Chapter 1
Like the Birds

James looked exhausted as we sat in front of the tent by the fire. He'd been quiet all day, but with firelight playing low across his face like a December sunset, the dark circles under his eyes seemed all the more obvious, as did the pallor of his skin.

"If your dinner's gone down, maybe we should think about going to bed?"

He was sat with his knees drawn into his chest, gazing aimlessly at the fire. He nodded his head.

"Go and get your teeth brushed, then. I'll sort the fire out. There's a good lad."

Obviously captured by the thought of sleep, James yawned widely, his tongue curved up and forward like a cat, and his teeth on rare display. I was used to marvelling at his slightly crooked, slightly chipped front left tooth – so characteristically James – whenever he laughed or grinned mischievously. Seeing it now minded me that I'd never seen him so tired before.

I heard brushing and spitting behind me as I reduced the fire, putting it out as far as the last few warm embers; enough to keep the temperature in our little gully, but not enough to give off enough light or smoke to be particularly noticeable. By the time I'd slid into the tent, James was already in bed.

I could remember the first time I'd slept in that sleeping bag vividly. I'd been staying with some friends who lived in London. They'd recently bought it to share while camping at festivals, like the cool young couple they were. I'd been the official tester after a night of drinking and joint-smoking while out watching a band in Camden. The next morning, I confirmed it would sleep two adults comfortably, or several children. Or Michael Jackson and several children, my friend had jokingly surmised. It had been a semi-relevant cultural reference at the time. I was amazed the thing was still in one piece now.

James was still awake as I crawled in beside him. He wriggled to snuggle himself against me.

"I know how tired you are," I said.

He gave a little sigh and a 'hmm' in return. I put my arm around him and took his hand in mine.

"We're really close now, I promise. We can sleep in late tomorrow. Do the last part under the full moon if we need to."

I felt him nodding his head against my chest.

"And then we'll be done. I said you were big enough to do it now, didn't I?"

"Like the birds," he whispered in agreement. "Flying south for the winter."

***

We'd been following the rivers for several days as they branched off and became progressively smaller. I was mainly navigating by instinct, but from the places we'd passed I was certain we were on the right path. It was just a matter of getting the right turning when the time came, and I was fairly sure from the swampy surroundings that it would be just ahead today.

A late start did us both good. James seemed almost back to his usual precocious self as we sat and ate brunch – the apples we'd picked a couple of days previously. After we'd packed up and got back alongside the river, I had him take his coat and shirt off and dunked his head in, squeezing the remainder of our soap onto his hair, face, and armpits. He looked a lot fresher for it. His mousey brown hair had grown long, so his fringe began to resist his right-side cowlick, driving the hair above his forehead into a natural spiked-up quiff. It seemed to me to make him look younger than his eleven or so years, but then he was such a small and slight boy anyway; short with a lanky frame.

The turn – a left turn – wasn't too far ahead of where we began our walk for the day. I realised I recognised it from seeing it from the trains that used to run past, somewhere above and behind the trees on the main riverbank. So, we took our final river branch for the home stretch.

It took us until mid-afternoon to reach a point where the river disappeared into a big brick pipe beneath a line of trees. I led us through the trees, and we emerged onto a canal towpath. The waterway was deserted in both directions. I stopped us for lunch: the remains of yesterday's roast pheasant. James disappeared back into the bushes to attend a quick call of nature. I set us off to our right down the towpath, the water to our left. James made to hold my hand.

"That'd better not be wet."

He grinned, wiped his hand on the sleeve of my coat, and offered it again.

"It's clean now," he said.

***

Night fell quickly as we marched along the towpath. It was still in good condition; we were crunching gravel underfoot rather than skidding through mud.

James' exhaustion had given me good excuse to offset the timing of our travel. It seemed more prudent to be approaching the city under cover of darkness. The moon was full and the sky only lightly cloudy. There was light to go by and our eyes were adjusted to the relative darkness. We came to the road bridge I had been aiming for and I ushered James up the steps ahead of me.

We walked down the middle of the empty carriageway. James gave an impressed gasp and a 'woah!' as we passed some large, run down factory and warehouse buildings; the remains of an old car plant. An enclosed bridge spanned over us, which used to take new models from the factory on one side of the street to the distribution site on the other.

I led us down an overgrown lane. We were climbing steadily uphill into a murky gloom, as the moonlight struggled to penetrate the trees. James walked beside me in silence. When we emerged into something of an eerily illuminated clearing, with a church and cemetery to our left, he exhaled sharply and make a grab for my hand.

"It's just a church, James. Nothing to be afraid of." I stroked the back of his head. "Look, you're going to see something really cool up here, I promise."

I let go of him and led us up a slightly steeper incline, alongside and then behind and away from the church. I stopped us at the peak of the hill, as it opened out below us.

James was speechless.

The hill rolled steeply away below us into semi-open parkland, grass with little patches of woods, the trees giving up their leaves. Beyond that, illuminated in the moonlight as far as the eye could see, was a mosaic of rooftops and treetops.

"This is amazing!" he said. "How many people live here?"

"Well," I began, resting my hand on his shoulder and pointing vaguely into the distance in front of us. "If you keep walking for maybe a couple of days in that direction, between here and there this was a great big city of two-and-a-half million people."

"Two-and-a-half-million?" Stevie Wonder could have seen James' eyes popping, even in the dark.

"Can you imagine that many people, James?"

"No," he said very seriously. "I definitely can't."

I wondered how much was the most people James had seen together at once in his life. Definitely fewer than the least people I'd seen at a wedding party. Probably fewer than I could count on two hands.

He was pulling at my sleeve urgently. "Are we going down there?"

"Yes, James," I said, grinning at the excitement in his watery-blue eyes. "We're going home."

***

A cracked concrete path led down the hillside. I'm certain James skipped all the way down, despite the fact he'd seemed dead on his feet for days. He led the way down, turning for my direction at every fork in the way. I reached out my arm to direct the right path with the ease of mental childhood muscle memory. We went on a wooden bridge across a stream, past some almost unrecognisably dilapidated concrete tennis courts, and came to the edge of a housing estate. Looking around, I internally appreciated my good luck that the bushes were now too overgrown for James to have been able to notice an old children's playground slightly beyond the courts.

Overwhelmed by the human geography, James allowed me to lead the way once more. I instinctively zig-zagged us through the streets in the direction of our goal.

"I've never seen so many houses together," said James, still in awe. "It's like they just keep going on forever."

The houses didn't seem all that impressive to me in the pale of the moonlight. Just bog-standard post-war council houses, but most now without windows, doors broken in, cars hollowed out on the narrow driveways. For a moment I was apprehensive about the state in which I might find my own house, but I quickly reassured myself. These had been abandoned for a decade or more. Longer than James had been alive. It had only been three-and-a-half-years since I'd last locked mine up and left it behind, and there was hardly anyone around – if even that – to do it any harm anymore.

"The Din-gull," James sounded out the name on the hanging sign of an old pub. "What's a Dingle?" he asked, loudly and squeakily enough to cause a half-echo off the front of the nearest house.

"Someone from Wolverhampton."

"Oh," he said, and I could tell he didn't really understand.

"Anyway," I added, "We should probably keep quiet. We don't know for sure that there aren't any bad people around, so we don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

James put his serious face back on and nodded.

We were travelling downhill again. The houses were now unassuming 1930s semis; we weren't far away at all. Instinctively I felt my coat pocket for my housekeys, as if I'd just popped out for the afternoon and was worried I might have forgotten to take them out with me. James had pulled from his pocket a pair of AA batteries he'd found on the deck of narrowboat abandoned by the canalside, running them between his fingers. I had given him a portable CD player that had been gifted to me the Christmas before I turned 12, which I'd found on my last visit home. I'd let him bring it along, but without any of his four discs, for lack of backpack space. I'd told him there'd be more at the winter house when we got there. He was rolling them around with anticipation.

I reached for his hand as I led us down an alleyway at the end of a cul-de-sac. He replaced his batteries in the front pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and took my left in his right. We came to what had once been a busy road, now deserted.

"What's an ice rink?" He whispered. I was rubbing his knuckles absentmindedly with my thumb.

"You keep looking around and keep all of your questions in your head," I said lowly, into his right ear. "That way you can ask me when we get home, and we'll have all the time in the world to answer them all properly."

He nodded. I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

The way was more undulating now, but we were still going slightly uphill. To the left the land rose more sharply, towards a high point where Saxons had once built a fortified hall. I kept hold of James' hand and led him in the right direction, as he looked around constantly, taking everything in.

"That's where I went to school until I was the same age as you," I said, pointing at a dark building set in the middle of a field, behind some fences. James nodded intently.

We were headed more steeply uphill again, as we reached the top of another small ridge before heading back down the other side. James was clearly flagging now. We had been on the road most of the day and it was getting very late. I practically dragged him up over the crest of the hill.

"Come on mate, we're really close now. Then you can rest as long as you like."

We zigzagged again and I led us down a long, straight street that descended into a ditch before rising slightly out again. A third of the way along, about halfway down the dip, I stopped.

"Look James! This is it!"

The driveway was a mess. The panels from the fence dividing it from the neighbour's front garden had mostly disappeared. But the roof and door and windows were intact. And that said a lot more for it than almost all the other houses in the neighbourhood.

I put my hand on James' rucksack and led us to the door. We looked at each other and giggled as I undid the main lock and put the key into the latch.

***

I opened the door and swung my heavy backpack onto the floor as James squeezed in beside me. I was facing the radiator as I lowered the bag down, so I heard James' yelp before I saw or felt a thing.

It was a big hit.

They must've come from the kitchen, waiting in the shadows as they heard the key turn in the lock. I was lucky I'd been sideways on to them. I braced myself with my shoulder and neck against the wall of the hallway, then, with all my strength, I pushed away, swinging us both into the wooden bannister. James whimpered and made for cover on the stairs. I hoped for his sake the wood didn't break and send the weight of two adults crashing down on top of him, but he was probably safer there than anywhere else.

My mind raced as I tried to hold the other person in place. I needed to finish this quickly, but I didn't have the space in the narrow hallway. Then I realised what to do.

I released the pressure on my righthand side, allowing them a little freedom. As they went to escape from being pinned against the bannister, they turned their back to the front door. I hooked my leg under their ankles and pushed, sending them tumbling backwards. There was an almighty crash as they fell straight through a large terracotta urn set in the corner of the room between the front door and the wall. That's when I finally had the freedom to pull the handgun from the rear waistband of my trousers.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house!?" I panted, pointing the gun square at the figure. It was a scrawny man, now grunting and wincing from the pain of having crashed through my urn. I wondered whether he was cut and bleeding.

"I didn't know there was anyone living here, I swear!"

"How long have you been here? How did you get in?"

My hand was shaking as I pointed the weapon, my voice an acid rasp. The front door was still open. James was still cowering on the stairs. The man was propped up on his elbows. I could see a trail of blood flowing down his leathery face.

"I've only been here a couple of days, boss, honestly!"

He was pleading. He was scared. So was I.

"James, go up the stairs and find the bathroom. Get undressed and ready for bed."

I tried to keep my voice as calm and level as possible. For a second, nothing happened. Then I heard a series of creaks almost as if James was climbing the stairs in slow motion, probably on all fours. I didn't dare turn around to see.

"How the fuck did you get in my house? Tell me!"

The man winced and groaned. "I go around. Try to find nice houses to stay. Intact, you know? I want to keep them nice. Warm."

I growled in frustration. There were a few seconds of silence. I took a deep breath and enunciated every word, slowly, steadily. "How did you get in?"

He lifted himself up to a sitting position in stages, groaning hard. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a link of bendy, thin keys.

"I got lock bumping keys, ennit. Someone professional did your front and back. No chance there. Tried them a while back. Was passing by the other day and thought I'd give it another go. French doors at the back. Got the lock open just enough that I could pull them both apart. Locked it back up after, like. No point in breaking in or anything cos then you're in a cold house and it's no good to anyone. I just stayed in the front room the last couple of days. I swear on my life."

He thought about the last bit for a moment.

"Put the gun down, will you?"

"Stay where you are."

I backed into the kitchen.

Still facing the man, I grabbed a soggy cloth of dubious origin from the work surface and tested the tap. Cold water ran in a trickle. I soaked the cloth and returned to the hallway; the gun still fixed on the man.

"Hold still."

His scalp was gashed badly on one side. The thin skin had been sliced open. I pressed the cloth to the wound, and he moaned out loud again, but didn't complain. With my other hand, I pushed the barrel of the gun into his cheek.

"I'm sure you're a nice bloke just doing his best, trying to survive," I hissed. "But the thing is, I've got a little boy with me. I just marched him god knows how many miles to get here. Then some fanny jumps me in our hallway as soon as we get home. You've probably terrified him. Do you get that?"

The man was wide-eyed. He nodded slowly.

"So, I can't trust you. And you can't trust me."

I eyeballed him. Neither of us moved.

"Keep the compress for your head, but get up now, get the rest of your stuff and get out."

He was nodding more quickly. He took hold of the cloth and I stood up and back from him, keeping the gun pointed at his head.

"Go on! Do one!"

He cowered. I heard a ceramic clank from somewhere upstairs. I lowered my voice again.

"If I find any of the keys are missing from this house, or anything that makes me suspicious, I'm going to wait here as long as it takes for you to come back and I'm going to kill you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, boss," he whispered, looking at the floor between his legs. "Sorry, boss."

Gingerly, he got to his feet and hobbled as quickly as he could to the living room. He grabbed a couple of bags and pushed his way out, running – in so much as he could – through the front door. I slammed it behind him and made sure it was locked. I put my flaming, sweat-drenched head to the cool glass of the door. I held it there for a long time. I let the gun drop from my hand to the floor with a soft clack. Eventually I turned around and climbed the stairs.

James was sat in the shadowy bathroom, sniffling. His eyes shone, caught in the moonlight from the window as I walked in.

"Okay?"

He nodded vigorously, sniffing again and using the back of his hand to wipe his nose and eyes.

"Did you brush your teeth?"

Another nod.

"Come on, I'll show you where we're going to sleep."

I scooped him up from the toilet seat. I could feel him trembling, his heart still thumping. I'm sure he could feel mine too. I spun backwards and right from the bathroom to open the door of my childhood bedroom with my back, James occupying both of my arms. I sat him down on the double bed.

"Make sure you take all of your clothes off. They're dirty and you'll probably be too warm in them anyway now we're back indoors. I have to go back downstairs and check some things."

I left him sat there and returned downstairs. I checked the living room. I could make out, and smell, the remains of a fire in the fireplace, but nothing seemed amiss.

I walked through the dining room and checked the double back doors that were the intruder's apparent entry point. He had been honest about locking them back up, and they seemed inconspicuously sturdy as I pushed against them.

Lastly, I checked the kitchen. The back door was still securely locked. From what I could make out in the half-light of the full moon, it seemed he'd forced a few of my locked cupboards open. I'd have to check more thoroughly in the morning, but it was unlikely he'd taken much. The cupboards were a decoy for the real prize. I surveyed the long-dead fridge-freezer. The lock was still intact. He hadn't seen through the ruse. For the first time since returning home, I felt relief.

I opened the door with my back again as I re-entered to the bedroom. This time I was carrying a glass of water in each hand, one for each of us. James had left his clothes in a pile on the floor beneath where I left him and taken up residence snuggled into the dead centre of the bed. I placed the glasses down on the floor and quickly undressed. Then, I grabbed one of the glasses again.

"Here, this is yours. I'll put it on the bedside table next to you."

I slid under the covers next to him and reached over to place the glass on the table.

"That means you have to move over; you're sleeping on that side so you can reach it."

His skin felt warm to the touch as I unceremoniously shoved him with my thigh. I settled myself down next to him and placed a hand on his flat tummy.

"I think there's a lot we need to talk about tomorrow, isn't there?"

"Mmm-hmm," was all he offered.

"Will you be able to sleep tonight, James?"

"I think so," he said. His voice was small, and he kept his eyes shut fast.

"You remember where the toilet is if you need to go?"

"Yep."

"And I'm right here with you if you have any bad dreams, okay?"

"Goodnight, Jake."

"Goodnight mate."

Chapter 2
Nothing to Fear; Nothing to Doubt

There weren't any nightmares, but he did clamber clumsily over me to go to the toilet at least once during the night. I felt as he began to stir by my side after dawn and pulled him close with an arm around his torso.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked.

He turned his head to look at me and nodded.

"I like this bed," he said. "It's warm."

"Do you want to talk about last night?"

He turned back away and shook his head on his pillow.

"I was scared," he said.

I held the flat of my hand against his chest.

"I was scared too," I said. "I hope I didn't scare you."

He made a little noise but didn't say anything. I gently ran my hand along his side. Hand on his mid-thigh, I hooked his left leg up over mine, spreading out his legs. Then I gently ran my hand back up his thigh again.

I began to fondle his genitals. He was already stiff as a board, almost three inches. I used the thumb and forefinger of my left hand to carefully ease his foreskin back and forth.

"Is that nice?" I asked.

He made an affirmative noise and pressed his body against mine more deliberately.

"Would a scary person do this?"

He turned his head and smiled. "Probably not."

"Come on," I said, letting his penis go, "Up you get."

I shuffled backwards so my head and shoulders were propped up by the headboard. James rolled over to face me. We exchanged conspiratorial grins.

"Feed me."

He placed his hands on my shoulders to pull himself up to a kneeling position and swung a leg over me to straddle my body. He shuffled forwards on his knees, smiling to himself as he looked down at me, treating the end of his dick like a crosshair. His thighs met my armpits and he placed his hands on my head to steady himself. He pushed his crotch to my face.

I kissed and sucked at his bare pubis before taking his eager spike into my mouth. He pushed down to the hilt and moaned. I placed a hand on each of his hips to steady him and let him begin to pump as I sucked. He was still filthy from the journey and tasted mostly of stale piss and sweat. It certainly wasn't the most pleasant blowjob I'd ever given. But, I reasoned, if our long trek had got him dirty, it had also exhausted him mentally and physically, so I felt I owed him the kindness. That said, I kept a firm grip on his sides to keep him pointed forwards. Normally I'd let him turn and offer his anus, but I definitely didn't fancy that today while he was so overripe. Instead, I took his delicate sack in my mouth as well, my tongue swirling around his loose balls, before concentrating on sucking the modest length of his shaft.

He didn't last long. He whimpered and whined and pressed his pelvis onto me with all his strength as his cock jerked wildly, then pulled himself back out and plopped his body down onto mine, breathing quickly.

"Thank you," he whispered, nuzzling his face against mine.

***

I didn't want us getting dressed properly before we'd had a thorough wash, so I donned a fluffy white dressing gown. A quick search through the wardrobe produced nothing of James' size, so he picked out an old university-branded hoodie that reached down almost to his knobbly knees. He pulled the hood up over his head and let the sleeves run long over his hands.

I realised on reaching the bottom of the stairs that I'd left the gun on the floor by the front door. It was stupid of me really; I should've put it somewhere in the bedroom while we were sleeping, but I couldn't bear to touch it.

"Would you pick that up for me, James?"

"No."

I didn't think he would.

"It looks like that man took stuff from the cupboards," he said as he followed me into the kitchen.

"It's alright," I replied. "I didn't leave any of the good stuff in here. Come and look at this."

I led him down to the fridge-freezer, standing in a small glass-roofed extension to the original kitchen. I opened an unlocked cupboard to the side, revealing a small combination safe. I turned the numbered wheels to enter the passcode and found several sets of small keys hanging inside.

"These should open up the fridge," I said, holding a ring with two keys by my thumb and forefinger in front of James' face. I made hard work of getting the padlock open. The key fit but was refusing to turn enough to release the lock.

"I think you're doing it a bit wrong," said James. "Try turning it the other way or using the other key."

"Do you want to give it a go?"

He stepped in front of me and tried turning the key. It wouldn't turn in the opposite direction, so he took it out and tried the other, seemingly identical key. The lock opened.

"Clever lad. Now you can open the door and see what I've been hiding."

Whether it was the unconscious assumption that there'd be nothing worth finding in a dead fridge, or whether it was just that the doors were much harder to force open against the padlock, our unexpected visitor seemingly hadn't even attempted to get inside. James and I opened a door each and found the fridge and freezer full of the same hoard I'd left behind nearly four years ago. Every shelf packed with canned food I'd raided from distribution centres, as well as a few treats. Bottles of generic beer from the storeroom a German discount supermarket. A bottle of Welsh single malt whisky, the last birthday present that I'd bought for my father. A bottle of Peaky Blinder spiced rum, the last gift he'd given me. A few multipack bags of crisps. Some big blocks of Cadbury and Galaxy chocolate.

Of course, James' eyes were immediately drawn to the chocolate. "What's this?"

"Something for a special occasion," I said, gently pulling away his hand as he reached out. "But we have lots of food for the winter here."

"You're good at hiding things."

I took the compliment as intended. "Let's see what we've got in our cupboards."

The intruder evidently was telling the truth about only having stayed a matter of days. He hadn't conducted much of a search. He'd forced open a couple of cupboards and taken some dried fruits and pasta, from what I could work out. Most of what I'd collected and stored was still there.

"How about something new for breakfast?" I asked, holding up a packet of instant noodles.

James shrugged. I opened the packet and pulled out the slab of dry noodles.

"It doesn't look like food," said James, not quite turning his nose up, but looking confused.

"You'll see."

The most important cupboard had also been ignored. It had two locks, on the side and the bottom, and I had to return to my key collection a couple of times before finding the right set. I swung the door open. Inside, I turned on a big gas cannister, then pushed it to one side to reach the back of the cupboard. There I flicked on every switch in the fuse box.

Nothing happened.

James was watching quietly.

"Try the light switch," I told him.

He pressed the button on the wall. With a buzz and a flicker, the row of LED spotlights serving the narrow kitchen began to illuminate the room.

"Woah! The lights came on!" James stared up at the ceiling and then at me, grinning widely.

"I know. Magic isn't it? We have to be careful though. We don't have much power and we don't want to be shining lights all the time and drawing attention to the house."

My dad had installed solar panels and solar pipe heating at some point during a brief period of government subsidy, while one of his many trade colleagues was fitting them on the cheap. I wasn't sure if they'd ever paid themselves off, and outside of summertime they I didn't think they'd generate enough power alone to support any sustained heavy usage.

"Now that we can see a bit better, let's get started on breakfast."

I got out four saucepans and began filling them with water. The pace was slow. It was a miracle we had the scant water pressure we did. My wild guess was that the combination of the city's Victorian water system, and the fact that the supply came downhill all the way from the Welsh mountains, was still just about keeping enough of the system marginally functional. When the first pan had enough water, I fired up a gas ring and started boiling. I asked James to open the little foil sachet from the noodle pack and add the flavouring to the water. His fingers ended up a bit powdery. He licked them and immediately stuck out his tongue.

"Yuck!"

"What are you doing?"

"Eating the food!" He heaved and stuck out his tongue again. "I need a drink, Jake. It's all salty and strong!"

I let him take a few gulps of water from the pan I was filling up.

"You're not meant to eat the flavouring on its own," I said, looking at him as if he was daft.

"You told me it was food!"

"It is food," I said. "You'll see."

I broke the noodles up a little and plopped them into the boiling, flavoured water.

When my next pan was full, I opened another ring and started boiling more water. I opened a lower cupboard and pulled out a mug, then tried an upper cupboard. I pulled out a crusty jar of instant coffee and looked for a spoon. I broke the contents of the jar up enough that they began to resemble granules again and poured some into the mug. I added some of the warm water from the bubbling pan.

"What're you making?" James asked, practically sticking his nose into the drink.

"It'll blow your head off," I said, "Which is no good because I can barely handle you with your head on."

"You're weird. Did you know that, Jake?"

Another saucepan was full. I fired up the third ring and set it bubbling. The noodles were ready and had filled the kitchen with fake chicken smell. I decided it was easier to just eat them from the pan and found us two forks.

"What do you think?" I asked as James had his first big mouthful.

He met my eye, smiled and nodded his head.

"Welcome to junk food," I said, and began boiling the fourth pan.

***

When I'd had enough of the noodles, I left James to them and headed up to the bathroom. I opened the warm tap and it spat out a series of cold bursts while the pipes clicked and whined in protest, until eventually a steady but weak stream of lukewarm water began slowly to fill the bath. I gave it a minute or so and then checked the stream for temperature again. Still lukewarm, but not getting cooler. The solar-heated pipes were doing something, at least.

I went down to collect my first boiling pan of water and grabbed my coffee mug. James was finishing the last of the noodles.

"Are we having a wash?" He asked.

"Yes," I said. "I'm filling the bath up."

"Filling the bath up?" He responded incredulously, furrowing his brow. "The water will be cold!"

I ignored him and took the boiled water upstairs. It didn't add significantly to the volume or temperature of the water, but the tap was still providing a constant stream of lukewarm water. I gave it a little longer and went down for the second pan. James was looking through the collection of little keys.

"Don't lose any of them, they're important."

He closed the door of the little safe and trotted over to where I'd left the coffee jar. He stuck his nose in it, pulled his head up quickly and stuck out his tongue.

"If you're bored, you can come and give me a hand with the bath."

I went up and added the next lot of boiling water. The bath seemed a little fuller and a little warmer. I reckoned the water would probably reach halfway up James' thigh sitting down, with us both in there displacing water. It would need to keep running for a little while yet to be worthwhile.

"Stick your hand in there," I said.

"That water's warm!" James squeaked.

"I told you this house was magic. Come with me."

I led him into the front bedroom.

"We need to find some big fluffy towels, but I can't remember exactly where they are."

I looked through one set of drawers and James looked through another. Eventually he found the towels and I made him carry some into the bathroom. I went downstairs and got the last pan of boiled water. I poured the water into the bath and put the pan to one side. I hung my bath robe on the back of the door.

"Come on, you need to be naked too."

James was struggling to get out of the oversized hoodie. Eventually he let me help him pop it over his head. I threw it to one side and got into the water, turning off the tap. There wasn't a huge amount, and it wasn't overly warm, but it might just cover his legs and that would do. I spread my legs apart to make room and motioned for him to get in.

We washed and made small talk for a while, his skinny back to me the whole time. He was mostly used to standing and being scrubbed down with a flannel dipped in hastily boiled water, proper baths being a cumbersome luxury involving boiling pots of water and a tin tub. He wanted to know how it was the house could have lights and warm enough water on tap for a proper sit-down bath. I did my best to explain. I could feel the water was cooling rapidly, so I tried to hurry us along, had him wash his hair while I did mine. After that I had him stand up and turn around.

"There's some parts of you I want to make sure are especially clean."

He giggled as I gently pulled him towards me by the little nipple of foreskin at the end of his now hardening penis. He was slightly surprised when I asked him to kneel straddling my legs. I placed my hand lightly on the small of his back and reached for the shower gel. It was a nondescript coconut-scented brand I'd managed to scavenge in bulk from somewhere, and it came out as a thick, white goop. I whispered into his ear for him to sit into the kneel a little further, then began to massage it in the hot crease of his bum, lathering it against the heat of his anus. I felt it clench as his dick twitched. He grunted, his head resting on my shoulder, his soft cheek against my hairy face. I used my left hand to guide his head to face mine, still massaging his crack deeply with my right. He leant forward and let me kiss him on the lips, our mouths opening slightly enough to let our tongues arrow into each other sensually without heavily wrestling. I squeezed his right bum cheek and broke the kiss.

"You're not done yet. Turn around."

James awkwardly reversed his position, so he was straddling me backwards. I had him sit deeper with the pretence of rinsing his crevice in the bathwater, but instead it slid against my engorged cock just above the surface. I held him steady with my left hand on his slick chest, lowering my right hand, full of another load of creamy goo, to his groin.

"Wash my willy!" he begged, as I teased by soaping the insides of his thighs.

I duly obliged, rubbing the flat of my hand firmly across his balls, and taking his throbbing stiffy between my thumb and forefinger. I soaped the shaft and then worked the skin back. It retracted almost all the way. I washed what I could, roughly rubbing his exposed head with my thumb. I kissed his neck and felt his body tense, his soapy cleft riding down the base of my shaft, his overexcited dick thrashing between my fingers, as he crashed through his second dry orgasm of the morning.

***

The water was a murky grey by the time we got out, but I felt cleaner than I had in a while. We took separate towels to dry ourselves off. I was drying my shoulders as James bent down to dry his legs, bringing him face to face with my still-hard cock. I watched him drop his towel and kneel in front of me. He held me in his hand. He put just the head in his mouth at first, alternating between sucking on it and popping it back out to run his tongue around it more freely.

"Sex isn't a substitute for us having a proper conversation, you know."

He made a noncommittal noise and went back to sucking, before popping my head back out of his mouth again and jerking me slowly.

"It's fun though," he offered. "And you wouldn't let us while we were travelling, so, you know…"

He plunged a bit deeper this time. He could take maybe half of my six-or-so inches and filled his mouth as much as he could as a means of cutting off the conversation. But just because his mouth was full of cock didn't mean that I was going to stop talking.

"I need to talk to you properly, James."

He squeaked out a non-committal noise again, which vibrated all the way down my dick to the root. A shiver ran down my spine and I drooled a gob of precum onto his tongue.

"As soon as you're done, we're getting dressed and having a proper chat."

***

Getting James dressed was easier said than done. I'd pulled together a few bits of children's clothing before leaving the last time, but James hadn't been my full responsibility then, so I hadn't prepared with his presence fully in mind. He ended up wearing some threadbare boxers that might have been floating around the house since I was his age, socks that were too small for me but came halfway up his calves, some boys' jogging bottoms that had been in a ball at the back of the wardrobe, and a signed football shirt that my brother had been given when he was ten or eleven and had been hanging on the bedroom wall ever since. I had to scrub a layer of caked-on dust from the shoulders before I could let him wear it. He sat on the bed with his bum on the pillow and his back against the headboard and watched me dress myself. I joined him when I had finished.

"Can I tell you something about yesterday?" I asked.

He looked away and nodded his head.

"An ice rink is a place where they keep a big sheet of ice all year round for people to play on."

"Oh."

We were sat near each other but not touching. I didn't want to over-impose myself.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

James sighed deeply. "I don't know if I like the city," he said.

"We haven't even been here a whole day yet. You were excited seeing the outside. Since then you've barely seen the inside of the house."

"But I like the farm," he said. "That was our place and we knew it all. I don't know what there is here."

"So, you don't know whether there might be more fun things here, then," I reasoned with him.

He made a little noise. He was still looking away.

"Do you remember how hungry we were last winter?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"And I promised it would be much better here, didn't I?"

"Suppose."

"I'm not getting any younger, and you're a growing boy. We won't have to worry about being cold or hungry this winter while we're here."

James was silent for a while. Pensive. "Do you think that man from last night was hungry?" he asked, finally looking at me.

"I reckon he's doing okay," I said. "It's a big city with pretty much nobody left in it. He goes around finding houses that are still decent and living off what he finds. It won't last him forever but he's in no danger now."

James listened quietly to the answer. Then he locked his eyes on mine again.

"Would you have killed him?"

I looked into his pale-blue eyes, so seriously framed and searching. "No," I said. "Not unless I had to."

"You mean you think he would've killed you?"

I put my arm around James and guided his body into mine, resting my right hand on his right thigh.

"He was just startled, that's all. He wasn't expecting this house to belong to anyone. I don't think he really wanted to hurt us." I kissed the top of his head. His hair smelt like limes and was still a little damp. "Let's spend today getting used to the house," I said.

"Is there more music here?"

"Just like I promised. Let's put some on then maybe later you can read to me?"

"Okay."

James took my hand and let me lead him off the bed. I took him downstairs to what was our dining room and fired up my parents' early-90s hi-fi system. I figured that the storage cells for the solar power would be full, with nobody having used the electricity in years, so we could afford a bit of luxury power usage. James was fascinated by seeing the appliance on and operating normally. To him, most electronics were just antique toys that only worked in the imagination. He laughed out loud when I pushed a button and a CD tray opened. My parents had put up a set of shelves to store all their CDs, alphabetised by artist name. I pulled one from its place.

"Radiohead," I said. "Amnesiac. Came out when I was about your age."

That clearly meant absolutely nothing to James, but he nodded vigorously anyway.

"Sit on the floor, so you're between the two speakers," I said.

I skipped the first track and rushed to scoot into place behind him, so he was sat back against my chest, our heads close together. I was quick enough to feel the shiver run down his spine as the opening, siren-like cry rang out.

Chapter 3
The Goose Whisperer

Two of my old uni friends are having a baby. It isn't ideal timing, but it's happening. They're intelligent and beautiful, and their little boy or girl will be too. And they'll all survive and cope. They'll be very happy together.

They'd been professionals; they have assets. They've managed to buy a farm in the North East. Did I want to go and help them? We could be our own little self-sufficient community. Maybe other friends will join too. I'll have to think about it.

***

I woke with a start.

For a second, I was worried James had wet the bed, until I realised my hair was soaked too. I'd been sweating like a condemned man in the desert. James had been woken by my jump and I felt his hand brush against my body as he felt the sheets.

"Eurgh! Did you wet the bed?" he complained sleepily.

"Feel this," I said, bringing his hand to my head and the pillow. "Unless you think I weed on my head, it's just sweat. I had a bad dream is all."

He wiped his hand on the outside of the bedsheets and went back to sleep.

***

It was already light outside when I next woke up. James had opened the blinds and was reading in silence next to me, his bare backside planted on the pillow next to my face.

"Enjoying that?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Mmm-hmm."

It was Count Karlstein, an early Philip Pullman effort, which he'd found and started reading aloud to me the previous evening. I could have sworn I'd given it away decades ago, but apparently not.

I went to the toilet. When I came back, James was no longer reading, but stood on the end of the bed, studying himself in a large wall mirror propped up on the desk.

He was still stark naked.

"Seen something you like?"

He blushed and turned away. "I dunno."

"Well I think you smell better than you look," I said, pulling him back down onto the bed. "And you taste better than you smell." I started planting little wet kisses on his chest. He laughed and squirmed away, pulling himself up onto all fours.

"Does this taste better than it smells?" He grinned, showing off his crooked tooth, and wiggled his raised buttocks at me.

"Oh, I'm fairly certain of that," I said. "But I'm always happy to check again."

He giggled and hopped forward, planting his head on the pillows and spreading his raised buttocks with his hands. "Do a taste test."

I didn't need a second invitation. I was rock hard from the sight of him, baring his little pink balloon knot obscenely for me. I crawled over and began slowly licking the insides of his thighs. His body was tense. I nibbled at the bottom of his left cheek, and he gave out a little yip, like a frightened puppy. I shifted my head slightly right and planted a kiss on his bifkin, inhaling the leathery scent of his crack.

I could look at his anus all day without getting bored, but I wasn't lying when I told him he smelt better than he looked. I licked his scrotum from behind, tickling the underside of his hard little penis with the tip of my tongue. Then, following his seam from front to back, made a broad, full-tongued lick all the way up his middle, tasting the full length of his cleft. I heard him groan and exhale deeply.

He tasted of peppery red meat, bitter as well as tart, like a fine vinegar. I clamped my mouth over the hole and added suction, alternating between tickling him with the tip of my tongue, and the broad, lapping licks of a mother cat grooming a kitten. But, of course, boys are furless.

He was pushing back against me, forcing his skinny ass higher in the air as my head pushed down against it, still tightly parting his cheeks with his spidery little fingers. He was grunting and moaning under heavy breath at the sensation. I grazed my front teeth over his anus and pulled off.

He actually growled. "Don't stop!"

"I'm going to lie down," I said. "You'll be more comfortable sitting over me."

I lay on my back with my head propped up by the pillows. He threw himself onto me.

"Do it."

I gripped him at mid-thigh and got back to work. His arsehole had begun to wink open, so I teased it further with the tip of my tongue, trying to gain entry. He was red hot, bouncing on my face. He went to begin playing with himself, but I slapped his hand hard and he growled again.

"No."

I was muffled by a mouthful of boy bum, but he got the message. I pulled his hands down and placed them on his buttocks, encouraging him to spread himself wider and help me rim him deeper.

I ran my hands up his thighs and rested them on his crotch, filling his V. I wondered if I could make him cum just from rimming him with his dick tight. I pressed my thumbs into his pubis and used my middle and forefingers to pull down gently on his scrotum. He let out a long, loud moan.

His foreskin must have retracted as far as it could go, because I could smell the yeastier scent of his exposed cock head over the meaty smells of his saliva-drenched ass crack. An ass that I was now tonguefucking as hard and quick as possible. He was bucking like he was trying to make himself seasick, making high pitched moans through his panting.

He lasted a few seconds longer before he froze and went silent. For a moment, his body was completely rigid. He'd stopped breathing. The only movement I could feel was the monstrous gulping of his arsehole around my tongue, and the wild dancing of his steel-stiff willy bursting from the pressure of my fingers.

His breath caught suddenly as if he was drowning, and he let out the longest, loudest moan I'd ever heard from him. Then he practically collapsed down my body, rolling off to the left and shivering uncontrollably. I rolled over to face his back and gently stoked his arms and chest. His teeth were chattering. Sweat matted his hair and ran down his face. He looked like he's just run a marathon.

I didn't say anything but nuzzled into his shoulder and gave it a gentle kiss. After a few seconds he calmed down and let me cradle him.

"That was the best ever," he whispered through a hoarse voice.

***

It wasn't long after that we were sat on the living room sofa having a breakfast of canned chunky vegetable soup. We'd both dressed. James was wearing the same clothes as the day before.

"Who's that boy?" He asked, pointing at a photo on the wall.

"That's my brother, when he was eleven," I said. "That was his school photo when he just started secondary school."

"He looks like he'd be fun to hang out with."

I paused.

"Do you miss spending time with kids your own age?"

James answered between mouthfuls of soup. "I don't miss it cos I've never been around kids my age."

"Harry and Cerys were at the farm for a bit," I countered.

"Harry and Cerys weren't my age. They were bigger than me."

I made a noncommittal face with my lips and went back to eating my soup.

"Anyway," said James, "I'm used to playing with you now."

"That's not quite the same," I said, inhaling sharply.

There was the tinkle of spoons in bowls a while longer.

"What are we doing today?" He asked.

"We need to find you some more clothes," I said.

"Good," he replied, pulling at his crotch. "These old pants are a bit itchy."

***

I set us off towards the old town centre for this part of the city. It was a sunny day. It felt quite mild, even though there was a slight bite to the breeze. James bounced along at my right hand, enjoying being out and about. I'd let him bring his bow, which he swung in his hand at his side as he skip-walked.

I chuckled when I noticed he was humming a song from the album we'd listened to yesterday. He looked up at me with surprise. The blue of his shirt made the blue of his eyes sparkle. "You liked that music yesterday?" I asked.

He smiled and nodded his head.

"Your dad was a big Radiohead fan," I said. "Your mom too, but your dad especially."

James grinned from ear to ear. "Do you think he'd be happy that we listened to it together?"

"I think he'd be very happy with you indeed."

***

Urban centres are the worst.

There's nothing more grimly sobering than run-down shops. Big broken windows. Ransacked displays.

Then there's the mannequins. I hate the mannequins.

"It's a bit spooky here," said James, reaching to hold my hand as we walked down the silent pedestrian high street. He had a little quiver on his back holding three thin, metal arrows, each with a plastic flight like an oversized dart. I wore my rucksack, now empty save for a bottle of water. High above us, a red kite circled, wings wide open in the clear sky.

We entered a derelict shopping precinct. James craned his neck to stare at the ceiling. "Wow, this building is really tall."

I decided I'd have to take him to the city centre one day.

"Come in here," I said, making for what was once a children's clothes shop. It was a mess. Clothes were strewn at random across the floor. Racks had been pushed onto their sides. It was surprisingly dark and dingy compared to the bright foyer.

"We should start with underwear," I suggested. "See if we can't find some that's a bit kinder on your delicate bits."

He giggled and nodded his head.

There was a specific section of the shop for it, but now everything was all messed up. I decided to try the storeroom and pulled a wind-up torch from my pocket.

"It's dark in here," James observed.

"That it is," I said, rummaging through a couple of plastic boxes. "Ah! How about these?" I held up a pack of plain white knickers at him, grinning.

"I think those are meant for girls," he said, smiling and shaking his head.

"Maybe I'll take them anyway and make you wear them as punishment when you're naughty."

"But I'm a good boy!" He protested, being very serious.

I made the same face with my lips and put them into my bag. James pouted and stamped his foot. I ignored him and made for a nearby box. He followed and pushed against me. I made room for him and shone the light at the box.

Inside we found a lot of colourful boys' boxer-briefs. He happily began stuffing packs into my rucksack. I grabbed a pack and opened it up. "Go on, get those horrible ratty things you're wearing off. They're nearly as old as I am."

He took off his shoes and then stripped off his joggers and underpants while I shone the light on him. It was like the world's most nonchalant striptease. He was left stood in just the football shirt and the oversized socks, his quiver slung across his back.

"Look at you," I said, with a smile in my voice, as I handed him a pair of brand-new blue and pink striped, form-fitting boxers.

"What?" He said, bending over and pulling them on unceremoniously.

He looked quizzically at his shirt, where the light caught him.

"Why did someone scribble on this exactly?" He asked.

"Football used to be huge," I said. "Thousands and thousands of people watching. Footballers were very famous, and some of them very rich too. They used to sign their name on things as a present to their fans."

"That's stupid," he said. "I like you a lot, but I don't want you to write your name on all my stuff."

***

We carried on wandering through the shop getting James kitted out. He had an interesting taste in clothing. He picked out a lot of t-shirts with weird tie-die designs. They were quite an expensive, fashionable brand in their time.

"Want me to sign those for you?"

"You're not funny."

***

We wandered through the shopping centre and came to an old sports superstore. James didn't take much dragging inside. There was a big metal display bucket full of differently sized footballs. I pulled a proper-sized one out.

"It's really flat," I said. "See if you can find me a pump."

Of course, he couldn't find me a pump, because he had no idea what to look for. I found one nearby and removed it from its packaging.

"How does it work?"

I pulled the piston back and used it to blow a jet of air straight into James' face.

"Oi!" He whined, and slapped at my arm.

I pumped the ball up to its full glory. I bounced it a couple of times, then chipped it up to James with the end of my foot, at his head height. He headed it back into my arms. We did it down every aisle of the shop, heading the ball back and forth over racks and displays, running the length of the aisles trying to keep the ball from each other. I tried spinning past James with an audacious Cruyff turn, easily holding the small boy off at arms-length. When his leading foot whacked me full on the ankle, I realised it was probably time to call it a day. We sat down against a shelf stacked high with shoeboxes and shared some water. I put the ball and pump in the bag, now overfull from all the clothes we'd picked out.

"Want to see what's upstairs?"

The upper level was full of more sports kit and equipment. Light shone in from the foyer through a huge front window. James went and leaned full against it, peering out, but I hoiked him back by the neck of his shirt.

"Hey!" He protested.

"Sorry mate. We don't know how sturdy that glass is."

We pottered around aimlessly some more.

"A bouncy ball!" James called out, bowling a tennis ball halfway across the shop floor to me.

"Put it in your pocket," I said, throwing it gently underarm back to him.

"What's this ball?" he asked, having skipped across to another display and picked up a golf ball.

"Golf," I said. "That's no fun."

"It feels weird," he said, dropping it back on top of the others. As he wandered off to try on a series of bike helmets, I spotted something that looked a bit more useful.

"James! Come and look at this!"

He sauntered back over with a bike helmet on, the straps hanging down either side of his face.

"Cool!" He squeaked. "More arrows!"

I'd found the small set of archery gear in the shop. I was surprised nobody had taken it all before. But then I supposed most adults living in a city would have no idea how to use it. I certainly wouldn't have.

James added some mean-looking metal arrows that tapered to a sharp, narrow point, to his quiver.

"Jake, can we find somewhere to test them out? Please?"

***

We were in the town park. I didn't think James would want to fire his new arrows at trees or something, but I figured he could fire them up high to land them safely in the grass in a big arc.

We heard them before we saw them. I'd forgotten that there was a large pond here. And there, at its edge, was a large flock of honking and squabbling Canada geese. Suddenly a half-image, like a childhood photo, flashed across my memory. Me as a small boy, herding the grumpy waterfowl across the grass by the poolside.

"How would you like goose stew for dinner tonight, James?"

He smiled and nodded his head, eager to show off for me. We walked closer to the birds at our leisure. They paid us no heed at all.

James stopped and reached for one of his new arrows. I stood back to watch. He lined it up and tensed the bow. He stood in form, pointed towards his quarry, and licked his lips slightly. The geese honked and fluttered. He pulled back and released.

The bowstring was quick and lithe as the young boy's muscles, as if an extension of body. I thought he would aim for the big birds' dumpy bodies. Instead, he nailed the nearest goose straight through the back of its little craned head. It dropped to the ground instantly.

"Yes!" He cried out, punching the air. The other geese honked crazily and flew off in all directions. James ran over to his kill.

"Well done, dead eye!" I said, clapping him on the back and squeezing his shoulder once I'd caught up to him.

"Thank you," he said sweetly, puffed up with pride.

He pulled his arrow from the bird's head.

"Ugh. Goose brains," he said, wiping the arrow on the grass. Then he stopped and looked straight up at me. "How are we going to get it home?"

***

The walk home took us a fair bit longer than the journey there. I'd gone back to the shops to find a plastic box to carry our kill in, then made James carry it. His arms got tired and he whined it was too heavy, so we ended up taking turns, all while I was lugging along a whole new wardrobe for him on my back.

That's why I was in no mood to start butchering a goose as soon as I got home, regardless of how much I was looking forward to the stew.

I dumped the box on the kitchen counter. James yawned deeply.

"I think we could both do with a bit of a kip," I said.

James nodded in agreement. I steered him gently by the shoulders to the stairs. When he was a couple of steps up, and our heads were at the same height, I whispered in his ear.

"I think maybe our champion huntsman deserves a prize as well."

He giggled and leaned back against me. I had to practically carry him the rest of the way with his body pressed backward into mine. He made to go into the bathroom first, so I caught him by the shoulder.

"Make sure you shake off properly afterwards," I said, winking at him.

He grinned and blushed.

***

I had a wicked idea.

When James entered the bedroom, I was knelt nude at the end of the bed, gazing at myself in the mirror. He fell about laughing.

"What?" I said, turning towards him, my hard dick pointing straight at him.

"Nothing," he said, trying and failing to supress more sniggering.

"Oh, so it's only cute when you do it?"

"I didn't have a stiffy when I did it."

"You want to watch yourself," I mock scolded him. "You'll be finding yourself wearing your new knickers for the rest of the day!"

He stuck out his tongue.

"Come on," I said. "Get undressed you cheeky little thing."

James stripped off and lay on his back on the bed, legs apart, hands behind his head. He knew what he was getting.

I pecked him on the lips and continued kissing lightly down the middle of his body. He stiffened quickly and was stood to full attention by the time I reached his belly button. I picked up the wheaty scent of his immature cockhead alongside the specific boy smell generated by wearing sports clothes but not actively doing exercise. I'm sure I started salivating.

I could feel James' steady breathing as I worked my way towards the goal. He was radiating heat from his crotch. I kissed his little balls then dived on his cock, taking it all in at once. Not a hint of fresh piss. He was a good boy after all. I bobbed on his hard dick, working the skin with my lips and the exposed head with my tongue. He sighed and rested a hand on my head, proprietorially.

We were just getting going when he tapped my head with his hand, as if to stop me.

"You too," he said.

I must have looked confused.

"You know, both at once," he said. "Sixty-nine."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"No reason."

I wasn't tall, but neither was James, even for a boy approaching twelve years old. The logistics were difficult. The few times we'd done this before I had to arch my body while he lay straight. It meant he was pulling my boner downwards to get the angle right to take it into his mouth. Not overly comfortable, but I wasn't going to complain too much.

James spent a lot of time working just on my head, while I ate him all up. He cocked a leg over my head to push his cock and balls deeper into my mouth, giving me sight of his perfect pucker between his skinny cheeks. And that gave me an idea.

As James popped the head of my dick out of his mouth to give it a good licking, I shoved in three fingers from my right hand instead. He was a bit surprised, but he went with it, sucking on the fingers as if they were a penis. I pulled them out again. They were slimy with his thick cocksucking spit. I wiped the fingers over his bumhole, coating it with a wet layer. He laughed and wiggled his backside a bit, before getting back on task with my hard-on. I stuck my middle finger in my own mouth, alongside James' stiffy. It tasted of his saliva and his anus. Once it was nice and wet, I brought it back to his arse. This time I jabbed it in.

"Yow!" he protested.

His dick softened a little. I spat it out.

"Give it a chance. If it doesn't feel good in a minute, I can take it out."

"It just hurt going in like that," he said. "It feels funny now."

"Shall we carry on?"

He answered by taking my dick back into his mouth. I gave his one a gentle little lick and it stiffened back up again. I rubbed my nose on it. James jabbed it towards my face. I took it into my mouth and put a bit more pressure on my middle finger. It slid deeper into him, towards the second knuckle, and his sphincter spasmed. James moaned onto my dick and reared his hips, mashing his crotch further against my mouth. I had a full view of my finger stretching his hole. He felt like fire and velvet and silly putty.

I kept working on his dick, tongue swirling round and round, back and forth, nose occasionally nuzzling his balls. I gave it a minute before applying pressure with my finger again. This time his ass sucked it in, popping all the way past the second knuckle, nearly to the base. He clenched and spasmed wildly on my buried finger, and I felt a familiar pulse run through his dick on my tongue. He came, hard, squeezing my head to him with his cocked leg. That did it for me, too. I filled his mouth with spunk.

I withdrew my finger and watched his arsehole throb a little then close back up. I looked down at James' face to see him wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There was a dollop of my cum on the sheets, and another string across his cheek.

"Enjoy that?"

"You could have warned me before just shoving it in. That hurt."

"Sorry," I said. "I knew you'd like it though."

"I did," he conceded. "And I suppose it didn't hurt very much."

"Good lad," I said. "Let me help you clean up."

I licked my cum from his cheek and swallowed. Then I gave him a wet kiss. He tasted salty and spicy.

"Want to help me clean up too?" I asked him, offering him the offending finger. It was slimy and the fingernail looked conspicuously dirty.

"Eurgh! No!"

"Your loss," I said, and sucked on it. It tasted like rusty leather.

"That's disgusting," said James. "Really disgusting."

"It's only been up your bum."

"Yeah," he said. "Well that's my fart box."

He let out a sharp, airy fart, and laughed out loud.

Chapter 4
Empires and Dance

I have a little brother who's eleven years old.

He's always been quite comfortable wandering around the house in just his short boxers. As far as he's concerned, clothes are just for going out in.

We love each other, but we don't get on all the time. In fact, we fight a lot. But mostly it's just for something to do. A game to play. He comes into my room knowing I don't want him there, so I try to wrestle him out and he fights back to stand his ground. And if his boxers accidentally come down in the mêlée, that's all part of the excitement.

It excites me too. It shouldn't do; I'm several years older than him. But it does. So rather than using my far superior strength to pick him up and chuck him out, I let him wrestle, waiting to see if his underpants slip down from an unfortunate grapple. And it excites me in a different way from how it excites him.

I'm lying down and, for no apparent reason, he has his pants around his calves and is threatening to rub his bare anus on my face.

Why am I lying down?

Did I let him wrestle me to the ground?

No. I'm in my bed. I was taking a nap.

No, that's not right either. Hidden under the bedcovers, my jeans are down around my knees. I was having a surreptitious wank. He's come in and is – quite literally – being a silly arse, disturbing me mid-session.

He's teasing me, asking if I'm gay and want to kiss his bum. He's never been so forward before. I don't know how to react.

I have to fight my arms to make them move, to go through the motions of pushing him away. His crack looks red and shiny, as if it's sore. As if it had been itchy and he'd over-scratched it, causing his skin to secrete a coat of clear goo to cover the irritated flesh.

He's making to sit down on me. My hands push back against his buttocks, opening his crack further, just in front of my face. He's smooth and soft and pliable in my hands. I can see his thin ball sac hanging in front of my chin. He has one hand over his dick. I'm not sure if he's pulling it away from me politely, or if he's hiding a boner. Maybe even playing with his boner.

I'm distracted and miss him pushing down harder, with all his weight. I brace for his backside to make contact with my nose, and just before I close my eyes, there's a single frame of James, thrusting his arse into my face that morning. It's there for a thirtieth of a second, then there's just darkness.

Darkness and me.

No bed, no bum, no brother.

I'm floating above myself in the void. I see my jeans still bunched at my knees. My teenage is dick pole-stiff and throbbing. My t-shirt rides high and my bellybutton is exposed. I look at my skin.

Then I look at my face.

Look at my arms.

Getting younger; going backwards. Thirty frames a second.

I'm in a bright room, still looking at my arm – but from my own perspective. I'm inside my own head.

I'm eleven years old.

No – I'm twelve. I'm in an art lesson, in a large first-floor classroom with windows running down either side of the room. It's a morning in spring and they're flooding the room with pale light. The teacher has gathered us around the front desk and is demonstrating something or other. I'm not paying attention. Not because I don't like art lessons – although it's true I don't like art lessons – but because I'm distracted.

I'm distracted because Alex is standing opposite me, on the other side of the teacher's desk.

Alex is quite different from me. He doesn't turn twelve until April Fool's Day. He's smaller than me too. I'm short, but I'm developing fast and I'm stockier than Alex. He's slight and athletic and not as clever as I am, but then nobody else is as clever as me. He's boyish like someone who's nine or ten would be boyish, not like me or my mates. Our pubes are growing like poison ivy and we spunk all over each other at sleepovers.

I'm looking at Alex and imagining we're in a big bed together. I don't know where it is. The sheets seem silky and there are even silkier curtains billowing in a breeze from the open window, which is letting in bright and pale light like in the classroom. Maybe it's in Paris, though I don't know because I've never been to Paris. Anyway, we're both naked. We're sweaty and rubbing our naked dicks together. His is the same length as mine – 11cm (and it serves whoever pinched that ruler right if they've put it in their mouth, not knowing where it's been) – but it's thinner. His boner curves upwards and stays fully covered by his skin, which is very pale.

Everything in the room is pale. It's like the colour has been stolen. Like the colour was on a meter and we couldn't afford to put 50p extra in, so the colour went off.

Alex tells me to start kissing him, so I kiss him. We're snogging and our boners are grinding together, and I'm starting to get a boner in my school trousers stood in the middle of the classroom, and I think I'm staring at Alex. But that's okay, because I'm not really there. I'm in the bed where I can feel the cool, silky bedsheets on my bare bum, and we're grinding and kissing and he's going to let me spunk all over his dick and his belly.

As I'm pumping my crotch into him, I feel something is wrong.

My cock is huge and hard, and it's mashing against something much smaller, soft and rubbery. I look at Alex and he's turning his head, trying to pull away from me. He's scared. I can see my fringe in the top of my field of vision. My hair's longer than it should be. I'm pinning Alex's arms down with mine, and I see they're thick and hairy. I look down between our bodies. I want to know why I feel so enormously hard. That's when, finally, I see my wide, hairy chest. Beneath it, my bushy adult cock is mashing itself into Alex's soft, babyish willy and balls.

Then there's nothing. Only Alex's voice, laying on aggression and hostility to hide his anxiety.

"Are you a perv? Cos one of your mates said you fancy me."

Some friends of mine I thought were dead are coming back.

What are you doing coming back?

***

"Jake?"

Someone was leaning on my chest. My eyes adjusted to the light enough to make out James' face.

He looked worried.

"Jake? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I grunted, trying to wake my voice up. It was the middle of the night. "What's the matter, mate?"

"You've been having nightmares again. You were making noises and moving in your sleep. Are you really ok?"

James was leant over me, studying my face deeply. I reached up and caressed his silky cheek, which was a little cool to the touch.

"I'm fine, honestly, James," I said. "It's natural that, with all that stressful travel, it'll take a while to catch up on all that missed rest and work out all that tension. I'm just glad you're doing fine."

"Oh, okay."

He didn't sound convinced. He was still propping himself up using my chest, and I'd moved my hand from his face to rest on his arm. I waited to see if there was more he wanted to say.

"It's just… You can tell me if it isn't really okay. Even if the reason why it isn't okay is because we argued about potatoes yesterday," said James, barely pausing to take a breath. "And if it is because we argued then I'm sorry, because potatoes don't really matter and I didn't mean to be cheeky and shouldn't have played football in the house when I was meant to be helping with vegetables for the stew."

He took a deep breath. His eyes glistened in the dark. I felt bad that part of me wanted to laugh.

"Oh, James!" I said, conveying with my voice that everything – really – was fine. I pulled him into a hug, then held his head gently on either side with my hands, looking him straight in the eyes. "You haven't done anything to upset me. Not yesterday, not ever. You're a sweet and kind boy, but it isn't your job to worry about me. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Now go back to sleep."

He rolled off to his side of the bed and faced away from me. Then he reached back to grab my hand.

"I love you, Jake."

"I love you too, James."

I lay holding his hand until I heard him fall back to sleep. For some reason, I couldn't shake the memory of sleeping on a friend's sofa in her apartment in Paris, with her very grumpy, very elderly house cat.

***

Yesterday's stew had been a success.

We got up from our nap and I set about butchering the goose. It's not all that much harder than a pheasant or a chicken. Just quite a bit bigger. I got some rubber gloves on, sliced down the middle of the bird's chest and peeled off the skin to expose the meat. Then it was just a matter of chopping off what I wanted and not disturbing any organs that were liable to explode. I washed the meat under the trickle of the tap on the outside wall of the kitchen, then left it in a tub of water to soak.

Over the course of a decade or so, what had once been our lawn had been transformed into a disorderly vegetable patch. It was now quite overgrown, as were all the bushes that ran alongside the garden fence, broken by a diseased apple tree – sprouting white fur and producing mouldy apples – and an anaemic pear tree. Even the leafy bamboo my dad had once planted next to the decked area at the back of the house – to hide the wall of the neighbours' rear extension – was getting in on the act. It had taken over its corner of the garden.

I wasn't an expert on cultivating root vegetables. Luckily, I had little Alan Titchmarsh with me, bombarding me with endless facts about potatoes while I did all the work of extracting them. Did I know that potatoes came from the Americas? Evidently James had run out of horticultural facts about potatoes. Yes, I said. Does he realise that means that every great emperor, sultan, or prince of the Old World before the sixteenth century had never eaten a potato? No, he'd never thought about it like that, because those people were just like characters in books, and the books never told us whether they ate potatoes or not. And besides, how could I know for sure that none of them had ever eaten a potato?

For reasons known only to my subconscious, I snapped at him. I told him that I knew because I'd studied a lot and taught people much bigger and cleverer than him. He huffed and stropped off inside. Then I heard him kicking the football around the living room, like a little shit.

I threw down my hand spade and crop of potatoes, and marched inside. I grabbed the ball and told him firmly that if he didn't want to help with the stew he could go and quietly read on the bed instead. He flopped on the sofa in a silent tantrum. I walked away with the ball. A couple of minutes later he came back outside and said he was sorry and wanted to help. I set him washing potatoes at the outside tap.

I pulled some carrots, but I'm rubbish at even identifying what's what, so I accidentally pulled some parsnips too. This, I told James, was a real vegetable. People here had been using it long before the potato, and it could do everything a potato could and more. Then I put my arm round his shoulders and apologised for snapping at him. I told him I'd always thought he was a very clever boy.

***

I didn't feel particularly rested when I opened my eyes the next morning.

I wasn't sure if it was because I'd really been having nightmares, or just because James had disturbed me. He didn't seem too bothered; he was lying on his front, nose avidly buried in Count Karlstein. He'd reached the climax – the ride of the demon huntsman – and I didn't dare ask him to put it down.

I shut my eyes again, and the next thing I knew, my face was being half-caressed, half-slapped.

"Come on, Jake. I'm hungry."

I made myself coffee. I was started to get irritated by the water situation. I could tell that I needed a proper wash again and kept picking up wafts of James' boy BO too.

"Make sure you eat all your breakfast," I said. "I need you strong to help me get some materials today, while the weather is still dry."

"Materials?" said James. "Materials for what?"

"Building." I said.

"What are we building?" he asked, "Are you going to fill in that hole in the wall?"

He was pointing at a cat flap, half filled in with insulating foam.

"That's a cat flap, James."

"What's a cat flap?"

"It's for when you have cats and they come in and out as they please."

James' eyes went wide.

"You had cats? In your house? That's the coolest thing ever!"

"I like cats," I said. "Very independent."

"I wish I had a cat that lived with me!" James looked distant. He was thinking about cats.

***

There was a hardware superstore not too far away, where an uncle had once worked. Reaching it meant going a bit deeper into the city, though, which made me nervous. We were likely to see other people.

I had James in his filthy travel coat by the front door, bow slung over his back. I put my hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes, just above my nipple height.

"I need you to be on your best behaviour today. No silliness, no wandering off. You got that?"

"Yes, Jake."

"If someone scares you, and they think they want to hurt you, what do you do?"

"I dunno." He shifted his feet awkwardly.

"You fire a warning shot. Where do you aim your warning shot?"

"At their arm or their leg, so it hurts them but doesn't, you know…"

"Good boy. Where do you aim if your warning shot doesn't stop them?"

"At the neck. Right here." He rubbed his throat.

I put on my long travel coat and my rucksack and led him out the front door. The gun was in my inside pocket.

***

I wasn't sure what the most efficient route to the hardware place was, nor was I entirely sure how to dispose of what was left of the goose carcass. That's what led me to pick up the canal at the end of the street. I did the decent thing and dumped the goose remains in the water. Then we followed the canal, because it took us in vaguely the right direction and kept us off the streets.

Eventually, we surfaced on a main road, surrounded by Victorian terraced houses, factories and industrial units. It could really have been anywhere on this side of the city. Luckily, I knew where I was going.

We were walking down the middle of the road with plenty of space around, but James still insisted on walking close by my side, so our arms brushed together.

"The buildings seem really close here," he said. "It's like they're leaning over and watching us."

Ultimately, the trip to the store, though it took a while, was entirely uneventful. When we got there, the door was wide open, and the place was a bit of a mess, but most of the stock looked undisturbed. Not much call for building work with all those houses lying empty.

I liberated a trolley. We were going to need it.

***

"What are we looking for?" James asked. He was sitting in the end of the trolley. What was on the shopping list? One boy. Check.

"I need some pipes, some water filters, probably some plasterboard, and a bit of wood always comes in handy, whether you need it straight away or not."

"What are we building?"

"A rain catcher, James. Need to make sure we have plenty of water."

He was satisfied for a short moment, then decided that actually he'd prefer not to be in the trolley, nearly tipping it over as he was jumping out.

"What did I say before we left the house, James?"

"Sorry."

I picked up a single piece of plasterboard. It would be easily big enough for what I wanted to do. The next task was to search through the plumbing supplies for what I needed. Money being no object, I decided to take all the fanciest, click-together plastic piping in the width I needed: the size of a bath plughole.

"Pick a load of those up," I said, pointing to filters that looked roughly the right size.

"What are these?" asked James.

"I'll put them in with the pipes and they'll get most of the gunk out of the water."

He picked some up and dropped them in the trolley, then something else caught his eye.

"Can we take this as well? Please?"

It was a little colour-change lamp shaped like a cactus. It was possibly the most useless item I'd seen in the store.

"Go on then," I said. "You can use that if you want to read in bed at night."

He dumped it in the trolley, and I had another idea. I went to find one of those jugs that filters water for drinking, just to add another layer of hygiene. James made for the door.

"Wait for me there," I said as I grabbed the largest filter jug they had.

"Oh, wow!"

I turned the trolley to follow James. That's when I noticed a large, tortoiseshell cat had wandered in, and frozen between James and the front door on noticing our presence.

"It's a cat, Jake!"

The cat bolted for the outside.

"Come back!" called James, starting after it.

I groaned internally.

"James!"

I motored my legs to get the trolley moving, but it didn't want to move quickly. It was blocking the way in front of me, so it would have wasted even more time to abandon it and run all the way around. I focused on getting it moving and chasing after the boy.

The trolley seemed to snag on everything on the floor along the way what should've been a 60-second dash took a couple of minutes. Eventually I got the trolley through the shop door.

James was a little way ahead, out of the store car park, knelt fussing the cat. I felt a wave of relief.

Then I heard a voice. The cat trotted away at mid-pace. James looked surprised and slowly stood up.

Whoever he was looking at was hidden by the wall of the car park. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then looked around and saw me coming. He must have heard the rattle of the trolley as it made its way over the rough concrete ground. I pulled alongside him. He was facing an old lady. She wore a dark cardigan and quite smart, pressed black trousers. A brightly patterned scarf was wrapped around her greying dark hair. Her South Asian skin was careworn, bunched in wrinkles around her brown eyes. She was smiling.

"Is this your daddy?" she asked.

She already knew the answer. James and I hardly looked alike. My flyaway-fine golden hair was turning increasingly white with age. My face was the wrong shape. My body was stocky and hairy with short limbs. There's no way I could be confused for James' father.

"Um… Jake is my friend, he looks after me," James mumbled. "He was my mom and dad's friend."

"We look after each other, don't we mate," I said, looking the woman directly in the eye and pulling James close by his shoulders.

"I don't mean to intrude," she said, smiling again. "I live in this house here," she pointed, "With my son and two granddaughters. My son heard shouting and came to the door, but when he saw it was a little boy, he sent me out so as not to scare him."

"Thank you for your concern," I said. "James and I had a little chat about not wandering off earlier, didn't we?"

"Yes," James said quietly, looking at the ground and pressing his feet together.

"Well, I'm glad everything is fine," said the woman. "Though you should give that coat he's wearing a proper wash. You don't want him catching anything."

I smiled a fake smile and nodded a little too much.

"My family," she said, pointing to the house again, "We've never get sick easily."

"Thanks for looking out for him," I said. "Come on, James. You push and I'll pull."

We dragged the trolley past the lady. I waved goodbye. James looked up at her and smiled. She ruffled his hair and walked back towards her house. There was a little girl standing in the doorway.

***

"Those people had brown skin," he said to me, when we'd got a few streets away.

"So?"

"I've never seen that before. Not, like, in real life."

I shook my head to myself and carried on pulling the trolley.

***

I forced the trolley though the front door of the house and could get it no further, so just left it in the hallway. I sat down on the stairs, exhausted and soaked with sweat. James looked at me sheepishly.

"Should I go and put the girls' underwear on now?"

"What?" I said, looking down at him with my hand in my hair.

"You said if I didn't behave, I'd have to wear girls' pants," he said quietly.

I exhaled audibly. My dick was stirring in my pants.

"I think you'd better come upstairs and get undressed."

I mounted the stairs and held open the bedroom door to let him past me.

"Strip."

He dutifully removed all of his clothes, one by one. He was a pathetic sight, stood naked with his hands by his sides, looking sadly at the ground. I started undressing too.

He looked up. "What are you doing?"

"Getting undressed. We need to have a wash."

"But what about my punishment?"

"It was a joke, James!" I laughed. "I wouldn't really want to humiliate you as a punishment. What lesson would that teach you? I'm not going to dress you in anything you're not comfortable with. You're not a rag doll."

"Oh," he said. Did he sound disappointed?

"Come on, silly boy," I said, and led the way to the bathroom. "In you get."

He stood in the bath. I got a flannel wet with the lukewarm tap and began rubbing his body with it.

"We should have a rest for the rest of the day," I said. "Choose a new book to read together, maybe listen to some music."

"Can we listen to something my mom really liked?"

"I'm sure I can find something like that."

I wet the flannel again and squirted it with shower gel. I started on his belly and worked my way down between his legs. He stiffened at my touch.

I smiled at him and knelt down.

Chapter 5
A Fire That Burns Everything

I am an architect.

They call me a butcher.

I am a pioneer.

They call me primitive.

I am purity.

They call me perverted.

I hauled the door of the garden shed open. It took some persuasion.

I had no idea why those lyrics had come into my head; I hadn't listened to them in years. Perhaps they were just an appropriate set of mantras for a planned morning of building.

I spotted the electric screwdriver and picked it up first. I gave a test squeeze on the trigger. The battery was still working.

Perhaps it was James' fault. Coming here with him had reawakened my long-forgotten passion for music. I wouldn't have been surprised if I had been dreaming lyrically.

I found a heavy tool bag and removed a crowbar, a hand saw, and a measuring tape.

I leaned against a freestanding set of wooden shelves holding a collection of old vinyl and some rotten paperback books, nearly causing the whole thing to collapse. Even now this shed was a dumping ground for useless tat.

I found the jigsaw and left.

***

Next door's bathroom was in showroom condition. A young family had moved in after my parents had spent the entire quarter-century of their time in our house living next to the same set of weird old codgers. And I was glad they had, as they'd clearly spent some money renovating the place once they moved in. The bath was white and modern – and therefore, in theory, easier to remove.

James was with me as a helper. He'd carried in some of the tools and materials. Then he had a sneezing fit and nearly put the crowbar through a wall. I set about disconnecting and removing the bath. It was attached to the floor with metal feet that had been screwed down, hidden behind a plastic side panel. Once all the pipes were disconnected, it was a simple task to liberate it from the floor.

I pulled it away from the wall to give me better access to the window. It disturbed a lot of dust. James sneezed again and sucked back a load of snot.

"You all right?"

"Fine," he said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

I removed the plastic beads holding the windowpane in place and used the tip of the crowbar to ease the glass out into my arms. Then I wasn't really sure what to do with it, so I just rested it against the wall. James examined it curiously. I did the same with the top opener, placing the long, thin oblong of glass down next to the main pane. Then I unscrewed the vacant opener and removed it altogether.

I took the hacksaw to the vertical bar of plastic that had separated the main pane and the opener. Eventually, with only the external frame of the window remaining, I had a hole large enough to fit a bath through.

It wasn't heavy, but it was big. I had to enlist James to help me direct it through the hole in the wall. I didn't need him to lift it, just to make sure it was pointing in the right direction and the feet didn't snag.

"To me!" I cried enthusiastically. He didn't get the reference.

Once the bath was out on the roof of the rear ground floor extension, it was my turn to follow it. I grabbed a long wooden board and threw it down outside.

"What's that for?" asked James.

"Spread the weight out. Make sure I don't fall straight through that flat roof. Go and stand in that bedroom."

I climbed through the window and stepped out onto the board. James came and stood at the bay window of the back bedroom and opened it.

"Hello in there," I said.

I wanted to mount the bath on top of the bay window. It came out a good metre or so and was the width of the room, so there was plenty of space, and it was the highest-up flat surface to put it on. The problem was getting the bath up there by myself, without even having use of a ladder. In the end I had to rotate it like a Tetris champion. I leant the bath up against the outside wall, stood on its head. I used the wall to help me lift the tub upwards, then turned so as the top set of feet hooked on the end of the bay roof. From there I could somewhat laboriously slide it diagonally upwards, until the whole thing was up on the roof. James stood hanging casually out of the bedroom window offering suggestions.

"Push it that way. Try with more angle. Be careful because it sounds like you're ripping the roof open."

When I was finished, I stood panting and told him to shut up. He stuck his bottom lip out sarcastically.

"Don't be mean, Jake."

I had a little rest and then used the window ledge to climb a little higher. Stood half inside the house, half out, I began screwing the bath down onto the rooftop. James was looking up at me while I worked, screws clutched between my lips. I must have seen my dad like this a million times as I was growing up.

"Go and fetch a bit of pipe. A corner piece."

I'd deliberately arranged so that the head of the bath, where the plughole and holes for taps were, was at the end of the rooftop closest to the bathroom. James handed me a corner piece of pipe and I attached it underneath the plughole, where I'd placed the first of my filters. There was just enough clearance for the pipe to fit between the bath and the roof.

"Perfect."

I had James pass me more pipe until I could feed it back through the bathroom window. Then I grabbed my sheet of plasterboard. I measured the circumference of the pipe and used the jigsaw to make an appropriately sized hole in the board. I used it to fill the hole in the window, protecting the inside of the house from the elements. Then I got back to work on my pipeline.

"You're good at building," James observed.

"Not really," I said. "I've just got enough brains to fudge it. My dad, on the other hand – he could build anything."

"Do you miss him?"

"He's been gone a long time, James."

"That's not what I asked."

I didn't respond. I clicked the next length of pipe into place.

"I miss my mom sometimes," he said. Not sadly. Just matter-of-factly.

"I miss her too," I said.

"Can I help with the pipe?"

"Do you want to put the next piece in? You just have to turn until it's tight and it clicks into place."

He nodded and got up onto the toilet so he could reach. The pipe was still quite high up, so he had to stretch, which caused his t-shirt to ride up his body. Naturally, I tickled his exposed belly.

"Hey, stop it!" he said, between grunts and squeals.

"Okay. Carry on."

I waited for him to turn and reach up again. Then I immediately started tickling him more.

"Guh… it's not funny, Jake!" James growled.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You go ahead now."

This time I let him start screwing the pipe into place before tickling him again.

"I'm trying to help!" he whined, then pushed at my shoulders and stormed off in a red-faced strop.

"Oh, James!" I sighed.

I gave him a couple of minutes then went into the next bedroom, where I assumed he'd gone. This house was a mirror image of ours. It was the same as our bedroom just the other side of the wall, just in reverse – save for the fact that this was quite clearly a child's bedroom.

James was lain grumpily on his front on the bed. It occurred to me that the last child who had been on that bed may well have died there, but I pushed the thought away.

"I'm sorry, James," I said.

He ignored me. There was a large teddy on the bed and he focused on that instead, moving the arms back and forth with his fingers.

"I didn't mean to upset you, mate. I was only meant to have a bit of fun with you."

"It wasn't fun for me," he pouted. "I wanted to build like you. That's what was fun for me."

I sat on the bed next to his legs and rested my hand gently on his bum.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to treat you like a baby. You've been a big help this morning and I'll show you how to put the pipe together with me if that's what you want."

He sighed and I felt his body untense a little. He finally looked at me rather than the teddy.

"Okay then," he said. "But no more tickling."

"Hmm," I said, stroking his bum cheek and the back of his thigh. "Is there a way I can make it up to you?"

"No," he said. "You touched me when I didn't want it, so I'm going to punish you by not letting you touch me now."

I took my hand off him and was about to speak, when he suddenly pulled a wicked grin.

"In fact, I'm going to give it to teddy instead, and you have to watch."

The button on my jeans nearly popped across the room.

***

Who would have thought such a sweet, thoughtful eleven-year-old could be such a pervert?

Anyone who's ever been or known a little boy, I suppose.

I was sat on a beanbag watching. James was down to just his underwear, dancing with teddy in front of the bed. He pressed the bear's head to the bulge in the front of his boxer shorts.

"What's that teddy, you want to see what I've got in here?"

He humped into the bear's face through the fabric of his underpants.

"Not yet, teddy. I have to take my socks off first."

He pulled a sock off and dangled it in front of teddy's face.

"That's stinky, isn't it, teddy? What can we do with stinky old socks like these?"

He pulled off his other sock.

"Good idea, teddy."

He put teddy down on the bed and marched over towards me, socks in hand.

"Eat it, Jake."

He mashed his socks against my face and tried to shove them in my mouth. I regretted not having paid closer attention to his dressing habits and forcing him to change his underwear every day. He must have been wearing them yesterday too. They were very sweaty, and I have never seen the attraction of feet. I wanted to get him over my knee and spank his bare arse raw, but his little show was already threatening to permanently ruin the front of my underpants. I sat impassively.

James let go and the socks dropped into my lap. He gave me a little concerned look to make sure he hadn't gone too far. I nodded back at him and he grinned. "Jake's always been a sock-sniffer, teddy," he said. "He loves to sniff and taste dirty boys."

That was more than a half-truth.

"Ooh, teddy," he said, making the bear put its fluffy arm up the leg of his boxers. "You like to play games with boys too, don't you?"

He made the bear nod.

"We can play some games now, if you want to. Jake isn't allowed to play though, because he's been too naughty."

He held the bear's arms in his hands and used them to slide down his pants. He kicked them at me.

"Something else for Jake to sniff on. He's always sniffing my bum, teddy, even when I fart. It's not right at all. What's that teddy? You want to sniff my bum too? Well, if you say so…"

He lay the bear on the floor and squatted slowly onto its face. His knees spread wide as he lowered himself and his hard dick pointed straight at me. It looked red and strained and was throbbing furiously. His balls were drawn tight. I think we'd discovered that role play was his thing. He looked like he could burst at any time. He wasn't the only one. James gave a little gasp as he sat all the way onto teddy. His cold nose must've surprised James as it made contact with his ring.

"Mmmm, teddy…" groaned James, grinding his crack back and forth on teddy's face. "Don't stop, that's so good." He'd even closed his eyes and arched his head back a little. "You want to taste my willy now, teddy?"

He stood up and picked up the bear. "There you go. Munch on that teddy. Munch on James' stiff willy. Mmmm…"

He'd closed his eyes and was pumping his bare groin against teddy's face. I could see the foreskin sliding back and forth on his rigid spike. I could smell his excitement from the other side of the room.

"Uh… uh… uh…"

James' cheeks were flushed, and his hair looked a little sweaty. His chest looked a little pink, too. He was horny as hell, and very close.

"Ungh… teddy… we need to rub willies now. Get on the bed."

He threw the bear down on its back on the bed. He mounted teddy like a boy who could barely contain himself. He couldn't.

"Oh, teddy. Oh, teddy. Uh…"

He was pistoning teddy with no shortage of horsepower. It didn't take long.

"Ugghhhh!"

James clenched his buttocks and drove himself into teddy. His whole body stiffened, and he had a long dry cum on top of the bear. His dick was twitching for a good thirty seconds or more. He collapsed over teddy, panting.

I got up and stroked his sweaty back and sides as he lay recovering. My erection was still trying to tear my jeans in two. I should have pulled it out and spunked all over his back. James rolled over and spread his arms. I switched to stroking his ribs and tummy instead. His little willy had gone soft and pink and puffy at the end.

"Was teddy good?" I asked.

James nodded. "Not as good as you."

"You're just trying to charm me, so I don't get you back for the socks."

James giggled nervously. I got up and collected his clothes from their various landing spots around the room. He sat up on the bed and made a grab for his boxers from my hand.

"No." I balled them into my fist. "These are dirty. You can go without until we get back next door and you put some clean ones on, like you should have done this morning."

"But it'll be weird without them," he whined. "I can't just put my joggers on with nothing underneath."

"You sure you want to wear them?" I asked.

James nodded. I pulled my girder-stiff cock out and wrapped James' underpants around it. It only took a few jerks to unload a dairy's worth of cum all over them.

"Still want to wear them now?"

***

"This is embarrassing," James said.

We were back in the bathroom adding to the pipe. James was still completely naked.

"Hands by your sides," I said.

"I need a wee."

"Toilet's right there." I gestured with a length of pipe.

James was aghast. "I can't go right next to you while you're working! You'll see everything!"

I laughed out loud. "I see you naked all the time. Have you forgotten you just had me watch while you shagged a teddy bear?"

James blushed. "But… but going to the toilet is different," he said. "It's private. That's why your willy is called your privates."

I shook my head with resignation and stepped outside until I heard the toilet flush.

***

I had to do some bashing with a mallet on the crowbar to make space for the pipe to go up through the bathroom ceiling with the other pipes. I sent James back next door – carrying his clothes in his arms – and told him that I'd be checking he was wearing clean underwear when I got back, or else it would be girl pants.

Up in the loft I carried on laying the pipe, now at floor level. I hoped the pressure of a bath full of rainwater would be enough to push water up the tube the short way between high on the bathroom wall and floor level in the loft. I was dismayed that there was a proper brick dividing wall between the two houses even up here, so it took a bit more bashing to remove a few bricks and poke my pipe through.

Back on the more familiar side of the wall, I kept my word and checked on James. He'd instead decided not to put anything on at all because he said he felt too hot, so was wearing just the university hoodie that came down almost to his knees. He watched with vague interest as I climbed from a stepladder on the upstairs landing through a little ceiling hole into the loft, then wandered off to read his book again, an Australian children's adventure comedy called The Day My Bum Went Psycho.

I examined the water tank in the loft. In an amazing stroke of luck, there was for some reason an unused input where the pipe leading to the solar heating had been added. I imagined it had been intended for an overflow pipe back from the solar array which had never actually been installed. Thank God for plumbers cutting corners. I extended my pipe and then uncapped the vacant hole. It wasn't an exact match for size, but close enough. I whacked the last filter into the pipe, then I attached and sealed it the best I could and left it at that. We'd see if it had all been worthwhile once it started raining.

***

I joined James on the living room sofa. He seemed a little listless as he lay sprawled out reading his book, but I thought he was probably still a bit embarrassed. It had been mean of me to make him remain naked in a strange house after the buzz of his erotic performance had worn off. He sneezed again.

"You okay?"

"Hmm."

"Do you want me to read to you instead?"

"I'm not feeling well," he said. "I have a headache and it's too hot in here."

"Come here," I said.

He sat up and shuffled over to be beside me. I wrapped my arms around his front and hugged his back to my front.

"You're really hot," I said. He felt like he was burning up just feeling his body through the hoodie. I put my hand to his head. He was clammy and far, far warmer than he should have been. I kissed the back of his head and his hair was damp. "I'll find you some medicine."

I went to the medicine cupboard in the kitchen and mentally kicked myself. How had I let this happen? He must have been incubating for a couple of days. What if it was avian flu from that fucking goose? Or worse, what if it had just flown down from the north for winter, and picked up something really nasty bubbling out of the thawed-out tundra? Stockpiled ibuprofen would cut no ice if it was.

James was staring into space in the living room. I gave him a glass of water and two pills.

"Take those and drink all the water. I'm going to get some things to make you more comfortable."

I went to our bedroom and grabbed a pair of James' undies. Then I went to the box room and took the bedding from the single in there. There was some money on the shelf, which I also grabbed.

I threw the bedcovers and pillow down on the sofa and pulled James' boxers out of my back pocket.

"Hoodie off, these on."

I made up a little bed for him on the sofa while he got changed. He stood shivering in just his underpants.

"Brr… can I get under the covers?" he asked.

"I thought you were too hot?"

"I am, but now it's really cold."

"Get in," I said, pulling the quilt up. Burning and shivering is never, ever a good sign.

I sat down and James adjusted his pillow, so his head was supported by my thigh. I pulled the money out of my pocket and handed it to him.

"What's this?" he asked, then sneezed a couple more times.

"Bless you," I said. "Your wages, for being my helper today."

He held the plastic note up with his fingers. "There's a queen on it," he said. He turned the note over and ran his fingertips over the back. "Who's Winston Churchill? Why's he there?"

"He was a politician, a long time ago," I said. "There was a big war, nearly a hundred years ago. My grandparents were your age. He became leader of the country in the middle of it. His leadership style helped make sure Britain didn't lose the war to some people who were trying to wipe out anyone who wasn't like them. Millions and millions of people died."

"So, they put his picture on money because he was the hero?"

"Mmm… Not everyone agreed that he should be put on there," I said. "Some people thought it was wrong that a politician's picture should be put on money because not everyone likes politicians. And Churchill didn't particularly like people who weren't like him either. Earlier in his career, he did some bad things that hurt a lot of people, but he didn't think much of it because they weren't people like him. But I guess it was that sort of self-belief and comfort in ordering people around in dangerous situations that made him such a good war leader."

"He was good and bad depending on how you look at it?"

"Exactly, James. There isn't such a thing as heroes. Just human beings who have qualities that are good and useful sometimes, but other times harmful. Being good or bad or indifferent is all part of who we are. Nobody is just one of those all the time."

"You can be annoying sometimes," he said, "but you're good when you're kind to me and look after me all the time."

I smiled and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

"Hey, if we have power and the music player and the lights work, does that mean this TV works as well?"

"I guess so," I said. "Do you want to find out?"

He nodded so vigorously it brought on another set of sneezes. I turned the screen on and opened the draw where we kept all the DVDs.

What do you watch with an eleven-year-old with practically zero experience of human televisual culture? The Simpsons Movie was on top of the pile and seemed a candidate, but the snob in me refused to let his first experience of Springfield be through the prism of anything outside the first nine seasons. Underneath was Inception – maybe a bit too cerebral for him at this stage. Pilates? As much as it would have been amusing to try to convince James that all TV was just aerobics routines, I ruled that out as too cruel to inflict on a poorly boy. Next out was South Park, but I thought that would be a bit much for a TV virgin, too. Daria and spoof school Science video Look Around You ruled themselves out as there was no way he'd get them. I was starting to despair at how awful our selection of DVDs seemed when out popped the extended edition of The Fellowship of the Ring. That. That is what you watch with an eleven-year-old with practically zero experience of human televisual culture. They should've put Tolkien on the banknote.

***

James sat rapt watching the first part of Frodo and the gang's adventure. By this point I realised I could have shown him anything and he'd still have thought it was the coolest thing ever, but Lord of the Rings was a particularly good choice. The look of shock and despair that James gave me when Gandalf gets pulled into the abyss by the Balrog was almost as dramatic as the action on screen.

By the end of the movie, James was absolutely knackered. He was yawning his head off with every other snotty breath. He still felt like a wildfire laid next to me. He'd started coughing huge, heaving, rattling coughs that made him say 'Ow!' afterwards. His voice sounded hoarse and painful. The sun had set when the end credits rolled. James was talking about the film with his eyes closed and then, mid-sentence, he stopped. Fast asleep.

I got up carefully, desperate not to disturb him, and turned everything off. I was still petrified that he'd caught something serious. Even normal flu would be bad. Normal flu still kills if you don't have a hospital to go to when it gets bad. I couldn't help myself. I went to the fridge and got the Welsh whiskey out. I poured myself a very large glass and went to sit with my sickly boy.

The whiskey was smooth. Ridiculously smooth. James' bottom smooth. It was going to my head quickly like an early-morning caffeine hit in the office.

I sat in the silent dark and I drank. I drank and remembered.

***

Drew had called me across to the bungalow from the main farmhouse. The sun had recently set, and the courtyard was deep with shadow. Drew looked haunted.

They'd quarantined themselves in with Cerys a few days ago because she'd come down with a cold and they didn't want to spread it to the rest of us. Harriet was a medical doctor, so she took it all very seriously. She overreacted. Harry or Cerys would get a sniffle or an itch and it'd be bed for days. Cerys especially. Got to keep the sickly little orphan safe; let her know she's loved. Ease our guilt that Drew and Harriet are still here with Harry, Nell is still here with James, and I'm still here – with no-one – and Sophie is not. Sophie is not here, and Cerys is.

When we entered the bungalow, Harry was sitting on his own in the front room. His dark hair was even more scruffy than usual; unwashed. He looked like he'd been crying. Drew led me wordlessly to the main bedroom.

The air was heavy like a cliff face. In the centre of the double bed – Drew and Harriet's bed – Cerys was bundled up in quilts, lank hair plastered to her face. She was alabaster, panting heavily and gurglingly in a faded pink night gown. Harriet sat beside the bed, heavy bags beneath her eyes, clutching with white knuckles a little bowl splattered with crimson fluid.

"She has it, Jake."

The room was spinning. This changed everything. Ruined everything. It would burn up Cerys then it would burn us all to the ground.

"No," I said. "No. You have to be able to do something. We can do something. I have immunity, right? You can take my blood now. Give her my blood."

"It doesn't work like that," Harriet said quietly. "You know it doesn't work like that."

I pounded the wall with my hand.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, forehead on the wall, breath ragged.

"We have to leave, Jake," said Drew. "We've all been exposed. Nell and James haven't. We can't stay here with them."

Cerys coughed and retched and spat another bloody load of sputum into the bowl.

"She can't travel," I said. "Look at her."

"We know," said Harriet. "But she can't stay here either."

"You need to take her somewhere nearby and look after her," said Drew. "You're safe."

"But what about you?" I asked. "What about Harry? They're practically brother and sister."

"Don't make this harder, Jake," said Drew. "Please."

"I'll take her," I said. "I'll take her." I was pacing back and forth in the small bedroom. "But you have to tell me where you're going."

"We're going to take the Land Rover," said Drew. "See if there's enough fuel to get us back over to Wales. We've already packed everything we need."

"Take Cerys as far away as you can manage," said Harriet. "And stay away as long as you can. You'll be a risk to Nell and James as long as you could be carrying the bacteria."

"Get her ready to go," I said. "I need to say goodbye to Nell."

"Don't go in that house!" Harriet called out to me, but I was already racing across the courtyard.

***

James gave me a big toothy, gummy grin.

"Jakey!" he said, coming towards me. "Will you play cars with me? You're the best at making the stories."

"Woah, Jamey!" I said, taking a step back. "Don't touch me. I'm a bit dirty from being outside. Don't want you getting your pyjamas all messed up."

"Are you okay, Jakey?" he said. "You look worried."

"I'm fine, James," I said. "I just really need to talk to your mom. Could you go get her for me?"

"Will you play cars later?"

"Stop wobbling that tooth, you. It'll fall out by itself. Go and get your mom for me."

He bounced away, still playing with his tooth. My heart was somewhere between breaking my ribs and breaking in half. James had just seen his sixth winter. This would be his seventh spring. Cerys was, over in the bungalow, literally on her deathbed at eleven. Harry was barely much older. Would he be next?

"James said you wanted to see me?"

"Don't come over, Nell. Don't even cross the room. I'm going to stay here in the doorway."

"Why? What's going on?"

"It's Cerys. She's got it. The pneumonic one. We're all compromised except you and James. They're getting ready to leave right now."

"What?" she said, panic behind her sapphire eyes, "Jake, slow down. Cerys is ill? Who's leaving?"

"All of us have to leave," I said. "Drew, Harriet, Harry. They've all been exposed. They could be next. They have to leave to protect you. To protect James."

"Okay," said Nell, swallowing hard and nodding, "Okay, they have to go. What's happening with Cerys? Why do you have to go too?"

"I went to the bungalow and saw her. I'm going to take her and look after her because she can't make me sick."

"Where will you take her? How?"

"I'll carry her over to the next farm, keep her there for a while."

Nell was nodding. A tear silently rolled down her cheek and splashed on the breast of her jumper.

"What… what do you think will happen?"

I breathed deeply.

"We're going to get to a point… a place where we can't return from. That's where I have to go."

Nell understood my meaning.

"And then… after that – after that how long will you be gone?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "I wouldn't dare risk James. Maybe I'll head south for a bit. See how Jon's getting on at home."

Nell was crying. So was I.

"James… He won't be the same boy without you, Jake."

"He has an amazing mother. That's all he needs."

"I know you, Jake," she said between sobs. "I know how you love him. How… You will come back, won't you? You do know this is your home, no matter what?"

***

I carried Cerys across country. She was like a fireball in my arms, but shivering all the way, drawn up in a thick overcoat over her thin nightie. And she was light. So light she was barely there. So light that I moved with her a couple of miles across pitch dark fields faster than I could move on my own on the road in the day.

I smashed my way into the neighbouring farmhouse. It was dark and empty; abandoned for years. I sat Cerys on the bed and took her coat off her. She'd dribbled a stream of blood down one shoulder. The neck of her nightie had been stretched by the journey and I saw the translucent skin of her chest was one giant rash.

"Jake, I need the toilet."

"Of course, sweetheart."

I scooped her up and found the way to the bathroom.

"There you are. I'll go outside and you give me a call when you're done."

She was in fits of shivering when I carried her back to bed. I felt she might ignite me when I touched her.

"I'm so cold, Jake. Why's it so cold?"

"I don't know, darling. I'm here to make it better. You be a brave girl for me, okay?"

***

"Jake, why can't I open my eyes?"

"Your eyes are open, sweet."

"No, they're not. I can't see anything. I can't get my eyes open."

Her eyes were unfocused. Her entire body was rattling with every breath.

"You just keep them closed then. Don't worry about it. Get your rest. It'll all be better tomorrow."

***

"M… M-m-mommy? Are you holding my hand, mommy?"

"That's right, your mommy's here with us, Cerys. You hold her hand."

I felt Cerys give the faintest of squeezes on my hand. A candle of pink snot was running from her nose and a crimson trickle from the corner of her mouth.

"I… I see you," her voice was barely a whisper. "I see…"

It was two nights after I left that Nell smelt the smoke and saw, on the dark horizon, the wild glow of a house fire.

***

I stroked James' hair. Warm and wet. He was sleeping a snotty sleep. Air whistled through his blocked nose. I drained the last of my whiskey. I felt the rim of the glass on my wet cheeks. I'd been crying in the dark. I felt like I'd been hit by a train.

I stood up, stood over James for a while like a bodyguard. Then I knelt next to him. It was like kneeling beside a fire. I felt his body under the quilt, and he was slick, like touching an amphibian. Like touching a frog being boiled.

I wanted to love him, somehow, anyhow. I worked his pants down his thighs as gently as I could. He was a furnace. His body was molten; sucking his dick was like tonguing a lava plume. He was hot and hard.

"Hmmm?"

He was still asleep, almost certainly. His brain was on autopilot.

"What do you have in your mouth?" he croaked; his voice still asleep. "It's all tingly. It's making it tingle."

I kept going until he sighed a still, sleepy orgasm.

He was unknowing. Unknowable. I willed him to be healthy. I willed it to be just a winter bug. He was my Faramir. I could make him better again. He wasn't doomed like Boromir. He was no Boromir.

We are as forlorn as children lost in the woods. When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs inside me, and what do I know of yours?

Chapter 6
Alphabet

James began to stir again around sunrise. I was at the back doors of the back room, watching a murder of crows squabble with a hedgehog in the twilight.

I hadn't slept well. I lay in my clothes on the sofa near James. It was an L-shaped corner unit, so I could have my head next to his but stretch out fully at a right angle to him. I'd felt a bit drunk from the whiskey, and I was angry with myself. I was angry that James was unwell. I was angry that I made it happen by removing him from his familiar, sheltered environment. I was angry that I'd only had a small amount of whiskey and already felt drunk.

I imagined myself in my twenties – the man who went to football matches and spent all day drinking with his buddies – and I imagined how ridiculous he'd find it. I wondered whether, in some parallel reality, he was still doing that now. Still filling the cavity with merrymaking and booze, and still putting up with people twice his age singing 'Mouldy Old Dough' in run-down pubs just because it was somewhere to be. And somewhere in that reality, a parallel James would be comfortably growing up in a big, suburban house with his mom and dad, and probably some younger brothers or sisters. He'd go to school, and sleep over with friends on weekends, and Jake would just be some old family friend who turned up at parties and was a bit too good at talking to boys his age.

I fell asleep thinking about how alien either version of me, the real or the hypothetical, would be to parallel James. When I next opened my eyes, perpendicular James was still asleep. Hanging around looking at him wouldn't change anything, so I went and watched how sunrise changed the cast of characters in the garden. The hedgehog would be hibernating soon.

"My head hurts and I'm thirsty."

Good morning to you too, James.

***

I doped James back up on ibuprofen and made sure he had plenty of water. I let him sip from my coffee to see whether he'd like some to help him feel more awake. Then I called in the cavalry.

"Try some of this."

I'd taken some of the stash of chocolate. I figured the sugar would help him feel more alive for a little while, and the treat would help him feel less miserable about being ill. He was leaning his bare back against me to prop himself up in his makeshift sick bed. He was still boiling hot, and his breath stank. The chocolate had developed a white film from age but was still perfectly edible. James delighted in it. He was licking the packaging and his fingers long after he'd finished the bar.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Terrible," he said. His head sounded like a snot factory whenever he breathed. As if for emphasis, he gave another hard, chesty cough.

"You'll feel a bit better when the medicine kicks in properly," I said. Not to mention the sugar.

"I hope so," he said, and flopped himself down so as he was lying flat with his head in my lap instead.

I stroked his face. "What can I do to help you feel better today?"

"Can we watch the next part of The Lord of the Rings?"

"Of course we can."

***

I felt better by the afternoon, even if James didn't.

I realised I'd probably overreacted. He didn't seem to be getting any worse. It was just a touch of flu that he'd get over in a few days with enough rest and care. He was still well enough to play his face when I said we couldn't watch The Return of the King until tomorrow, because I wasn't sure how much power the TV used. Eventually he stopped pouting and let me read to him until he drifted into an afternoon nap.

It was boring without him. I didn't know what to do with myself.

It had been drizzling all day, but not anything like enough to test if our rain catcher worked. No matter, I had plenty of time to kill anyway. I could run myself a bath from the limp trickle of the tap and some pans of boiling water and probably still have too much time on my hands until James was awake again. And he could stew in his own sweat until he was good and healed.

***

"What are you reading?"

Awake again, then.

"The Children Act. I first read it about twenty years ago. It made me sad then and it makes me sad now."

"Why would you read something that makes you feel sad?"

"Because the point of stories is to make us feel things. To help us understand our emotions better."

"That's true, actually. I didn't think about it like that."

"Right, sniffler, what do you want for dinner tonight?"

"I dunno. My tummy feels a bit upset."

"How about I make us some pasta and vegetables in sauce?"

"Okay then."

"Can you promise not to throw it all up or use it to paint my toilet bowl?"

"No."

"Well, I can't promise not to smash your face in then."

The rain had started coming down harder and the wind had picked up. Yet, somehow, I was happy to be volunteering to pick vegetables. Love is a queer feeling.

***

The third day of James' illness came, and we finished the extended versions of The Lord of the Rings. Outside, the weather alternated between violent hail and driving rain. The wind stripped the trees bare. I started a small fire in the fireplace. I sat and read to James by the light of his cactus lamp as he lay in my lap. Gradually the rain and hail turned to sleet, which turned to snow. I couldn't estimate what time it was. The sun had probably set, but the gloom outside had defied the daylight while it lasted anyway. Perhaps, I speculated, Sauron had returned after all.

"It's just a story," said James. "There aren't really orcs or elves or dwarves or anything like that."

"Dwarfs are real," I said. "Just not like in fairy tales."

"Dwarves aren't real," he said. "You're just pulling my leg."

"Right now, I'm worried what might happen if I pulled on your leg."

James threw a punch at my arm, but he didn't have a great deal of strength in his current condition.

"Go on, tell me a story about a real dwarf, then."

***

Once upon a time, there was a man called Thomas, who made a magical organ as a gift to a great king…

"Stop it," James whined. "This is a fairy story. I wanted you to tell me about a real dwarf!"

"Give it a chance. I promise it's real."

He folded his arms but let me continue.

There was a man called Thomas and he built an intricate organ for a great emperor. It was a gift from his kingdom so that their subjects could carry on trading their goods within the emperor's huge empire. It took Thomas many months to arrive by boat at the emperor's great capital city with his organ. When he arrived, he was taken to stay with his kingdom's ambassador. There was no space for him to set up the organ in the embassy house, so he set it up in a barn instead. But, because he'd been travelling for so long, when he opened the box containing the organ, he found that it was quite badly damaged and worn.

'That organ isn't worth tuppence,' said the ambassador's business partner, Mr Aldridge.

'Screw you, Aldridge!' said Thomas. 'This is one of the best organs ever built.'

'Right then, you're on son. I'll give you twenty quid from my own purse if–

"When are we getting to the dwarves? What's an organ?"

"You know what else features in this story?" I said, looking down at James' face, his head rested in my lap. "Eunuchs. You know what they are?"

James shook his head.

"Little boys who've had their willies and balls chopped off. Do you want me to do that to you?"

"I want you to tell a different story about a real dwarf."

I sighed heavily.

***

My mate used to play in a heavy metal band. They were known as the worst metal band this side of the Avon. My mate was on keyboard. They had two brothers, with long, curly red hair, on guitar and bass. Then there was Barry Anal on the drums. He looked like he was made of cheese. Now, Barry Anal used to work in a shop that sold used lawnmowers. One day a bloke came into the shop, and he said: 'Barry. Bazza. Me old mucker. I've got a deal and a half for you. I'll give you these magic beans if you fix the little plastic doodad on the bottom of my strimmer that does all the cutting'. 'That's a can of baked beans that you just robbed from Tesco's,' says Anal, 'but I'll do it for a ten bag of weed instead'. 'Sold!' said the bloke, who, incidentally, was called Terry Satterthwaite. Terry Satterthwaite had a side line in dealing low-quality weed to Philosophy students at the university. He'd sell it to them, and they'd have a few drinks and a puff, and talk about Kant or Foucault and wouldn't even realise that they weren't getting that high. Then one day he broke his leg in a freak tanning accident at a local salon. He was on the sunbed when the number thirty-seven bus had a blowout and jack-knifed through the front window of the building. He never made another appearance in the Football League after that. Or beforehand for that matter. Now, Baz Anal, he was working in the lawnmower shop, fixing strimmers for larger-than-life characters like Terry Satterthwaite. What he didn't realise was the lawnmower was originally invented by Ian Flymo, who was looking for a method of murdering his wife and getting away with it. Well, she had acute hay fever, didn't she? All those grass clippings. The man was a genius. His wife was the twin sister of a beat poet called Lois Clovis. A lesser known fact about Lois Clovis is that she in fact had three nipples. And I know this is absolutely true because my mom was commissioned to write an encyclopaedia article on Lois Clovis. She always wrote in iambic trimeter. That's not to be confused with trimester. Trimester is just a formal third of a period of time that's split into formal thirds. Formal Thirds was actually the name of a rival band to the one my mate played the keyboard in, with Baz Anal on drums. They once supported Gaslight Orchestra, a tribute to Electric Light Orchestra, but with all the on-stage electronics instead powered by gas. One hundred and twenty-six people died in the inferno that night, caused when the final chord of Mr Blue Sky turned out to have exactly the same resonance pattern as the piping for the gas. It was a sad day for badly thought-through themed musical tribute acts the world over. I wore a black armband for two weeks, though that was partly due to an unrelated sequence of events involving a massage parlour on the island of Chios in the Aegean Sea. Anyway, what was I saying about Anal? Oh yes…

James was in fits of giggles, which caused a fit of sneezing, which caused more giggles. He got snot all over my jeans.

"That was the stupidest story ever," he said, bursting into a fit of giggles again.

"I'm glad you liked it more than the organ story," I said. James hiccoughed.

"You didn't even say what it had to do with dwarves!" he burst into another fit of giggles and hiccups and sneezed into my crotch again.

"Thanks," I said. He rubbed at the trail of snot with his hand.

"Where was the dwarf involved?"

"Oh, I forgot," I said. "The reason the band were so rubbish is because they had a really good singer, who happened to have dwarfism, but they sacked him for some reason. I don't remember why."

James looked at me, smirked, and burst into giggles yet again.

"That's terrible," he said. "The worst story ever. You could have told it in, like, a second if you'd just said that."

"That wouldn't have been as fun, would it?"

James hiccoughed again.

"What's dwarfism?"

"People with dwarfism don't usually grow to average adult height. It's a genetic thing. I don't know a lot about it really."

"Oh, so it's not like in stories then."

"I told you."

James recovered his composure. I was happy he was having fun. Happy he had the energy for it.

"Jake…?"

"Yes?"

"Um…" James paused and looked away, then smiled at me nervously. "Would you tell me a story that's… you know… a bit… sexy?"

"Of course."

"Yessss!"

"But only if you tell me one first."

***

There was a boy. He was eleven years old and he started at a new school where the children lived as well as got taught.

"What was the boy's name?"

The boy was called… Sam.

"What did he look like?"

He had brown hair and blue eyes.

"I thought he might."

He started a new school where all the boys and girls stayed over. His teacher was called Mr Butcher and had blond hair, a beard, and a hairy body. Ja– uh, Sam liked his teacher a lot. He was kind to him and taught him lots of new things. Sam missed being at home with his mom, but Mr Butcher made him feel safe.

Sam became Mr Butcher's favourite pupil. He always told him how good he was in class and would ruffle his hair when he walked by. Sam didn't like having his hair messed up, but he liked that Mr Butcher wanted to touch him.

Sam made lots of friends in school and all the children liked him, and he liked them. One day in class Sam was talking to one of his friends when he was supposed to be listening to Mr Butcher. Mr Butcher was cross and told Sam to see him after the lesson. Sam was worried about it because he thought he'd disappointed Mr Butcher and it made him sad to think that Mr Butcher wouldn't like him as much. He wanted to impress Mr Butcher a lot because he liked Mr Butcher and liked that Mr Butcher liked him.

After the other children had gone, Sam stood in front of Ja– I mean, Mr Butcher's desk and waited to be spoken to.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Sam," said Mr Butcher. "You know the school rules. I thought you were a good boy?"

"I'm sorry Mr Butcher," said Sam. He was talking quietly and looking down because he was upset.

"Now I have to punish you, but because you're normally a good boy and let yourself down, I'm going to make sure you really learn a lesson," the teacher said. He went and sat in his chair. "Come here Sam and bend over my lap," he said.

When Sam bent over Mr Butcher's lap, the teacher held him down with one hand and pulled his shorts and pants down with the other. Sam was embarrassed because Mr Butcher hadn't seen him naked before. He was worried the teacher would see his naked willy and think it looked like a baby's willy, and that he'd think Sam was a baby because of that.

"I'm going to smack your bottom now," Mr Butcher said. "I'm giving you as many smacks as your age, and you have to count them for me. Do you understand, Sam?"

Sam nodded his head and started to cry. Mr Butcher began slapping his bare bum and making him count every one. It hurt a lot and Sam was crying, but somehow he'd got a stiffy too and it was poking Mr Butcher in the leg every time he slapped Sam.

"Stand up now, Sam," the teacher said.

Sam stood up and was very embarrassed by his stiffy. He tried to cover it with his hands, but Mr Butcher told him to put his hands on his head.

"Have you learned your lesson?" the teacher asked.

"Yes sir," said Sam. His face had gone as red as an apple and he was looking at the wall, because he was too embarrassed to look at his teacher while he was half-naked, and he didn't want to look down and see his stiffy on show.

"Are you going to ignore my instructions in class again?"

"No, sir."

"I think you are a good boy, Sam. Let me help you with your sore bum."

Mr Butcher moved Sam by the shoulders, so he was stood in front of the desk, then he made him bend all the way over it. Then, what a surprise! Sam felt his teacher get down behind him and start kissing his sore bum cheeks!

"What are you doing?" he asked the teacher.

"You have been good much more often than you have been bad, so I want to reward you for good behaviour now you have been punished," the teacher said.

He kept kissing Sam's poor bum cheeks and, all of a sudden, Sam felt a hand go between his legs and start rubbing his willy and balls! Sam felt so good he made a moaning sound and opened his legs wide for more. He couldn't believe his favourite teacher wanted to kiss and touch him like that in his most private places. It felt really good.

Sam was starting to get really excited and Mr Butcher felt it. He told Sam, "Pull your bum cheeks open for me," and he started licking Sam's bumhole. Sam couldn't believe it. It felt so weird at first but then nice, really nice and tickly and wet. Mr Butcher used his hand to squeeze Sam's balls and was stroking his willy with his spare thumb and finger. Sam couldn't take any more and he had a great big boygasm lying on his teacher's desk. It was his first ever and he was really shocked and pleased.

"Come here and give me a kiss," Mr Butcher said and pulled Sam up for a big wet tongue kiss. Sam thought it would be nasty to kiss a mouth and tongue that had been on his bumhole, but actually it tasted quite nice. "You are a very special boy and my favourite," the teacher said. "If you keep behaving well, I will give you all the rewards you deserve. If you disappoint me then next time, I will spank you with a ruler instead."

"Don't worry sir, I only want to be a good boy for you," said Sam.

The end.

I gave James a round of applause. "Well done!" I said. "That was very, very good!"

"It gave you a stiffy, Jake," he giggled, poking the front of my jeans next to his face.

"Hmm," I said, reaching under the quilt and feeling down his body until I reached the waistband of his undies. I pushed my hand in and felt him up. He was also rock hard. I nodded in approval and ran his little cockhead between my thumb and forefinger.

"Always the sign of a good story if it makes the author hard too."

"Your turn now, Jake."

***

A little American boy called Zach lived with his mom and his uncle. Together, the two adults would come and check on him every night, and comment on how cute and innocent he looked. But Zachy wasn't sleeping. He had to try hard not to laugh every time he heard his uncle talk to his mom about how sweet he was. Because every night, before bedtime when his mom came to check on him sleeping, Zach would have sex with his dirty old uncle.

I kept my hand in James' pants as I began to tell the story, gently rubbing and fondling his warm and clammy boy bits.

It started when Zachy was nine. His uncle would come to his bedroom and get into bed with him. He'd give Zachy big wet kisses and pull Zachy's underwear off. Then he'd take a long finger and push it up Zach's skinny bum.

"Like what you did to me the other day?"

"Exactly."

Zachy, being only a little boy who hadn't ever done anything sexual before, didn't really understand what his uncle was doing at first. He liked the kissing, but he didn't enjoy having his bum fingered. It stopped hurting, but Zachy was worried that his bum wasn't clean and would make his uncle's fingers dirty and smelly. He didn't realise that was precisely what his uncle wanted.

"You wanted me to taste your dirty finger."

"Are you going to let me tell the story?" I asked. I made a move with my hand as if to remove it from his pants.

"I'm sorry. Please don't stop."

So Zachy's uncle carried on coming to Zachy's room at night and kissing him and making him take a finger up the bum. Eventually Zachy started to like it a lot and he and his uncle gained confidence to try other things. By the time Zach was ten, he'd started sucking on his uncle's big, hairy uncle willy on an almost nightly basis. Zach's uncle shot a lot of spunk and was a heavy smoker, so poor Zachy had to get used to eating big loads of smoky cum. The first few times he nearly puked and spat it all out on the bedsheets.

"Baby," said James. "I was younger than ten the first time I did it, and I ate it all."

Zachy's uncle managed to force him to swallow on the next dozen attempts. Then, eventually, Zach got used to eating his uncle's thick and smoky spunk and began to enjoy the taste.

When Zachy was eleven, his uncle decided the time was right to move things up another notch. He wanted more than a finger or two up his nephew's bum and his big uncle willy in Zachy's mouth. He decided Zachy was big and experienced enough to take a big willy up his bum instead.

"Up his bum?" James' eyes were wide. "How?"

He undid my flies and yanked my erect cock out quite roughly. I continued to stroke and fondle his sweaty genitals.

"How," he asked, "can something this size fit up a boy's bum?" He jacked my cock absentmindedly and gazed at me, awaiting an answer.

The first four times, Zach couldn't handle it. He'd squeal and writhe and beg for his uncle to take it back out again. But eventually, after plenty of practice stretching Zachy's hole with fingers, getting it slick with saliva and lotion to help uncle's big willy slip in, and Zachy learning how to push out like doing a poo to relax the muscles of his hole, his uncle got it all the way in, and Zach got used to getting fucked.

James screwed up his face.

"That sounds horrible," he said, though his dick was twitching a lot in my hand. "Is that what, you know…" – he whispered the swear word – "'fucking' means?"

I nodded my head.

Zachy got very used to receiving his uncle's cock up his eleven-year-old arse. By the time he was twelve, he was having lots of fun having heavy sex with his uncle every evening. He used to enjoy teasing his uncle when he got home from school, wearing only his shirt, socks, and shoes – nothing at all on his legs. When his uncle saw him, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from getting down on the floor and burying his face in Zachy's naked bum crack, eating him until he exhausted himself.

Other times, Zach's uncle would have him bend over with his hands on the wall, pounding his bum hard with his big willy while Zachy couldn't get away. Then Zachy would have to get down on his knees and suck his uncle's dirty dick clean, licking off all the juices from the mix of his uncle's spunk and Zach's bum. Zach loved the taste so much that it would make him shoot his own little bit of boy sperm, which he was only just big enough to make, and his uncle would happily eat Zach's couple of watery drops.

Zach's uncle started nibbling young Zachy's balls as he fingered his bumhole. He'd bite just hard enough that Zachy felt the pleasure of the attention on his balls and a little bit of pain from the nibbling at the same time. Sometimes, while he was getting fingered, his uncle would jab his finger up Zachy's bum so hard that it made him accidentally dribble wee on his own bare belly and chest…

James whimpered and arched his back. I felt his balls draw tight and his cock spasm between my fingers. He was still wanking me off too. Once I was sure he'd finished with his orgasm, I pulled my hand from his crotch and brought it to my face. It smelt like fresh bread and sweat. James picked up the pace on my cock and I soon spurted a load with his scent filling my nostrils. Some went on his face and hand, which he scooped up and ate. The majority went on my jeans.

"Sorry I made a mess," he said.

"Not to worry. I was already covered in your snot anyway; may as well add some of my own," I said. "Was it the story that caused your boygasm or my hand?"

"Both."

***

The fire was low, and I didn't have much to keep it going with. It turned out Jeremy Clarkson's books made even worse kindling than they did journalism. Outside, big snowflakes were falling slowly, nonchalantly to the ground, like a sort of snow drizzle.

I was in my dressing gown. James was in his ersatz bed with the top of his head rested against my thigh. I had my hand under the covers, sat gently on his bare chest, feeling him breathe.

"I don't think that, by the way," I said.

"Think what?"

"That you're a baby. And I'm sorry if I treat you that way sometimes."

"That's okay," said James. "I'm sorry if I act like a baby sometimes."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," I said. "Just leave that to me."

***

James seemed to have recovered most of his mojo by the end of the next day. He was still sneezy and sniffly, but the worst of his aches and pains had passed. We went back to a normal bed that night. James entered the bedroom after having brushed his teeth. He was in just his undies. I stood waiting for him fully dressed, with my arms folded, looking stern.

"So nice of you to finally join me, Samuel," I said, putting on a schoolmasterly voice.

"Why are you calling me Samuel?" asked James.

"When I give you a time to meet me for detention, I expect you to keep to it. Do you understand?"

"Oh…" The penny dropped for James, and he grinned ear to ear.

"I don't think there is anything funny about this, Sam," I continued. "I was very, very disappointed with your behaviour during our English lesson today."

"Are you going to punish me, sir?" asked James, getting into character.

"Yes, Sam. You know the rules."

"I'm sorry Mr. Butcher. Please don't spank me. I'll do anything, I promise."

"Get those underpants off, now!"

James actually jumped a little at the sharp tone. He was so desperate to yank his pants off that he nearly tripped and had to brace himself against the wall.

"Put them on your head," I said. "Quickly!"

James did as he was told. He blushed, but he was at full mast down below.

"For the first part of your punishment you will wear these."

I handed him a pair of white knickers.

James gulped. "Please sir, these are girl's pants."

"Yes, Sam," I said. "But the first part of your punishment will involve some learning. Whilst you are learning you must wear the school uniform. These knickers are part of the school uniform, even if they are usually worn by the girls."

"Yes sir."

James pulled the knickers up his legs. His balls and his hard dick were outlined obscenely by the white fabric. It looked quite uncomfortable.

"Now, since you misbehaved and underperformed during our English class, you and I are going to revise some of the basics. Put your hands on your head please."

James placed his hands on his head, flattening his boxers against his mousey brown hair.

"Now you will recite the alphabet to me until I am convinced you are not behind the other children. Whenever you are ready, please."

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G…" James began.

"Ah, I see you've decided to sing the alphabet to me, Samuel. Very good. As long as you're singing, I want you to shake your hips back and forth in time to the song."

James began again, this time thrusting his knicker-clad boner back and forth to the beat.

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G…"

I had him do it again and again until he could barely contain the giggles.

"So, Sam, I take it you know the alphabet well."

"Yes, Mr. Butcher."

"You have no problem recognising letters, using them to read and spell words?"

"No, Mr. Butcher."

"In that case, I am even more perplexed as to why you did not finish the story that we were supposed to be writing in class yesterday."

"I don't know sir."

"Could it be something to do with the boygasm you had in class while you were supposed to be focusing on the story? Is that what it was?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you going to apologise for your misbehaviour?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry for what, exactly?"

"I'm sorry I had a boygasm in the middle of class and didn't get to finish the story."

"Good boy. Now it's time for your spanking."

From the look on his face, James was no longer in character.

"You're going to spank me, really?"

"You know the school rules, Sam. Now come and bend over my knee."

I sat down on the bed. James stared for a while in disbelief, then slowly came and stood in between my legs. I pushed him down over my left knee.

"I don't want a spanking," he mumbled.

"Naughty boys will get what they deserve," I replied, and dragged the knickers down around his calves. "Ready to count?"

James clenched his entire body. I brought my hand down and gave him a light tap on his tightened-up cheeks.

"Ha! Umm, oh – I mean, one!" James responded, realising it was still make-believe.

"Here's a hard one coming now," I said, and gave him another light tap on the cheeks. James was back in character again, and he howled at the top of his voice.

"I don't hear counting," I said.

"Two!" James whined, and gave a little fake sob. He was humping my leg.

We kept it going all the way up to eleven.

"I hope that taught you a valuable lesson," I said. "Now get both of those pairs of pants off and get on the bed."

He kicked off the knickers and threw the boxers from his head. He dived headfirst at the bed and landed on his chest with a little bounce. I grabbed him by the ankles and flipped him over.

"I'm getting everything you let teddy do now," I growled.

James laughed and squealed and kicked his legs, pretending to try to squirm away. I pulled his ankles apart and pushed his legs backward, fully exposing his anus and genitals. He had multicoloured fluff from his boxers in the pink folds of his crevice.

"Let's see if your bum is cleaner than Zachy's"

"Okay," said James, then added: "Uncle Jake!"

I brought both his ankles together in my left hand. I ran the index finger of my right hand along his crack, using the fingernail to scratch at his hole and collect the fluff.

"This. Is. Not. A. Good. Start." I said, with put-on severity, running my now sticky and fluffy index finger hard across James' lips on every word.

James spat and stuck out his tongue.

"Yuck! Bum fluff!"

I pulled his ankles back apart and dove face-first into his crack. James squealed. It was sweaty and greasy down there and he tasted malty and meaty and tart, like washing down a greasy fried onion cheeseburger with a pint of bitter. His sweat was sweet like the aftertaste of the beer. I chomped at his back passage for some time before slurping my way up the seam to his thin, wrinkly, milky-white scrotum. I started gently nibbling on his wrinkly skin. I could smell the need wafting from his desperate spike as it jerked metronomically into the bridge of my nose and my eyebrows. I placed my index finger at his hole again.

"Gonna ram this up you, James," I grunted into his ball sac. "Gonna make you wee for me. Gonna see you wee."

James squealed and wriggled away from the pressure of my finger on his anus, causing his scrotal skin to catch between my teeth.

"Argh! No, Jake! That's private! Put your finger in gently like before and suck me hard."

Who was I to argue? That's exactly what I'd wanted to hear. I slid my finger in, and James made a deep, gurgling moan. I moved my mouth up to hoover in his dick and began a slow, gentle fingerfucking with the upper half of my index finger. James cooed and pumped his pelvis between my finger and my mouth. He closed his eyes and pulled back on his thighs behind his knees, offering himself fully to me.

I could feel him getting close, so I released his package from my mouth. His cock and balls plopped back onto the skin of his crotch in a pool of my saliva. I pushed my index finger all the way up his arse as I kissed my way to his mouth.

"Ready to rub willies?"

He kissed me hard and moaned into my mouth. I removed my finger from him quickly, causing his hips to buck and his arsehole to wink a few times before closing back up. I stripped off my jeans and boxers and got into a kneeling position behind his buttocks. I pulled his ankles to my shoulders, which ground his spit-wet crotch upwards against the underside of my rampantly hard dick.

"Thighs tight," I said.

James gripped my cock tightly with his thighs, pressing it laterally and squeezing it against his own trapped genitals. I sawed back and forth urgently, and the prone boy humped his crotch upwards in rhythm. We kept eye contact but said nothing, just grunted and sighed to each other. It was perhaps ninety seconds before the pressure on James' cock from mine pushed him over the edge. As soon as I felt him going beneath me, I followed, squirting all over him. He had trails of spunk on his chest and chin, a pool forming in his bellybutton, and a coat all over his well-worked willy and balls.

"Better than teddy?"

"Mmm… I'll think about it while you clean me up."

I smiled and gave his limp dick a big, broad-tongued swipe.

Chapter 7
Medicine Man

I'm making a pot from clay.

Nell's here. And Ross. It's some sort of arts thing put on by the college, an activity thing from the student arts budget. We're in the third year of our degrees. They've just started dating.

I'm hopeless at getting my clay going. Ross can just about do it. Nell – ever the artist – has managed to get hers going well, and she steps over to help me. She gets the clay going, starts growing it into shape. It's looking like a pot. I take back over and realise I can do it. It's moving where I want it to; growing in my hands.

Then, all of a sudden, it starts going wrong. No matter what I do, the clay seems to have taken on a life of its own. It bubbles and grows out in unexpected directions. It's not behaving how I wanted it to.

I double down on what I had been doing, but it only makes matters worse.

How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense?

***

I was woken by something wet on my nose.

I opened my eyes to see two pale blue eyes millimetres from my own.

"What are you doing, James?"

"I was trying to think of a fun way to wake you up, so I thought I'd lick your nose and see what happened."

I screwed up my eyes and wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him so tight to me I ran the risk of winding him.

"You've been finding a lot of fun ways to surprise me lately." I released him and he coughed a very chesty cough. I could feel his chest vibrating on mine. I held his face in the palms of my hands and gave him a serious look. "Are you sure you're feeling better?"

"Sure," said James. "Just can't get rid of this stupid cough."

"Well, let's see if we can run a hot bath to help," I said. "All that snow and rain should have given us plenty of water if our rain catcher has worked."

I was slightly surprised when opening the warm bath tap that a healthy flow of warm water came out. Evidently the problem with the solar heating had been lack of supply more than anything. James and I looked at each other and grinned.

We shared a deep, hot bath, for the first time ever. I lay full length, my legs apart. James lay between them, his head rested on my belly, his back pushing down on my cock and balls. When I got hard, he turned over and rubbed his chest against my boner. Then he rested his forearms on my thighs and gave me a watery blowjob until I came.

That was my cue to haul him up, so we were chest to chest, face to face. I kissed him deeply, tasting my semen on his impish tongue, all while massaging shower gel into his back, buttocks, and crack. He grunted into my mouth as I forced my middle finger into his hole. Then he bit my lower lip and pushed his hips back for more. I gave him a steady middle finger fuck until he was desperately pounding my stomach with his stiffy. I pulled my finger free and he gave a little whine.

I roughly flipped him over and pushed him downwards so that his soapy-slick crack was riding my dick. I was rock hard again. With my thumb, fore-, and middle fingers I wanked him off, my hand splashing in the water and my bottom two fingers flicking at his drawn-up balls with every downstroke. We ground against each other. He panted and squeaked all the way to a crashing orgasm, me drowning a second load in the bathwater as I felt his three-incher spasm wildly in my hand. He threw his head back with such force he almost headbutted my chin.

***

When bath time was over, I sorted out an old electric clipper I'd originally bought for my beard as a young man. I thought we could both stand to be less shaggy.

James usually hated haircuts – probably because I usually did the whole thing with kitchen scissors and wasn't a particularly talented or patient barber – so I was pleasantly surprised to have him sat happily and calmly, in the nude on the dining room table, in front of a long wall mirror, chatting away as I buzzed his back and sides. It gave me a guideline for the length of the top and fringe, taking a lot of pressure off and saving a hell of a lot of time. His cowlick, when shorter, gave him a natural vertically spiked fringe on one side, and I found him some ancient hair wax to make a matching style all along the front. It was a bit like a hair palisade; the whole fringe spiked directly upwards. It framed his pale face quite nicely. His full forehead made his eyes all the more expressive.

Doing myself was a bit more difficult, and enlisting James as a helper came with its risks. He helped buzz the back of my head where I couldn't see or reach, and I held the lengths of hair on top in place for him to cut with the scissors, hoping that he wouldn't catch my fingers. I needn't have worried. A sudden onset of coughing, and his pointless bracing of the side of my head with his left hand, meant it was the side of his own finger that he ended up taking a nick of skin out of. He howled, and it bled quite a bit. He had tears in his eyes but didn't cry. I told him to suck on it, led him to the kitchen, rinsed the cut with cold water and salted it to try to stem the bleeding (he howled again). I found a plaster for him to wrap around himself and we went back to business with the rest of my hair. James sat watching and bending his index finger back and forth in its plaster.

"We really should do something about your cough," I said, running my fingertips through my hair to release any strays.

"Can I have a picture on the wall like you and your brother?"

"I guess so, but it'll need a lot of different electric things to work, which haven't been used in a long time," I said. "What about your cough, though?"

"Picture first. Cough later."

I shook my head and went to find an old digital camera or smartphone. I found my phone and turned it on. No signal, no messages, almost no juice. I set it to charge for a while and checked over the old desktop computer in the corner of the dining room.

My dad used to get through computers like most men go through socks. He seemed to have an inverse Midas touch that made all his technology slow down to the point of uselessness and then break altogether. I wasn't holding high hopes for the hunk of junk he'd left behind here. I made sure everything was connected – especially the printer – and turned it on. It booted slowly.

James was watching with interest. "What do we need that for?" he asked.

"I'm going to take a photo with the camera on my phone," I explained. "To print the photo onto paper and put it on the wall, I need to use this printing machine here. It only connects to this computer, not to my phone."

"So how do you get the picture from the phone to computer?"

"I can either attach it with a cable or send it through the air as radio waves between the phone and the computer."

"Oh. What do radio waves look like?"

"They're invisible."

"How can a picture be invisible?"

"Because the picture itself is just data. Numbers written down by my phone from its camera, which are then sent to the computer, which sends them to the printer. The printer and computer both understand the numbers in the same way as the phone, so they produce the same picture."

"I think I understand," said James. "Technology is complicated, isn't it?"

The computer finally booted up. It had given my phone the chance to gain a little charge – at least enough to take a couple of photos.

"Sit on the sofa," I instructed. "I'll take the picture."

"You're going to take my picture while I'm naked?"

"You can put something on if you like," I said. "I'm only going to take your head and shoulders."

He scuttled off towards the bedroom.

"Bring me something, too," I called after him.

James came back wearing just the old blue football shirt. He threw me a grey woolly jumper I'd had for about fifteen years.

"How come you put that back on?" I asked.

"I dunno," he said, plopping himself on the sofa. The shirt rode up and fully exposed his boy bits. He looked at me expectantly and smiled. "I thought you liked me wearing this. Are you going to take a picture now?"

I got a good picture of him sat smiling on the settee, wearing the blue football shirt. Then, quickly, for posterity's sake, I took a quick one of his naked crotch. He wouldn't be eleven forever.

I put on my jumper and sat down next to him. "Now one together," I said, pulling him into a cuddle on the sofa. I took a selfie, us smiling down the lens, dressed only halfway down for the camera.

I bluetoothed them to the computer and searched through the drawers of the computer desk. I knew my parents used to keep all sorts of crap they never used on their computers, so it didn't take too long to find some photo paper. I bunged it in the printer, turned all the quality settings right up, and hit print on the two photographs, hoping that there was ink in the printer. A slow while later, we had two decent-looking photographs ready for display. James had a coughing fit of excitement.

"We can put these up later," I said. "Right now, I'm thinking we should go and find you some medicine for your chest."

"It doesn't hurt," said James. "It's just that my chest feels all… sticky. And coughing won't get rid of the stickiness."

"That's what I mean," I said. "We can get you something that might take some of that stickiness off your chest."

"Where from?"

"How would you like to go and see the big buildings in the city centre?"

James' face lit up. "Cool! Do you think there will be other children there?"

"Maybe," I said, toeing the line between raising his hopes and dashing them. "But mainly there will be a lot of massive buildings to explore."

"Will it be like the big city in Lord of the Rings?"

"You'll have to wait and see. It's going to be a bit of a walk though, so go get yourself ready as quick as you can."

James bolted up the stairs.

***

I realised the most efficient way to take us to the middle of the city was along the train lines. James was excited about the possibility of seeing trains, no matter how much I told him there hadn't been any trains in years.

We marched along the snowy railway tracks, us staying level while the height of the landscape changed around us. We went from high on an embankment, overlooking the canal, into deep cuttings, where the snow built up in drifts on either side. It was one of those overcast English winter days, where the sky is monochrome grey with cloud, and the presence of the sun is only implied by a bright spot buried somewhere in the heavens beyond. Around us, the red brick of the city was stained white by the snow, resting lazily on every half-possible surface.

We were emerging from the valley of a cutting, into a more open, flat stretch, and approaching a station. I was holding James' hand as he balanced along a snow-buried rail, and staring at the endless sky, when something on the bridge ahead caught my eye.

Staring down at us, watching our every step, was a man.

An Asian man, I realised as we got closer. An Asian man with oddly familiar features.

"Look!" said James, pointing. "There's someone watching us."

"Don't look," I told him. "Keep walking." I now regretted not having had him brought his bow out with him. I kept the gun in an inside pocket of my coat. The man watched us walk under the bridge. He couldn't see us on the other side as we passed through the station. James spotted something else and pointed again.

"Hey, isn't that the place we went before? Where we saw the cat?"

"Come on," I said. "We should speed up a bit to make sure we have enough time in the centre before it gets dark."

"Wait!" said James, jogging a few steps ahead. "Look, Jake! Are those trains?"

I furrowed my brow and marched after him. It was only when I caught up and could see where he was pointing that I realised he was right. I had forgotten we'd be passing an old depot.

"They are!" I said, pulling down the hood of James' coat and ruffling his newly styled hair. "Want to have a look?"

***

After a quick detour looking at trains but not being able to get into them, we continued on our way along the rails. Soon we were approaching the city centre from high on a viaduct. James was practically running from side to side of the high train bridge pointing out landmark after landmark. The big blue stadium that matched his shirt. Huge derelict factories. The rooftops of Victorian pubs that we could practically reach out and touch. Over to the west, the huge, kneeling floodlights of the cricket ground, bent as if in praise to a god they had wretchedly outlived. To the east, a branch of the viaduct that went nowhere, abruptly stopping at a crossroads with a canal bridge and a pub on the corner. A Victorian white elephant that had been a curiosity of city geography ever since.

We were nearing our final stop. "Look at that building!" cried out James, with no less enthusiasm than the first time. "That one's the weirdest yet!"

It was a department store building, bulbous and rounded like a multi-chambered peanut, cladded outlandishly with enormous silver discs.

"It looks like that weird ball I saw at the sports place," said James.

"The golf ball?" I suggested.

"Yeah, the weird ball."

I led him through the station concourse. The next part of the line was a tunnel under the city, so we could have gone no further even if we'd have wanted to. The ticket barriers sat yawning open, looking forlorn. Some panes of glass from the roof had fallen to the floor and shattered, allowing snow to gather in little rectangular patches on the paved floor.

I could have taken us straight into the vast shopping centre via the golf ball-peanut department store, but the walk had taken a couple of hours or more and I was keen for us to sit and have lunch somewhere more exciting before getting down to business. We crossed an empty road from the train station and went up a long set of steps between buildings. The city had been built on a high ridge, above one bank of a piddling little river where, before industry, a tiny market town had coalesced slowly over a millennium, on the site where a certain Beorma and his followers had set down their sleepy hamlet.

At the top of the stair, seven ways met. To our left and ahead of us, two towering entrances to the top floor of the shopping centre, all glass, some of it fracturing. Between those two was an opening onto an incline, leading down to entrances to the middle floor of the mall. Beyond that, a church spire. To the right of the main towering entrance to the shopping centre, with its bronze bull statue, was another incline, leading eventually down to the mirror clad central train station, its great mounted circular video screen making it look like a dormant monster from War Of The Worlds. Then there were two streets leading off at different angles to our right. Both pedestrianised main shopping streets. Above us climbed a large, cylindrical tower block.

I led James past broken down shop fronts with beaten-down doors and smashed windows. The elegant city architecture stared us down blankly. In the distance, a dog sniffed around, spotted us, and trotted away quickly. There was nobody else around.

I took us down a side alley between a ransacked glass-fronted urban supermarket and a row of old buildings in immaculately sculpted red tiling and smooth brick. There was not a lot to see; just back doors. But we were climbing uphill again. It brought us out into a large, green square. More elegantly derelict buildings. In the middle, an understated, eighteenth-century baroque cathedral stood, quietly confident, casting shame on its surroundings with its unnerving completeness.

"That's a cool church," said James. "Did we come up here just to look at it?"

"We could do," I said. "Or, we could go and eat lunch inside. What do you think?"

James grinned and wandered off ahead.

The church door creaked mournfully as we pushed our way in. It was warm inside. Nobody was around. James breathed in sharply and gazed down the aisle in awe at the large stained-glass windows. He fingered the marble columns and the worn-down backs of the wooden pews. I gazed at a floor plaque commemorating the Lunar Society, and wondered what James might have become, in another life.

I joined James on a pew and took out lunch from my bag. Nothing fancy. Just some of the dried fruits and some crisps from the treat stash. They were stale.

"What are churches for?" asked James, munching on a crisp.

"People built them because they believed in God and Jesus. They came here to listen to stories, and pray, and get married and stuff like that."

"Did my parents get married in a church?"

"It was more like a chapel, I suppose – a small church – in a big house."

"So you were there?"

"All of your mom and dad's friends were there. And your grandparents. And your uncles and aunty."

"I wish I'd been there."

"You couldn't have been there, James. It was a long time before you were born."

"Hmm." James sat and thought for a moment. He crunched through another crisp. "Do you believe in God, Jake?"

"No," I said. "I've never been religious. My parents weren't religious. My grandmothers were a bit, and so was school a little bit, so I sort of followed along with that when I was really little. As soon as I was old enough to think twice about it, I wasn't religious at all."

"Were my parents religious?"

"I think they both were, a little bit, in different ways," I said. "You tell me. Do you think your mom was religious?"

"I don't know," said James. He sat on the pew and thought for a while, kicking his legs as they dangled just above the stone floor. "I think she was just my mom."

***

It's amazing how dark shopping centres are inside with the lights off.

With the glass roof covered in snow, there was a dingy feel to the place as we entered via the bull. Coming in on the top floor into the main atrium, it seemed as if the cavernous building had been carved out of the earth, deep and empty as its tiers reached downward into the hillside, a gaping hole through the middle from rooftop to ground floor.

We needed to get downstairs to reach the pharmacy, but James was loving being in such a huge space. He called out and heard his voice echo, and ran around the empty floors until he had to bend double coughing. It was like the vast space was supercharging his batteries. I thought, in a strangely parental way, that I would have a sleepy boy on my hands tonight. Eventually I had to round him up and get us downstairs. I didn't trust the long-dormant escalators, so I had us take the side stairs. James went running off ahead. He was a flight of stairs ahead of me, so I couldn't see exactly where he was. I just heard him yelp.

I trotted after him and turned the corner, finally able to see down the next flight of stairs. I could see James, and I could see what had startled him. Lying on the floor ahead of us was a body. It was partially clothed, but mainly just a skeleton. When I caught up with James, he wrapped his arms around my waist and clung to me, side on.

"Is that a person?" he asked, his voice shaking.

I put my hand under his hood and started stroking his hair.

"They were a person," I said. "It's just bones now." The dogs had probably seen to that years ago.

James whimpered and buried his face into my chest.

"I know it's not nice to see," I said, still gently stroking his head. "It can't hurt us, though. We should walk respectfully around and carry on."

James let go of my waist but insisted on holding my hand as we walked on.

"I thought we might see people and children here," he said. "But not like that."

***

The pharmacy was also very dark and messy. There didn't seem to be much left of use. My instinct was to check the stores in the back anyway, where they would have kept the prescription meds. James left my side to go and search amongst one set of shelves for anything chest-related, while I took another aisle and searched there. I thought I could hear him running around.

"Ow!" he said. He sounded like he landed with a bump.

"Oh man! Sorry!"

Another voice. A boy's voice.

I walked around the shelves to where James was. An unkempt looking boy with a shaggy afro was offering a hand to help him from the ground.

"Are you okay, James?" I asked.

"Uh, yeah, I think so," he said, looking wide-eyed at the boy, who hauled James up from the ground. They were roughly the same size, though I guessed the other boy was probably a touch younger than James.

"Hi, my name's Manny," he said. "Sorry for bumping into you. I got scared when I saw other people here."

"I'm James," said James quietly, blushing slightly.

"Cool. Is this your dad?"

"Erm… Jake is a friend who takes care of me."

"Oh, so like an uncle, then?"

"Jake," said James, "my finger's bleeding again."

"Not to worry," I said. "We are in a pharmacy after all. Nice to meet you, Manny."

I fumbled around on the shelves for an antiseptic spray.

"Take that plaster off, James, and hold your finger out for me."

I sprayed him with the antiseptic spray.

"Ow!"

"Is it stinging? That means it's working. Hold your finger still." The spray quickly dried into a transparent seal over James' cut. "See, much better now."

"I got a cut like that on my knee before," said Manny, jovially. "My nan sprayed some stuff on it and then she put a plaster on top as well."

"That's great," I said. "Is your nan around?"

"No, she has to stay in bed," said Manny. "I come here to get her medicine."

"We're looking for medicine too," said James.

I was still browsing the shelves while we chatted. "Yep," I said. "Medicine like this." I found what I was looking for on the shelf. "Expectorant. That means it makes your body clear out the gunk from your chest. The last one, too. Looks like somebody has been hitting this stuff pretty hard."

"Aw, man," said Manny. "That's what I needed too."

I gave Manny a sideways look in the dark of the storeroom. "Are you sure?" I asked.

Manny nodded and gave a toothy smile.

"We can share it," suggested James.

"Do you live near here, Manny?" I asked.

"Yeah, I live just up there!" he pointed in a vague direction behind us that meant nothing while we were inside in the dark.

"Could you take us to see your nan?"

"Suppose so," he said, shrugging. "Follow me."

***

"Do you live around here?" Manny asked James, "Cos you sound kind of weird."

"I live on a farm a long way away," said James. "But now we live here in the winter."

"No way!" said Manny. "Do you have animals?"

"There are some chickens, and then these birds called pheasants live in the woods around us," said James. "And we have a goat. She's called Mrs Williams. She sort of wanders around by herself most of the time and eats everything. She's probably doing that right now."

"Nahhh, that's proper cool," said Manny, clapping James on the back. "I wish I lived on a farm, man. Would be sweet."

I walked a little way behind them and left them to it. James was a funny boy, awkward in a lot of different ways. But give him a chance, and he'd do just fine. He started giving Manny a lowdown on all the different vegetables we grew and how they worked.

***

It turned out that Manny and his granny lived in the circular tower block just above where we had been. He took us up a couple of flights of stairs and then into what must once have been a chic apartment. Now it was a mess, and a little cold.

"Nana?" Manny called out as we entered.

"Emmanuel?" came a croaked response from inside. "You back boy? Did you get your nana her medicine?" She sounded old, and frail, and had the trace of a West African accent when she spoke. The way she enunciated the name: E-mman-u-el.

"I got the medicine nana, but it was the last one and some other people want it too." He brought us into the main living area of the apartment, where his nana was cocooned in blankets on a bed to one side of the room.

"Oh, heavens! Forgive me!" croaked the old lady, "My name is Elizabeth Addo. Welcome to our home. I apologise for the mess; Emmanuel is a good boy, but he can't do everything."

Manny, stood at the foot of the bed, grinned.

"That's no problem," I said. "When Manny said he needed the medicine for his sick grandmother, we wanted to come over and see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Elizabeth said, between heavy breaths. "But I've seen better days." She smiled just like Manny.

James tried to stifle a cough but couldn't manage it. Elizabeth looked around.

"What's that horrible coughing? Do you need medicine too, child?" Elizabeth held out her arm. "Come closer, boy. I can't see you properly from there."

James shuffled over so he was stood in front of Elizabeth's head, propped up by pillows on the bed. She pushed back his hood and pulled his face towards her with two hands.

"Such a handsome boy, you should make sure you look after yourself."

James blushed and tried to look away, but Elizabeth was holding his head in place.

"Have confidence, boy!"

"Do you want the medicine?" asked James, quietly. "I think you need it more than I do."

"Nonsense, boy!" said Elizabeth, and coughed her own heavy cough. "I'm old and very ill. You're young and full of life. You take it."

"Come on, James," I said. "We should go."

"No!" said James, stamping his foot. "I don't need medicine. What about Manny?"

"It's alright, man," Manny said. "I can go to try and find more somewhere else."

"But we have it here and your nana needs it!" James was getting very agitated.

"James, can I speak to you outside for a minute?" I said. I took James out into the hallway. "Hey, mister," I said. "We have what we need. Manny's nan wants you to take it. We should go and leave them in peace."

"No!" he whined, red-faced and not looking at me. "You're being horrible. She's ill and she needs medicine."

"James, she has, like, emphysema or something. Do you know what that means? This medicine isn't going to help her."

"No, I don't know what that means!" he screeched. "You keep talking about things I don't know and telling me what to do, but you never tell me what it means!"

He began to sob.

"Oh, are you going to cry now, is that it?" I snapped.

"I hate you," said James between sobs, furrowing his brow and staring me down.

"Please don't say things like that if you don't mean them," I said.

James sobbed harder. I squatted down to his level and touched his arm.

"James," I said. "Jamey…"

I pulled him into a hug. He rested his head on my shoulder and I felt his tears against my neck.

"I don't want to be coughing forever," he said. "But Manny's nan is really sick, and I don't want to take her medicine from her. What if she turns into just bones too? What happens to Manny then?"

"Oh, matey," I said. "Is that what this is about? You're still upset about what we saw?"

"I thought if there were other children and other people, they'd be happy and everything would be okay," he said, "But it's not okay, is it? Nobody is happy. Manny will be all on his own if he loses his nana. Everyone is all on their own."

"Hey, hey, hey," I said, holding him close. "We still have each other, don't we? We're not on our own."

He made a noise and rubbed his nose against my neck, spreading damp all over.

"How about this," I said. "We'll share half of the tablets with Elizabeth. You won't need them all anyway. They're meant for adults. And I'll do something to make sure Manny is safe. Okay?"

"Okay," said James, with a wobbly voice, talking into my neck.

"Right," I said, standing him up away from me and wiping the last of his tears from his cheeks with my thumbs. I opened the pack of pills and gave one of the two trays to James. "You take these to Manny's nana. I'll have a talk with the little man himself."

James walked over to Elizabeth with the tray of pills, giving her a watery smile.

"Ohhh, that handsome face been crying," she said, holding his face in her hands again. "It's okay, boy. Strong men fight for what they believe in."

"Manny," I said, holding the boy by the shoulder, "Do you have any road maps around here anywhere?"

Manny's eyes lit up. "Yeah, I love looking at the maps!"

I followed him to what must have been his bedroom. It smelt a bit of damp and unwashed boy.

"Here they are!" He pulled out his collection of maps. There were a few fold-out maps, mainly of national parks for hiking, an atlas of the world, and, thankfully, a road atlas of the city.

"Okay," I said. "Go and get me a pen or pencil please, Manny."

Manny obediently grabbed a felt pen from his desk. I sat with him on his bed.

"We're here right now," I said, and marked the point on the map with an 'M'. "If anything happens and you need help, this is where you need to go to find us." I started drawing a line on the map. I drew it along the railway racks, flicked over the page and continued, then over the page again until it reached my local station. Then I continued the line through the streets until it reached the right one. I marked our house on by its number. "That's what you need to do. Understand that, Manny?"

"Course I do," he said. "I just need to walk along the railway tracks then you're only a few roads away."

"Perfect!" I said.

I collected James to leave. He was sat on the bed with Elizabeth.

"I was just telling James," she said, "what a brave boy he is. It's never easy to argue with the ones you love."

"Tell me about it," I said, giving James an apologetic look. "Get well soon, Elizabeth."

"Hah!" she coughed. "You just look after your boy. Make him well again!"

Babe, they call me the medicine man. But my old spells don't work anymore.

***

The journey home was quiet. James didn't want to look around or ask about landmarks anymore.

We passed the train depot again.

"Life is hard, isn't it?" said James, breaking the silence as we trudged through the snow.

"You're right there," I said. "We have to make difficult choices sometimes."

"I wish there was someone to tell us the right answer," he said.

We walked along a little further without saying anything more.

"You were right, by the way," I said. "I was being horrible. I knew you wouldn't need all those pills straight away, but I wanted to keep them for you because I care about you, even though I knew it might not be the right thing to do."

"That's okay," said James. "I know you love me."

We continued walking, passing under the bridge where we had been watched, and entering the deep railway cutting.

"I still think you're a good person," said James.

"I think you're a good person too," I said, taking hold of his hand. "You've really surprised and impressed me since we've been down here in the city. I'm proud of how grown-up you are."

He leaned into me and we walked a while with my arm around his shoulders.

***

The sun had set by the time we got back through the front door. James looked shattered, as I predicted. I was quite tired myself.

"Dinner and then bed?" I suggested.

"I'm not really hungry," James yawned. "Just tired."

I made him have half a pill with some water and looked forward to a night of him coughing sputum all over the place.

We sat on the bed.

"Want to do anything fun before sleeping?" I asked.

"Could you just hold me? I kind of want just to feel close to you."

"No problem," I said. I had half-meant maybe reading or something, rather than just sex. Though, of course, I had mainly meant sex. I cuddled him to me under the covers in the dark of the bedroom. We both lay facing to the right, the opposite of how we normally slept, allowing me to cradle him tightly with my stronger arm. We lay in silence for a long time. I nuzzled my mouth into James' freshly cut hair and listened to him breathing.

"Jake?" he whispered.

"Yes James?"

"Would you… you know, lick my bum and play with my willy for a bit?" he asked, still whispering. "I like it when you do that." I lowered my arm from his chest and shoulder to his crotch. His little dick was bone stiff.

"I know you do," I said. "That's why I'm always happy to do it."

I shuffled down the bed to get myself into position behind his milky-white arse.

"Do you want me to put a finger in too?" I asked.

"Hmm… maybe," he said. "I'll tell you when I'm ready."

I pushed my nose into his crack and breathed in deeply.

Chapter 8
Pendulum

I took a kick to the thigh. The room was dark and silent. James murmured in his sleep. I put my hand on his side. The poor lad was sweating cobs. He kicked again and chuntered to himself incoherently. I leant over him and stroked his cheek.

"James? Are you having a bad dream, mate?"

He turned towards me and smacked his lips, chopsing away to himself in a low voice. I held his hand and eventually he seemed so settle. I fell back to sleep soon after.

***

It was first light. A wood pigeon was calling somewhere nearby. A fat, stubby, gawp-eyed thing, doubtless puffed up like a high court barrister. Seagulls cawed on the field behind the house, the colonists far fewer in number without a mountain of human leftovers to feed on. James had rolled very close to me in the night. I tasted the sweetness of his breath in the air as he exhaled. It was gentle, like being licked by a puppy.

I ran my hand down his flank. He was warm, a little damp from being so close together. I touched my nose on his. He didn't wake. I traced down him with my nose – just the tip – crawling down the bed. His lightly moist lips. The point of his chin. His breastbone, his abdomen, his belly button, with the scent of his skin. I found his dick already hard. I twanged it with my nose, tracing down to the base where it met his loose hanging sac. His balls, not yet grown nor fully descended, were floating near the top. His scrotum was an empty jumper, recently worn, still retaining in part the shape of the wearer's body, other parts hanging empty and flaccid. It had the scent of sweet meat.

I took him in my mouth, hoping that if he woke up it didn't turn out that he was hard because he was desperate for a piss. His willy began to twitch in my mouth. His hips moved a touch, then some more, more deliberately, back and forth slowly like a controlled thrust. I heard James exhale deeply. His hand clumsily brushed over my hair. I worked his skin back with my lips and alternated between applying suction up and down the short length of his shaft, and dancing my tongue over the exposed glans, poking at his slit with the dextrous tip. He made a little squeak and his hand searched my hair more consciously, taking a controlled grip on the back of my head. I tried to focus on his head – his lower head – but he began thrusting in and out. I made my lips tight for him and kept up the suction. He held my head tighter and pumped his hips ever more quickly. His belly slapped hard and quick against my forehead. He brought both hands to my head and pushed in as hard and deep as he could, letting go of his body and gasping with pleasure.

The moment the crest of his orgasm had passed he pulled out and leapt up. "Need a wee!"

James' willy was red and shiny, foreskin partially retracted, still visibly stiff and throbbing, bouncing before him as he rushed from the room. I listened to the thick splash of him pissing urgently, the flush of the toilet, and in no time at all he was back with me, giving me a sloppy kiss.

"Thanks Jake," he said, hugging me with all his might.

"You liked that wake-up call?"

He gazed at me with bright eyes and nodded, then gave me a peck on the lips again.

"It definitely seems like it put you in a good mood," I said, cuddling him chest to chest. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yep."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yep."

"Definitely no bad dreams?"

"Nope."

"Okay then," I said, as he rather endearingly coughed something sticky into my chest hair.

"Ugh. Sorry!" said James, and smiled at me again.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Do you want me to play with you?" asked James.

"You don't have to," I said.

"I want to."

He reached down and took my dick in his hands. It responded quickly and he adjusted to an easier position, lying back from me with his head halfway down my body, giving me a slow double-handed wank.

"How old will I be when mine starts growing as big as yours?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. "One day it'll start getting bigger. You probably won't notice at first. It could be in a few months or in a few years."

James would definitely be the kind of kid for whom it would be a few years. He may as well have had 'late bloomer' tattooed on his forehead.

"Does it feel different, when it's bigger?"

"It works pretty much the same way," I said. "I think the only difference is it gets a bit more sensitive to pressure and being pulled out of place because it's bigger when it's hard. And it takes longer to recover from squirting than it does from not."

"I think I'll take a while to recover from being sucked this morning," he said. "You must have done a really good job, cos it still feels tickly now."

***

We'd just had breakfast. James was wandering around the living room.

"Not sure what to do with yourself?" I asked.

"I'm bored," he said. "What are we going to do today?"

"Who says we have to do anything?"

"I do," said James. "It's not very interesting just to stay inside."

"Okay," I said, "You've seen the field behind the house, right?"

James nodded.

"How about we go and play over there?" I said. "There's some swings and we could build a snowman."

James' eyes lit up. "Do you think it'll be bigger than that one we built last year?" he asked.

"Well, there's quite a bit less snow here," I said. "We can give it a try, though. Go and get your coat and gloves from wherever you've put them."

"I put them on the coat pegs," he said. "I'm not a slob, you know."

***

To get out of the back of our garden we had to pass through the shed. James looked around the place curiously as we passed through, fingering the rusted blade of an old lawnmower, hung from the rafters by its handle, through his gloves. I'd wrapped him in a colourful Tom Baker-esque scarf that used to belong to me as a teenager. It covered his neck and mouth and disappeared under his coat, then was so long it reappeared hanging down between his legs. I had a sky-blue Russian football club scarf on, emblazoned with 'Зенит' in large Cyrillic print. I was holding a parsnip in one hand as I tried to work the stiff back gate open. I'd meant to pull a carrot for the snowman's nose but had got the wrong one again.

"Don't touch that blade," I said. "You could seriously hurt yourself."

James let go of the blade and started playing with the brake lever of a bike instead. "What does your scarf say?" he asked.

"Zenit," I said, "In Russian. It's from St Petersburg."

"Where's that?"

I pointed vaguely northeast. "Two thousand kilometres or more that way," I said. "Two seas and two-thirds of a continent away."

James' eyes nearly popped out of his head. "How did you get something from so far away?"

"I went there once, and I bought it from a man in a park."

"Woah! I wish I could go and see far-away places. Further away than here, I mean."

"Maybe one day," I said. "Could you help me with this door, please?"

James honked a squeeze horn on the front of the bike and laughed.

"James, we can't go outside unless you stop messing about and give me a hand," I said. "Or at least hold this carrot."

"Parsnip," he corrected, grabbing it by the middle.

With both hands now free, I was able to persuade the gate to open.

"This scarf is annoying," said James. "Why is it so long?"

I took a step out into the access lane behind the row of gardens. "I used to be able to wrap it around my head and wear it as a turban," I said.

"I think I could probably wrap it around my whole body," said James, trotting forward, pendulum swinging between his legs.

The lane was considerably overgrown. The eroded grooves of old tyre tracks were still there but overgrown with weeds and filled in with snow. The grass in the middle was long. The bushes and trees between us and the field formed a formidable barrier.

"When I was a kid, it used to be really easy to slip through here," I said. "It looks a bit of a challenge now."

"What should we do?" asked James.

"Go and stand in those stinging nettles over there," I said.

"I was being serious," said James, eyes rolling in his voice.

"So was I," I said. "That's the easiest way through.

James sighed pointedly and lolloped over to the patch of nettles.

"Do I really have to stand in the middle?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Don't worry, you're so wrapped up you won't get stung. Unless you were planning on licking the plants." I followed him into the bushes.

"More like you licking the pants," he giggled, his eyes laughing at me from between his hood and his scarf.

"Right," I said. "Just for that, I'm going to throw you over this fence." I picked him up and he squealed and kicked and giggled.

"No, Jake!"

There was a short wire link fence in front of us. I lifted him over on his side and rotated him onto his feet.

"What are you gonna do now?" he asked.

"Lucky this fence wasn't here when I was little," I said. "But now, I can just do this." I pushed up off the nearest fence post enough to swing a leg over, leaving me sat on the middle of the fence with my feet dangling on either side. As I swung my other leg over, gravity did the rest. I unceremoniously bundled onto the other side, hanging on to the fence to stop me falling over.

"I bet you were a clumsy kid," said James.

"Got a bob on today, haven't you?" I said. "Lucky I made sure you woke up on the right side of the bed."

"Shut up," said James, blushing a little and clubbing my chest gently with the parsnip.

***

The play area of the little recreation ground had two intact swings. I pushed James for a while until I was confident he'd worked out how to swing himself. Then I sat alongside him and tried to swing higher. Eventually I jumped off at the top of my upswing and planted myself gracefully on two feet. I turned and watched James try the same. He fumbled his landing and went sprawling on his hands and knees in the snow.

"Flamin' Nora!" I said. "Don't snap your parsnip!"

James didn't say anything and stayed a moment on his hands and knees. I grabbed him around his chest and pulled him back to his feet facing me. I dusted him down.

"Hurt, or just embarrassed?" I asked.

"Damp."

"You'll live," I said. "No cuts or scrages?"

"Don't think so."

"You know what I can't stand even more than clumsy kids?"

"What?"

"Mardy kids. Come on, chin up. Let's build a snowman."

***

Working together on the snowman soon lifted James' deflated spirits. We made him out in the middle of the field, surrounded by white in every direction. The bare trees and bushes around the edge of the rec looked a stark black by comparison. A cut marble sky hung heavily above.

The snowman gradually came together, a sphere at a time. We gave him the traditional branches for arms and a parsnip nose. James was collecting pebbles for the eyes and mouth when I spotted three figures coming slowly towards us uphill from the bottom of the rec. Three people. Two small humans and one big human. The little ones were holding the big one's hands.

James noticed as he stood up from gathering some stones from the path. He stared down the hill then looked over at me. I motioned for him to come to my side.

I recognised at least the man as he approached. "You're a way from home," I said. "Anyone would think you were following us. Can't you go and play up your own end?"

"I always come here with the girls," said the man. "Not anywhere as big as this to play near ours."

He stopped just in front of us. The bigger girl held her dad's hand with both of hers, leaning into his side. The smaller one half-hid behind his legs. James had taken down his hood and lowered his scarf as we were building. He smiled at the girls.

"Reddings Lane?" I suggested. "Fox Hollies?"

"This is better," said the man, smiling. "We like it here, don't we?" He looked down at his eldest daughter. She nodded in agreement.

"I saw you outside our house," the little one said to James, "With my bibi."

"Ohhh!" said James, the penny dropping for him.

"And now you're outside our house," I said, keeping my gaze fixed on the man. "What a coincidence!"

"How could I have known that?" said the man, shaking his head.

"Maybe it has something to do with the bath I stuck on my neighbour's roof?" I said. "Hard to miss a thing like that if you come here that often."

"Okay," the man said, "I did see that and guess it was probably you. My mother was worried about the little man here. You know what mothers can be like."

"So you thought you'd come and check up on us?"

"No! Not like that, anyway. I really was just coming out with the girls. I didn't know you'd be here." He looked at James. "Nice snowman, though, brother!"

"Thanks!" said James, visibly pleased.

"Can we help you decorate it?" asked the bigger sister.

"Yes please!" said James. "I want to give him a mouth and eyes, and maybe buttons at the front like he's wearing a shirt. But there aren't many good stones here."

"See," I said, "he's absolutely fine."

The man let go of his daughters and held up his hands.

"I'm sure of it," he said.

"Jake looks after me really well," said James. "This morning, he even–" He copped me glaring at him. "He even let me wear his favourite scarf. See?"

"That's great," said the man, chuckling.

"Do you want to come and have a look around the house?" I asked him. "I'm sure the kids will be fine for a few minutes here. I can show you that I'm keeping him well."

"Sound," said the man. "Lead the way."

***

I was glad I hadn't left the lights on. I didn't want him realising our luxury and trying to move his family in with us. We came in through the kitchen and he looked around with half-interest. I decided to take him upstairs first. He poked his head into the bathroom and nodded absentmindedly. I opened my bedroom door and showed him in.

"This is where we sleep," I said.

He looked at me inquiringly.

"James doesn't like to sleep alone since his mother died," I said, looking him firmly in the eye.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I didn't think."

I took him back downstairs and into the living room.

"Ah, man! That's sweet," he said.

Sat on the mantle was the photo of James, smiling for the camera in a way that showed just a little of his crooked front tooth. His hair was immaculately arranged from being cut minutes earlier. Only he and I knew that he was half-naked below the frame.

"He's a sweet boy," I said. "I'm lucky to have him with me."

He spotted the other photo, with us both together, leaning against an old family portrait on the shelf. To its side, my five-year-old brother stood grinning maniacally, next to my mother, smiling self-consciously and looking like a thirty-five-year-old Debbie Harry. James and I covered my eleven-year-old self and my father.

"That's nice, the two of you together," he said.

I smiled to myself. Somewhere out of shot, we were both naked below the waist. But he was buying the photos big time. James was a little genius.

"Should we get back to the kids?" I asked. I didn't want to Cinderella around the house too long with him. Part of me was concerned James could turn into a pumpkin at any moment.

"Yeah, of course, brother." If he had wondered how we made the photos, he didn't ask.

***

James was putting the finishing touches to the snowman with the girls when we got back.

"Looking good!" I said. The three of them beamed.

"We managed to find enough stones to give him eyes and a mouth," the older girl said.

"What happened to his chest?" I asked. Rather than buttons like a coat or a shirt, the snowman just had two additions near the top of his torso sphere, on either side.

"Oh, we didn't have anything for buttons," said James, "But Iram found two snail shells, so we gave him nipples." James grinned. The girls giggled. The man laughed out loud and clapped James on the back.

"Boys, eh?" he said.

"It could be a snowwoman," the older girl said. "That makes them boobies!" The three of them tittered. The man smiled at me and shook his head.

"Come on, Iram, Aaliyah," he said. "Let's go swing a bit. Leave these boys in peace."

I let James say his goodbyes to the girls as they headed off to the swings. I nodded to the man as he turned away to walk his girls further up the hill. "Here, put this on him," I said, handing James a blue-and-white striped scarf I'd picked up from the house and nodding at the snowman. "Or her, you rude little things."

"I'm not rude," said James, wrapping the scarf around the bottom of the snowperson's head, "I'm just clever."

"Come on," I said. "I have some nettles to throw you into. Wrap up."

***

We were passing back through the shed. "What are those?" asked James, pointing at a pile of five blue ring binders.

"Oh, it's an atlas thing my granddad started getting for me when I was a kid, before he died."

"So, it's maps and stuff?"

"Not really," I said. "It has different fold-outs for countries, cities, major rivers, all sorts. Some of it is maps but there's lots of pictures and text too. We can take it into the house if you want – we can pretend we're going travelling without having to leave the warm."

"That'll be fun," said James, flicking open the first binder. It began with countries organised alphabetically, arranged by continents in size order. The first country was Afghanistan. A green-eyed hijabi girl stared out at us, face totally neutral, her eyes burning two emerald holes through the page. James gasped and ran his fingers over the glossy paper. "This is gonna be really cool," he whispered under his breath.

I picked up the next couple of binders and walked up the garden. James followed with the first volume still open in his hands. "Your granddad got this for you?"

"Yeah," I said. "I never realised until quite a while after he'd died. Parts of it would come in the post every week, and I suppose my nan kept compiling it until it was finished, then handed it over to my parents."

"It was kind of him to do that for you."

"That's what people who love each other do, isn't it?" I said.

James nodded.

"Besides," I added, "He was a fireman. His job was being kind to people."

"I don't get it."

"Firemen rescued people from buildings or other places that had caught fire, or cars that had crashed, and put the fires out with big hoses."

"Wow!" said James. We'd entered the house through the dining room doors, and I dumped the binders on the table.

"Race you to get the last two!" I said, jumping back through the doors. James turned on a sixpence and came skidding after me across the decking.

In the end it was a draw. James picked up the two remaining volumes of the atlas, disturbing a stack of vinyl records that had been leaning against them. I quickly reached over to stop them toppling.

"That was close," I said. "Oh, wow!"

"What?" said James, trying to peer over my arm to the stack of records.

"Buzzcocks!" I said. "We've got to hook up the record player and put this on. You'll love this!"

"But what is it?" he asked again, gathering his two atlas binders to his chest.

"This thing is a big disc that plays music, like a CD but older and less sophisticated," I said. "Buzzcocks were a punk band. A while before I was born. The singer was openly into both males and females before that was really accepted."

"You mean he had boyfriends and girlfriends at the same time?"

"Only one at a time," I said, bopping James on the head with the record sleeve. "Any more would be greedy."

We walked up the garden.

"I hope you're up for some singing today, once you get the words," I said, and began singing to James, swaying his shoulder with my free hand in time. "Ever fallen in love with someone? Ever fallen in love? In love with someone, ever fallen in love? In love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?"

***

I set up the record player in the dining room. Through the archway in the living room, Marco Polo was already halfway across Asia. There was a crackle and fuzz, warm and familiar, before the sound of a guitar broke from the speakers.

I just want a lover like any other, what do I get?

"Where are we, captain?" I asked.

"Bhutan," said James.

"Very interesting," I said, settling next to him. He leaned into me and moved the atlas so it was more central on our laps.

I only want a friend who'll stay to the end, what do I get?

"What can you tell me about Bhutan?" I asked.

"It's in the Himalayas, between India and China," he said, pointing to the folded-out map. "The king was very concerned about protecting their traditional way of life."

"No punk in Bhutan, then?"

What do I get, oh-oh, what do I get?

What do I get, oh-oh, what do I get?

"It doesn't say," said James. "Just that they weren't allowed TV."

"Imagine growing up without that," I said, smiling at him. "Do you like the music at least?"

"I like his voice. But I prefer this book to the music."

I'm in distress, I need a caress, what do I get?

"Sure," I said, "side with my granddad."

"Well, he had good taste in books," said James.

"He just knew what his grandson liked. I'm glad you like it too."

I'm not on the make, I just need a break, what do I get?

What do I get, oh-oh, what do I get?

What do I get, oh-oh, what do I get?

***

The sun had set a few hours ago. I think we were somewhere in the Caribbean.

"Jake, can we go to bed?"

"If you want," I said.

"If we do go," said James, closing the binder and leaning on it over my lap, voice lowered conspiratorially, "will you, maybe, play a game with me?"

"Look at you, cutie," I said, rubbing his flushed cheek. "Of course we can! You don't have to be embarrassed to ask."

Fairly soon we were both sat upstairs on the bed. "Can we play something like we did the other day, when you pretended to be my teacher?" said James.

"Can do. Any ideas?"

"I don't know. Anything like that again, where we pretend to be other people and make each other do things."

"That gets you really excited, doesn't it?"

James blushed and nodded.

"I bet you're excited now. Let's play doctor."

"Harry's mom was a doctor, wasn't she?" said James.

"She was," I said. "But what we're going to do is more exciting than what she did for real."

"What do I need to do?" asked James, nervous excitement in his voice.

"Go on the landing and knock the door," I said.

He did as I suggested.

"Come in!"

James trotted through the door.

"Ah, James, good to see you," I said. "Are you ready for your check-up today?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Strip down to your pants for me please, James. I need to examine your body."

When he was ready, I stood him before me and ran my hands over his chest. I pressed his little nipples with my thumbs.

"How does that feel? No pain?"

"No, doctor."

"Good," I said, and knelt before him. I put my ear to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin against my face. I could hear his breathing and his heartbeat. James stood like stone.

"That all sounds normal," I said, and stood up. "Lie on the bed for me, please."

James did exactly as he was told. He lay on his back, perfectly still, watching what I was doing but not making eye contact. I wondered whether he had the same feeling as I used to get going to the doctor for real as a kid. A sort of warm, fuzzy sense of comfort between the shoulders and at the back of the neck. A steady calm.

"I'm going to put some pressure on your tummy now, James. Tell me if it hurts at all."

I gently pressured his belly and abdomen with my fingers. James showed no discomfort, but I noticed a little twitch in the front of his boxers every once in a while.

"No tenderness or pain? That's all normal then."

I took hold of his right ankle and pushed the leg up to his chest.

"No tightness or discomfort in any of these muscles, or in your foot?"

"No," said James, a little quietly and under his breath.

"And this side?" I asked, doing the same to his left. James shook his head.

"Okay," I said. "For the next part, I need to take your pants off. I hope you're not embarrassed."

He began to shake his head again. Before he could finish, I grabbed his boxers by the cuffs and pulled them to his ankles in one motion. His boner slapped against his pubis as it was flicked by the elastic rushing past it.

"Kick them off, please."

James did as he was told. I took hold of his thighs and spread them further apart.

"You're a big boy, aren't you, James?" I said, running my fingers over his stiff willy and balls.

"Do you think so?" he stage-whispered.

"I think you're growing very nicely indeed," I said. "Why you have a willy as long as Livery Street!"

James giggled. "Is that long?"

"Very," I said. "I'm going to examine your willy and your balls, James. Tell me if anything I do hurts."

I gently pulled his stiffy down to a ninety-degree angle with his body. I worked his foreskin back to expose his head. It was just a little tight at the base. The skin bunched at the ridge of his head but wouldn't quite yet retract that little bit further to go all the way.

"This isn't hurting, James?"

"No, doctor," he breathed. His hands sat relaxed on either side of his hips.

"How is it making you feel, James?"

"Good."

"Good in what way?"

"Excited good. Sexy good."

"That's what I'd hoped you'd say," I said. "You know, I once read that doctors in Ancient Greece tasted samples from their patients to ensure they were healthy or diagnose problems. Do you think I should check you taste as you should?"

"Please, doctor," said James, an urgent squeak slipping into his breathy response.

I held his cock, foreskin withdrawn, between my thumb and forefinger, pointing straight up from his body. I kept it steady, much as it tried to jerk away, as I ran the tip of my tongue all over the exposed head, teasing and tickling. James' hands gripped the bedsheets.

"I think everything here works exactly as it should," I said, releasing James' penis. He sighed and looked me in the eye, a little deflated that the exam was moving on.

"Bend your knees up to your chest and pull your legs back as much as is comfortable," I said. "I need to examine your bum."

James was straight into position. His half-empty ballbag hung down between his pulled-up thighs. His willy stood to attention three inches in the opposite direction, head still mainly exposed. His pink ring was on full display for me.

"You keep this bottom very clean, don't you?"

"Yes, doctor."

"You're a good boy James," I said. "I need to examine more, though, to check your insides are as clean and healthy. Wait here." I popped into the bathroom and rooted around until I found a sticky old jar of Vaseline. I'd need it if I was going to push him further.

James hadn't moved an inch from how he had been told to wait, legs pulled up, arse crack on full display. "Good boy," I said, putting the Vaseline down on the bed and getting back into position.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, James?"

"I don't think it's very fair that I have to lie here naked showing off all my willy and balls and bumhole, while you have all your clothes on. Would you get undressed too? It would help me feel a lot more comfortable about having my bum examined."

"Of course, James," I said, and began to pull my t-shirt over my head. "Thank you for taking the initiative to speak up."

I was soon naked and knelt next to James as he lay in position. My hard dick poked his velvet-smooth thigh, where the hamstring met the lower crest of the buttock.

"Okay," I said. "You're going to feel something slimy on your bumhole now. That will help me examine your insides without hurting you."

James gasped as my jelly-smeared middle finger coated his crack, then pushed up against his anus.

"Push like you're pooing," I instructed. My middle digit slid into the boy. It was like putting on a thimble made from molten Play-Doh.

"Oh!" James whimpered. His stiffy jerked and twitched. I started fingerfucking him quickly.

"I need to be very thorough with this examination, James. You understand, don't you?"

"Mmm… I understa-ah, doctor," he replied, gripping the pits of his knees tightly and squeezing his eyes shut.

"How's that feeling, James?"

"Uh… a lot."

"Do you like it?"

"Mmm…"

"That's good," I said, "because I think I need more than one finger to finish this exam, James." I forcefully slid my index finger in alongside my middle.

"Ha–yeow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"Be a big boy, James. You want me to check you over properly, don't you?"

His dick was still as hard as before, moving like a pendulum hanging towards bellybutton.

"Mmm… it hurts, Jake! It stretc– ohh!"

My fingertips had touched a special place. I felt it throb. James twisted and writhed, then, to my surprise, rolled himself over onto his hands and knees, my fingers twisting inside his tunnel and plopping out as he pulled away.

"Get on your back, Jake!"

He pushed me on the shoulder before I had a chance to move. I lay back and he mounted me, grinding himself hard into my stomach. He pressed down hard on my shoulders. His thighs squeezed my sides. He was thrusting like a hare in heat. He had his eyes screwed shut, head directly above mine.

"Good boy," I whispered to him. He opened his eyes and looked directly into mine, a bead of sweat running down his cheek.

"Please, Jake," he panted, "just one finger. Middle one."

I put my right palm on his left cheek, clenching and unclenching powerfully as he thrust at my body, consumed by his need for release. He pushed back onto my finger and groaned. I bear hugged him to me with my other arm, holding the writhing boy in place. He thrust away a few seconds longer, to a loud, sweaty crescendo.

I held him close, my finger remaining halfway up his greasy hole, as he panted and whimpered against me. I ran my hand through his damp hair. He sighed heavily and planted little kisses all over my face.

Chapter 9
Hunter

The weather was worsening, and the nights were growing longer. We stayed in and settled metronomically into a rhythm. Reading and listening to music in the morning, TV in the afternoon (we watched Shrek and Shrek 2, twice), then reading, or telling each other stories, or generally messing about and playing games in the evening. I finally bothered doing all the maths on the various wattages around the house, and realised that even with a couple of hours of TV and a few hours of the stereo running, plus a couple of lights on during the evening, we probably weren't getting close to using up all the power we were generating, so I was more liberal with letting us use things. I felt more secure. We were settled and it didn't seem that anyone was going to bother us. There was nobody around to care.

There was sex too. Of course, there was sex. Nothing too out of the ordinary; at least not as far as we were concerned. I continued pushing James to take two of my fingers, and he continued to complain. Sometimes he'd make me withdraw one, or both. Other times he'd get off in the sort of mad frenzy I'd witnessed after the time we played doctor. He was becoming more insistent about being the boss; about taking control. It had been happening for a while; at least from that moment with the teddy next door, if not longer. I put it down to his age; that he was starting to grow up. Still, there was always a part of me wondering if I was trying to push him too far, too fast. I dreaded the idea that he felt he had to force me to do things before I forced him into things he didn't like.

I caught a bit of a winter cold for a while. I have no idea how. James and I barely ever got ill because we never had any contact with anyone but each other. He was very sweet about wanting to look after me for a couple of days when I was at my most shitty. A bit obsessive really. "You will get better, won't you, Jake?" It's okay. I understand why he's like that.

But mainly, the longer we'd been stuck cooped up together in the house, holed up against the rain and hail and snow and wind, the more he'd started to act like a little shit. He was never like this at the farm. He hadn't had the energy during the past couple of winters, for a start. And I guess the animals were always there as companions to play with in a pinch, even in the bleak midwinter. And that was fast approaching. Solstice was coming, so I reasoned I had to do something festive to ease the boredom of my tetchy, stir-crazy kid. There are only so many paddies over games of Sherlock Holmes or Zombie Dice a man can take, even when they do come each time with apologetic kisses and naked cuddles in bed afterward. Don't even get me started on Snakes & Ladders.

I realised I had to take him out and do something. Something that would make him feel useful and special. Most of all, something that would tire him out. Plus, I was sick of canned ravioli and spaghetti hoops and noodles and the like. If we were going to break into our special stash and put on a party spread to celebrate an old-fashioned Yule, we needed something more festive to go with it. It was time to take James out on the hunt again.

It was hard to judge how much time had passed since we arrived, since James' illness, since his recovery. The days were a spectrum rather than fixed units of time. One second dominoed into the next until all we could discern was the unholy mess of scattered rectangles on the floor, like a forest felled one twig at a time. It could have been only a month since we arrived. It could easily have been two. I didn't care. I was happy we didn't have any more dramas or big adventures for our reckoning of time to hang its threadbare cap on. Just the two of us was how it always seemed to have been. Same as our splendid isolation on the farm. Just James and me, and the rest of the world may as well not exist.

At any rate, on that morning, as the solstice approached, I decided I'd take him out. It was freezing outside, but the sky was clear. The weather was dry. It wasn't even particularly windy. When I woke up it was already light, and James was already downstairs. I found him on the settee, watching Shrek again, without permission.

"Did I say you could watch the– hang on, are you eating dry pasta?"

"Yep."

"Why? We have plenty of other food that you know how to prepare."

"It reminds me of this time of year," said James, still not taking his eyes from the screen, a brittle stalk of spaghetti in hand, "It's what I ate through midwinter the last couple of years, and it's an easy snack and I was hungry, so…"

"Last year we barely had enough food to make it through the winter," I said. "We ate dry pasta because we had to. We don't have to do it now."

"But it's a tradition!" he laughed, smiling at me before returning his focus to the television screen.

I used the fingers of one hand to rub my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Whatever you say, donkey."

"Stop calling me donkey!" he whined. "I'm not a donkey."

"Stop acting like an ass, then," I said.

James huffed. "You think you're funny," he pouted, "but you're not."

"And you're loafing around wasting electricity without my permission."

He huffed again, theatrically, and folded his arms firmly.

"I just wanted to watch the film," he whined, squeakily, almost as if addressing some third party who would confirm that I was being totally unreasonable.

"That's a shame," I said. "I was thinking we could go out and have some fun today. Maybe even find some nice meat to have for a little midwinter party. Shame I'll have to do that without my champion hunter."

"Really?"

"Yeah really," I said, ruffling James' bedhead and squeezing his shoulder. "I'd be lost without your help. We're a team, aren't we?"

"Yeah," said James, looking at me over his shoulder. "Yeah. I suppose we are."

"But I'm the captain," I said, "so you have to remember to follow my lead when we work together."

"Don't worry, Jake. I will."

***

We were walking up the street. James skipped off ahead, bundled in his coat, gloves, the Tom Baker scarf, and my brother's old woolly hat from his football club training kit when he was twelve. He had his bow on his back. I'd thought ahead and brought out the shopping trolley we'd collected at the DIY warehouse, ready to load any kill. It was difficult to push through the snow but easier than lugging a carcass around, for sure.

James clung one-handed to a spindly roadside tree ahead of me, spinning himself around the trunk to face me. "It's nice to be outside," he smiled.

"You were going a bit crazy being trapped in the house, weren't you? Too much energy to burn."

"Yeah, I suppose so," he said.

James waited for me to draw alongside him, then walked in step with me. "Sorry if I was being annoying," he said, after a while. "You were being annoying too, though."

"I know," I said. "Sometimes it's too intense, spending all that time together with one person in a small house. Especially here, where there's more to do but not more people to do it with."

"Yeah," said James, "Like, it was good to be able to have some baths by myself and stuff."

I shrugged. "We're not short of water right now. We have a whole separate room for it. Plus, it's good for me to have some time to do my own thing while I know you're relaxing or vice versa. That's teamwork, right?"

"Right." James crunched slowly through the snow alongside me a while longer. "Love you," he said.

"Love you too."

"How far away d'you reckon I can throw a snowball into the trolley from?"

"I dunno. How about you try from up on the corner, by the post box, and I'll gradually get closer to you anyway."

"Easy!" said James as he ran off up the road.

***

I was taking us to a nearby country park, which ran around the perimeter of the airport. The fastest way to get there, after reaching the post box at the end of the street and James throwing several snowballs into the trolley, was to turn left and follow the road to a crossroads where the old local pub stood on one corner, turning right to head towards the park.

James and I were in no rush. We took our time, forcing the trolley steadily along in the snow. We passed the place where there used to be a back entrance to my old primary school, now a row of abandoned houses built sometime when I was an adult and had long since moved away. Afterward, that side of the street was just fences of back gardens from the houses on a street behind. Snow clung to the wooden boards. James ran off a little way ahead and – disgustingly, delightfully boyishly – peed his initials into the fence, melting and staining the snow where it landed.

"What do you think?" he grinned as I pulled alongside with the trolley.

"The notorious JM strikes again!" I said. "One day we will catch this mysterious two-letter bandit, but for now this man of mystery remains at large."

"I nearly froze my willy off doing that."

"Maybe you want to keep it in your pants until we get home, then. Or else it might snap in half like an icicle."

"You'd sew it back on for me."

I laughed aloud.

"I wouldn't be so sure, cheeky monkey," I said. "Maybe I'd prefer having a little girl around."

"I wouldn't be a girl," countered James. "I'd still have balls."

We laughed together as we came alongside the pub and turned the corner. It struck me as a little odd. It was one of those sprawling 1930s two-storey neighbourhood local designs, with several ground floor rooms around a central bar area, and living quarters on the smaller upper floor for the proprietors. It looked empty enough – several of the ground floor windows were broken – but patches of the roof were bare of snow, which seemed to have collapsed in drifts to the ground beneath it. One of the main entrance doors hung open. I was about to dismiss it and continue when James spoke.

"Can you hear something?" he said.

I stopped walking and listened. There was the sound of a soft breeze in the eaves and the occasional croak or flutter of a crow or magpie.

"It's going again. Can you hear it, Jake?"

I strained my ears hard. James rested his hands on the wall of the pub car park, gazing at the ground with his brow furrowed. I could hear the whistling of a robin, high and fluting, and the rattle of a magpie. It fluttered over our heads from the rooftop of the pub, blue and green sheens on its black plumage shimmering in the reflected light of the snowy ground. As the magpie passed, I heard the robin again. Then, almost imperceptibly, something else. A low sound contrasted against the tiny red bird's trill.

"I hear it," I said.

"What is it?" asked James. "Is it coming from in there?"

"I think it must be," I said, stepping away from the trolley and taking a few steps towards the pub. James pressed himself against a high pillar at the end of the wall, which once supported a large, spherical lamp, peering around the corner at the open door. I offered him my hand.

"Do you want to go inside?" I asked. "It's probably not a good idea for you to stay outside on your own."

"Okay," he said, taking hold of my hand and letting me lead him onward.

We heard the sound much more clearly as we approached the doorway. It was a deep, gurgling moan that rang out for a few seconds at a time, then went quiet a little while longer. I felt James shiver from head to toe. I pulled him through the door and into an entrance area I vaguely remembered from having visited the pub in the distant past. To our right, doors for the toilets. To our left, access to two of the rooms. The closest, 'the Snug', seemed to be in darkness from what I could make out through the window of its closed door. The other door was slightly ajar, leading to the main lounge. I let go of James' hand and began to push the door fully open. He drew his bow.

James strangled a shocked gasp as I opened the door and walked into the room. The lounge looked like a bomb had hit it. Tables and chairs were strewn everywhere. A television that had been mounted on a high wall ledge had crashed to the floor just in front of us and split in two. Parts of the floor shimmered with broken glass caught in the light flooding through the back windows. Most dramatically, the centre of the ceiling had caved in from the rooftop above, its debris forming a mound of mangled wood and plaster and brick that spilled out in all directions from the middle of the room. And there, half-buried, amidst the middle of the mountain of rubble, was a man.

"There's a man there," whispered James, lowering his bow.

"I know," I said. "We're going to see whether we can help him, okay?"

"Good," said James, gingerly following my lead into the wrecked lounge room.

"Hello?" I called, treading carefully closer to the stricken man. "Are you badly hurt?"

"We're here to help; don't be scared," added James, sounding far from convincing.

I looked up. There was a gaping hole where the middle of the ceiling should've been. It really did look like a bomb had fallen square through the middle of the roof. The whole place seemed ready to collapse in on itself at any moment.

The same low moan rang out in response to my question. Clambering a little way onto the rubble pile I realised just how stupid my question had been. The man's right leg protruded from the wreckage in front of me, but everything below the midpoint of his shin hung limply at completely the wrong angle. There was a delay in my mind processing what my eyes could see. Tearing the fabric of his trouser leg, which was sodden with thick, brownish blood, was the jagged tip of his broken shin bone.

I gagged and felt myself break out in a cold sweat. "James," I called, my voice a magpie warble, "You don't have to look, but this man has a very badly broken leg. I'm still going to try to get him out, but it's really important now that you help me."

"Okay," said James, somewhere behind me, out of my view, but sounding very pale. "What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to find me something straight and sturdy to keep his leg in place, but light enough to carry. Something to tie it on would be good too."

"Umm, you mean like the handle of a broom or a mop?"

"That's it; clever boy! If you look behind the bar there should be a kitchen area or something. That's probably a good place to search. But be as careful as you can because I don't think this building is safe."

"I can't see a bar, Jake."

"The long counter with all the taps coming out of it. That's what I mean."

"Okay."

The man moaned again. It sounded as if he was on autopilot; like it was pure reflex, regular as a foghorn. I feared we were too late.

I climbed up amongst the debris as far as I could; close enough to begin gently lifting bits of brick and wooden beam from the man's body, and then to hurl them to the floor behind me. The air was thick with brick dust; colder than outside. I could hear the robins again, somewhere beyond the hollow reaching skyward above us. I could hear the robins and my own heart, pumping adrenaline to every muscle as I worked them on the pile of masonry before me.

I uncovered the man's head and my heart skipped a beat. His face was covered in cuts, his hair matted with blood, but I'd seen it before. I'd even cut it before, wrestling him to the ground in my hallway that first night, smashing him into our terracotta urn. This was the man who'd been in our house when we arrived; the drifter who moved from house to house looking for a warm place to sleep. He opened his eyes as I pulled the last of the debris from his head and chest and brushed his face free of splinters with my gloved hands. Somewhere in the pub, a glass smashed.

"Hey," I said. "Can you hear me? It looks like you've had a nasty accident. Your leg is hurt, and I think you've lost a lot of blood. Can I help you?"

"Yeah…" he panted, his mouth a desert, "I don't know… am I still at the pub?"

"We're at the pub. We're in the lounge. It looks like you must have fallen from upstairs."

"I was trying," he said, between grunts and laboured breaths, "to get in the flat. Thought… maybe… some food hidden away…"

"Is the food any good here these days?" I said. "I haven't been here in ages. It always used to be full of racists if I remember rightly."

He smiled, grimaced, moaned again, then eventually could respond. "Shit service… couldn't get in. I think… the outside stairs… fire escape… collapsed. Then nothing."

I heard James running somewhere below and behind me.

"Jake!" he called. "Jake, I got it!"

"Give me a sec," I said to the man, rubbing his cheek with my hand. He gripped my wrist weakly for a moment before letting go. I climbed back down to James. He was proudly holding an old blue wooden broom towards me with his right arm. A cut on his cheek dribbled a crimson trail toward his chin.

"Clever lad," I said, taking the broom from him. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh…" he said. "I sort of smashed something, a really long glass that looked a bit like a thermometer."

"A yard?"

"I dunno. It was really long and bits of it flew up everywhere. I guess a bit caught my face."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine."

"Well done, James," I said. "Did you find anything to tie it with?"

"I thought maybe use this scarf," he said. "I mean if you don't mind. It's definitely long enough."

"You're a clever, clever boy," I said, kissing him on the forehead and undoing his scarf. "For our next trick, we need to break this broom handle in half."

I bent my knee and tried to snap the broom over my thigh, but it didn't work. I was just hurting myself. Then I looked at James again and had an idea.

"Hold the broom steady for me against the bar."

I reached into James' quiver and pulled out one of his older, blunter arrows. With James holding the broom steady, I hammered the point of the arrow against the middle of the broom, quickly shattering off the upper portion of the handle.

"Result!" said James, offering me a hi-five.

"Teamwork!" I said, meeting his hand.

The broom head broke from the handle quite simply now that its original integrity had been compromised, leaving me with two roughly evenly sized wooden splints.

"Okay James," I said. "Next job is to go and get a big glass of water. Not a yard or a jug; just a big pint glass will do."

"Got it!"

I climbed back up the rubble pile to the man with the splints and scarf in hand. I looked at his leg and waited until I heard James had left the room.

"Bite on this," I said, stuffing the scarf into the man's mouth.

Shaking all over, I gripped hard on his thigh with my left hand, grabbing the limp end of his leg by the other. I took a couple of deep breaths, narrowed my eyes and went for it, bending and snapping his shin back into place. The man screamed into the scarf, his whole body convulsing. I heaved and wretched some more, squatting in a jacuzzi of sweat, head swimming on the watershed of blackout, pins and needles in my skull. The man was still whimpering into the scarf, his body now trembling softly as opposed to jerking violently. I let go of the two halves of leg and pulled the scarf away from him.

"I'm going to strap your leg up now."

He said nothing, continuing to whimper softly to himself as I lined up the two halves of broom handle on either side of his leg, holding them in place with my knees as best I could. I tied the scarf tightly around the site of the break, fresh blood oozing to the surface to be absorbed into the wool. I used its length to tie a second knot slightly further down, to fix the splints firmly to the worst-affected area.

"I've got the water, Jake!"

"Alright, James. Carefully as you can, see if you can get up here with us."

"Okay!"

James climbed amongst the rubble as best he could while holding a pint of water out in front of him. As soon as he was close enough, I reached out and took the water from him, freeing his balance to climb more quickly the rest of the way. I took a sip for myself and handed it back to James as he pulled himself alongside me.

"Feed him the water," I said. "Be gentle; we're not trying to drown him."

James obediently knelt in front of the man's head and put the glass to his lips, helping to support the man's head with his other hand. I ran my hands along his body, feeling for any other possible broken bones.

"Um… My name's James. What's yours?"

The man took a few gulps of water and pushed the glass away.

"Shaun," he said. "Shaun Lucas."

"Wait a second…" I said. "Shaun Lucas? I swear I taught you at school. I was part-time maternity cover for – what was her name – Miss Davies, while I was a student writing up my MA thesis."

"Really?" he said, between gulps of water dutifully offered by James. "Did you teach me?"

"I think so. Were you in Year Eight at the time? I was Mr Baker, remember?"

"Oh my days!" he coughed, taking another swig of James' water, "Sorry, sir. I didn't recognise you at all."

"Nor did I. It has been nearly twenty years, Shaun. I don't think you need to call me 'sir' anymore."

"His name's Jake," said James.

"Jacob Baker, that's me," I said, slapping Shaun on his hip. "Now see if you can move your good leg."

I held down the thigh of his broken leg so that he couldn't damage it further by trying to move. With effort, he raised and kicked his left leg.

"No pain?" I asked.

"Nah… I just," Shaun began. I noticed James was having to hold his head up more. The sudden lucidity of having something to drink and talking about his school days – probably from the hormone rush of having his leg bent back into shape – was quickly fading again. "I'm tired. That's all. Feel sleepy."

"Alright; I'm guessing your back hasn't been damaged by the fall then, so we're good to move you," I said. "James, could you do another big favour and go and get the trolley from outside.

"No problem," said James, gently lowering Shaun's head and leaving the empty water glass to one side. As James went to collect the trolley, I endeavoured to keep Shaun awake.

"Okay, big man," I said, sitting beside his head and slapping his face. "I need you to keep your eyes open and stay with me. We're going to load you onto a shopping trolley and push you back to our house. You know where that is, don't you?"

"Yeah…" he said, but he seemed to be drifting.

"Alright, look at me. Focus on me. You don't need to sleep now."

James clanked through the door with the trolley. Now I just had to figure out how to get Shaun into it.

"Come on," I said to him. "You've got to help me. I don't think I can lift you by myself."

I grabbed Shaun by the armpits and tried to lift him up. I could drag him like this, but it wouldn't be ideal with his leg so badly mangled.

"Can you use your good foot, Shaun? Can you push yourself along towards me with one leg while I hold the rest of you up?"

Shaun mumbled something and vaguely complied, allowing me to pull him down from the rubble pile without entirely having to drag him. I lay him on the floor next to the trolley. Blood had started to ooze once more from the wound on his leg. His entire body was a patchwork of scratches and scrages, but I realised there must be a big gash on his shoulder from the fall, which was now also pouring blood, as was a cut on the back of his head.

"James," I said, "you don't need a wee again at all, do you?"

"Not really," he said. "Why?"

"On Mediaeval battlefields, warriors used to clean and disinfect each other's war wounds by piddling on them. It's still going to be a long way back to ours with pushing Shaun in the trolley. Maybe if we did that, we could stop him getting any worse for now."

"You want me to wee on him?" James said, looking wide-eyed.

"We'd be helping him," I said. "Plus, it might wake him up a bit."

"I can try," said James, "but I don't know if I'll be able to make anything come out."

"Good lad," I said. "You do his head and shoulders. I'll do his leg. You don't want to have to look at it."

I untied the scarf from around Shaun's leg and tore his trousers further to expose more of the gore hole in the middle of his shin. I took a deep breath and unzipped my fly. James had pulled his bits out over his waistband.

"Here we go," I said, with a sigh. "Though I guess I will get to see you wee after all."

"No you won't," said James, turning his back to me to face Shaun's head and shoulders diagonally.

In the cold it wasn't too difficult to get going. I aimed for Shaun's leg and let fly as best I could. Shortly after, I heard James' higher-pressure stream, from his smaller apparatus, start up. Steam was rising from beneath us. Shaun must have been roused by the warm liquid splashing on his face, as he murmured again and moved around.

"Sorry," said James. "Please don't open your mouth."

If nothing else, the piss was doing a good job of washing away all the caked-on blood and brick dust, leaving the wounds exposed to the air, exuding a little trickle of fresh blood and other shiny bodily fluids. James finished and shook off just as I was able to do the same. I retied the splints and scarf around Shaun's now partially cleaner leg, while James turned away and blushed to himself at what he'd just done.

"Right, Shaun. More awake?" I asked, grabbing him under the armpits again.

"Mmm…" he groaned. His hair was dripping with James' piss, the scent soaking into his skin, but at least he wasn't wearing a layer of dry blood and dirt anymore.

"Another important job, James," I said, snapping him out of his little embarrassed daydream. "Put all your weight on the handle of the trolley. It's really important that you don't let it start to tip forwards."

"Okay, Jake."

"One… two… three…" I lifted Shaun by his armpits and staggered with him towards the trolley. He was taller than me and it took all my effort to keep him upright. I held him against the end of the trolley and rested. James grunted with effort, trying to keep the trolley steady in place against the weight of two adult men. I realised I didn't have time to waste, and heaved to lift Shaun's hips over the lip of the trolley, so as to be able to drop him in. I tried my best to lower him gently but couldn't hold on any longer. Shaun fell arse-first into the trolley, his legs flying up in the air and nearly kicking me in the face. James groaned and was forced to trot a little way backwards with the trolley, but he made a good brake and prevented it flying off with its passenger. I watched Shaun's legs vibrate in the air. The crudely done leg brace kept his damaged leg straight.

"Open the doors for me, mate," I said to James, panting. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

***

Getting Shaun back to the house had been long, hard work. I had to drag him up the stairs by myself, the man barely conscious, James trying his best to hold Shaun's trailing broken leg up so as it didn't bump on each step he passed. I put him in my parents' old bed and sent James away. I did my best to clean his wounds and tore up some of my parents' old clothes to use as bandages for him. Shaun slept and barely moved or made a sound.

I made to take the bowl and bloody washcloth I'd been using back to the bathroom. I was only half-surprised to find James awkwardly sat at the top of the stairs.

"Is he okay?" he asked.

"Better than he would have been," I said. "How about you?"

James shrugged.

"Come with me," I said. "Let's have a look at that face of yours."

James followed me into the bathroom. I put down the bowl and flannel and washed my bloody hands.

"Come here," I said, sitting myself on the toilet and pulling him close between my thighs. I was shorter than him while sat in position, allowing me to look up into the light at his cut face. "It's not too bad. Just a little cut; hopefully it won't scar. Go and bend over the sink."

I filled the sink with warm water and gently bathed James' face. A few little splinters of glass freed themselves as I dabbed at his cheek.

"You're lucky they didn't catch your eye," I said.

James nodded forlornly. I handed him a towel to dry his face and told him to join me in the bedroom when he was ready. I sat waiting on the bed with the antiseptic spray I'd used on his finger.

"Sit next to me," I said as he entered the room. "Cover your eyes."

He moaned a little at the sting on his face, but the spray quickly formed a transparent film over his cut.

"Is Shaun going to die?" asked James, rubbing his eyes.

I moved to sit back against the headboard and motioned for James to follow. "Maybe," I said. "He lost a lot of blood and we don't know how badly his insides could have been damaged." I put my arm around James and felt his body melt into mine. "I'm sorry we didn't get to have fun hunting today," I said, nuzzling his hair. "You were a real hero, though."

James squeezed himself a little tighter against me. "Thanks," he said. "I just wish…"

I kissed the top of his head. "You wish things could be better."

"Yeah," he sighed. "We keep seeing people in trouble, or worse."

I sat holding him a little while longer, riding the silence. The pub was a lot for anyone to process, let alone a small boy.

"Jake," said James, eventually. "What were schools like?"

"That's a big question," I said. "Probably a bit like how you've read about them in books. Could you be more specific?"

James thought for a while.

"Did the children like it?" he asked. "Was it fun for them, and for you?"

"It's complicated, James," I said. "Most children enjoyed seeing their friends every day, for example, but they didn't necessarily all enjoy learning all the time."

"Why?"

"School isn't like sitting and chatting with me, or reading about things that interest you," I said. "It's more… There's a lot of training involved, I guess. Training kids to perform certain skills, to be able to answer certain kinds of questions. Not everybody likes learning that way, nor necessarily all their subjects. Plus, most kids aren't as intelligent as you. They might have more difficulty learning, or not like having to follow rules and behave in a certain way."

James was silent again, trying to absorb this new perspective. After a while he sighed heavily and lay his head on my chest.

"You want to be around kids your own age, don't you?"

"Even just one friend would be nice," said James. "I mean, one my own age. You're my best friend, Jake, but…"

"But I don't get excited by all the same things you do?"

"Yeah," he said. "That's it."

I cradled his face, taking care to avoid the cut on his cheek. I felt the breeze of his breathing against my wrist.

"Do you want to watch Shrek again?" I asked.

"Yes please," he said.

***

I spent the rest of the day trying to keep James distracted. We watched movies; he zoned out. I read to him; he wandered off. We played games; he didn't care that I won. I managed to rouse Shaun enough to force some painkillers and a glass of water down his throat, but it was a waste of time and food to try to wake him up enough to eat that evening. James picked at his dinner too, then practically dragged me to bed straight afterwards.

"I want a cuddle," he said, as soon as we were together with the lights out.

I put my arms around him and drew him to me, holding him tight, his back spooned against my front.

"Touch my willy," he demanded.

"James," I said, holding him a little more loosely and stroking his arm, "I don't think we should do that tonight."

"Why?" he said, trying to yank my arm back towards his crotch.

"It doesn't feel right while there's someone here." I pulled my arm away from James and rolled onto my back. He spun around and propped himself up on his elbow, leaning over me.

"It doesn't matter," said James. "He can't move by himself."

"What if he hears us?"

"He'll know we love each other, silly."

"James," I said, stroking the side of his head, "the world doesn't work that way, mate. I don't think most people would like it if they knew what we do together."

"What?" said James. "That's stupid. Why not?"

"It's hard to explain."

James fell silent for a little while. I imagined him as he had been outside the pub, brow furrowed, staring at a fixed spot on the ground.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"Of course you didn't," I said, pulling James into an embrace on my chest. "I just don't want to risk losing you over something silly like letting the wrong person hear us having fun."

James lay limply on top of me. "I don't get it, Jake," he said. "Have we been doing something naughty? Are we not supposed to do all that stuff?"

"I'm sorry, Jamey," I said, stroking his back.

"Is that why you said we couldn't do anything while we were travelling here?" I could hear him welling up. "And why you stopped me telling Iram and Aaliyah's dad that you'd sucked my willy?"

I silently stroked James' back, trying to soothe him. My entire body ached with tiredness, and now my stomach was in knots. Part of me wished I'd just told him I was too knackered to do anything that night. "It was always only us before. There was no need to explain it was a secret because there was nobody else to tell it to."

"You should have told me," James sniffled, punching my chest. "You were keeping a secret from me."

"Oi, don't do that," I snapped. "You know you should never hit people on purpose."

"You hit Shaun, before, on the night we got here," said James, coldly. "And you said you'd kill him."

I lay for a moment in silence, my hands still on James' body. He lay against my chest, our ribs rising and softening together as we breathed. It was warm, and intimate, and icily distant.

"You worked out it was him, then."

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

I wanted to hit him back. "You know I don't think you're stupid. You know I adore you. Don't you?"

"Mmph," he said, burying his face in my chest.

"James, everything I do is to keep you safe. You have to understand that." I was running my fingertips through his hair, tickling his scalp. "Shaun had taken over our house. He came at me first. I had to protect you. I couldn't let him stay. We talked about this, remember?"

"He got hurt because of us."

"He didn't," I sighed. "It turned out he was harmless, but we couldn't know that for sure. I couldn't bear it if you got hurt, or someone tried to take you away. I'd rather die."

"Nobody could take me away," croaked James, muffled against my body. "You're like… my dad or something."

"Don't say things like that."

"But it's true!"

"No, it isn't," I said. "You already have a dad."

"It's no good having a dad you can't even remember!"

"You don't mean that."

"But it's you who's looked after me, and loved me, and…"

"James…" I sighed. "What are we going to do with you?"

"I don't know," he said weakly, turning his head away from my chest. "Whatever we want. But no lies, Jake."

"I'm sorry," I said, hugging James around his middle. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Now sleep tight, little hunter. You've had a tough day."

"Promise you won't leave me."

"I promise."

"Promise you won't lie to me."

"I promise."

"Do you love me?"

"More than anything. Now let's sleep. It's been a horrible day for us both."

James turned his head back to my chest and the dam finally gave way. "It's not fair!" he cried quietly, his tears trickling into my armpits. "It's not fair." I held him as he sobbed into my chest, feeling his body slowly grow softer as he slipped into an exhausted sleep.

***

We'd been maybe a week or so without Nell. Jamey was a scared little pup. After we took her out to the woods and said our goodbyes, he spent days alternating between wandering around the room aimlessly, clinging to my every move, and sitting on my lap sobbing his little heart out. He insisted on sleeping with me at night. It shattered me to hear him crying in the night; to cuddle him to me and feel his miniature frame heaving with grief.

I once read that there's an old Turkish saying for when a baby is born. It translates to English as 'may they grow up with a mother and father'. It seemed strikingly morbid to me when I first came across it, in safer, more comfortable times. Now I understood what I meant. Now it made sense. Most of all, I felt the crushing weight of responsibility, and its good-for-nothing sibling, helplessness. I knew this day would come. We had all known it was coming for some time. Even James. But it hadn't made matters any easier.

Ritual is important. Ritual is what has always kept us going, grounded us, despite the horrors all around us, from the savannahs of East Africa through a hundred thousand years and forward into the kaleidoscopic shimmer of glass towers, in our great cities of great solitude. Ritual is where that Turkish proverb was born. Ritual gave us Baptisms – the symbolic induction and validation of new lives into the community – no less bizarre a rite of passage than any circumcision party, or hunting ceremony, or tribal hair-tearing to mark the passage into adulthood. When we had the water for it, James always had a bath on a Wednesday night. I was never one to keep calendars or know the date, even when doing so was easy. If my mindset then was 'where the fuck did Monday go?', now I had no conception of what a Monday even felt like. But I knew it had been a week since James had last had his bath, and that he must have it; that he must have some sense of normality. So, while he slept in the chair after having cried himself out again, I went and fetched water from the well and heated it over the fire in the living room of the farmhouse. I stuck the old tin bath in front of the fireplace and filled it up.

"James," I said, gently stroking his puffy face and lifting his chin with the crook of my finger, "wake up mate. It's time for your bath."

He groggily pushed himself upright and hopped off the chair. I went to help him undress.

"Stop it, Jake," he moaned. "I'm not a baby. I'm nine."

He shed his clothing and climbed into the water. I let him relax for a while without me hovering around. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a drink. We'd brewed a cider and it was nearly all gone.

After I'd hung around in the kitchen, taking a few sips and tidying around just for something to do, I made my way back into the living room. James was lying in the bath, not playing, not splashing, not washing, just lying perfectly still and staring into space. I'd seen James in the bath plenty of times before. When he was little, I'd even helped bathe him. I'd never seen him looking quite so vulnerable – so naked – as he did at that moment. I took my cider and sat beside him, in front of the fire, my back resting on the side of the bath.

The silence continued forever. I heard the crackle of the fire in the place, the occasional trickle of water in the bath as James' body moved, however slightly, and the boy's breathing alongside my own. That was all.

"Jake?" said James, epochs later, "What's going to happen to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… now. Now that…" His voice was wobbly. I didn't have to turn my head to see the tears in his eyes. I could hear them; sense them through the vibrations. "Will you stay with me? Please?"

He started to sob again. Big sobs. Bigger than a nine-year-old boy sobs.

I turned and held his wet head against mine.

"Of course I will. I was never going to leave you. I'll always be here."

"I don't want to be on my own, Jake. Please don't go away. Not like everyone else."

He was crying hard; harder than I thought was possible. I pulled him up by his armpits, half out of the water, and held him to me. He gripped me as if he'd be swept away if he let go; as if my ribs were all that were keeping him from drowning. He gripped me like a barnacle on a distant stack in a midwinter Atlantic storm.

"I'm not going to leave you, Jamey. It's okay. Let it out. Let all those bad feelings out."

"I wish my mom was here," he sniffled into my cheek.

"I wish she was too. But you know she didn't choose to leave us. Nor did your dad, nor anyone else."

"But they're still gone."

"I know mate, I know." I tapped on the back of his head with my finger as I cradled him. "They'll always be in here, though. That's how you keep people with you forever. Nobody is gone as long as you keep remembering them; keep thinking about them."

"You'll stay with me and help me remember Jake? Please? I love you. Please don't go. I'll be the best boy I can be; I promise."

"You don't have to promise me anything. We'll always have each other. That's my promise."

We certainly would. Where else would either of us go? Who else would I go to, let alone him? He might not have realised it, but the truth was that he was the only thing I had left in the world too. The only thing that made any sense. The only thing that offered any reason for me to keep living.

I sat with him and offered to wash his hair. With everything going on over the past weeks, his mousey brown locks had grown out, covering his ears and giving him a long fringe, half-suspended by his cowlick, half cascading over the left side of his forehead. I felt him relax as I massaged his scalp. He moved his body in the water a little more. Made himself just a touch more comfortable.

"Jake, could I listen to some music while I'm in the bath?"

That was a good sign. He hadn't wanted to do anything like that for near enough a fortnight. He'd been too upset to want to do normal things.

I left his hair lathered up and went to fetch the CD player. For some reason, one of the four discs he had was Bloc Party's first album, Silent Alarm. I'd had the little CD Walkman since the Christmas I was about to turn twelve, and probably hadn't used it since I was sixteen. It was likely that album had been sitting inside it since then. Hardly what I'd nominate as a desert island disc, but I could listen to at least the first four tracks over and over without getting bored. I brought it over to the bath.

"What's the CD?"

"Bloc Party."

"Okay, would you skip to track four please?"

I did as he said and handed him the earphones.

"Listen with me," he said, handing me a bud. I took it.

James sang along in his piped little voice. He'd listened to all four CDs often enough since I brought the player back with me to know the lyrics of every song. I sat close to him and danced a little with my upper body, in a silly way, bumping my shoulder against his. For the first time in a long while, James smiled. He joined in, splashing in the bath as he sang in the quiet room, the music only existing through half of our ears, somewhere between our two heads. It cut through the silence. It cut through the night and our mourning, coursing through our veins like a first hit of caffeine over breakfast, shaking our souls awake.

I sang along with James as the song came to its conclusion.

"And if you feel a little left behind, we will wait for you on the other side!"

I had tears in my eyes corroding my sinuses, and I put my head to his and I sang with him.

"If you feel a little left behind, we will wait for you on the other side. Cos I'm on fire! Cos you know I'm on fire when you come. Cos you know I'm on fire! Cos you know I'm on fire so stomp me out!"

James turned his head to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes smiling into mine.

"I'm on fire!" he sang at me.

"Cos I'm on fire!" I laughed.

"I'm on fire!"

"I'm on fire!" I let the song die out and pulled the buds from our ears. I pinched James by the chin, turning his head to me, our wet eyes locking together. I began, finally, to rinse out his hair.

I let him get out of the bath and put his pyjamas on. I didn't care that he hadn't washed himself properly. I threw the water outside and douted the fire.

"Bedtime," I said to James, running my hand through his damp hair.

"You're not going to ask me to go to my own bed, are you?"

"Silly Billy," I said. "You can stay in with me as long as you want."

He climbed into my bed ahead of me, leaving me to blow out the candles and climb in alongside him. He immediately rolled over and hugged his whole body – arms and legs together – against me.

"Sleep well, Jamey. Wake me up if you need anything or get scared, okay?"

"I will," he whispered, squeezing me tightly again.

I felt something hard pressing against me. My heart skipped a beat.

I wanted to say nothing. I truly, honestly, only wanted to cuddle the poor boy until he fell asleep. I couldn't do it. Despite knowing how lost and vulnerable he was, and that I was all he had left in his whole world – perhaps because I knew that – my strength to hold back failed me. Failed him.

"Are you excited about something?" I whispered into the dark.

"What d'you mean?"

"Feels like something's gone stiff between your legs."

James giggled. "It does that sometimes. Especially when I wear my jama bottoms without pants like this."

I put my hand on his bum and pressed his body closer to mine.

"You can rub it against me if you want. It'll feel really good."

James giggled again, nervously, under his breath. Took a couple of beats to answer. "For real?"

"Let me help you," I said, and gently slid his pyjama bottoms down until they were a third of the way down his thighs. Then I guided his bare buttocks with my hand, pushing them forward and releasing to guide James back, making him grind his nakedness against my body.

James found his own rhythm and began to breathe heavily. I slid my hand slowly up his spine, under his pyjama top; felt him begin to perspire. He pumped away at me, silent but for his laboured breaths.

"I feel like I'm gonna wet the bed if I carry on," James whispered into my ear.

I held him gently, firmly against me, with my hand at his back.

"Keep going, trust me. You won't wee. It'll feel better than anything you've ever felt before."

James obediently kept going. He was panting, squeaking as the tension built, the sensations overtaking him. Eventually, his entire body stiffened, and he let out a little grunt and then a strangled, half-silent breath, catching in his throat for seconds before he rolled off onto his back and began panting again. He rubbed his hands over his face and laughed to himself.

"What was that, Jake? It felt really good. Really, really good!"

I kissed him on his sweaty forehead. "That was so impressive, James. You just had an orgasm. It's a massive intense feeling you get from doing sexy stuff, especially with your willy."

James exhaled forcefully and giggled.

"Did we just have" – he whispered the next part – "sex?"

"Kind of," I said. "How do you feel?"

"Weird. Funny."

"Happy?"

"Yep. And excited."

"Cool."

James went silent for a little while. When he spoke again, it was in a breathless whisper.

"Jake? Could we do that again another time?"

***

I woke up in the darkness with James wrapped around me, head still resting on my chest, thighs squeezing my hips. I gently rolled him onto his back. He stirred slightly.

"I'm just going for a wee. You sleep tight."

I left the room and went to check on Shaun. There was no sound at all in the front bedroom. Shaun lay stone still. I reached out and touched his arm. It felt like touching the wall.

I took a deep breath and pulled the bedcovers up over his head. It was going to be another difficult morning.

***

I came to in the morning with James already awake, resting his head in my armpit and playing with my chest hair, his lips touching my skin.

"Morning, James," I said.

"Morning," he said. "Can we check on Shaun?"

I wrapped my arm around James more deliberately and pulled him to me. He'd given me pins and needles from lying on it.

"I'm sorry, James. I checked on him in the night…"

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"Damn," he whispered, flattening his palm on my breastbone, feeling my heart beating just beneath it.

We lay together like this a while. James was warm and there was a clamminess where our bodies touched: his ribs against mine, his flat tummy on my flank, my hand on his hip, his thigh over mine, and his soft little bits squashed against my hip.

"What do we do now?" asked James.

"I'll wrap him up in the sheets from that bed. Then I think we should take him to the woods by the ice rink – remember? We'll put him near the moat and from there he can look down over where he grew up."

"That sounds nice," said James, then paused for a second. "Do I have to help carry him?"

"No, James. I'll work it out. You go and have some breakfast."

***

The way to the woods with the old Anglo-Saxon moat was not long, but it was another crisp day, snow thick on the ground, which made travel on four disobedient little wheels quite difficult. We progressed largely in silence, trapped in our own worlds. Under his filthy coat, James wore his best clothes. So did I.

I wish I could say I'd been more ceremonious in laying Shaun to rest, but I was so tired. I didn't have the mental energy to even approach lifting him again, let alone the physical strength to do it. I just turned the trolley on its side and watched the man-sized bundle of bedsheets roll into the dry ditch of the ancient moat, now half-full with snow. James sprinkled more snow on top.

"Shall we say a few words?" I said.

"We don't know his last name," said James.

"We do. It's Shaun Lucas, remember?"

"Oh," said James. "I was thinking we could call him Shaun the Survivor, or Shaun the Scavenger… you know, after what he did."

"Shaun the Survival Scavenger. I like it. You go first then."

James took a deep breath.

"Goodbye Shaun," he said. "You were very talented at surviving on your own in the city. I'm sorry we were scared of you when we saw you in our house. I hope you're happy we were there for you in the end. I'm happy we were there for you… but I'm sad you had to leave us. Rest in peace."

A gust of wind whipped across our faces, causing the trees around us to creak and wave. I waited, enjoying the peace.

"That was beautiful, James," I said quietly. "Well done."

James nodded and stared at the bundle of Shaun in his resting place.

"Like most kids around here, you were a cheeky boy, Shaun, and hard, because you had to be," I began. "We all had to be survivors, in our own way. You showed those traits then and used those skills now, and I'm so proud of you for it. When I think back to the playfully naughty young boy I knew, it's hard to imagine how it has come to this. I'm so sorry, Shaun. I'm so, so sorry. Sleep tight with your friends. Rest well."

I looked at James and saw his eyes were red, his cheeks damp. I passed behind him, squeezing his shoulder, and pulled the trolley back upright. I hugged James around his waist and lifted him into the basket, sitting him down on his bum against the mesh of the metal.

"Ready for the ride home?" I asked.

James nodded. "Why does it have to be this way?"

"You can't change the world, James," I said to him, beginning the walk back downhill through the trees. "All we can do is rebel against it by keeping each other safe and happy."

"I think I understand what you were saying last night now," he said. "I know how much you want to keep me safe and make me happy, because I'd do anything for you too."

That was when I started to cry.

***

Nell hadn't wanted to talk about the lump in her breast for a long time. She preferred to ignore it; wait to see whether it went away by itself. It was only when James mentioned, sitting on her lap with his head against her chest, that he felt something weird, that she was forced to come clean.

My mom had been the same. She didn't have any external lumps or bumps, but she kept the extent of her internal aches and pains a secret for as long as she could. My dad had been the first to go. He'd been on blood thinners and god knows what else for years. As soon as the production and supply of meds started to drop off, he was sure to be a goner, whether or not he caught something else in the meantime. I think he'd given up by that stage anyway. He'd had enough.

I don't think my mom was particularly more equivocal either. Who could blame them? Plus, the C-word was always difficult to grapple with in the good times, when people got better. How could we face it now? As it was, pneumonia took her in the end. It's always the way when they're too weakened to fight it any longer.

That was when I first moved up to the farm. Jon wouldn't move; he had a girlfriend nearby, and he'd never been too comfortable around Nell and Ross, for whatever reason. I just hoped he wouldn't make me an uncle while I was away. I had no idea how we would care for a child, things being as they were.

James was a toddler at the time; maybe three years old. I'd met him a couple of times before, as a baby, but now he seemed more real. This little person, who was all smiles and giggles and big sloppy kisses. My last visit had been when Ross died – avian flu, I believe, transmitted to their chickens by some birds that never used to come so far north. They were lucky Harriet was there. Lucky that it didn't pass to any of the children, especially baby James, who was maybe eighteen months old. I still had a photo, from my only previous visit before he was gone, of Ross grinning from ear to ear, proudly cradling and feeding his infant son. Moving into the farm I felt his loss like an amputee.

When I moved back there for the second time, James was seven, going on eight. I'd only been away for a few months, but I felt like I'd missed half his lifetime. He was so big and clever. He followed me around for days, telling me how much he'd missed me, all the things he'd done while I'd been away, making up for lost cuddles, asking whether I knew how Harry and Cerys were…

I'd raided the nearest charity shop for books on my way back. Stuff we could read with James in the evenings, stuff that would keep us entertained while he slept, CDs for the player (alas, like most charity shops, the second-hand media was largely rubbish, so I could only bring myself to select three). One of the things I'd picked up – perhaps by mistake – was a Molière anthology, probably once some teenager's A-Level French set text. I'd been working my way through it in the week before that evening, when eight-year-old James rested his head against his mother's breast and was surprised to find it wasn't the shape he had expected.

Presque tous les hommes meurent de leurs remèdes, et non pas de leurs maladies, Molière wrote. Nearly all men die of their remedies, and not of their illnesses. As in seventeenth-century France, so today, on our little farm, all alone. Perhaps there was something Harriet could have done, had she been there. We discussed taking a knife to it ourselves, but together conceded that we may ultimately do more harm than good. I don't think Molière meant it quite so literally, but it was a metaphor from bitter experience, to say the least.

Nell got worse over time. Slowly at first, but eventually to the point where I was keeping the farm by myself while she rested indoors, the aches and pains and tremors spreading to new parts of her body, little Jamey playing nurse. Little Jamey, the big, clever boy who read us Harry Potter before bed each night and had begun to complain that the storyline was too predictable. If he were a wizard and went to magic school, he'd train to make his mom better again, but not his dad – because as Harry learnt, you can't escape death, magic or not.

As winter gave way to spring, Nell retreated to her bedroom, lacking the energy to leave her bed. James kept her company, brought her food and drinks, read to her, sang to her, asked her questions. She had a little chamber pot under the bed, and her sweet boy had even offered to help her with that. She wouldn't – couldn't – let him. No, James. That's private. What little strength she had, she spent it sending her son from the room and getting out of bed to squat over a bowl, just so that he didn't have to see his mother lose her dignity. I emptied it in secret, while James was distracted with other things, or on the toilet himself.

As spring imposed itself more fully outside – James brought some fresh bluebells into Nell's room in a tall glass – we decided that it must be late March, and James must have turned nine. There was always an element of guesswork to it. We held a birthday party for him in Nell's room, with some brownies I'd improvised with margarine, cocoa powder and artificial sweetener. James loved it all the same.

"Remember the song, Jake," he'd giggled, chocolate brownie crumbs around his mouth. "As if to say! As if to say! As if to say he doesn't like chocolate!"

"He's born a liar, he'll die a liar," I smiled. "Some things will never be different."

Nell fell asleep before the party was over. I took James to his bedroom and had him read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to me.

Over the following weeks, Nell was asleep more than she was awake. She caught a cold that made her chest heavy, and it lingered and lingered. I couldn't find the words to speak to James about it, but I think he understood that his mom wasn't going to get any better. I could see it in his eyes when they were together. He stopped listening to music. He stopped singing. He'd let me read to him, but he wouldn't read to me, nor to himself.

I remember their last conversation. It was so normal. They chatted away about nothing in particular, until eventually they both were tired, and she sent him off to have his bath and head to bed.

"Remember," she said, "be a good boy for Jake. I love you more than anything, James, my baby boy. Sleep well."

"I will, mom. Love you too!"

Nell motioned for me to close the door behind him as he left the bedroom, hooking his top over his head ready for the bath I'd left him in front of the fire. James always sat on the bed with her. I pulled up a chair to the side.

She placed a weak hand on my knee. I took it in mine.

"I think this is it, Jake," she said, wheezing.

I had tears in my eyes. "You'd tell me off if I was ever that matter-of-fact," I said.

"I tell you all the time," she smiled. "It never seems to work."

"Please don't give up."

"I think," she said, "it's rather too late for that."

"Helen…"

"Very formal, Jacob."

"I don't know how to do this."

Nell smiled to herself. "You'll work it out. You're the best improvisor I know."

"Please…" I was bawling, sobbing as spoke. "You're all I have left to lose…"

"What about James?"

"I can't… I love him, you know that, but… I'm not a parent. You know that too."

"Could've fooled me," she said, squeezing my hand as best she could. "He adores you. All he wants is to be like you."

"He's a silly boy…" I laughed, tears and saliva catching in my throat.

"Well, you're not perfect. But he could do a lot worse as role models go."

"How can you be so calm?"

"Remember when we were in first year at uni and I had that allergic reaction, and in the end when I thought I was dying, when I'd accepted it, I said I just felt at peace?" she said. "Or when you nearly drowned in the river? How did you feel then?"

"Like I'd shaken the devil by the hand."

"Exactly."

I growled into my fist and nearly bit through my knuckles.

"Stop it," she said. "We don't want James coming back in here."

"I don't know what to do." I whined.

"You don't have to change anything," she said. "Just look after him. And yourself especially."

I didn't say anything. There was the sound of my sniffling and Nell's breathing. Somewhere in the farmhouse, James splashed in the bath and exclaimed something to himself in a cartoonish voice.

"Jake," she began again, "I trus– no, that's…" She broke eye contact and looked at the bed instead, stroking the sheets with her free hand. "Just… don't…" She sighed deeply, squeezing my hand again, as strongly as she could. "Don't ever force him," she said, finally, and turned her gaze back to mine. "Keep him safe and happy and keep him with you. Never, ever let anyone else take him."

My face burned and my head throbbed. My mouth had gone dry.

"I'll take care of him," I whispered.

"I know you will."

I left the room to usher James to bed. When I returned, Nell was sleeping again. I sat with her through the night, until the wick burned down and the last of the light flickered out, leaving only a quicksilver trail of smoke for a second in the darkness.

I was perched, exhausted, at the end of James' bed when he woke in the morning. He sat up and stretched, his pyjama top riding up and exposing his bellybutton, his mouth yawning wide. He looked at me quizzically for a heartbeat. My eyes must have given me away. I remember the look on his face in that instant. Shock. Fear. Something else. Only later did I realise what it was. Bewilderment. He had no idea what it was that was happening to him, or why it was happening to him. He was lost.

His body crumpled. I held him as he wailed and kicked and punched and screamed. I sat on his bed, stiff and upright, and cried noiselessly.

James had ended up lain on his front across my lap, limbs stretched out in all directions, my hand resting gently on his bottom. "Can I see her?" he sniffed; voice muffled by his now-damp bedcovers.

"Of course you can," I said, gently helping him to his feet and guiding him, hand between his shoulders, to his mother's bedroom.

I'd pulled the bedcovers up to her neck, so only her face was exposed, pale against her golden-brown hair on the white cloth of the pillow.

"She's so pretty," said James, sitting on the bed beside her. He brushed her hair from her face with his hand and kissed her on the cheek.

"It's just like she's sleeping," I said.

"She's cold," said James, still stroking her hair with his hand.

"I know, mate," I said. "I know."

I took him back to his bedroom and made him strip out of his pyjamas while I found him some smart clothes to wear.

"Put your favourite pants and socks on," I told him. He was a bit slow; I don't think he understood what was happening. Eventually I found him some dark jeans and a shirt, which was the best I could do.

I left him to dress himself and went to search for something for me. I found an old suit belonging to Ross. It fitted me well enough; we were roughly the same height, though he – like his son – had the proportions of a tall person on the body of a short person. I had a torso built like a barrel. I took an extra tie for James. It would be too long for him, it wouldn't go with the shirt, and he'd probably kick up a fuss about having it put on him, but at least the option would be there.

James didn't wear the tie. "Why are we dressed like this?" he asked.

"Because this is how you dress to show your respects when you say goodbye to someone."

"Can't mom just stay in her bed, like she's asleep?"

"No," I said. "I'm sorry Jamey, she just can't. You have to trust me, okay?"

"I trust you," he said. "But what are we doing?"

"We should take your mom to the woods," I said. "I think she'd like to rest out there, amongst nature."

"Oh yeah!" said James. "Can we take her there, to that tree?" He pointed at a picture of a tree in pink blossom that Nell had painted the year before.

"I think that's a perfect plan," I said. "Come on, wait outside for me with the cart."

We had a little wooden cart we used mainly to move vegetables around. I fetched Nell, cocooned in her bedsheets, and placed her in it. She was almost as tall as me, but she weighed nothing that day. It was almost as easy as lifting James.

As we passed through the front yard of the farm, towards the driveway and the woods beyond, James picked all the bluebells and daffodils, laying them in big armfuls over his shrouded mother. Spring had arrived, her boy had turned nine, and he decorated her with flowers. For all her forty-two years she'd been a vegetarian, and now at last she would return to the soil with the plants.

James said nothing as we walked. He stood with me, at the head of the cart, and we marched together, my arm around his shoulders.

When we reached the tree, it was in full pink blossom, just like the painting. I placed Nell on the ground beneath the tree, and between us we replaced the flowers on top of her covered body, the purple bluebells and yellow daffodils now joined by a rain of pink and white blossom petals. I stood back and held James in front of me, my hands clasped together in the middle of his skinny chest, feeling his heartbeat.

"Shall we say a few words?" I asked.

"I don't know what to say," he replied, stifling a little sniffle.

"Would you like me to go first?"

He nodded and leaned back into me a little more.

"Goodbye Helen. We love you very much. Thank you for your smile, and your kindness, and your care, and your love. Thank you for always trying to make us do the right thing. Thank you for being such a good mother and bringing up a wonderful son. We'll miss you, and remember you, forever."

Tears were running down my cheeks and plopping onto the top of James' head. He was sobbing too, sucking snot back into his throat and soaking the collar of his shirt.

"Your turn," I whispered to him.

"I love you, mommy," he began, "and I'm really going to miss you. I wish you didn't have to go. You're beautiful, and clever, and funny, and kind, and…"

He squeaked and turned around, throwing himself into my chest, sobbing and heaving. Sobbing so hard it made him wretch.

"It's okay, Jamey. It's okay. You did so, so well. I'm really proud of you. So is your mom. Always."

I stood rocking James in my arms, until eventually he had no tears left to cry. Ross' shirt clung translucent to my chest, and, as James pulled his face away, a trail of snot stretched from the end of his nose to a huge blob in the centre of the suit tie.

"Shall we say anything more?"

"I love you," whispered James, staring at the flower and blossom-covered cocoon at the foot of the tree.

I placed my hands on his chest again and rested my head on top of his.

"Plus on aime quelqu'un," I said, "moins il faut qu'on le flatte : À rien pardonner le pur amour éclate."

"What does that mean?" asked James.

"Remember I was reading that book of French plays?" I said. "It means 'the more we love our friends, the less we flatter them: through excusing nothing, pure love reveals itself.'"

"Will you teach me French one day?" he sniffed.

"Maybe," I said. "Would you like to pick some more flowers for her?"

"Okay."

I held out my hand and he took it, letting me lead him through the trees.

Je le soutiendrai devant tout le monde.

Je lui soutiendrais contre tout.

Chapter 10
Solstice

"Remember that time when I was nine, I went off exploring in the woods by myself without telling you and fell in that swamp?"

James lay with his head against my chest in our bed, together only with the low light of his cactus reading lamp.

"How could I forget?"

"You were really angry," he said, a tone of knowing humour in his voice.

"Of course I was. You could've been seriously hurt, running off by yourself like that, and I'd never have known. It was lucky the swamp was the worst of it."

"You made me strip outside and stand naked by the front door until you had the bath ready."

"You were soaked, and you stank. I couldn't have you in the house."

"I was crying by the time I got in the bath."

"I know. I felt a bit bad. You kept telling me how sorry you were. I guess the lesson stuck."

I was caressing his chest. He pulled my right arm so that my hand rested on his belly instead.

"Remember that time the same year, when you were practicing your archery?" I said. "The time with the duck?"

"Aww, no!" said James. "Not the duck!"

"You hit it!" I teased.

"It was Mrs Williams' fault! She scared it and it flew straight into my arrow! I was aiming at the barn wall."

"It tasted good, though."

"I kept thinking, what if she had ducklings…"

"You kept saying it too, and I kept telling you it was nearly winter, and all the ducklings would be grown up by now."

My ring and little fingers were sneaking tickles a little lower, beneath his bellybutton. He pushed my arm further down, until my hand reached something firm and pointy. I looked at James and raised an eyebrow.

"Some things still grow up in winter," he said, earnest-faced and sparkly-eyed.

***

I was trying to come up with ideas for some form of treat or present for James when I had a brainwave. I'd taken the pictures of us with my phone. There were surely other pictures still hidden away on its memory card.

I slipped out of bed that night, after he'd fallen asleep, and connected it to the computer. There were a few hundred photos in its gallery. I scrolled through them meticulously, until I found one that I knew would be there, and another that had come as a surprise. I printed them both and hid the photographs on top of a bookshelf, where James would never see them, let alone reach them.

Then I realised something else. The computer knew what the date was. I checked its calendar. Winter Solstice was marked as Saturday 22^nd December, five days from now. I couldn't believe I'd been so dim. I had an accurate calendar this whole time we'd been here, and I hadn't realised to check it even once.

I imagine some people still celebrate Christmas, but it seems a bit hollow without knowing the exact date; without the tree and the gifts and all that nonsense that never really felt like the true meaning anyway. At the farm, immersed in our agricultural life, Solstice seemed the more appropriate mark to celebrate. Not to mention easiest to notice. Just wait for the shortest days and longest nights.

Now we would know for sure, and I'd give James the greatest celebration of his short life.

***

I'd made dinner. I don't remember making it, but it must have happened. Spaghetti Bolognese the way my mom used to make it, to which I'd added small semicircles of chopped celery for some extra crunch. James was washing the sauce from around his mouth when there was a knock at the door.

I answered the door and it was Manny, a kid a year or so younger than James who lives down the street. He was holding a football under his arm.

"Can James come out to play?" he asked.

"James," I called to the kitchen, where James was drinking from the tap having cleaned his mouth, "do you want to go and play out with Manny?"

James bounded to the front door. "Hi Manny."

"You wanna go park and play football?" he said, dropping articles and prepositions like confetti in the way that kids do.

"Yeah, I'll just put my shoes on."

It was a bright summers' day, lit up like honey. The evening heat was comfortable on our bodies, like a security blanket. The sky was an explosion in a paint factory, the sun a vast boiled sweet. Its heat hung just above our eyes, and on our cheeks, as birds flew backwards.

Across the road, Mr Hussain and his two daughters got out of their car after arriving home from somewhere, possibly the mosque. They saw us at the door and waved. I went to wave in return but couldn't lift my arm, so nodded and smiled in acknowledgement instead. Manny turned and saw them and gave a little wave.

James had his shoes on. "I want you back before dark, okay?" I said, pulling a serious face into his. "As soon as the sun starts setting, you two start heading home."

"Don't worry, Jake. We will."

They wandered off down the street, at a boyish snail's pace. I closed the door.

Sometime later the window cleaner had arrived, and I must have let him in to pay him. He was standing in the hallway looking at our terracotta urn.

"We've had that for donkeys' years," I said. "Here, take this, Shaun." I handed him a five-pound note, Churchill-up.

"Cheers boss," he said. I looked over his shoulder and realised the door was open and the sky had begun to darken.

"Where are those boys?" I grumbled, more to myself than Shaun, who seemed a little out of focus. I made through the back door. Crossing the garden, my black-and-white shorthair tom cat, Stevie, jumped into my arms.

That was when I realised something was seriously wrong. Stevie was a notoriously uppity cat. He'd never show such affection outside of the house.

Then I realised I was flying, and birds began to speak. And I fell through the lonely, honeycomb field below as James and Manny watched on, Stevie no longer in my arms, until I landed somewhere impossibly deep with a gentle start.

Only the top of my head poked out of the bedcovers in the dark. The bedroom was cold outside of our cocoon of comfort, the wind howling at the windows. James' sweaty little body was snuggled against my side, breathing softly in the warmth of the bed. My heartrate calmed, and slowly and carefully I turned onto my favoured right side to spoon James, taking his clammy back against my belly and the silken seat of his thighs against my knees, his head laid back on the carpet of my breastbone. Beyond the bed there was nothing.

***

I took James out on a second hunt, after our aborted first attempt, a couple of days before Solstice. It was a dry but windy day, slate layers of cloud dangling over the rooftops in endless rows. I left the trolley by the park entrance and we stood amongst the trees until we became part of the scenery, enveloped in silence but for the wind and the calls of the birds.

Eventually, as the short day gave way to twilight, a small group of roe deer crossed our path, poking at the undergrowth dejectedly, searching for sustenance. I looked at James and he nodded, drawing his bow. As James stood ready, the deer became aware of our presence and began to skip away, two pregnant females taking the lead. At the rear of the group, a male cast us a long glance, the small stubs of his new year's antlers lowered to face us, and began to limp after the others. In truth, it was probably a mercy to take him.

James let fly and pierced the deer through its chest, the roe giving a loud, guttural bark as it collapsed to the ground. Its group fled in different directions. Roe are solitary creatures, only coming together to cooperate in the depths of winter. They'd rather take their chances alone than be caught as a group with humans around. The field was empty but for us and the roe as we approached him, lain twitching on the ground, staining the snow the crimson of a fortified wine. He grunted and gargled out a low growl, his breath steaming in the freezing air. James prepared a second arrow, looked away, and shot him straight through the head.

When we got home, I left the deer-laden trolley in the garden, covered with a tarp, ready to butcher in the light of the following day. James was thirsty. He poured us each a large glass of water from the tap.

"Cheers!" I said, clinking glasses with him.

He smiled and took a big gulp of his water.

"I'm glad we don't have to keep getting water from a well, like at the farm," he said.

"Me too," I said. "Remember Tryweryn, I guess."

"What does that mean?"

"All the water we have here comes from Wales, all downhill, no need for pumping. That's why the taps were still working a little bit, before we added our rain catcher. Whole valleys were dammed and flooded to make that work, which meant villages were destroyed and people had to be moved to new places. They did the same for Liverpool, too, and one of the valleys flooded for that was called Tryweryn. Nobody in Wales wanted it to happen, but at the time they didn't have the power to stop the government doing what it wanted for English cities. So, Remember Tryweryn became a slogan in the Welsh language for Welsh resistance to English rule."

"Oh," said James, drinking more of his water. I guessed he probably wasn't expecting the sudden history lesson. He drained the glass and placed it in the washing-up bowl. "Welsh people have their own language?"

"Yeah," I said. "It's actually the descendant of the original British language, before English came from across the sea."

"But Harry's family is from Wales, and they never used to speak any other language."

"Not every Welsh person can speak it. The British government tried very hard to wipe it out for a while, from the Victorian times pretty much until the time when I was born."

"Jake…" James began, looking down and playing with his fingers, before finding his courage and looking me in the eye. "What happened to Harry's family, and Cerys? I mean, really."

"Your mom explained that Cerys wasn't very well, and they decided it was best to go back to Wales, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but…" James poked at a fork lying on the worktop, and looked me in the eye again, a little pleadingly. "That doesn't make sense, Jake. It just doesn't."

I sighed and drew James to me, holding him softly. "James, Cerys was very unwell. What she had was very contagious. They decided it was best to move away for a while to protect you and your mom – you especially – from catching it too. That's the truth."

"So you don't know what happened to them?"

"I'm sorry, James. I don't. They started driving back to Wales and that's all I know."

"What about Cerys?" he asked. "If she was so poorly, how could they make her travel?"

"They… didn't."

James looked up at me, his chin resting on my breastbone as I stood holding him to me by the small of his back. "Where did she go, then?"

"I took her away to the next house, to look after her for a while. But… she was so ill, James. She didn't…"

James watched me carefully, tears in his eyes.

"She died, James."

He took a little breath and closed his eyes. "I knew it," he said. "That's why you went away too."

I nodded my head.

"I thought you weren't ever going to come back."

"But I did."

James nodded and pushed back from me, holding on to my hands to lean backwards.

"I remember, after you went, there was a fire. I saw it with Mom, over the hill. Was that you?"

I squeezed his fingers in my hands. "Yes, it was."

"I thought so," he said, pulling himself back upright and giving me a hug.

"I should make us some dinner," I said, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. "Go and get comfortable in the living room. I think there might even be some hot chocolate somewhere in one of these cupboards."

"I haven't had that in ages!" said James, releasing me and stretching his arms above his head.

"I think I used the last of the stuff we had up north to make brownies on your ninth birthday, remember?" I said.

"Mmmm!" James said. "They were so good!"

"Not as good as real chocolate, though." I said. He grinned and nodded enthusiastically. I turned him around by his shoulders. "Now go on; there isn't enough space in this kitchen for spectators."

James made to walk to the living room but turned to face me again at the kitchen door, his arms spread to hold either side of the doorframe.

"Jake?"

"What's up?"

"Thanks," he said. "You know… for telling me."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"And for looking after Cerys," he added, smiling gently, searching my face for an emotion.

"I did what I had to do, James."

"I know."

"Go on, get lost and let me get to work. I'll see if I can find any hot chocolate. Good hunters deserve their treats."

"Does that mean I get another treat at bedtime?" James grinned.

"Well," I responded, smirking in return, "that all depends on whether you can keep being a good boy between now and then."

James sniggered and bounded off into the living room.

***

James was indeed a good boy for the rest of the evening, and he certainly had earned himself a treat. He waited to use the toilet and brush his teeth, making sure I was finished first, so that he could strip his clothes off on the landing and make a grand entrance into the bedroom. His dick, stiff and pulsing, led his way as he marched in, hands on hips, giggling as he thrusted back and forth.

"Come on, show off!" I said, patting the bed. He leapt up next to me, skidding against my side on his knees.

"Is it treat time now?" James said, his voice low and breathless.

"I think you've been good enough, and it looks like you're ready."

"Mmm-hmm," squeaked James, leapfrogging himself into position over my face, his knees either side of my head. He retracted his foreskin with his thumb and forefinger and began rubbing his moist cockhead against my lips. "Suck it."

He smelt sweet and musky, waving back and forth just under my nose. A sure sign that his excitement was at fever pitch. I took his entire willy in my mouth in one movement, savouring his taste on my tongue, sucking him to the root, my nose against his baby bare skin, picking up the scent of his crotch sweat from our busy day. I indulged him, forcing his foreskin back with my lips so I could tango my tongue across his glans, poking at his urethra with the point of my wet muscle as he gasped and panted, spidery hands gripping my head and pelvis methodically thrusting. Then, just as James let out a strained whine, I pushed him off me, firmly, flipping him onto his back beside me. I was on him before he realised what had happened.

"You're getting too big for your boots, my boy," I growled, pinning both of his wrists hard with my hands, and grinning directly into his face from millimetres above.

James squealed and kicked his legs playfully either side of me.

"Please, sir," he said, smirking, barely stifling his giggles, "don't hurt me!"

I kissed him roughly, pinning him with probably more weight than was wise, forcing him to taste his own flavours on my lips and tongue. I moaned into his mouth, the heat of our breath mingling as I felt his stiff willy jerking against my bare stomach, almost poking into my bellybutton. My own dick was a water balloon at full stretch, dribbling over the inside of James' left thigh as he wriggled under my weight.

"You want the rest of that treat now?" I said, resting my forehead against his, nose to nose, two sets of blue eyes locked together. James nodded silently, his breathing quick and heavy.

I kissed his neck, suckling at his throat, then thrust my head down and attacked an armpit, his arms still pinned beneath mine. He shrieked, squirmed, and thrust his pelvis upwards.

"Jake… willy… please!"

I responded by nibbling at one of his nipples. James writhed and tensed his whole body again.

"Jake! Pleeease!"

I could smell his need in the sweatiness of his body, in the wafting scent of his boyhood as he slithered beneath me. I licked along the centre line of his body, pausing to tongue his firm little navel, pulling his captive hands down alongside his hips. Then, ravenously, I descended upon his fiery dick, cherry red, foreskin fully retracted, purple head throbbing, peanut testes drawn tight. I took liberties with my teeth, making him yelp and buck, teasing his scrotum and torturing his dancing spike with sensation. Within seconds he came, strong and dry, his squeal lighting up the room like a spark in an abandoned mineshaft.

I released his wrists, but his hands stayed still. I could feel his panting through the mattress. I moved alongside him, pulling the bedcovers over our bodies. His eyes fluttered as he regarded me beatifically. He was asleep in my arms within moments of me douting the light.

***

It was one more sleep to Solstice. James knew the next day would be a big party, so was zooming around like a hummingbird from first light in the morning. For the first few hours it was cute. For the following couple it was tiresome but endearing. After that it was just plain annoying. I took myself off to butcher the deer on the back step – where once my mother used to sit smoking and drinking tea several times a day, come rain or shine – but James wasn't far behind. He simply couldn't contain himself enough to sit still and focus on anything. Within minutes of watching me cut the deer open he was off frolicking around the garden, underdressed for the snow.

I had no idea how to butcher a deer properly, so I just cut the best-looking and handiest-shaped bits to cook as steaks for Solstice dinner and collected other useful meat to stew that evening. James was momentarily useful as a vegetable-puller for the other ingredients. I took my time putting the stew on. James was in the dining room, bouncing around and singing at the top of his voice, stereo on full blast. It was on a shelf slightly below his head height, making it perfectly placed for James to fiddle with. He seemed to have taken a liking to Maxïmo Park; I had meticulously collected all their albums through my teenage indie kid years and my early twenties, evidently nostalgic for those indie kid years.

I'd drawn out stew-making as long as I could, but the next part of the process was simply a covered casserole dish bubbling away for hours. I screwed up my eyes and rubbed my face, and I headed into the living room intent on serving James an ultimatum to calm himself down or face being banished to bed. Watching him through the archway between the living and dining rooms, I relented. There was something strangely beautiful about watching him, stood on one leg, the other kicking back and forth, arms out for balance, eyes closed, belting out 'Apply Some Pressure' with gusto. What happens when you lose everything? You just start again. You start all over again.

James was completely oblivious, lost in the moment. I watched as he sang out the closing lines. "You know that I would love to see you next year. I hope that I am still alive next year! You know that I would love to see you in that dress. I hope that I will live to see you undress!"

I applauded. James opened his eyes in surprise and blushed a little. "I didn't know you were there, Jake!"

"That was very good," I said. "I'm glad I didn't disturb you."

'The Coast Is Always Changing' started up from the speakers. Evidently, he had discovered how to set the CD player to shuffle.

"It's not nice to sneak up on people," James said, a little sheepishly.

"Are you, by any chance, a little embarrassed?"

"No!"

"Good. Don't be. It's good to see you enjoying yourself. But maybe you could tone down the excitement just a little bit? You have to be able to sleep tonight if you want to enjoy Solstice tomorrow."

"All-riiight," James said, with mock disappointment. "Do you want me to turn the music down?"

"Hell no," I said. "I loved this album when I was fourteen or fifteen. Let's dance!"

I took James by the hand and twirled him around, making him laugh and stumble. We bounced and whooped and sang together in the back room, our socked feet skidding on the laminate floor, our faces glowing and our eyes sparkling when they met.

It won't be long before you've gone.

I can't imagine leaving.

***

"Jake! Wake up! It's almost light!"

James was on his knees next to me, shaking me awake hard enough to bounce the bed.

"Okay, James. I'm awake."

"It's Solstice!" he sang at me. "Are we going to start partying now?"

"Just let me wake up first."

"I'll make you coffee!"

James hurdled me and ran off down the stairs, oblivious or unconcerned that he still had no clothes on. When I heard the kettle boil and the clinking of crockery, I pulled myself out of bed. I put on my dressing gown and grabbed the oversized hoodie and some boxers for James. I threw them at him on arrival in the kitchen, before he had the chance to pick up the steaming mug of instant coffee and offer it to me. He caught the clothes and put them on without complaining.

"Thanks for the coffee," I said, grabbing the mug from the side.

"What's for breakfast?" asked James, his head popping through the neck of the hoodie.

"Hmm…" I said, as James stepped into his underpants, "I was thinking, maybe, chocolate?"

"Yeah!" cried James, hopping and yanking up his pants in one movement. "Can I get it out?"

I nodded. James jumped across the room to get at the fridge.

We sat together at the dining room table, both eating chocolate, me drinking coffee. Two bars of stale Dairy Milk and a bar of stale Galaxy. If James grinned harder his face would have split.

"As if to say he doesn't like chocolate," I said.

James laughed. "I thought you'd forgotten that song!"

"How could I?" I said. "You used to play that album to death."

We finished the first bar between us, and James started on the second. He took a first bite, began to chew, and made a little surprised noise.

"There's something in this one!" he said, muffled by a mouthful of chocolate.

"Oh, sorry," I said, "Is it a Fruit and Nut one?"

"No," he said, swallowing, "it's something sweet and crunchy."

I pulled the bar towards me and turned it over to look at the packaging.

"Oh, it has Daim inside. I didn't realise. Do you still like it?"

"Obviously!" said James, reaching to take the packet back from me and eat more of the bar. "Just surprised, that's all."

"Well I'm glad it was that. Daim isn't so bad. The worst was when they started doing Dairy Milk with Oreo inside. It was like putting a statue of Ronald McDonald in the Sistine Chapel."

"I don't know what any of those things are," said James.

"Sorry," I said. "You probably hate it when I do that."

"No," said James, taking more chocolate and popping it in his mouth. "As long as you explain to me what you mean. I used to think I just wasn't clever enough, but really it's that you know a lot more than me about the way the world used to be. I like it when you explain it to me; it feels like learning secrets about the past."

"Okay," I smiled. "Where shall I begin?"

"The first thing you said. O-Yo."

"Oreo was some American biscuit thing. We never had it here when I was a kid, but I guess at some point they started pushing it worldwide. It was horrible. All bland and stodgy and just… yuck."

"What about the other things? Ronald and the chapel?"

"Ronald McDonald was the mascot of McDonalds, which was a global chain of cheap, greasy, unhealthy junk food restaurants. It was called fast food because you just went to the counter and hardly had to wait for your order. Ronald McDonald was a red-and-white clown in yellow overalls, and plastic statues of him were quite common at McDonalds branches."

"What about the chapel?"

"The Sistine Chapel is a church in a great palace in Rome, where the head of one of the branches of Christianity used to live. Its walls and ceilings were painted by some of the greatest artists of their time."

James made his way through more of the chocolate. "I get it. You're saying that because Oreo was nasty and not natural to English chocolate, putting them together seemed as wrong as putting an ugly statue from a nasty restaurant chain inside a beautiful work of art."

"Got it in one."

James smiled to himself and sucked melted chocolate from his fingertips.

"I think you've probably had enough chocolate for now," I said, pulling what was left of the second bar away from him and wrapping it back up.

"Chocolate isn't very filling," he said. "What else do we have?"

"Well, as far as special things go, we have some dried fruit, raisins, honey… Or I could get the crisps and we could sit and eat them while we watch a film?"

"That sounds good," said James, hooking a tooth under his fingernail to tease out the last of the melted chocolate.

"Oh, I just thought – I have a present for you here."

I got up and pulled the two photos I'd printed from their hiding place on top of the bookshelf. James stood to follow me.

"What are these?" asked James, as I passed the photographs to him. "Woah!"

"See," I said, pointing to the baby in the first picture, "that's you."

"And Mom and Dad!" he said, grinning and bouncing on the balls of his feet. "How did you get this?"

"I took it, ten years ago I suppose," I said. "It was still there on my phone, so I printed it just like I did with the pictures of us."

"This is amazing!" said James, running his fingertips over the faces in the image. Ross standing against the backdrop of a familiar fireplace, staring proudly at the camera as he holds his infant son. Nell sitting beside in the armchair, almost out of frame. "What about the other one?"

"Have a look and see for yourself."

"Hey! It's Mom and Dad again… and you!" James looked up at me, cheeks plumped with excitement, dimpled by his dumbstruck smile. His eyes twinkled.

"It was at their wedding. Remember you asked about it?"

"I remember. Wait, who's that guy?" He pointed at the man stood next to me in the photo. Four people in their late twenties standing together, the woman in a wedding dress, holding the hand of a grinning man in a fancy tuxedo. Beside them, me, in a grey suit with a pale blue shirt, and another, bigger man, in a dark suit. All happy and relaxed, positioned in front of a stone wall clad with roses climbing a trellis. The bride and I each hold a champagne glass. The lighting of the photo implies the summer evening sunshine.

"That's Greg. He was a good friend of ours when we were at university together."

"He looks like he had a lot of muscles."

I laughed. "That he did. Lots of weightlifting, and rowing, and other things too."

"I could look at these forever!" said James. He placed them carefully on the table and launched himself at me, squeezing me around the waist with all his might. "Thanks, Jake!"

"That's okay, matey," I said, running my fingers through his hair. "I'm glad you like them."

He gave a satisfied grunt and pushed back off me, smiling up at me again. Then he seemed to think for a second, and the smile faded.

"I'm sorry, Jake."

"What for?"

"I don't have anything to give you. I didn't think–"

"That's alright," I said, touching his head reassuringly, "I don't need anything."

"But it's not fair, Jake," he said. "You gave me a gift and it made me really happy, but I haven't done the same for you…"

"Come on now," I said, "there's no need to get upset. You're the only thing I need, and I have you every day, don't I?"

"I suppose," said James, still not sounding convinced.

"Chin up," I said, resting the crook of my forefinger under his jaw. "We're meant to be having fun."

"How about if I write a story for you and give it to you in a few days? Would that be a good present? Or… maybe I'll think of something else."

"That would be wonderful. I'd love that. Now what film would you like to watch?"

James seemed a bit more satisfied. "Hmm…" he pondered, "how about Lord of the Rings?"

"Alright. Which one?"

"All of them!"

"All of them?" I said. "Well I suppose we do have all day. Go and get the first film ready; I'll get the crisps."

"Actually, Jake," said James, plodding through the archway between dining room and living room, "I think I might leave the crisps for a while. I feel a bit sick."

"Oh dear," I laughed. "I told you you'd had enough chocolate!"

"Some things will never be different," he said, plopping himself on the sofa and stifling a heaving belch with his fist to his mouth.

***

We sat through The Fellowship of the Ring occasionally munching stale crisps. When it finished, having eaten only chocolate and crisps all day thus far, I decided we should have a more substantial lunch, and went to heat up some of yesterday's stew. James decided he wasn't hungry for stew and instead had two lollipops that were hidden amongst our secret stash. Then, after a while, he decided he was hungry after all and got himself a second fork and spoon to pick at my stew as I ate.

After the Battle of Helm's Deep, I told James that we should start preparing our Solstice dinner. I had him chopping vegetables with me to boil, steering him away from the larger and sharper knives in the drawer in favour of something more suited to his size and skill. I had the big daddy knife, he had to make do for the moment with the little boy scalpel.

I'd put some potatoes on to boil while we chopped, and now I set them to roast. We waited a while before preparing the deer steaks. I got myself a beer and James brought back the photographs, and we stood chatting about them for a long time. I could smell the potatoes cooking.

James asked to try some beer. The taste was a little off; the bottles were very old. He smacked his lips and wrinkled his nose.

"It's a bit of an acquired taste," I said.

"I don't dislike it," James countered, "it just tastes different from what I was expecting."

He decided he would have one with his dinner, like me.

I got the steaks ready to cook. "Which herbs should we put on them?" I asked.

James reached over the sink to the window ledge, where I'd potted some of the herbs from the garden before the weather turned. Snow had started to fall in slow, cottony flakes outside.

"Parsley," he said, pulling a clump from the pot, stalks and all. A brief flicker of childhood memory, sitting watching a grainy VHS of Parsley the Lion with my mother, sparked across the back of my mind and extinguished within the same millisecond. James began roughly chopping the parsley, including the stalks, with the knife I'd given him.

"I don't think we want the stalks, mate."

"They'd just be wasted otherwise," said James, looking up from his chopping to wave an arm in protest. "They still taste like parsley – see?" He popped a segment of chopped parsley stalk into his mouth.

"You're a funny boy," I said, "but I still love you. Are you done chopping?" I had the steaks sizzling in a pan. James lifted the chopping board and reached over to slide the parsley onto the steaks with his knife.

***

We ate at the table. I put the stereo on as accompaniment. I'd uncapped a beer each for us. "Cheers!" I said, clinking bottles with James.

"Skol!" he replied. I laughed in surprise. It was something Nell used to say. I had no idea she'd taught it to him.

"Na zdravje," I responded, chuckling.

"You win," said James. "I don't know any more."

The roe we took may not have been the greatest specimen, but the meat was fine. The meal tasted like the bonhomie of a pop-up Christmas market after dark on a Saturday night. We were in a silly mood. James cracked jokes and reminisced about times he'd been naughty as he munched through his dinner and swigged his beer. I got us the rest of the chocolate and two fresh bottles. James grabbed at it like a starving beast, making exaggerated chomping noises as he pretended to eat it all at once.

"Little monkey," I said.

James laughed and broke a piece of chocolate from the morning's half-eaten bar, handing it to me.

"Aren't you sweet?" I said.

"That was terrible," James snorted.

"I knew you'd like that one."

"Can we get more chocolate?"

"We can head over to the factory one day if you like. It's not too far away. There'll surely be lots left over there."

James bounced in his seat. "There's a place where people make chocolate near here?"

"Used to make chocolate," I corrected. "But yes, the Cadbury factory is very close by. This is practically the land of chocolate. The Cadbury family pretty much invented British chocolate culture."

"We have to go," said James, matter-of-factly.

We swilled down the chocolate with more beer. I went and fetched a rum for myself. It was dark and spicy, particularly good for drinking without mixer. James requested a glass. I was dubious. He insisted, so I poured him a mouthful, instructing him to sip it. He gulped it back in one and spluttered.

"Easy!" I said, taking the glass from his hand as he waved it around, coughing. "You don't like it?"

"Tastes like burning," said James, between coughs.

"Should I get you some water?"

James shook his head. "I want to drink more of that."

His cheeks and ears were flushed. His eyes were lively; slightly bloodshot. He caught me looking at him and burst into giggles. He took the glass back and waved it at me.

"Just one more," he begged. "Then you can take me for a lie down." He giggled as he said it, motoring his eyebrows at me.

I poured him another shot's worth, then drained my own glass. As soon as he was finished drinking, I had him scooped up in both arms, kissing sweet, passionate, spicy kisses. Suede was playing on the stereo, Animal Nitrate. I threw James down on the settee in the living room and ripped his clothes from him savagely. I carried him, fireman's lift, to the bed, where we would have more room.

***

Under the glow of the bedroom light I had my head up James' bare arsecrack, his flavour rich and bittersweet like a chocolate stout. He grunted and moaned. I was massaging the foreskin of his pencil-stiff willy back and forth, teasing the ridge of his head with my thumbnail through the skin as I went. Then I had enough and flipped him roughly onto his back. I stripped kneeling above him, my hard, adult cock straining and bouncing over his narrow and immature body. He held me in his gaze, somewhere between adoring and dizzy.

I lined my dick up to James' lips, an imitation of a position I loved to see him in over me – that I was certain he loved to be in. He opened wide and sucked me in, his tongue working my glans without a moment's delay. I grabbed the jar of Vaseline from the table, twisted around. My balls rested on the bridge of James' nose. He squeezed and rolled them gently in his hand. I took everything he had in my mouth. He whimpered. The blow job had become uncoordinated and sloppy. I felt saliva running down James' chin onto my thigh.

I lifted his legs, slathered James' crack with mammoth globs of jelly, probed his arse deep with a single thrust of my little finger. He yelped and squirmed. My mouth tasted of nuts and fresh bread. My nose was on his varnish-smooth bifkin, right over his hole. I could smell its greasy, leathery scent over the Vaseline as it sucked on my finger to the base.

I rolled us sideways, pulling up James' leg further to gain yet more access to his rear end. James' tongue was all over my cock. Everything was damp and sticky with saliva. I still had willy and pouch together in my mouth, suckling gently. My focus was elsewhere. I withdrew my middle finger and plunged my index alongside it through James' tight ring of muscle. The spasms caused my fingers to cross inside him. His whole body bucked and tightened. He grunted and gargled on my dick, his raised thigh squeezing instinctively against my head. I fingerfucked him rhythmically, in and out, round and round, scissor motions. James whimpered and mewed softly, switching to licking my cock and balls, his jaw exhausted.

"Ready for number three?" I asked. Except it wasn't really a question.

He knew it. I felt him nod against my lower quarters and whisper a tight-throated "yeah."

Out the two fingers came. James' anus winked and spasmed, open and shut, up and down, millimetres from my eyes. Index, middle, and ring finger. A new fat blob of jelly. Pressed together in a triangle. In they went.

Resistance. Lots of resistance. "Yeeeow!" James cried. His body stiffened and he panted and whimpered.

"Just relax," I said. "Remember to push. Good boy."

I waited for him to get used to this new invasion. His willy had gone soft, and I nuzzled it. He recovered enough to start licking dutifully once more. Fewer spasms on my fingers. I moved them around a little more.

"Do you think you're ready for something a little bigger?"

"You're going to put your willy in me, like the boy and his uncle in the story."

"Is that what you want?"

"Mmm."

"James?"

"Do it to me, Jake." He slurred it a little as he said it. He had his eyes closed and hiccoughed with his mouth over the end of my dick.

"Roll over onto your other side," I said, pulling away and directing him with one hand on his hip. "Hold your knee up to your chest for me." I was slathering my spit-soaked boner in additional Vaseline, heartbeat fracturing my ribs. James clung to his knee with both arms, folding it into his chest. I lay beside him.

"Do it, Jake." Another hiccup. I pulled his buttock up with the palm of one hand and lined up my dick with the other. His arsehole looked red and angry, much unlike its usual little pink wrinkle.

I pushed.

"Aaa-oooouw!"

"Are you okay, James?"

"Yeah…" he panted. "Keep going."

"Good boy. Brave boy."

My cock had been repulsed by James' ring. It slid up against his balls, tight against his body, his willy hanging limply down to the side, mine leaving a goopy trail up his taint and on his genitals.

"I'm going to try to put it in again."

James nodded. If he folded his knee into his chest any tighter, he'd have snapped himself in two. His teeth were gritted, eyes tight shut. This time I popped past his body's resistance. He screamed again, his other leg involuntarily kicking against me. My front was soaked in his sweat, but I smelt something else. I heard it too: the baritone drubbing of water on a drumskin. James had dribbled out a stream of urine, his bladder full from the alcohol, leaving a trail down his hip and a puddle under him on the bedsheets. He lay stoically in place, grunting and whimpering as his anus spasmed wildly over the tip of my cock.

"James, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Please do it, Jake. I want it."

"I'm not sure you do," I said, reaching up to stoke his face, his jaw and eyelids still on lockdown.

"I do want it, Jake," James said, sounding pained as he tried to push his hips back against me. "It's my present to you."

My dick slipped a little further inside him. He yelped and I heard another dribble of piss. He sniffled. He was trying not to cry.

It's my present to you.

Pins and needles spread through my body like a sudden onset of chickenpox. My stomach felt like it had fled to the other side of the room. My balls went numb and my dick shrivelled inside him, popping out, making him grunt and buck again. I wrenched his arms from behind his knee and rolled him onto me, away from his wet patch. I cuddled him into my sweat-drenched chest.

"My poor baby boy! I'm so sorry, James. So, so sorry." I rocked him from side to side against me.

"Why, Jake?" he sobbed. "I just wanted to give you your present. We both wanted to do it."

I held him tightly to me and pressed my lips into his sweat-matted hair, trying to fight back my own tears. James hiccoughed and heaved a little, as if he was going to puke. I let him go and he wriggled free.

"I feel sick," he said.

"I need to change these sheets," I replied robotically, feeling as if I was observing myself from the ceiling. "Go and wait in the bathroom for a while just in case."

James crawled off the bed. He stumbled when he stood; braced himself against the wall. Then he waddled his way to the bathroom, banging both doors along the way, a couple more hiccups reverberating off the walls.

Alone on the bed, I growled and kicked, digging my fingernails into my face. I stood up and tore the soiled sheet from the bed, balling it manically in my fists, pounding it against the wall as my tears came, fiery heaves and sobs laced with dark rum, sickly-sweet chocolate, and the scent of James' urine; the acrid stench of my shame.

***

I sat in the living room. The bedsheet lit up the fireplace like a beacon, but the room was darkened. There was something still playing on the stereo, but it didn't register with me any more coherently than the sound of a jet engine on take-off. Outside, a blizzard raged, wind rattling the windows and snow whiting them out, cold and final as a metal shutter.

I had got my boy drunk and tried to fuck him.

I had got my eleven-year-old boy drunk and tried to fuck him.

I had got my eleven-year-old boy hopelessly drunk and tried to fuck him.

I had got my dead friend's eleven-year-old orphan boy hopelessly drunk and tried to fuck him.

I had got my dead friend's eleven-year-old orphan boy hopelessly drunk, attempted to anally rape him, and made him think it was what he wanted.

How much damage had I done?

He would hate me. Surely, when he sobered up and realised what had happened, he would hate me. I'd let him humiliate and debase himself. I'd humiliated and debased him.

I loved him so much I would die for him. I would do anything to protect him.

He was better off without me.

Tomorrow, I would take him to the nosey Asian family. They would keep him safe. He'd live a normal life. He was better off without me.

Without me in his life.

Without me alive.

The fire whooshed and crackled. The sheet could have set the whole house on fire. Even in my shame I was selfish and dangerous to James.

The stairs boomed and creaked as if an elephant was tumbling down them in slow motion. A naked boy appeared in the doorway. Wobbled a little. Hiccoughed.

"Jake, when are you coming to bed?"

"I don't know, mate. There's a lot I have to tidy up down here."

"Would you come now please? I'm cold and I want a cuddle."

He leaned bonelessly against the doorframe as he spoke. The thick layer of Vaseline remained between his legs, glittering in the glow of the fire.

***

I didn't sleep, but I gave James what he really wanted: someone to cuddle up to in the dark. I extricated myself at dawn and went to clean up the mess of the sheet fire and our dinner spread. Light could barely penetrate the front windows for the snow. A trip into the garden to dump the ashes confirmed a blizzard in full force.

My head thrummed with despair. My insides were missing. As I cleared away the rum bottle from the table, most of what was left of me wanted to neck it. Somehow, I resisted; it had played a big enough part already. I put it back in the fridge, dead as my soul, and settled for instant coffee.

James arrived just as I was finishing my brew. I was sat on the settee in my dressing gown. He was still naked. He dumped himself into my lap.

"My head hurts."

"That's what happens when you have too much alcohol."

"I only had a little bit!" James' throat sounded sore.

"Even a little bit is too much for little boys." I was choking up just speaking to him. My throat was dry, and my heart pulsed like a sprinter.

"Are you okay, Jake?" asked James, turning on my lap to face me side-on. He looked and sounded concerned. I put my arms around him, leaned back into the settee, and burst into tears.

"Jake? Jake?" James sounded panicked. I couldn't open my eyes to look at him. He tried wiping my tears, but gave up and squeezed me tightly instead, pushing his face against mine. "It's okay, Jake. It's okay."

"No, it's not," I whispered, between heavy sobs. "I hurt you, Jamey. How could I do that?"

"Oh…" he was sheepish. "I don't remember that very well."

Because I let you get hammered on booze almost as old as you are, and four times as strong.

"Are you sure?" I asked him.

"Well, maybe I do a little bit," said James. "But it wasn't that bad, Jake."

Except for the part where I overstretched your arse and tried to fuck you, while you were too polite and pliant to say no.

"James, what I did was very, very wrong," I said, holding the back of his head and talking directly into his ear. "Nobody should ever try to force someone else to do things with them, and you should never let anyone else do things with you that you don't want to do."

"But I did want to do it," James insisted. "At least, I thought I wanted to, at the time." He paused for a second. I tried to cut across him, but he put his hand over my mouth. "I just wanted to make you happy. I lied to you. When you realised I was lying, you stopped."

"Jamey," I said, when he let go of my mouth, still holding him to me, both drooped on the settee, "You know I knew deep down you didn't really want to do it at all. I knew you were drunk – way more drunk than I should have let you get – and you didn't know what you were saying. But in the moment… In the moment I chose to ignore what you wanted. You shouldn't be forgiving me so easily for that. I taught you better than that."

James was silent for a while. I could almost feel the cogs working in his head as he lay cheek to cheek with me.

"You taught me to always look after the people you love," he said, after a while. "Please don't be sad, Jake. I'm not that sad. I just feel like… I dunno. I suppose like we made a mistake. But we won't do it again. Maybe we can do… that… when I'm a bit older?"

"James, I'm the adult. It's my responsibility, not your mistake. I shouldn't have let any of that happen."

"But it did, so we can't change it now."

I gave a wry chuckle. "Who's the grown-up here?" I said. "I'm not sure I deserve you."

James sighed theatrically and lifted his head from mine, sitting up straddling my hips. "You know what you'd say to me if I was being like this?"

"What?" I asked.

"Stop being a silly goose!" he tapped the end of my nose with every word, then – out of nowhere – he slapped my cheek, not entirely playfully. "Get up. I need you. I feel rubbish and it's your fault for letting me get drunk, so you have to look after me."

I sat up and blinked at him. He smirked at me.

"Yep," he said. "You're going to have to really look after me today. Or else I might have to be sick on you." He made himself giggle.

He didn't hate me. It was a relief. But I still felt hollow and dirty for what I'd done.

"James?" I patted the space between me and the arm of the settee. He clambered off me and snuggled in next to me. I put my arm around his shoulders. "How's your bum feeling today?"

"It's…" he lay his head against my chest and spoke into it as he played with my hair. "It's… well, a little bit sore. And I touched it this morning and it's still greasy and smells weird."

"I'm sorry, mate." I squeezed and stroked his bare shoulder with my thumb.

"You didn't mean to hurt me," said James. "Did you, Jake?" He looked up at me, bloodshot eyes searching mine.

"Of course I didn't, Jamey. I'd never, ever want to hurt you on purpose."

"I know," he said, satisfied and smiling. He reached up to kiss my cheek. It still stung that he had to ask.

"We'll put you in the bath. A nice soak will sort everything out. Your sore head too."

"Just by myself?"

"Just by yourself, though I'll sit by the side and chat with you if you want."

"Thanks, Jake."

"James, there's something else I need to ask you." I looked into his eyes, very seriously. He looked a little panicked again. "I want you to be honest with me. We promised not to lie to each other, remember?"

James nodded his head.

"Do you like the things we do together?"

"The sexy things?"

"The sexy things."

"Obviously," said James, with a dismissive guffaw, "otherwise I wouldn't do them, would I?"

"You didn't like what we were doing last night, but you still said you'd do it."

James stopped for a second and was silent.

"James?"

"That was different," he said, quietly but clearly and firmly.

"So you don't do sex things with me just because you feel like you have to?"

"No," said James, firmly, shaking his head and looking me in the eye.

We sat quietly together for a few seconds, my hand still idly caressing James' shoulder as he snuggled against me, listening to each other breathing.

"When we first started, when I was younger," James volunteered, "I liked doing it just to… you know…"

"Get off?"

"To… to have an orgasm," James gave a little snigger under his breath at using the formal term.

"Okay. But?"

"But… when I realised I could do stuff to help you, too… well, it felt exciting and cool to make you feel good as well. Like we were bonding or something."

"So you are doing it just to please me?"

"No!" James countered. "It's hard to explain. Just listen."

"I'm sorry. I'm listening." I said. James shuffled over and put himself on my lap again, drawing my arms around him with his.

"Lately," he said, "I've been… sort of…" He sighed and lay his head back against my chin, scrunching up his eyes. "I dunno. Somehow it feels sexier now to do things with you. Like telling you what I want you to do. And… it's really fun… like when we play games together and you pretend like you have control over me. I know that it's not real, but that feeling like you have control over me, and can make me do whatever you want, or I have control over you… Does that make sense, Jake? It's just really… really sexy, to do that with someone you love."

"James," I whispered in his ear. "You've given yourself a stiffy."

"I know," he giggled, flexing and twitching his boner for show.

"I think," I said, "that what's happening is that my little boy is growing up."

"Don't be saccharine, Jake!"

"Wow!" I laughed. "Saccharine! You really are growing up!"

"You taught me that word, remember!"

"You learn so much that I can't possibly keep up with where it's all coming from," I said, tickling his belly until he wriggled off my lap. His penis had flopped back to normal size.

"I've got a headache, remember!" James protested. I was sat up at the edge of my seat, he was stood between my open legs. I placed my hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.

"You're sure that everything's okay?"

He nodded his head.

"Maybe it would be easier to write down some of those feelings than to try to explain them to me now."

"You mean like in a story?"

"That's it," I said. "Exactly like that."

James smiled. "I can do that!"

I stood up and ushered him into the hallway. "Go on," I said. "Run a bath for that bum of yours."

"Alright," said James, making his way slowly up the stairs.

There was a knocking at the front door. James stopped halfway up the stairs.

"Who the hell could that be?" I said.

Of course, there were very few living souls who knew our address, so the pool was quite limited, especially given the weather. I peered through the peephole to see the distorted image of a tangled mess of unruly black hair and skin the colour of milky coffee, somewhere below the level of the glass. I opened the door.

"Manny?" I said.

The boy stepped through the door, slumped under the weight of his sodden clothes and a full-to-splitting rucksack. He was soaked to the bone and had a whiff of little boy BO about him.

"Manny!" shrieked James, bounding back down the stairs and throwing his arms around the boy. Manny stood awkwardly, wide-eyed, as his naked acquaintance embraced him.

"Brrrr!" said James, letting go of Manny and pulling back. "You're really cold."

Manny stood stone still, staring at James' bare crotch, and mumbled something.

"I'm up here, Manny," I said, turning the boy's chin so he was looking at me as he spoke, rather than ogling James. He glowed beetroot and avoided my gaze. "James," I said, "go and cover yourself up, please."

"Oops!" said James, belatedly cupping his genitals in his hands and blushing a little too. "Sorry Manny. I'll get dressed." He raced away up the stairs with one hand over his front and the other hiding his rear cleft.

"What was it you were saying, Manny?"

"I said…" he sighed and glanced at the still-open door. "Can I stay with you, please?"

I closed the door and looked again at the young boy before me. The dripping from his clothes was creating a large puddle on the hallway floor. They were filthy as well as soaking wet. His hair was overgrown and tangled. His face was streaked with grime and his eyes looked tired, red, and puffy.

"James!" I called up the stairs.

"Yeah?" he shouted in return.

"On second thoughts, don't bother getting dressed. Be a good big brother and run a bath for you and Manny to share."

"What?" he said, incredulously, having appeared at the top of the stairs with a pair of colourful boxer briefs in hand, draped over his genitals to keep them hidden.

"Go on," I said, "before Manny freezes to death. You two can have a bath together and warm him up."

"Cool!" said James, throwing the underpants to one side and bursting through the bathroom door. I looked at Manny, dripping freezing water onto the laminate floor, and stroked his cheek with my hand. He collapsed against me and squeezed me tight.

I held him to me while he kept up the hug. "Thank you," he whispered, slowly letting me go.

"Alright," I said, running a hand through his soaked, tangled hair. "You've had James flash you, it's only fair you return the favour now."

Manny blushed and smirked to himself. I took his hand and began to lead him upstairs.

"James!" I called. "Are you ready?"

***

Hey!

If you're reading this then GET THE HELL OUT OF OUR HOUSE! You won't like to see us when we're angry. James fires arrows more accurately than Legolas and Manny is a better fighter than Aragorn.

Only joking. We don't mind you being here if you're friendly. But you have to keep tidy, don't break anything, and DON'T STEAL OUR STUFF!

This is our winter house. It was Jake's house when he was little, so he will beat you up if you mess it up. We know it's true because James saw it happen to someone before. We'll be back here in the winter. If anyone reads this then please leave us a message here too. It'll be really cool to read messages from different people as much as possible.

Especially if there are girls because Manny wants a girlfriend. James smells like farts and wets his pants.

Sleep well house, we will see you again soon!

James & Manny

xx XX

***

Jon,

If you're reading this then I'm so happy that you're safe and well. I've missed you every day.

I understand why you had to go; Francesca was scared, she wanted to get back to her parents, however far away that was. I told you then that I understood and truly I still do. But I hoped you would return. I hold on to that hope. This will always be our home whenever we need it.

I left the house stocked up as best I could, like a survival bunker, in case you returned once the baby was born. Nearly four years later it was all still here. It was good for me; I needed it. I'll explain why. But it saddened me to know you still hadn't come back. I'd give anything to see you again; to meet your little girl or boy.

After you left, I couldn't stay here. Like I said, I stockpiled everything I could and went back to Nell and James. Unfortunately, Nell is no longer with us. It's just me and James. I brought him here with me for the winter. They're getting worse – I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that – and I could barely keep us both alive on that farm by ourselves. Not through the worst of the winter, not that far north. James is everything to me. I can't bear to let him down.

You'll probably see – if you haven't already – his letter here with mine. He's an incredible young man and I know you would love him too if you met him. He's taken a shine to wearing that old signed shirt of yours – sorry he's taken it away with him! He'll probably wear it to destruction this summer. I know you would've done the same at his age. I'm looking after another young boy as well, Manny. His story is a bit more complicated. I can explain everything if, WHEN, I see you again. The hope will never leave me.

I know I went away too, after Mom died, and disappeared to the farm. We knew how to find each other, though. We could get messages to each other if we needed to. Now I'm left with only this void. I dream of walking through the door next winter and seeing the three of you standing in the kitchen waiting for us. Even just you, whatever the circumstances. Even just a note in return, so I know you're ok. I'll understand, just as I know you understand me.

All my love,

Jake x

James' Story: The Mallard Prince

To Jake,

I hope you like my story!

Lots of love,

James xxx<3

***

Once upon a time there was the old world. It was busy and colourful and the water birds lived everywhere, many of them in a lot of comfort. There were palatial nests with great luxuries, and all sorts of devices and machinery. Life was good.

The water birds didn't realise just how good some of them had it. Some birds always wanted more and more. Their luxuries and devices and machinery were spoiling the marshes and riverbanks they needed to live, but nobody seemed to mind as long as it wasn't their nest being spoilt. It carried on like this until, one day, a point came where their habitat couldn't last any longer. Whereas before the privileged birds had been able to ignore the ones losing their homes and their livelihoods around the edges, now the whole habitat became affected. Their pleasant lands, with just enough warmth and just enough rain, began in some parts to dry out and in others to flood. Gentle drizzle became thunderstorms, heavy rain, and snow. The summers were too hot, the winters were too cold. Everything was unpredictable now. The birds tried to fight back but they had left it far too late.

While everyone was struggling to cope, things got even worse. Higher temperatures caused ice that had been frozen for hundreds of years to melt. Foul gasses were released into the air, making the weather even more unstable. With the gasses came illnesses that had been frozen in time, that nobody had seen for centuries nor was prepared for. With everything in chaos it was hard to make enough medicine, or even make a plan. Most of the birds died. Drakes, hens, ducklings, all together. Seeing all the poor ducklings go was the worst.

Some birds survived still. They were either lucky they didn't get sick or lucky they couldn't get sick. The mallard prince was a very lucky bird. He hatched in an isolated little nest with his mother and father, after most others were almost all gone. The daddy duck died when the mallard prince was very small, so although it was a sad thing to have happened, he was too young to remember and be upset about it.

The mallard prince wasn't alone. He grew up with two other ducklings, a boy and a girl a little bit older than him, who hatched just before the end of the old world. The mallard prince's mother, and the boy duckling's parents, were there too. Then a friendly swan came and joined them too, and they were all together and happy for a little while.

Disaster struck when the girl duckling got very ill one day, just as she and the boy duckling were growing bigger and learning to fly. The boy duckling and his parents had to leave to another nest, far away, and the swan was left to try and save the girl duckling. There wasn't anything he could do and the girl duckling died. The swan had to go away for a while after that.

The little mallard prince was left all alone with his mother. He was sad and confused for a long time. Eventually the swan came back to be with them, and the mallard prince felt that he was the luckiest little duck in the world again. He loved his mother and the swan very dearly. He thought they'd be together forever.

Nothing ever seemed to go right for the mallard prince, though. After some happy years with him, his mother, and the swan all living together, the mallard prince's mother began to grow weak and sickly. He tried to do everything he could to help her, but she wouldn't get any better. Only worse. Then one night she was gone before he even got the chance to say goodbye to her. The mallard prince was devastated. But the wise old swan looked after him. He took the mallard prince under his wing and kept him close and safe.

When the swan took the mallard prince under his wing, he showed him some new things. Woah! Where did that come from? Do all ducklings get to do this as they get bigger? The feelings were more intense and exciting than anything he had felt before. He stayed under the swan's wing and learned more and more about how they could give each other good feelings. The mallard prince began to feel very special because of what he and the swan were doing.

While the mallard prince and the swan learned new ways to love each other, they also endured some hard times. The winters were long and difficult. They shivered together in their nest. There was never enough to eat. The swan wanted to take the mallard prince far away for winter, to his homeland further south, which was once a great swan city. But the mallard prince was still too small to fly. They waited together until the time was right. The swan promised the mallard prince that winter would be much easier in the big city.

When the mallard prince was eleven summers old, the swan decided he was finally big enough for them to fly south for the winter. The journey was very difficult for such a little bird. It was a long way, with lots of uncomfortable nights spent outdoors because he couldn't move very far very fast without getting worn out. He always felt dirty and tired. He couldn't even enjoy getting his exciting, sexy feelings with the swan, because he wouldn't let them do anything like that while they were out in the wild.

They got to the city at sunset one night. Wow! The mallard prince had never seen anything like it before. So many houses! So many buildings! But no more birds. At least, not until they got to the swan's old home. They got there and found there was a frightened goose hiding there. He was so scared that he fought with the swan, but the swan was clever and found a way to beat off the goose. He sent the goose away, leaving feathers everywhere.

The mallard prince was scared. He'd been alone with the swan for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to have other birds around. Plus he'd read about birds fighting, but never actually seen it for himself. And that's very frightening when you're little and caught in the middle of it. It took the swan a little while to calm the mallard prince down and make him feel like it was a good thing to be in the city. They did some things together – sexy things and outdoors things – and the mallard prince was excited about the city again. The swan always knew how to make the mallard prince feel better.

One day they saw a family of moorhens. The granny moorhen met the mallard prince when he waddled off ahead outside one day. The mallard prince wasn't scared, but he realised the swan didn't trust the moorhen. It was maybe because she asked too many questions about the mallard prince, and the swan just wanted to keep the mallard prince safe with him.

After that day, the mallard prince was poorly for a while. It was a miserable and scary time. The mallard prince had never been that ill before. Not only was it horrible to feel that way but he could see how much it worried the swan too. Thankfully he got better. He was a lucky little duck, after all!

The swan took the mallard prince out to find some medicine to help him get his full strength back. What a trip! The mallard prince saw so many new things, huge buildings everywhere! He couldn't imagine how it had ever been built, or that there were ever enough birds to fill it all. While they were searching for medicine, they saw a body of a bird that had been killed. The mallard prince was shocked and upset. It made him think of his mother, and other birds who had died. He didn't want to die, and he didn't want the swan to die, either. He didn't even want to think about it.

Another thing happened while they were looking for medicine. They found another duckling! A little grebe boy was looking for medicine too, for his nana. Oh no! Somehow they both needed the same medicine, and there wasn't enough left! The swan told the grebe boy that he wanted to see his nana. The grebe took them to where he lived with nana grebe, a nest really high up. She was very poorly too, but she was kind to the mallard prince. He wanted to give up his medicine to her, but the swan wouldn't let him. He didn't want the nana grebe to die and end up like the dead bird they saw, and for the little boy grebe to be left on his own, like the mallard prince nearly was when he was smaller. He thought the swan was just being mean, but they had a private chat and the mallard prince agreed it was best to take some medicine for himself but share the rest with the lady grebe. Then the swan told the boy grebe how to find them if he needed them, which made the mallard prince very happy. It was nice to see a boy duckling just like him and he hoped he would see him again.

Another time, the mallard prince and the swan went out to build a snowdrake. Who should they find coming towards them but the family of moorhens! They must have followed them! Maybe the swan was right to be worried. The daddy moorhen came, and he had his two little ducklings with him, two girl moorhens. The swan took the daddy moorhen off to show him the nest and prove that he was looking after the mallard prince properly, that he was safe under his wing. That meant the mallard prince got to play for a while with some more little ducklings! Yay! The little moorhens were fun, and the mallard prince hoped he would see them again, even if the grown-up moorhens weren't to be trusted.

The swan decided they should have a party to celebrate the winter solstice. The mallard prince agreed and they went out together to search for some party food to eat together. Before they could begin their search properly, they heard a strange noise outside a broken old nest. They had to go and investigate. The nest was falling down, and a bird had got trapped inside it! It was the goose they had scared away before! The mallard prince and the swan worked together to free the goose and take him home with them, but he was badly hurt. His wings were broken and he wouldn't survive the night.

The swan realised he used to know the goose when he was a much younger swan and the goose was a little fledgling. The mallard prince was upset. He thought it was their fault the goose had got so badly hurt, because they had to chase him away from their nest. The swan also had to explain to him that not all little birds got to do the things with big birds that the two of them had been doing together. He finally explained that it was meant to be a secret. The mallard prince kind of suspected it was like that, but he was still disappointed that the swan hadn't told him before. Plus he was really upset about what had happened with the goose. When they laid the goose to rest, the mallard prince finally understood what the swan meant about loving him so much he'd do anything to protect him. The mallard prince couldn't bear to even imagine losing the swan either.

The mallard prince liked doing the things that he and the swan did together. It felt fun and exciting and really sexy, especially when the mallard prince got to be in charge and act like he could make the swan do whatever he wanted him to do. He realised that what he did made the swan feel good too, and that made him happy. It made him feel like they were looking after each other and loving each other properly. He felt like a grown-up duck when he did that, which was a really good feeling to have.

On Solstice, the mallard prince and the swan had their party. They both drank some things that the mallard prince probably shouldn't have, and it made them make some bad choices. The swan tried to, well, duckfuck the mallard prince. The mallard prince suspected for a while that this was what the swan really wanted, so he pretended he wanted it to. Really he was a bit scared and it hurt him, but he wouldn't say that because he felt like he should make the swan happy, because he loved him so much and liked all the other things they did together. He also hadn't got the swan a present for Solstice, when the swan had given the mallard prince some really cool pictures of his parents back in the old world. So he felt like he owed the swan something good in return.

Eventually the swan realised what a bad idea duckfucking had been, and he felt like it was all his fault that he'd made the mallard prince do something he didn't want to do, and it had hurt him. The mallard prince sort of agreed, because the swan was the grown-up bird after all, but he didn't want the swan to be upset because it was sort of his fault too. He lied to the swan and told him he wanted it, even if the swan probably knew better. The swan told the mallard prince he wasn't to blame. The mallard prince told the swan it didn't matter because sometimes mistakes happen, which is true. Nothing really bad happened, it was just a little mistake that neither of them will make again. And, one day when he's a little bigger, maybe the mallard prince would quite like to be duckfucked, just to see what it's like.

The little grebe boy came to live with the mallard prince and the swan. They're going to fly north together for the summer. The mallard prince is excited and happy to still be under the swan's wing. Now the grebe will be there with him too and they'll learn to fly properly together.

***

My dearest Jamey,

Every bird enjoys his own voice! I'm so pleased and proud that you used this gift to help explain your feelings to me. I love you more than you can imagine.

Jake xx

Post-story: Mynd!

To Jake, James and Manny,

Dim ar radio! Dim telecom! I hope you enjoy this gift. Thank you so much for your visit – please come again!!

Love,

Jen, Megan and Emyr x

***

The summer sun had begun to heat the morning when the boys went out to play. They could hardly wait; two-and-a-half days of heavy storms had kept them cooped up in the house like neglected racing pigeons. They couldn't wait to spread their wings again.

They hadn't been shut in by choice. When the first of the heavy downpours came, they both ran outside to dance around in the rain. I was furious. They both looked as if they'd been stood under a power shower. I shouted at them from the front door to get themselves inside. They were sheepish, heads down, as I sent them to separate bedrooms: James to his room, Manny to his. I went into each of them with a towel and said the same thing; voice low and firm, staccato words: Undress. Dry off. Get into bed. It was late afternoon, but I pretended I was sending them to bed for the night. Both looked miserable, pulling themselves awkwardly out of their soaked clothes, but didn't dare argue. They were relieved when, a couple of hours later, I told them to get into their pyjamas and come for dinner.

Sleeping arrangements had been complicated by there being the three of us. I managed to coax James to take his old room back up, sleeping in his old bed with covers printed with stylised images of planets and stars. Manny took what had been a spare room with a single bed, on the side of the farmhouse next to Nell's room. James' bedroom and mine were on the opposite side of the main living room. It wasn't a particularly inspiring or exciting room for a young boy, but the opportunity to redecorate had yet to present itself. He at least had a set of spare sheets for James' bed to add some colour: sketch-style prints of triangles and spirals in oranges and yellows, on a blue-green background. It reminded me of bedding I'd had as a child in the early 90s, which I routinely left in a heap on the bedroom floor early every Saturday morning, racing downstairs in just my underpants to watch Rugrats and Aaahh!!! Real Monsters on Nickelodeon until lunch.

These new arrangements didn't stick particularly convincingly. It wasn't uncommon for me to wake – or be awoken – to find a sweet-smelling young man in bed with me; occasionally both at once. There wasn't enough space in my bed for that, so I discouraged ménages à trois strongly. The deal I suggested was that we would all sleep together in the winter house, when we would be glad of the heat. Rules, structure, and discipline were very important in managing two headstrong young boys who weren't used to being around other children all the time, much less living together with one. There was unintended joint mischief like the rain dancing, organised joint mischief of various flavours, and – of course – inevitable arguments and fights, with the boys needing to be comforted and scolded in equal measure.

Despite this, there was more than double the fun. It goes without saying that the organised joint mischief involved sexy joint mischief. But, more generally, an extra companion meant extra companionship. They always had each other for entertainment, and I had another boy to educate, care for, and learn to love.

The previous night, under the heavy, clockwork rattle of the rain on the rooftop, we played an old 1920s wind-up horse racing game. A green waxed linen racetrack connected to a mechanism built into the game's wooden container. Spinning the handle caused the racetrack to vibrate, sliding the horses along at random rates from the starting blocks to the finish. We gambled with real money. James' horse, Dark Rum, took the most victories. I called my horse Saracen; Manny called his Black Star. The two unclaimed horses took on various names across different races: Punjabi, Cherry Red, Cujo, Old Man, Ringbearer, Noble Steed…

The boys were back quicker than I expected. I heard their laughing and squealing, and the pounding of their feet as they ran a footrace back to the house.

Manny was first to leap through the open doorway, panting, red-faced and sweaty. "Jake, you gotta come see this, man!"

James bundled through the door and leaned on Manny from behind, breathing heavily and dribbling sweat down his face. "Jake, we found something really cool!"

I stood and regarded them. I'd been doing their laundry while they were out. I held one of James' psychedelic t-shirts in one hand, the other on my hip, like a teapot who had been asked whether they could step in for a shift while the washing line was on leave. "What have you two been up to now?"

"We went exploring in the woods," said Manny.

"You'll never guess what we found, Jake," said James.

"You'd better tell me then," I said.

"A car!" They both practically shouted it at the same time, and giggled to each other.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Do you mean a wreck, or one that's been burnt out, or somebody in a car, or what?"

"Just a car," said James reaching out the arm that he wasn't resting on Manny's neck and shoulders. "You know."

Seeing James' elbow and hand gave me a good guess at why he was standing behind Manny.

"James, could you stand to the side for a second?"

"But the car, Jake…"

"James?"

He stepped to the side of Manny, so his front was fully visible. Manny stifled a wicked grin.

"You're covered in grass stains and mud," I said, in a slightly irritated tone.

"It was Manny's fault," James protested. "He floored me and pinned me down!"

"He was bullying me!" said Manny, trying hard not to laugh. "You know how he's always bullying me!"

"You don't have a mark on you, Manny," I said, "so explain to me how James was bullying you and yet he's the one who's covered in mud?"

"He called me a name."

"No I didn't!" James whined, unconvincingly.

"Is that good enough reason to beat him up?"

"No…"

"He didn't beat me up!"

"What was the name James called you?" I asked.

"Manny couldn't beat me up," James pouted. I ignored him. Manny was struggling not to laugh.

"What did James call you?"

"I don't want to say it," Manny giggled.

"What did you call Manny, James?"

James was trying not to laugh now, too. He blushed and stifled a snigger as he began to explain. "I said… he looks and smells like… like your sweaty ballbag after you've been out gardening all day."

Manny couldn't stop himself giggling like mountain spring water as James was forced to repeat what he'd said. I closed my eyes and tried not to laugh as well. "First of all, James, I know you like that smell – and taste – so don't get being cheeky about that." James burbled in surprise and Manny laughed out loud again, covering his mouth with his hands. "Secondly, I can't imagine Manny likes being compared to a scrotum, does he? It's not a nice thing to say, so you need to apologise to Manny."

"Sorry Manny," said James, reluctantly.

"And Manny definitely shouldn't have wrestled you to the ground and pinned you down, should he?"

Manny suddenly looked less amused. "No, Jake, I shouldn't have pinned James."

"He tried to make me eat grass!" James complained. I ignored him again.

"Why shouldn't we fight with each other?"

"Because someone might get hurt," said Manny, guiltily.

"Apologise to James, please."

"I'm sorry James."

Satisfied I'd successfully sucked enough of the excitement from the boys to fulfil my duties as the responsible adult, I let them off the hook. "Good boys."

"Can you show us how to work the car now?" I still wasn't sure what they were talking about, but Manny was insistent and the two of them were instantly excited again despite their telling-off.

"After James has washed his hands, arms, and knees, and changed his clothes."

"Yesss!" said Manny, clenching his fists.

James didn't seem quite so excited by the prerequisite to investigating their 'car'. "Will you heat the water for me?" he said, trying to sound far too sweet.

"No," I said. He shot me an annoyed look and took a breath as if to complain. "Tough titties," I interjected, before he could speak. He smirked despite himself and walked silently off to fetch the water jug from the kitchen.

***

The courtyard between the farmhouse and the abandoned bungalow, where Drew, Harriet, Harry and Cerys had lived, was strewn with the paraphernalia of two young boys being in residence. Improvised wooden goalposts took pride of place in front of the bungalow door, strung with a coarse cargo net. Several tennis balls pillaged on a late-winter revisit to the sports shop were scattered across the cracked stone floor. Two water pistols lay against the wall of the central well, which always as we approached midsummer began to run dry. Baths became damp-flannel scrub-downs, I avoided water as much as practical in my cooking, and toilet flushes were limited strictly to solid jobs. I even tried to train the boys to go one after the other to further save water, but sadly they were uncooperative and inefficient shitters.

Manny jogged over to the football as we left the farmhouse together, rolling it out of his feet to attempt a shot on goal. I stole the ball off his toe, holding my forearm out to shield it from him, swivelled and smashed a shot into the roof of the net.

"Hey!" complained Manny.

"Good goal, Jake!" chirped James, bringing up the rear in a fresh set of clothes.

They led me on the path they'd taken through the woods. We'd occasionally come across the pheasants, fluttering and waddling stupidly, and Manny would chase them a little. He'd been fascinated by the wildlife since we'd arrived back at the farm. There can't have been much of interest to encounter from his city-centre flat. I told the boys about how, when I was at university, my college had a pet tortoise. They were fascinated when I told them it was probably still there now, barely aware that more than twenty years had passed. I'd once sent my brother a picture of the tortoise. His response was straightforward: Weird animal. Imagine having a neck like dad's ball sack.

Eventually we reached something of a clearing, a sun-dappled glade where a burn that fed a beck that eventually joined the River Wear clove its way through the trees and bushes. There, unmistakably, was a battered old 4x4. A Toyota of some sort.

"Told ya!" said Manny, jogging up to it to peer through the rear windscreen.

"See, Jake," said James, bouncing on the spot, "we told you we'd found a car."

I was taken aback. It looked externally to be in decent working order. There was no reason why it should have been left here. I took a few paces along the bank of the burn, looking for any clue as to how it might have got there. There the faint remains of tyre tracks, but they seemed largely to have been worn away. Weeds were growing in one channel caused by the vehicle straddling the stream beneath it. It must have been abandoned for some time – probably while we were away in the winter.

"What does this mean?" asked Manny, stood on the rear bumper, his forefinger against a sticker on the inside of the back windscreen of the 4x4.

"It's some French football club," I said. "I don't know why it's there."

"Do you think it still works?" asked James, pressing down on the bodywork above the front left wheel and feeling the suspension bounce.

"Why does it have a wheel on the back door?" asked Manny. They were both spellbound by the car, despite it being, to my mind, a bit shabby.

"It's a spare, Manny, in case one of the others breaks," I said. "James, have you tried opening the doors?"

"Oh. Like this?" James pulled on the handle and the front passenger door swung open. "Cool!"

It occurred to me that they must have seen the car and run straight home to tell me, before indulging the urge to examine and fiddle with it themselves. It was sweet, but also very sensible of them. I felt a rush of pride.

James climbed into the car and sat on the passenger seat. I strode over towards the open door. Manny came running in front of me and began to clamber into the passenger seat beside James. I swatted at his pertly-presented backside.

"Move it, asscrackers!" I don't know why I said that. It was something my mom used to say sometimes. "Why don't you both get into the driver's seat?"

James climbed across the ridge between the two front seats, with the gearstick and handbrake, plonking himself excitedly in front of the steering wheel. Manny followed and they were squashed together, each with both hands trying to turn the wheel. It wouldn't move. Power steering. I knelt on the vacant passenger seat peering into the back seat of the car and further into the tiny boot area behind the seats. No identifying features, only two jerry cans stashed behind the rear seats. I sat back down facing forward again. One, then – inevitably – both boys, found that pressing on the centre of the wheel sounded the horn.

I had my head in the glove box searching for more clues. Nothing. Just a pair of quite fancy Paul Frank sunglasses. Lovers in the backseat. "Alright boys, enough with the horn!" I admonished, snapping the glovebox closed. Manny was in a hysterical fit of giggles, rolling and crying next to James in the front seat, who was laughing both at the horn and how amused Manny was by it. He started poking and tickling the helpless Manny, who squealed more and writhed in the seat. Their legs were jerking and kicking under the wheel, and eventually James' knee made contact with something he hadn't noticed before.

"Argh; something metal scratched my leg," he said, leaving Manny be and bending down to investigate. "Hey, Jake! There's some keys here!"

"Leave them there; I'll come around," I said, quickly and firmly, not wanting the ignition on with the Chuckle Brothers behind the wheel. I moved around the car and opened the driver's side door from the outside, resting my hand on James' bare knee to lean over the running water of the burn and turn the key.

"Don't touch anything!" I warned. Manny had recovered his composure and was now leaning over James' lap to get a better look at what I was doing, one hand on the side of the chair and the other on James' vacant left knee. "Three, two, one…"

I turned the key and the 4x4 immediately sparked into life. The boys cheered and laughed.

"Can we drive it now, Jake?" asked Manny raising his body up to look expectantly at me, putting all his weight on poor James' knobbly knees.

"I'm getting squished!" said James, gently encouraging Manny upright with his hands on the boy's shoulders. He turned to me. "Can we Jake? Please?"

It didn't make any sense. It wasn't even a new model. The plates and interior suggested it was manufactured in 2004. I was only barely a teenager back then. The car was good to go but had just been abandoned in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere in northeast England. With the engine on, the dials on the dash were very clear that even the water and oil levels were good, the fuel tank nearly full. If the cans in the back were full, we could go almost anywhere…

"How do you boys fancy…" I began, holding for effect and watching the excitement build in their eyes. They were gripping each other's arms. "Going to the seaside!"

"Yeessss!" Both of them were bouncing and whooping in the seat, holding their linked arms in the air. Manny started pumping the horn again, hooting with laughter as he did.

"Okay," I said. "Just calm it down for a second, boys." They quietened and looked at me, ready to listen, eyes glittering with excitement. "Before we can go anywhere, we need to make sure we've got what we need. We'll go back home, pack some clothes, some towels, our sleeping bag, and some food. Then we need to make sure the chickens are fed and watered in case we're away for a couple of days, and we need to make sure everything is locked up safe. Okay?"

"Okay," said James, grinning 360 degrees around his face, "I've never seen the sea before. Have you, Manny?"

"No," said Manny. "Do you know what it's like, Jake?"

"Big," I said, "and wavy and sparkly. More water than you've ever seen – probably more than you can imagine – but it's salty."

"I don't mind salty things," said Manny. I sniggered to myself. That was something I'd learned about him in the past couple of months.

"There were pictures of the ocean in the world atlas books. We looked at them in the winter house, remember Manny?" said James.

"Oh yeah! Those books with all the countries and places!"

"Ready to go?" I interrupted, still leaning across the burn to keep my head in the car. The boys nodded. "Shift over then. Neither of you can reach the pedals."

***

Getting the car out of the clearing was a bit tricky. Especially as Manny and James had insisted on sitting on my lap as I drove. So much bouncing, and squeaking, and throwing of arms to point at things. Even moving at 5m/h xxx through the trees was a thrill for them. It was lucky at that speed that there was no chance of me wrapping the thing around one of the trunks. Once we'd found the track the car had departed from, I made the boys sit properly somewhere else. They both crammed into the passenger seat and shared it for the five-minute ride back to the farmhouse. Luckily the thing was an automatic. I'd never formally learned to drive – though I knew how to do it well enough – so point and go was a huge bonus.

James was tasked with selecting and packing clothes for us all – two changes each – and adding in a couple of clean towels. I bottled some water and boxed some food. Manny was supposed to be finding the sleeping bag and putting it in its compression sack, but from the sounds I heard from the living room and glances I cast over my shoulder through the door, it seemed more like he was wrestling it. He was still struggling by the time James and I were finished with our jobs, so I had them both kneel either side of me on the floor and showed them how to do it properly. A friend who had been a boy scout showed me the trick once: you grab an end of the sleeping bag, stuff it in the sack, keep stuffing and don't release until you have it all in. Folding or rolling will only break your sleeping bag over time by weakening it with regular creases. Perhaps that was why my inherited, ancient multi-person sleeping bag was still alive.

With the chickens seen to (and Mrs Williams wished goodbye – the old girl could look after herself better than we could) and the house locked up, we were ready to set off. I loaded our stuff on the back seat. The boys were amazed that I could pull a lever and the seat would roll forward to give me access to the back. I think they'd assumed that people just climbed over the front seats to get to the back ones, since they had no doors of their own. Of course, by the time I had the driver's seat back in place and was ready to sit down, James and Manny had already piled together into the passenger seat.

"Are you sure you both want to sit there?" I said. "We could be driving for a long time. It'll get uncomfortable."

"It's not fair to have only one of us in the front," said James.

"You could both sit in the back," I offered.

Manny shook his head slowly and dramatically at me, his eyes closed and a silly smile on his face. That told me.

"Okay, well belt up then."

They looked at me blankly. I pulled my seatbelt over my shoulder, held out the socket to show the boys, and clicked it into place. They both reached around and tried to yank at the passenger seatbelt. Obviously, it didn't move.

"Be gentle. It's designed not to move if you put too much force on it; it thinks you're crashing the car."

James sat back in place, closest to the gearstick and handbrake in the middle of the car. Manny, theatrically gently, pulled the belt down and handed the buckle to James. He pulled it a bit more firmly and clicked it into place.

"Gah!" said Manny, the belt digging into his neck and face. "I'm being strangled."

"Well, two people aren't meant to sit there," I said, trying not to sound too much like the grown-up saying I told you so. "Pull it down so it goes over your shoulder, or under your armpit."

Manny pulled the polyester belt to one side, so as it was sitting against his left arm where it met his shoulder. It stayed put, for now.

"Everybody ready?"

"Yeah!"

"Comfortable?"

"Yeah!"

"Nobody needs the toilet?"

"No!"

"Let's get going then!"

I started the engine, put the car into drive, and set out down the farm track towards the open road.

***

I had no idea where I was taking us. For some reason, my brain was telling me west coast, so I winged it along the upland roads that took us the rest of the way across the Pennines into Cumbria, feeling out for the M6. I found the A66 and then the A685, dropping us onto the M6 at Tebay in deepest Cumbria, nestled between low, green mountains.

James used his prime position to take the reins as DJ. Back at the winter house, I had used the computer to make copies of our favourite albums on a stack of blank CDs pilfered from a pile of debris in the back of an office supplies superstore. They were collected in a zip-up carry case, each identified by labels scrawled in black marker in James' loopy, childish handwriting. He took to the role with glee, both boys thoroughly enjoying the ride, thrilled with the feeling of our motion and the ever-changing scenery outside. The roads were clear but for the odd abandoned vehicle. We travelled with ease and freedom, the car a fairy-tale carriage beneath us.

Manny got restless first, annoyed again by the digging of the seatbelt into his neck.

"This belt is so annoying," he complained, leaning into James more to evade it and resting his head on his friend's shoulder.

"That's okay," said James. "I don't mind you being snuggled up with me."

"Oh yeah?" giggled Manny. "How about like this?"

He leaned further over James, resting his head on James' chest and, grinning broadly at me, placing his outstretched left hand firmly on the middle of James' shorts.

"Poor baby," said James. "I'll give you a cuddle."

James wrapped his arms around Manny, wasting no time in sliding both of his hands into the back of the younger boy's shorts, one on each buttock. I could barely keep my eyes on the road, watching the waistband of Manny's brightly coloured boxers slip higher up the front of James' forearms.

"Boys…" I began. Manny stepped things up to the next level before they had the chance to acknowledge me. He rammed his hand into the front of James' shorts and squeezed roughly. James kicked and yelped in surprise, his foot very nearly making contact with the gearstick as I did 70 between the stone walls and embankments of the winding Ash Fell Road.

"Boys!" I snapped, much more forcefully. "What do you think will happen if you distract me or knock something you're not supposed to while we're driving fast? The car will crash, and we'll all get badly hurt – at best. If you want to mess about, you can both get on the back seat."

"Sorry, Jake," said James, looking and sounding a bit shocked, and very much like he meant the apology. Both boys had leaped up straight from surprise as soon as I raised my voice to them. It's not something I do often.

"I'm sorry," added Manny, also genuine. "We'll be good. Promise."

"It's okay to be excited," I told them, "I'm excited too. But one thing you have to remember about being in a car is that you can't jump around at the front near the driver, because they need to concentrate, and they need all these knobs and buttons left in the right places."

"We understand," said James.

"Alright. I'm sorry I shouted."

The boys said nothing. After a couple of minutes, Manny was back to pointing out sheep on the moors, and James started talking about which CD he might put on next. The moment passed, cascading into the next as certainly as the rain runs down off the moors, into the rivers and out to sea.

***

I stopped the car on the bridge over the Lune at Halton for a piss break. The boys had begun to fidget and complain of needing to go – I should have made them before we set out, rather than just asking – and there was nothing preventing me from stopping wherever I wanted. The only disappointment was that we couldn't see the city of Lancaster from there, obscured as it was behind treetops and grassy hills.

I had the three of us stand together at the rear left wheel of the car, me in the middle, James to the left, Manny to the right, and pee together in the traditional roadside way.

"If either of you wee on my legs or feet," I said, "we won't stop again no matter how desperate you get." I'd never seen the two of them concentrate so hard on their aim. James blushed a little and smiled at me when he saw I was watching him go, but he didn't stop.

Manny bounded away as soon as he was finished, running off to stretch his legs on the empty carriageway. James stayed beside me as I was shaking off, heavy traffic behind his eyes as he watched me.

"Jake," he said, "where are we going?"

"I don't know James. I haven't decided yet."

"Oh," he said, wrinkling his lips and moving his mouth around. I tried to help him out.

"Any suggestions?"

"Umm, maybe," he said.

"Well I can't consider them unless you tell me what they are," I said, smiling and rubbing his cheek.

"I'm the king of the world!" shouted Manny, somewhere off to the right, arms spread, spinning on the spot in the middle of the empty motorway bridge.

The combination of my reassurance and the reminder that Manny might return at any second and interrupt us must have given James the imperative to spit out what he wanted. "Do you know how to get to Harry's family's old house?"

"Yeah," I said, slightly taken aback, yet not entirely surprised. "I stayed there once. I'm sure I can find it again. Is that where you want to go?"

James nodded.

"Alright then. It's by the sea, so it ticks the right box."

"What's going on?" said Manny, jogging back over and leaning against my arm, grabbing my wrist with his hands.

I lifted my arm from beneath him and drew it around his shoulders. "We were just talking about going to North Wales. How does that sound?"

"I'm in!" smiled Manny, wriggling free of my grasp and bounding into the front seat of the car through the still-open door. He stuck his head out of the door. "Come on, James! What are you waiting for? The end of the world?"

"I'm coming," said James, stretching out his back and wandering over to the open door.

I made my way to the driver's side. As I sat down, James was clambering over Manny to reclaim his place. Manny suddenly reached his hands under James' t-shirt, tickling his tight little belly. James shrieked and threw himself down sideways onto his half of the passenger seat. Manny grinned into his face. James responded by leaning in, smiling back, then forcing a burp directly into Manny's face. Manny let James right himself ready to belt up. Then, without saying a word, he lifted his backside so as his crack straddled the meat of James' thigh, and let out a big, wet-sounding fart. They were both immediately collapsing into each other, hysterical with laughter. I watched and smiled from my safe distance. Nothing, ever, beats being a tween boy totally at ease with a close friend.

***

We hadn't been back on the move long before the boys started getting hungry. I'd got Manny to pass me the shades out of the glove box, and I put them on. This, naturally, led to them being passed around and posed with back and forth, while – rather incongruously – New Order's 'The Perfect Kiss' played on CD, complete with extended frog croaking solo. It was after the croaking finished that I was able to pick out the sound of a tummy rumbling as the boys took it in turns to joke in the glasses.

"Oh dear," I said. "Who was that?"

"Me!" said Manny, patting his stomach.

"I'm starving too," said James, pulling the sunglasses down to the end of his nose to peer over the rims.

"Give me those!" I laughed, pinching the shades from the end of James' nose and putting them back on my face. "Have a look in the bag, James. See what we've got for lunch."

James wriggled between the front seats on his belly, reaching into the bag with the food boxes while Manny held him around his bare legs, so he wouldn't fall headfirst into the rear footwell.

"We've got salad with river fish," he called out, "salad with chicken–"

"RIP Muriel," I said.

"RIP Muriel," added James, "–and lots of parsnip chips with herbs."

"Decide between you whether you want fish or Muriel. There should be an empty box to mix some of the salad with the chips, and a few forks."

"I don't mind," said Manny.

"Nor do I," said James, dangling through the middle of the car.

"Alright, well I think Muriel will keep better than fish, so let's have some of that first."

James passed the boxes we needed forward to Manny, then made to move backwards without warning, bashing Manny in the face with his bottom. Manny wasted no time in giving it an annoyed slap back, which reverberated through the vehicle.

"Oi!" yelped James, scrambling to get back into place.

"Boys…" I said, in the low, universal 'you're about to get told off' voice.

"Sorry, James," said Manny, sheepishly.

"That hurt," whined James, pushing himself backwards. His rear end was still waving in front of Manny as he crawled back onto the seat. Manny gave it a gentle stroke, but James wasn't satisfied. "Kiss it better!"

Manny screwed up his face, leaned in, and went to plant a kiss on James' bum cheek. As soon as James felt Manny's head approaching, he pressed back and farted, his crack right against Manny's face.

"Euuurgh! Jake!" whined Manny. "I felt the gas moving his shorts!"

James was laughing away, still half-crawled out from between the seats. I took a hand off the wheel and hauled him back into place on the front seat, roughly enough to show I was annoyed.

"Enough. Both of you."

It was quiet for a minute, neither of them saying anything or fidgeting. Hunger got the better of them. They soon settled down and were friends again, mixing half the fishy salad with some of the parsnip chips, and poking their forks in to share, their thighs pressed together to make a surface for the box between them.

"See, better when you're not fighting," I said. They ignored me and carried on eating their lunch. "Isn't somebody going to feed me?"

"Okay, baby Jakey," said James, getting a mix of food on his fork. "Here comes the motor car!"

I leaned in to accept the mouthful. James smiled as he fed me, amusedly satisfied by the role reversal.

***

Both boys drifted off to sleep for a while after lunch, probably from a combination of food, the motion, the heat of each other's bodies, and general crashing from overexcitement. Being their age is almost as exhausting as being an adult. I woke them up in time for our first glimpse of 'the sea', the Mersey Estuary as glimpsed from the M56, its sluggish flow having invaded the low-lying farmland on its south bank and encroached nearly as far as the motorway. There was lots of excited gasping, ooh-ing and ahh-ing as the boys strained to lean across and see it through my driver's side window. I stopped the car for a couple of minutes with the front pointed towards the water, so they could get a proper look through the windscreen.

We were approaching Chester, which had stood steadfast on a rocky outcrop to our south for nearly two thousand years. Deva Victrix; Cair Legion, Caer; Legacæstir, Chester. I wondered how it must have felt to have lived here in the year 410, with the Roman army having withdrawn all but the veterans staying behind with their Britannic wives and children, the cities of Britannia left to fend for themselves. Then I realised I already knew.

We passed to the north of Chester, and I learned that the Welsh border in this area wasn't quite where I thought it was. I had expected it to be the River Dee, but it ran seemingly at random through the countryside just north of the river, so I almost missed it. James spotted the road sign for the border immediately.

"Does that mean we're nearly there?" he squeaked.

"How much of England did we have to cross from our house just to get here?" I asked.

"A lot," he said.

"So do you think that just being in Wales means we're close to where we need to go?"

"Suppose not," he said, a little deflated.

I squeezed the knobble of his knee. "Maybe an hour more."

"How come these road signs have all these funny words on them?" Manny piped up.

"It's Welsh! Is it Welsh, Jake?" asked James, excitedly. "Manny, did you know Welsh people have their own language?"

"That's cool," shrugged Manny. "My nana could speak Asante, but she only ever taught me a few words."

"Wow!" said James. "Like what?"

"Kom de me" said Manny, grinning.

"What does that mean?" asked James.

"I'm hungry!" cried Manny, and started giggling.

"Trust you!" I said. "That means you must have a day name, right, Manny?"

"Day name?" said James. "What's that?"

"It's a name you get if you're born on a certain day. Mine is Emmanuel Kwame."

"Which day is Kwame for?" I asked.

"Saturday!" he cheered, throwing his arms in the air, then wrapping his right around James' shoulders. "What day were you born, James?"

"I dunno," said James, looking at me hopefully.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Sorry, mate."

James looked a little disappointed, but he quickly thought of something else. "Which day were you born on, Jake?"

"Thursday," I said. "What would that be, Manny?"

"Yaw," he said. James giggled.

"That's no fun," I said.

"What can I be?" asked James. "What's your other favourite day name after Kwame?"

"Ooh! You can be Sunday!" said Manny. "That's really close to mine."

"What's that?" said James.

"Kwasi!" said Manny, lifting James' wrists up with his hands like he was declaring him a heavyweight champion.

James leaned into Manny's chest and they both giggled. The next I looked, as we began to blast down the A55 North Wales Expressway, they had both fallen back to sleep, leant together and tangled in each other's arms.

***

I woke the boys once more as we approached the sea proper, the expressway meeting the northern coastline at Pensarn. The railway ran parallel, between the sea and the expressway. The sea had crept forward in places, subsuming lengths of the tracks under rolling sand dunes as the beach realigned itself. The land behind the shoreline for the majority of the North Welsh coast is quite steep and hilly, so luckily the sea couldn't make the required inroads to threaten the ribbon of expressway tracking it westwards.

It wasn't much longer before we were on the approach to Drew and Harriet's old place. I parked the car up by the promenade, slipping straight off the expressway and finding ourselves pretty much in the middle of town. The tide was high, and the water battered against the old sea wall, submerging the beach entirely. The boys relieved themselves through the railings on top.

It didn't take long for the pestering to begin.

"Which way is Harry's house?" said James, shielding his eyes to look at me as I stood in the shade of a broken-down old pub, surrounded by ghostly seafront apartments. A baby seagull perched on top of a lamppost above him, peeping constantly for its parents.

"Just a few streets that way," I pointed. "We can walk it from here."

"I want to stay and look at he sea," said Manny, craning over the railings to look at the water. James frowned at him.

"We've got plenty of time for that," I said. "Besides, it'll be better later when the tide's out."

I led the boys inland along the leafy streets, James walking quietly by my side, looking around, Manny reluctantly bringing up the rear. A curtain twitched in a house across the street from us, and I waited for Manny to catch up so I could grab both boys by their hands.

"It's too hot to hold hands, man!" Manny complained. "It's all sweaty and horrible."

I ignored him and dragged him along at my pace. He wasn't having any of it. "I want to take my shirt off!"

"Shut up, Manny!" snapped James.

"James!" I growled, yanking at his hand. Both boys stomped along in simmering silence. I was exasperated; worn out from the drive without the added drama of mediating their bickering. I decided we were going somewhere else as soon as James had seen the house.

It was a tense few minutes later that we arrived outside. The house was late nineteenth or early twentieth-century redbrick, three stories. Overgrown green and purple bushes shaded the front of it, which stared blankly at us. The windows were intact, but the blinds were down, the glass only showing the reflection of us stood hand-in-hand at the end of the driveway.

James pulled free and marched to the front door with his head down. He stood on the front step, turned to shoot me a wobbly, nervous glance, and knocked three times with the metal knocker.

The clicks of James' knock reverberated around the street. He stood watching the door closely, glancing occasionally at the front window, but nothing happened. The distant sound of the sea and the racket of baby seagulls was the only indication that anything was moving at all.

"Come on," I said quietly to Manny, who was trying to squirm free of my grip on his hand. I walked us towards James at the front of the house. He knocked on the door again, more times, harder. I gently pulled his hand away from the knocker and stroked the nape of his neck and top of his spine, lumpy beneath the damp collar of his t-shirt. "There's no car here, James. Maybe they're out?"

He looked up at me with wide, disappointed eyes. My heart ached. He was willing me to make things right. I eased him in front of me with my hands on his skinny shoulders, then reached around him to try the door handle. It gave no resistance. The door swung open without protest.

James stepped over the threshold without hesitation. I followed, Manny resignedly stepping in behind me. James looked around the hallway, back and forth between the steep stairs ahead of him, and the rooms branching off ahead. I picked up a musty smell; Manny wrinkled his nose too. James took a deep breath.

"Hello?" he shouted. "Hello? It's James!"

I glanced at the shoe rack. The shoes had all seen better days. Among them were some baby shoes, like you'd put on a toddler. A few coats hung on pegs above; a couple for a little boy.

James bounded up a few stairs. "Hello?" he shouted. "Harry? Dru-Dru? Yettie?"

My insides churned as he called the names. This was six-year-old James shouting. Twelve-year-old James had been left at the door.

"It's me, James! You know, James Martin?" He leaped back down the stairs and bounded through the hallway, bursting through the far door. It had been the kitchen. Evidently nothing. He jogged back out, pushed through the next door. Dining room. Must have been empty. He pushed through the near door, jogging past us, cheeks red with desperation. From the front room, a frustrated whine-growl echoed through the house, vibrating deeper into his throat until it was just a gargle, and we could hear it no more.

Manny was suddenly closer to my side. Our arms brushed and our eyes met. He was concerned, uncomprehending; maybe even a bit scared. I ruffled his curls gently and plucked one of the little boy coats from the collection on the pegs, leading Manny by his shoulders to join James in the living room.

It was dingy in the front room with the Venetian blinds closed. Stripes of sunlight streaked the high ceiling according to the angle of the slats. Pictures of Drew and Harriet adorned the shelves. Baby pictures of Harry. Pictures with their extended family; anonymous adults and children.

James had flopped in a dejected heap on a soft cream sofa, arms and legs limp, chin in his chest. Glum wasn't the word; lips pursed, eyebrows back, eyes glassy. I sat beside him, and he gave that look again: the look that told me he wanted me to fix everything; to make it all better. I just sat, steadily meeting his eye, not touching him. Manny poked around the room.

"You okay?" I said.

James shook his head.

"I'm sorry, mate."

James let out a deep sigh. "I just wanted them to be here," he mumbled. "I wanted to see that they were alright."

"Jamey…" I began. He frowned a little at me using his baby name. "James, how old do you think Harry would be now?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Twelve," he mumbled, as if he didn't really want to be using his voice.

"Right," I said. "So how old is Harry if you're twelve?"

"Seventeen?" said James, uncertainly. "Eighteen?" He looked at me for confirmation.

"Exactly," I said. "Do you think you'd even recognise him straight away?"

James shrugged. Manny disturbed something on a shelf, and I followed James' eyes as he scowled at him.

"Look at this coat, James. How old do you think Harry was when he had this?"

"I don't know," James grumbled, evidently tiring of my tactic.

I handed him the coat. "Look at the label."

James opened the coat up, fingering the soft, fluffy material of the inside. "Age Four to Five," he read.

"That coat was made before you were born, James," I said. "I'm sorry, mate. They haven't been back here since then."

James sighed, still fingering the material of the coat, then screwed up his face, clamping his eyes shut. He chucked the little coat across the room. It flew towards where Manny was standing, divebombing near his feet. He gave me a little 'look what James did!' displeased glance and stooped to pick the thing up.

"Where did they go then?" said James, releasing his face, the force of his frustration coming through in his voice.

"I don't know, mate," I said. "I don't know."

James huffed and rolled towards me. I ran a hand through the soft, mousey tufts of his short hair, feeling his cheek rest against my ribs.

"Come on," I said, "staying here feeling unhappy won't change anything. Let's get out in the sun and enjoy ourselves."

"Does that mean we can go back to the sea now?" said Manny, trotting over to the sofa, little coat in hand. James growled under his breath and shot Manny an ugly look under his furrowed brow.

"I think we all need some time to clear our heads," I said. "Let's not stay here. We can head to the west coast and find a nice beach next to the mountains."

"Awww-uhh!" stropped Manny. James continued scowling from under my armpit, gripping my wrist against him.

"No moaning," I said. "It'll only be another hour. We can ride with the windows down and cool ourselves off a bit. When you see the mountains, you'll understand."

Manny swivelled on his heels and made for the front door. I eased James up and walked him out behind Manny, my arm draped across his shoulders, stroking his chest as we went. Manny reached up to put Harry's little coat back on its peg. As we overtook Manny, James went to kick at his heels with a leg, but swung and missed unnoticed as I pulled him away.

"It's not his fault," I whispered to James, calmly as I could through my temple-thumping irritation. "Taking it out on Manny will only make you feel worse."

Manny, his task complete, skipped happily behind us, closing and locking the door on his way out.

***

Once the car was back in sight, I let James storm off ahead with the keys. I hung back with Manny, letting him speculate how tall the mountains would be, and what it would be like to see them for real.

"Jake, why did we come here and go to that house? Who lived there?"

"I'll explain later, mate, when it's just you and me."

James had parked himself in the middle of the passenger seat, evidently spoiling for a fight. I got in on my side and wound the window down. I asked James to move over a little. He gave a few millimetres and sat firm; arms folded.

I'd asked Manny to wind the passenger window down before he got in the car. After he'd finished, he whipped his t-shirt over his head, slapping his flat, caramel tummy a couple of times for effect. He giggled and launched himself into the seat alongside James, shoving him playfully with his hips to encourage him to move over.

"Get off!" complained James, pushing Manny with his hands. "I don't want your stinky naked body on me!"

"I don't stink!" protested Manny in surprise.

"James," I began, very curtly, my patience stretched to its very extremities, "if you don't want to sit next to Manny, climb on the back seat."

"Why should I?" pouted James. "I'm older!"

"Well I'm bigger!" Manny shot back.

"I was here first!" screeched James.

"Enough!" I shouted, raising my voice for the second time that day. "You're on your final warning, both of you. I don't want to hear another peep from either of you til we get to where we're going. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Jake," said Manny, his spirits deflated again.

"Put your top back on for now Manny, there's a good lad," I said, much more gently. "And James?"

"Yes, Jake," he conceded, barely audible. He shuffled his bottom across to give Manny his fair share of the seat.

Manny, his t-shirt back in place, pulled out the seatbelt and held it out for James. James took the belt and clipped them in. Neither of them looked at each other, though they were sat shoulder to shoulder, pressed even closer as they'd angled their legs away from each other. I took a very deep breath, reminding them both how annoyed I was, and swung the car around back towards the expressway.

Once we were on the open road again, I stole another glance at the boys. They were still sitting on each other's shoulder blades, as back to back as they could manage. Manny watched the scenery go by through his window, looking thoroughly fed up. James, on the other hand, looked bereft. The car was silent but for the sound of the engine. James showed no interest in DJing nor in watching the world outside. He stared at his feet.

I reached across and squeezed a knobbly knee. He blew through his nose and snapped his eyes shut, rolling against Manny and smothering his face into the boy's back. A tear escaped and dribbled down his cheek.

Manny, somewhat reluctantly at first, turned to put his arm around James. I gave him an expectant look, wiggling my chin to give a quick flick of my mouth and eyebrows in silent encouragement. He turned and embraced James fully, then, sweetly, kissed James on the head as he leaned over to rub his back. James had let another couple of tears dribble down his face, but he wasn't sobbing. He recovered and let Manny hold him, wrapping his arms around Manny's waist.

Manny looked at me, his eyes requesting permission to speak. I smiled and nodded my head.

"James," he whispered, "do you want to be friends again?"

James nodded his head against Manny's chest and gave his middle a squeeze.

"Cool," whispered Manny. "I was hoping you did. I don't want you to be sad or upset with me."

"Boys," I said, not whispering, "look at that!"

I'd turned off the expressway to follow the River Conwy south. Running parallel to the river on the far bank was the first of a growing and gathering clutch of mountains.

"Woaaah!" said Manny. "James, look at this, man!"

James twisted himself so he had his head resting on Manny's tummy and crotch, looking directly up out of the windscreen.

"Coooool!" he said, throwing a pink-faced grin at the first of the mountaintops. Then he wriggled in Manny's lap, making Manny giggle a little. "Hey," said James, "there's a window in the roof of the car! I never noticed that before!"

"Can we open it, Jake?" asked Manny. "Pleeease?"

"Yeah, it's really hot," said James. "Could we take our tops off too?"

***

The topless twosome were awed and attentive as we pushed deeper into the Conwy Valley, blasted by warm wind from the open windows and the sunroof. The climbs and dips in the road got bigger and more stomach-suspendingly exciting; the mountains to our right got fuller and taller; the river between mountain and road narrower and fleeter. They took to wrapping their tongues – hopelessly badly – around the name of every passing town: Llanrwst, Betws y Coed, Blaenau Ffestiniog. Then, high in the mountains amongst the otherworldly landscapes of the quarries, James began to recount to Manny the story of the wicked Count Karlstein, and his dirty, foul dealings with Zamiel, the Demon Huntsman, deep in the Swiss mountains.

"Count Karlstein was a rich man indeed. He lived in a great castle in the village of Karlstein, high in the Swiss alps. There he ruled over the village, content to order the people back and forth through his cowardly servant, Herr Snivelwurst. He also took care of his two English nieces, Lucy and Charlotte. He hired a local girl, Hildi, to be their servant. Hildi was caring for the girls one night when she overheard the true story of the Count's riches. Ten years before, Count Karlstein had done an evil deal with Zamiel, the Demon Huntsman of the forest! He was granted his great wealth on the condition that, ten years later, the huntsman would be given a human sacrifice on All Souls' Eve! And guess who the Count had chosen…?"

I'd never seen anything like it. Manny was hanging off James' every word, listening with rapt attention, watching James intently as he told the story. James was entirely focused on Manny, too, their eyes locked together, dancing and sparkling as James told the tale and Manny listened excitedly.

I let them enjoy themselves and focused on the drive. I took the lower road out of Blaenau Ffestiniog, following the course of a mountain stream that eventually became the Afon Dwyryd. The Dwyryd seemed high and wide in its valley the further we followed it down; an orphaned telegraph pole stood stoically against the flow of the water as it pooled over what had once been open fields. The low road re-joined the main road, which took a higher route to loop through old villages and connect to a main route south, near a bridge over the river. We had a choice. I stopped the car dead just before a big, green directional billboard, outlining the options at the junction.

I sat pondering the best route, stroking the whiskers on my chin. James had just finished his story.

"What have we stopped for?" he said, looking around at the dense roadside trees, and probably, as I did, picking up the sound of the river rushing along beside us. Manny looked at James and shrugged his slightly clammy-looking bare shoulders.

"I'm trying to decide which way to go," I said.

"Which way goes to the sea?" asked Manny.

"Well, both, I guess," I said, "But I'm worried that on one side the road might go underwater."

"Why would a road be built underwater?" said James, as if it was the most idiotic thing he'd ever heard.

"The water wasn't there when it was built," I said, "but it could have got higher and flooded it."

Manny looked up at the sign. "Har-letch," he read, inadvertently mangling pronunciation again. "Porth-mad-dog. Porth Mad Dog! Haha! Let's go there! Please Jake?"

"I don't know," I said, "I think Porthmadog is right down at the mouth of this river, right on the coast. I'm worried we won't be able to get there because of the water."

"Aww." Manny stuck his bottom lip out but didn't seem particularly upset.

"What about the other place?" said James.

"Harlech?" I said, getting a surprised look from James as the -ch caught in the back of my throat. "Never heard of it. Worth a try."

I got the car moving again and chose to ignore the bridge carrying the main road towards Porthmadog, opting instead to stay on the same bank of the Dwyryd and follow the ridge of the foothills on our side. It took us through a little hamlet almost straight away.

"Look!" said Manny. "More again!"

"Oh yeah!" said James, leaning over Manny, both boys leaning and waving out of the window. "Hi!"

We sped past a very confused-looking older lady and what was probably her little granddaughter, who waved back slowly, open-jawed at the two near-naked boys hailing her from the open front window of a real-life passing car.

"Hahaha!" James chuckled. "They were really surprised to see us!"

"That was even better than the one before!" laughed Manny.

"You're only saying that because it was girls!" teased James.

"Shut up," said Manny, bashfully, going limp and resting his bodyweight against James in their shared seat.

We'd passed another set of people earlier, back in Llanrwst. It had been the same setup, us speeding by indiscreetly in our car, boys squealing and waving from the window, unsuspecting pedestrians watching the bizarre and unexpected sight. The people in Llanrwst were less fazed though; a dad with a boy more James and Manny's age. They simply laughed and gave us big waves back and thumbs-up. I suspect James and Manny secretly wanted to cause more of a spectacle.

"Look down," I said, drawing their attention back to the river. "Looks like we made a good call."

Almost the entire below was filled with water, as a stream running underneath us joined alongside a more substantial river ahead. The water lapped at the edges of the carriageway we could have taken. "It's probably worse further down," I observed.

It turned out I was entirely correct. At the end of the valley, the river yawned out an improbably wide estuary, a side road and a railway emerging suddenly from the lapping waves and muddy, marshy deposits on the bank to greet us from nowhere, like something from an Escher. The railway disappeared below the silt and waves again, the water eventually only being held back from the tarmac by the flimsy stone walls and earthworks separating the roadside from what were once farmers' fields. Eventually we reached a fork at which we could follow our road no more. It too had succumbed to the waves.

"Going left," I said, shrugging at the boys. They grinned with wide-eyed excitement. We couldn't be any closer to the sea. Or perhaps we could. I passed another left turn for a high road through the shoreside hills and continued straight along our new path. All was well for 1500m, until a sudden dip in the road had me slamming the brakes on. Out of nowhere, the sticky sand and the sea appeared in front of us again.

"Woah!" The boys were caught by their seatbelt and flew back against the seat as the car jerked to an abrupt halt. Manny made a little pretend choking noise and pulled the belt back away from his neck.

"Oops," I said. "Should've seen that coming. Back to the high road, I guess."

I turned the car around on the crest of the dip, speeding back to the turning for the lane up through the hills. This put the boys on the right side of the car to look out over the water and coo their excited comments. It's so sparkly! Look at how it moves! There's a bird sat on the water just bobbing up and down!

The high road was far less hassle. We followed it all the way. It dropped us in a little village to the south of Harlech, where a long sandy beach stretched invitingly before us, north and south, just across the now-grounded railway tracks. There was only one place we were stopping this car. I think if I tried to take it anywhere other than straight to the beach, the boys would have jacked it from me and taken us there themselves. The coast road ran on a hillside high above the beach and train tracks for some time, frustrating us from gaining access. Eventually, as we pushed our way further into Harlech, the landscape helped us out. I parked up as close to the sand as possible, on a service lane of a now partially inundated golf course.

***

The tide was out; the beach streaked with a tan-line of untouched grey sand before the wet, sticky brown stuff stretched out to the receding waves. I stood holding two pairs of shoes as James and Manny shrieked and whooped on the heat of the dry sand, kicking and throwing it at each other, rolling around, wrestling in just their shorts and underpants.

"Come on Jake!" James shouted. "We're going to run out to the water!"

I locked the shoes up in the car with my own and armed myself with the towels. I was about to head back down to join James and Manny, frolicking again in the sand, when I heard a voice.

"Look at those happy boys!"

It was a soft voice, resonating kindness into the salty breeze. A woman's voice.

"It's like they've never seen sand before! You must have brought them a long way?" The woman was slightly shorter than me, her chestnut eyes being level with my mouth, and had long, dark hair. The Dark People of the Mountains was what Drew used to call the north-west Welsh. She personified it.

"It's weird," I said. "We found this car, just dumped, near where we live, up in the North Pennines near Durham. It even has loads of spare petrol. It's like we've been blessed by the god of road trips."

The woman laughed. "That is a lucky find," she said. "I suppose you were for those boys as well? You're not the dad?"

"You don't think?" I joked.

"Oh, sorry!" said the woman, hand to her mouth. "Just with them both looking about the same age, and one of them being… you know… mixed… Oh, I've gone and put my foot in it now, haven't I?"

"Don't worry! Don't worry," I laughed, reaching out for her shoulder. "I was being sarcastic. It's fine. My fault."

"Oh, God! Sorry!" she laughed, nervously. "I don't get much adult company these days. It's probably driven me bonkers."

"Same here," I said. "Jake. Nice to meet you."

She shook my hand. "Jen. I live just up the way with my two, Megan and Emyr. We saw you pulling in. Then, when the kids saw the boys, well, I had to come down and say hello or I'd have had a mutiny on my hands!"

"I know the feeling," I joked. "Speaking of which, I think I'm holding up these two from their first dip in the sea. Sorry." I could see James and Manny watching us carefully from the beach, talking to each other quietly. We'd set out around lunchtime, but we must have been on the road five hours. The worst of the day's heat was starting to dissipate, but the sun was still quite high in the sky. I wanted the boys to get plenty of paddling time in.

"Go and get them sorted!" laughed Jen. "How about I come back in an hour or so to get you, and you bring the boys back for dinner at ours. I'm sure they'd all love that… I mean, if you want?"

"Thank you! Sounds great! I'm sure my pair will be really excited to meet more kids."

"That's great," Jen beamed. "It'll be so good to get the kids using English as well. We only ever use Welsh at home, so they never get the chance to practise. Anyway, I'll leave you to it. See you in a bit!"

As Jen walked off, it suddenly dawned on me that without anyone making it otherwise – no TV, no radio, no internet – English was again as foreign here as French or Swahili. It was a strange thought, but somehow it made me smile. We were exotic visitors.

"Who was that?" asked Manny, as I joined the boys on the sand.

"Our host for the night, I think," I said.

"Does she fancy you or something?" said James, sounding more than slightly concerned.

"I think she was more interested in you two, actually."

James pulled a 'what?' face. Manny also looked confused.

"She has two children, a girl and a boy," I said. "She wants you to meet them after we've played in the sea for a while."

"Cool!" said James.

"How old?" said Manny.

"Dunno. Didn't ask," I said.

"You're useless."

"Guess you two are driving yourselves home, then."

"No-ohh!" Manny groaned, buffeting himself into my side. I caught his shoulders with my arm, and we laughed together, taking our first steps onto the sea-moistened sand.

***

The boys were naked, and in the water ahead of me. After several minutes of loud, nervous running in and out of the waves, I suggested we go in for a proper paddle. I started stripping off by way of encouragement; while I was pulling my t-shirt over my head, they'd somehow already lost their shorts. I collected both pairs, each still with sweat-dampened boxers embedded in the seat, and I weighed them down under our towels, so they didn't escape. They were both up to their nipples in the surf as I waded out to join them. They turned and laughed at my hairy genitals bouncing as I splashed into the water. I stuck my tongue out at them.

We played for a while, splashing and chasing each other, me helping the boys float on their backs. When they were a bit more confident with the water, I took to throwing them up and in. It didn't last long; they were a bit too heavy for it. They tried to dunk me as I stood in the sumo position in the water, getting my breath back. I retaliated with fingers in slippery armpits until a truce was called.

I held them close to me, one at each hip, looking out towards Ireland as the sun shimmered on the distant undulations of the water. "It's been a long day already," I said, lowly into the space between their ears, two heads reaching my chest. "We won't get to play tonight if Jen asks us to stay with them, so I think you two could do with a release now, d'you think?"

James nodded and pushed his crack against my thigh. Manny giggled and did the same. I reached around with both arms, James on my left, Manny on my right, pulling them to me across their bellies as we bobbed with the waves. Both were starting to get hard when I reached them, both stiffened immediately on my touch. I fingered their smooth scrotums, ribbed and crinkled to their bodies under the water, teasing around their genitals and feeling them wriggle against me until I took hold of a stiff willy in each hand, both boys stiffening and gasping as I began to wank them.

My erection slipped between the two of them as they pressed back against me, grunting and humming as I brought them off under the water. I pumped myself slowly back and forth. James' alabaster boy parts showed no signs of growth since I'd first seen him erect at nine. Manny was slightly longer and thicker, but there was little in it between them. They were hard and hot as I fiddled them beneath the waves, soft skins gliding back and forth under my thumb and forefinger.

Manny came first, balling his fists, squeaking and growling, pushing his head back against my dripping chest to look into my eyes as he came down. I slowed my action, just squeezing and rolling his knob and the end of his foreskin under my thumb and finger until he gently eased my hand away. James was still going, humping back and forth against my left hand as I tried to keep the rhythm going while my right hand was doing something different. Manny came to the rescue, reaching under the water and squeezing James' balls, hard. A groan strangled in the back of James' throat and his willy writhed between by fingers, skinned back fully, sharing sweet nothings with the ocean as he collapsed further back against my body.

"Good?" I said.

"Yeah!" chuckled Manny. James grimaced and nodded; his face pushed against the wet hair in the cleft of my chest.

"Remind me of the rules for tonight," I said, cupping the back of James' head against me as he rested on my chest. Manny had taken my hand under the water.

"No doing rude stuff," said James, his breathing beginning to calm.

"Good. What else?"

"No talking about rude stuff either," said Manny, with a grin and a swing of my hand.

"Alright. How important is it that we keep to those rules?"

"We will, Jake," said James, running his hand against my chest.

"Is it your turn first?" said Manny. "Before we have to stick to the rules?"

"Do you think I've earned it?"

Manny grinned and nodded. James gave me a squeeze and a kiss on the chest, then moved out of the way to give Manny access to my still-hard dick under the water. There were soft little hands everywhere. Two on my shaft, one on my balls, another playing with my bum cheeks. Then they took it in turns to focus on different things. Two disconnected hands make for a very poor and disjointed hand job, after all. It didn't take them long to finish me off. I groaned and shot off a few powerful volleys into the sea, pulling both boys back to my chest to kiss them on the heads.

"Thanks, my big boys," I said. Manny giggled and pressed his face more into my chest, always a little embarrassed at praise for making me spunk.

"I think the fish should be thanking you for the food," chuckled James. I saw his hand move under the water, and Manny jumped against me in surprise, his buttock having been unexpectedly given a big squeeze. That was my cue to let the boys separate, their attention gone now the sex was done.

***

I spotted Jen walking down to meet us as I was helping the boys dry themselves off. I had at least got my shorts back on, but they were both still naked – something they seemed suddenly much more bashful about with a grown woman approaching.

"Where are my shorts, Jake?"

"Let go of the towel! I can do it myself!"

I dumped the towel over Manny's head, collected my t-shirt, and went to greet Jen. She waited at the edge of the dry strip of sand, not wanting to get her feet wet on the slurpy surface that had been beneath the tide.

"Hi," she said.

"Hiya, I need to get our shoes from the car," I said. "Come with me; they're being a bit funny about being undressed with you around, so they'll appreciate it if I get your back turned."

Jen laughed and joined me on the walk up to the car. "Meg and Emyr are so excited," she said. "It was all I could do not to let them run down here and interrupt your swimming!"

"It wouldn't have been a problem if they had."

"No, I said to them, you'll have all evening to play with them when they come here for their tea. I thought it was best to let you have a bit of private time with your boys enjoying the beach for the first time."

"Thanks," I said. "We definitely enjoyed it."

I opened the car and went to sit on the passenger seat to put my shoes back on. It had two t-shirts abandoned on it. I shook my head and flung them to one side.

"I know the feeling," laughed Jen.

"Don't," I said, tending to the laces of my first shoe. "I've had five hours of them sharing the front seat of the car today. I don't even want to think about it anymore."

I heard the chatter of James and Manny approaching as I finished putting my shoes on. When they realised Jen was watching them, they went quiet.

"Hello," she said, "and what are your names?"

They both looked at their feet, apparently neither wanting to go first.

"This is Emmanuel," I said, patting the head of the boy nearest to me.

"It's Manny," he said, blushing a little.

"It's only Emmanuel when he's been naughty," I said.

"Oh, I see!" smiled Jen.

"This one is James," I said, ruffling his wet hair.

"Hello," said James, looking at Jen from under his brow so as not to have to raise his head.

"I don't know what's got into them," I said. "Normally they won't shut up."

"That's okay," said Jen. "Plenty of time to get to know each other tonight."

"Tops and shoes!" I said to the boys. Each handed me a wet towel, which I slung on the back seat of the car to dry as they were tangling themselves in knots getting redressed.

Jen led us the short way to her house. I walked in step with her, trying to keep a hand on each boy to force them to keep up.

"How old are you, James?" Jen asked.

"Twelve," said James, then squatted to play with his laces, avoiding my hand and dropping back behind us.

"What about you, Manny?"

"Eleven," he said. No such luck for Manny. I had him around the shoulders, and he was walking between me and Jen.

"Don't you have lovely hair, Manny?" she said. It had begun to dry in dark, fluffy ringlets on the top of his head, and she ran her fingers through it.

"Thanks!" he said, relaxing and grinning a little.

We'd all recently had haircuts. I found an old rechargeable set of clippers at the winter house and charged them up as much as possible before leaving for the farm. It made haircuts a hell of a lot less stressful, especially with there now being three of us. Plus, to be brutally honest, I had no idea how to cut Manny's hair. When it's long, it bushes and bouffants out into an almost afro, which is not something I have any experience of trying to care for. The solution seemed to be to shave the sides and leave a little bit of length on the top, which naturally curls.

"Lewis Hamilton," I said, nodding at Manny to Jen. She laughed.

"Who's that?" said Manny.

"Oh, only one of the greatest racing drivers of all time," I said. "We'll have to get you behind the wheel on the way home. Maybe the hairstyle is the source of his enormous talent."

"Like Samson and Delilah!" cried Manny, pleased that he'd got the reference.

"Who're they?" said James, pushing his way under my arm to stand between me and Manny.

"Oh, look at you two," said Jen. "A proper little double act!"

James didn't know how to respond to that, so put his arm around mine and Manny's waists as we walked. Jen showed us up the steps to her front door. The house was in grey local stone, roofed with darker grey slate tiles, on the hillside overlooking the beach. I could already hear the sounds of excited children inside.

"Croeso i Harlech," she said, opening the door for us.

"Diolch," I replied, my brain straining against its limited Welsh vocabulary.

James looked at me strangely. I pushed him into the house behind Manny. I got the boys to sit on the stairs and remove their shoes, kicking my own off too. Jen opened the door to the living room and waved us in.

"Hello!" she said to the two children inside, who seemed to have frozen in the middle of bounding around the living room when we opened the door. "Do you want to meet our guests?"

The girl, Meg, was clearly the elder. She wasn't as dark-haired as her mother, nor quite as pale-skinned. She had long, straight brown hair, with a ribbon tied in the back, and her mother's chestnut eyes. She waved nervously at the boys as they stood in the doorway of the front room. I gestured to them and they sheepishly came to stand in front of me, letting me rest an arm on each of their outer shoulders.

"This is Megan," said Jen. "Say hello, Meg. Tell the boys how old you are."

"Hi," said Meg, smiling at James and Manny, "I'm called Meg and I'm eleven. Nice to meet you."

"What about you, Emyr?" said Jen, looking at her little boy. He didn't say anything, just looked at the carpet and shot occasional nervous glances at his big sister. "Come on, Em," said Jen, moving to kneel next to the boy and put an arm around his hips. "Os nad ydych chi'n siarad Saesneg, ni fyddwch chi'n gallu chwarae gyda'r bechgyn," she said quietly to his ear.

Emyr was a serious looking boy. He had shiny, floppy, coal black hair, inexpertly cut, and a ghostly pale complexion, only emphasised further by a sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of his nose. It was only when he eventually looked up that I noticed he had the most arresting emerald green eyes. I heard James give a little gasp and a 'woah!' under his breath.

"I'm Emyr," the boy said quietly, a little pink filling his pale cheeks. "I'm eight."

James made a beeline for Emyr. "Hi Emyr. I'm James and I'm twelve. What do you and your sister like to play? This is Manny. He's eleven and he's a bit like my little brother."

Emyr looked surprised at James' sudden verbal diarrhoea, but he smiled and let James put an arm around him. Manny and Megan wandered over too, beginning to introduce themselves to each other. Jen beamed at me.

"Do you need any help with the cooking?" I asked. "We can leave them to it?"

"You can help me get started on the wine," she said, and pointed my way to the kitchen.

***

As it was, I declined to start drinking before dinner. Jen had decided to go with the almost unrealistically stereotypical option of preparing a lamb roast. But then, I suppose if you have a whole hillside alive with sheep above your house, it makes perfect sense.

"It took a while to get used to killing and cutting up animals for food," she observed, as I chopped carrots and she prepared potatoes. "I never really thought about it when there was someone else doing it for us."

The chatter from the front room was constant, with the occasional cheer or squeal, and plenty of thumps of little bodies leaping and bouncing around. It occurred to me that, as much as I loved them – as much as James in particular had been my world for the last three years or more – it was nice to be away from James and Manny and just chilling with another adult.

Inevitably we got onto the topic of the kids. I explained how I'd been good friends with James' parents since university, that I'd joined up with them on their farm where we'd survived the last death rattles of the world we knew. I explained how his dad had died before I moved in, and how his mother had died just over three years ago, after a long period of illness. I didn't explain about Drew or Harriet or Harry or Cerys. Nor Jon, nor the winter house. I explained that we and Manny had found each other, but I didn't elaborate too much on the details.

"What about yours, then?" I asked. "Where's dad?"

"My partner, Gethin, died five years ago," she said, pausing with a knife halfway embedded in a potato. "He was such a good dad. It's a real shame for Megan, and Emyr especially. He wasn't quite four at the time. He barely remembers him."

"And you?"

"Well, I have to be alright, don't I?" she said, resuming chopping the potatoes, with more force and intent, "You understand. You're the grown-up too."

I'd finished the carrots. I poured Jen a large glass of red.

"Here," I said, gently taking hold of her wrist. "Let me finish this. Take a break for a while."

She put down the knife and took the wine glass from me, her fingers wrapping around mine. "Thanks," she said. Then she looked away, an avalanche of coal-black hair covering her face as she made to take a seat at the table with her glass.

It was my job to call the kids in for dinner. "Come on, dinner's ready! Everybody at the table!"

"It smells really nice, Jake. What is it?" It was James' voice coming at me as I stuck my head around the living room door. I don't know what it was about the idea that had taken them today, but James was topless again, as was Manny. They'd even managed to get Emyr just stood around in his denim shorts and black ankle socks. Only Megan was still fully dressed.

"You're in for a real treat," I said. "Though you might want to check Jen's rules for clothing at the dinner table."

"What's that?" called Jen from the kitchen, hearing her name as she served up the plates.

"Nudity at the dinner table," I shouted, as James pulled an unimpressed face.

"Oh, that's fine," she said. "You're lucky Em's wearing more than just his smelly old boxers today!"

Poor Emyr blushed crimson as Manny covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. James narrowed his eyes at Manny as if to say: 'stop it!'. Manny straightened up and stood wobbly faced, struggling to control his mouth.

"Are you coming or what?" I said, sweeping my hands at the open door in an 'after you' gesture.

"Come on, Em," said James, putting his arm over the shoulders of the younger boy. "When it's hot, I like hanging around in just my pants, too."

I followed Meg and Manny through the door, giving the back of Manny's head a rough ruffle as he now struggled not to laugh at James' mother hen routine. "I think you might have a rival for your big sister role," I joked to Megan.

"That's alright," said Meg. "It means he's not annoying me for a few hours."

"Woah!" I heard James say, up ahead, as I marched into the kitchen at Manny and Megan's lolloping pace. "This looks really good. What is it?"

"It's a lamb roast, with boiled vegetables, roast potatoes and roast parsnips," said Jen. "I hope you like it."

"Oh, don't worry. I will," said James, practically dribbling down his chin as he took a seat next to Emyr.

"Very stereotypically Welsh," I said. "Just a shame we don't have cheese toasties to top it all off."

"What's a toastie?" asked Manny, plopping himself down opposite James.

"Bread with cheese or meat between it, cooked so that it goes crispy on the outside and the stuff on the inside melts."

"Oh yeah," said James. "That thing you used to have. Bread."

The two adults took up position at either end of the four-person table, squashed on alongside two kids each. I was on my first glass of wine, Jen on her second. I sat next to Emyr and Megan and tried to start up a conversation. Meg was a bright and endearing girl, interested in the landscape and the wildlife. She knew the people we'd sped past on our way down to Harlech; sometimes she would make the walk up to Maentwrog and see them there, but more often it was the family from the hills who made the three-hour walk down to the beach for the day.

Emyr was shy and painfully unsure of himself around an adult speaking English. He spent most of his time turned away from me, hanging instead on James' every word. That meant that Jen also didn't get much opportunity to speak to James, instead indulging Manny in a conversation that had him giggling or exclaiming something excitedly every thirty seconds.

As soon as James and Emyr had finished their food, James wandered off from the table. He spotted a rack of CDs on the kitchen wall and was drawn to them immediately, Emyr quickly in tow.

"What sort of music do you have here?" asked James, not looking at us but presumably addressing his question to Jen. "What music do you like listening to, Em?"

Emyr evidently didn't understand the question. He shot James a worried look.

"Oi, watch it, nosey," I admonished James from the table. Ninety minutes with Emyr and he'd soon regained his confidence.

"He's alright," said Jen. "We don't listen to music, James, love. We don't have anything to play it on."

"We have a little battery powered Walkman thing," I said. "James is a real muso. Keeps him out of trouble."

"It's a shame, really," said Jen. "I haven't listened to music in years. We still sing sometimes, though, don't we?" Meg nodded enthusiastically. Emyr was busy watching James rifle through CDs.

"James likes to sing too, but he isn't very good," laughed Manny.

"Whatever, Manny," sighed James, keeping his back to us. "What does this say, Em?"

"Oh yes, we have a few Welsh ones in there," said Jen.

"The car has a working CD player," I said. "If you want, we could head down to the beach and have a little party."

"Yeah!" shouted James, pumping a fist in the air. "You have the best ideas, Jake."

"Sounds good to me," said Jen. "What d'you think, Meg, Em?"

"Yes please!" said Emyr. James offered him a hi-five.

"Can I put a dress on?" asked Megan.

"Don't see why not," said Jen.

"Up for more beach fun?" I asked Manny. He nodded his head enthusiastically.

Later, he came and leaned against my shoulder as I was sat in my chair draining my glass, Megan having gone to get changed and Jen helping James and Emyr find her favourite music. He took my hand and whispered into my ear: "Do you think Meg will look nice in a dress?"

***

We took a couple of beers and some fake wine for the kids down to the beach with us. Apparently the shop in the nearby holiday caravan park had enough leftover stocks of booze to last Jen the rest of the century. I turned the car on so that the radio was just running on the battery, cranked the volume right up, and opened both doors and the boot. The sun was in no hurry to set as the tide crawled back towards us.

Jen put on the first of her selections, some Welsh-language band that I'd never heard of. Sounded a bit like The Fall, but in Welsh. Emyr was amazed – not only by the car, which James took upon himself to explain to the boy in full detail at a hundred miles an hour – but by the music pumping out at him in his mother tongue.

"Mam, maen nhw'n canu yn Gymraeg!" he squeaked, wide-eyed and barely stopping himself from clapping his hands.

"Ie, gwirion! Maen nhw'n Gymraeg!" she replied, beaming at her little boy.

The kids drank some of their fizzy grape drink and were soon off frolicking on the sand, leaving Jen and me to chat. I spotted after a while that the boys had taken themselves off for a group piss further down the beach, and probably a bit of sly show-and-tell. Megan, left to her own devices, tried out some cartwheels and headstands, feeling the thrill of her light dress flooding down below her nipples. When Manny turned around from his piss and clocked her, front on to him, standing on her hands in her baby-blue knickers with only her head hidden by her dress, I swear I saw him nearly lose his eyeballs, like pinballs ricocheting from the buffers. If it wasn't the case that he, James, and Emyr were comparing boners, I didn't doubt he had one to deal with now. He walked delightfully awkwardly as he made his way back up the beach. Meg turned on her hands, bum now pointing at the boys, and lowered herself down to her feet by arching her back, her toes touching down first, thighs spread, stretching the fabric of her pants over her crotch. Manny nearly stumbled headfirst into the sand, pressing his hands together in the pockets of his shorts, his mouth dropping open. Megan's dress dropped down, revealing Manny's presence to her, and she smiled nervously at him. He just blinked and pressed his hands together in his pockets again, probably thinking that nobody would notice he was squeezing his groin. James, piggybacking Emyr up the beach behind, was completely oblivious.

I went and ran around with the kids for a while, played some games of tig, adjudicated a couple of wheelbarrow races – the pairings and positionings being obvious. I went back up to join Jen and drink my beer just as she'd changed CD.

"Libraries gave us power," I said, with impressed surprise. "Then work came and made us free."

"Are you a fan?" she said.

"Saw them live once," I said. "When you said 'Welsh music', I thought it was all going to be Welsh-language stuff."

"Oh no," Jen replied. "Plenty of time for some of the hwntw classics as well. You're lucky we don't have any Tom Jones!"

"I remember this coming out when I was a little kid," I said. "I only discovered them for real as a teenager, though. Opened another world for me at the time. The Holy Bible. Incredible record."

"Both those albums came out before I was born!" Jen laughed.

"Wow! I must be old."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "These lot probably think we're both about sixty."

The sunset was slowly creeping upon us, so we rounded up a set of increasingly sleepy kids. They'd just been sat on the beach chatting together for the past half an hour, the energy for play long since spent.

"How would you three boys like to stay at ours tonight?" asked Jen.

James nearly bounced out of his skin, Emyr glued to his side still. "Can we, Jake? Please?"

"Well, unless you want to kip on the beach," I said.

"That would be cool," said James, "but staying with Em and Megan is even better!"

"That's decided then," laughed Jen. I got the player to spit out her CD and locked up the car.

***

We sat in the living room finishing off the wine as the kids sat and chatted. Manny and Meg were playing some game, drawing on each other's backs with their fingers. James sat on the floor with his back against a settee, looking at a bookshelf.

"Can you read in English, Em?"

"I try," said Emyr.

"Okay," said James, "let's try together!"

Emyr trotted over to the bookshelf and returned with The Twits, by Roald Dahl, a classic for the younger and less confident reader. James patted the floor beneath his legs, and Emyr sat down, resting cross-legged against James. James moved his thighs together so that he was squeezing against Emyr's legs and hugged the boy to him around his tummy. Emyr began reading. What a lot of hairy-faced men there are around nowadays! James occasionally helped or gently corrected as Emyr read, pausing sometimes to discuss the pictures.

"It's sweet isn't it, how those two are getting on?" said Jen.

"James has always been very sweet," I said. "He's a very gentle and caring boy. Definitely wears his heart on his sleeve."

"It's good for Em," she said. "He misses out, not having any other male company around. No wonder they've taken to each other so quickly."

I nodded in agreement, but I wasn't so sure. Watching James cuddle the younger boy to him, heads nuzzled together, occasionally stroking and patting him as they read, I got an uneasy feeling that James had other intentions in mind. Like watching the cycle of shit wash back around, one generation passing on the death kiss of its weaknesses to the next.

Jen had washed down the last of her glass. She offered me the dregs from the bottle. I declined and she took them for herself. Once we were both finished, I suggested that it was probably bedtime. I was exhausted.

"What are the sleeping arrangements?" I asked Jen.

"Can I sleep in Emyr's bed tonight?" James cut in.

"I don't think that's a good idea, mate," I said.

"But why?"

How do you explain to the boy you're molesting that you're worried he's going to molest another, younger boy? "I don't think that would be fair on Emyr. We should stick together tonight, don't you think?"

"You and the boys can take my bed," said Jen. "I'll go in with Em. It's no bother."

James looked disappointed, the unspoken annoyance in his eyes framed by the dark circles building underneath them.

"You're tired and you need your beauty sleep," I said to James. "Say your goodnights. You can play with Emyr again in the morning."

"It's not playing," he grumbled, and stomped over to give Emyr a goodnight hug.

"Come on," I said to Manny, "you too, Casanova."

"What does that mean?" said Manny, getting up of the sofa and stretching into a yawn.

"I'll tell you later," I said.

"Night Meg," he yawned. "What did you say it was? Nozda?"

"Nos dda," said Meg, giving Manny a little wave before yawning in sympathy.

I corralled the boys up the stairs and went into the room Jen showed us. We'd be sharing her double bed. James sat huffily on the edge, causing the bedsprings to creak.

"Are you going to go and brush your teeth?" I asked.

"No."

"You won't be thanking me tomorrow if your gums are swollen from red meat between your teeth," I said.

"I think we left the toothbrushes in the car," said Manny.

James flopped back onto the bed and huffed some more. I took the opportunity to slide his shorts and socks off, leaving him ready for bed in just his pants. Manny took this as a cue to undress himself too.

"Tired?" I said to James, stroking his belly.

"Get off!" he whined.

"Oh, we're not doing this again, are we James?"

"Shut up!"

"How many times is this today, James? I'm getting tired of the stroppy teenager act."

James folded his arms over his chest and said nothing. Manny came and sat alongside him.

"Megan is really cool," he said. "Thanks for bringing us here, Jake."

"Hmph!" said James, rolling onto his side away from Manny.

"You can sleep on the floor if you're going to be like this," I said.

"Why wouldn't you let me sleep with Emyr like I wanted?" he grumbled.

"I told you why not," I said. "Don't you think it's better that we're all together?"

"I bet you would have let Manny sleep with stupid Megan," he said derisively.

"I certainly wouldn't have," I said. "And Manny never suggested it."

"Yeah, well Manny's so perfect, isn't he?"

Manny shot James a little annoyed look. I put my hand out to encourage him to stay quiet.

"None of us are perfect," I said. "I wouldn't have let either of you sleep with Emyr or Meg, because I don't think I could trust either of you not to break the rules after you've had such a fun night getting to know them. I know I wouldn't've if I was you."

"Why shouldn't I play with Em in bed?" James said. "You told me you used to do that with your friends."

"James, me and my friends were the same age, and we were all as clueless about sex as each other. It was just a bit of fun to explore with each other."

"It would be fun for Emyr to explore with me!"

"But James, when we did it – me and my mates – we were always terrified of our parents finding out, even though we were in it together as equals. What do you think Jen would say if she found out you'd been leading Emyr into sexual stuff? What questions do you think she'd be asking of all of us then?"

"It's not fair!" pouted James. "You're way older than us than I am over Em, and you lead us into sex stuff, and we like it!"

"Yeah, and what good has it done us?" I said. "We're meant to be on a little holiday enjoying ourselves, and instead we spend half of the day arguing."

James growled and pounded the bed in frustration, rolling onto his front and burying his head in the pillows. Manny leaned over and put a hand on James' shoulder. "James, you know what I think–"

"Shut up Manny! You don't understand anything!" James wailed into the pillow. "It's got nothing to do with you! I wish you weren't here!"

He threw a fist at Manny, which I caught by the wrist before it made contact. I squeezed harder than was comfortable for James. "How many times today, James? You do not take out your feelings on Manny. Understood?" His arm went limp as he grunted into the pillow, and I let it drop.

Manny sat shell-shocked on the bed. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes.

"Manny," I said, as quietly and kindly as I could muster, "why don't you put your shorts on and go and get your shoes? We can go and get our bags we forgot from the car."

He nodded quickly, blinking back tears before they could escape his eyes, and bundled himself into his shorts. He left the bedroom in a hurry.

I sat down on the bed next to James as Manny quick-shuffled down the stairs, hand planted firmly between his shoulder blades. I whispered sternly in his ear. "I know it's been a long, intense day. I know we're all tired. I know you don't want to admit it, but you're still upset about Harry's house. That does not excuse your behaviour. If you need to talk to anyone about your feelings, you talk to me. If you need to blame anyone for how you feel, you blame me. Not Manny. Imagine how you've just made him feel. He loves you like a big brother. Imagine if I told you I didn't love you and don't want you around. I'll see you in a few minutes."

I finished with a less than playful slap of one of his buttocks as I rose to leave. I watched his small bum wobble under the fabric of his boxers, lumping and creasing as it disappeared into the cleft of his crack. A skinny boy, lanky frame on a short body, alone and vulnerable by the waterside at the ends of his earth.

***

Manny walked quietly beside me in the dark as we made our way back to the car. I put my arm around his bare shoulders and he leant against me, following the cats' eyes in the middle of the road downhill, reflecting the moonlight back at us.

"Are you not cold without a top on?" I asked, stroking a bare clavicle, cool in the evening breeze.

I felt him shake his head against my side. He paused a little longer, before piping up in a quiet squeak. "Why doesn't James want to be my friend anymore?"

"James is just tired and got himself all upset," I said. "Don't pay him any attention. He loves being your friend."

"He doesn't like me anymore."

"He loves you, Manny," I said. "Believe me. You two get on like a house on fire, even if sometimes you like to wind each other up."

"Yeah," Manny said, "James is easy to get going."

"He is," I said, "and he doesn't know what to do with all his feelings sometimes. He's been used to being the only kid around getting all the attention from adults. He had me all to himself for years. It's easier for him to pick on you if he's upset with something I've done – or haven't done – than to tell his feelings to me."

"I don't get why he's so upset though," said Manny, sounding down. "Is it because of something I did? Is it because of what happened at that house?"

"Oh, shit!" I said. "We never did have that chat about the house, did we?"

"No," said Manny. "Swearer."

"Sorry, mate. It really wasn't fair of me not to have told you before. James is mostly upset about the house; not about you."

"But why?" said Manny. "Who was meant to be there?"

"When James was little, we had some friends who lived in the bungalow next to the main farmhouse. You know where I mean?"

"Yeah. The building we never go into that has the goalposts in front of the door."

"Right. So there were four of them living there. Drew and Harriet, the adults, were friends with me and James' parents from when we met at university. They had a little boy called Harry, and they looked after a little girl called Cerys, who was the daughter of another friend of ours, but her mom had died."

"Harriet and Harry? That's weird."

"No more than when a dad names a son after himself," I said. "Anyway, so when James was nearly seven, Harry and Cerys were the same ages as you and James are now. They were like a big brother and sister to James. They had their own house separate from me and James and his mom, but we did almost everything together."

"Where did they go then?"

"Cerys, the little girl, caught a nasty illness. An illness that killed lots and lots of people. I had to look after her until she died."

"Like me and my nana," said Manny, with a sigh.

"Sort of," I said, "except Cerys was the same age as you are now and got very poorly very quickly. But her illness was something that I'm lucky enough not to be able to catch, so I took care of her."

We'd stopped halfway down the hill as we talked. Manny leaned against me, letting me cradle his body – so lithe and healthy, yet so small and fragile – against mine. "So James' big sister died. That's really sad. What about the others?"

"The illness was so contagious and dangerous that they decided they had to go away for a while to protect James, because he was still so little. Even if they hadn't caught it, they could still be carrying it, so they decided they'd try to drive home, to the house we went to today."

"But they weren't there?"

"No."

"So what happened?"

"I guess they didn't go home."

"Oh…"

"So that's what James is upset about today. Not you. He just wanted to find them. It's only recently that he realised that Cerys had died rather than just gone away. It must have been on his mind as soon as he realised we could drive anywhere in the car."

We'd begun walking down the hill again, my arm holding Manny close by his shoulders, hand rested gently on his stringy bicep. "James must have been really annoyed that I didn't want us to go to the house. If you told me then I would've kept quiet and been kinder to him."

"I'm really sorry, mate. That's all my fault. I should have told you and tried to explain straight away, but I was too worried about James' feelings. I didn't give enough thought to you until James started using you to take out his frustration."

"That's not fair, though. I didn't make his friends get poorly or move away from him."

"No, it isn't fair. And James knows that. He shouldn't deliberately hurt other people because he's hurting. I think he and I are going to have a long chat about that when we get home."

"Are you going to have him in your bed?"

"I think that'd be the place he'd be most comfortable to talk to me. You're not jealous, are you?"

"Umm… maybe a little bit."

"How about you come in a couple of nights later? We can talk all about you."

"Thanks." Manny leaned into a side hug with me as we walked. "Can we do some stuff after we talk as well?"

"If that's what you want. You only have to ask."

"Sick."

Manny and I walked in silence until we were nearly at the car. We could see the sea stretching before us, waves twinkling in the moonlight, the rush and the smell of the waves assailing our senses as we rounded the corner and came to the bottom of the hill. Harlech Castle loomed dark and vacant above us, a tattered red dragon fluttering in the breeze on the flagpole.

"Umm… Jake?" Manny began. I squeezed his shoulder to encourage him to continue. "Would you, you know… If I'd asked you, would you have let me sleep in Meg's bed tonight like James said?"

"No, Manny," I said, stopping to unlock the car. "I wouldn't have."

"Oh," he said, playing with a stone under his feet. "Um… why not?"

"Because it was nice to see you and James having fun with Meg and Emyr tonight just like normal kids," I said. "Trust me, you don't want to complicate things by having sex with them. You're too young for that."

"But we are normal kids? Aren't we? Me and James?"

"Yeah," I said. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that."

"That's okay."

I handed Manny the smaller of two rucksacks. "Put this on." I took the larger one for myself. I locked up the car and we turned back up the hill, walking side by side on the empty road towards the house.

"Manny," I said, "you know I love you, don't you?"

"Yeah!" said Manny. "Course I do! Even if you did leave me out a bit today."

"I mean, I've known James pretty much since he was a baby, and we've done all this stuff together and it's complicated, I mean, how well we know each other. That was what made things so weird today. I should have considered you more. But just because I know James inside out doesn't mean I don't care about you too."

"Thanks, Jake." He took my hand and swung it around between us for a while. "I love you and James too. You're both the best. I hope James still loves me."

"You know he does."

"Yeah." I almost heard the cogs in his head turning as he waited a second to change the subject. "Actually, Jake?"

"What?"

"Do you think Meg likes me?"

I chuckled. "Why? Do you like her?"

"I dunno," he said, still swinging my hand back and forth. "I never spent any time with a girl before. It feels sort of weird and funny."

"Exciting maybe?"

"Yeah."

"You were excited when you saw her in just her pants, weren't you?"

Manny let out a gasp and his loud giggles echoed off the walls of the empty buildings around us. "You saw that?"

"Yep. Saw you playing with yourself through your shorts as well."

"Oh…"

"It's okay. Nothing wrong."

"I sort of couldn't help it." I didn't need to make out Manny's face in the dark to imagine him blushing a little. His voice was a low whisper.

"I know the feeling," I said. "It's natural. Just ask James some of the things he's seen me do when I'm excited."

"Yeah," laughed Manny, "I bet!"

"Shh!" I said. "We're nearly at the house now. You'll wake everyone up!"

"Sorry!" said Manny in a stage whisper. He buffeted his shoulder against me playfully, then suddenly stood still for a second.

"What's up?"

"Jake," he said, "I just thought. Do you think James is upset because he likes Emyr and I like Megan?"

***

It was heartening to see James sat up against the headboard as we re-entered Jen's bedroom. He gave us a wobbly, pink-cheeked smile as we walked in, hands folded on top of his underpants.

"Hey," I said, sitting down next to him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. I pulled him onto my lap.

"What's with all this silliness today, hm?"

"I dunno," he said, leaning back against me and closing his eyes. "It's just…"

I let him think for a long few moments, until it was clear he didn't know what to say next. "Just that you don't know how to explain the way you feel sometimes?"

"I suppose so," he said.

"And maybe you don't know what to do with those feelings at the moment either, so you lash out at other people."

"I'm sorry." He sounded defeated. I squeezed him close to me.

"You don't have to be sorry for how you feel," I said. "I just wish you'd try to talk to me about it, rather than bottling it up and then blowing up on Manny. You know I'll always love you, don't you?"

James just nodded; eyes closed. I held him close to me, rocking his body on my lap. Manny sat beside us and stroked James' shins and feet.

"I'm sorry if I annoyed you at your friends' house earlier," said Manny. "I didn't know why we were there or why it was special to you."

"Do you have something to say to Manny?" I whispered in his ear.

James nodded. I let go of him and he shuffled alongside Manny.

"I'm really sorry for being mean to you, Manny," said James. "I love you and you and Jake are my best friends in the world. Please don't hate me for what I said to you today and just now. It wasn't your fault at all, but I was horrible to you just because I felt bad."

Manny pulled James into a hug-cum-headlock. "I don't hate you, silly. I love you too, man!"

James smiled as Manny ruffled his hair. He pulled himself free of Manny's grip, and kissed him on the cheek. "Jake, would it break the rules if I offered to do something to make it up to Manny?"

I looked up at the bedroom door. Without saying a word, I closed it, and found Jen's lock beneath the handle. We were closed off to the outside world. The boys grinned.

"What do you want me to do, Manny?" James whispered excitedly.

"I don't know," said Manny. I could tell there was something on his mind, but he made a show of pretending to think for a little while. "Hmm…" he said, "James, do you think you could, you know… lick me?"

"You mean on your willy?" said James.

"No," said Manny. "I mean, you know… the other place. Downstairs."

James sucked in his breath, looked at me for reassurance. "Okay," he said, in a small voice. "How do I do it, Jake?"

"Both of you take your pants off," I said. "Manny, get on your hands and knees on the bed."

They stripped the last vestiges of their clothing and Manny crawled into place on the mattress. James looked at me for instruction.

"Okay James, crawl in behind Manny so you have your head up his bum." He did as he was told. Both boys' stiff willies twitched as James' breath played over Manny's anus. "Now get your face in there and give it a few swipes with your tongue."

James screwed up his face and steeled himself for his first step into the unknown. He must have been inhaling Manny's scent from the position he had crawled into, but I don't know if he realised that it would be a similar taste. He stuck his tongue out and tentatively made contact with Manny's airtight wrinkle. Manny yelped and bucked forward.

"James, how about if I do you at the same time, just until you have an idea of what you're doing? You can try to copy my movements." I leant into place behind James and spread his thin, angular cheeks.

"Thanks Jake," James breathed, and pushed back instinctively against my face for me to begin. I lapped at his crack, a few broad strokes at first before swirling around and beginning to add suction on his wrinkled pink ring. He tasted of burgers and sea salt. James let out some muffled coos, and Manny grunted too. I could only guess that James was trying to copy my actions on Manny in turn. I curled my tongue and tried to puncture James' sphincter, hoping he'd be encouraged to try the same on Manny. From the younger boy's little whimper, I assumed James had taken the hint.

"How's it tasting for you, James?" I asked, pulling off him. "Are you okay to keep going?"

He lifted his head. "It's kind of salty and meaty," he said. "Does it always taste like that?"

"Meaty for sure," I said. "I think the salty taste is from being in the sea earlier. You taste the same tonight too."

"Oh. Okay."

"Get back to work," I joked, playfully slapping at James' buttocks. I leaned across the bed and reached under Manny to fondle his stiffy. "He's doing a good job, eh?"

"Yeah," sighed Manny, "feels really good."

"Let's make him an ass prisoner," I said. "Teach him a lesson for being mean."

"Okay," giggled Manny. "What do I need to do?"

"Lie down flat on your front," I said. "Reach back and spread your cheeks."

Manny obeyed instantly. James followed suit and got in position lapping Manny's hole lying down.

"Alright," I said. "Now lift your legs up and cross them behind James' head. Keep him pressed into your bum so he can't get out."

Manny closed and crossed his calves at the back of James' head, pressing the older lad's head firmly into his crack.

"You can let go of your bum cheeks now," I said. "He's not getting out from between them. Is this okay for you, James?"

James giggled and nodded into Manny's cleft, giving a thumbs up to make the point. I could hear his slurping and sucking, his nose and mouth fully hidden between Manny's muscular buttocks.

"Uhh… that's good," said Manny, beginning to hump the mattress.

"Make yourself useful," I said, shuffling around to kneel in front of him, presenting my erect cock to his lips. Manny grunted and opened wide, letting me push in without any control. He swallowed, stifling a gag, stopped humping the bed a second to adjust his position so that his hands were on my thighs, policing the penetration. He was an inexperienced cocksucker, but enthusiastic and never shy to take the lead and assert himself in the situation. He held my hips in place for me to slip the couple of inches he was comfortable with in and out of his mouth as he resumed his dry humping of the bed, riding the sensations of James' tongue on his rosebud.

"How's your jaw, James?" I asked after a few minutes. Manny had started humping the bed quicker and drooling down his chin as he allowed me to facefuck him. I didn't want him to climax without James having a fair shot, as much as he deserved to be made to pleasure Manny for his earlier misbehaviour. James grunted and wobbled a held-out hand. I pulled my cock from Manny's mouth. "Okay Manny. Better let him go."

"I was nearly there!" he complained, swallowing down stringy cocksucking spit.

"Let him go," I repeated. Manny opened his legs and let James lift his head up. His face was shiny with saliva and Manny's sticky anal secretions.

"Want to rub willies?" he asked Manny.

"Yeah!" said Manny. "I'll go on top."

James lay down on the other side of the bed with his head on the pillow, legs spread out. Manny clambered over and lowered himself onto James, legs tight together, willy to willy.

"Pull your skins back," I said. "It'll feel way better."

James eyeballed Manny. Manny sniggered under his breath and reached down between them, skinning back James' stiffy and then his own, lowering himself down so they were pressed groin to groin before the skin could sneak back up on them.

James gave a little upward thrust. Manny grunted as he got going again, grinding himself into James' stiff sex. The smell of their shared arousal flooded the room, along with the waft of Manny's wet crack. My mouth was watering. I'd just had my best meal since Winter Solstice, but suddenly I was ravenous again for the flavour of my rampantly horny boys.

Manny had taken James' wrists in his hands, pinning him down as they ground their dicks together. They stared into each other's eyes, smirking, noses occasionally rubbing. Manny must have been able to smell his scent all over James' face.

"Kiss," I ordered. I thought they wanted to but were unsure, as if waiting for permission. James craned his neck and pushed his lips onto Manny. Manny pushed back. Soon there was the slurping sound of open-mothed snogging as Manny ate his anal juices from James' tongue.

"Manny," I said, "pull James' legs up so they're over your shoulders. Then get on your knees to grind your willy against his."

He was annoyed at the interruption, but he did as he was told. Manny sat back into a kneel between James' spread legs and hoisted up James' knees to rest on his shoulders. He spread his knees for balance and dove back into position, grinding downwards into James' crotch as both boys' bottoms were presented fully behind them.

I wasted no time in swinging around, presented with the irresistible sight of two slimy pink balloon knots, little pouches dancing and tightening as they pressed together, and seemingly a single seam of flesh running from James' coccyx against the mattress unbroken up to Manny's anus, flaring with every thrust. I knelt in and took a deep breath, tickling the boys' balls with a cold breeze as they rubbed their bits together. I took one broad stroke with my tongue, all the way up from where the tail of James' back met the crevice between his skinny cheeks, right along the ridge of his masculinity, tonguing the boys' silky scrotums as they pressed together, following Manny's seam right up to his winking third eye. As well as sea salt and red meat, he tasted weirdly like kissing James, slathered so completely with the boy's saliva. My tongue had barely penetrated Manny when he came, whimpering girlishly into James' mouth, smashing his stouter cock and balls against his erstwhile big brother beneath him. As soon as Manny had slumped from his orgasm and released James from his pin, James flipped the two of them over, slapped his pelvis madly against Manny as the younger boy writhed in sensitive, post-orgasmic discomfort, and moaned his own climax into Manny's neck.

They rolled apart, each boy on his back. I stroked opposite inside thighs as they came down, all smiles, their reddened willies reducing and foreskins popping back into place.

"Should we do you now, Jake?" asked Manny, having recovered first given more time.

"Nah," I said. "Still probably shouldn't with other adults around."

"Thanks Manny, thanks Jake," said James, panting and resting a wrist over his forehead. "That was a really good one."

"Me too," said Manny. "Thanks guys."

"Once you've got your breath back, go and brush your teeth," I said, back in responsible adult mode. "Toothbrushes and paste are in one of the side pockets of the bags. There's a jug of water near the bathroom sink."

"Alright," said Manny, swinging his legs off the bed. "If you say so."

"And put some pants on before you go anywhere," I reminded them. Manny picked up James' dirty boxers.

"Doesn't matter if we swap," he said, and yanked them up his legs.

James hauled himself up and slipped Manny's boxers on. They trotted off to the bathroom with their toothbrushes without saying a word. I heard some giggling and gargling, and soon they were back, minty breath almost overriding the smell of their groins.

***

I'd wished the boys goodnight in case – as I suspected – they conked out before I returned from the darkness of the bathroom. I was splashing some water on my face to clear some of the boy-arse residue when Jen sauntered in wearing only a long t-shirt, silhouetted against the dancing half-light of the landing from our open bedroom door.

"I thought I heard you up," she said.

"Only just got the boys down," I said. "Wanted to brush my teeth and freshen up."

"You're good with those boys," she said, stepping close alongside me in the darkness. "They're a credit to you."

I shrugged. "I hope so. They're really good lads."

"You know," she said, taking my hand in hers, "it's not just Emyr who's missed having a male role model around this house."

My heart botched a cartwheel in the quicksand of my chest.

"Jen," I said, "you know… you know I'm not really attracted to women, don't you?"

She stopped for a second, then readjusted her tack and tried again. "Come on," she said. "What does it matter? You must get so lonely all the time too, spending all those days just with children running around under your feet. We're both adults. We can give each other something that they can't."

"No, Jen," I said, pulling my hand back from hers. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Jake," she touched my elbow, ran her hand up and down my upper arm, "how long has it been for you as well? Just close your eyes; I can be whoever you want… You must need it too, surely? Unless…"

Gravity seemed to draw my heart into my throat, as if I was standing on my head. Jen had already begun to laugh off her scandalous passing thought when I leaned in to kiss her on the mouth. How bad could it be, to shag a woman to protect James and Manny – or most of all, if I was honest, myself? I imagined, in the split second as I felt our lips meet, that if she realised the truth and freaked out, man for man we could take them. I was bigger and stronger than Jen. Manny was bigger and stronger than Megan. If James could think with his head rather than his dick for a second, he was much bigger and stronger than Emyr. We could be back at the car and speeding off before they could do a thing. But it was easier, so much easier, to lean my head down and snog Jen. So much warmer and softer too. It occurred to me for an instant, as her arms began to cling to my shoulder blades and I wrapped mine around the small of her back, one hand wandering down to explore her bare buttocks over the lower seam of her t-shirt, that she would definitely be able to taste the boys on my mouth. Hints of saliva and arse juices and a trace of little boy faeces. But she said nothing. She just grunted and pushed her tongue harder and deeper into mine.

We snuck down to the beach, silent and determined, her wearing only her t-shirt and flip flops, me dressed more modestly in my shorts and t-shirt I'd put on this morning back in the North Pennines, County Durham – a lifetime ago. We kissed on the beach again; I ran my hands under her t-shirt to knead and fondle her breasts (how long ago had she weaned Emyr?) squeezing and pinching her nipples. She threw her t-shirt off. I felt the brush of soft armpit hair against the back of my hand as her body moved to free itself of the long cotton garment. She tore me free of my top, too. Suckled on one of my hairy nipples like a starving baby. Bit. Too hard. Soon she was on her knees, yanking me free of my remaining clothing. She took my cock in her mouth, sucked me from semi to hard. Her technique was jarringly poor, worse even than the unpractised Manny, catching me with her teeth. But she was drunk and hadn't tasted hard meat for many a long year. I'd let her off. A mouth is a mouth.

I never touched or tasted her. She didn't expect it of me. Before long she was on her hands and knees in the sand, groaning as I entered her furry cunt. Tight and wet. Abortive penetration of James aside, I hadn't been in a proper hole for a long, long time. I got to work. Waste not want not. But, truth be told, the biggest sexual organ in the body is always the brain. Even in the dark, with the rush of the Atlantic at high tide to cancel out your senses like a burst of static, you can't fuck yourself straight just because a desperate soul has your knob in a warm, wet embrace. The melty man cometh. I felt myself begin to wilt.

I tried to keep up the pace and rhythm, panicking inside. Somehow, irrationally, I couldn't shake the idea that my failure would cause her to twig I was messing around with the boys. I tried to fantasise. Jen was presenting herself to us as a vessel to repopulate the Earth. She and Megan nude on all fours in their living room, legs wide apart, lewdly thrusting their hips back at us. Manny rock hard, ready and willing to break his prepubescent duck on Meg, if not Jen too. The three of us – James as well – stood naked and saluting, ready to go. Then Emyr, almost translucent in his nakedness, stood to one side, looking back and forth before making an unspoken choice, crawling into place beside the rest of his family and reaching back to spread his cheeks. He presents himself fully to a delighted James, who can't contain himself from peeing with uncontrollable glee all over the little boy's back.

No use. Still semi by virtue of the physical stimulation, but no hornier, and now feeling like an incorrigible pervert. There was nothing else for it. I slapped Jen on a gooseflesh buttock, surely from the cold rather than whatever the hell I was doing, grabbed her hips by both hands, and blurted the most nonsensical, offensive shit I could muster from my sleep-deprived brain.

"You fucking love that, don't you, bitch! Getting nailed by a fucking shirtlifter, you filthy slut!"

I was at full beam again. I pulled her back by the hair, hearing her grunt and moan with pain, but feeling the walls squeezing my cock twitch and slicken.

"You'll take any hard prick that comes your way, won't you? You're just that desperate to get off, aren't you? Who was next if not me, hm? James? Manny?"

At that point – luckily, with hindsight, before I moved on to suggesting Emyr – I erupted inside of her, collapsing on her back and landing us both face-down into the sand. Coarse grains coated her slimy cunt, her inner thighs, and the shaft of my spent dick. I rolled off and lay on my back, staring at the moon. She reached a hand underneath and frigged herself, soon bringing herself off, fanny twitching and gaping, winking glimpses of reams of my pearly spunk in its hidden tunnel as she came. I don't know how to make a woman do that.

"Sorry about that," I said, reeking of embarrassment. "I couldn't keep it up unless I talked really dirty. I tried imagining other things but… well, you must have felt the difference."

"It's alright," she said, reaching out to take my hand. "I know I was asking a lot of you. Will you hold me for a while?"

I did as I was told; in the end, no different from Manny or James. Master and servant, master and servant. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

"Hey," I said, coming to my senses a few minutes later as we lay spooning in the sand, listening to each other breathe, "I hope if I come back this time next year, there isn't another little Megan or Emyr in the family."

"I don't think I can," she said. "You have two babies without medicine or a hospital, it fucks up your insides."

"Hm." I must not have sounded convinced.

"I'll go and try to squirt it out in the sea. Like a saltwater douche."

I think that was meant to be funny, but I didn't respond. I got up and gathered my clothes from around us.

"I'm going to head back to bed," I said. "If the boys wake up, they'll wonder where I am."

"See you in the morning," she said. She'd been lain spread eagled on the sand as she watched me dress. Now she crossed her legs and draped an arm over her chest.

"See you in the morning," I replied, making off up the hill and not looking back.

I shed my clothes again on arriving back in the bedroom; closed the door. The candle had burned low and it cast eerily deep shadows over the sleeping boys, who'd abandoned each other's underwear to the carpet beside the bed. In the heat of the night they'd spread apart, avoiding the humid warmth of each other's bodies. James lay tight against the left-hand side of the bed, lain on his right facing the wall, the way I always did and how he'd gotten used to sleeping alongside me. Manny was sprawled out taking up the entire right-hand side of the bed, sheets drawn up between his legs, which pointed off to his left, half-scissored apart.

I thought, as I sat into the middle of the bed and leaned over Manny to blow out the candle, that maybe I should wash off my genitals before going to sleep, but I was too tired and sure the boys would never notice anyway; they barely had the sensory insight to work out when they needed a wash themselves, let alone other people. I blew out the light and tried to shove Manny away with my shoulder and elbow. It didn't work. He didn't even stir. So I tried a trick that always worked with him. I licked my middle finger and scratched at his exposed crevice, tickling all over his sensitive little bumhole. His hips danced. I kept it up. He whined in slumber-coated annoyance and rolled his body away. I relaxed into the vacant space and was out in seconds.

***

"I think it's Jake, you know."

"But why would he be making that smell?"

"It's his willy, I swear. Look, it's sticky and he has sand in his hairs."

I came around far too early, feeling Manny's finger poking at my pubes.

"What are you doing?" I whined.

"Jake, can you smell that?" Manny giggled.

"Where did you go last night?" asked James, his eyes immediately filling my vision as I forced my heavy eyelids apart. "You took forever to come back here. I fell asleep waiting."

"Why do you have sand on your winky?" grinned Manny, desperately trying not to laugh.

"Did you… did you have sex with Jen?" asked James, grinning wide-eyed into my face, somewhere between overwhelmed with amusement and overawed with disgust.

I sighed heavily with weary exasperation. "Yes, you little perverts, I had sex with Jen."

Both James and Manny burst into little fits of atonal laughter. Then stopped. Then laughed again. Manny looked like he was shaking with nervous excitement.

"I thought you didn't like girls?" said James, in a somewhat accusatory tone.

"I don't," I said. "I tried to tell her no, but it seemed like she might work out that I was doing stuff with you pair if I didn't do it with her."

"Was it good?" blurted Manny, before slapping his hand to his mouth and letting out a nervous giggle again.

"Definitely had better," I groaned with resignation. I was getting roasted by a pair of preteen virgins for having sex with a relatively attractive woman, whose children they themselves fancied.

"Is she… Is she going to have a baby?" said James, losing confidence halfway through the question and reverting to a whisper.

"Unlikely. And I really, really hope not. Women don't just get pregnant at the drop of a hat. I need to give you pair the proper birds and bees lecture some time soon. Especially now Manny is getting urges."

"Shut up!" Manny grumbled, unhappy about having the tables turned on him. James shrieked with laughter.

"You too, laughing boy. Seem to remember you were pretty desperate to get in Emyr's bed last night."

"Yeah," said James, falling quiet. "I am really sorry about that. I promise."

"That's okay mate," I said, squeezing his bunched-up knee as he kneeled next to me. "We're only twelve once."

James made a satisfied noise. Manny cut in again, poking at my dick with his index finger. "So… is that what girls smell like, then?"

I pushed his arm away. "Pretty much." He sniffed his finger.

"Eee!" squeaked James.

"Give it a lick. I dare you." I had meant Manny, sat as he was with his finger in front of his face, but James got the wrong end of the stick. He leant tentatively over my crotch and ran the tip of his tongue over my soft penis.

"Yeuch!" he spat. "Disgusting!"

"Jesus, James!" I gasped. "I didn't mean you!"

Manny guffawed. "James just tasted fanny juice!"

"Eugh! It's horrible!" said James, melodramatically wiping his tongue with his hand.

"Go on," I nodded at Manny. "You may as well have a turn then."

"You want me to lick Jen's fanny taste off your willy?" he said, looking at me like I'd just asked whether he'd seen where my magic camel had gone.

I shrugged my shoulders and let my head rest on the pillow again. I was just closing my eyes in the hope of drifting back off to sleep, when I felt a slimy little tongue dancing over the head of my prick.

"What do you think, Manny?" I asked without bothering to move or open my eyes.

"Weird," he said. "Salty and fishy and kind of meaty, but bitter too."

"Do a good job cleaning up, there's a good lad. Imagine it's Megan if you want."

I lay back with a sense of total inertia, Manny – for some reason – obediently getting to work, making my aching cock stiffen reluctantly between his lips.

"Right, come on James," I said, feeling around unsighted for his thigh but ultimately making landfall on his hand. "I know what you like."

"What?" he said. I fumbled around for the tip of his willy and gave it a sharp tug. "Oh."

James got the message and straddled my head. I opened my eyes to a faceful of James' soft flesh, him staring down at me from somewhere in outer space. "You are going to suck it, Jake, aren't you?"

I opened wide and let him dump it all in at once. I bathed his balls, still a little salty from seawater – and probably hot summer night sleep sweat – and felt and smelt the tip of his boner poking stickily at my nose as it peeked from his foreskin. I sucked it in lazily, not doing much until he started pumping my mouth. Not doing much after either. My dick blew apathetically in Manny's face as he slurped lady tastes from the base of my shaft. I think Manny's surprised "Yuck!" made James come in my mouth soon after, his flavour getting slightly richer as his stiff nail spasmed on my tongue.

James hoisted his leg over my head to de-straddle himself, giving me a little glimpse and waft of his anus in the process. I could see Manny sat motionless, face strung with semen, not knowing what to do next.

"Lick him clean, James," I said, still sounding thoroughly bored. The boys looked at me like I'd taken complete leave of my senses since departing for the bathroom the night before. I mean, I assume Manny did, but he was hidden by a mask of jism wound around his cute little features like tinsel.

Unbelievably, James obeyed. Both boys were completely flaccid, unaroused, and yet one licked my semen from the other's face and swallowed, after the other had licked my penis clean of our female host's sex musk. At this point I was certain I was dreaming.

Manny sat perfectly still and allowed James to lick his face clean. Then, when he was done, James made Manny another offer. "You didn't get to cum yet this morning. Want to rub it in my bum crack for a bit?"

"Really?" said Manny, face still shiny with saliva and traces of semen. "Would you let me?"

James nodded and lay face down, right next to me, legs apart. "Jump on," he giggled, leaning up to wiggle his bum in the air. Manny lowered himself onto James, putting all his weight on the other boy's buttocks, slotting his floppy willy into James' groove. Within seconds he was thrusting into James like an engine piston. He stopped for a moment to lift up slightly – he'd stiffened facing downwards and needed to let it spring up to be comfortable – then got back about his business. James turned his head and smiled at me, completely nonplussed at Manny bouncing up and down on him frantically. I leaned my forehead into his and we stared contentedly into each other's blue eyes. With a squeak and a whimper, Manny was done.

***

Jen acted like nothing had happened as she served up breakfast that morning. I didn't have the heart to tell her I don't like eggs. Manny and James seemed to appreciate the treat. They were chattering away with Meg and Emyr as if they'd never stopped to go to bed the night before.

I collected our stuff to load it into the car. The kids followed me down to spend a morning in the sea. Jen stayed in the house but gifted us a CD with a little note before we left. It was the Welsh-language version of The Fall.

James and Manny were reluctant to skinny dip with Megan and Emyr around. Don't want to show your little willies in front of a girl? I teased them until they both tried to climb on me, and Manny's knee went for my balls. Luckily, he wasn't quite tall enough, so it just had the effect of nearly flipping him backwards. I let them change into each other's dirty boxers from the night before to use as swim trunks, the back seat of the car their semi-private changing room.

I lay on the sand uselessly, soaking in the sun as the heat of the morning built up over me like a layer of plaster. At some point Jen came down and lay next to me, sprawled out spread-eagled just the same.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," she said.

We both laughed, rolling around in the sand until our batteries ran flat and I fell asleep on my front.

I woke up with sand-caked feet on either side of my head, drips raining down on the back of my head. I rolled over to see James standing over me, Manny's soaked pants clinging to the shape of his immature genitals. "I'm hungry," he said. "I think it's lunchtime. Your ears are burnt."

"I noticed," I said. "Go and get Muriel out of the car. You, me, and Manny can share her. Where's he gone?"

"He went for a poo in the bushes. Meg needed a wee, so she followed him."

"He'd better have worked out how to wipe himself with a leaf or something," I said. "If he comes over here complaining about his shitty arse, he can ride home wearing a nappy."

"You're really weird today, Jake," said James, still dripping over my head from sodden underpants. "I don't think you should have sex again."

Manny seemed to have handled himself on his return from 'the bushes'. We sat on the beach and ate our lunch. Nobody had much to say.

"Boys," I said as we scraped the last of our food from the plastic boxes, "I think it's probably time we started heading home. Do you want to say your goodbyes to Meg and Emyr?"

They groaned but got on with bidding goodbye to new friends. They were too lethargic to protest too much, or even to be particularly upset. James held Emyr in a close hug and rocked him back and forth. Megan and Manny shared a tentative, nervous hug. Then they all swapped places.

"Thanks for having us," I said to Jen as I stood at the door of the car, keys in hand.

"No bother," said Jen. "Thank you for coming."

As I sat in the car, I shuddered at the double meaning. I waited for James and Manny to get in.

"Jake," said James, in the I'm going to ask you to do something tone of voice, "can you show me how to move the chair forward? I'm too tired to sit in the front on the way back."

"Just pull the lever at the side, near the bottom," I said. "It'll move itself, then Manny can push it back when he gets in."

"Actually, Jake," said Manny, "I think I want to get in the back too. I'm feeling really sleepy today."

I closed my eyes and rested my head on the centre of the wheel, trying not to sound the horn.

"Alright," I said. "Get in and click the seat back on yourselves. Move the bags to the front seat if you need to."

"Okay!"

There was shuffling. The car rocked. Click! A bag landed on the front seat. Then another, teetering and dropping into the footwell. I had to lean over and pull the passenger door shut. I turned and looked at the two happy boys behind me. Lovers on the backseat. They smiled contentedly at me, eyelids darkened and heavy, arms flopped down by their sides. Completely frazzled. They both had their seatbelts on.

"You're really good lads," I told them. "Did you know that?"

They just flicked their smiles a little wider for a few moments in response.

"Good time?" I asked.

"Great time," said James.

"The best time," said Manny.

"Well, I guess it wasn't bad," I said, and turned to start the car.

Jen, Megan and Emyr stood beside the road to wave us off. As I waved from the open window and pulled the car away up the hill, the boys windmilling madly in the back seat, I kicked myself internally for not bringing anything to take a picture with. Maybe next year, I thought.

The End