Chapter 38
Daylight filtered through the curtained windows; Aaron kept his eyes shut, he really, really didn't want to wake up yet. Whatever time it was; it was too early to face the day. He moved, became aware of Jackson beside him, moved to snuggle into his arms.
"D'you want coffee? It's after ten." Jackson asked him quietly, rolling out of his reach, out of the bed
"No." Aaron didn't open his eyes. "I'm in denial! I want to stay in this bed all day, in our own private bubble and pretend we're still on holiday." He opened one eye and peeked up at Jackson. "Yeah, I have coffee if you'll bring it upstairs; grab a few more minutes here."
"So long as it's only coffee you've got on your mind; you were pretty enthusiastic last night." he said, remembering.
Aaron rolled onto his back, stretched, rested his hands behind his head; he smiled.
"And stop trying to tempt me back to bed; I'm going for a shower then I'll make the coffee." He wrapped a towel round his waist and slipped from the room.
"So what have you got to do today?" Aaron asked a few minutes later, sitting up in bed, drinking his coffee.
"I need to go and see Declan, there were bits he still wanted me to do at the house; see if he can wait till next week." Jackson took a mouthful of coffee. "Paddy's made you an appointment at the GPs this afternoon."
"He's what!" exclaimed Aaron. "Well he can just do one, I'm not going!" He scowled crossly at Jackson.
"The hospital said you had to see the GP when we got home," Jackson replied stubbornly.
"Well what about you! You were hurt; you've got letters to hand in."
"Yeah. And he made me one ten minutes after you,"
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. So no more moaning," Jackson smirked. "The Woollie at one then?"
"Yeah, s'pose so."
"No, s'pose about it, be there," Jackson smiled, a teasing, pleading smile, watched acceptance, affirmation play across Aaron's face as he slid back under the covers...alone.
...
Jackson quietly closed the door to Smithy; he hadn't seen Paddy on his way out and heaven knows where his mother was; no doubt they would catch up later. He walked down the street towards Declan's house; he didn't know if he would be there at this time of day; he probably should have phoned first.
Lost in his thoughts, he was shocked to hear his name being called, hear the sharp aggressive tones greeting him as he turned the corner by the house; apprehensive to see Cain coming towards him, swaggering, combative.
"I told you to phone me if there were any problems," he growled at Jackson, his face, upper body, held towards him, invading his space.
Jackson stood his ground, held his eyes.
"I needed... my mum," he said quietly.
"I could've helped," asserted Cain.
"What could you have done, Cain? The police had two people in custody by the next day and the rest a few days later," his voice was quiet, reflective, sad even.
Cain grunted non-committally. "How's Aaron?
Jackson stared at him a moment, considering his answer. "Fragile. Why didn't Chas come up to see him?"
"She was waiting to hear from him," defensive suddenly, Cain hadn't expected Jackson to ask so directly. "When she didn't," he shrugged, "well Paddy kept her up to date."
"She his mother!" suddenly furious, the anger blazed in Jackson's eyes. "She should know, know! that what he says – or doesn't say - has nothing to do with what he wants or feels or needs! She should have been there, Cain. For her son!"
Turning on his heels, he stormed away. He could feel himself shaking, feel the sudden release of anger chasing through his body, feel frustration and pain on Aaron's behalf, on his lover's behalf. He didn't know where he was going, where he was walking; anywhere, anywhere to get away from Cain, from all thoughts of Chas, from all the useless Dingles. He let his feet lead him, unheeding, quickly at first, needing the distance, as though the very air around him was polluted.
As the mist of anger cleared from his mind, he realised he was near the cricket pavilion. Slower now, catching his breath, catching his thoughts, he walked to the slightly dilapidated building and flung himself onto a bench on the balcony. He didn't want to go back to Smithy, not when he was in this mood, no good for him, no good for Aaron. He hated, hated! that they could make him feel this way; how could they not see what Aaron was like, what he needed! He lent back against the wooden wall, closed his eyes, tried to force himself to think of something else, anything else, anything but people...families.
As he felt calmer, he took his phone from his pocket; there were no messages, no missed calls. He scrolled through the numbers, reaching Declan's, punched the dial button. A minute later, an arrangement had been made; he only had to walk back to the café in thirty minutes time. For now, he could sit and brood a little longer.
...
Aaron lay in their new bed, relishing the space, regretting the emptiness; he knew Jackson had to organise his work, reschedule plans, dates, and he was secretly proud of him for loving his work so much. He just wished he hadn't been so keen to go to the Woollie; they could have just had lunch at home and he wouldn't have needed to go out. He tried his phone; straight to voicemail, he didn't leave a message. He could hear Paddy or Hazel bumbling about downstairs; he would wait until much nearer one o'clock before he went downstairs, went out of the door.
Two minutes to one, escape; Paddy caught him in the kitchen, reminded him of his appointment for later on in the afternoon. He growled at him, passing on his way out, he looked across the road and down to the pub; he could see the door from where he stood at Smithy. He wondered if Jackson were already there.
He could feel his stomach churning as he stood at the door, his hand raised to push open the swing door to the bar. Why? his head screamed at him; it was only the Woollie – how many times had he walked through that door? Thousands...hundreds surely...it would be fine.
He pushed open the door, walked in; he could feel the tension in his fists, clenched at his side; in his chest, in the tight muscles at his jaw. His eyes flicked quickly around the bar; no Jackson, no anyone - no one that he wanted to avoid anyway.
He ordered his pint, lent against the bar, his eyes, his thoughts, lost in the glass in front of him. At every noise he turned, looking for Jackson; it wasn't long, five minutes; it felt like five hours, a lifetime; did his heart really skip a beat as he came through the door, their smiles meeting.
Aaron nodded to Bob, ordering a pint for Jackson as he moved close in beside him at the bar, their shoulder pushing briefly against each other in greeting.
Aaron could feel the tension leaving his body, his fists unclenching, his muscles relaxing.
They stayed at the bar, a few folk came in; it was pleasant, talking with each other, with other people, getting reacquainted with their local.
"Oh! You're back then!"
The strident tones cut like glass across the room to the bar.
Aaron turned, facing his mother; he shrugged, not trusting himself to speak.
"You're aw'right then?" Chas continued.
"Like you care," growled Aaron, quietly.
"What d'you mean? Course I care!"
"Oh yeah! So where have you been this last week! In here getting drunk! Chasing after Carl!" Eyes blazing now, his voice stayed low, icily controlled. "Where you've not been is anywhere near me! So just do one, mother!"
Jackson grabbed his arm, pulled him round, forcibly getting his attention, aware that Aaron could hardly see him through his anger and hurt; through the tears that were already beginning to flood into his eyes.
"Out of here! Move!" he whispered urgently; powerful now, exerting all his strength, Jackson dragged Aaron from the bar, pushing him in front of him through the door from the bar, pushing him in front of him into the gents loos.
Leaning up against the sinks, he could hold him now, pull him close into him, feel his body wracked with shuddering sobs, collapse against him. Running his hand down the back of Aaron's head, down his neck, rubbing, soothing, holding him tight, Jackson muttered comforting words, unsure what he was saying, knowing Aaron just needed to hear the sound of his voice, gentle and reassuring, being there. Slowly, slowly, his breathing steadied, his sobs quietened. Jackson changed his hold, let his hand brush away the tears tracked down his cheeks.
"Stay here a minute," he whispered, getting Aaron's nod of agreement before he left the room.
He went back into the bar; Chas was still there, sucking on the straw sticking up from her lager, looking more thoughtful, subdued, but still there, not following Aaron. Jackson shook his head in silent despair, fighting against the anger that threatened to overwhelm him for his lover's distress.
He walked up quietly beside her; "Outside, now!" he whispered.
"You what?" disbelief dripped through Chas's words.
"If you want even a chance to salvage something of your relationship with your son, you need to go after him. Now." Jackson's voice was quiet, but looking into his eyes, Chas saw a fire burning there.
Thumping her drink down on the bar, Chas stalked out through the swing doors, was about to head outside the pub itself.
"No," said Jackson, "he's in there." He nodded towards the gents.
"I can't go in there," squeaked Chas, "it's the gents."
Jackson paused, his hand about to push open the door.
"He's in bits, Chas, fucking bits!" He spoke quietly, his voice full of bitter anger at her behaviour. "You're his mother! You bang on about being his mother often enough. But you don't show him! He thinks you don't give a shit! You should have been there for him. If you don't get in there, now, you'll have lost him forever."
He pushed open the door; Aaron stood where he had left him, leaning against the sink; as the door opened, he turned towards it. He wasn't crying any more, but tears were trickling unheeded, unknown, down his face.
"Your son, Chas! Look at him! This is what you have done to him." Jackson didn't often lose his temper, but anger now fuelled his words.
"He was beaten unconscious, Chas! Beaten unconscious for loving me, protecting me! Do you want to see what they did to him? What you ignored!" Almost roughly, he pushed Aaron round, unresisting, away from him, he could feel the sobs beginning again, shaking his whole body, but he ignored them, he had to give Chas the chance to understand. Hauling on Aaron's tee shirt, he pulled it up, exposing the fading bruises still visible on his back; pushing Aaron again, pushing him to face Chas, exposing the tears coursing down his face, exposing the discolouration of his abdomen.
"They're more than a week old, Chas, these bruises; what do you think they looked like then? Black and blue? Black and blacker, Chas! And what you are seeing, now, on his back and chest, that's just a fraction of them." Turning away from Chas, he let Aaron's tee shirt fall back, pulling Aaron in to him, took him in his arms, let him sob the tears away in his arms, let the wracking sobs die in his comfort and embrace.
Jackson ignored Chas now; all he cared about was Aaron, held close. Gradually he felt Aaron grow calmer, his tears subsiding, his body quietening. Jackson moved to stand closely in front of Aaron, seeking his eyes, holding them with his own.
"I'll leave you just now...with Chas. But I won't be far away, I promise." It was hard, so hard for Jackson to pull away from Aaron, their hands reluctantly sliding apart. But he had to give Chas the chance to salvage something from the wreck of her son's love. A wreck borne of misunderstanding, perhaps, but built upon years of despair, from Aaron's experience, Aaron's life.
Pausing at the door, he looked back; he looked at the gulf between them, mother and son.