"So that's the master plan," Aaron said, popping open another can of lager, his fourth for the night. And he still had two more to go and then another iced six-pack.
"So what do you think, mate?"
No answer.
There was never any answer.
"You know, I'm starting to think this relationship is entirely one-sided," Aaron said, raising the can and leaning against the headstone for Jackson Walsh, his Jackson, his beloved, gone almost a year now.
The night sky was so bright. All the times he had visited Jackson, had it ever sparkled so keenly? It was as if somebody knew this was his last night in Emmerdale and wanted to burn into his memory a reminder of everything he'd be leaving.
A sign?
What had Jackson said in that last video to him?
"And if I get a chance, I'll look in on you."
What would Jackson say to him now about his idea to save Adam Barton?
Funny how what seemed so reasonable just a few hours ago seemed absolutely mental now.
He shifted on the ground, trying to get comfortable and felt something chafe against his t-shirt – something in the pocket of his hoodie. He reached in and pulled out an envelope.
It was addressed to him – and he recognized the handwriting: Hazel.
Right. No mystery here.
Hazel had given this to Bob after he drove her out to the airport. Bob had passed it on, but didn't know what it contained, and Aaron at the time was too worn out to open it. He had stuffed it in this particular hoodie, where it stayed all this time.
Knowing Hazel, it was just nine pages of saying, "Stay in touch."
"Your mum," Aaron muttered aloud, but he didn't finish the thought.
Now he was a bit curious. He ripped open the envelope.
A simple crisp piece of paper and the words:
He would have wanted you to have this.
Then the chain slipped out into the palm of his hand.
A gold chain.
Attached to it, a St. Christopher's medallion.
The St. Christopher's medallion Jackson was wearing the night they met at Bar West.
The one he was wearing when Aaron stupidly punched him in the Woolpack.
The one he was wearing the night – and every night they made love.
It had never left his neck, not once.
Aaron had assumed it had been buried with him.
A sound filled the air, low and keening, like that of a wounded animal, and it took a long moment for Aaron to realize where the noise was coming from, that it was coming from him, months of grief rebounding at a gallop and claiming him.
He pressed his face against the cold stone and let the tears fall.
# # #
Aaron blinked, twice, three times.
Seagulls soared high into the sky and circled madly.
So many people out and about, tourists by the looks of them.
And with his back to him, one handsome bloke in tight jeans and a red-checkered shirt stood against the metal railing overlooking the pier.
"Whitby?"Aaron said, joining him.
"Why not? Lanzarote is so last year. We had some fun here, didn't we?" Jackson said, turning, the sun framing his brown curly hair and his tightly cropped beard.
"I don't remember that so much."
"You should try. We had some laughs, Aaron."
Just never enough.
"So you're all packed then."
"You- you know?"
"I've been listening to you natter on for the last two hours."
"Well, you should have said something."
"You don't give a guy much space, do ya?" Jackson flashed that smile that always got his heart racing.
"So tell me. Is it a good plan?"
Jackson stared out at the surf.
"Dunno. It's pretty elaborate, I'll give you that – taking the blame for a fire you didn't start, leaving your mum and Paddy and going off to a foreign country."
"You think it's another one of my stupid ideas."
"I didn't say that. But as far as schemes go, this shows how far you've come."
"How d'you mean?"
"Remember when you first got to the village? You told me how much hell you gave the Bartons, especially John. You're not thinking of yourself, Aaron. You're trying to save your best mate."
"He deserves another chance."
"You've grown so much."
Aaron surveyed the length of boats tied to the pier.
"That's all down to you, Jackson. If there's anything good in me, it's because you cared enough to look for it."
"So once again we are dancing around the most important subject," Jackson said. With a randy glint in his eyes, he playfully tapped Aaron's butt.
"Ed," Aaron said sourly.
"Ed! He is –"
"Don't say it," Aaron warned.
"- well fit," Jackson grinned, emphasizing the words. "I approve, even though you didn't ask."
Aaron shook his head. "God, were you always this cheeky?"
"Every single minute."
"Yeah, well, I don't love him," Aaron scowled.
"But you could."
Aaron couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Give him a chance, Aaron. He deserves it. So do you."
"Jackson - "
Jackson's hand reached for him and caressed his face. "You silly muppet, you're not betraying me. Don't you get it? What we had – what we have - will never end. You and I, we will always be a part of each other. You're not leaving me, mate – you're taking me with you."
Aaron had never wanted to believe anything so much in his life.
"I love you, Jackson."
"And I love you, Aaron."
And they slipped into each other's arms, their lips finding each other, taking each other in, embracing for what seemed like –
# # #
Aaron started.
Back in the cemetery, shards of morning light piercing the night sky.
He stood up and stretched. The medallion, the most precious thing in the world to him, now and forever, was still clutched in his hand.
How long had he been out? He flipped open his mobile – more than two hours.
Just a dream then?
No.
Aaron knew better.
Jackson had promised he'd look in on him, and he'd been here when he needed him the most. He'd kept his word.
Aaron impulsively kissed the medallion, then unfastened the clasp on the chain and slung it around his own neck, letting the medallion drop inside his t-shirt, against his chest, where it would lay all the days of his life.
"Thank you, Jackson."
At last he felt ready to face the future, whatever it might bring.
Aaron started walking.
# # #
For Jane W.