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It was the summer of my fourteenth year. I'd been back from boarding school for nearly three weeks, and in that time I'd noticed a sea change in my parents. Although it seemed sudden, it probably wasn't. In fact, I'm sure it was my fourteen year old self becoming more aware and less self centered. Aware I certainly was, and not only of changes in my parents and friends, but in myself, too.

That summer, I wasn't pre or post puberty: I was raging.

From the moment I got up in the morning, to the moment I got into bed and, eventually, sated, to sleep: only one thing was in the forefront of my mind. Sex: sex with a capital 'S'. Yet that summer, through the erotic self indulgent mental miasma that was my puberty, I still realised my parents were having problems and decided to do something to help.

They were arguing a lot more than they had ever done in the past, and it made me unhappy; very unhappy. It didn't take me long to work out that they were drinking more than I'd ever seen them drink in the past, and that drink fuelled their arguments. They'd start off with a sherry as soon as my father got home from the office, during which they would still be my parents: the mum and dad that I loved and that I knew unequivocally loved me back. Then they'd move on to the gin and tonics, and their détente would gallop rapidly downhill.

I came up with a plan. Unfortunately, it wasn't a cunning one. In fact, as plans go, it had nothing to recommend it at all, except it was mine and I couldn't think of another. Besides, I had other things on my mind: James.

James was my best friend and though it was never said, we loved each other as only best friends do. Puberty had other ideas, though, and I was beginning to understand that love could mean a lot more than the colour-supplement perfection we were spoon fed on Sunday mornings. More, even, than the 'readers' letters' in the back of Mayfair and Playboy. Girls didn't stir me in the least, though the guys they were pictured with did.

I kept my thoughts to myself.

During the last two weeks before the summer holidays I'd thought about James a lot. James wasn't the best looking boy I knew. He had flyaway blonde hair that never did what he asked it to, much to his chagrin; a high, clear forehead; a firm jaw; a slightly wonky nose; and expressive grey-blue eyes under cutely long brown lashes. As descriptors go, he doesn't sound great … but he was. He was James, my James, and puberty didn't have a lot of work to do to persuade me that he was The One. The only fly in the ointment was that I was pretty sure he batted for the other team. He was straight, and I … well, I knew I wasn't.

My plan was naïve. It never crossed my mind that siphoning off and hiding my parents' gin wouldn't stop them drinking, wouldn't instantly heal their problems. I didn't consider they'd just go out and buy more. All it really meant was that by the Saturday of the first week of the summer holidays, I had nearly a half full bottle of gin hidden away, and didn't know what to do with it. It didn't occur to me to pour it down the sink or flush it down the lavatory. It was adult booty, it was forbidden, and it was mine!

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

James rang the bell, as he always did, with three short prods. My mother, who was in the kitchen drinking coffee, tutted, as I ran for the door.

"Hi!" He said as we grinned at each other, "'sup?"

"Have I got a surprise!" I said as we went up to my room. "Okay to stay the day?"

"Yep, the folks are out so whadda ya want to do?" I was very aware he was watching me as I went to my closet, knelt down and pulled the half full bottle out from behind my gym bag.

"Ta da!" I held it up and shook it, the gin sloshing audibly against the green glass. "I want to try this." I unscrewed the top and sniffed, the smell almost making me retch as I handed it over to him. He sat down cross legged, pushed his hair behind his ears then carefully, sniffed it too. His nose wrinkled, and I thought he was going to sneeze.

"Yuck."

"Yeah, but …." I almost whined.

"No, Cat, I meant yuck, but let's do it." His eyes were sparkling, though that might have been my imagination. "The woods?"

"The woods!"

The house had a long garden, at the end of which was a small wooded area complete with a shed half covered with ivy. We'd used it for playing Cowboys and Indians when we were smaller, and as it was far enough away from the house to be private, most other things that were frowned upon took place there, too. We'd stolen and had our first cigarette there two years before, which, as well as being revolting, had seemed daring. But now, as we sat with the old tree stump acting as a table between us, what we were about to do seemed somehow more serious. Alcohol was definitely at the top of the list of all things 'forbidden'.

We tossed a coin for first swallow, and James lost. He unscrewed the top and set it on the stump, then took a sip. His face was a picture: screwed up like the mush of an old pug dog, it made me howl with laughter. He waggled his finger at me as he put the bottle down. If, as it nearly did, the bottle had fallen over: the day would have ended very differently. As it was, he saved it, and then pointed to me.

"Your turn, Cat!" He said, his expression nearly back to normal. I picked the bottle up, took a mouthful, and swallowed. I could feel my face screwing up as it burnt a trail down my throat. It was disgusting, it was foul, and I almost threw up as he roared with laughter to the point of tears running down his cheeks. We continued passing the bottle back and forth, neither of us wanting to admit we'd much rather stop drinking the noxious filth, and go skating in the park.

After a while the gin made us giggle at the silliest things, and then, in lieu of anything better to do, fall about: but not enough to stop us deciding we'd go and catch a bus up the High Street and get a burger for lunch. After all, we were fourteen, flush with more than allowance, and always hungry.

*****

We stood at the bus stop, bumping shoulders and being as rowdy as two fourteen year olds can be, much to the displeasure of an elderly woman sitting on the bench.

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves," she started, her blue rinse coiffured to an immaculate T; her tweed overcoat buttoned up to crocodilian neck, even in the heat of the late June morning. "When I was your age I …."

It was lucky for us that our bus arrived, and even luckier that it wasn't hers, too. I could feel her disapproval boring into my back and I instinctively sheltered James from her glare while we got onboard, still giggling. As one, we turned around and stuck our tongues out at the old bat, then sat down on the bench seat, relishing our silliness.

"Two child fares to Church Street please," I said portentously: blinking; owl like, and holding the fare out in the direction of the conductor, who momentarily seemed to be fuzzy around the edges; swaying, even though the bus was still stationary.

"Eh?" he said, looking at us as he rang the bell. The bus lurched off and he swayed even more. Everything seemed to be getting blurred, and I had to force myself to concentrate. I took a deep breath.

"Two to Church Street please." I repeated. James stuck his thumb up and waggled his nose.

"'ave youse boys bin drinkin'?" the conductor asked, his eyebrows raising themselves like inquisitive caterpillars as he cranked our tickets out of the battered old machine strapped across his chest.

"Nooo!" I shook my head as he took the money out of my hand and gave me the tickets, "definitely not!" He turned, dealt with a boy sitting opposite us, and then gave James and me a final disapproving glance as he set off up the stairs to the top deck shaking his head. I prodded James in the shoulder and we both started laughing.

The bus pulled into the stop by the cinema and a couple got on holding hands and walked to a seat at the front. As the bell rang and we started off again, the boy opposite got up, crossed the aisle, and sat down on the bench next to me.

"What're you two up to, then?" He said, looking at us both and smiling. I'd seen him riding his board in the skate park a couple of times, though I'd never met him. He was probably a couple of years older than us, and was wearing a tight pair of jeans and a loose un-tucked t-shirt. He sat back, and casually moved his legs apart until his right knee was brushing against my left. Instinctively, I moved my leg away, only to find his had followed, and worse than that I found I was getting hard. I gulped, very aware of James sitting on my other side, and unsure what he might say or do. I felt responsible for him, and if anything happened….

"You shy then?" he chuckled, and out of the corner of my eye I saw he had his hand in his lap, his thumb slowly stroking an obvious erection. My mouth went dry.

"No … NO!" I said, as I turned to glare at him. "We're not shy. We just don't talk to strangers." I was torn. Try as I might I couldn't keep my eyes away from his crotch, and I was sure he knew it: yet on the other side I had my best friend to consider and look after. I felt myself start to blush.

"Ah, well, fair do's then. My name's Will, so now we're not strangers, are we?" He paused, waiting, the sound of other passengers conversations seeming to swell in the pregnant silence. "Ah, you're prissy mothers boys! My mistake: 'cause there I was thinking you might be up for a stroll in the park," he lowered his voice a little, "and maybe a joint or two." James leant out and looked across me at Will before sitting back.

"Did he say Joint?" James whispered in my ear. I jabbed him with my elbow and hissed back:

"No!" The truth was we'd both been wanting to try grass since we'd read my sister's copy of Kerouac's 'On the Road': but I knew this was all wrong. Will was older, and James had no real idea what was going on three feet to his left. I forced myself to look fixedly ahead at an advert for holidays in the Caribbean.

"Well?" Will said quietly in my ear, his breath tickling, his presence, the gin, and James on my other side making the moment -- I was imagining us sun bathing on some far off tropical beach -- the most erotic I'd ever experienced. "You know you want to."

"What did he say?" James whispered in my other ear, his breath exacerbating my erection. I closed my eyes, wanting so many things: and knowing I couldn't have them.

"Can't, sorry." I said, turning to the stranger. "We're meeting some friends for a hamburger."

"Oh yeah, where?"

"The Great American …." I started, then frowned "Why?" He shrugged, his shoulders pressed against mine.

"No reason, just wondering 'sall. Anyway, here's my stop." He got up as the bus slowed, his hand brushing over my knee. "See you later lads." He winked at me as he nonchalantly pulled his t-shirt down to cover his crotch, then strode to the back platform and leapt off before the bus had stopped. We both turned and watched him as he vanished into the crowds by the park entrance.

"That was weird," James said.

"I'll say," I replied, both thankful and rather wistful at the same time.

The rest of the journey, though short, was fun, as it always was when we went anywhere together, though we were both aware of the gin's effect creeping up on us, and I was aware of the door that Will, even in the short time he'd sat next to me, had opened.

As always, when the conductor was on the top deck of the bus for the last bit of the ride, we stood on the open platform and held on to the hand rail: hanging as far overboard as we could. The gin, which was making us sillier by the minute, also gave us a sense of invulnerability, and I nearly, oh so nearly, slipped off. The shock of my close escape abruptly cleared my head and sent a shiver coursing up my spine.

I glanced at James, but he had his eyes shut and hadn't seen, for which, for once I was grateful. We jumped off the bus as it slowed down for our stop, and vaulted the railings, before trotting back to the 'Great American Success', the newest fad on the High Street.

"Table for two?" The waitress was new, and only a few years older than we were, but for some reason she seemed to be acting like my mother. I twirled a pretend mustache: humming and hawing as James took off his equally pretend top hat and tailcoat and hung them on an invisible hat stand by the door.

"Your hat and coat Sir Ferkbecket?" He said in an awful impersonation of John Wayne. I doffed them gracefully, and handed them to him while the waitress looked on with a patient smile.

"Now, your Lordships," she said, rolling her eyes, "a table for two?"

"Indeed, my good woman!" I said and gave her my best smile. I grabbed James around the shoulders and he giggled, as, for the first time, my stomach audibly roiled. I began to think food might not be such a good idea. We followed the waitress to a table by the window and sat down without making a big scene of it.

"You're pretty." James blurted out: the waitress blushed as she walked away to fetch menus. I glowered at him, watching him surreptitiously as he watched her bottom: tight and curvy under a snug leather mini skirt. The alcohol was making me want to say things to him I knew I shouldn't and that I'd probably regret, but it was getting harder by the minute. I thought about the double entendre and giggled.

"What's up?" he said, his eyes now locked on the waitresses chest. I thumped the table.

"James!"

"What?" he turned to look at me: my best friend. We loved each other, of that there was no doubt, but his idea of what that meant and mine were Poles apart. I opened my mouth to tell him, then closed it as his eyes slid back to the waitress. "She's got great tits, don't you think, Cat? hmm?"

It was one of those moments that seem to last forever. I wanted to tell him to forget the waitress and look at me instead: but deep down, in the place that certainty lived, I knew it would be a wasted effort, and that it'd probably do more harm than good. I'd read that alcohol lowered inhibitions: it had me skating on thin ice, and I didn't want to freeze to death while losing my best friend.

"Yeah, great tits," I affirmed.

"Liar," he said quietly. My world stopped revolving and I felt the pre-tears prickling behind my eyes.

"What do you mean?" I said, trying to keep my tone steady and light whilst waiting for the inevitable. He closed his eyes; pursed his lips, then looked at me.

"You're my friend, Cat, my best friend and … I love you. But I can't be like you." I tried to take it in. He'd said I was his best friend, and that was what was important.

"So … erm … what does it mean?" I said, wiping the tears away with my t-shirt.

"That I get the girls and you get the boys, doofus." He said, grinning.

I felt the worry that I'd been carrying float away, and the effects of the gin return as we tapped knuckles and laughed. The waitress returned and handed us two large card menus; filled our glasses from a jug of iced water, then pulled her order pad out.

"So, what can I get you boys?" She waited expectantly, pen poised for a second or two, before her mouth dropped open: an expression of panic and confusion skittering across her face. I looked over and saw James had his hand on her thigh, a beatific smile on his face. I stood up rapidly, my chair crashing to the floor behind me as I pulled James up by the collar of his jacket.

"So sorry," I said to the waitress. "Please excuse him, he's a bit drunk."

Luckily the waitress just stood there as my brain gave me a few moments of adrenalined clarity to manhandle my best friend out of the door; through the pedestrian throng; across the pavement to the railings at the edge of the road, against which, with half cut nonchalance, we leant. The fresh air helped, though not enough as I realised the gin was making us lose control. There was only one thing for it.

"We have to walk home." I said, turning to find James flat on his back on the pavement looking up at me. "Get up!" I said. He grunted, his eyes slowly closing. I knelt down and gave him a prod in the stomach. He was ticklish, very ticklish: and it was the one way to get an immediate reaction if he was faking. He grunted again, though it was more of a whimper than a grunt. I pondered the idea of joining him and letting the future take care of itself. The paving stones looked quite comfortable: then I remembered the shit we'd both be in, parentally speaking.

"Do you need any help, young man?" a woman in a tweed suit stopped beside us, her patent leather shoes reflecting shop windows in the bright sunlight. I shook my head violently, then wincing, regretted it.

"No, thank you." I managed to say as I struggled to get James, who was virtually unconscious, to his feet. "We're just going home." The shoes and their owner vanished to be replaced by a pair of scruffy tennis shoes.

"You know, you really are a pair of idiots," a vaguely familiar voice said as I found myself being lifted to my feet and leant against the railings by a warm pair of arms around my waist. They disappeared and I found myself missing them, then, as if by magic, James appeared next to me looking very green around the gills. I turned to thank our rescuer to find it was the boy from the bus. "You've been drinking," he said without rancour.

"Well, duh." James replied, opening his eyes a tad. He frowned. "Who're you?"

"Will," Will and I said together. He grinned at me.

"You remembered, in your state I'm flattered."

"No … I just … well, I umm …." Will laughed, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

"Don't worry. So, if you don't mind telling me, what's your name?"

"Don't tell him, Cat." James said. Will smiled; I blushed.

"Cat, eh? Good nickname." He said, "Now, let me help you seeing as you're probably too …." The sound of a car horn interrupted him, and I watched as his smiling face turned cloudy. "Sorry I can't help you, it's my mother. I've got to go." He said, then leant towards me lowering his voice. "Go home, Cat. Nice and sunny though it is, there are sharks everywhere." In a blur he vaulted the railings, and as I turned around I saw him get into the passenger seat of a yellow SUV with tinted windows. It pulled away from the curb and slowly drove off.

Somehow, and for the life of me I can't remember how, we got across Kensington High Street without being run over. Then arm in arm, we stumbled the mile and a bit to the side streets around Edwardes Square. The clarity I'd felt leaving the restaurant was, I decided, gifted to me so as I could take care of my friend: but now it was leaving me rapidly as we left the busy thoroughfare and neared home, the gin taking over again. With a last ditch effort, I managed to prop us both up against a lamppost.

"James, please mate, please wake up and help me." I mumbled in his ear, peripherally aware of a car pulling up beside us. The driver wound his window down and coughed.

"Do you boys need a lift?"

"No thank you." As the car drove off James slid to the pavement.

"But you'd like some help, I think." A rather breathless voice said from behind me.

"Will!" I said, my heart lightening.

James came to as we turned into our road. We got him to his door; waited as he fumbled for his keys. He nodded his thanks at us, bleary-eyed, and managed to make me laugh when he raised his eyebrows on seeing my arm around Will's back. His front door closed with a quiet click as Will and I watched.

"So, then …." Will said, gently pushing my bangs off my forehead. It was a little thing, yet seemed to me to be erotic as hell. "May I walk you home, too?"

"Erm … please," I said as I led him across the street to my house. "Would you like a drink?"

He laughed. "Yes please, so long as it's not gin."

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