Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Going Back - 2
"Australasian Hotel. Established 1890AD."
It was still there, of course. A squat two-storied building with old-style sash windows looking out on the side street. The Brigham Street frontage had a big balcony above the main doors, looking out to the Square across the road.
The old building was coated in stucco and the front, as Daniel remembered it, was decorated in 1930's Art-Deco style. The bright colours though, were very modern and garish, like an old tart wearing far too much make-up, trying to disguise her age.
They confirmed their internet bookings, registered and went upstairs to occupy their adjoining rooms. Nathan looked for someone to carry up their luggage, but the young-looking guy at the front desk smiled at him.
"This is not London or New York, Mr. Thomas. You'll find no porters here. No bell-boys either. This is New Zealand. Every man is his own servant here."
"We carry up our own bags?
"You carry your own bags."
"Come on, Nathan. It's only one floor. Of course we can manage. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do.""
"I've been in Rome. Liam took me there last year. They had porters there."
"Well, they don't here. Come on, Boy. You're young and strong. Your arms are not painted on are they?"
"No, of course not. If you can do it, so can I."
"Of course you can. Pick 'em up, Lad."
They dropped their bags in their rooms, and then went out for a quick drive around the town. The car had to be moved to the car-park at the back of the hotel anyway.
Slowly down the main street, then back and around into Cobham street. Nathan saw something he recognized there, on a sign on the front of the small hall.
"Look, Grandfather, over there. That sign - "Dance party, Friday nights. Eight 'til late." That's pretty cool. Cool that they have them here, at the far end of the world."
"Sure they do, I told you, Nathan, it's a great wee town."
"Maybe it's not such a bad place after all."
"Of course it's not. Look over there, those three houses across the street."
"Those three? They're like three old triplets. They must be the oldest houses in the street. Did you know them?"
"I certainly did. The one on the left is where I used to live. The one in the middle was my friend, Kim's house and the other was the Davidson's, where Roger lived. Fancy them being still there. They were old houses when I was a boy."
"Your old home? That is very, very cool, Grandfather."
"It is. 'Cool.' I wonder where Kim and Roger are now, if they're still alive."
"They could be. You're still alive and well."
"Of course I am. I want to see you all grown up and settled-down before I'm done."
"I hope I never grow up then. And, I'm never going to settle down if that's going to keep you around."
"Thank you, Nathan. I love you too, very much. Now, let's get back to the hotel. These old bones need a rest.'
They parked at the rear of the hotel and the old man went up to his room. Jet lag was not the problem, they'd been in the country for a few days. He was just tired. He was nearly 80 years old and he'd been driving all day. He was tired.
Nathan was not. He'd been semi-dozing all day and he was not old, so he wasn't tired. Not a bit. He went out and walked down to the main street to wander along there and check out the local talent - if there was any.
There was some, but not a lot. He saw a few cute-looking guys. Two of them were an obvious couple, you can just tell sometimes. Pretty obvious. And pretty.
Then he saw a boy coming towards him, a young, blond boy, about his age, very pale and very good-looking. He was walking along slowly, laden with supermarket bags and with his head hung low - studying his own feet.
Nathan stopped and watched him coming. The boy's head came up as he approached and he stopped - dead - like he'd been turned to stone. They stood and looked at each other. The kid's mouth hung open, he looked , well, gobsmacked!
'You never know your luck.' Nathan beamed a smile at him. The kid's face, his ears and his neck even, all flushed a bright-red. He dropped his head and scuttled away.
He went straight out onto the road, a car screeched to a halt, horn blaring. He didn't stop, he crossed the road and disappeared into Brigham Street, around the corner, almost running.
'What the? Scared of me or something? I think that I just met the Village Idiot. Cute though. Shame you didn't stop.' He went back to the hotel.
He saw him - the boy in the photograph. The boy of his dreams! It was impossible, totally impossible, but he was there. He couldn't be, but he was - standing there, on the sidewalk, in the main street, and looking at him. Wow!
Cameron was heading home from the Supermarket, walking along laden down with the weekly shopping. It was heavy! Not the best job in the world, but it wasn't too bad. Not too far to walk. He could do it and it was too much for his granddad. The old bugger could've got the car out, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't waste petrol on such a short trip.
"You can walk, Boy. It's good for you. You need some exercise or your muscles are going to seize up on you."
So, he was walking home, his head hung low. He saw the feet in front of him, looked up and saw the face. Wow! It was him. It couldn't be, but it was - Him.
He wasn't dreaming, he knew that. Of course he wasn't. Was he hallucinating?
He stood staring at the most beautiful boy that he'd ever seen. His mouth hung open wide. He hoped that he wasn't drooling - that would be so easy to do. Then the boy smiled at him - That smile - the one he knew so well. The one in the photograph.
It was too much. He couldn't take it. He dropped his head and fled - straight out across the street and around the corner to the safety of his home.
He didn't even think to watch for traffic. Who could think? A car screeched to a sudden halt, narrowly missing him and the horn blared angrily. It was Mrs. Lewis, the music teacher from his school. He was sure that he'd be hearing more of this - Mrs. Lewis could be pretty fierce at times. Whatever. He didn't take music anyway. He went - fled - home.
Nathan watched TV while he waited for his grandfather. The programmes were crap and there was no porn channel - he looked. After the old man emerged, they ate in the hotel dining-room, and then went out for a "constitutional."
Across the street, they entered the park through the War Memorial Gates on the corner.
"Here he is, over here. Nathan, meet your three-times great grandfather, James Hargreaves Williamson."
"Well, hello Great Ancient One. He doesn't say much, does he, Grandfather."
"No, he doesn't. He just sits up there keeping an eye on his town. He's been doing it for a long time now."
"He has. Died in 1910, that's a long, long time ago. Nearly a hundred years. Before you were born even."
"Careful Boy. I'm not infirm yet."
"Okay, sorry. But, he was mayor of Westpoint and later a Member of Parliament. That's very cool. We've got a famous ancestor."
"We have - sort of. Famous in his own back-yard. They named a river and a street after him too. But, it's not all good. He was a bit of a lad as well."
"How's that then?"
"Well, he was married you know. He and his wife only ever had the one son. But that didn't stop him sharing the love around. He had several children with some of his other women.
There used to be a family - the Carvers - they were all descended from twins that he had with his young housekeeper. And, then there was us.
My grandmother, your great, great, was the result of a short-lived affair that he had with Mary Jacobs. She never told him. Perhaps she should have - he left a farm to the Carvers in his will."
"Definitely she should have. He was a randy old goat then. I guess he wasn't gay."
"I think not. So now you know. Let's go for a walk around the Square. It's great the way they've opened it up. This whole area used to be fenced off in my day and you had to pay to come in here. Look at it now - people everywhere. Much better."
They walked once around the circuit of the Square. The old man marveled at how little had changed - apart from the children's playground which had been completely re-modeled. The grandstand had had a new roof too - steel trusses now instead of the old wooden beams.
From there, they walked over to and around the clocktower chambers, back up the main street and back to the hotel. The grandfather went up to bed. The grandson went back to the Square.
He stopped and studied the statue for a while - he couldn't see any resemblance. Then he went over to sit in the grandstand and watch all the activity. He felt very alone.
Cameron put the framed photograph away again. He had to stop obsessing over it - it was just a photo. He got up and looked out the attic window. The town outside was bathed in a golden glow as yet another glorious sunset spread across the sky.
He was there! The boy in the photograph, or the boy who looked like the boy in the photograph, was out there walking over towards the grandstand.
Cameron had a sudden burst of inspiration and he hurried downstairs to get the digital camera. If he could snap some shots of him, he could study them at leisure. This was not like him, but he needed to do this. He might never get another chance.
He rushed across to the Square and over to the grandstand, and he forgot his normal timidity. The boy was obviously a stranger in town, he'd never seen him before today and tomorrow he might be gone again. Now was all he had.
He walked up into the grandstand and started clicking photos. The boy was sitting alone, in the centre of the tiered seats - halfway up and halfway across. At first he was pointing the camera in all directions, but he soon gave that up and focused on his subject.
What did it matter what he thought anyway? He'd probably never see him again.
As he got nearer, the boy smiled at him. Yes! Just what he wanted. He continued taking shots.
Cameron sat down, a little to one side and two rows below him. The boy smiled again, and then he spoke.
"I've heard of people saying, "take a picture, why don't you?" But you're actually doing it. Why?"
"Because. . . umm. . .I'm just trying out this camera." (Pathetic, he knew, but it was all he could think of.)
"You make a good subject." (Better. A bit.)
"Oh - kay. But why me? There's a hundred people around here who you could focus on."
"Well, maybe. But they're all locals, they're always around. You're different, you're new here."
"I am. We just arrived today. We'll be staying a few days."
"That's great. Welcome to Westpoint then. What brought you here? You're foreign, aren't you?"
"Yep. I'm what you guys call a Pom. We're from the UK, from London actually. My grandfather brought us here - or his rental car did. He used to live around here when he was a boy. You're a local?"
"I am. I live over there, with my granddad."
"The two-story house? Not many of them around here is there?"
"There's not. Everyone's got plenty of room to spread out, I guess - their houses I mean."
Cameron's eyes never shifted from the boy's face, his beautiful face, and he was feeling quite pleased with himself for keeping up a conversation. But the boy's next words floored him completely.
"So. You obviously like what you see. Want a fuck?"
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