Chapter 13
A week, just a week to go; less really, there were only six days until they travelled north again. He kept trying to push it from his mind; sometimes it worked, for a few minutes, for an hour or so; often it didn't and his head was buzzing and bubbling with scenes and possibilities. And however rational he tried to be, however much he tried to make himself believe, as he had been told, that the likelihood of having to testify was small, it was there, a nagging demon in the back of his mind, lying briefly dormant, then raising its head, tormenting him. If he stood in the witness box, he would feel again every punch, every blow, every kick, hear every foul word, every poisonous name, every hurtful damning of his love.
He leant against the car he was supposed to be fixing, resting his head on his folded arms, his fingers straying to the leather band around his wrist, worn now, testament to its constant presence on his arm since the day Jackson gave it to him in the summer. He ran his thumb over the indented leather, the movement soothing, calming him.
"Oi! If you've finished that one, you can take the Focus to Hotton; MOTs booked for four," Cain shouted across at him, looking at him. The cracks were beginning to show now, he thought to himself; there were dark shadows permanently under his eyes, eyes that often looked into the distance, seeing nothing, ignoring the present.
Cain bit his lip, thinking; he had tried to keep him busy, working on cars, running errands, but there was only so much he could do, so much of his time he could occupy, only so much work at the garage. He flung a set of keys across the yard at him, stood, watched while he drove away, then reached for his phone and began to text.
...
Aaron drove away from the garage on the edge of town; the MOT hadn't taken very long; he would have liked to cruise around a bit in the evening twilight, but Cain would go daft if he put too many miles on the clock, used too much fuel; he could just about get away with going the long way through town, back to Emmerdale.
The road was a quiet one, not quite residential, not quite industrial, limbo, a hinterland. Driving slowly, he couldn't decide why the figure at the roadside in front of him was familiar, something about his walk before he came to a halt, his stance as he stood, waiting for the traffic to pass. He was level, almost beyond him when it clicked; Simon. Quickly indicating, he pulled into the side of the road, looking in the mirror, reversing a few yards.
"Simon!" he dropped the window a few inches, leaning over, called his name. "You want a lift?"
Simon turned, at first not registering who was in the car; then seeing, he moved towards the car, opened the door.
"What are you doing here? Bit out of the way for Emmerdale isn't it?"
"MOT," said Aaron, believing that explained everything. "Just heading back, but I can easily give you a lift; I'm not in any hurry."
"Thanks!" said Simon, slipping quickly into the passenger seat. "How's things?"
"Shite," replied Aaron briefly. "Well, not really, just be glad when the court case is over."
"I bet!" said Simon. "Turn right here." Simon directed Aaron through streets he didn't know until they drew up outside the flat he shared with Robbie. "You got time for coffee?" he asked.
...
Jackson looked at his phone; seconds earlier it had pinged, indicating a text message. Flipping it open, he read it; it wasn't who he expected; most of his texts were from Aaron. He typed a quick reply, an acknowledgment. He would need to think, to plan; would likely need some help. A few moments later, he typed his own message into his phone, clicked send.
...
"Tea, coffee?" asked Simon, filling the kettle, spooning coffee into two mugs as Aaron indicated his preference. "Are you organised for going away?" he asked, handing Aaron the brimming mug.
"Sort of," replied Aaron, "we've somewhere to stay during the trial, then Jackson and I are having a week to ourselves afterwards."
"Sounds good; the afterwards I mean," said Simon, qualifying his statement. "And how are you?" He looked at Aaron, seeing the stress, the anxiety of waiting etched upon his face; he waited a moment, then added "Jackson told us. About the nightmares. We've been friends for a long time," he added by way of explanation.
Aaron looked at his coffee, swirling in his mug in response to the unconscious movement of his hands. "Been better, but it will soon be over." He tried to sound sure, stoical, convincing himself.
"Hard to keep positive though, eh mate," said Simon, a question, a statement, both, neither.
In the brief silence, in the moments that Aaron was forming an answer, Simon's phone pinged; briefly excusing himself, he read the message, glanced at his guest, typed a quick message, an affirmative, sent it in return.
"What are you and Jackson up to at the weekend?" he asked.
"Aaron shook his head, "nothing much, as far as I know," he said. "Dunno if Jackson is working; if he has something to finish, he might do a few hours."
"Come over then," said Simon. "Lunchtime Saturday; we'll do something, go out at night. Stay over again, if you can cope with the single bed," he smiled at Aaron. He smiled, glancing at his phone, enjoying the irony, the synchronicity; the text he had just received from Jackson, asking for help to keep Aaron occupied at the weekend, to give him less time to think, to brood, to worry; the last weekend before the trial.
"Sound," said Aaron, grateful for the offer; he had been dreading the weekend, the time dragging, the clockwatching, the counting down hour upon decreasing hour. All week it had been on the back of his mind, not that he had said anything to Jackson; he couldn't say anything to Jackson, he had enough to worry about.
Simon talked easily, trying to put Aaron at his ease, trying to talk about anything that would not reflect back onto the coming week.
Aaron finished his coffee; it had been good, an interlude, a few minutes talking about nothing in particular, relaxing. But he needed to move.
Simon closed the door behind him, watched him drive away then picked up his phone, found the number he wanted and clicked dial.
"You are never gonna believe who was here, drinking coffee, when your text came through," he said as the call was answered, as he smiled, hearing Jackson's surprise at the other end of the phone.
...
When Aaron got back to Emmerdale, the garage was locked up for the night; after parking the car, he dropped the keys through the letterbox of Tug Ghyll. There was no sign of Jackson's van outside Smithy; Aaron felt a wave of disappointment wash over him, he was looking forward to telling him they had been invited out on Saturday.
A sheet of paper decorated the kitchen table, two sets of writing; neither Paddy nor Hazel would be in for tea. Aaron grinned to himself; for a while, at least, they had the house to themselves. Helping himself to a can from the fridge, he wandered through to the utility room, to the freezer, looking for inspiration.
By the time Jackson let himself into Smithy, he was greeted by the smell of his tea cooking, the sight of Aaron concentrating on the contents of a pan on the stove. Coming up behind him, he slipped his arms round his waist, kissed him lightly on his neck, peered into the pan, wanting to know.
"Wow! Real cooking!" His teasing tones made Aaron look round; pull a face, smile at him.
"It's just onions. To go with the burger and chips."
"Where's everyone else?" asked Jackson.
"Out, they left a note," Aaron nodded towards the table. "Hey! Guess What! We've been invited out at the weekend; I met Simon when I was coming back from an MOT, had coffee at his, and he said come over Saturday lunchtime. You're not working are you?" Aaron turned towards Jackson again, hopeful, full of anticipation.
"Er...no. Don't have to be," replied Jackson, his face a neutral mask. "What's the plan?"
"Dunno really," said Aaron, turning back to the onions, missing the smile flitting across Jackson's face. "Simon just said come over at lunch time, do something in the afternoon, then out at night and stay over. You're ok with that, aren't you?"
He looked towards Jackson again, his face suddenly clouding, anxiety flooding through him; until that moment he hadn't realised how much he wanted to go out at the weekend, to fill his time, his mind, to have the chance to forget, even just a little.
"Course I am," said Jackson quickly, hearing the worry in his tone, the question in his eyes. "Will be good to catch up, go out. How long till tea's ready? Have I time for a quick shower?"
"So long as you really are quick," replied Aaron, smiling as Jackson opened his eyes wide and pouted, just a little. "Go! Before I give in and let the tea burn!" he laughed.
Without Hazel to nag, to keep them right, they took their tea into the living room, sat side by side on the sofa, let the television chatter, half to them, half to itself. After they'd eaten, ignoring the dishes, empty plates on the floor beside them, they sunk lower into the sofa; Aaron curled under Jackson's arm, his head resting on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. They hadn't bothered to put the lights on, just a small lamp, its gentle light leaving the room shadowy, intimate, an easy atmosphere for comfort, for conversation.
"You okay, Jackson?" asked Aaron, moving, turning so that his head rested in Jackson's lap, stretching his legs along the length of the sofa.
"It's just that you don't say much...about how you are feeling," he continued. About next week. Have to spend too much time coping with this drama queen," he finished wryly.
"I'm fine, babes; don't worry about me," replied Jackson, his fingertips rubbing slowly across Aaron's head, feeling the shape of his head under the spikiness of his cropped hair. "You drew the short straw that night, it's hard, I understand."
Aaron moved again, his hand reaching up, reaching behind Jackson's head, pulling him lower, lifting his own face, closing the gap between them, his eyes watching Jackson's dark eyes, almost black in the dim light, almost black, opened wide with desire.
Gently, tenderly at first, their lips met, hardly touching, teasingly light kisses melting together, joining them, beginning to arouse them. Aaron let his tongue find its way through Jackson's lips, run along the edge of his teeth, searching for his tongue; finding it, feel its teasing, welcoming response, dancing, deepening their kiss. Aaron could feel his growing hunger mirrored in his lover, feel the growing urgency of his kiss, the movement of his hands, caressing him, pulling him towards him, into him; wanting him.
Moving, Aaron turned, pulled Jackson down, rolled, pinning him to the sofa. Almost overwhelmingly, Aaron wanted him then, that instant, his hand tugging at the zip on his lover's jeans, feeling the material straining under his fingers against Jackson's swollen cock as he struggled to release him from captivity, gaining freedom to take him.
A second later; a second's grace; voices at the door, the click of the latch.
Groaning in frustrating, in discomfort, in thwarted desire; they rapidly scrambled apart, scrabbling urgently at the disarray in their clothing.
Hazel raised an eyebrow as she walked through the door in front of Paddy, missing nothing.