Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
George and Jeremy's Tale - Pt 7
Over the next couple of weeks, two things happened. Two very different things, but each in their own way was to have a deep and lasting effect on the future of life in their town.
The first was radical, noisy and very public, but it began quietly enough. Tom Craddock wrote a letter to the local newspaper - the Westpoint Daily News. He complained about the proposed cost of replacing the roof on the grandstand in Britannia Square - 89,500 pounds - and also at the way the council had awarded the contract to their own cronies.
Westpoint was not a large town and, while no-one was exactly destitute, no-one was overly rich either. That was a lot of money to pay to repair a facility that the Old Boys' Rugby Football Club had exclusive use of. If the people of Westpoint owned the square, and if they had to pay for its upkeep, why were they locked out of it?
Britannia Square, which was only one block back from the main street, would make an ideal "village green" for fetes, galas and events, and also for other casual or organized sports games. Rugby Football was the major game in Westpoint, but it wasn't the only one. Why shouldn't the people of Westpoint have free and open use of their own central town-park?
Also, the barely-used cycle racing track around the football field, cambered and tar-sealed, would make an ideal training track for runners, keeping them off the ever busier streets.
In conclusion, Tom proposed that the people of the town should give the council a push. He called on them to meet at the Square at 9am., on Saturday morning and to - "bring hammers, bring crow-bars, and let's take our Square back. The fence around it has got to come down."
The letter was far in excess of the paper's published guidelines, but it was printed in full. The editor and staff were in full agreement with what he was saying. Never mind the obscure, foreign war in Indo-China, here was something to protest about right here at home.
Westpoint was a largely working-class town. In this day and age, there were still many socialists amongst them, and young rebels looking for a cause. Most people were already reeling in shock at what they would have to pay to repair the grandstand roof. Why hadn't it been insured? What Tom Craddock was saying was what many of them were already thinking. It was their Square, why shouldn't they have the use of it?
On the Saturday morning, well before 9am., a large crowd began to gather by the Memorial Gates, outside Britannia Square. The Mayor, an aging conservative, was NOT in agreement with the proposal to open up the Square, and he arrived, accompanied by the town's entire police force - three men. However, he was a politician, the local-body elections were coming up soon, and he was not stupid. The Mayor looked around at this large and growing crowd of children, teenagers, adults and, most importantly, voters - and he could easily read their mood.
At 9am., Tom climbed up on the back of a conveniently parked coal-truck, and he addressed the crowd. To his surprise, he was not nervous at all. He rather enjoyed having everyone's attention focused on him and what he had to say.
He began by reading out the whole of his letter to the paper, and then he called for a vote - a show of hands to say whether the fences should come down. The result was an overwhelming "Yes."
The Mayor had intended to speak against this ridiculous proposal, but now, he looked around and saw the mood of the crowd. Then he quietly borrowed a wrecking bar, stepped up to the high wooden fence and in a loud voice announced, "I totally agree." He beckoned to his cousin, Mr. John Benjamin, the Chairman of the Old Boys' Rugby Football Club, and he came over, took the wrecking bar and enthusiastically ripped the first boards off the long fence.
With a roar of approval, the entire crowd, including the policemen, all surged forward and began gleefully demolishing the fence. Most of the old wooden boards and posts were carted off to people's homes, for firewood. What remained was left for the council workmen to clean up and dispose of.
In a very short time, the fences were gone; the Square was open for free access by everyone and the life-long political career of Thomas A. Craddock, future Mayor of Westpoint, had been launched. In the local-body elections he was elected to the town council even though he wasn't even old enough to vote yet.
The other event was different, much quieter, intimate and personal, but it too was to have a far-reaching effect on life in Westpoint.
Over the weeks, George and Jeremy, all inhibitions forgotten, were gleefully exploring the depths of their new-found relationship. Both were continually amazed at how like himself the other was.
They were learning about sex and were reveling in it. Nothing was too much, nothing was too "rude", not when they were in it together. Jeremy loved the sex and he really liked his Georgie. George loved Jeremy and he liked the sex - it was great! It was all he'd ever dreamed of. This was to be George's only full-on sexual relationship. For Jeremy, it was the first of many, but it would always be special and fondly remembered.
It came to a crashing halt early one evening. They were in the old kids' playhouse at the back of the Carvers' yard, and they were playing their favorite game. Both were fully naked. Jeremy was lying, face down, across the half-sized table, his legs spread well apart. George was between them, lying over Jeremy's back, with his cock buried deep within him.
Both boys had their eyes clenched shut and their mouths wide-open and they grunted and moaned as they thrust, working their way to their climaxes.
"Fuck me, Georgie. Fuck me harder. Fuck meee! Oh, Fuuuck."
He opened his eyes and gasped as he saw his twin standing in the open doorway, staring at them. "Fuck! Jakie!"
George's eyes snapped open and he looked at Jakie standing there, a couple of feet away. He pulled out of Jeremy and he dropped down to the floor, cowering and terrified.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jakie roared at them.
Jeremy wasn't frightened of his brother and he reacted with anger. He reared up, kneeling on the table and he yelled back at him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Piss off, you bloody Peeping-Tom. Piss off and mind your own business!"
"Mind my own business? I'll show you my business, you dirty, bloody, little pansy. I'm telling Dad!" He turned and ran back up to the house.
Jeremy called out after him, "Jakie! Jakie don't. Please don't. Jakie, wait up!" But he didn't stop and he disappeared inside.
He turned and looked down at George, still shaking on the floor. "Oh, shit, Georgie."
"What are we going to do, Gemmy? What are we going to do?"
Jeremy started getting his clothes together. "You've got to get out of here. Don't wait to get dressed, just take your clothes and go. Get over the fence into the Green's yard and get the hell out of here. Take your clothes and go, Georgie. He was pulling his own trousers up now, dressing as fast as he could.
George grabbed up his gear. "But what are you going to do? What's going to happen to you, Gemmy?"
"I don't know. I don't know, but I know that it's not safe here for you. Just go Georgie. It's my father; I've got to face him sometime. It might as well be now. I just wish that it didn't have to be like this. Go, now! Please. I'll come and see you later."
"Okay, I will. Be careful. I love you, Gemmy."
"I love you too. Oh fuck. Here he comes. Get out now."
"Come with me," he cried as he scrambled over the back fence.
"I can't. He'd just come after us and he'd be madder than hell."
George was thinking, 'He's probably going to be mad anyway,' but he didn't wait to find out. He was scared - scareder than he'd ever been in all his timid life. He was out of there. Over the fence, he fell into the Green's yard, ran up to their open garage and hurriedly got his clothes on. He ran home, carrying his shoes and socks in his hands.
Later that night, a couple of hours after dark, George was alone in his room, lying on his bed and worrying. What was going on at the Carvers'? Was Gemmy all right? Did Jakie hate his brother now? Oh shit! Did he hate George as well? Was Gemmy all right?
He was startled and relieved by a knock on his window. "Gemmy!" He jumped up off the bed and whipped up the window shade. There, outside the window, spotlighted by the light from his room, he saw a sight straight out of a horror movie.
"Gemmy. Ohmygod! Oh shit, Gemmy."
George's friend, his best friend and his lover, was standing outside in the dark, a bloody and battered mess. One eye was closed, swollen and bruised. The other looked at him through the glass, crying, pleading.
His face was covered in mud and blood and streaked by his tears. His shirt was ripped and tattered and there was a large streak of blood on the window where he'd leant his head against it.
George took all that in, in a few dumbstruck seconds, then, bursting into tears himself, he rushed outside to his friend. "Gemmy! Gemmy, you're hurt!"
"You think so?" he grinned through his tears. "Help me, Georgie. Please help me."
"Of course! Of course I will. Oh, Gemmy, what can I do? Come inside - come into the kitchen, I'll get my Mam."
"No. Not your Mum. I don't want her to see me like this."
"We need her, Gemmy. She'll know what to do. She used to be a nurse. Come on in, you're hurt. Please." (He really wanted to hug him, but was afraid he'd hurt him even more.)
The crying boys walked through to the kitchen, George leading Jeremy by the hand. He pulled out a chair from the table, and Jeremy settled on to it with a sigh.
Now that he could see him properly in the light inside, Jeremy looked even worse.
"Oh, Gemmy. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."
"Don't be. It's not your fault."
"But, if I hadn't... If only we hadn't done that."
"If is a big word, Georgie. Don't be sorry. I'm not sorry for anything we did. All I'm sorry for is that my father's such a bastard, and my big-mouth brother too. Fucking Jakie."
"What are we going to do, Gemmy?"
"We? I don't know about you, but I know what I'm doing. I'm leaving. First train out of here in the morning and I'm gone."
"Gone? Gemmy, you can't. Have you got the money for a ticket even? And what are you going to do when you get to wherever you're going?"
"Who said anything about a ticket? I'll jump on a freight train. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know where I'm going, but I have to go. My father said that if he sees me again, he'll kill me.'
"Oh, Gemmy. No. Surely he wouldn't. He'll calm down, he is your father."
"Oh, Georgie, yes. He won't calm down, Not this time. He never did like me much anyway. He said that he'll kill me, and he will. He would've tonight if Jakie hadn't stopped him."
"Jakie stopped him? How did he do that?"
"He whacked him over the head with a piece of decking timber. Pity he didn't do it sooner, eh?"
"Pity he never shut his mouth in the first place. Well if you're leaving, then I'm coming with you."
"You bloody are not. You've got your life here Georgie, and a family who love you. I'm not going to take you away from that. I have to go, but you're staying here where you belong."
"No. We'll go together. You need someone to look after you."
"I don't. I'll look after myself. I'll be fine, once I get out of this bloody town. I'll survive out there, you wouldn't George. You're not ready to make it on your own and I'm not looking after you. I'll have enough to do sorting my own life out. I've got somewhere I can go, relatives who hate the old man's guts anyway. I'm going, and you're staying here. I'll be in touch once I've got things sorted out. You stay here and wait for me."
"All right then. I suppose you're right. I'll stay here and I'll wait to hear from you. I'll wait forever if I have to. I love you, Gemmy."
"I know you do. I love you too, Georgie."
"George? What are you doing? Have you got the baby up?" His sleepy-eyed mother came stumbling out into the kitchen. She stopped short when she saw the bloodied boy sitting at her kitchen table.
"Jeremy? Oh my goodness! What happened to you, Laddie?"
"My father. My father happened to me, Mrs.Barnes. He beat me up, again."
"Your father? The man should be locked up and left to rot."
"Mam. Please help him, Mam. He's hurt. Please help him. What can we do?"
"Of course." Mrs.Barnes gave Jeremy a quick check-over, then straightened up and turned to George.
"Hospital," she said. "George, go and wake Jimmy up, and then go and get the baby. We're going to the hospital. These wounds need to be tended to properly and there are several cuts here that will need stitches. Don't even try to argue with me, Jeremy. We're going to the hospital."
Jimmy came out and, still in his pyjamas and dressing-gown, drove them all around to the hospital. The night-shift nurses cleaned Jeremy up and a doctor came in to sew up his wounds.
They then went back to Jimmy's house, where Jeremy spent the night in George's bed. George slept on the floor next to him.
The doctor had wanted to call the police, but Jeremy was having none of that.
"Don't be crazy, Doctor. Do you want a Molotov cocktail to fire-bomb your home? Or your nice new hospital? You don't mess with the Carvers. It's over anyway, it's finished with now."
Next morning, dressed in George's clothes, and with a bag containing several more changes of clothes, Jeremy got on the passenger train to Christchurch. George had bought his one-way ticket and pressed all the rest of his meager savings into Jeremy's hand.
"Take it, Gemmy. Please. You need it now, I don't. Call it a loan if that makes you happy, but bloody take it."
They hugged and cried and said goodbye on the platform of the railway station, then Jeremy got on the train and left Westpoint. George said that he'd wait for him, and he did, through many long and lonely years.
Jeremy promised that he would call, but he never did. No-one in Westpoint ever saw or heard from him again.
George didn't go to school that day. He'd never actually wagged before, but today he did. "To hell with school." He was too upset, and he spent the day at home.
His mother was understanding, but, next morning, insisted that he had to go back to school. "It's best to go and face it, George. Things are never as bad as what you think they're going to be."
So, he went back to school, nervously, timidly and full of fear of what people were going to say to him, especially Jakie Carver. To his amazement, things were nowhere near as bad as he had feared. Jakie wasn't even at school and the story of Jeremy's being beaten up and kicked out of home was all over town. No-one knew why it had happened.
There were a few snide comments, but most people's sympathies were with Jeremy, (and George), and against his old man. No-one liked the Carvers much anyway. Sophie Carver and Dianne McLean attached themselves to him and escorted George wherever he went, daring anyone to give him a hard time. But it wasn't necessary, no-one did. They even stopped calling him, "Georgie Porgie", he was just George now, and that was how it was to remain.
His worst moment in the day was when he was leaving the school. Jakie Carver came marching out of the Carvers' and across the road to him. George stood there, expecting to get knocked down, but - bugger'im. He stood where he was and tried not to show how frightened he was.
"Where is my brother, Barnes?" Jakie demanded. "Where can I find him? Is he all right?"
"Jeremy's all right, or he will be. The hospital staff patched him up. I don't know where he is. He's left town. He's gone and he won't be back. That's all I know."
"He's gone? My Jeremy's gone?" Big, rough, tough, Jakie Carver, the terror of the town, stood there, stunned. He looked like he was about to cry.
"Oh, shit. Jeremy. What have I done? I'm sorry, George. If you hear from him, tell him I'm so sorry. Tell him to come home. I need my brother, George. I love him."
"I'll tell him. He said that he'll call once he gets settled somewhere. I'll tell him that you're sorry. I love him too, Jakie."
"You love him? He's MY brother, my twin, my other half."
"Come on, Jakie. Come away home." Doris Bartlett put an arm around his shoulders and led Jakie back over to the Carver's house. He was crying now.
George walked away home, alone.
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