Chapter Three

It was always the same fear living in the tower block on the estate where Achim and his gang ruled the roost. Every time he walked through the entrance hall, stepped outside, or crossed the open space, he had the same thought that always accompanied him. Would he bump into Achim?

That morning there was no one, the coast was clear, maybe it was too early for the unemployed drug dealers? Perhaps they, like their customers, were sleeping off Saturday night's excesses. He too wouldn't have bothered getting up so early had he not been thinking about Arran and unable to fall back to sleep. He had finally given up lying in bed and wandered into the living room. His mother was there drinking tea.

"Tom," she said, with that tone which announced he was about to be asked to do something.

She looked at him as she stood in the kitchen hugging the cup between both hands. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest, he had only his pyjamas bottoms on and bare feet. The heating was on so low it hardly felt warm at all, but looking outside at the frost covered grass, it had to be at least several degrees warmer inside than out. He couldn't decide whether to make himself a coffee, or forget it and crawl back under the duvet.

"Be a darling, would you? Nip out and get the Sunday paper."

That decided things for him. "I'm not dressed," he offered his mum as some sort of excuse for refusing. She made no reply, simply looked at him. "Alright, give me a minute."

She smiled, "I'll make us breakfast. Be quick."

He was already returning to his bedroom, stopping off to take a leak, before pulling on his jeans and the rest of his clothes, a thick jumper, and his jacket.

The lift doors opened, the entrance hall was deserted and no one was hanging around outside, not surprising seeing how cold it was. Tom pulled his jacket tight and flipped up the collar, the wind was icy. It could snow, he thought, as he hurried up the road in the direction of the station and the newsagent.

It was as he was coming out of the shop, papers and magazine under one arm, that he came face to face with Salem. They both stopped and looked at each other. Whilst Achim's little brother wasn't any real threat, Tom really didn't want to hang around, but the boy blocked him.

Tom looked at him, as if to say, get out of my way, but he said nothing. Salem moved anyway, stepping to the side.

"I never meant that to happen," he said, as he walked back next to Tom.

Tom stopped, turned, and stared at the boy. He felt the anger building. "As I recall, you were there with your brother and the rest of them," he frowned. "It was you told him all that stuff."

"Yeah, sorry." Salem didn't look at him.

"What d'you want?"

"I had no choice." The boy glanced furtively at him.

Tom started walking, it was too cold to stand in the street arguing, and besides, breakfast would be waiting for him.

"He saw me on the Internet." Salem kept pace with Tom as they hurried back. His breath steamed as it vaporised in the freezing air.

"I've got no idea what you're talking about," Tom told him.

"The chat room."

Tom wasn't paying too much attention, he wanted to get back, get inside to the relative warmth of the flat, and get shot of the kid that was nothing if not trouble. Salem reached out and grabbed his arm, which made Tom stop and jerk it away. They looked at each other again, before the cold pushed Tom to start walking.

"Michael, it's me!" Salem announced.

It wasn't something that made any sense, but then Tom was not thinking about anything Salem was saying. He was nearly back home. Seeing he was getting no response the boy stopped, stood there watching as Tom crossed to the entrance and pulled open the door. As he went inside he glanced back at the boy who was standing looking at him. It was the first time he had paid the kid any attention.

For a moment from behind the glass doors, he stared. The boy looked puny compared to his older brother, you would never recognise them as brothers. He noticed the curly black hair escaping the woollen hat, probably the only family trait they had in common. That and their sallow skin which was more ethnic than a blood tie.

Salem turned around and walked away, back up the road from where they had come. It was only as he arrived back home, entered the flat, removed his jacket, and smelt the bacon, that it hit him. The chat room, Michael. Shit! Michael, the guy he had been talking to online.

 

"Tom." Arran smiled as he opened the front door and stood back. "You look cold."

"It's freezing out there. I reckon we could have some snow."

"Come on through." Arran led the way to the kitchen. "You want tea, coffee, or something else? Sit down."

Tom removed his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. He sat down and looked at Arran.

Arran smiled back at him. "Well? Tea, coffee?"

"Oh, whatever you're having."

"Hot chocolate. That sound good?"

Tom nodded, he looked around the kitchen, it was nice, the house was nice. They didn't speak, Arran prepared their drinks, Tom watched him.

Only when two steaming mugs where set on the table did Arran say something. "You okay?" He asked, because the other boy had been so quiet.

Tom looked at his hot drink, then looked at Arran. "I met Achim's brother this morning. I went out to get the Sunday paper and he was their."

"What happened?" Arran was a bit concerned about this turn of events and it showed in his voice.

"Oh, nothing," Tom gave him a little smile. "But he said something. And, well, I wasn't paying him much attention. My mum was doing a Sunday fry up and I was in a hurry to get back. Then, later, I thought about what he said."

Arran sipped his chocolate. He didn't want to interrupt, but he was curious.

"He said, 'I'm Michael."

"So?"

"I'll have to start this story from the beginning," Tom paused to drink. "Before we moved here, and after as well actually, I used to chat online. A chat room, you know, just to like talk to people."

Arran looked up. "Chat room. What kind of chat room?"

"Gay."

"Oh, and?"

"I used a pseudo, Tracy."

Arran was starting to add things up in his head. "Tracy, like a boy, or a girl?"

Tom grinned. "Well, that's just it, isn't it?"

Arran frowned. "What?"

"It's ambiguous. Could be a boy or a girl."

"I got it. Like the painting. Like yesterday." Arran smiled broadly to himself when he thought about Saturday with Tom.

"I thought you liked it," Tom smirked.

"You know I did. I… freaking loved it. I… well"

"Yeah, I got it," Tom burst out laughing. "Freudian slip. I didn't mean to say that."

Now Arran was laughing too.

"Yeah, you certainly did, and I enjoyed every minute."

"So, ah! Getting back to yesterday and Salem, Achim's little bro. So he says to me, 'I'm Michael.' Michael was this guy I met online. In the chat room. We talked all the time to each other."

"You're telling me this guy you know. The guy you talked to in a… gay, chat room, is Achim's little brother."

"Yeah, Salem."

"Fuck!"

Arran was more than surprised. This was a revelation. He had never considered Tom's life before he got here. Never thought about who he knew, because since he arrived here he didn't seem to have any friends. Though when he considered it, he had been sort of drawn to the boy, intrigued, probably attracted, it was physical. Maybe he didn't allow himself to see that, but it was clear. He hadn't wondered about who Tom knew, where he lived, what happened before he arrived in his life.

"Now I'm not sure what I should do," Tom finished his hot chocolate and put the mug down. "That was good."

"You must know him quite well. If you chatted all the time."

"I know he's gay. I know he doesn't know any gay guys. He has to pretend not to be. His family would kill him if they found out."

"That's pretty bad. I think if that was me I'd be looking to get away."

"Arran, have you told your dad?"

"Not yet," Arran admitted, feeling like a coward.

"So! And you're seventeen. This kid is fourteen. He told me. He told me he was shit scared. Scared all the time. This is one of the guys who beat me up and I can forgive him. I'm sure he had to."

"One of the the guys who freaking attacked you? Your best mate from the chat room? Your online gay friend? Shit. I think I'd smack the kid."

"You've never been bullied, have you? You've never been completely alone. Always had your friends. Your girlfriend. What happened there?"

As soon as Tom had said that he regretted it. Now he was defending Salem and bashing Arran. Worse, he was having a dig at him over his previous relationship.

"I'm sorry," Tom said. "I didn't mean it. I don't want to start argueing. I'm sorry."

Arran moved over to Tom and put his hand on the other boy's shoulder. "I'd like to show you my bedroom," he said.

Tom stood up and Arran wrapped him in a tight hug. He turned him around slowly and leant in to plant a gentle kiss on Tom's lips. The gentle kiss became a longer kiss.

"My bedroom?" Arran asked.

Tom melted in his arms and nodded.

 

"You came prepared," Arran said, leaning back against the headboard.

"Yeah, I should have been a boy scout."

Arran turned and kissed him. "I could get into that. You as a boy scout. Little khaki shorts and a toggle!"

Tom laughed. "We could go camping, huh?"

"Think I prefer the warm indoors."

"In the summer, idiot."

Arran fell over him grabbing Tom and messing his hair, before planting another kiss on those amazing lips.

"What time do you go online?"

"What?"

"I was thinking, maybe you could chat with Michael. Salem."

"Why? What am I going to say?"

"Okay, bad idea. But after you said how stuck he is. Just, it's kind of terrible to dump him. Besides, are you sure?"

"That it's him? Certain. You have a PC?"

"Nope." Arran reached back to his side of the bed and retrieved his portable computer. "But I've got this." He handed it to Tom.

"Damn rich kids," Tom joked.

They settled themselves, sitting up on the bed, snuggled together. Tom opened the lid, switched it on, and waited for it to boot up. Arran watched as Tom logged onto the internet chat room. He moved closer to see the list of users online that Tom brought up.

"Is he there?" Arran asked.

"It's not showing him online, but he still might be. I'll message him."

They waited as Tom typed in a short message and pressed send. Then they waited some more. Nothing. No reply. Arran's hand started wandering over Tom's thigh.

"Hey, I thought we were doing something serious?"

Arran squeezed Tom's thigh and walked his fingers up higher. There was a ding. A message. Tom clicked.

"Thought I freaked you out," came the reply.

"You did a bit."

"I wanted to tell you sorry."

"It's okay."

"No…"

The screen flashed Michael is writing… Michael is writing… They both watched, glued to the little rectangle that lay across the bottom of the screen. Waiting.

"What's he doing?" Arran whispered. "Must be writing a book."

The screen flashed and several lines of text appeared.

"Achim saw me on the Internet and saw the gay chat. Told him I was chatting up queers to get money from them. Said I had a scheme. He wanted to know who Tracy was. Had to say something. Said I was meeting up with you. Sorry. He could kill me."

"It's okay," Tom typed. "It's done."

"Not okay. He hates gays. Wants to screw you."

"What?"

"The fight."

"Oh!"

"Yeah. Not screw you, screw you."

"Yeah. Got it. And you."

"Fuck yes. I would screw you."

"Shut up Michael."

"Or."

"Don't say it."

"You could."

"I could?"

"Yeah. You could."

"What's happening with Your bro?"

"He's getting out. So be careful. Right?"

"Of course."

There was some noise in the background which sounded a little like shouting, but it wasn't in English.

"GTG."

Michael's icon greyed out.

"He's gone," Tom said.

"Yeah. I can't imagine what you got up to on that chat."

Tom playfully punched him. "Only with him." He closed the laptop and handed it back to Arran.

"You'll have to tell me about it."

"You perv!"

"Oh! So it was weird stuff?"

Tom burst out laughing and pretty soon Arran joined in. Then they heard the front door opening, signalling the return of Arran's dad, and the end of their Sunday afternoon alone.

NEXT CHAPTER