*My thanks to the writers of Emmerdale for letting me borrow a few of their characters - not that I actually asked them ;-)
*Important note: The website featured in part 1 of this story is fictitious, although websites offering the services which the story implies, do exist
*There is strong language throughout, so be warned...
As long as you need me.
.
It was bracingly chilly as Aaron quietly closed the Smithy door and set off down the path. Chilly but now calm; last night's winds had started the process of stripping the trees in earnest, and depositing drifts of leaves everywhere. Breathing in the silence, he looked up the road to see milkbottles on doorsteps, still uncollected; the whole village still presumably tucked up in bed. To the east, a vermilion sun was climbing over the horizon into an airbrushed blue sky, and he knew it was going to be a gorgeous October day. This was the snapshot of the village he would take with him. Thank Christ he had done all the loading up yesterday; he had a long journey ahead of him and he was going to need all the daylight hours he had at his disposal.
Besides, he hated goodbyes.
Lighting a cigarette, Aaron inhaled deeply and felt a fleeting rush of well-being. Damn, he was going to miss these little buggers come January, but…well, it was a resolution he intended to keep. He rubbed his forehead. So many resolutions, so many promises. He patted the breast pocket of his shirt for reassurance. Exhaling, he leaned against the side of the transit van and gazed in the direction of the Woolpack: no sign of life there either. Small wonder, after all the barrels of booze consumed last night. A night full of back-slapping bonhomie, one smiling face morphing into another, each wishing him a bon voyage and good luck in his new job in Ireland. A couple of them stood out: Adam, flushed of face and pissed as a fart, clumsily planting a soggy kiss on Aaron's cheek whilst declaring his friendship for life; Marlon, ever the comic, producing a ridiculous plate of phallic bangers embedded in mash - just like the one last year round at Chas and Carl's - but with the added flourish of lit sparklers and tiny rainbow flags….
Ah yes, his mum, Chas. That would have to be filed under Work in Progress. In fairness, the engraved silver beer tankard she had presented him with was pretty cool. 'For a Diamond Geezer' the inscription read. Cute. Very cute. Sometimes the old broad had her moments. Shame she went and spoiled things by hanging onto bloody Carl's arm - and his every word - all evening. Still hoping in vain for some kind of miracle bromance to blossom between her son and her lover.
Oil and water, Mum, oil and water…
Aaron flicked away his cigarette with contempt. He cast a long look back at the Smithy, the place he had come to regard as home. Rhona would be arriving to open up the surgery in a half-hour or so, rubbered up and raring to go. At this moment she'd be over at Butler's Farm, with her arm up a cow's arse. Aaron curled his lip; he wouldn't hang around to shake hands with her.
It was a shame about Paddy being away in Oxford right now, on one of his vets' piss-ups - or conferences, as he insisted on calling them - but everything that needed to be said already had been. A lot of growing up had happened over the last twelve months, and in the process, a poignant sense of growing ever-so-slightly apart. But that was only natural, as Paddy had kept reminding him, as evidenced by his eagerness to see him accept this job. The big fella had trotted out every cliché in the book about seizing the moment and spreading his wings and seeing the world…
But it wasn't about seizing anything. It was about letting go.
Climbing into the driver's seat, Aaron was minded of the jumble of plastic crates and cardboard boxes littering the back of the transit. Contained within was twenty years' worth of memorabilia; physical reminders of random events and experiences, some best forgotten. Funny how a guy's life can be compressed into such a small space... Cain had made some typically crass joke about having to smear K-Y around the van's interior to fit everything in, but in truth an estate car would have probably sufficed. Travelling light, no excess baggage, a restless, rootless soul hitting the open road: ideas which sounded great as song lyrics, but this was Harsh Realityville. Fuck it, where was Seasick Steve when you needed him?
The young mechanic reached into his shirt pocket, fingers wrapping round the small soft leather pouch inside. Taking it out, he hesitated for a moment before cautiously tipping into the palm of his hand the diamond ear stud: a keepsake, a talisman, a massive part of his life…
Aaron permitted himself a wry smile recalling that, Paddy and Chas aside, few people had commented on his recently pierced ear. Maybe they hated it but were too polite to say so. Maybe they assumed he had always had one. Or maybe they hadn't even noticed. Whatever. Angling the rear-view mirror, he removed the existing hoop earring and replaced it with the stud, carefully securing it. Though small, the diamond sparkled with a fierce brilliance. Aaron sat back in the driver's seat, shoulders slumped, feeling a familiar deep melancholy which quickly overwhelmed him, bidding the tears to spill down his face. Yet with the sadness came comfort; he was not alone in the van anymore…
"Bloody hell, I didn't think I'd be sitting in one of these things again." That voice with its thick Mancunian accent, instantly recognisable, now addressed him directly: "Cheer up mate, it might never happen!"
"Sorry." Embarrassed, Aaron swiped away his tears and turned to look at his passenger. It was Jackson of course, smiling and looking more handsome than Aaron could ever remember. Sunlight now streaming in through the windscreen, bathing his face in warmth, vivifying the short curls of his aptly autumnal-coloured hair. A soulful brown-eyed gaze savouring the young mechanic's angular features, before settling on his ear stud. Aaron frowned.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing! I think it's...really cool."
"Liar."
"It's just a bit…blingy, that's all."
"You saying I can't do bling?"
Jackson sighed. "I'm just saying it'll take a bit of time to get used to." He appraised Aaron's attire. "I'm still adjusting to this new, grown-up look of yours."
Aaron grunted.
"I do like the threads… Ben Sherman, yeah?"
"Dunno. Can't remember."
"Well, I think you've spent the dosh wisely."
"I'm glad you think so," replied Aaron evenly, "but in case you've forgotten, most of it went on this fucking diamond."
"Charming."
"I'm just saying, that's all."
"What - to make me feel guilty? I don't believe you sometimes."
"Oh, come on Jackson, you know I didn't mean it like that."
"Well, why say it at all, then?"
Aaron turned abruptly from the other man's accusing stare and pressed two clenched fists against his forehead, eyes tight shut, silently commanding himself to count to ten.
"Why are we still arguing, Jackson? I mean, how is it physically possible?"
"Do you really want the answer to that?"
Aaron shook his head emphatically.
.
There followed the best part of a minute's silence.
"Maybe you should do the Lottery more often, then. You might get lucky a second time."
"And buy myself a matching one for the other ear?"
"Nah - I wouldn't be seen dead with a guy with two earrings."
.
It was time for another cigarette.
Watching the smoke dissipate, Aaron let his mind drift back to the events of that bizarre week in early July: stumbling upon Memories-to-Treasure#net on his laptop one evening, inspiration at once popping into his head like a switched-on lightbulb; the next morning's frustration upon checking his meagre bank balance, and the fruitless pleading with that complete prick of a bank manager for a loan…. followed twenty-four hours later by his Lottery scratchcard win.
Coincidence? Aaron thought not. It was karma - or something - giving him the green light, telling him to go for it. The four-figure sum did not amount to a fortune of course, but it had been enough. Not asking Hazel's permission had been unforgivable, he conceded that; after all, this little stunt was going to rob her of her most precious possession - or part of it, at least. But he couldn't risk her scuppering his plans by saying no.
Putting said plans into practice had had the surreal quality of a hackneyed TV sitcom: ensuring Hazel was distracted for long enough to get access to her topmost display shelf, the comical pregnant bump under his sweatshirt as he made off down the hall, the ensuing near-disaster in the bathroom…not to mention the total weirdness of having to explain the contents of the sealed polythene bag to that sceptical speed cop, halfway down the motorway.
There had simply been no other option; Aaron had to deliver that plastic bag in person to the company's headquarters in Leeds. Just shoving a stamp on and sticking it in the post would have been the ultimate indignity, and Christ knows Jackson had suffered enough of that…
.
The following eight weeks of waiting had been hard to bear. Trawling the web to learn more about the science involved had done little to reassure Aaron. What if the procedure hadn't worked? What if it had melted or exploded or something? It was a massive relief, therefore, to receive the call from a very pleasant-sounding woman, telling him the triliate-cut diamond was ready for collection - set in a platinum ear stud as he had specified - and when might they expect him..?
Very soon indeed, as it transpired. Sitting in the company's small but smartly furnished office in Leeds later that same day, Aaron's heart was in his mouth as the leather pouch was presented to him, along with a handwritten document mounted in a silver frame as proof of authenticity.
For the first time in a very long time, Aaron felt something akin to elation; all doubts, all misgivings banished. He tried hard to focus on the tiny piece of jewellery in his hand, but
tears kept blurring his vision. Oh, Jackson…
.
"Thanks for coming with me."
Jackson gave a wan smile. "How could I not? It's what you want."
"It's not what I want, it's - oh, shit, shit, SHIT!" and suddenly Aaron was welling up again, head bowed, a tear dropping onto his lap.
"Aaron, you know I'm here for you."
"For how long, though?"
Jackson looked intently at his partner. "For as long as you need me, babe."
"I'm always gonna need you." It was all Aaron could do to stop himself reaching for his lover's hand. "You know that."
"We'll see."
"What do you mean?"
The ex-builder sighed. "Have you forgotten, you great numpty? No secrets…we read each others' thoughts now…that's the deal."
"And..?"
Jackson playfully arched an eyebrow. "I know your big weakness. Your Achilles heel."
"My what?"
"Your fetish for ginger blokes."
"Bollocks!"
"Ok…blokes with ginger bollocks."
Aaron spluttered a laugh in spite of himself, so his boyfriend continued: "Aaannnd… where you - sorry, we - are heading is fucking heaving with them!"
"Not that you'd want to stereotype the Irish or anything."
"Me? As if Oi'd do a t'ing loike d'at!" Jackson's laughter filled Aaron's ears. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.
"You're so full of shit, Jackson."
"Not anymore I'm not." That stopped the laughter abruptly. "Sorry….pretend I didn't say that." He paused again, then said quietly: "It still hurts, doesn't it?"
Aaron nodded, staring morosely out of the van window. "Like you wouldn't believe."
.
The two young men sat quietly after that for a little while; Jackson avoiding eye contact, Aaron occasionally glancing at his lover, as if to make sure he was still there.
It was Jackson who broke the silence.
"I do appreciate what you did, Aaron. It was a lovely gesture."
"I know. A weird but lovely gesture."
"Did I say weird?"
"You didn't have to."
"Look, just promise me you won't ever pawn it, okay? Then I will get pissed off!"
They both smiled at this.
"I do love you, J."
Jackson looked wistfully at Aaron. "I know, babe."
I love you. Christ, those words seemed so instinctive now. Why now, though? Why not a year ago, when it really mattered? And why was it ever a problem?
"You want to phone a friend or ask the audience?" Jackson was reading his thoughts again.
Aaron groaned. "Do you have to make a joke out of everything?"
"I'm trying to cheer you up, mate - it's part of the job. In fact… " and here, Jackson leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I'm gonna make you smile if it kills me."
"FUCKING SHUT UP!"
Jackson chuckled.
.
"That tankard your mum gave you should really be mine."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, duuuuh!" Jackson pulled a face. "Who's the actual diamond geezer round here?"
Aaron considered this for a moment. "You, I suppose."
" - is the correct answer!"
Aaron reached over his boyfriend's lap to retrieve something from the glove compartment.
"Sat nav?"
"Mars bar…I'm starving."
Jackson harrumphed. "So once you've finished that, are we making a move or what? My bum's gonna be fucking numb before we even get to the ferry."
Aaron shrugged. "After what happened to you, a numb bum should be a doddle."
Spotting Edna in his side mirror, taking Tootsie out for their early morning constitutional and now steadily and inexorably approaching the van, he grimaced and quickly replaced the Mars bar. "Chocks away, then!"
"Oh, very droll!"
They grinned at each other affectionately. Fastening his seat belt, Aaron then took a deep breath. "Ready, Mister Sexy Navigator Man?"
"Yeah…let's go, babe."
He turned the key in the ignition, and the van's engine rumbled throatily into life.
...
"Glueing the urn lid shut was a really rotten thing to do."
Aaron kept his eyes fixed on the road. "Couldn't have your mum opening it and finding half the contents missing, could I?"
"You could have filled it up with fag ash. That wouldn't have taken you long."
"Fuck off."
"Or…you could have just planted a small tree instead, and saved all the hassle. I'd have been quite happy with a nice tree."
Aaron rolled his eyes. "And have some dog piss up it?"
Jackson smiled. "Fair point."
.
End of part one