?"

"No, sir. I checked thoroughly."

"Jaw?"

"I can feel a ridge in it, on the right side, just above the mouth. Might be a fracture, so I've tried to support it."

"Head?"

"Can't feel anything, but I didn't want to push too hard."

"Did he lose consciousness?"

"Not when I was there, but he might have done before I arrived."

"How long was that?"

"Er……"

"About half a minute," I said. The man looked at me. "We're together," I told him. He nodded.

"You've done well," he told James. "Real hospital bandaging, that. Red Cross?"

"No!" James almost spluttered. "St John's Ambulance."

"Oh. Don't have a name for him, I suppose?"

James told him. He was even more impressed.

"And you? Where do you live? You're not from round here."

"We're on the canals," said James.

"Oh. Well, you forget about all this, except you've done very well, young man. There's a career in medicine for you some day, I dare say."

And with that he was off with Kenton Drew.

The policeman came over to us.

"Bit young to be in here, aren't you? How old?"

"Fourteen, sir."

"Too young. I'll have to ask you to leave, just as soon as we've got Solomon. You shouldn't be in here without an adult until you're eighteen. And you, Henry, you should know better, chap of your experience."

"But he's with the other chap, Alf. Say something, son."

This was to me.

"Yes, we're together, and I'm nineteen."

"You sure? When was you born?"

"Fourth of June 1950."

"Name?"

"Martin Finch."

"And you?"

"James Evans."

"Right. Well, no drinking alcohol in pubs 'til you're eighteen. Unless I buy you one, that is. Henry! Give these lads a drink on the house. What they want, but use your sense. I'm off, but I'll be back when we've got Solomon, and they're not to go until then. Well done, young man, and I don't want to see what's been in your glass when I come back. And I don't want to see you drunk either."

He left. We both looked at the barman, puzzled. He laughed.

"That's his way of saying you can have a drink, that he'll pay for it when he's off duty, and you're not to get drunk or let on anything about what you've been drinking when he gets back.

We went back on the bar billiards table. And when the constable returned to give the all clear there was nothing in either of our glasses. But I wouldn't swear that either of us was stone cold sober. It was as well that we weren't given a police escort to the boat, because when the cool night air hit us we both staggered. It was only by using extreme caution that I didn't drop the cabin key into the canal. With one arm round James' shoulders to steady him, together my own staggers, unlocking was difficult. I walked him straight through to the cabin and lowered him onto the bed.

"Back in a mo."

I locked up, then visited the toilet. When he heard me, he wanted to go too, so I had to hoist him up again, walk him in there, giggling like a kid, undo his fly and try and point it in the right direction. By this time I was giggling too. It wasn't the most accurate aim, but I told him I'd clear up in the morning. We wobbled our way back into the cabin and I laid him back down on the bed. He closed his eyes.

"Come on, you. Get to bed."

"Tired."

"So'm I. But we've got to get to bed first."

There was silence. I swiftly stripped off down to my underpants, then wondered why I was being so shy. They went too, and I turned back to him.

He really was spark out. I took his shoes off and tickled his feet, and still nothing happened. So I had to undress him completely, and for only the second time I realised just how difficult it is to bend bits of body that aren't interested in helping you. At last he lay in front of me, naked, face up, unconscious, and in my mind he changed immediately from being a nuisance to being my love, who I wanted to protect and spend my life with. Not without difficulty I manoeuvred him under the covers and climbed in by his side, watching him all the while. I wanted so badly to touch him, to love him physically again, but there was so much respect between us as well as the love that it would have been wrong to do so. So I just kissed his lips and forehead, and laid down by his side, and went to sleep.

It was still dark when I woke, and I lay puzzling for a while why that should be. Then there was a movement next to me and I knew it was him.

"You OK?" I mumbled.

"No. Headache. Want the toilet," he said after a pause.

"Want help?"

"No. 'm OK."

So I had to lie there while he went into the toilet and relieved himself. Then he didn't come back and I got increasingly alarmed. I was just about to go and see what was wrong when I heard the unmistakable sound of an evening's worth of beer being returned, by mouth, to the outside world. That was enough for me. I went to the kitchen and got a beer mug of water, then stood outside the toilet where sounds of misery were still being made. When they had paused, I spoke.

"James…it's happened to me too, you know."

There was a moan.

"Can I come in?"

"Mmm."

He was in the classic big-white-telephone pose, head over the bowl, looking white and shivering.

"Wash your mouth out with this." I pushed the glass into his shaking hands. He managed to look shakily at me and give a small smile.

"Sorry."

"It's me who should be apologising to you. I should have stopped us both drinking earlier."

"I never thought…" he said as he swilled his mouth out and spat into the unpleasant receptacle in front of him. I flushed it.

"Nor did I," I told him. "And the second time I went on despite my experiences the first time. Feel better now?"

"Think so."

"Have another rinse."

He did so.

"Pee?"

"Mmm."

So once again we stood together, ridding ourselves of what might have been the last of the evening's excesses. Afterwards I made him drink some of the water so as to dilute some of the alcohol in his bloodstream, and took him back to bed.

So far as experiencing once again the physical side of the love that was between us the night was a no-go. For strengthening in a different way the trust and care between us it was little short of magic. He knew that I would help him when he needed it, and I knew from his actions in the pub earlier that he would do the same for me, probably better. I was just glad his parents were away.

Much to my relief and envy, he was fine in the morning. Probably he'd got rid of so much down the toilet and diluted the rest that there was nothing left to cause the usual headache. He was a bit quiet to start with and wasn't sure about breakfast, but that was it.

"Sorry about last night," he said at last. "I was fine until I came out of the pub, then it just hit me."

"It does that sometimes. But I should have seen it coming and stopped."

"And thanks for helping me."

"But that's what people in love do, isn't it? Help each other?"

He grinned sheepishly. "'Spose so."

"Well come on then."

"Wonder what happened to that bloke."

"Which?"

"Both of them, come to think about it."

"One's in prison, I hope, and the other's in hospital."

"We'll never know," I said. Which just shows how wrong you can be. At the second bridge a very hot police officer was waiting for us with his hand upstretched as if he was controlling cars at a junction. The only place we could stop and explain that we'd have to find somewhere else for him to come on board was under the bridge.

"What's wrong with here," he shouted back.

"What happens when another boat comes?" I asked.

He tossed his head, showing that he understood but didn't like it. He followed our progress for about another half mile before we managed to find a suitable piece of bank where we could moor.

He mopped his brow as he accepted a cup of tea in the cabin.

"On your own, are you?"

"We're off to Birmingham to meet up with our parents again. They had to leave the boat and go up there for business meetings."

"Ah. Brothers?"

"No, friends."

"Ah. Addresses, please."

We obliged. I was proud to give him the address of my new flat.

"Well, we got Solomon after a struggle. Nasty piece of work. The other bloke said Solomon had had his eye on him for ages, since he used to see him at school. Wasn't into that, though, and I don't blame him. Queers! Yuch!"

Do I say anything, I wondered. No. Not with James there. Too many conclusions to draw. I hoped James'd think the same.

"Bloke says he's very grateful to you, young man. Wants to meet you. He's OK, broken jaw, and the gash on the arm you know about needed a few stitches. What you did made the hospital's job dead easy, they said. Really good bit of work, all the information they needed, and no fuss. Can I give him your address?"

"'Spose so."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic about it, boy. At least he can write to you."

"'Kay. But I was only doing what I was trained to do. It's nice to get some practice on a real casualty, though."

The policeman looked at him. "You don't want to see him?"

"Well, not this week, anyway. I just want to enjoy my holiday."

"I'll suggest he writes, then.

"'Kay."

"We shouldn't need either of you as witnesses. Henry says you were sitting round the corner and didn't see anything anyway."

"That's right."

"Pity. But I'm glad you were there, even if you shouldn't have been drinking."

"I'm sure you never saw him drink alcohol," I said, wondering if I was pushing my luck.

"No, you're right, I never did. But next time you do, just remember that not all police officers are as short sighted as me. I'm off. Well done, and enjoy your holiday. Oh, and by the way, you're going the wrong direction for Brum."

"What?!" we shouted in unison.

"You should have turned right out of the Stratford, not left. You'll have to go back through the tunnel."

I looked at him, then at James, then back again.

"You're not too far out of the way, lads. There's a place to turn just ahead, where a feeder comes in from the right. Go carefully, and a short boat like yours'll get round a treat."

We thanked him. He got off, we got going, and went on to the place he mentioned without delay. Turning was easier than I expected, and it wasn't long before we were passing the pub again and vanishing like rabbits into the tunnel. It was my turn to make the tea this time, and his to steer, so I thought I'd do to him what he did to me the first time through, but preferably without the teeth marks. He was wearing shorts, and I felt up his thigh while he laughed above me. Getting into the underwear was a problem, but at last his swelling member was in my hand, the clothing bunched up round his groin to expose it and the scrotum fully to the cold tunnel air. As my mouth enveloped him he reacted so squirmingly to my tongue that the boat cannoned from side to side of the tunnel, and to avoid scratches and more delay I soon thought I'd better stop and put him away, not an easy thing to do with a board stiff organ

He was most disappointed.

Emerging from the darkness of the tunnel into strong sunlight was a relief, even if we were blinded temporarily. Soon after we came across the Stratford branch, and as we passed it saw the signpost hidden in the undergrowth and I gave a hollow laugh.

"We must phone!" he said suddenly. "It's almost eleven o'clock!"

I had lost track of time. We had agreed to phone the parents' hotel at about eleven to tell them where we'd meet them. It was nearly past that time, and we were nowhere near a call box.

"I know," said James, "every bridge, I'll get off, run up to the road and see if I can see a phone. If I can you can moor, and we'll make the call."

It was a sensible idea. At the third bridge, near the Bourneville factory, he came back gesticulating. I headed to the bank and we made the call, only half an hour late.

"You twit," said my polite father when I told him what we'd done. "We'll see you about mid-day at Farmers Bridge Junction. Are you sure you can find that? There'll be a lot of boats there, and a pub on the canal side. You'll have to go through Gas Street basin to get there."

"OK, Dad. We have got a map, you know."

"Yes, and looking at it took you down the Worcester and Birmingham. Next thing, you'd have been in London. It'd have taken you about a week, so I suppose you might have noticed. Everything all right?"

Do I tell him that James had nearly bitten my willy off, that we'd narrowly avoided a fight, that James had done incredible first aid, that we'd been making love and were going to spend the rest of our lives together?

"Yes thanks, Dad."

The pips went. I put the phone down. The rest of the journey was uneventful, if a bit grim as the old industrial buildings increasingly hemmed in the canal and us. We turned a corner at last and there was Gas Street basin, dismal in all its sixties grime, although with signs of the resurgence of interest which would one day result in its rebirth as a canal landmark. Further on, under the wide bridge or short tunnel that carried the main road and all its shops over the canal, we came to the junction. It reminded me of a roundabout on a dodgem car track. We kept left, and soon found the pub and moored nearby.

It was time to eat, and I decided that we'd just have a snack as the parents would have eaten well in the hotel and we didn't have a lot of time. We were in the middle of this when the boat rocked and we looked at each other in anticipation.

It was them.

They got a good welcome from us both. I think if we hadn't had so many adventures — of all kinds — we'd just have accepted their return with little comment. But adventures change people, and it was a slightly different James and Martin who they met as they climbed down into the boat. And we'd got a lot to tell them.

At last they'd heard all about everything. No, we didn't tell them about the intimate parts, nor that we'd be living together as soon as we could. Nor that we were in love. But everything else.

"Does that explain this?" asked Doreen Evans, producing a newspaper. And there it was

"Gosh," said James, "What a load of lies. I never spoke to anyone, and he'd have recovered whether I bandaged him or not. I'm no mystery. But it's good that they think I'm 16. Mind you, they think you're an older man, Martin!" And we dissolved into fits of laughter.

"I hope you haven't got into trouble with the Police, you two," said Mum. "I never really liked you encouraging James to drink, you know."

"He wasn't encouraged, he was natural at it," I told her.

"You know what I mean."

"Anyway, we're not in trouble, so there's no problem. The policeman who spoke to us was ok, and it was him who told us we were going the wrong way."

She seemed to accept that. Gone were the days when everything was automatically my fault. We talked on for some time, and eventually decided that we'd better get under way.

There was a council of war later, when we learnt just how successful their business meeting had been. The prospects for both our families were extremely good. "Who knows," said Dad, "in a few years we might even be able to afford a narrowboat like this between us!"

"Count me in as crew," I said promptly. "And James too, as crew and first aider."

They laughed. "Hopefully you wouldn't have to share a bed next time," said Doreen. "It can't be particularly nice for you both."

"Oh, James is all right."

"Oh, Martin's OK." The two phrases came out simultaneously.

They laughed again.

"It's now lunch time on Wednesday," I announced suddenly, thinking it best to change the subject. "If we have to be back by Saturday we'd better turn round." I'd lost sight of that small fact in all the excitement.

"How long does it take to get back, then?" asked Dad.

"As long as it took to get here, less a bit because we know what we're doing now. I thought we could go back down the main line of the Grand Union to make a sort of round trip of it."

"OK. Does that mean we have to hurry?"

"We've got two and a half days to do what we did in four coming up here."

"What?"

"Don't worry too much. We hung about a bit on the way, and don't forget the last two days have been slow because there's only been the two of us."

"We'd better shove off now, then. And keep going until it's too dark to see."

Hurriedly we set off, down the Aston locks, right down the Digbeth branch and the Ashtead locks to join the Grand Union at Bordesley. This is the stretch where much of the canal and many of the locks are under blocks of flats and offices, which are supported on vast concrete legs. It's an eerie sensation, knowing as the engine reverberates around the concrete walls and ceilings that there are people living and working above you. It's quite nice to come out into the open again, even if it's dingy backstreet Birmingham that greets you. We took turns at steering and locking, and the afternoon and early evening wore happily on.

At Olton we came, almost suddenly, onto a much more pleasant area, consisting mainly of a wooded cutting which cuts off from the peaceful canal whatever horrors are above, although stuck at the bottom of it there was very little light indeed. Fortunately we met no other boats. At the next bridge, where there was a pub by the side of the main road, we stopped. None too soon, because the mothers had been busy in the kitchen, and kept looking out anxiously to see if we were about to moor.

By the time we had eaten and washed up it was ten o'clock, and our visit to the pub was for the sake of it only. I was interested to note that James was on soft drinks again, from choice, and I wasn't really in the mood for more than a pint, nor was anybody else.

Going to bed with other people on the boat was odd after the last two nights, yet somehow comforting. I don't know if James felt the same, but although we knew we couldn't wander around and play as we were now used to, we could retreat into our own room and know we were just that bit more secure…Why should I have felt that way at nineteen?

And retreat into our own room we did, and he straightway turned and looked at me, and I looked back and that smile came on his face, very slowly, until his whole countenance seemed to be alive and alight with the pleasure…of seeing me? I still had no idea what he actually saw in me, and I can say the same still applies now as I write.

We embraced, of course, and slowly helped each other undress, and at last stood so we were in contact everywhere while our hands performed the ancient, graceful dances of exploration and sensation over each other's bodies. We collapsed onto the bed, and the massaging became intense, along with the kissing, and the intimacy of the touching. And of course the incredible, heights of the pleasure and fulfilment, and the desire for it never to end.

In time, of course, I knew that we would both need the inevitable release, and he must have done too, for his face disappeared from mine. His body wriggled past my sight to bring that other part of him to me so that our mouths could be brought into play where they were most needed, and where they showed even more love than exploring each other's mouths. And gradually he worked me into an even higher plane of sensation, and at last I knew by the movements, and the sounds, and by the jets of hot fluid inside my mouth that it had happened for him, and I took him down inside me just as the sensations of having him explode in my mouth caused me to do the same in his.

Despite the need for rest and for recovery, despite the reaction that sets in, we each were able to clean off the other's rapidly dwindling erection. We separated for a while.

But the coolness of the evening made itself felt on our sweat-slick bodies, and at long last, long after the rest of the boat was silent, we crawled under the covers, kissed once more, and slept.

In the morning I woke with the dawn, an event which is for me as rare as eggs in a mare's nest. I was facing him, and he me. I just watched him for a long while, knowing and loving every curve of his incredibly young looking, still vulnerable, face; marvelled at the strength of the mind that was still developing behind it, and the raw intelligence that drove it. I knew too the capacity for real love — not just the exploratory, laddish messing about of love that many of his peers probably showed, but the real love which he had almost proudly, certainly sincerely, admitted and shown to me, not just now on this holiday but back at Amberdale too, in a way. If he'd been just a boy with the same character I'd have been very attracted to him. But the love he gave me in equal measure to mine for him, made mine for him stronger, and made me want to reflect it to him in its increased strength. Which in the same way made his love for me the stronger. And so our love and respect was self-fuelling, just as any healthy love between two people is.

I never wanted him to leave me.

And that brought me on to knowing that he'd have to. And that made me realise yet again that we'd have to be apart a lot. For years. After Mark I knew that we must do nothing to make either set of parents worry about our friendship being any more than that, at least not until he was whatever age the law said he had to be, at which point I'd be glad to shout out our love to the world. But then only if he thought and wanted the same.

Would he fall out of our love while we were apart? I didn't think so. But it was a tremendous risk. At the thought I wriggled in the bed and a pair of sleepy eyes unbuttoned at me.

It was my turn to smile slowly, at him. I traced my finger over his cheek, and he smiled languidly back. Is that feeling what they mean about tugging at the heartstrings? Or was it more like a wordless, exultant piece of music inaudible to anyone but me? Was it in his heart too? Was it the same music?

"Wassertime?" he asked, and the throwback to my first word every morning that we'd shared a bed at Amberdale made us both laugh simultaneously, suddenly, loudly.

"Twirly," I told him. The look of puzzlement gave way to unzip the grin as his brain engaged.

"Can we hug?" he asked wistfully.

It was the first time he'd actually asked me. Before then it'd just happened. A small thing? Probably, but not to me. To me it was the one of the first signs he'd given unconsciously that he actually did need me as much as I needed him, and being unthought of, just a need, it was even more obviously honest. And yes, I know I've just said that I knew he loved me. But anyone in love needs these little, instinctive signs.

So I moved up to him and we held each other, making small movements to get comfortable, enjoying the feel, the gentle scent of the breath as it blew across exposed skin, until once again we were asleep.

Until the knock at the door. Almost as one our eyes snapped open as wide as exclamation marks and we looked at each other in shock. With a struggle we separated, one to each side of the bed.

"Come in," I wavered. The door opened. It was then I smelt the wonderful aroma of fried bacon.

"Breakfast in bed," said our mothers.

NEXT CHAPTER