Chapter 29

Aaron stood, pulling his boxers, trackkies and tee shirt back on; in his bare feet, he padded through to the open plan kitchen, filled the kettle and switched it on, then spooned coffee into two mugs, ready.

Jackson eased his jeans over his hips but didn't bother fastening them, letting them hang loosely, almost ready to fall as he took the mug from Aaron, then turning, perching on the log burner as he took his first sip. He hadn't got his tee shirt on yet, his body was still covered with a glistening sheen of sweat from their love-making and on his make-shift seat; he was warm enough.

He watched Aaron pace restlessly to the window, nursing his own mug of coffee.

"Its getting dark already," he muttered, staring into the dark inky dusk.

"Well, it's almost the middle of December, nearly the shortest day; were you wanting to go out somewhere or something?" asked Jackson reasonably.

"No, just buzzing after…" he paused, "…just after!"

"No idea what you mean," Jackson kept his face straight. "You'll need to tell me just exactly what you are talking about."

"If you think I'm gonna talk dirty when we're not…we're not…" Aaron floundered, "...y'know!"

"Ah, but you do it so well," teased Jackson.

Aaron tried to scowl at him, unable to make it reach his eyes, make it real. He was about to answer him when a movement outside caught his eye.

"Ah shit!" he exclaimed. "I think that's Calum and his pal! You'd better get your shirt on!"

"Nah!" exclaimed Jackson. "I need to run up for a shower; I'm covered in...stuff." He grabbed his shirt and was heading up the stairs, even as the knock came at the door, "you'll manage for a few minutes. Won't be long."

Glaring at his retreating back, at his bare feet running up the staircase, Aaron moved to open the door.

"Hi," he said, standing back to let Calum and Dougie into the chalet.

"Hello," Calum began awkwardly. "Jackson said it would be okay to...he said..."

"Yeah, sure, it's fine, come in," said Aaron, mentally shaking himself, reminding himself what it was like; the questions, the confusion, struggling to understand why you had these feelings, desperate to run away from those same feelings.

"D'you want coffee, tea, lager...actually, I suppose I shouldn't offer you lager, should I?"

"Like you think we don't drink?" smiled Calum.

"Like I don't want to get into bother with your mum, who might tell Hazel, seeing as they are so matey; who would then make my life hell!"

"We won't tell if you won't," said Calum, his smile growing broader.

Aaron reached into the fridge, taking out four cans, handing one each to Calum and Dougie. Crossing to the sofa, he quickly glanced over the leather seats, checking, before waving to the two lads to make themselves comfortable, then setting the last can on the small table, waiting for Jackson's return. He hoped he wouldn't be long; he felt awkward, unsure what to say.

"You still at school then, Dougie," he asked. He knew it was lame, he even knew the answer; Calum had told them when he had first spoken to them, but it was all he could think of to say.

"Yeah," replied Dougie. "We're in the same year, leave in the summer though."

"Oh yeah? What're you going to do?"

"Catering," replied Dougie. "I've got a kind of sponsored training place at one of the big hotels in Edinburgh; learning part time with them, on the job, and part time at college."

"That's cool," said Aaron. "I've got a…" he paused, trying to think exactly what relation Marlon was to him. "A cousin," he settled on, "he's a chef in our local back home. What about you?" he asked Calum.

"I'm going to college; journalism. In Edinburgh too. We thought we'd share a flat," he smiled, quickly, at Dougie. "If we can afford to, it's hellish expensive," he added.

Aaron looked between the two lads; he remembered what Calum had said yesterday; had something changed between them he wondered.

Interrupting his thoughts, he heard footsteps…then saw bare feet appearing down the stairs. Relief swept through him; any feelings of anxiety, of discomfort evaporating as Jackson came down into the room.

Smiling at Aaron, in a fluid, sensuous movement Jackson let his hand sweep round the side of his head, touching his neck, moving around his shoulders, letting his fingers appear reluctant to leave the touch of his body as catching his eyes, he smiled before leaning forward, picking up the can of lager from the table.

"This one mine, is it?" he asked cheerfully, pinging the ring pull open before anyone had a chance to say anything. Looking towards Dougie, he caught a glimpse of a flush creeping up his face as he quickly turned, looked out of the window.

For a while the conversation roamed over safe, innocuous topics, their school, their plans, where Aaron and Jackson could visit during their holiday. And all the time, Jackson tried not to see the rapid glances between Calum and Dougie.

"D'you want to stay for something to eat," offered Jackson a while later; it was full dark yet still early. "Won't be anything exciting, but you're welcome."

"Could do…if it's really ok with you," said Calum, unsure again. "What d'you think Doug?"

"Well…" Dougie hesitated, looking intently at Calum, trying to send him a message.

"I told them, Dougie!" Calum suddenly exclaimed, the words bursting from him. "I told them what happened! How it felt! How I felt!" He turned away from Dougie then, speaking to Aaron and Jackson. "We talked...last night! For hours! I told him how I felt!" Calum paused; looking round at them all, his eyes wide with fear, with apprehension. "I told him I thought I was gay and...and I fancied him," his voice shook with emotion as he spoke. "He didn't freak, but he didn't want me to say anything...even though you're gay." He stopped abruptly as though his thoughts had run out of steam.

For a moment, none of them spoke; the silence was palpable, tangible. Then Jackson stood up.

"I'll stick some pasta on," he said, going to the kitchen, opening cupboards, rattling pans. Across the open plan room, he heard music start, killing the silence. He took another four cans out of the fridge, standing, pausing for a moment, staring into the body of the fridge, seeing nothing as his thoughts ranged, testing words, ideas, trying to decide what he could say...should say.

He walked back to the seats, dropping down on the wide arm of the sofa where Aaron lounged, passing the cans between them.

"So!" he said, pausing, looking between Calum and Dougie, his eye briefly catching Aaron's, realising that he felt adrift, out of his depth and it was up to him to break the awkwardness that had filled the room after Calum's announcement. "The world hasn't collapsed," he continued. "How do you feel?" he asked Dougie directly.

Dougie looked up at the ceiling, out of the window, anywhere but at Jackson – or Calum.

"Okay...I think," he breathed, "it kinda makes sense..." He spoke almost to himself, pausing as one thought tumbled over another in his mind; his confusion reflected clearly on his face. "But I don't really understand...how do you know...really know?"

Jackson didn't answer straight away; he didn't have any sure answers, didn't have a magic wand to smooth their path.

"You don't know," he began, "or at least, at your age, you probably don't know for sure," he qualified, "and whatever you think now, about anything, you might change your mind twenty times over the years." He paused again, thinking. "It's really about exploring... not only yourself...your sexuality...but all the other things, thoughts and ideas, that make you, you." He stopped speaking, that all sounded very daunting, even to his own ears.

"You just need to keep an open mind," he continued. "And have fun," he glanced over at Aaron, "and stay safe," he added, not quite an afterthought. "Does that make sense to you?"

"Makes perfect sense to me," said Aaron quickly, forestalling another silence. "And your pasta's boiling over," he added cheerfully.

"Shite!" exclaimed Jackson, jumping up, rushing through to the kitchen to rescue the pan; the sudden burst of activity breaking the anxious tension that had gripped them all.

He was aware of a mobile beginning to ring as he scooped the pan from the stove, holding it above the heat as the bubbling water subsided. Aaron's ringtone; cut off sharply as he answered it, walked away from the younger lads, perched on the empty dining table.

Jackson looked at him, his face asking a question.

"Paddy"; mouthed Aaron silently, listening intently.

"No way, Paddy!" he exclaimed suddenly. "No fucking way! What the hell does he think he's doing, creeping out of the woodwork after all these years of not bothering a shit about me! After not believing a damned word I said; after chucking me out!"

The unexpected eruption of anger made them all stare.

Aaron hurled the phone onto the table, turned towards the window; his hands pushed to his face, rubbing over his short hair.

For a moment, no one said anything.

"Sorry," Aaron mumbled, turning back towards the room. He flung himself back into the chair. "My fucking father!" he said, shaking his head. Leaning back in the chair, he took some deep, steadying breaths. "Sorry," he repeated. "Did you manage to save the pasta, Jackson?"

"Yeah," Jackson answered. "It's ready; d'you still want some?"

"Course!" replied Aaron. "I'm not going to let that waste of space spoil my evening. Wouldn't mind another can though," he added, draining his last one.

Jackson took another can from the fridge, crossed the room to hand it to Aaron, keeping hold of the can for a moment longer than needed, touching his fingers, holding his eye, silently asking a question.

"Later," Aaron's wordless answer said; a hardly perceptible shake of his head. "I'll tell you later."

The evening passed with no further mention of the phone call from Paddy, of Aaron's furious reaction. It wasn't until they were alone, in bed, in the dark, that Jackson knew he would speak about it.

He knew Aaron wasn't asleep; he was lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow under his chin. Jackson lay on his side, saying nothing, letting his fingers trail gently up and down the length of Aaron's spine, feeling each ridge of bone, feeling the gently swell of his buttocks; content to wait until Aaron was ready to talk.

The silence stretched on; at last Jackson heard the change in his breathing, heard him breathing in and knew he was preparing to tell him.

"Paddy had a phone call from my dad," he began quietly. "Seems his kid's ill, leukaemia or something. He's looking for a bone marrow donor, wanted me to be tested." He paused. "Apparently relatives often make compatible donors, although neither he nor Sandra is that good a match."

"So..." said Jackson, drawing the word out.

"So he's not bothered with me for years," snarled Aaron, the anger returning. "And now, when his kid, his son, is ill; suddenly he wants to know me again because I could be useful to him." Aaron turned, flinging himself around to face Jackson.

Jackson said nothing at first, only raising his eyebrows in question.

"Shit! I know! I know!" exclaimed Aaron, rolling so that he was staring absently at the ceiling.

"He's only a kid, Aaron," said Jackson quietly, reasonably. "It's not his fault that his dad, your dad, is an arsehole." He paused, "What do they want you to do?"

"They were going to phone the local surgery, arrange for the first blood test to be taken there; by the time we get home, they would know if it was a match."

"I wonder why he contacted Paddy, not your mum?" mused Jackson.

"Have you met my mum?" replied Aaron, a first touch of lightness, of humour in his voice. "He knew she would go off on one – big style - if he even suggested it to her."

"That's true enough," Jackson chuckled into the darkness.

For a moment there was silence again.

"I've got to do it, haven't I?" said Aaron at last; it wasn't really a question.

"Take your dad out of it, and it's just some sick kid that you don't know, but are willing to help because you're a nice guy."

Aaron smiled to himself, unseen; he shook his head a little. "No, you're the nice guy; it just rubs off on me a little, being with you."

"Just as well I think you're nice then, isn't it," whispered Jackson, letting his hand slide across Aaron's chest, rolling on top of him. "Very nice," he mumbled, his voice growing husky, as he buried his lips into Aaron's neck.

Forgetting, for the moment; Aaron kissed him back.

...

It didn't take long once the arrangements were made.

Aaron sat in the waiting room, brooding; he knew he was doing the right thing, that should make him feel better, but somehow, it didn't. He still hated the fact that his father could just shout and expect him to jump. And he did. However much he told himself it was for this kid, this half brother that he didn't know, it didn't ease the anger still hiding inside.

Called into the consulting room, baring his arm; he watched as the nurse fastened the tourniquet around it, allowing his vein to fill with blood. He watched as she slid the needle through his skin, into his vein, not flinching at the sharp, momentary, pain; watched her flicking the quick release on the tourniquet allowing the blood...his blood...to flow into the collection tubes.

"What d'you want to do now?" asked Jackson, rushing to catch up with him as he left the surgery without glancing at him.

He was just glad to get out of the place, to put the thought of it from his mind, at least until the results came back; he had forgotten Jackson, waiting for him, so full had his mind been of other things, of another person.

"Go for a long walk, go and get drunk, go and fuck your brains out!" Aaron stopped, waiting for Jackson to stop beside him. "I don't know...I just need to get him out of my head."

"And if it comes back that you are a match?" questioned Jackson.

"Then I'll deal with it," Aaron looked at Jackson. "We'll deal with it. But just now, I want my holiday back!" He began to walk back towards the village. "You coming?"

"Not yet," grinned Jackson, his dark eyes sparkling with suggestion, "but I'm hopeful for later on!"

Aaron laughed.