The Missing Piece

by Kit

"How was your day, Kevin?" my father asked.

Ever since I was old enough to sit at a table, my parents had insisted that all three of us sit down together for our evening meal. Father's question was a familiar way of starting a conversation, and as a teenager, I'd become adept at conversing without actually saying anything too meaningful or revealing. However, on that particular occasion, I had something vaguely interesting to report.

"I was asked to join the school chess team," I replied.

"Really?" he asked. Then, as if to excuse his surprise, he added, "I didn't realise you were so good."

"I'm not. They need eight for the team, and they thought that it would be better to lose a board than to forfeit it."

"You might win," my mother said.

"And it will be a nice addition for your CV," Father added.

I sighed, and in order to avoid having to respond, I speared a piece of chicken with my fork, put it in my mouth, and began to chew. Even though it had only been about three months since my fifteenth birthday, he was already making suggestions about which university I should attend. It was obvious to me that this was part of the competitive relationship he'd always had with my uncle Rob, his identical twin brother.

Uncle Rob had a degree in civil engineering and had worked on large projects all over the world. My father had decided to go straight from school to work in a bank, and although he had become a branch manager, I had the impression that he regretted his decision. Whenever I saw them together, I felt that my father needed to prove that he was just as good as his brother.

"When's your first match?" my ever-practical mother asked.

"Tuesday, straight after school," I replied. Seeing my father raise an eyebrow, I added, "It's at my school, so I'll be home in plenty of time for dinner."

"That gives you all weekend to prepare," he said.

Deciding that it would be unwise to admit that I had no intention of doing any preparation, I remained silent and scooped up some mashed potato. Of course, it would be nice to win a game, but I knew that there was no possibility of improving enough in just a few days. It would all depend on whether or not my opponent was better than me on the day.

Given that my last class on Tuesday would be math, I expected that I'd be too mentally drained to perform well, and my expectation proved to be correct. I didn't lose too badly or too quickly, though the fact that my opponent was only twelve years old made the loss a little embarrassing. However, it was all worthwhile because I got to meet someone special.

He was obviously a better player than I because he was on board four, but his chess skill became irrelevant to me as soon as I saw him. He was about my height and was a little more muscular, though his slightly rounder face made him appear to be younger than I was. His hair was a lighter shade of brown than mine, and his eyes were hazel compared with my deep brown.

He was dressed quite smartly, though his school didn't have a uniform. For some reason, I tried to imagine what he'd look like in our navy blue blazer and dark grey trousers. Then I had to look away and distract myself because he glanced at me just as I was speculating about what he'd look like in speedos.

Objectively, there seemed to be nothing particularly remarkable about his appearance, but there was something about him that made him incredibly attractive. Maybe it was his frequent smile, or his relaxed attitude, or the way he moved. He won his game more quickly than I lost mine, and then he wandered around the room looking at the remaining unfinished boards.

Perhaps it was my imagination or merely wishful thinking, but he appeared to spend more time standing by my board than anywhere else in the room. After I lost, the score was three boards each, with two games still in progress. As unobtrusively as possible, I followed him around and then to the adjacent room, where some rather stewed tea and plain biscuits had been made available.

He dipped his biscuit in the tea, then he put the soggy part into his mouth just before it detached from the rest of the biscuit. My parents would have been horrified by such behaviour, but I thought he did it with such elegance that it was completely forgivable. He chatted briefly with one of his teammates, then came over to me. At first, I was worried that he'd noticed me following him around and that he was going to accuse me of something.

"You could've forced a draw, you know," he said.

"Erm, really?" I asked, blushing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said, frowning. "My name's Marius, by the way."

"I'm Kevin. You didn't embarrass me. How would you have forced a draw?"

Of course, I had been embarrassed, but not by the way I'd played. I was mildly interested in how I could have done better, but my request for more information was mainly so that I could spend more time close to him. When he explained to me how I could have avoided losing, it was so obvious that it was indeed rather embarrassing.

"Oh, right, thanks," I said.

He gave me a look that I couldn't interpret and seemed to be examining me as if I were some exotic exhibit. Although I wanted to have an excuse to spend more time with him, I was a little uncomfortable with the way he appeared to be studying me, and I was concerned that he might suspect me of being queer. Thus, I tried to divert his attention away from me by mentioning something that I'd been wondering about.

"Marius is an unusual name, at least around here," I said.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, then took a deep breath before responding. Apparently this was a topic he was used to addressing.

"My parents thought I was a special baby, and they wanted a relatively unusual name. Mum's from Poland and suggested her father's name, which was Mariusz, with a 'z'. Dad thought that was too unusual, so they settled for Marius, without the 'z'."

"Why did they think you were special?" I asked, though I had no doubt that he was indeed special.

"They were taken by surprise because they thought they were way past the age of having more children," he said. "They say the name was because I was special, but sometimes I wonder if it wasn't a sort of revenge for the inconvenience I caused."

"Well, I think it's a great name for a special person," I blurted out, then immediately regretted my boldness.

He rolled his eyes and said he needed to talk with one of his teammates. As he walked away, he gave a backward glance as if trying to work out if I were real.

Despite his expectation that I'd lose my game, our rather snobbish sixth-former team captain had been confident that our school would win the match. After all, we were a grammar school with selective entry, and they were an ordinary secondary school in a relatively poor part of town. As it turned out, we lost five-three, but I couldn't have cared less. I'd made the acquaintance of the most attractive boy that I'd ever seen.

After the last game had finished and there had been a round of handshaking, I was saddened by the prospect that it was possible that I'd never see Marius again. Even if I could maintain my position on our team and even if he stayed on his, there would be only a couple of occasions when the two teams would play against each other. We were both among the last few people to leave, and as we made our way out of the room, my sadness increased and then turned into panic.

Then I surprised myself by doing something impulsive and totally out of character. I tore off a sheet from the pad used to record game moves, scribbled my phone number on it, and pushed it into his hand. He was clearly startled by my action, but before he could say anything, I blurted out the first words that came into my head.

"You're a much better player than me. Maybe you can help me get better, " I said while carefully avoiding any eye contact.

Then I fled the room. On my way home, I cursed myself for my stupid and impetuous behaviour. I dreaded how he might react, and I wondered if he would guess that I was queer and that I fancied him. If he mentioned those suspicions to others and if any rumours reached my school and, worse still, reached my parents, my life would effectively be over.

When I got home with just enough time to wash my hands before dinner, my mother could immediately tell that all was not well. However, when I told her that I'd lost my game and that my school had lost the match, she assumed that was the reason for my unhappiness.

"Never mind, dear," she said. "You got a letter from your Uncle Rob, so I'm sure that will cheer you up."

Picture postcards from exotic places were not uncommon, but letters from my uncle were relatively rare. Receiving an airmail letter with its special thin paper was even more exotic and a particular treat for me. Unlike my father, the way Uncle Rob wrote and spoke to me was very informal, and when I read his letters, I always imagined his voice speaking to me. So when I went to my room after dinner to read the letter, it managed to distract me temporarily from my concerns about being exposed as queer.

Uncle Rob wrote a little about his current project in Hong Kong, but mostly he wrote about where he lived, with brief but vivid descriptions of people, places, culture, and food. Although the letter wasn't very long, I spent almost an hour reading and rereading it, immersing myself in imagining what life would be like to be there with him. Then I was quickly brought back to reality by my father calling upstairs to remind me that I wasn't allowed any TV or radio time until I showed him that my homework had been completed.

That reminded me of how different Uncle Rob and my father were, despite being identical twins. From the photos I'd seen, their physical likeness when they were growing up was obvious, but in more recent years, Uncle Rob's neatly trimmed beard and his tanned and weather-worn complexion made them appear to be similar rather than identical. I often wondered what it would have been like if my uncle had been my father, but he'd never married and, as far as I knew, had never fathered a child.

That night, I hardly slept at all. It was difficult to decide what I feared most. Would receiving an insulting call be worse than being ignored? What would I say if he asked me why I didn't ask someone at my own school for help? What would I say if he accused me of being queer? What if he threatened to tell everyone about what he suspected? What if he pretended to be nice and arranged to meet just so that he and others could beat me up?

Although homosexual activity between males aged twenty-one or over had recently been decriminalised, there were still a lot of people who hated queers. Many of those who didn't actually hate them pitied them, believing that they were mentally ill. For the past couple of years, I'd known but not yet accepted that I fancied boys and not girls. To add to my perversity, the more a boy resembled me, the more I fancied him.

As I lay in bed, dreading and hoping equally that Marius would phone, I wondered about all the things apart from sexuality that made me feel weird. There was always a niggling feeling of loneliness, even when I was socialising with friends. No matter what material things I had, and even when I got what I requested, there was always something missing, but I could never describe what it was.

Sometimes, I had the feeling that even my parents thought I was weird. The first time I experienced that was when they freaked out because I acquired an imaginary friend when I was four years old. In retrospect, and having read that it wasn't unusual for young children to have imaginary friends, I couldn't understand why they'd had such a strong negative reaction to me having one.

When I happened to mention that his name was Keith, my mother became almost hysterical. Even at such a young age, I realised that my parents strongly disapproved of me having such a friend, and so I never spoke of him again. However, in private, he remained my frequent companion until I was about seven years old.

More than a week passed without hearing anything from Marius, and I was both disappointed and relieved. I was certainly relieved that there were no rumours being spread about me. I promised myself that I'd never, ever do anything so foolhardy in the future. Then I relegated my memory of Marius to my mental gallery of attractive boys and got on with my life.

One Friday evening when I was listening to the radio in my room, my mother called up to me.

"Kevin… Kevin, there's someone on the phone for you," she said, sounding surprised. "He says his name's Marius. It sounds like he's on a pay phone, so you'd better hurry."

Given that phone calls for me were relatively rare and that my mother was familiar with the names of my friends, her surprise was understandable. My own reaction was a complex mix of emotions, including shock, happiness, expectation, fear, and dread. I tumbled downstairs and picked up the handset on the small table in the hallway. I didn't know if my parents would deliberately listen to what I said, but the living room door was open, and they could probably overhear my side of any conversation.

"H-hello," I stuttered.

"Your mum's right," Marius said, sounding amused. "I'm in a phone box, and there's a woman waiting outside, so I don't have much time. Were you serious about the chess thing?

"Yeah. I mean, I definitely want to improve."

"Okay, maybe we can meet up to arrange something. Are you free tomorrow morning?"

"I can be."

"Can you meet me at the main entrance to the public library in the town centre at half past ten?"

"Yeah."

"Right, I'll see you then. Bye," he said and then immediately hung up.

My brain was still trying to process that brief conversation when my mother called out my name. She'd obviously heard enough to know that the call had ended, and I knew that she'd want to interrogate me. Reluctantly, I went to join her and my father in the living room.

"You've never mentioned a friend called Marius before," she said in an almost accusatory tone as soon as I entered the room.

"Well, he's not exactly a friend. The first time we spoke was at the chess match last week."

"Why is he calling you at our home if he's not a friend?" my father asked.

"He's much better at chess than me, and I asked him to help me to improve so that I wouldn't get kicked off the team."

I loved my parents, but I never felt truly at ease with them. It always seemed as if I had to perform and meet their high expectations, and I was wary of their judgement if they felt that I'd let them down. Over the years, I'd developed techniques to minimise the amount of information I gave them while avoiding any lies.

"How old is he?" Father persisted. "Presumably he's not in your year if you'd never spoken with him before."

"I'm not sure, but I think he may be in the year below me. He's not actually at my school."

That was one of the techniques I sometimes used. When I knew that they'd find out something eventually, I offered up a piece of information before they even asked. That made them feel reassured that I was being open about everything.

"What school does he go to?" Mother asked.

"Highgate Secondary."

"I see," Father said disapprovingly. "Your mother and I will need to meet him if you intend to spend time together."

"I'm seeing him tomorrow morning at the public library to see if this chess thing can be arranged. Of course, if we're going to meet up again after that, I'll make sure you get to meet him."

They seemed reasonably content with that, so I returned to my room and the radio.

The next morning after my shower, I spent more than an hour choosing clothes that I hoped would give the appearance of being smart but casual. Then I took the bus into town, arriving at the library about fifteen minutes before the agreed time. I stood and waited anxiously just outside the entrance of the impressive Victorian building until Marius arrived about five minutes later. He was dressed in a very casual style that my mother might have considered to be verging on scruffy. He saw me and waved briefly before chaining his bicycle to the rack.

"Hi!" he said, smiling broadly as he climbed the broad stone steps toward me. "You're early."

"So are you," I replied, reflecting his smile.

"The traffic was lighter than I expected."

That awkward exchange and the silence that followed were indications that we were both feeling a little uncomfortable.

"If you're still serious about this," he said eventually, "we need to discuss my pay. Will it be an hourly rate, or will I be paid only if your playing improves?"

"Wh…what?" I stuttered, feeling my cheeks burning. "I didn't…"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," he said and laughed gently. "I was just joking to lighten the mood a bit."

"Oh, okay," I said, relieved and slightly irritated. Then, feeling a need to say something else, I spoke the first words that entered my head. "Is there any particular reason you chose to meet here?"

"A few reasons. I thought you'd know where it was, there's a rack for my bike, the entrance is sheltered if it rains, and there are some good chess books."

"Chess books?"

"Don't you go through books that analyse the moves in famous games?"

"Erm, no."

"I do. I love chess," he said. Then, sounding a little disappointed, he added, "I thought you were serious about this."

"I am!" I protested. "Well, I am now that I got on the team."

"Good. Now there's something I've been wanting to ask since I saw you at the match. Have we met before? You look very familiar, and I feel as if I should know you."

"Is that why you spent so much time watching me play and agreed to help me?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he replied a little evasively.

"Anyway, as far as I know, we've never met before," I said. Silently, I added, 'But I wish we had."

After that, we went into the library, and I borrowed a couple of books that he recommended. Then, as the weather was sunny, though chilly even for October, we continued talking as we walked along the riverside. At first, we kept to topics related to chess, but as we grew more comfortable, we went on to discuss some superficial but slightly more personal matters.

We already knew which schools the other attended, and it turned out that he was in a year below me and that his fourteenth birthday had been just over a month after I'd turned fifteen in July. He was the youngest of three children, whereas I was an only child. However, he pointed out that he was effectively an only child because he was an unexpected late arrival, and both his sisters had left home by the time he was five years old.

Of course I was interested in finding out more about him, but actually, I didn't really care what we talked about. For me, the time seemed to fly by as I basked in his company. By the time we'd spent just a few minutes together, I'd never felt so comfortable being with anyone in my whole life. That wasn't because of the physical attraction; I'd been attracted to other boys in the past, but never before had I felt as if I just naturally belonged.

Soon after I'd started at primary school, I'd found that I had good social skills. I could blend into almost any group, and if I wished, I could even become popular. Some of that skill was innate, but much of it was consciously developed, and with most people I found myself having to work out the best way to react to various social situations.

No matter how well I got on with my peers, I always felt like I was outside, looking in. In more recent times, maybe part of that was because I was always anxiously trying to avoid anyone thinking that I was queer. Marius was the first person I'd ever felt completely at ease with, but of course, I still had to avoid letting him suspect that I was sexually abnormal.

A little after noon, he looked at his watch and announced that he had to go because he'd promised to be home for lunch. Apparently, one of his sisters was going to be there with her boyfriend. I tried to hide my disappointment, but I was probably unsuccessful. However, one comment he made before he said goodbye cheered me up.

"Books and theory are helpful, but practice is most important. We need to arrange to play as often as we can. Maybe we can meet at your house after school or at weekends."

That sounded good to me, especially as my parents would insist on meeting him.

"That's fine," I said. "How about Tuesday? Our team doesn't have a match that day."

"We do, but I can come round to your place after that."

"Won't you be all 'chessed out' after the match?" I joked.

"Not if it's as easy as the last match I played," he replied with a slight smirk. "Anyway, do you think you'll have improved enough by then to make me have to work hard?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "I'll do my homework as soon as I get home from school, so I should be finished by the time you come round. My parents will insist on meeting you, so maybe you could have dinner with us."

"Do your parents want to meet all your friends?" he asked, apparently taken aback by the idea.

"Only those I spend time with outside of school. And, well, there aren't many of them," I replied, feeling a little embarrassed. "Anyway, it will probably be less uncomfortable while we're eating."

He frowned doubtfully, and it was clear that he was less than enthusiastic with the idea of having a meal with my parents.

"Erm, I'm not sure. I'll need to check with my mum and dad. Anyway, maybe I can phone you tomorrow night and let you know."

"Okay," I said, feeling a little deflated. "You can phone anytime, but you need to be very brief on weekdays between nine and five. Mother uses the phone for her business."

"I can't afford long phone calls, anyway. We don't have a phone at home, so I have to use a call box," he replied. Then, almost as if deflecting attention away from the subject of having to use a public phone, he asked, "Your mum runs her own business?"

"Yeah, she's a seamstress and makes bespoke dresses," I said proudly. "She has everything set up in the spare bedroom."

By that time, our walk had brought us back to the library, and we said our goodbyes as he unlocked his bike.

When Marius arrived for dinner, my parents didn't behave as I'd expected. At first, they appeared to be slightly surprised and puzzled, but they soon became very warm and friendly toward him. On previous occasions meeting one of my friends, my parents had been cool, formal, and clearly acting out of a sense of duty. The interrogation of a new friend usually began almost immediately after I'd introduced them.

Their detailed questions to Marius, which didn't begin until we sat down to eat, were put gently and were apparently prompted by a genuine interest. When they found out that he was thirteen months younger than me, they expressed surprise that we both appeared to be the same age. At one point, I felt a hint of jealousy when my parents seemed to be more interested in Marius than they were in me.

After we'd eaten, I carried out my usual task of clearing the table. Marius offered to help, but my father asked him to stay and chat. While I was rinsing the dishes, my mother joined me in the kitchen.

"Are you sure we've not met Marius before?" she asked. "He seems very familiar."

"I only met him a couple of weeks ago," I pointed out.

When Marius and I went up to my room and started to set up the chessboard, he commented that I was lucky to have such nice parents who obviously cared about me so much. I looked at him in surprise, but he seemed serious, and I hadn't detected even a hint of any sarcasm in his tone.

"There's one odd thing, though," he continued. "You seem to be very formal with them. Like, why do you call them Mother and Father instead of Mum and Dad?"

"I don't know. That's just how it's always been," I replied. "Anyway, did you have a nice chat with my father while I was in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, but part of it was a bit strange. He asked if he might have met someone from my family, maybe on bank business. I told him that I didn't know. Then he said that maybe there was a family likeness that he recognised in me."

"Parents can be weird sometimes," I commented.

Then I opened as white with the Queen's Gambit. He declined the pawn sacrifice and proceeded to demolish me in just over thirty moves.

Over the next few weeks, we met up several times, always on weekends and occasionally also on an evening in the middle of the week. Mostly, he came to visit me, but sometimes I went to his smaller, two-bedroom terraced house. His parents were pleasant but seemed to take little interest in their son's new friend.

My parents appeared to be disappointed when I went to his house instead of him coming to ours, and they frequently said that he was welcome to have a meal with us whenever he wanted. Had it not been that I enjoyed being in his company so much, I might have felt jealous. However, I was consoled by the fact that after meeting him, their attitude toward me became a little more relaxed.

Marius seemed particularly interested in my relationship with my parents, and he occasionally commented that he thought it was unusual. Having spent little time with the families of my friends, I had no real comparisons. Therefore, my relationship with my family seemed normal to me.

"There are so many rules you have to follow," Marius pointed out during one of our chess games. "I mean, they have to meet your friends, you always have to be home for your evening meal, you have to clear the table after dinner, and lots of stuff like that. Teenagers are supposed to be rebellious. Don't you ever want to rebel?"

"I don't always obey the rules," I said a little defensively, "but I wouldn't rebel just for the sake of it. Most of the time I don't mind rules, and there's no point in making a fuss of things that don't matter. There's also no point in making a big deal about breaking a rule. So I just nod and smile, then do my own thing. Being subtle means that if I screw up, they treat it as a mistake and not deliberately defying them."

Initially, my interactions with Marius mainly involved chess, but it wasn't long before the game became just an excuse for us to get together and talk about other things. My skills did improve, but I almost never beat Marius. Although I maintained my place on the school team and occasionally even won a game, I remained on the bottom board.

"You seem to have plateaued," Marius commented after one game in which I did reasonably well but still lost. "You got much better quickly, but now you don't seem to be improving much. Are you losing interest?"

My interest in chess had increased under his influence, but my main interest was just being with him. When I was with other people, I sometimes had a weird sensation. It felt as if a chess piece was missing, even though I could see all of the pieces on the board. By contrast, when I was with Marius, everything was complete. Obviously, I couldn't say all that to him, but also I didn't want to lie.

"Now that we've become friends," I said, "chess doesn't seem like the most important thing."

He didn't say anything but frowned thoughtfully while he studied my face until embarrassment forced me to avert my gaze and look down at my losing position on the board.

"I wondered if chess was just an excuse," he said eventually.

He didn't specify what it might have been an excuse for, and I hoped that he didn't think it involved physical attraction. Yes, physical attraction was part of it, but only a small part.

"I suppose I could have asked someone else for help," I admitted, blushing, "but it just felt more, erm, comfortable with you."

"To be honest, if it had been any other stranger, I wouldn't have agreed, but for some reason, you seemed familiar as soon as I saw you," he said.

"Maybe it's fate," I said without thinking.

Without a word, he began putting away the pieces.

We continued to meet just as frequently as before, and our friendship continued to grow. However, chess became only an occasional activity or topic of conversation. My parents clearly enjoyed seeing Marius, and if they noticed any decrease in my interest in chess, they never commented. In fact, they were more than content when Marius and I started meeting more frequently, their only stipulation being that I should complete any homework first.

We didn't get to see each other much over the Christmas holidays, mainly because Marius was kept busy with family social events. Not only was he taking part in holiday festivities, but he'd recently become an uncle to a little girl and had been roped into babysitting duties. We bought each other small Christmas presents, and I was only mildly surprised when my parents also gave him a present.

All of my mother's family lived in Ireland, so it had been a few years since I'd seen them. However, they always sent me very nice gifts. Uncle Rob wasn't able to join us for the holidays, but my paternal grandfather stayed with us from Christmas Eve until New Year's Day. He was still coming to terms with the fact that his wife, my grandmother, had died a couple of years earlier. On one occasion during his stay, he briefly met Marius and later made a positive comment about him.

The most miserable part of the holidays for me was that I missed seeing Marius. It was especially bad over the New Year period. In an attempt to express my feelings, at least privately to myself, I wrote down a few words in the form of what could loosely be described as a poem. Given that it was never intended to be a poem, it was unsurprising that it turned out to be a very bad one.

A piece of the puzzle was missing.
But I didn't know what it was.
A piece of my life was missing.
There was a hole I couldn't see.

Then I found the missing piece
That filled the hole in my life.
That piece is named Marius.
And now I am complete.

Putting my feelings into words gave me something to occupy my mind, and it made me feel a little better, at least temporarily. Of course, I had no intention of sharing that with anyone, especially not Marius.

After the holidays, we returned to our pre-Christmas activities and routines. As Easter approached and the weather became milder, Marius and I began to spend more time outside, usually riding our bikes in the nearby countryside. We discovered that we shared a passion for nature and being outdoors. When I mentioned that my parents had taken me on camping trips ever since I was a small boy, he was envious and said that he'd love to try it sometime.

"Marius has never been camping," I said to my parents during our evening meal, "and he loves the idea of sleeping in a tent in the countryside. I know it's been a while since we did it, but maybe he could come with us."

"Your father and I are getting a bit old for that now," Mother said. "We prefer our creature comforts."

"To be honest, Kevin," my father added, "the only reason we continued doing it for so long was because we knew how much you enjoyed it."

"Oh," I said, surprised by that revelation. "Maybe Marius and I could go together, just the two of us."

"Two children alone in the countryside? Who knows what might happen?" Mother said, aghast at the very idea. "What if there's an emergency and one of you is injured or ill?"

"We're not children," I protested.

"You'd have no transport," my father added, backing up my mother and making it clear that the response to my suggestion was a definite 'no'.

We continued to eat in silence for a couple of minutes. My father looked determined and ignored my own facial expression, which was glum and maybe a little sulky. Mother ate slowly and appeared to be deep in thought.

"Maybe we could compromise," she said. "We could ask your grandfather if he'd let you camp in his field. That way, it's just a short walk to his house, and he can deal with any emergency."

My grandfather was a retired doctor, and his detached house was on the edge of town. When he'd bought it many years ago, he'd also bought the large field behind it so that any newer builds wouldn't encroach on his privacy.

"But that's not really the countryside, is it?" I complained.

"If you put the tent up behind the trees, you won't see the house," she said, "and it's pretty much countryside on the other side of the field."

"Take it or leave it," my father said firmly when I didn't immediately respond to her suggestion.

I took it.

Despite my own reservations that it wouldn't be 'real countryside', Marius was very enthusiastic about the idea. I told him that we had all the equipment we would need, which wouldn't really be very much because we would be close to my grandfather's house. My long-term hope was that if all went well on this occasion, my parents might agree to something further afield in the future.

On the first Saturday after the end of the school term, my father drove us out to his father's house. My grandfather was very happy and even perhaps excited to see us. Marius had brought a holdall, which was easily large enough to contain all his clothes and personal things for a week. That was the maximum time that my parents had allowed, though they expected, and maybe hoped, that we'd give up before that, especially if the weather took a turn for the worse.

Before my parents left us, my mother fussed even more than usual and made Grandfather promise to keep an eye on us and to phone her if there were any problems. Then she added that maybe he could phone her every night, just to confirm that all was well. After my parents had gone, my grandfather made it clear that we could visit his house at any time but that he'd let us have privacy in our campsite.

We set up the tent where a large clump of trees hid the house and also provided some shade and shelter from any wind. It was a fine spring day, cool but mostly sunny, so after we put the bags inside, we decided to explore the area before unpacking them. It wasn't the sort of wild countryside that I preferred, but on the side of the field opposite my grandfather's house was farmland and a narrow track going up toward a nearby hill.

As far as Marius was concerned, however, it was the real countryside, and he was almost ecstatic as we wandered up the slope. The hill was quite small, and maybe many would have just referred to it as a piece of high ground. However, from its highest point, we could see Grandfather's house and the town beyond in one direction, with agricultural fields and a farmhouse in the other direction.

We returned to the tent and ate the sandwiches that my mother had provided, and then we unpacked our bags. After we'd finished, I noticed that something was missing.

"Where's your sleeping bag?" I asked him.

"I don't have one," he replied. "Anyway, I thought you said you'd bring everything we needed."

"Not personal things like clothes, toothbrush, sleeping bag, and stuff like that."

"Erm, well," he said hesitantly, obviously embarrassed. "Maybe I can borrow a blanket or something from your granddad. He seems nice, and I'm sure he'll help out."

When we went to speak with my grandfather, he was very understanding and a little amused. He went upstairs and brought down two blankets.

"Here you are," he said, handing them to Marius. "You can sleep on one and wrap yourself in the other."

We thanked him, and as we left, he told us that we were welcome to come back later and share his evening meal. I thanked him again and told him that we'd brought some sausages in the cold box and that I wanted to show off my campsite cooking skills to Marius. Grandfather smiled his understanding, and my friend raised an eyebrow, which may have indicated a degree of apprehension.

As it turned out, Marius was quite impressed by my skills with a camping stove, and we both enjoyed the sausages, beans, and fried potatoes that I prepared. We sat around chatting until it started to get dark and chilly, then we went to Grandad's house to use the bathroom. When we got there, we were offered tea and cake, which we gratefully accepted. By that time, it was quite dark, so we had to use flashlights to see our way back to the tent, where we unrolled the sleeping pads on the ground.

Although I'd been on many camping trips, I'd never shared a tent before, so trying to maintain my modesty while changing into my sleeping clothes of a T-shirt and shorts was a little embarrassing. Marius didn't share that problem because he slept in his underwear, as he apparently did at home. I climbed into my sleeping bag, and Marius did as Grandfather had suggested, folding one blanket to sleep on and wrapping himself in the other.

We talked quietly for a while, then just as I was drifting off to sleep, Marius whispered loudly.

"What's that?"

"What?" I asked a little grumpily.

"Listen!"

After a couple of seconds, I heard a hoot.

"It's just an owl."

"No, not that," he replied, sounding less spooked and more irritated.

After another few seconds of listening, I heard a sort of squealing cry.

"Sounds like a fox," I said. "Unless we didn't put away all the food properly, it won't come near us."

"But what if it does?" he asked.

"It can't get into the tent, and even if you meet it outside, it will just run away unless you make it feel it has to defend itself."

He didn't reply, but I felt him roll closer to me, presumably for reassurance.

As soon as we woke up the next morning, we went to Grandfather's house to use the bathroom. I had been worried that we might disturb him, but he was already up and drinking a mug of tea. When it had been initially suggested that we set up the tent near his house, I'd been concerned that it wouldn't be a real camping experience for Marius. Now it occurred to me that it wasn't too different from some of the official sites that had good-quality facilities.

"Did you boys sleep well?" Grandfather asked.

"Yes, it was very comfy," I replied. "It was a bit chilly outside this morning, so I had to force myself to get out of my snug sleeping bag."

Marius didn't answer the question, but I was distracted from thinking about that by Grandfather's invitation to have a nice hot breakfast with him. We both eagerly accepted.

The weather was again fine, with mostly blue sky and only a little light cloud, and the sunshine soon took away the morning chill. Marius wanted to explore the clump of trees and the surrounding fields, and he suggested that we look for signs of a fox. He wasn't discouraged when I pointed out that neither of us would recognise any such signs, even if we saw them.

In the afternoon, we took a hike beyond the hill and past the farmhouse. We almost got as far as what I might have considered to be real countryside before we had to turn back. Having impressed Marius with my basic cooking skills the previous evening, I again cooked our evening meal of a fry-up of onions, potatoes, and bacon, served with tomatoes and canned peas.

When it was time to settle down to sleep, Marius seemed a little hesitant and almost reluctant. Eventually, he decided to tell me what was on his mind.

"I don't suppose you want to swap tonight?"

"Swap?"

"Yeah, maybe I could have the sleeping bag and you could have the blankets. You said you were snug last night, and, well, I wasn't. If you don't like having the blankets tonight, we can swap back, or maybe alternate on different nights."

He looked at me hopefully, and I didn't think the blankets would be uncomfortable, so I agreed. At first, it was fine, but in the early hours of the morning, I woke up feeling cold and uncomfortable. Although it wasn't unbearable, it made it difficult to get back to sleep, and I rolled over against the sleeping bag, hoping for more insulation.

Marius had endured this the previous night without waking me, and I didn't want to wake him. I liked to think that my motivation was consideration for him, but it was at least partly out of pride; if he had endured it, then so could I. However, perhaps I'd snuggled against him too hard, because he woke up.

"Can't you sleep? Are you cold?" he asked.

"We can ask for another blanket tomorrow," I replied, not wishing to admit my weakness by answering the questions directly.

"What about tonight?" he asked after a long pause. "We can swap back if you want."

"That wouldn't be fair," I said, resisting his tempting offer. "Anyway, you're like a guest in my tent, and as the host, I should put your needs first."

He surprised me by laughing.

"Don't be so stuck up with all the host and guest stuff. We're friends."

The emotional warmth of his words made me forget the discomfort of the physical cold, at least temporarily.

"The bag unzips all round, doesn't it?" he said after a long silence. "Maybe, erm, maybe just for tonight, we could lie on the blankets and put the bag over us like a duvet."

I was far too cold and uncomfortable to worry about being suspected of being queer, so I quickly agreed. By the time that things were reorganised, we were both cold and shivering. It was purely an instinct for survival, at least on my part, that propelled us into moving close together to share the depleted warmth of our bodies. I quickly fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was clearly well after daybreak. Marius was lying on his back, snoring very gently, and I was on my side, with one arm over his chest. Then I realised that the naked part of my arm was touching his naked chest. I wanted to withdraw before he woke up and realised the situation. On the other hand, I wanted to stay like that forever, and I ended up not moving, telling myself that it would be wrong to disturb his sleep.

I'd always felt complete when I was with Marius, but touching like that made me more than just whole; it was more like being augmented. After a few minutes like that, I felt my penis harden against his thigh. Although I told myself it was just a normal morning erection caused by a desire to pee, I was afraid that he'd wake up and notice it, so I quickly rolled away from him.

That movement actually did wake him up, though for a few moments he didn't appear to be fully conscious or completely aware of his surroundings. My erection was still covered by the sleeping bag, but there was always a risk of him uncovering us, so as casually as possible, I covered my crotch with my hand. Then I became more concerned as I wondered if he'd been awake at any stage while my arm had been draped over his naked chest.

"Good morning," I said.

"Hi, yeah, I suppose," he mumbled a little incoherently. Then more clearly, he added, "Morning. What time is it?"

I turned away from him and searched for my watch, eventually finding it under the edge of a blanket.

"Just after nine."

"Bloody hell! That explains why I'm starving and dying for a pee. Actually, I can't wait until we go to your grandad's."

With that, he threw aside the sleeping bag and grabbed his jacket, which he was still putting on as he exited the tent. It turned out that he'd decided to relieve himself in the trees, and while he was away, I started to get dressed. Fortunately, by the time he returned, my erection had subsided, and I peed among the trees while he dressed.

The morning was overcast and chilly, so we were glad to get into my grandfather's warm kitchen.

"Hello, sleepyheads! It seems hunger has persuaded you to get out of your nice warm beds," he greeted us. Seeing our expressions of guilty embarrassment, he added, "Don't worry, I know what it's like to be a teenager and how tempting it is to stay in bed. Anyway, how about some toast and scrambled eggs?"

After we'd eaten, we informed my grandfather that we intended to do some more exploring, and before we left, I asked him if we could borrow an extra blanket. Glancing at Marius, I was puzzled because it appeared that he wasn't particularly happy that I'd remembered to make that request. However, by the time we returned to the tent and prepared to set off on our trek, his usual good spirits had returned.

"I suppose I should get the blankets tonight," I said a little glumly when we decided that it was time to sleep. "After all, I didn't take my full turn with them last night."

"I thought it worked out okay," he said, frowning. Very hesitantly, he continued, "I mean, well, last night was comfortable, and we can't be sure that even three blankets will be warm enough. And, erm, don't you think last night was a more efficient use of body heat?"

"Okay, you talked me into it," I replied, trying not to smile too much. "Let's do the same as last night. We can put the extra blanket under us for extra padding."

We put down the blankets and unzipped the sleeping bag. We were both a little self-conscious as we prepared to get into a shared bed without the excuse of it being a solution to an emergency situation. I tried not to allow the naked skin of my arms or legs to touch his. However, it was impossible to keep far enough apart without having some part of our bodies project out from under the sleeping bag. Without saying a word, we allowed ourselves to drift into close contact.

During the night, I woke up a few times, and on each occasion, one of us had an arm or leg draped over some part of the other's body. On one of those occasions, we were both on our sides, with him facing away from me. I was snuggled up behind him with my arm draped over his chest. I had the impression that Marius was also awake, but neither of us moved or said anything.

When I woke up fully, it was after daybreak, and there was a gentle pitter-patter of rain on the tent. I was on my back, with Marius on his side facing me, and I had the most comforting, snug, warm feeling of belonging. Then I discovered that his erection was pressed against my thigh, and it amused me that the situation mirrored my predicament the previous morning.

I wondered what he would do if he woke up and found himself in that position but decided that if he did, then I'd resist the temptation to tease him. As I relished that moment of snug smugness, I felt him moving, but instead of turning away from me, he was gently, slowly, and rhythmically pressing his erection against my thigh.

Perhaps in the past, in other circumstances, and worrying about being queer, I might have turned away or even got out from under the sleeping bag. However, under those conditions, with the sense of warmth, comfort, and belonging, I didn't worry and didn't even think. I just enjoyed the input from my senses and allowed the erotic feelings to wash over me. Just as the pushing against my thigh was beginning to get harder and faster, it suddenly stopped. He froze for a couple of seconds, and then he abruptly turned away.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry," he repeated over and over. Eventually, in a voice that was starting to crack, he spoke more clearly. "I'm really, really sorry. I didn't mean it. I was still asleep. Didn't know what I was doing."

At that moment, my usually cautious, calculating self disappeared, and the only thing left behind was a need to make Marius feel better.

"It's okay," I said gently. "Something like that happened to me yesterday, but you didn't wake up. You can't control what happens when you're half asleep. Your body works on autopilot."

He didn't say anything or react in any other way, and I wondered if he believed me. Without really thinking things through, I turned toward him and snuggled closer, putting my arm over his chest and hugging him. Then I shocked myself and allowed my erection to press against the small of his back, realising that I was passing a point of no return by confirming any suspicions he might have had about me being queer.

"See," I whispered, "that sort of thing can happen to me, too. I don't mind what happened. Well, actually, I quite enjoyed it."

Although the tension began to drain out of his body, he didn't move and didn't say anything for a long time. Then he abruptly threw back the sleeping bag and stood up.

"I need to pee," he said without looking at me.

He grabbed his jacket and went out of the tent. It was still raining, and although it wasn't heavy, it was enough to soak him if he stayed outside for too long. I dressed quickly, and when he returned, he didn't say anything except 'Thanks' when I handed a towel to him. Holding our jackets over our heads, we walked quickly to my grandfather's house. When we were about halfway there, Marius spoke.

"I think we should talk," he said tersely, "but I don't really want to, and I'm not sure I can. Not yet."

My heart sank, and I wondered if I could deal with the prospect of life without Marius, so I simply mumbled, "Okay."

Grandfather greeted us with his usual warmth and commented on Marius' damp hair, saying that he hoped the tent didn't leak. I reassured him that it didn't and told him that we'd been cosy and comfortable all night. Marius looked away, almost as if he were distancing himself from my words.

After breakfast, my grandfather joked that it wasn't a great day for exploring the countryside and asked what we planned to do. I hadn't given the matter any consideration, and before I could think of a response, Marius spoke up.

"You've been so good to us for the past few days, Dr Atwood, and I wondered if there was a way we could pay you back. Are there any indoor jobs we could help with?"

"It's been a pleasure having you here, and there's no need to pay me back in any way. There was something that I was going to ask Kevin to help with, but it's really a family thing."

"Marius is like family to me," I said without thinking.

"Alright," Grandfather said, "as it's your father's birthday in a couple of weeks, I've been wondering what to give him. It's usually easier to find something for Robby, and I already sent him a parcel. But your father always seems to have everything he wants, and if he does want anything, he buys it for himself."

"Yeah, I know," I agreed, having become very familiar with that problem.

More often than not, I relied on ideas provided to me by my mother, and I hadn't even started thinking about it yet for this year.

"As it happens," Grandfather said with a hint of sadness, "I eventually got around to sorting out some of your grandmother's things, and I found a couple of boxes of old photos that she'd been collecting. It occurred to me that your father might like a photo album that illustrates our family history."

"That's a great idea!" I said, thinking that I'd also love to have such an album.

"I'm glad you agree," Grandfather said happily. "So how would you feel about going through the boxes, helping me to sort photos in chronological order, and then choosing the best examples to tell a sort of family story?"

"I'd love to," I said.

"Now you see why I said it was a family thing," Grandfather said to Marius. "It doesn't seem fair to ask you to spend your valuable time sorting through our old family photos."

"It actually sounds like fun," Marius protested. Then he gave a sidelong look at me and added, "And I feel that Kevin is like family."

As might be expected, many of the photos involved things like marriages, baptisms, vacations, birthdays, and family gatherings, such as those at Christmas. I was a little surprised to see that Grandmother had also collected some pictures of my Irish relatives. Most of the photos, especially the early ones, were monochrome, and some of the earliest were sepia-tinted. Some of the early monochrome photos had apparently been coloured by hand.

There were several photos of my father and Uncle Rob as they were growing up. One thing that struck me was that until their mid-to-late teens, they were obviously identical, and I couldn't tell which of them was my father. After that, their appearances began to diverge. When I pointed out my observation to Grandfather, he was clearly amused.

"Ah," he said, "a typical twin study. Nature versus Nurture. Or in this case, genetics versus environment. They started off the same but were changed by different environments."

Perhaps the photos had originally been put into the boxes in some sort of order, but if so, they'd become jumbled up over the years. I could understand why my grandfather might have felt in need of some help. Although it wasn't his family, Marius also shared my fascination and enjoyment with our task. He handed me a sepia-tinted photo of two young men, probably in their late teens, who appeared to be twins.

"Who's this?" he asked.

"Don't know," I replied. I refrained from adding that they looked rather attractive. Turning to my grandfather, who was sorting through a different box, I asked, "Who are these?

He gazed at the photo and suddenly appeared to become a little sad.

"That's me and Edmund, just before we signed up in nineteen fifteen. We thought that going to war would be a great adventure." He shook his head. "Foolish boys. He never came back."

"It looks like you were identical twins," I commented in the hope that it might be a distraction from his sad thoughts.

"We were."

"That's a big coincidence, isn't it?" Marius asked. "I mean, you were an identical twin, and you had identical twins."

"Not really a big coincidence. It runs in the family," Grandfather said.

He briefly glanced at me as if he were feeling guilty or embarrassed about something. Without giving the matter any thought, I continued going through the contents of the box and found another couple of pictures of apparently twin babies, and one of the photos was at a baptismal font.

"Father and Uncle Rob again," I said, showing them to Marius.

He gave them a quick glance, then he frowned and looked more carefully.

"That's better quality and looks a lot newer than the others," he pointed out. "Maybe there are more twins in your family."

Grandfather overheard what we were saying and suddenly looked up, surprised and unhappy.

"They shouldn't be in there," he said, taking the photos from Marius. "And they can't go into the family album."

"Black sheep?" I joked.

"Certainly not!" he protested. "But for heaven's sake, don't mention these to your mother."

During the ensuing embarrassed silence, he took the photos upstairs, and while he was away, my brain started going into overdrive. Identical twins were not so rare in our family. The twins in the photo were baptised in the relatively recent past. I'd never heard of them, and they were not 'black sheep', but my mother would be unhappy if she knew about the photos. One possibility seemed more likely than others that I could think of.

"Grandfather," I said as soon as he returned from upstairs, "was I a twin?"

Marius, who'd apparently not considered such a possibility, initially gave me a look of surprise and then appeared to study me as if he'd never seen me before.

"I'm sorry, Kevin, I made a mistake letting you see those photos. I thought that your grandmother would've kept them separate. Anyway, it's not my place to say anything about that."

"That sounds like a 'yes' to me," I said. "If it's not your place, I presume that I should ask my parents."

"Please don't do that," he pleaded, "at least unless you have a better reason for asking than just the photos. It's up to your parents to decide what to tell you, and up until now at least, your mother has decided not to talk about it. Maybe she's waiting until you're an adult."

I hated making him uncomfortable, but I also hated not knowing, and I sucked on my lower lip while I tried to decide what to do.

"I really want to know, and I think I have a right to know," I said. "I realise that you're in a tough position. I promise to keep the photos and anything you say secret."

I looked at Marius, who appeared to be slightly stunned.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked, misinterpreting my look.

"No, I want you to promise to keep everything a secret."

"Obviously I'll keep everything secret," he said. Turning to Grandfather, he continued, "I promise that everything about the twin thing and anything you say about it will be a secret."

There was a long silence before my grandfather spoke, and I presumed he was trying to decide on his least-worst option.

"Yes, you were a twin," he said, speaking quickly as if to get things dealt with as quickly as possible. "Your brother developed signs of a serious respiratory infection when you were four months old. Although you appeared to be okay, you were both taken to the hospital because both of you were physically close all the time, and they thought you also must be infected. He died within hours of arriving at the hospital."

"What was his name?" I asked without knowing why I did so.

"Keith."

My feeling of shock must have shown in my expression, and he spoke again to show his understanding.

"No, it's not supernatural or even a coincidence that you gave your imaginary friend that name. Your mother is a bit superstitious, but as I told her at the time, you would've heard the name many, many times in your first four months of life. Even if you didn't consciously remember it and didn't have it linked to an individual, the sound would have been stored away."

There was another prolonged silence, and I noticed that Marius was looking at me strangely, almost as if he were seeing double.

"Now why don't we forget about the photos for a while and have some lunch?" Grandfather suggested.

By the time that we'd finished lunch, it had stopped raining, and Marius and I decided to return to the tent. We didn't discuss it, but I sensed that Marius shared my feeling that it would be a good idea to think and talk. It seemed to me that Grandfather was relieved by our decision. As we left, I asked my grandfather if we could have the frankfurters that we'd been storing in his fridge.

"You're welcome to come and eat them here," he said, "especially if it starts raining again."

"Thanks a lot," I replied and smiled sheepishly, "but three meals in one day at your house is hardly a genuine camping experience."

Knowing that there was more to think about and discuss than just the 'twin topic', I was more than a little apprehensive about the way Marius might approach the earlier events in the tent. We hadn't put away the sleeping bag or blankets before we'd left, and as soon as we got back, I began to fold them up. Without saying a word, Marius gave me a hand, and when we'd done, I sat down on the blankets.

"What're you staring at?" I asked when I noticed the way he was looking at me.

"I'm just trying to imagine two of you," he said, frowning in thought. "I wonder if you'd be dressed the same."

That statement seemed to me to be both trivial and weird, and unable to think of a response, I just looked down at my feet.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This must be a big shock for you, and I've no idea what to say."

He sat down next to me and put an arm over my shoulder. I immediately felt comforted and began to try to express how I felt now that I knew about my twin. Much of what I said wasn't very coherent, but I think that he got the gist of it. I wondered aloud if this helped to explain the feeling I'd always had that something was missing in my life. He was surprised and saddened when I told him that I'd often felt isolated and incomplete.

"You always seemed complete to me," Marius said, gently squeezing my shoulder. "I wish you'd told me about it sooner."

"I thought that you'd think I was weird. Anyway, I've no idea what I could say. At Christmas, I tried to write something down, but the words didn't come out right, and then it just seemed stupid."

"I've always thought you were weird," he replied. "Anyway, if you've still got what you wrote, I'd love to read it."

"Maybe I can find it when we get home," I said evasively. Then, with a surprising boldness, I added, "I can probably remember it if you want me to tell you what I wrote then. I've read through it a few times, trying to make it less bad."

"Please. I'd really like that."

So, while avoiding looking at him, I recited what I could remember, which was a reasonably accurate rendition of my original writings. When I'd finished, I felt very embarrassed, and there was a prolonged silence.

"Do I really make you feel complete?" he asked eventually, his voice a little hoarse.

"Yeah," I admitted.

There was another long silence, and the fact that he wriggled closer and put more of our bodies in contact reassured me. Then he spoke in a more normal tone.

"Another thing. If you don't remember having a brother, how can you miss him or even just feel that something is missing?"

"I don't know. Maybe I can ask Grandfather. He knows lots of things, especially about science."

The rain didn't return, and when we got hungry, we got out the camping stove and made hotdogs. There was a chill breeze when we were eating, and in order to keep warm, we huddled together around the lit stove. We chatted about inconsequential matters, but my thoughts were distracted as I wondered how the events of the morning would affect our sleeping arrangements. I decided to say nothing and to wait until Marius said or did something to make his wishes known.

When it was obvious that we were both tired, he announced that it was time for sleep. I took a coward's way out and announced that I was going for a pee, thereby allowing him to set up the sleeping arrangements. As I relieved myself in the darkness among the trees, I wondered if I should volunteer to have the blankets.

On my return to the tent, I saw that the blankets and sleeping bag were arranged as they had been the night before, leading me to the happy conclusion that we would continue to share a bed. We brushed our teeth, avoided eye contact while getting undressed, and wriggled under our makeshift duvet. As soon as I turned out the light, he rolled toward me, put his arm over my chest, and whispered in my ear.

"I don't want to be queer," he said.

He soon fell asleep, and eventually, so did I.

Whenever I woke up during the night, we were cuddled together in one position or another. Each time, my return to sleep was accompanied by the comforting sound and gentle movement of his breathing. On awakening in daylight, it was a repeat of the previous morning, with his erection gently pushing against my thigh. Any erotic feeling was rapidly quashed by concern as I began to dread the sort of reaction he'd shown before.

This time, however, things turned out differently. He'd been awake all along, and as soon as he was aware that I was no longer asleep, his gentle movements became more insistent. As a sign of encouragement, I moved my arm from between us and placed it under his neck, making it easier for him to rest his head on my chest. After a few minutes, he rolled over so that he was on top of me, with our erections pressed together, separated by just two layers of clothing.

With his chin on my shoulder, my gentle upward humping met his more forceful thrusts, and I soon felt his erection pulse against mine as his whole body tensed. He lay still for a while, and as his body relaxed, I began to feel his whole weight on top of me. Before it became uncomfortable, he pushed away the sleeping bag, got up, removed his now soggy underwear, and wiped himself.

Our activities had heated up the tent, and I felt comfortably warm as I lay on the blankets without any covering. However, I was very horny and needed release, so I reached down and put my hand inside my shorts. Then Marius uttered the first words either of us had said that morning.

"Don't," he said. "I'll take care of it."

He lay down beside me, pushed my T-shirt up and my shorts down, and then he proceeded to masturbate me. At first it was slow, gentle, and almost just exploratory, but as he learned from my reactions what pleased me most, he developed his technique and speeded up. I reached orgasm very quickly. After giving me a little time to recover, Marius leaned over and found the small pack of tissues next to the blankets. Then he carefully and gently wiped me clean.

"Thanks," I said, scanning his face for any hint of a negative reaction to what we'd done.

"You're welcome," he responded with a genuinely happy smile. "But I think we need to ask your granddad if we can use his shower."

We arrived earlier than usual at Grandfather's house, but he was already up and about. Fearing that he might detect any lingering smells, I asked him if we could use his shower before we had breakfast. While Marius was showering, I told my grandfather about my feeling that something had always been missing and that I was now wondering if I'd been missing my twin.

"I realise that it's probably stupid," I concluded. "After all, how could I miss someone I don't remember?"

"Just because you don't consciously remember doesn't mean there are no memories. You learned lots of things as a small child that you still know how to do, but you don't remember learning. Talking, walking, using the toilet. It's been suggested that the memories of very young children haven't disappeared; it's just that they can't be accessed."

In response to my look of puzzlement, he continued.

"Imagine memories are like books in a library. When the first books arrive, the filing and cataloguing system may not have been developed. The books are there, but they can't be found. Maybe they're in some archive that's not open to the public."

"Okay," I said slowly. "But if my memories of Keith are locked away, how can I have such a strong feeling about missing him?"

"You had a close bond. You developed from the same cells and spent nine months growing together in the womb. After you were born, you were close together for four months. Within a couple of hours of him passing away, you started crying and didn't stop until you were too exhausted to continue. That lasted for more than a week, and for most of that time, you refused to feed.

"You were still in hospital, and they couldn't find any physical cause for your behaviour. Your mother was particularly badly affected. While still traumatised from the loss of one baby, she thought she was going to lose the other. Fortunately, after a week, you started feeding again, and after about ten days, you stopped the almost continuous crying. However, even after you were apparently back to normal, she made everyone promise not to let you know about Keith in case it had some sort of bad effect on you."

After breakfast, Marius and I decided to go for a walk. Because he didn't have proper hiking boots, we had to avoid the deeper puddles and muddy patches produced by the previous day's rain. As we trekked around the outskirts of the farm, I passed on to him what my grandfather had said about memories and what happened after Keith had died.

Apart from that, we didn't say much as we walked. It was the quiet of a comfortable companionship as we enjoyed the shared experience of the sights and sounds of the countryside. At one point, my thoughts drifted to what my grandfather had said about my time with Keith. Nine months in the womb and four months after birth. That was thirteen in total, and apparently an unlucky number.

For some reason, the number thirteen triggered an association, and I remembered that Marius was thirteen months younger than I was. The fact that we'd met and become close certainly wasn't unlucky, so maybe thirteen wasn't such a bad number after all. Without any conscious calculation, all of those thoughts coalesced into a realisation: Marius would have been conceived at around the same time that Keith had died.

I assured myself that coincidences happen and was about to set aside further consideration of the matter. Then I thought of other apparently chance events. We'd coincidentally met at the chess match, and though my approach to Marius could simply have been physical attraction, he'd said that his response to me was at least partly because he thought he recognised me. My parents said there was something familiar about him, though they'd never met him or, apparently, any member of his family.

Perhaps most significant from my personal viewpoint was that I felt complete when I was with Marius, and there was no longer any aching feeling that something was missing. Although I had no religious belief, the possibility of a reincarnation briefly crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed that thought. Apart from any other consideration, if Marius was a reincarnation of my brother, perhaps my desires could be considered to be incestuous.

By bedtime, we still hadn't spoken about our sexual activities that morning, and as before, I decided to follow his lead. He surprised me a little when he got completely naked before he got under the sleeping bag. It was only after he turned his head away from me that I found the courage to get into our bed without my usual sleeping clothes. We were naked, side by side, touching from shoulder to thighs.

Although I was incredibly aroused, I was too fearful to make a first move. He, too, remained still, even when he spoke.

"It wasn't right," he said quietly. "What we did. We did it in the wrong order."

"What?" I replied, completely puzzled as I turned to look at him.

Shifting his body only a little, he turned his head so that he could look directly into my eyes. He had a mischievous expression when he spoke again.

"Well, aren't a couple supposed to do other things before doing stuff like we did? Don't they kiss and cuddle for a while after they first meet before going to bed together?"

"We cuddled, didn't we?"

"Only after we went to bed."

"And I've never kissed anyone. I don't know how to do real kissing."

"Same for me. We can learn together."

He turned to face me completely and put his hand on my chest. Although it was only a small gesture, it gave me the impression that he was staking a claim on his territory.

"You've changed," I said. "You said you didn't want to be queer."

"I still don't, but I've been thinking a lot in the past couple of days. What I feel about you and what I want to do with you doesn't feel queer. Because it's with you, it feels natural." After a pause he frowned and added, "But no one can ever know or even suspect. It has to be our secret."

"Obviously, definitely, absolutely," I confirmed.

I didn't care whether it was coincidence or fate, and I didn't believe in reincarnation. All that mattered was that together we were both complete.

Iomfats.org

The Missing Piece

by Kit

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