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Half Hearted
I’m lying on my back in the long green grass and the sky is more blue than I’ve ever seen it before. My brother is lying next to me and our fingers are purple stained with blackberry juice, our knuckles scratched as though we’ve been playing with a kitten. Little white butterflies sharpen against the sky overhead. I am no longer tired by the walk up here to the top of the hill. It took the two of us an hour. Had it been just my brother walking he would have made it up here in twenty minutes flat. The issue is always me, but that’s OK. I glance sideways at Jason, my brother and let a smile fall over me. We really do have an idyllic life out here, surrounded by the countryside and within easy reach of the town. Living in the middle of nowhere and yet surrounded by life. I close my eyes and let the warmth of the afternoon soothe me.
“Alex?”
“Hmmm?” I am too lazy to answer.
“Alex?”
A headache begins somewhere around my left temple and drags talons across my brain.
“Alex?”
I ache, the muscles in my arms that I’ve been using as a pillow, I’m stiff all along my right side.
“Alex!”
Jason leans over to shake my shoulder, his blue eyes scared for me.
“Alex? Wake up, everyone’s gone home.”
I raised my head, my heart pounding, to find the classroom empty. Last thing on a Friday, double history. Hell of a way to end the week. I wonderd how much I missed. I sat up properly and looked up into a pair of impossibly big blue eyes, shining blue, like aquamarine gems and half obscured by the golden fall of his messy hair which he was growing out of what Jason called a ‘kid’s cut’. My little brother River is fourteen, and the best younger brother that anyone could ever ask for. He’s decided he wants to grow his hair long like mine.
He sat on another desk and chattered away while I packed up my school stuff and then we went to go and take a trip to my locker so that I could collect the rest of my gear. There’s not much, I’m not strong and so all my text books live in my locker unless I have to take them home for homework. It was grey outside the windows, mid September weather making the sky go dull and the sunshine a rarity. We walked home alone, everyone else had gone already and there were only hints of shouts from afar. That wasn’t unusual, and since most of the school population go home by bus it doesn’t really matter. Sometimes I wonder if River had less friends in his own year, since he spends so much of his free time at school with me, or whether hanging out with the year elevens makes him popular amongst his year nine peers. Two years younger than me, there is only an inch difference in out heights and we both know he’ll grow up to be taller than me.
Our house is well set back from the road just outside the village. It’s a twenty minute walk from the school and it takes me half an hour at least. We have a long driveway; you can’t even see the house. I remember when we first moved here. I was five and sitting in the back of the car. I’d been asleep for most of the journey and when I woke up I thought we were lost, driving over a track in the middle of lightly wooded farmland or something. And then we drove around the corner and there was the house, sturdy but not small, like an old fashioned cottage with all the mod-cons and a garden big enough to keep three small boys in trouble all day long. When I was a kid it was heaven and now that I’m older it’s still just as perfect.
Mum was in the kitchen when we got in and the kettle was already on the boil, standing on the blue painted aga. Her blonde hair was escaping its plait and curling behind her ears like Jason’s does. All the family have blonde hair, except my dad and me. Dad’s is short and brown and spiky, mine is long, straight and smooth like water. That sort of colour too, lacking that is. You could call it ash blond, but off white would be better, a pale grey you get with people my grandparents age, not with boys of sixteen.
The evening goes the way most Friday evenings go in our house. Dad’s rolls in from work in a suit and tie looking haggard and annoyed, brightening instantly when he sees us all. He works in London and his job is always a frantic rush to get things done on time, he’s one of a pair of accountants for a big advertising firm. His partner Mack comes around to dinner every so often. My dad comes in, hugs mum and River, who jumps up to meet him and then comes around the table to ruffle my hair.
“Having fun Houston?”
I looked up from my homework, English, nothing heavy, just some notes on the set text and gave him a smile for my family nickname. Jason is Big Guy, River is Little Bit and I am Houston. Houston we have a problem. It used to annoy me but not anymore. Jason arrived a little later, shaking water out of his hair and looking like he’s taken a shower fully dressed. He just rode home from college in the rain, having stayed late to go to Judo, which he does three times a week. Sunday mornings mum or dad drive the three of us out to the gym complex in Brighton. Jason does kickboxing, River does karate and I have a two hour tai chi session and drink tea while waiting for the other two to finish up. I can’t do the loud shouts, the hard work or the fast energy required by what my brother’s do. Grumbling Jason went upstairs to change and I took a towel, warm from the rail of the aga, and headed on up to his room, which is opposite mine and next to River’s. He was struggling out of wet jeans, tight and clingy because they’re soaked, when I arrived and I had to help him out of them since all he was managing was to fall over a lot. He striped down his boxers and threw the towel over his head, scrubbing his hair dry. I wandered around his room. A couple of years ago the three of us had a week spat of painting during the spring when we all got bored over Easter. We painted all our bedrooms and had to bunk with each other while the paint dried in various rooms. As a consequence of this River has a room decorated in three different shades of blue swirl, my room has multi coloured zebra stripes on a dark red background and Jason’s room is a kind of patchwork of whatever we had left divided by black lines like a Mondrian painting. In some of a white squares were drawings and little poem scribbles, things that he and I did later on. While Jason gets dressed I read one of these. The cramped black writing is Jason’s but the words are mine.
The girl with the sun that shone from her eyes
Turned her gaze upon the ghost boy
And although she said she loved him
He was only half hearted
And so he fell away
Jason’s hand was heavy on my shoulder. He had dressed himself in different jeans and a huggable blue jumper, his curly hair damp and springy. He put his arm round my shoulders and we went down stairs for dinner.
“Morning River.”
“Good morning Alex,” River sounded chirpy enough, “Do want to go out today?”
“Where?”
“For a bike ride or something. Jason’s coming too.”
I sighed heavily and reached over to mess his hair, which was fairly messy anyway.
“You know I can’t River. I can’t keep up.”
He looked miserable.
“I’m sorry.”
We lay in silence for a while and I thought about getting up, about my homework and about the delicious smells of something involving baking that were rising through the floor. There was also the small worry that my brother had been reading my journal.
“Alex?”
“Yes River?”
“Can I ask you a question?” He was looking at his hands, fingers playing with a small rock that was one my bedside cabinet. It shimmers in the light.
“You just did, but sure.” I was starting to worry a little then, River sounded terribly serious for a fourteen year old. He seemed to be building up nerve, his knuckles white as he clutched the rock.
“Don’t get mad at me please, but I kind of have to ask because otherwise I’ll just keep on wondering and that’s really bad,” He toke a deep breath as if trying to talk himself out of it, “Alex, are you gay?”
I blinked. And then I blinked again. Did he really just say that, just ask me that? Did my little brother just ask me that question? From my prone position I half shrug.
“I think so, is that a problem?” My voice was shaking a little.
“No,” a pause and then, “No, Alex it’s really not. I just kind of wondered and then I got scared because I didn’t know and some of the big boys in your year said you were ‘cos you didn’t have a girlfriend and I didn’t know what to say. I got worried and so I thought I’d see if reading your journal would help, but it didn’t.”
I had to smile at the verbal rush as my brother looked scared and confused, excited and relieved all at once.
“You thought there would be a message in big letters saying ‘I think I’m gay’ just to help you?”
“No. You only think you are, don’t you know?”
“Well, I don’t fancy any girls.”
“Neither do I!” River says with feeling.
“But do you fancy any of the boys in your class?”
“No!” River smiles at me, “You have a crush on someone in your class? Do I know him?”
“River!”
He launched himself at me and I bundled him up in a hug while he did his best to crush my lungs.
“Don’t tell mum or dad or Jason OK?”
“Are you going to tell them?”
“Soon,” I promised him then pushed him away, “Now get going so I can get dressed. Next time go bother Jason about his love life.”
It is painfully obvious why Chris Ford is skipping out on PE too. He carried his backpack in one hand, the green of his uniform mostly obscured by a large white sling. He managed to fracture a bone in his right arm and snap his collarbone over the weekend. I would say that some people have no luck, but he was dirt biking with no pads and probably deserved it. Thankfully he was wearing a helmet, otherwise he’d be no more now than a funeral date and a painful memory. It struck me that we’d be spending a lot of time off PE together and the thought was warming, like hot sweet tea. Spending time alone in the library with the guy I’d dreamt about for the last three years was not high on my list of things that would happen soon. Of course, it would be a whole lot better if he knew I existed.
Chris was taller than me and well built, he likes sports apparently and all the teachers love him. He’s not stupid, but his forte is not maths, that much is for sure. Everyone loves Chris, he’s kind and funny with a smile to die for and all the girls just adore his accent. American, native American although I’m not sure exactly where he originates from. Chris is his western name, apparently he has another one too, but no one ever calls him that. When we were back in year eight someone asked him about it and he said he would only tell it to someone he deeply adored. All the girls have been trying to get in his pants since. As for me, I watched his black haired form move around from behind my book. He took a couple off the shelves and then his gaze was caught by a leaflet for the Judo class that my brother takes at his college. He picked one up and between juggling bag and books, the whole lot fell onto the floor.
“Fuck.” He swore softly, more for the reason we were in the library than any school code against foul language, and knelt to pick up his stuff. As he did his elbow clipped a table corner and he grunted in pain, holding his damaged arm. I put my book down and summoning all my courage I walked over and knelt down to help him gather up his stuff. Work books and pens from his open bag were also scattered over the floor. He got up a little unsteadily and I handed him his bag and stacked his books and the leaflet on the table. I was too scared to say anything to him, afraid I’d get tongue tied and say something really stupid. I began to walk away, but he caught my wrist with his free hand.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re…” He stood there for a moment, brow furrowed, trying to remember my name.
“Alex,” I supplied, he’d been in my class for four and a bit years and he didn’t know who I was, “Alex Delaney.”
“Nice name, French right?”
“Originally yeah. You OK with those books Chris?”
He looked at me hopelessly and sat down, gesturing for me to do the same.
“So you spend a lot of time in the library?”
“Yeah, it’s a bit like a second home. I’ve never seen you in here before.”
“Well no, I spend most of my time out on the field,” he picked up the judo leaflet again.
“My brother goes to that.”
“Yeah?”
And we talked. We talked for the whole of the two hour session and it was absolutely brilliant. It turns out there were a lot of things I didn’t know about Chris. He’s got an older brother at uni and twin sisters who are in their last year of primary school. He lives in the closest town, in a house that’s too small. He said his room is like a box, space enough for a bed and a small chest of drawers and nothing else. He likes art although he dropped it in year nine and has real trouble with his maths. It is a good rambling conversation that doesn’t really mean much and yet gives us a link all at once. We left the library together, heading the same way, but then his friends arrived and he walked off with them without a backward glance. I had already been forgotten.
Well the days came and went and when I was two River arrived on the scene, this bundle of loud energy. Him and Jason took to each other straight away which was probably the best thing that could have happened. Jason was almost five by then and perfectly able to keep his littlest brother out of some trouble.
And grew up. I’m weak, I can’t run or swim or do any sports. Sometimes I lie in bed at night and listen to my heart thudding double time to keep the blood going round me. It takes me twice as long to go anywhere as anyone else. I can just about ride a bicycle, but only very slowly. I wasn’t held back in school, despite what the teachers wanted. Mum just told them that there was nothing wrong with my brain. No special treatment, no extra classes and with the exception of sports I do everything the school wants. I suppose that having two brothers so full of life made it easy, but I wasn’t treated like glass at home. River and Jason had to both learn early on that they were not allowed to push their brother. One and only time Jason and I ever got in a scuffle. I was six, he was eight and I was dead for exactly one minute and twelve seconds, my medical record says so. He’s never lifted a finger against me since.
As a consequence I’m not blond and blue eyed like the rest of the family, nor do I have Dad’s darker colouring. My off white hair makes me look albino, and I’m so pale I’m probably a bit anaemic, but my eyes aren’t pale pink or even a shade of red. They’re green, grey-green like moss rather than sharp green. When I was in primary school I used to get teased a lot for my colouring, but I always had Jason to stand up for me when I couldn’t do it myself. I go to Tai Chi to learn muscle control and improve my stamina. These days I don’t get tired so fast and I can spend a bit of energy making myself look like I can fight when I haven’t got half a chance in hell.
One damp Monday afternoon at the end of November found me well ensconced in a leather chair in the library half way through a book from home. I hadn’t moved all afternoon, the weather outside was dismal, dark at half three and wet as a bath tub. Jason would be soaked when he got home at five. I knew the second River came in with his friends. It’s not that he has a loud voice, but his laugh is infectious, and Christmas was already on the discussion cards. River wanted a dog for Christmas, he’d made that much clear. I was half asleep in my chair, my book, lain across my knees, eyes closed as I listened vaguely to the sound of my brother’s voice.
“Alex?” he sounded scared, “Alex, wake up!”
He was shaking my shoulder, his eyes wide and panicked. His friends hung back, all staring.
“River? What’s wrong?” My answer is a swift tight hug.
“I thought you were dead! Don’t do that to me Alex!”
This has happened before. I dozed off in the kitchen once while my mum was talking and she turned around to find me slumped in my seat where I had been awake and bright eyed not thirty seconds earlier. I have to reassure River before he goes to sit with his friends, that I really do feel fine. It’s not until he grudgingly moves away that I see a work book lying on a table nearby. It’s where Chris and I sat earlier today. I go over. It’s his, his English book and I know from what he said today that he needs it tonight to write up his essay, which has to be in tomorrow. Like all his schoolbooks his name and address are written on the inside front cover, put there by his mother most like. He lives in the town, I can get a bus and walk there no problem. The school buses have gone by now but there’s a regular bus in another ten minutes. I tell River what I’m going to do and he agrees to tell mum that I’ll be late. I swear he’s about to ask me if Jason is my boyfriend but he doesn’t. I thank him with my eyes.
I got onto a fairly empty bus, the floor slippery and sat down near the front where the suspension is better. I knew vaguely where Chris’s house was, called the bus to a stop and wandered down the hill and past the park behind the big supermarket, hood up and getting wet. I found the house without too much trouble in the gloom and Chris’s mother met me on the doorstep. She was just on her way out and said I could go and wait for Chris if I wanted, he wasn’t in yet. His brother was and she promised that someone would drive me home. And so I was left, more or less alone, in a strange house. I suppose I was there on the pretence of being Chris’s friend, and in a way I was a friend, just one who he would only speak to on Mondays just before lunch. I found Chris’s room all right. It really was a poky little thing, the only floor space there was taken up by a stack of school books. I found a pen and a post it in my bag and wrote a note on the front of his English work book.
Chris,
You left this in the library, though you might need it for your essay. See you on Monday. Alex.
I didn’t really know what to do after that. I should really go home, nice as seeing Chris would be. His mum had said someone would drive me, and I wondered if I should wait for her to get back or just wait for the bus. I left the tiny room to go downstairs. Chris’s older brother, at least a person I assumed was him, was standing in a doorway down the hall. The second I saw him my heart did this little flip and started banging twice as hard as usually, which was almost physically painful. If Chris was good looking, his brother was downright gorgeous.
He was standing there in a pair of jeans and nothing else, tall, slender, long glossy black hair gilding his shoulders, chocolate eyes boring into me as I stared at him. His brown skin was decorated with the most beautiful tattoos I’d ever seen. All black, there was this odd spiky swirl on his shoulder, a weird and loopy knot over most of his left chest and a double spiral just above his navel. His belt buckle held the same design. I gulped audibly and felt myself blushing.
“You a friend of Chris’s?” He voice was rich, dark and sultry. He looked as if he’d just woken up, half dressed and about the most sexy thing I’d ever seen.
“Um…yeah. I was just bringing back a book of his.”
He came forward from the doorway with this lovely smile and held out his hand, his upper arm was decorated with a strange spiral that went around his arm and couple of times and vanished.
“Chaime,” he said, taking my hand, which was so small and so pale against his skin. I think it was supposed to be Jaime, but that was how he said it, that soft ch sound sending my heart into overdrive, “You must be Alex, the library guy.” His warm voice made my name into Alec; it was softer, more rounded. Usually I hated anyone messing up my name, and I can’t stand any nickname apart from my family one. Descriptive nicknames suck, I always end up with a raw deal.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Chaime let’s go of my hand and I feel small and insignificant again. He steps forward, the space between us a matter of inches now and I momentarily forget to breathe. Chaime is smiling still, looking down at me with his lovely dark eyes. His hand touches my hair, letting his fingers sift between the fine strands.
“You’re a lot prettier than my brother described you as Alec. Like snow.”
I can feel myself blushing, my name in his voice, whispers warm against my cheek, I lower my eyes, too scared to look at him.
“Mum said I’d give you a lift home right?” He leans away, letting my hair fall back into place, “Let me just get a shirt on.”
Guiltily I stand just outside his doorway, trying not to look at him as he retreats, looking for clothes. There are tattoos on his back too, another strange lyrical knot on one side and over his spine and opposite that a winged gun emblazoned one his shoulder blade, surrounded by grey smoke swirls like oriental mist. I whistle softly. Half way through struggling into his shirt Chaime turns around, one eyebrow arched.
“Those are cool. Your tattoos I mean.” He must read something like longing on my face because he tugs his shirt on and walks over to me, lifting the hem up so the shirt’s almost off again.
“Go on, it’s cool.”
For a moment I don’t know what he means, but my hand has already crept out, wanting to touch those dark lines on deep brown skin. I trace my finger tip across the lines of the knot on his torso. The ink is ridged a little against the smooth skin, and for a second I am lost in the art before the rise of his chest, just breathing, snaps me back to reality. Chaime drops his shirt and grins at me, pulling a heavy denim jacket on over his shoulders. I follow him downstairs.
“You ever ridden pillion before?”
“No.”
“You wanna? I can get the car out if you’d prefer.”
“No! It’s fine.”
Chaime leads me out of the front door and around the side of the house where a little lean-to provides shelter for a big black racing bike and some gear. He hands me a helmet that looks hardly used and a big leather jacket with metal bits in it to go over my coat. The bike starts with a noise like a tiger in a fight and them settles down to purr deeply. He gets on, steers it out of the lean-to and then waves for me to get on. The bike is massive and pillion seat is impossibly small, with only a handle I don’t trust to hang on to. I wrap my arms around Chaime, who grips my wrists and tightens my grip on him. The bike thrums beneath us and then we are away. I can’t ever remember going this fast. Chaime is warm and the rain hits us hard. I have to direct him to my house with much pointing since we can’t speak to each other with the helmets on. I feel safe wrapped up in his big biker jacket, clinging to his back. Eventually we crunch up the gravel drive that leads to my house and I can feel the tensed surprise in Chaime’s shoulders as the house comes into view. Jason is just parking his bike, staring at the bike as it pulls up. Chaime kicks the stand and turns off the engine, sliding forward and helping my off the back before tugging off his helmet. He smiles at me. I take of the jacket, which he puts on over his own and then I hold the helmet out to him, with no idea where he’s going to put it.
“Keep it,” says Chaime, “It’s not like Chris ever wears the damn thing.” He starts up the bike and leans toward me. His kiss is so warm and so soft and so surprising, all I can do is stand there. He pulls on his helmet and drives away into the dark rain.
Jason glares at me and storms inside, River is waiting for us, as is mum. I give a hurried explanation and rush after Jason, River hot on my heels.
“The hell were you doing?” I hardly have time to get through the door before Jason turns his anger on me, “And what were you doing with him?”
“Calm down Jase,” River steps between us, hands out, “Don’t get mad.”
Jason takes a few deep breaths.
“Why did Jamie Ford just drive you home?”
“I had to take his brother’s book to his house, he said he’d bring me home.” I’m surprised that Jason knows who Chaime is.
“On a motorbike? With that guy driving! Are you nuts? You could have been killed.”
“I’m fine Jason.”
There is a pause, and when Jason speaks again his voice is bitter and confused.
“He kissed you.”
River giggles suddenly and the tension drifts apart a little.
“I thought you fancied his brother!”
“River! Had you been reading my journal again?”
Jason blinks and catches up with the conversation.
“You’re…you’re not?”
River grins, childlike ease granting him the ability to say what I have trouble even forming into words.
“Alex is gay. It’s OK, he just fancies boys. Not girls.”
I can’t look at Jason, I don’t want to see the look in his eyes. His arms encircle me and I bury my face in the wet fabric of his shirt.
“This true?”
“I don’t fancy Chris Ford,” I say blandly, “He’s mean.”
“And the rest?”
“Yes.”
“You told mum and dad yet?”
“No.”
“You gonna?”
“Soon.”
Jason pushes me away from him so he can see me, his eyes shine with tears.
“Oh Alex…” he smiles, “Go on, get outta here, both of you. I need to get dressed.
I drilled Jason for everything he knew about Chaime Ford. Chaime was at college with Jason in his first year, but somehow he managed to do his A levels in one year and took off. He did English, Spanish (which he apparently completed in a matter of weeks) and Engineering. Chris’s dirt bike habit seems to have been fuelled by his brother, who has been racing at Donington since he was River’s age. Apparently he even travelled to Japan to compete in a four hour endurance race. I don’t know how much of all that is true, but some of it certainly. According to Jason, Chaime is trouble, a racer and a head case. He rode his bike down the rail bridge stairs and into the main college building to prove a point. I know what Jason is worried about. Chaime has apparently had his way with a lot of girls, and according to rumour a few guys too, and my big brother does not want me becoming yet another notch on his bed post. Though his brother said he was at university that’s not strictly true. Apparently he works as an apprentice in a bike garage in Brighton and spends the rest of his time on the track or fixing up track bikes.
“Alec!” I frown and look over to where the crowd splits. Chaime, in full leathers, black and red to match the bike, which is not the one we road the other week, is waving me over with a gauntleted hand. I walk over, nervous and shuffling a little bit. Chaime’s helmet is resting on the engine cover, the other is in his hands. He passes it over to me and gets a jacket out from under the seat, “Are you coming or what? I’ve been waiting half an hour.”
Everyone looks astonished and I am too scared and confused and in awe to argue even as Chris flusters. I pull on the jacket and tug on the helmet, my hair a white blaze out the back. Chaime starts up the engine.
“Jaime!” Chris looks furious at being shown up like this.
Chaime flashes me a grin and pulls on his helmet, flicking the visor up.
“Sorry Chris,” he shouts over the engine noise, “Looks like you’ll have to take the bus.” He kicks the bike into gear and we’re away, nothing but dust behind us.
We head out of the village, because the weather had been good it’s still light and Chaime drives us out on empty country roads, the dips and turns pure thrill on a two wheeler and I follow Chaime’s lead as he turns into the corner. I must have done good because by the time we stop, in a lay-by up the top of the downs, just outside the village main, he is beaming. We climb off and I stand there, looking sheepish and blushing a little. He strips off his gauntlets and takes my hand.
“Thanks,” I say in the smallest voice ever.
“What for?”
I look up at him, his face honest and beautiful.
“For picking me up, it was nice. You got my helmet, I mean your helmet from my house first and everything. I feel special.” The second the words are out of my mouth they sound stupid.
“You are special,” he says and tugs my hand, “Come on.”
We walk up into the field and I climb onto the little wooden bench half hidden in the hedge and look out across the view of the village, rolling fields and the main road. Old chalk pit like a scar in the hillside. After the rain, everything looks very green. Chaime dumps the helmets and his riding gear and climbs up the Mill Post, this great big tree trunk stuck in the earth on top of the hill held up with four huge beams at odd angles. Chaime high tails it up one of these then stands, arms out for balance and climbs the six foot vertical to sit on top of the post itself.
“Wow! You should see the view from up here!”
I go and stand at the bottom of the post. Climbing trees is another of the things I don’t do.
“Chaime?” I turn to look up at him, hands on the rough wood of the post. I find myself looking at the back of his phone. There is a click.
“You’re adorable.” Chaime smiles. I blush and turn to walk away, going to sit on the bench. I pick a blackberry and stare at it in my pale fingers. He comes up behind me, his arms round my waist, nuzzling the back of my hair. “Oh, Alec, don’t be annoyed with me. Come climb the post with me.”
“No.”
His breath is warm on my cheek.
“Come on Ghost, smile for me again.” I turn, frowning at him.
“Ghost?”
“Yeah, ghost. Like White Ghost. Snow. Do you hate it?”
“No,” and I was surprised to find that it was true. His hands slip under my shirt, bare fingers warm and soft against my skin. He begins to explore my chest with his big hands. Suddenly he stops. Fingers flick up the hem of my shirt and stare in wonder or horror at my chest. For while Chaime’s caramel skin is inked with beautiful bewitching designs, my whit skin is marred by a dark scar in the shape of a cross. The thing is almost as big as I am. A perfect crucifix, right over my heart.
“What happened?” His fingers trace the lines and I shudder, pulling my shirt down, “Ghost?”
“Surgery,” I say, then waves away the subject with a look, “Chaime, what do you want with me?”
He doesn’t answer, just turns away and picks up his stuff, “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
That night I pen a new poem on my brother’s wall in a small white square.
He took me into the green hills
The black beast roaring at our heels
But I was held in sanctity
By the mark of god on my heart
The next day at school I am the subject of gossip, and also awe and attention from just about every girl in school. If there’s anyone they adore more than Chris ford, it’s his big brother. When did we become friends? What’s he like? Does he have a girlfriend? I shrug off most of the questions quite successfully, giving off bland answers that neither confirm nor deny anything, but that’s only until lunchtime when the person I’ve been dreading to see appears in the quadrangle with a small group of friends. Chris has me up against the wall in thirty seconds flat. Harassment or bullying I’m not sure but if I wanted to I could get him done for something. Everyone is staring. Chris has me by my collar, the other hand on my shoulder, pushing me up against the rough brickwork.
“Now,” he growls, all the softness of his accent gone, “Would you like to explain to me exactly what you were doing with my brother?”
“I ah…when I took your book back to you house a couple of weeks ago…he gave me a ride home,” I’m speaking to fast, panting, I’m not supposed to be put under this sort of pressure. It’s dangerous.
“Then why did he come home last night singing your praises?” Chris seems more jealous than angry and I’m lead to wonder why.
“Why would I know?”
Chris leans close, and whispers so quietly even I have to strain to hear his words. Then he lets me go and stalks off, leaving me to slide down the wall and into a crumpled heap.
“He’s mine,” he’d said, “You cannot have him.”
After that, of course, the rumours began to increase. I didn’t really get annoyed by it, it was just talk, easily ignored. And most of it was talk for the sports changing rooms, so I didn’t care much. It wasn’t until River, sniffing to hold back tears, told me on the way home that he was being questioned, bullied and made fun of, especially in sport, because his brother was, as they had termed it ‘a poof’. End of the week, Chaime turned up again, on the big black motorbike I’d seen first time round. I walked up to him, wolf whistles following me, and him all smiles, so pleased to see me.
I hit him.
I didn’t hit him hard, I’m not strong enough to do that, but it was a decent punch to the cheekbone and the space between my first two knuckles hurt afterwards.
“Ghost?”
“Don’t call me that! Why don’t you tell your fucking stupid brother to give it a rest and leave me and mine alone all right? I never wanna see your pretty face again!” and with that I stormed off, only belatedly realising that I’d just given the man of my dreams I compliment while telling him I couldn’t stand him. River and I walked home in silence, more or less. He held my hand and smiled, when we reached the drive he turned to me, practically the same height as me now.
“I’m proud of you Alex. Thank you.” Then he ran off, to go and tell our parents his latest perfect test scores.
Lying sprawled over my double bed after dinner I didn’t hear my mother calling me for a while, absorbed by a new book and lost in the music belting out of my computer speakers. I had all but forgotten the events that had occurred after school. No, that’s a lie, I was just not thinking about it, distracting myself from the creature that sat in the back of my mind, waiting for the perfect time to pounce. I had hit Chaime. He’d been so nice and so good to me without me really knowing why. And I’d hit him. It was inexcusable. I should have talked to him instead. It all came down to River. I could deal with any amount of bullying, from Chris or anyone else, but family was another matter. River was bigger, stronger and faster than me, but he was only a kid. Mum came up and told me I had a visitor. I thought perhaps it would be Chris and Chaime’s parents, the school, the police.
Chaime stood on our doorstep, under the eaves of the porch. He was soaked, it had begun raining again, harder than before. His bike stood in the rain, and he shivered and dripped onto the sandstone slab. Jeans, boots, t-shirt. His hair was soaked and there was neither a helmet nor a jacket it sight. The wind had rubbed raw the blow I’d given him, but it was more than that, the bruise was cut up, bleeding, a dried trickle of blood flowing down his cheek to the point of his chin. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep warm. I could see the shape of his collar bone through his shirt, the cotton gone transparent with the rain. The patterns of his tattoos leapt out at me.
“I’m sorry about your brother.” I just stood there in the warmth of the house, looking at him standing there, so perfect and so alone in the dark, “I didn’t know about what was going on at your school. I never thought that me showing up would get you into trouble.”
“Did Chris do that?”
“Yeah,” Chaime looked away, hiding the wound, not looking at me, “He thought he’d really rip me up where you just hit me. I got pissed, hit him and left. Course, your punch hurt more.”
“I have trouble believing that.”
“The difference is, I don’t care if my brother hates me. I care if you do.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, I took a step closer to him, but he backed off.
“You don’t mean that. Look I just came to apologise that your brother was getting shit for me hanging around. I won’t bother you no more, so that’s OK.” He started back towards his bike, tensing up at the wind and rain hit him. I didn’t think about it, I just ran straight after him, grabbed his arm. He tried to pull away but not hard enough to actually shake me off. He stood there, head down and even with the rain I could see he was crying. It was such a strange sight, not something I’d ever expected from Chaime, as little as I knew him. I could tell he didn’t cry often.
“What do you want from me Chaime?”
He answered me with a kiss.
The kiss he’d given me before had been so soft, so light, little more than a brushing of lips, a electric contact. This was in every way different. His lips were soft against mine, warm and damp with the rain and the salt taste of his tears, a tiny copper tang of blood. His arms went around me, hand in the back of my hair, fingers strong, cradling the back of my head and my neck. I opened up to him, as though there was another option, and his tongue touched mine gingerly. I closed my eyes, let touch take over, heard a soft groan and realised that it was my own as he kissed me, his mouth hot and perfect. He leant back and looked at me through the rain.
“You’re beautiful.”
I sniffed and pushed my wet hair out of my eyes,
“No I’m not.”
“I think you are Ghost.” He looked suddenly embarrassed, “Sorry, I shouldn’t call you that right?”
“No, I like it. Say it again.”
“Ghost,” he whispered in my ear, arms around me, holding me close, “My Ghost.”
I looked up at him, slightly scared, mostly just cold.
“Do you want to come inside?”
He nodded and I took his hand, warm and strong over mind, and lead him into the house. I got medical stuff from the bathroom cupboard, sidestepped my mum and led him into my room. He stood there dripping on the carpet while I got out a sterile wipe and plasters and things. He sat on the chair while I dabbed at the cut and wiped away as much of the blood as gently I could. His eyes were bright and watching me intensely as I cleaned the cut and stuck three of the little white plasters over it. They look like stitches to me, and that’s what they do, very white against Chaime’s dark skin.
“Shouldn’t scar too much. Does it hurt?”
“Not any more.” He cupped my jaw with one of his big hands and I thought he was going to kiss me again. There was a sound from the doorway, and then slightly muffled giggling. River was standing there, clutching his sides and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Chaime got up, and smiled at River.
“You must be River.”
“That’s right. You’re Chris’s big brother Jaime right?”
“Right. Sorry for what happened at your school.”
“That’s OK,” River came forward and held out his hand, Chaime took it, “Jason says you’re a bike racer.”
“That’s right,” he turned to me, “Jason?”
“Our other brother.” I said, “Looks like an older version of River.”
Chaime’s whole attitude altered suddenly, he became stiff, tense, his fingers curling by his sides.
“Chaime?”
“You’re Jason Delaney’s brother?”
“Yeah,” now I’m getting worried too, “Chaime, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he came back over to me, smiling, “Everything’s fine Ghost.”
“Look, I’m going to get changed and try and find you something to wear. You’ll catch hypothermia or something like that.” Chaime was still shaking a little and he nodded tightly. I found myself another pair of jeans and a jumper and carried the stuff to the bathroom. I couldn’t tell whether or not Chaime was annoyed or amused by my modesty. After dumping my wet clothes in the bath, I went into Jason’s room. It was a cacophony of sound, he was half watching rock videos at high volume while trawling through his homework. He turned it down when I came in.
“Hey Houston, what’s up?”
“Can I borrow some of your clothes?”
“Huh?”
I repeated my request.
“Sure,” he waved me in the direction of his wardrobe, “What for?”
“I’ve got a visitor, he’s bit wet.”
“Someone from school?”
“Not exactly.”
Whether he was suspicious or he had already guessed I didn’t know, but he went to the window and the light from his window spilled over the drive and the black motorbike parked in the rain. He followed me out of the room and into mine where Chaime, looking waifishly thin in his tight wet shirt and jeans, was rifling through my CD collection, pushing lank hair out of his eyes. Jason pushed past me, and I hardly got a syllable of warming out before the punch landed. The already raw wound on Chaime’s cheek was opened once again. Through the shouting, River hauled Jason off and pushed him back, hand on his chest until he calmed down and realised that he was going to hurt his brother if he wasn’t careful. I got to Chaime before he tried to attach Jason, and realised belatedly, that he hadn’t even moved. I reached up and wiped the bleeding cut with my thumb, sucking the blood off without really thinking about it. Chaime peeled off the stitch plasters and threw them in the bin. Blood dripped onto his white t-shirt. I turned on Jason.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He ignored me, spitting his words at Chaime.
“Stay the hell away from my brothers, both of them. Don’t you come near my house again. Bastard.”
“Jason!”
“You can’t trust him Alex. He betrays people. He’s just in it for kicks. Isn’t that right Jaime? You couldn’t be happy screwing up everyone else’s life so you had to start on Alex.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar!”
“Enough!” River took charge admirably, “Jason, go back to your room, Alex, keep Jaime here. I for one do not want to explain all this noise to our parents.” He began prodding Jason’s chest, “Come on Big Guy, keep walking.” Somehow he managed to get Jason out of the room and got the door closed. I handed Chaime the clothes and went to stand by the desk, not looking at him as he changed.
“Chaime? What’s all this about?”
“Do we have to talk about it now?” He sounded exhausted.
“No. I guess not. But as soon as you go I’m going to get Jason’s side of things.”
He didn’t reply, just hung his head.
“Do you like me?” I walked over to him, hand on his arm.
“I kiss you don’t I?” Chaime flashed me a smile that made my heart turn over.
“Is Jason right? Is this all a game to you?” I stared at him at I spoke, almost daring him to break eye contact, “Are you just gonna have your fun and then dump me when you’re done? I don’t want that. I like you.”
“I promise I’m not playing around. I like you too.”
“You hardly know me.”
“Ditto.”
“Well then…” I found myself blushing and dipped my head.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes please.”
That kiss was even better than the last. He wasn’t wet and shaking for one, but his lips were coloured by the blood from his chin, fresh and red. It smudged on my lips, bringing colour to my face. Chaime’s arms around me were strong and safe and I wanted nothing more than to stay there forever. He put his hand up the back of my shirt and I shuddered, pulling away a little. He stayed for a couple of hours until it got late and the rain stopped. I kissed him goodnight on the doorstep and watched him ride away into the night.
“Oy, poof!” The cry came from over the other side of the quad, loud enough for everyone to have a look around and take up prime viewing positions. The girls scattered, leaving River and I feeling a little exposed. Chris came striding over, right up close, filling my field of vision, “So, when did you start fucking my brother?”
I raised an eyebrow. I’d heard all the rumours earlier that morning, so the time to be shocked was over. Being laid back was all I had, since defensive was likely to get me into a fight, something I really couldn’t afford.
“We’re going out.”
Chris turned to his football louts, all of whom were sniggering or looking disgusted.
“You don’t even deny it? That’s disgusting! You have any idea how many other people he’s had his cock inside of?”
“I don’t think I give a shit what you say Chris.” The second I’d said it, I knew it was the wrong move. Chris looked livid, my heart hammered so fast I thought I was going to die. And right there, when I felt for sure, he was going to hit me, my little brother executed a neat left hook a boxer would be proud of. It was an over simplified karate move and River stood his ground, tense, eager even, and to my surprise the footballers backed off. Attacking a younger student, who was basically alone, none of them wanted to be pulled up on that bullying charge.
Chaime was waiting for me when we got home. I dumped my school stuff and headed out with him on his motorbike. This was the red and black monster again, and Chaime looked very fetching in his matching leathers. We sat on a fallen log under a bare branched tree in the middle of a flat fallow field, the bike parked away by the road, but well within plain view. Chaime opened his jacket and put his arm around my shoulders. I fitted there nicely, curled against his warm chest. What Chris has said rang in my ears.
“What’s the matter Ghost? Is bad stuff happening at school again?” He looked down at me, his dark eyes like molten chocolate. I wanted so much just then to drown in them.
“My brother gave Chris a good punch for his money.”
“Did he deserve it?”
“Yes…”
Chaime raised an eyebrow.
“What did he say?”
I clammed up, gulped my words back down and tried again. It all sounded so stupid, even in my head. I decided to change the subject.
“So what’s the story with you and Jason?”
“Hmm…that. Did he tell you anything? Well, I guess I’d better straighten it out. I know he can’t stand me. When I was in my last year at school, which I think was just before you got there, there was this girl he really liked. I knew that, and I never meant to hurt him, but we were at this party, and we were all quite drunk. And all I really remember is her dragging me upstairs and then waking up the next morning very much naked. Then when we were together at college I sort of ended up seducing his best friend. It was an accident, I swear, I didn’t mean to lead him on, but I kind of broke the poor boy’s heart. Jason never forgave me for what I did.” Chaime finished up, staring at the wind tossed branches above us, watching the sky go past, “So what did Chris say about me today?”
“He was…um…that is,” I could hardly bring myself to ask him the question, “How many other people have you been with?”
“Bastard,” I could tell he was talking about Chris, not me, then, “Four in total. The girl I don’t remember, then there was another girl, one night stand and I discovered halfway through that I could stand girls in any way. Then there was David. We got together twice and only got a little further than you and me have. And then Adam, who was a brutal fuckwit. I couldn’t stand him, he really was a complete bastard.”
“Did you have sex with him?”
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
I nodded tightly, closing my eyes to stop the tears I knew would flow if I tried to speak.
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry. I don’t want to lie to you. But if it helps, I’d never cheat on you, I promise. It’s you I want.”
I sniffed into his collar bone, feeling the smoothness of his chest under my fingers, picking out the lines where I knew his tattoos by heart.
“Did you know that your brother is in love with you?”
“Yes,” Chaime looked pained, “I’ve known for ages. We’ve discussed it. That’s why I got together with Adam, to try and put him off. We’re only half brother’s you know. My father died when I was one. That’s why we look so different. We both take after mum, but I’m darker than he is, and he’ll never be as tall as me, hasn’t got the legs for it.”
“If I go out with you, Chris is going to try and kill me.”
“I’ll protect you.”
I looked up at him then, and I believed him. He pressed his lips to my forehead and it was the most intimate thing I’d ever known.
“I’ll protect you. Go out with me, let me call you mine. My boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
We rode into Brighton, a long way when the longest trip I’d spent on a bike was about fifteen minutes tops. The city was all lights and music this close to Christmas, it being dark and everything this early in the day. Chaime parked up in a well-to-do bike garage and sales arena. We wandered around, me gaping in awe at the gorgeous sleek bikes and the beautiful gear that went with them while Chaime haggled over the price of engine parts and booked a test drive for a Kawasaki. It was a lean, bright green thing, all black and chrome under that and possibly the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. Chaime put his arm round me and winked at the guy behind the desk, who raised but a single eyebrow in surprise. We went into the back, where the scent of leather permeated the air. Chaime spent an extraordinary amount of money on what I later learned was a very good deal. Dainese gauntlets, boots and jacket, plus an Alpine Star jacket with a big red logo on the back, another set of gloves, Kevlar padded jeans and two standard issue Harley Davidson t-shirts. He shoved some of this stuff at me and told me to get changed.
We really did look like a pair on our way out of there. Matching T-shirts, and me in my new gear. Alpine Star to go with the helmet under my arm, jacket, gloves and the funky jeans. Chaime decided I needed a new pair of boots too and we ended up swapping my heavily used school shoes for a pair of black Doc Martins. Chaime, arm around my shoulders, kissed me in the middle of the bust street and said that it was my Christmas present. I couldn’t work out if he meant the gear or the kiss or both. We left the bike in the secure lock up of the garage, which was owned by a friend of his whom he often did work for and went for a walk. The city was beautiful. I felt good in my new clothes, they were heavy and quite unlike anything I’d ever worn before. My hair was very white against the night sky. We sat on a bench at the seafront and watched the last of the sun’s light bleed across the sea, like a scar. I snuggled under Chaime’s arm, cradled against his chest, my ear pressed to his heart. I loved the noise, the slow double thud that kept him alive.
We met up after that with a couple of his friends from his engineering apprenticeship course and went for food. All you can eat Chinese at the dodgy looking place called ‘Me Old China’ that was actually quite good. Five guys ate for just over thirty quid including drinks. Chaime and one of the other guys, nipped off to fetch alcohol and left me alone with the other two guys. They were all three or four years older than me, like Chaime, but the gap seemed huge. I was just a kid to them , made to feel like a total child when one of them asked my age after clocking that I didn’t go to uni. I was still as school. Chaime arrived back, laden with bags and we all went back to the other guy’s house. As far as student accommodation went, it wasn’t bad, a bit run down, but fairly clean, if not tidy. We piled onto two sofas, and I got formal introductions. There was Matt, who had fantastic blue hair and acid green eyes; Ant who was black, with corn rows that actually looked quite good, he was short like me, which took some of the sting out of his hard look; and Jack, who wore biker leathers with a wolf logo across the back and had dirty blonde dreadlocks strung with multicoloured glass beads. I sat on the end of the sofa, nervous and slightly scared, while beer cans were handed around and Chaime poured himself a short tumbler of Jack Daniels. He offered it to me.
“Aren’t we driving back tonight?”
He shook his head.
“I thought we’d stay here tonight, I’ll take you to school in the morning. Is that OK?”
“Yeah,” I grinned, “That’s cool.” I turned to Ant, who was closest, “do you guys have a phone I can use to call home?”
They sniggered, but I was eventually directed to the landline in the hallway. It was a conversation I’d rather not relay. I spoke to Jason. Mum was livid, dad was worried. When they’d got really annoyed River had told them that Chaime had picked me up and from there arguments ensued. River, sick of all the fighting, had blurted out that Chaime was my boyfriend and stormed off to his room. It had been left up to Jason to explain my homosexuality to our parents and deal with their reactions. I couldn’t thank him enough.
I thudded down on the sofa ten minutes later, absolutely exhausted.
“How’d it go?” asked Chaime.
“Well my parents know I’m gay.” I stopped, realising what I’d just said and glanced, horrified, at the others for their reaction. Ant grinned at me, Matt winked and Jack merely yawned hugely, as if he’d heard it all before.
“It’s all right Alex,” Matt gave me a disarming smile that made me forget my sudden desire to run for the hills, “Chaime told us, you’re his boyfriend,” he shot his friend a look, “Cradle snatcher.”
I sipped the proffered whiskey. It burnt the back of my throat all the way down, but it was good and soon I had a glass of my own.
“Just the one,” Ant warned me, “You don’t know how much you can have, and it’s a school night.”
We stayed up late, for me, and chatted. Mostly I let the other four do the actual talking, anything I could say I felt was a bit low for them. I had no experience of the world at large. Added to that the whiskey was making my head feel a little numb, not massively so, but enough to let me know that I was tipsy. Chaime pulled me under his arm and I almost dozed off to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Ant, Matt and Jack had the most pokey spare room imaginable. Somehow they had fitted a double bed through the door and that was all the floor space gone. Literally, you opened the door and had to climb onto the bed. Thank god for the high ceilings that meant you could still stand up. We left our boots outside the door and there was a deep shelf a foot from the ceiling for clothes and stuff. It was the smallest hour of the morning when Chaime and I were shown into the room along with sniggers and laughter, before the guys went off to their own rooms.
Chaime tugged off his jacket and shirt in one and thudded them onto the shelf. I stood, nervous, holding my jacket in one hand, trying to keep my balance to the mattress. Chaime began to undo his belt and looked up at me.
“Is this OK? I can go kip on the sofa if you want.”
“No,” I put my jacket on the shelf, “I want you to stay here with me.”
“Good.” Chaime pulled my t-shirt off over my head and ruffled my hair, “I think you’re beautiful.”
Compared to him I was nothing. All that dark skin, the smoothness of his muscles, the rolling ink lines of his tattoos. His hand were huge on my chest as he traced the lines of my scars. He had to help me out of the close fitting Kevlar jeans, the belt had a complicated arrangement of buckles and straps I could barely open with whiskey numb fingers. He slid out of his trousers and put our clothes on the shelf. I felt very exposed, pale and skinny in nothing but underwear, Chaime absolutely gorgeous and glowing, dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxers. We lay down and Chaime drew the covers over us. Before I could fit into my usual position under his arm he laid his head on my chest, the weight of it startlingly heavy. I closed my eyes and gulped audibly. We were both listening to my heart, thudding double time against my ribs.
“Nervous?” he chuckled.
“Yeah, but it always does that.”
“What?” Chaime raised his head and looked straight at me, “Is there something the matter with you?”
“Yeah,” I said again, and gave him the short version of my life story. Half a heart and every day I live is yet another I won back from oblivion and medical disbelief. He kissed my chest, tongue lapping at the pattern of my scar and I muffled my groan by biting my wrist. Chaime kissed my mouth, hot and hungry and I could feel the warm hardness of him not quite touching me. I put a hand on his chest, feeling the difference in ink and skin, “Wait.”
“Ghost? Are you OK?”
I didn’t answer him.
“If you don’t want to, it’s OK.”
I chocked on my words, instead taking the time to fit myself into the curve of his side, head cradled against his shoulder, one finger tracing all the tattoo lines I could see. I kept my eyes trained on his body as I spoke, anything to keep me from looking at his face.
“It’s not that I don’t want to. I don’t think I can. When I hit puberty, late, I had a meeting with the specialist at the hospital and they told me that I’ll probably never be able to, y’know, do it. They don’t think my heart could cope with the strain. They think that it could kill me if I try. Maybe it won’t, but I’ve never had the courage to test it out,” I laughed nervously, “Death by masturbation, what a way to go.”
Chaime was silent, I looked at him and he was staring at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I probably should have told you before.”
“You think I’d break up with you just because I can’t have sex with you?”
“Uh-huh…” I sniffed, trying not to cry.
“Oh Ghost, you are so silly.”
Chaime turned off the light and we lay in the dark. I traced his chest with my hands, got to know the shape of his face by heart. I loved it when I found his smile in the dark, that my touch could please him so. He got to know me too, measuring me out with his big hands, so warm against me. We fell asleep eventually, wrapped up in each other, white and black against the sheets.
When the doorbell rang I answered it. Chaime, looking sharp as hell and absolutely gorgeous in a suit and black shirt with a white tie, a massive bunch of flowers in his arms. They were for my mum, she beamed when she saw them, and both my parents listened to his apologies for taking me away like that. He almost bowed himself out to where River and I were waiting at the top of the stairs with baited breath. From the inside pocket of his jacket he pulled out a tight furled white rose bud, the stalk only a few inches long. He waved River away, and sat down next to me.
“I can’t stay long. I had to borrow the car.”
“You could hardly ride a motorbike in that,” I fingered the rose petals and he touched my cheek, his knuckles rough from his gloves. I kissed the tip of his finger, “Chaime?”
“Mmm?” He had his eyes closed, his face buried in the white hair in the curve of my neck, it felt nice, having him there, leaning on me, “It’s the last day of school tomorrow. Are you going to come and pick me up?”
“Do you want me to?” he sounded mildly surprised, “We could go somewhere if you wanted, out or something. For dinner.”
I put the rose against my skin and inhaled the scent, “Is that a date?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds fun.”
“So Alex,” He spoke in an even voice, as though this was just a casual conversation, “You had sex with my brother yet?”
“No.”
“Isn’t he good enough for you? Or have you been thinking about what I said last time?” He came over to me, long slow strides. I could feel him behind me so close that when he spoke the warmth of his voice made my skin crawl, “I saw them at it, him and his last boyfriend. I knew he wanted me to see. Bent over he was, taken, tied up and groaning. Like animals they were. Adam was using him, completely,” He leant over me, hands either side of me head, lips millimetres from my ear. My back stiffened against his words and I stared resolutely at my locker, “Is that what you want him to do to you? Is it Ghost?”
His presence departed and I heard the door slam. I shivered and sank to the floor.
The taunts continued, quiet words and slow suggestive gestures. It wanted to hit Chris, knowing that I would fail if I fought him. I sat alone at lunch, having waved a grateful River off to play with his remaining friends. I avoided the quad and the main haunts and went to sit on the front wall. I heard Chris approaching and didn’t look around to watch him. He stopped when he got close. Then there was a thud and a groan. I turned then. Chaime was standing there, leathers, long hair and eyeliner, his hand on the back of his brother’s neck. Chris looked a bit rough, his lip was bleeding and he glared up at me. Chaime cuffed him around the back of his head.
“Apologise.”
“No.”
“Cahia,” Chaime growled the unfamiliar word, “Apologise to him.”
Chris hung his head and I realised that the strange word was his other name, his true name.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mean it!” Chaime looked furious.
“Sorry,” the tone in his voice made me believe him, he looked pitiful.
“Get up, get out of here. You ever come near him again and I’ll finish the job I started on your soul.” Chaime released him and Chris got up, backing away from us both, retreating into the school grounds and the crowds of children.
I just stood there, too shocked for words.
“I’m so sorry that I brought this on you,” Chaime came and put his arms around me loosely, he leant back frowning when I didn’t move to accommodate him, “Ghost?”
“How could you hurt him so? He’s your brother.”
“He has done much that remains un-forgiven.”
“I could never hurt one of my brothers.” I looked at him; he seemed confused, annoyed perhaps, and slightly forgiving. I wasn’t sure why.
“I’ve never felt that close to him,” his eyebrows drew up in the middle as he frowned, almost pitying, but smiling at me, “You’re lucky you have brothers you can rely on.”
I put my hands on his hips and pulled him closer to me. Chaime seemed only too happy to accommodate me as I pulled him against me and buried my face in his side. The scent of him filled me, cinnamon and engine oil, fresh oxygen and leather. The soft, over-worn cotton scent of his t-shirt, permeated with his scent. I clutched at him, letting him fill me, surround me. The feel of soft skin and hard muscle under my fingertips, the rippling ridges of his ribs under my cheek, the dark thud-thud of his heartbeat. I closed my eyes, squeezed shut against the rest of the world. Right then I just wanted to be lost in him, to become him, know the taste of the blood the pulsed through his veins, sluggish compared to mine, know the rhythm of his slow breathing better than my own. I held him closer than my own skin, buried in him until very slowly I realised that he was stroking my hair, his hands big and soft and firm, and I heard him talking to me, string of endearments I couldn’t understand, strange fluid syllables of a language unknown to me. I sat there and listened to him, not trying to understand, hearing only the softness of his voice, my name like a feather fall. The school bell cut harshly into our strange day dream, he tensed and was jolted out of his reverie. I looked up at him, mouldy green eyes full of tears.
“What’s your name?”
“What?” He frowned again and that adorable line appeared between his eyebrows, I reached up to rub it away.
“You called Chris by his real name, Cahia, wasn’t it? What’s you’re name?”
He leaned down and kissed me, his lips soft and warm on my own. I opened up to him, unresisting to his tongue.
“I’ll tell you when we get out of here. Go on now, get to class.” I could feel his eyes on my back as I got up and started to go. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back, “I love you.” Chaime pressed his lips to the back of my hand and smiling I ran inside.
The gorgeous warmth inside me was too good to last. I was apprehended on the way to my classroom by our head of year a fat and unpleasant women I have never liked. I don’t think I’ve ever actually spoken to her either. She lead me into her office and asked me to sit down while she worked herself into a too small chair that looked highly uncomfortable behind a huge fake pine desk. I didn’t sit, just stood with my hands on the back of the empty chair, waiting to see what she wanted. I had expected, possibly, to be accused to hurting Chris or one of his friends. What I didn’t expect was what I got.
“Alex, you should know that your teachers are worried about you. Your work has been lacking and you have not been able to concentrate on your work, isn’t that right?” she didn’t give me a chance to tell her she was talking rubbish, my grades had been just as good as ever, not perfect, but good, “I think it’s because of your relationship. The school does not approve of relationships such as yours, you should choose someone from within your own age group, not an older person. The teachers think it is unseemly, and your class mates should not have to exposed to the threats of an older stranger in the school grounds. Is that clear?”
“What?” My fingers tightened on the upholstery of the chair, “What are you on about?”
“The older students,” she went on in her infuriatingly calm and sensible voice, “Especially the year elevens like you, set an example to all the other students. We do not want other young boys getting the wrong idea about relationships as you seem to have done.”
What she was getting at dawned on me then, I raised my eyebrows. The school, or my year head, or both, had decided that they didn’t want gay kids in their school.
“Isn’t this school held up as a beacon of diversity Miss? How would it seem to the Head, or the Governors, or the police for that matter, when I tell them that you told me I shouldn’t be open about my sexuality. If you have a problem with it, go ahead, just don’t expect me to care.” I turned and got to the door.
“Alex Delaney! Don’t you care speak to me that way. Get back here! I’m not finished. How will it be when other students start coming out like you?”
I turned to look at her and made my voice just like Chaime’s when he shrugged something off, that disparaging tone as I said;
“It’ll be better.” I strode out of the office and into class, where no one noticed that I was late and no one was actually doing any work. I spent the hour doodling in the back of my history book, just silly teenage things, love hearts and initials, wondering what Chaime’s real name was. I managed a rough approximation of his black motorbike and set out to finish it up, following with the Alpine Star and Dainese logos. We switched for history, the last lesson of term, where no work happened; I ended up copying out the pattern of the soles of my shoes, the Doc Martins that Chaime bought me. River was as jealous as anything over my new gear, I let him wear the jacket and he wants one of his own now.
School lets out with a cheer. All the buses have been delayed to allow the students to mingle and say their goodbyes; most of us won’t see each other for the next three weeks. I’m glad of that fact. There is a growling on the front basketball courts. I walk over from my locker and press my fingers to the window where Chaime is pulling stunts on a motorbike I haven’t seen before. It’s the lime green Kawasaki he was looking at in the place in the city. He pops a wheelie as long as the court and spins around to tumulus applause and cheering. I take my books and my bag and head down the stairs and out into the cold. Chaime sees me, flips a turn into a figure eight and pulls up, the machine under him purrs deeply like a cat. I stroke the warm metal with one hand. He takes off his helmet, his long hair plaited down his back and grabs me by my tie. And right there in the middle of everyone, he leant forward and kissed me. I kissed him back and he let me go. I grinned at him and he wore a devilish smile. River came over holding my helmet and took my school bad from me.
“I’ll tell mum you’ll be late.”
“Thanks River.”
“Love ya bro.” I zip up my jacket and don gloves and helmet, River turns to Chaime, “Will you give me a ride one day?”
Chaime grins and tugs on his helmet.
“Maybe kiddo,” He messes with river’s hair and pulls away, the world flashing past in a deep roar.
We rode over the landscape, avoiding the traffic, the bike warm and smooth and growling beneath us. Chaime was hot under my hands, the fingers I slipped beneath his fitted leather and metal jacket, touching his skin with my own kid-skin clad fingers. The world glides by, cars and noise and people all just blurs as we speed onward. I didn’t know where we were going and I didn’t care, too lost in the presence of the boy I had promised myself to. I wished I didn’t have to wear the helmet, wished I could lay my cheek to his back. I ran a finger down his spine to find the hard ridges of a back protector under the leather. He touched my arm, the simple contact making my nerves thrill. The wind was freezing cold on the exposed skin at my neck and I didn’t care. We rode until the sun began to go down and Chaime pulled into a long farm track.
He stopped the bike at the crest of the hill and we sat, wrapped together and watched the red globe fall. Helmets off I fitted myself tight against his back to watch the sun go down, highlighting the sky with blood. I looked at Chaime’s face and saw the colour reflected in his eyes.
“I wish I could stay here forever,” I murmured against the leather of his back. In response he shifted forwards, away from me and brought his leg up over the cooling engine. I slipped down into his vacated seat and turned to face him. Chaime wrapped strong arms around me and pulled me against him.
“This,” he said pointedly, “Is how I would like to stay. I told you I loved you Ghost. I meant it, you know that right?”
I kissed him and we watched the sun go down in silence.
“Ghost…” he groaned, “Come on.”
“I can’t.”
Chaime tugged on my hand and looked at me plaintively, his eyes wide and sparkling.
“But I want to show you!”
I stop, panting a little at the end of his road. This is the first time we have ever really walked together without a motorbike in sight. It’s quite a strange experience, I’d almost forgotten how incredibly tall he was. His towers over me, hair tied back, wrapped in a jumper and his racing jacket, as if he doesn’t own anything else. I take hold of the end of his bright red scarf and toy with it while I lean against the wall and get my breath back. Mist rises from my mouth, tainting my vision of him, aloof and powerful and impatient. He moves too fast for me, my heart is thudding fast, the cold hurting my chest. I am wrapped in layers of jumper, jacket, coat, gloves, scarf and hat. My white hair coiled messily around my neck, itching at my collar.
Eventually I feel well enough to walk again, keeping a tight hold on his hand, stopping him from getting ahead of me. Chaime is as excited as a small child, tugging my hand and grinning. My mother dropped me off at the supermarket where he was waiting, all smiles to see me. It’s Monday, three days until Christmas and I still haven’t asked Chaime the question I came here to ask him. He lets me into the house, it feels so strange being here again, almost two months later and so much had happened. We walk into the kitchen and I suddenly faced with Chris in a fleece and loose trousers, socked feet on the lino, cup of coffee in hand, his hair in a mess. His eyes widen as he sees me.
“Alex…”
“Caiha,” I grin and take Chaime’s hand, “Good morning.”
He stares after us as we vanish into the garage side door. It is gloomy in here and I stand trying to make shapes out of the dark until Chaime switches on the light. It is a biker’s paradise. The black Aprilla and the red and black Ducati sit side by side with a deep blue Honda sports tourer two seater bike which very comfortable for the pillion, and a brand new all shining Kawasaki. It’s just like the one we test drove the other day, a monster plated in chrome and steel. But this one has a customized blood red and black paint job, strange blue fire winding up the sides.
“Wow…”
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Chaime ran his hands over the bike lovingly, “I only bought her yesterday.”
“Very pretty,” I said, looking more at him than I was at the bike, “You can afford it?”
“Yeah,” he glances ruefully over to the Aprilla, “But I have to sell that one, the track want to buy her off me for open track days. She’s good enough for beginners to go round the circuit on to get the feel of the turns before trying it out on the big bikes. Plus if she wipes out she won’t be too expensive to replace.” He came back over and wrapped his arms around me, and I tilted my face up to except his kiss. There was a cough behind us and Chris stood there staring. “Oh sod off Chris,” Chaime waved him away with a hand, “Pervert.”
I didn’t know what Chaime had done to him, or what he had said, or whether it had to do with his humiliation on his last day of school, but Chris backed off, eyes low and left us alone.
I lay stretched out on Chris’s double bed and stared at the ceiling while he hung up his jacket. He touched my chest and looked down at me. It was warm enough in the house to take off jumpers and I was very thin clad in just a t-shirt. I’ve never been anything else, but the cold had made me lose my appetite. I’ve always hated winter, the cold, the snow I can’t go and play in, the oppressive grey skies. If I had my way I’d stay curled in bed all day with a hot water bottle and a good book. But of course, I don’t get my way and Chaime gets his.
He placed a kiss on my neck so gentle I hardly felt it, his hands unbelievably warm on my chest, slipping under my shirt to touch my skin, pale as ice, the scar over my heart traced with fine fingertips that made my breathing shallow. He laid down beside me on the bed and leant over me, his forehead resting against mine, I could feel the heat radiating off him. Like a blanket he covered me with himself and I wrapped my arms around him, his weight heavy and perfectly right against my slender body. I ran fingers through his hair.
“Tell me your name.”
“Oh Ghost,” he kissed me, “Of course.”
“What will I call you?”
“Ciac.”
I smiled and shaped my lips around the word, kissing him as I said it, giving myself to him. I wanted to say I love you but I didn’t. I hoped he knew, because I didn’t tell him that afternoon as we lay together on his bed in the warm and ignored the rest of the world.
“Hello?”
“Hey, this is Alex.”
“Oh, you’re Jaime’s friend?”
“Yes. Is he in?”
“He’s in the shower I’m afraid, you can call back in about half an hour or I can take a message if you want.”
“Yeah, could you just ask him, no um, never mind.”
“Are you sure?”
“Can you ask him if he wants to come to Bristol and get him to call me?”
“Does he have your number?”
“No,” I reeled it off, “Thanks.”
Exactly twenty nine minutes later the phone rings again. I pressed the speaker button, and flopped onto my bed.
“Alex?”
“Yes Chaime?” I imagined him standing in his room holding the phone to his ear, hair dripping down his back, dressed in nothing but a towel. I visualized his beautiful tattoos, the strange swirls and knots, the tracery smoke surrounding that winged gun. I wanted to run my fingers over his skin and feel him shudder.
“What’s all this about Bristol?”
“The day after boxing day for two days, do you want to come? It’s a big family do at my aunt and uncles place, the mausoleum, it’s gets really cold in that house. We all get to bring a guest. You wanna come and keep me warm?” I closed my eyes, seeing his eyes, the shape of his face in the dark, the lines I had learnt in that poky spare room in Brighton, the smile under my fingers.
“As your friend?”
“No, as my boyfriend.” I have never said anything so bold in my entire life.
“Oh Ghost, my Alec, of course.”
“Come over on Boxing Day, in the afternoon, stay the night here.”
“Am I allowed.”
“Yes.”
“Love you Ghost.”
“I have to go, I’ll dream about you Ciac.”
“Good.”
“This pillar is my love for you,” he says in a voice not his own, “But you do not love me.”
As he speaks the post begins to crumble, the age old wood rotten and weak, dust implodes and Ciac falls into the hole where the post used to be set. I try and reach for him, but his body lies broken and lost on the concrete. His tattoos glow.
I woke up with a startled shout, and it took me several moments to work out that I was home, safe, and it was Christmas morning. This last was confirmed by a bulging stocking at the end of my bed and the noises of River exalting over the contents of his stocking. My door was pushed open a moment later and my little brother bounced in, half dressed and grinning.
It was a Christmas like any other, marked only by a phone call I got just before lunch, Chaime grinning down the phone at me, his voice full of happiness. He told me he loved me, told me he’d see me tomorrow with my present. I couldn’t help but smile, despite River sitting on the stairs giggling at me. He liked Chaime, that was good because I don’t know how I would have coped with Jason otherwise. He was pissed when he found out that I’d invited Chaime to Bristol. He was going stag, his best mate Mark coming along for the ride. River was bringing his best friend too, nice kid called Ryan who lives in a poky little village about twenty miles away.
I wandered around in a daze until Boxing Day lunch when I forced back to reality by the noise of a motorbike. Chaime rode up the gravel path on the Honda tourer. He stopped in front of the house, got off the bike and swore a lot before taking off his helmet.
“Why gravel Ghost? It’s unholy to ride on.”
I put my head on one side and smiled. Chaime was going to sleep in my room this evening, in my bed, with me. The thought made me shiver and shake, excitement and fear all at once. He untangled his bag from the elastic spiders that clipped it onto the panniers on the back of his bike and slung an arm around me neck.
“What are you smiling for?”
I beamed up at him and didn’t say a word.
Chaime had brought presents for my family. An ornate pair of bronze candlesticks for my parents, a bit gothic but very nice, a Harley Davidson shirt for Jason with logo embossed collar studs and three Buell t-shirts for River in varying colours. Everyone seemed impressed, and Chaime took his seat on the end of the sofa while I perched on the arm next to him as my brothers guests arrived. We all sat around the living room for a while, tea, coffee and hot chocolate with Boxing Day cookies decorated with marzipan and chatted, Chaime getting on along with everyone very well indeed. I was mostly silent, Mark and Jason teasing me a little, both of them slightly put out by Chaime’s presence, older than both of them by a year. Mark knew the history and I kept seeing him sneak strange glances my way, like he couldn’t work out that we were together. River and Ryan seemed to have no problems with us but skipped out up to River’s room before the rest of us. We didn’t get much free time before dinner, Chaime and I laid the table for eight, the good china, candles, crackers. The Christmas cake like a centre piece, mum makes fantastic ones each year. This one had holly and little blue flowers made from icing all over it.
After dinner, drinks, and the Boxing Day film on television everyone decided to turn in. Ryan and Mark had camp beds set up on respective floors and River turned in earliest, no doubt to stay up whispering until dawn. Chaime yawned, rubbed my shoulder and kissed my cheek before going upstairs, his footfalls heavy on the stars. Mark stared and Jason dragged him away. My father took me aside.
“Houston,” he sounded serious, “Now it’s not that we don’t like Jaime, he seems very nice. But he’s quite a bit older than you and your mother and I, well,” he paused, shifting his gaze and looking embarrassed, “We don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. You know the risks, not just your heart. Other things.”
I nodded and hugged him.
“I know what I’m doing dad. I’ll be OK.” I didn’t give him much chance to say anything else, I kissed my mother goodnight and fled upstairs. My room was dark, I was disappointed, thinking that Ciac had gone to sleep without me. But then I saw the little reading lamp by my bed on, the shape of him in the half light.
“That’s my side,” I said, for what of anything better, and shut the door behind me. He sat up, the quilt falling low around his hips revealing the top of black boxers. I sighed in relief and then felt guilty for being scared. Chaime moved over to the other side of the bed. He reached down to the floor and held up a small silver box.
“Your present.”
“Oh Chaime…” I went to the wardrobe and got out a large multi coloured box, “Here’s yours.” We swapped. I had bought Chaime a long leather coat that had almost emptied my bank account. It was dark brown with blood red lining. He held it to his nose and inhaled deeply.
“Thank you.”
I went over to the bed and sat on the edge, making getting undressed take a long time. After a while there was no more necessary fiddling and I turned to him dressed in just my boxers and feeling very nervous. Chaime smiled at me and I blushed. He held out the little sliver box. I opened it with shaking fingers and held up a beautiful sliver chain, hanging from it was a gorgeous slip of silver worked into a three dimensional representation of the lovely tattoo that decorated Chaime’s chest. I was speechless as he took it from my fingers and fastened in round my neck, a cold kiss on my skin, the swirl hung in the little hollow at the base of my throat. Chaime kissed me and I froze.
He leant back, his brows drawn low in confusion.
“Ghost? What’s wrong?”
My father’s words swum around in my head, mixing up with the remembered smiles of the night we spent together in the dark. He touched my shoulder and I flinched, he touched my chest and I shied away. Chaime looked at me, his dark eyes confused and worried. I reached up and cupped his face with one hand, his jaw firm and slightly rough with stubble under my hand. I lent into him, his skin hot against my own and kissed him. My head swam with confusion, but a suppressed the thoughts that rose within me and simply concentrated n touch, the way he felt against me. I was surprised when he pushed me away.
“Ghost, what are you doing?”
“Ciac? I thought you wanted-”
He put his finger against my lips.
“What did your parents say to you? No, don’t tell me. Your father right? Nothing’s changed you know, everything I said before is still true. I won’t do anything you don’t want OK?”
I slumped against him, loving his warmth, the feel of him against me. I was only belatedly aware that I was shaking. Chaime brought his arms up around me, covering us with the quilt. I curled against him, and he wrapped around me, making space for my slender body within the shape of his own. His long hair flowed around my shoulders and he whispered something soft in Spanish in my ear.
“I’m sorry,” I realised that I was crying as I held him, my fingers digging into his flesh, “I’m so sorry Chaime.”
“It’s OK Alec. I love you.” He kissed my shoulder, sweeping my long white hair out of the way. His fingers were so dark against me, his mouth warm and wet on my skin as he moved up my neck, cradling my jaw. He groaned between kisses, his hand huge splayed across my chest, holding me against him. My heart was hammering against my ribs, so fast I could hardly breathe, I held onto Chaime so tight my knuckles showed up extra white through my skin. Chaime reached over and turned off the light and suddenly tiredness overcame me and eventually I fell asleep in his arms, scraps of Spanish following me to my dreams, Chaime’s hand closed around the pendant at my throat.
“Alex! Wake up Alex, time to go!”
“Huh?” Chaime’s arms around me grew tighter, his eyes screwing up to avoid the light, “Not now.”
I opened my eyes, River stood at the end of my bed, half dressed with the smuggest look on his face. I knew what it looked like and it took all my energy to pull my arm out of Chaime’s embrace and swat at my brother like an errant fly.
“Sod off River.”
“But you have to get up!”
“I can’t while you’re standing there now can I? Get out!”
It took me a long time to untangle myself from Chaime’s mostly sleeping form and I shook him awake in between getting dressed. By the time he was up to putting on clothes I was in the bathroom doing my teeth and winding my hair into a single long white plait. Breakfast was a rushed affair, what with people trying to pack and car arrangements going on. Chaime loaded my stuff into the car, his stuff was in the panniers of his bike and sent me back upstairs to get changed into my leathers. Jason argued that there was no way I should be allowed to travel all the way to Bristol on the back of a bike in the hands of, and he didn’t get to finish that sentence because River coughed loudly and Chaime walked into the room and scowled at Jason. Mark hid himself behind the cereal.
“Come on Ghost, we gotta get moving if we wanna stay ahead of the weather.”
At that my mother decided in was not a good idea to ride to Bristol, River said that there was no room anywhere else. Jason lost his temper and told Chaime he was irresponsible and while I ignored everyone, pulling on my helmet and zipping up my jacket Chaime lost his temper and slammed the front door on his way out. I hugged River and told everyone else I’d see them in a few hours. I followed Chaime out.
“Ciac!”
“What!”
“Hey…” I took hold of his head, pulling up the visor of my helmet, he smiled ay me a little, “Don’t get made. Everything’s OK, don’t mind Jason.”
He traced the line of my eyebrow, the only part of me he could easily reach.
“God, I wish I could kiss you.”
“Just have to wait until the first rest stop.”
We swung onto the bike, drove out slow to the road and then Chaime sounded out and we went speeding across the tarmac, slightly slick with yesterday’s rain, Chaime bent over the Honda, focused on the road, and me just holding onto him, relaxed against his back. Once we got onto the motorway, the going was smoother, less stops and no junctions, pure speed from here to everywhere and Chaime proved just hoe good a rider he was. He overtook smoothly, went safe, kept the speed high and sensible. We pulled over every hour and a half or so at a motorway services area so that Chaime could stretch his aching joints, so we could wake up with coffee and crisps and fruit and get out of our helmets. First time we pulled over he made a great show of kissing me, wolf whistles from other bikers dying when they realised that I wasn’t a girl. Chaime just winked at them and strode indoors.
We made good time on the roads, able to avoid the worst of the traffic and the interesting displays of bad driving. I had to direct once we left the main drag, waving arms and sharp touches to get us to our destination. The mausoleum loomed ahead. The house was huge a great thing of stone and old leaded windows, just about the only building of it’s type left that hadn’t been converted into flats. We drew up to be greeted by my cousin Roger, a pale geeky sort of guy with a passion for films who was about three years older than me. He was dwarfed by Chaime’s figure. We parked the bike in the garage which was mostly full of half tins of paint and bits of unfinished fiddling.
When we walked into the house the cold hit us full on the face. It was actually chillier inside than it had been outside. Chaime looked worriedly at me and I just grinned. My aunt Elena was making tea, asking how far behind the rest of the family were. We were the first to arrive. My uncle and cousin showed us up to ‘our’ room, both looking only vaguely uncomfortable. We had the one I usually had to share with River, third floor up under the eaves with a double bed and one wall which was mostly taken up by one large sash window. The house was big and there was going to be enough space for everyone, with Jason, Mark and two of my other cousins, the twins Will and Nick, who were my mothers brothers kids commandeering the upstairs lounge. River and Ryan had the little room opposite ours.
Chaime dumped his stuff in the corner of the room while I agreed that we’d come down for coffee in just a few minutes, and began to wrestle with his jacket. We’d left our boots downstairs, shoes not being allowed in the house. My aunt was very strict. Everyone else came pouring in not long after us. My uncle Adam, his wife Julie and their sons Will and Nick, both in Jason’s year and really pleased to see me, matching brown hair and green eyes and too tight hugs. Then came my parents and the rest of the gang, followed by Laura and Tom, their children Robert and Ginger and their partners and respective kids, my second cousins, Robert was with his wife Georgie with their sons Ben who was seven and Chris who was four, Ginger and her husband, another Will, and their kids Andre, twelve, Peter, eight, and Bridgette who was just five. A full house indeed. I had the delight of introducing Chaime to everyone and everyone laughed good naturedly as he forgot all the names straight away. He seemed kind of scared at me leaving him alone with them in case of questions. I told him not to worry about it and he sat in one of the big armchairs with a mug of strong coffee while I chatted to family members I hadn’t seen in ages.
Dinner was an order-in affair. We got a mega amount of Chinese and Chaime sat and fiddled with his chopsticks until someone handed him a fork. I split the better half of a duck with Nick, who has always been my favourite cousin and ate pancakes while half listening to Chaime being given the family history by my residing uncle and host Darren. He held forth and Chaime watched the bit of pork held between his chopsticks waving around in midair until my aunt scolded him off getting sauce on the table cloth at which point little Chris knocked over the soy sauce and the place was in uproar. After all the younger kids had gone to bed drinks came out and Andre, River and Ryan were made to feel grown up when they were allowed to stay up an extra hour and were served a very weak cocktail of warm milk, sugar cubes and a dash of whiskey. Chaime had his straight and was unfazed by his fourth while I sipped slowly from a sherry. Everyone got quite tipsy and we all retired around half midnight. Chaime was fine, seemed totally OK until we got to the bottom of the last flight of stairs. The alcohol seemed to hit him then, when were out of view of everyone else and I had to help him up the last stairs and into our room. I helped him out of his clothes, his fingers were numb he said. I kissed his palms and we slipped into bed together.
“We got one of those wake up calls too,” Nick mussed my hair and froze, staring at the scars on my chest. It had been maybe a year since he’d seen me last and the sight of my scars seemed to surprise him, “Good morning Alex.”
“Morning Nick, Will, where’s Chaime?”
“Dunno, I haven’t seen him. You getting up for breakfast or what?”
“Yeah, yeah…”
Jeans and thick socks and a big green fluffy jumper. Everyone else was seated around the dinning room table, tea and toast and about six different types of jam. Chaime wasn’t there. I was greeted with smiles all round.
“Did you sleep well?” My aunt handed me a mug of tea.
“Has anyone seen Chaime?”
“Has anyone got another towel?”
I span around, along with everyone else to see Chaime standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his hips, his long hair dripping onto the carpet. His tattoos fairly glowed on scrubbed skin.
“Good morning Chaime,” chimed River and Ryan, both giggling, that set off all the smaller kids and Bridgette blushed. Everyone stared openly at him and I clutched the door jamb as it hit me again, with full force, just how beautiful Chaime was. He was also being blatant about it and I knew that this was no accident. This was him breaking the ice. Ben, Peter and Andre cooed over Chaime’s tattoos and he was very patient, allowing himself to be poked by the smaller kids. He came over to me and gave me a soft kiss.
“Good morning Ghost.”
“Hey…” I was breathless and blushing, “You sleep OK?”
“Just fine,” another kiss, “I’m gonna go and get dressed OK?”
We left my Aunts Laura, Julie and Elena, plus my mother and my cousin Ginger and Georgie to sort out the late lunch-dinner that was the highlight of post-Christmas weekends in Bristol, and the rest of us, a total of twenty-one mixed kids, friends and apparently sensible adults, went out for the day. We left town in several cars, Chaime seeming to enjoy the ride, his arm wrapped around me instead of being forced to ignore me, and went out to the nearby woodlands. It was an exercise designed to tire out all the younger children, including my younger brother and it worked beautifully. I was tired simply from the walk and Chaime kept pace with me for a while. But he was like a puppy on a leash, dying to go and run off, play Frisbee and ball games with everyone else. I let him go and watched instead. It was far more fun to watch Chaime running around than watch him get impatient. I walked with my cousin Robert, far my senior, and kept an eye on everyone else. Chaime was spectacular with the kids, especially with the younger ones with whom he was an instant hit. He ended up carrying little Bridgette on his shoulders, and her, only five, with her sleepy hands burled in his hair. I surprised myself by being jealous. Chaime was lovely and charming to everyone and part of me wished that he would just be lovely and charming to me.
Dinner was spectacular. Chaime refused to wear the paper hat from his cracker and instead sat in on River’s head, which made his other hat slip down over his eyes. He got a pair of toy handcuffs in his cracker and held them up and winked, which sent everyone into a fit of giggles. I ducked under the table to retrieve a suicidal roast potato. Pudding, cream, cake, chocolate and fruit, marshmallows on sticks, brandy, whiskey, port and sherry. Roger had an eggnog, Chaime sniffed it and made a face. We sent all the smaller children to bed with full stomachs.
I saw River to bed, letting Chaime draw ahead of me. We stopped by Will, Nick, Jason and Mark’s room, four older boys lounging on the sofas, a long way from going to sleep. Jason hugged me and I read the look in his eyes. He was worried for me. I sent River and Ryan to bed and stood outside my own door for a long time in the chilly dark hallway. My heart quickened in my chest as I stood with my forehead pressed to the wood of the door. My blood hammered in my brain. Images flew through my brain, flash-fast, just moments of imagined pleasure. I wanted the boy who waited for me behind the door, wanted so badly that it hurt my skin not to touch him, and yet I couldn’t even admit that I loved him, let alone allow myself the serious danger of sleeping with him.
I stood there for ages, the long minutes drawing out in silence as the temperature dropped in the stone hallway. The door creaked and opened. Chaime stood silhouetted against the dim orange light, the sheet wrapped around his hips. He looked glorious, his skin gilded gold, his hair shining. His eyes were dark and unreadable.
“If you’re coming in, get out with it. I’m tired of waiting.”
I snuck inside the door and clicked it closed behind me. We stood there facing each other. It was warmer in here, Chaime had obviously found the controls for the radiator. I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked at my feet and said nothing.
“You’re scared of me aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’re so strong. I can’t be like that, not even if I tried. And I can’t just have you protect me, not when I’m not giving you anything in return,” I took a deep breath and looked up at him, his dark eyes unreadable, “I’m scared that you’ll leave if you don’t get want you want and I’m also scared that if you get what you want you wont want me anymore.”
Chaime wrapped his tattooed arm around me and pulled me into his warmth.
“Oh Ghost,” he stroked my hair, his touch surprisingly light, “Oh ghost I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t leave.” He took my jaw and made me look up at him, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me?”
“Yes!”
“Can I sleep with you?”
I nodded and he took my hand and lead me to the bed.
His mouth was unbelievably hot on my skin, tracking a wet path down from my throat to my navel, my clothes pulled deftly from my body. I lay on the bed, under the sheets just wearing my boxers. Jaime hovered above me, naked and perfect in the half light, letting me watch him, touch him. I traced all the muscles of his chest, pale fingers winding across his tattoos and down. I touched the heat between his legs and he let out a low growl that was almost a chuckle in my ear. I could feel him smiling. He groaned and kissed me as a stroked him, unsure hands not really knowing what to do. It seemed so very natural but even as he kissed the scar on my chest I was scared. He eased me out of my boxers and threw them to the floor. His breath was warm and damp, then his mouth, so incredible I thought I would die. My heart hammered against my ribs, beating frantically at the sensations caused my his tongue. I had never thought that anything could feel this good.
All too soon he pulled away and came back up to kiss me. He was grinning. I focused on his eyes as he prepared himself, and then the pain, which was a kiss in the dark and gone, overtaken by feeling so intense to classify it would be criminal. He moved within me, slow and sure and absolutely perfect in every way, whispering my name and scraps of Spanish like I was holy. He was beautiful, I tangled my fingers into his hair, clutched his shoulders and cried out into his skin, whimpering sobs that brought tears to my eyes. If I had to die, oh god, let his face be the last thing I ever saw. The ecstasy in his expression, the love for me in the way he said my name.
“Ciac!” It was all I managed to say before a wave of something hot and painfully wonderful ripped through me. I wondered if that was death coming for me, I clung onto Chaime and watched his face as I sank away, a look of pure joy as he held me, so small and pale in his arms.
“Oh Ghost, Oh Alec! I thought you’d died. You scared me.”
I wrapped my arms around him and smiled. I blacked out, if only for a few seconds. I was unconscious, just unconscious, not dead, not dying. My heart was hammering impossibly fast but I was still breathing. My heart beat slowed, beating double time as it usually did, Chaime’s slow pulse like an echo of me. I buried my face in his hair and held onto him tightly. He was rocking ever so slightly and I could tell that he was truly scared.
“Chaime?” He pulled away from me just enough to see my face as I spoke, we were nose to nose, so I kissed him.
“Alec?”
“I love you Chaime.” I words seemed so simple then and I couldn’t work out how I had failed to say them before, “I love you my Ciac, I adore you.”
“Oh Ghost…”
We clung together in the half dark and there were no more words needed as he kissed each other. I watched his face as he slept, finally daring to believe that this beautiful creature could be mine to have and hold for as long as I wanted. I kissed his forehead before I turned out the light.
“I want to see you race…”