Chapter 38
"Aaron!"
Her voice cut through the air, through the argument, silencing them both.
"What's going on here?" she asked; as though she couldn't guess, looking between them, looking at two dark, furious faces. "Well! Is someone gonna tell me?" she demanded as neither man spoke.
"It's him," snarled Aaron, "keeps going on about the damned test. And I keep telling him, I'm not doing it; I don't need to know. But is he listening to me? Is he fuck!"
"Aaron!" exclaimed Chas, "language!" She paused. "I get that you're angry – both of you..." she glared at each of them in turn, "...but yelling at each other won't do any good."
"It's him," growled Cain, "he's just being stupid. As usual!"
Neither Chas nor Aaron said anything, both of them waiting.
"I was just trying to tell him...he doesn't understand. It's important...he needs to know; we all need to know; we need to do the test!" Cain's voice grew louder, but perhaps less certain, trying to convince himself, as he tried to imprint his own need upon Aaron.
"Aaron, perhaps..." began Chas.
"No! Can you not get it through your heads, either of you; that I have thought and thought about this; it's been running round and round, doing my head in for almost a week. But no more!" Aaron stopped, bit his lip, breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself. "No more. I don't care. I don't want to talk about it anymore; I don't want to listen to it anymore."
He pushed roughly passed Chas; he had to get out of there. He had made his decision; he was happy, at peace with it; and if he regretted it later, discovered it was the wrong decision, well! That was his problem, not theirs. It wasn't up to them; whatever they had done, whatever mistakes they had made, they weren't going to mess with his head anymore.
"I'm done for the day," he said, stopping at the door. "And dock it out my wages," he continued, "glaring at Cain, "I don't care."
The door creaked on its old hinges as it swung heavily with the force of his leaving.
For an interminable moment neither Cain nor Chas spoke; Chas watched the space where Aaron had been seconds before; she wasn't looking at Cain, wasn't seeing the play of emotions flashing across his face as he fought to regain some control, fought to school his face into its customary dark, glowering scowl.
"So...?" she said, extending the vowel into a question, turning to look at him. "Is there something you want to share with me? You seem very anxious that he should do the test; that you both should?"
Cain didn't answer; instead he bent to the cupboard under the sink, drawing out a bottle of rich amber liquid. Hardly showing two mugs a splash of water from the tap to rinse them; he poured generous measures into each, silently handing one to Chas.
"Bit early, even for you, isn't it?" she said, not refusing her mug, taking a sip as she finished speaking, pulling a face, half of distaste, half of appreciation as the malt slid off her tongue, setting a warm fire to her throat as she swallowed.
"I need to know, Chas," Cain said quietly, leaning against the cluttered workbench. "And I don't understand why he doesn't."
"He's young..." began Chas lamely. "Oh I don't know! Maybe he'll change his mind, come round. But we can't force him to take the test."
For a moment, Cain said nothing, just poured himself another drink; wordlessly he offered the bottle to Chas, refilling her mug as she held it towards him.
"We shouldn't have done it, should we... slept together," Cain mused quietly. "Look at all the hassle we've caused."
"But who knew?" countered Chas. "We were young; so young, so stupid...and Dingles."
"Is there anything? anything you know, you can remember, Chas?" he asked, his voice at last revealing his pain to her.
She was going to deny him; going to protest that she knew nothing more than she had already told him, yet something stilled the words before they left her mouth; a memory; a memory still fresh and raw in her mind; that calm, forgiving man, urging her to honesty. They had been speaking of Aaron then; but surely she owed as much to Cain, her brother, her cousin, her lover.
"I believed it was Gordon," she said, a sob catching quietly in her voice, "but it's not, so..." she shrugged, paused. "Cain; there really weren't so many other lads – not then. Oh! I'm not saying I've been an angel; but then...I don't think so. I just can't be sure, not one hundred percent sure. I'm so sorry!"
Cain shook his head, "No, it's okay," he said slowly as he thought about what she said. "Even if you told me you were sure, totally sure; I couldn't be sure. And I need to be sure." His voice faded away to a whisper; he was talking more to himself now than Chas.
"But would we have done anything differently if we had known, if I had been sure at the time?" mused Chas.
"You wouldn't have married Gordon," said Cain, accusingly.
"I might have done," countered Chas. "I wouldn't have married you; couldn't have," she smiled wanly at him. "They would never have allowed that; that would have been a step too far. Besides...there was always Charity."
Chas swallowed the last of her whisky, glad of the drink, despite the early hour. She wanted to get out, to get away from Cain, away from the neediness that was so unlike him.
Cain only nodded as she said goodbye, made her escape. He felt sick; his stomach was churning, twisting his guts upon themselves; he needed to do something, anything; he couldn't leave things as they stood, he'd crack up and he didn't do cracking up; this wasn't him. Putting down his mug, he slid his hand into his jacket pocket; he brought out four small, torn pieces of paper. Holding them carefully, aligning their edges, he could still read the telephone number. He breathed out in relief; he would be doing something. He locked the doors to the garage before he started keying in the number.
...
Aaron stalked up the road past the Woolpack; he wished it was later, wished he could go in and knock back a pint or three. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Why couldn't they understand? Did they think he hadn't thought about it? Did they think he didn't realise all the implications of his choice?
He slammed the door of Smithy behind him, but there was no noise, no shout from the surgery; Paddy must be out he realised. He was glad about that...he thought he was glad about that. He thought about phoning Jackson; but it wasn't even lunchtime yet, he'd be busy, in the middle of building something; he could wait until later to speak to him.
He went up the stairs to their bedroom; it was cold, they had left the window open that morning, they had needed to leave the window open that morning; he smiled, remembering, as he closed it now. Peeling off his work clothes, throwing them in a corner of the room; he slipped across the hall to the bathroom.
The hot, cascading water of the shower began to sooth him; for a few minutes he just stood, his eyes closed, letting the water flow over him. It was easy standing in the water, safe; he didn't need to think about anything else except the water touching him, warming him. He reached for the shower gel; soap would have done him, but Jackson had this thing...he smiled as the smell reached him; a smell of Jackson's choice, a smell that meant Jackson to him. He filled the palm of his hand with the fragrant gel; placing the bottle carefully down, he began rubbing his body, smoothing the gently foaming gel over his chest, his arms; lower to his legs, higher...thoughts of Jackson reaching his cock, making him hard; the heat of the water mingling with the heat of his thoughts. Quickly, urgently, his hands worked; easing himself, spilling his load, letting it mix and mingle with the drenching water until he felt spent and vaguely satisfied.
There was still no sign of anyone else when he came downstairs a few minutes later; he threw a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and considered what he should do with his unexpected afternoon off. He glanced at this watch; there would be a bus to Hotton in twenty minutes; he could go into town, have a look for Jackson's Christmas present; have a drink in Bar West even. As he ate, juggling his toast with one hand, he flipped his phone open with the other, meaning to send Jackson a quick text; his eye caught the last text he had received; Simon. Simon who was on his Christmas holidays. With a few deft strokes he sent a message, a suggestion; seconds later he received a reply, a confirmation; Bar West, ASAP. Smiling, glad to be able to escape, glad to have company; he grabbed his jacket and slammed the door as he left.
Simon already had the pints lined up when Aaron walked into Bar West, his own already half drunk.
"Have you eaten?" he greeted him.
"Toast. Why? Who are you anyway? My mother?" grumbled Aaron good naturedly in reply, sliding into the seat beside Simon, then lifting his pint.
"No, I'm one of the blokes who had a hell of a hangover yesterday after being out with you the night before," smirked Simon. "So we'll have this pint, then go and get a burger or something. Deal?"
"Deal," grinned Aaron, glad that Simon hadn't immediately started questioning him about the reason for his text; the reason for his surprising suggestion to meet.
For lunchtime, for a weekday, there was a steady stream of people coming into, leaving Bar West.
"Him," said Simon, bumping his shoulder against Aaron's, bumping him from his reverie. "Out of ten?"
Aaron looked to where he nodded, to the guy leaning up against the bar, his eyes flashing round the room.
"Seven and a half, maybe eight in a good light. What?" he added as he saw the look on Simon's face.
"As much as that!" Simon exclaimed. "Thought he'd be way to pretty for you."
"Oh I can like pretty," laughed Aaron. "I just wouldn't want to wake up next to it!"
"So Jackson's not pretty then," teased Simon.
"Jackson is drop dead gorgeous," said Aaron firmly, in a voice that would brook no disagreement.
"So him then," said Simon, looking back to the man at the bar. "Kiss, suck or fuck?"
"Suck," said Aaron decidedly. "What about you?"
"Oh no! I bet he's hot between the sheets; so fuck! I definitely would!" grinned Simon.
"Him," said Aaron, indicating another man.
"Bit old," pronounced Simon, "so just a suck...maybe...if I'm feeling charitable."
Aaron laughed; it felt good, not having to think, to worry; just able to enjoy the banter for a while.
Once their pints were finished, Simon insisted they left Bar West; they walked down the street, soon turning into a small cafe, a place Aaron hadn't been to before.
"Best burgers in town here," said Simon as they were shown to a table. "You ok if I text Robbie, tell him we're here if he can get away for a late lunch?"
"Yeah, sure. I'd better text Jackson too; let him know I'm not at work."
"Any chance of him joining us?" asked Simon.
"Nah," replied Aaron, his eyes on the screen; he's miles away today.
For a minute or two they were both silent, concentrating on their phones until Simon laughed.
"Oh dear, poor Robbie! He sounds in such a foul mood!" he said.
"What's up?" questioned Aaron.
"He's at a job and he says it's gonna take him all day to sort out some DIY-ers botch up! So it's just you and me for burgers."
"That's fine," said Aaron. He had picked up a menu, was trying to look at the dishes on offer, trying to decide what to have, trying to decide what to say to Simon.
They ordered.
"Cain was doing my head in," Aaron blurted out as the young waitress walked away. "And my mum."
"Perhaps they are worried about you?" suggested Simon.
"Yeah, I get that," admitted Aaron. "But it's like they don't think I can make my own decision; no, they don't respect the decision I have made."
"The test?" questioned Simon, although he was pretty sure he knew what Aaron was talking about.
"Yeah," confirmed Aaron. "And I'm not going to have it – and I know I might regret that later, but I'm happy to take my chance and go with how I feel now. I just don't understand why they can't let it rest."
"That's oldies for you," sympathised Simon,
"Anyway, thanks for letting me drag you away from whatever you were doing."
"Hey! No worries; I was only doing some lesson planning for next term so this is much more fun. Even if you are a grumpy git!"
"Oh ha ha!" Aaron pulled a face at him as the waitress placed their meals in front of them.
...
After making his telephone call, he had been able to submerge himself in his work for a while, for a couple of hours, for some indeterminate amount of time as he worked on first one engine then another, his mind calmer. But he couldn't stop thinking.
Eventually he could stand it no longer; but in those hours he had settled on a plan, a course of action. He stopped at Tug Ghyll long enough to wash the oil of the day from himself, to put on fresh clothes.
Heading back out onto the street, there was no sign of anyone. He bypassed the Woolie although at that moment he could have murdered a pint. Passing the cafe, crossing the road, he glanced at the brass plaque at the door before he let himself into the surgery.
Paddy was sitting at the reception desk; expecting an anxious pet owner, he was shocked to see Cain appear.
"Cain...I...er...hello," he bumbled. "What do you...I mean...you've no animals," he finished lamely.
"The computer," said Cain briefly. "This internet stuff...how does it work?"
"Thought you had a computer at the garage," said Paddy bemused.
"Yeah, we do," Cain snapped, "but that's only for calibrating the computers in car engines, not actually finding out stuff." His voice was sharp; his anxiety was betrayed by the tension in his body. "I need to know how to find out stuff."
"Stuff?" questioned Paddy. "What sort of stuff?
"Just stuff...things..." snarled Cain.
"But you need to be more specific," began Paddy awkwardly. "It depends what you want to know, how you ask the question."
Cain spun on his heels, letting lose a snarl of frustration. He hadn't wanted to tell anyone; he hadn't wanted to tell Paddy, but computers had passed him by and he needed to know.
Turning back, his mind made up.
"I need to know how to get a DNA test," he breathed. "But if you ever tell anyone, Paddy..."
He left the threat hanging in the air between them.