Chapter 36
"How about a wander down to the village? Lunch out? A pint?" Jackson looked over at Aaron as they wandered round the chalet, beginning to gather up their things, doing a last washing, all in preparation for their departure early the next morning, he knew Aaron was beginning to think, to brood, to worry about returning to Emmerdale.
"Yeah, if you like," Aaron replied half heartedly. He looked at Jackson; even from across the room he saw the sudden flash of pain cross his eyes at his response. "I'm sorry, Jackson. Yes, lunch out would be good." He smiled. He forced the smile to his lips; he didn't want Jackson to know how he felt, how much he was dreading leaving the chalet, their sanctuary.
Jackson sighed; really Aaron was absolutely crap at talking about his feelings, yet he, at least, could see them so clearly written on his face, in his eyes.
"You'll be alright walking?" he questioned. "Could pick the van up from mum's if you want."
"Nah, I'll be fine," he smiled again, meaning it, warming to the concern in Jackson's face. He knew it wasn't fair of him, allowing his glummish mood to show, to spoil the last proper day of their holiday. This time tomorrow they would be heading south, heading home; he just wanted to go as far as he could in the opposite direction.
After the torrential rain, the towpath was full of puddles, but at least the sky had a watery brightness to it, wispy clouds scattered amongst the washed out blue. There were two fishing boats going down through the flight of locks, and more people gathered watching them than they had seen before when they had ventured out, the throngs of visitors, peering over the edge of the brickwork, watching the sudden swirling, bubbling water as the sluices were opened to let water flood into the chamber below, lowering the boats.
Aaron and Jackson wandered, just a little bit back from the people intent on watching the boats, down the steps that lined the canal. There was a pub on the opposite side with tables on the canalside; the closed lock gates provided a bridge, they crossed and sat at the only empty table. Menus were secured to the table by long, thin chains, scrutinising the choices, for a moment or two they were absorbed in temptation.
"I'm going for the chicken," said Aaron eventually, "what are you wanting? I'll go in and order"
"Macaroni cheese, I think," said Jackson, still looking at the menu. "Yeah, the macaroni please."
He watched Aaron's back, admiring his arse, as he crossed the grassy bank, the lane and went into the pub. Watching the door, waiting for him to emerge again, unable to stop himself smiling when he did so, watching him carefully carrying two brimming pints of lager.
"Sorry for being such a miserable git this morning," Aaron said, setting the pints on the table. He had seen Jackson's smile as he came back with their drinks; it was the smile that made his stomach flip, that made his heart sing every time he saw it, every time he knew it was for him. He took a long, needy slurp of his lager before speaking, before doing something he hated, before sharing, just a little
"I'm dreading it, Jackson. Going back." He looked down into the amber liquid, unable, at that moment, to meet Jackson's eyes, fearing what he might see, fearing that he might see Jackson's desire to be away, to be home.
"I know you are," Jackson whispered quietly, amazed that Aaron had said even that much. "But it will be fine."
"Even with everything...everything that's happened...it's been good, being away with you." He still couldn't look up, couldn't meet Jackson's eyes
"It will be good when we get home too; we'll still be together," Jackson wondered if anything he could say would help Aaron feel more positive. "If you still want me, that is?" he added provocatively.
Aaron head snapped up then.
"Of course I still want you! Don't even joke about it!
"Then we'll cope with home; together. Deal?"
"Deal."
Aaron smiled then; he knew he hadn't said all that was on his mind; he couldn't share that with Jackson, not yet. But he suspected that Jackson had an idea what was bothering him. Under the table, he pushed his leg against Jackson's; a gesture of gratitude, a gesture of something more.
...
After their meal, they walked down the rest of the canal, hardly speaking, but mirroring each other's footsteps by instinct. They went into one or two shops, gaudy tartans, designed to lure the visitors in, to part with their money, on display everywhere. In one, slightly larger shop, Jackson lost Aaron for a few minutes and was surprised when he reappeared at his side, carrying a large carrier bag. He raised an eyebrow, questioningly.
"Just a couple of bits for Noah and Belle, and a hat for Paddy," he opened the bag, reaching in, tweaked a lump of garish red tartan, shook it, revealing the hat and its fringing of orange fluff.
"He'll love it!" smiled Jackson. "Never wear it, but love it!"
"I've got him something else too, something proper," said Aaron quickly. "And a couple of fridge magnets...I thought Pearl..."
"Aww, you're just a big softie really, aren't you," replied Jackson, his teasing tone hiding his surprise at Aaron's thoughtfulness.
"Oh shut it!" exclaimed Aaron, quickly leaving the shop in front of Jackson, leaving before he could see the flush of colour staining his cheeks at his words.
"Right then," said Jackson, chasing outside after him, "back to the chalet or boat trip?" Skimming round in front of him, walking backwards a step or two, Jackson held his two clenched fists to his chin. "Boat trip, boat trip, boat trip, pleeease," he chanted quietly, his eyes sparkling.
Looking at him, his open, eager face, his chocolate brown eyes looking larger, more puppyish than ever, Aaron felt his heart lift, knew he could refuse him nothing, especially a boat trip.
"C'mon then, but I warn you, if it's anything but flat calm, I'll be throwing up all over you!"
...
It wasn't flat calm, but not so far off it that Aaron felt any ill effects; besides he was entertained for the hours sail on the loch by watching Jackson's enthusiastic enjoyment, all thoughts of queasiness banished. They stood together at the railings, close together, pushed closer together by jostling tourists either side of them, watching the far shore of the loch come closer, watching the village, the two entrances, canal and river, disappear into the distance; listening to the tinny voice of the commentary pointing out things to see, to notice. The boat was busy with happy tourists, pushing and jostling to get the best view, the best photograph; no one took any notice of them. Staring resolutely ahead, his hands gripping tightly to the railing, Aaron eased one hand a fraction nearer to Jackson, and again; splaying his fingers, his little finger could almost reach Jackson's finger, his littlest finger. Moving again, a final fraction, letting his own little finger stretch, reach, Aaron touched Jackson, caught his attention, smiled into his eyes; melted.
...
The last evening, the last few hours; Aaron just wanted it over, wanted to wave a magic wand, wanted the journey to be over, wanted the return home to be over, even wanted the holiday to be a distant memory; the pain of its ending just a niggling ache, not raw, overwhelming. And there was something else; he should have shared with Jackson straight away, earlier that afternoon, before the boat trip, before his courage failed him; but the moment hadn't been right; and now, had he missed the right moment?
The last evening, it had been pleasant enough; Hazel had been and gone, he and Jackson had curled together on the sofa, watched something on the television, he couldn't have said what; he had watched the colours, the moving images, heard the words, but his mind, all his thoughts had been elsewhere. Not far away, upstairs, remembering what he had hidden there, burning into his consciousness.
The last evening, it had to be drawing to an end, time was running out; Jackson was moving, making those going to bed moves that Aaron recognised, knew so well, usually welcomed.
"You coming or will I get you upstairs?" Jackson asked him.
"I'll come up too," he replied, his stomach churning, it was now, as soon as they got upstairs or the moment would be lost.
He left Jackson to go into the bathroom, heard him scrubbing his teeth, knew he was safe for a minute or two. He paced the floor, trying to work out what he would say, what his first words should be.
"What's up with you this evening?" Jackson was standing quietly at the bathroom door, leaning against the door frame, watching him, watching his anxiety now so clearly, suddenly, visible after bubbling below the surface for hours. "You've been fidgety all evening."
Aaron couldn't answer; he grabbed the jacket he had been wearing earlier in the day, felt what he was looking for through the material, found the pocket and took the small paper package from it, held it in his hand. He could feel the colour beginning to burn in his cheeks, was glad the only light was coming from the bathroom, from behind Jackson, that he was in shadow.
"I got you something, this afternoon, when we were out." He held out the small parcel towards Jackson, his hand trembling a little, his stomach churning. Surely Jackson must be able to see the turmoil he had created within himself.
Moving, Jackson came towards him, drew him down onto the bed beside him.
"Is this why you've been twitchy all evening – or wasn't I supposed to notice? Because you bought me a present?" Jackson took the small parcel from him, pushing his shoulder gently against Aaron, then turning, letting his fingers move to his chin, raising his face to look him in the eye. He slowly began to unwrap the present, even before he saw it, he couldn't keep a smile from spreading from his lips, reaching his eyes, his heart.
"If you don't like it…" began Aaron.
"Shut up, Aaron, it's perfect." On the unwrapped paper on his hand, a long leather thong curled around a small, flattened circle of amber; even in the shadows, the warm orange glow shone in his hand. Taking it from the paper, shaking out the leather thong, Jackson turned his back to Aaron, placed the amber circle at his neck and held the two loose ends over his shoulders for Aaron to tie.
Once it was secured about his neck he turned back to Aaron, his fingers touching the hard circle, feeling the novelty, the strangeness of it. He leant in towards him, hugged him quickly.
Without speaking, Jackson reached into his pocket, pulled out a parcel, a parcel of the same paper that Aaron had given him, moments before.
"Great minds," he smiled. "I was going to give you this tomorrow; it's not a necklace though. Hope it fits."
Urgently Aaron ripped open the paper, his heart pounding, with excitement, with relief. Inside was a leather – leather again – bangle, dark leather, covered with an intricate design. Slipping it round his wrist, whispering his thanks, his voice suddenly deserting him, Aaron held out his hand to Jackson; he could have fastened it himself but he wanted the pleasure of letting Jackson do it for him.
Suddenly he was smiling, a smile that reached every part of him, letting him feel wonderful, soaring amongst the clouds. Leaning backwards, he pulled Jackson on top on him on the bed, hugged him, searched for his lips, found his lips, kissed him, was kissed in return, gently at first, but quickly harder, deeper, with desire, with celebration.
The last evening lasted a little bit longer. The last evening lasted a lot longer.