Juggling the Pieces
by Pink Panther
Chapter 8
August 2010
On Tuesday afternoon, it's nearly three o'clock when I arrive at Scott's flat.
"Come in!" he greets, ushering me inside, clearly in a very buoyant mood. He leads me into the lounge.
"I've had some news," he says, as we park ourselves on the sofa. "I've been selected for the England under-21 squad."
"I thought it was the under-19s that you played for?" I query.
"It was," he confirms, trying to contain his excitement. "But this time, they've picked me for the under-21s."
"So that's, like, a promotion?"
"Totally! I've seen the full list, and I'm the only under-age player in the squad."
"That's fantastic! How many of you are there?"
"Eighteen."
"So, are you sure you'll get a game?"
"Definitely! If they weren't intending to play me, they'd have left me in the under-19s"
"Cool!"
"I may not play in both matches," he goes on. "We'll have to see."
"When d'you have to join up with them?" I ask, the alarm bells starting to ring.
"Next Tuesday," he says. "A week today. We're away to Portugal on the Friday and at home to Lithuania the following Tuesday, so I'll be back here by Wednesday lunchtime."
Fuck! He's going to be away for eight whole days! Worse than that, for all but one of them, I'll still be off school. I'm going to miss him like crazy! I don't like it one bit, but I can't let it show. If he's going to get to the top level, this is going to happen quite often. It's part of what I signed up to.
"That's fantastic!" I say, grinning. "You're going to do great!"
"Oh, I'm really looking forward to it," he enthuses. "I was hoping to get picked for the under-21s at some point, but I've made it sooner than I expected."
"I'll miss you, of course."
"And I'm going to miss you too, so we'd better make the most of the next week. And I promise I'll make it up to you when I get back!"
I know it doesn't really work like that, but it's the best I'm going to get.
I spend a chunk of Wednesday evening calling members of the cross-country team to remind them that we're going to start training on Sunday. As usual, Dean's still in the States, but everyone else said they were going to be there. Considering it's a bank holiday weekend, that's not bad.
Thursday August 26 is GCSE results day. All over the country, kids my age are waiting to find out how they've done. I've arranged to meet the rest of our gang at school at eleven o'clock, just like Claire did two weeks ago, but I'm hoping to have my results well before then.
From nine o'clock onwards, I'm pacing around like a caged tiger. Finally, at ten to ten, the email arrives. I read through the results
Additional Maths A
Art A*
Chemistry A
English Language A*
English Literature B
French A*
Geography A
German A
History A*
Physics A
Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm so excited, I'm bouncing around the room. Four A*s, Four A's and a B; I couldn't have asked for better than that! After the way Mr Harrison treated me, getting an A for physics is really sweet. Like Dad told me, I can watch him choke on it. Two years ago, Claire got Four A*s and five A's, but she wasn't in the top maths set so she didn't even get to do Additional Maths. Wow!
Having settled myself down, I send the results to Mum and Dad, Scott, Claire and Anthony. As I'll be seeing all my friends in an hour's time, there's no need to send them to anyone else.
I get myself ready to go out. This is one of the few occasions that we're allowed to go into school not in uniform. It's another glorious day, so it's pale cream cargo shorts, a black polo shirt with narrow white hoops, and sandals. I check myself out. I do look good. The only problem is that being dressed like this makes me look even younger.
Just before I leave the house, I get a text. It's from Anthony. "Nice one, man!" it says. "I got an A* for maths." I smile. I'd forgotten about that. It's the icing on the cake.
Going into school to meet up with all my friends is like the best party I've ever been to. Everyone in our gang has done well, so we're all as high as kites. The atmosphere's amazing! Even Patrick shows up. Unusually for him, he's dressed really well, his clothes obviously new.
"I wasn't expecting to see you!" I greet. "I thought you were working."
"I am," he responds, grinning. "I took today off. I wasn't going to miss this!"
Quite right too! With nine A* grades, his results are the best in the entire year. I remember him telling me, maybe eighteen months ago, that the girls never seemed to notice him. Well, some of them are definitely noticing him now! Predictably, he's playing it very cool, but he certainly seems to appreciate the attention.
With Dean still away, I check his results. They include C-grades for chemistry and English Literature, but nothing lower than that, giving him nine 'good' GCSEs, the same as the rest of the gang.
"I notice Stanford hasn't covered himself in glory," Patrick comments. "Okay, he's got A*s for English Language and History, but he's got E's for physics and chemistry, and some of his other grades aren't anything special."
Actually, I wish he hadn't mentioned it. As far as I'm concerned, the less I hear of Zav, the better. And in a strange way, it does bother me. Back when we were in Year 7, he was one of the stars, no question. How did it all go so wrong?
The evil Amanda's results are even worse, not that that's a surprise.
"She's not coming back anyway," Jane tells me.
"Really?" I query.
"Didn't you notice that she didn't come in for A-level induction?"
I didn't. I dislike her so much; I hadn't noticed that she wasn't there.
"Rumour has it," Jane continues, "that she was told, or her parents were told, that her presence in the sixth form would not be welcome."
"It couldn't happen to a nicer girl," I quip, grinning.
Just after half past eleven, ten of us stride into town and continue the party by invading Starbucks, where we spend an hour drinking coffee and munching chocolate cake. Right at that moment, we're on top of the world; completely untouchable.
Finally, we go our separate ways. After the wonderful highs of this morning, being back at home, on my own, is an anti-climax. Even though I'll be heading to Scott's place as soon as I've had something to eat, I'm still feeling a bit flat. The reality is that in less than two weeks, I'll be back at school, and if I'm going to achieve my goals, I'll need to work even harder than I have before. It's not going to be easy.
After spending a delightful couple of hours with Scott, I return home feeling relaxed and positive again. After dinner, I head up to my room where I settle down with one of the books Mr Anderson told us to read in preparation for A-level history.
Quite unexpectedly, I get a call. Picking up my phone, I check the display. To my surprise, it's Franny. Although we exchanged numbers last Christmas, we haven't actually spoken since.
"Hi, Franny!" I say brightly. "This is a pleasant surprise! What can I do for you?"
"Have you had your GCSE results?"
"Sure! I got them this morning."
"And?"
I summarise my results.
"Cool!" he enthuses. "I hope I'll do as well as that! Mind you, if I do go to Chethams', I wouldn't be doing as many subjects as that. There isn't time, with all the music practice they have to do."
"Right! So how are things with you?"
"I'm bored," he complains. "There's nothing to do here."
"What about your music practice?"
"I can't do that all the time!"
I guess that's the problem with him being at boarding school. When he comes home for the holidays, he's lost touch with the kids he used to know, so he's got nobody to hang out with. Living in a small village must make it even worse.
"Could I come over to see you?" he asks.
"What?" I query. "It's nearly fifty miles!"
"I can get a train into Birmingham and another one to your place," he says. "I've checked it out. It's easy. You could meet me at the station."
I spend a moment or two trying to get my head around it. I mean, I'm sixteen and I've never made a journey like that journey on my own. On the other hand, it does sound quite easy.
Then another thought occurs to me. With Scott being away for most of next week, I'm going to have time on my hands. If we can find a suitable date, and Franny can get over here, I'll be happy to meet him. After all, he is my cousin, and we got on really well when we met last Christmas. It could turn out to be a fun day.
"When do you go back to school?" I ask.
"A week on Monday."
"So how about next Thursday?" I suggest.
"Yeah, cool!" he responds. "Just a minute!" He fiddles around for a few seconds. "The train's due to arrive at your end at five past eleven, yeah?"
"Great!" I tell him. "Call me the night before to confirm, okay?"
"Sure! No problem!"
That was a stroke of luck! I'm not sure what we're going to do, but whatever it is, it'll make a change.
The next morning, I'm slouched on my bed reading some more history, when I hear Claire and Damian's voices. They're coming up the stairs. There's a tap on my door.
"Come in!" I call.
They stroll in, looking very pleased with themselves. Claire comes right over to me.
"Well," she says, extending her left hand. "What d'you think?"
On her third finger, she's wearing a ring with a small diamond in it.
"Wow!" I say, my eyes widening. "You're engaged!"
"Yep!" she confirms.
"When?"
"Last night, officially."
"Do Mum and Dad know?"
"They know it's on the cards. We're going to come over this evening once Dad's home."
"Who else have you told?"
"At the moment, we're just telling immediate family and close friends. They're the only people who need to know."
"So you won't be telling Grandma and Granddad Page?" I ask mischievously, referring to Mum's parents.
"Would you?" Claire responds, looking horrified. "I don't need a lecture on how we're far too young, and how Mum didn't get engaged till she was twenty-two and they thought that was too young! I'll pass, if you don't mind!"
Well, that's clear enough. I guess it's another thing that Claire and I agree about. Mum's parents are a pain in the arse.
Mum and Dad are over the moon with my GCSE results. I'm not sure why, but they weren't expecting me to do quite as well as Claire did. Well, I have, and it's earned me lots of brownie points. The trick now is not to waste them.
It's Saturday evening. For once, I'm at home. Reavington had an away match, down on the south coast. They got another draw. Away from home, that's not too bad. Anyway, by the time they got back it was too late for me to go to Scott's place, so I've spent the evening pottering around here.
At half past ten, I join Dad on the sofa to watch Match of the Day.
"You weren't able to go to Scott's this evening," he comments.
"No, their match was too far away. It was going to be too late when they got back."
"Are you okay with that?"
"Sure! There'll only be four or five matches where that happens: this one, Middlesbrough, Millwall and one or two others. That's okay. With Scott having his own place, we're very lucky most of the time."
"That's a very sensible way to look at it," he says, smiling. "Actually, I've been thinking. When you're spending Saturday evening at Scott's, I wondered if rather than him bringing you home for half past ten, I could go there, watch Match of the Day with you both, then bring you home. I'm sure that between us, Scott and I could improve your understanding of what you're watching. It would also help me to get to know Scott a bit better, which would be good."
Hmmm! I plan to improve my understanding by hanging onto every word that comes out of Alan Hansen's mouth, but I'm not going to say that.
"It won't be next weekend," I respond, "because he'll be away with the England under-21 squad. Maybe we could try it the Saturday after he gets back? I'll ask!"
"He's been picked for the under-21 squad? That's very encouraging!"
"Yeah! He's well chuffed!"
"So you'll be without him for how long?"
"Eight days. Actually, I think, this is going to be the tough one. After this, even if we're not at school when he's away, I should still have plenty to keep me busy."
"That makes sense too," Dad says approvingly.
We snuggle up to watch the football.
The following morning, I get ready early. Having had my breakfast, I find Mum and Dad in the lounge.
"If everyone shows up," I tell them. "There will be three guys that you haven't met before."
"Okay," Mum says. "Thanks for letting us know."
At quarter past ten, Patrick's the first to arrive. Much as he was on Thursday, he's wearing much nicer kit than I've seen him in before. He's a class runner, and dressed as he is, he totally looks it.
"You look great!" I tell him. "You've obviously been spending a few quid."
"These days," he says casually, "the only thing I can't do is drive the van, so I get paid proper money."
"So you can do everything your dad does?"
"Yeah, pretty much." He grins. "And Ann-Marie likes to see me looking . . . you know?"
"Sure!" I say, wondering if he'll ever stop amazing me.
Nathan and Jon, brought by Nathan's dad are next to arrive, with Alan and his dad close behind. A short discussion follows. It's agreed that Nathan's dad will drop Alan off, and so Mr Sharp won't need to come back.
I shepherd the lads into the 'club room', as I like to think of it. Alan looks very nervous. That leaves David. He said he'd be here, and would normally have arrived by now, which makes me wonder. A couple of minutes before half past, he finally appears.
"Sorry I'm late!" he apologises. "A slight miscalculation!"
Alan now looks even more nervous.
"Oh, don't worry about me being here," David reassures him. "You're team captain now. I'm just here for the ride!"
"But I don't know any routes from here," he says apprehensively.
"Just run alongside Ian," David suggests. "You'll be fine." He turns to me. "Have you planned anything for this morning?"
"I've not actually planned anything. I thought we could do about seven, taking it fairly easy."
"Okay?" David asks, turning back to Alan.
Just as he nods his agreement, Dad appears. I introduce the three newbies.
"Good to see you all!" Dad says warmly. "Please make yourselves comfortable. I built this room seventeen years ago to be Claire and Ian's playroom, so it's great to see it still being used."
A couple of minutes later, we're on our way. The conditions are almost ideal; reasonably warm with just a light breeze. Pretty soon, we're bowling along through the countryside at a decent clip, the six of us together, with nobody trying to push it too hard. On days like this, running can be an absolute joy. After around thirty-five minutes, we're just over a mile from home. I turn to Patrick and David.
"Do you two want to put in an extra loop?" I ask.
"Not me!" Patrick says, grinning. "I haven't run at all while I've been working. My legs will stiffen up if I overdo it."
"That's cool!" David agrees.
We return to the house, the whole group still intact.
"Forty-four minutes, twelve seconds," David says, checking his watch. "Not bad!"
We make our way inside. Tops are removed and towels produced. Sweaty tops are replaced with fresh ones. Cups of tea and glasses of orange squash are collected from the kitchen.
"I thought you said there'd be eight of us?" Alan enquires.
"Dean Griffiths and his dad are still in the States," I answer. "They're coming back on Tuesday. I don't think Dean will be in great shape. He hasn't done any distance work since before Easter. Mind you, they're doing the Pacific North-West this year, you know, the Oregon Trail and that area, so they might actually have got some running done."
"But will they have been sleepless in Seattle?" Nathan quips, grinning.
"Probably!" I reply, amid general laughter.
"Are you working this week?" I ask turning to Patrick.
"No, I need some time to get back into study mode."
"Fancy running Wednesday morning?"
"Cool! Same time?"
"Sure!" I confirm. "Okay everybody!" I announce. "Patrick and I are going to run from here on Wednesday morning, half-ten start. We'll do five or six, just to get ourselves back into it. If you don't have anything else to do, you're welcome to join us."
"Would it be okay if I came along?" Alan asks, the look in his eyes showing just how far out of his comfort-zone he actually is. "I could come on my bike."
"Of course!" I confirm. "We'd love to see you!"
"Sorry," he apologises. "This is all rather new."
I look him right in the eye. "You need to believe in yourself more," I say, in little more than a whisper. "You can do this. We want you to succeed, yeah? Give it your best shot. We will back you."
"Yeah," he acknowledges. "Thanks!"
After Sunday lunch, I spend the rest of the day with Scott. We drive to Evesham, where we spend a couple of hours exploring the town and strolling along by the river. At six o'clock we return to the flat for something to eat before spending a relaxing evening together. Officially, it's the first time we've been able to do that. I love it! It makes such a difference, not having to go home for my evening meal.
Monday follows a similar pattern. I arrive at Scott's place at three o'clock, shortly after he gets back from training. This time, we head to Malvern, which is quite a bit nearer. 'Elgar Country', Scott calls it. Strolling around together in the warm, late August sunshine is wonderful. Returning to the flat, we have a meal, which I help to prepare, before spending another wonderful evening together.
At quarter to ten, Scott drops me off at home. Tomorrow morning, he has to travel to the England under-21s training camp. We won't be able to see each other for eight whole days.
September 2010
On Wednesday morning, five runners gather at our house to go out on a training run. Jon couldn't make it. He had to go with his mum to buy some new school uniform, and having only just got back from the States, Dean's not here either.
It's a little cooler than it was on Sunday, but still fine and dry, a great day to be out running. The atmosphere is superb. Although we're running at a reasonable pace, nobody tries to wind it up, so the whole group stays together.
We're going okay, feeling comfortable and enjoying each other's company. Alan in particular is looking more confident than he did on Sunday. It's as though he's beginning to feel that he actually belongs.
Back at the house, we pull off our tops and towel ourselves down.
"You were taking it easy again," I comment, turning to Patrick.
"It's a long season," he says casually. "I discovered that last year."
As we chat and help ourselves to drinks, there's a real sense of togetherness. That's good. Apart from David, this is the nucleus of the team. Working together will be important.
"When are you running again?" Alan asks.
"Fancy running on Friday?" I enquire, turning to Patrick.
"Sure!" he confirms.
We quickly check with the others. Friday it is.
It's Thursday morning. I spoke to Franny yesterday evening. He confirmed the arrangements, so it's all systems go. I arrive at the station at five to eleven. The weather's turned warm again. It's going to be a glorious day.
I check the arrivals board. The train from Birmingham is due at five past and is expected on time. I've a few minutes to wait. It occurs to me that I've no idea what we're going to do. We haven't actually talked about it. I guess we'll just see how it goes. We can always hang out like we did last Christmas.
The train pulls in a few seconds early. This is the anxious part. Suppose he doesn't appear? I'm being silly, I tell myself. If there was a problem, he'd have called me. I still can't help being a bit worried though. He is only twelve.
A few seconds later, my fears are assuaged as he strolls through the ticket barrier. In the eight months since I last saw him, he's grown considerably. He's still not quite as tall as I am, but only by two or three inches. Wearing his summer clothes – very snug tan shorts, a yellow tee-shirt, and black and white Asics trainers – he looks stunning!
"Hi Franny!" I say brightly. "Great to see you again. What would you like to do first?"
"Can we go to your house?"
"Sure, if you want," I say, somewhat surprised.
"Well," he explains. "You've seen where I live. I'd like to see where you live."
"It's nothing special," I warn him.
Fifteen minutes later, we're off the bus and walking towards the house. On the way, we've chatted enthusiastically about his music and my running. He really is excellent company, just as he was when we met last Christmas. Finally, I let us in.
"Where's everyone else?" he asks.
"Mum and Dad are at work," I say. "Claire's with her boyfriend. She'll be gone all day."
"Cool!" he says, smiling. "When I'm at home, Lorna and Alice are always around. Even if one of them goes out, the other one will be there. I never have the place to myself."
Lorna, who's nearly sixteen, and Alice, just turned fourteen, are Franny's sisters. When I was there last Christmas, I noticed that his relationship with them did seem a bit spiky. Maybe that was part of the reason he wanted to get away for the day.
"Want a drink?" I ask.
"Sure," he says. "Then can I see your room?"
I make two glasses of orange squash with lots of ice. I hand him one and lead the way upstairs.
"This is really nice," he says, following me into my room. "You've got it well sorted."
"Thanks," I say.
He sits down on the side of the bed. Uncharacteristically, he looks apprehensive, as though there's something he really wants to talk about, but is unsure how to go about it.
"Can I ask you something?" he asks, a little abruptly.
"No problem," I say casually. "Ask away."
He looks at me nervously, shifting a little way along the bed as if making room for me to sit next to him. I park myself down. There's an awkward pause.
"Ian, are you gay?" he asks finally.
I take a deep breath. When I agreed to him coming here, this was not what I was expecting. Back when I came out to Mum and Dad, I made a decision. I don't go shouting about being gay, but I don't tell lies. I take a deep breath.
"Yes," I say calmly. "Why d'you ask?"
"It was something Lorna said after you were at our house on Boxing Day. She said it was weird for a boy your age to want to spend the afternoon with me, rather than to hang out with her. She said she'd tried to be nice to you, but you just ignored her. She was pretty pissed off about it."
"Ooops!"
"I saw her flirting with you when you first arrived. It was like you didn't get it."
He's hit that one right on the nose. If Lorna was flirting with me, I like, totally missed it.
"Oh, right! I've known since I was twelve, well nearly thirteen actually. You're not gay, are you?"
"I really don't know," he says. "When I'm at school, I'm one of thirty boys. There are no girls at all. When I'm at home, the only kids I have much contact with are Lorna and Alice." He pauses again. "So, have you messed around with other boys?"
"You're not planning on telling anyone about this conversation, are you?" I query.
"No! Of course not!"
"Okay then," I concede. "Yes, I have. What about you?"
"I've got this friend at school, Arlo. He's in the same year as me, but smaller and really nice looking. When we go back, he'll be our top soloist and I'll be second. We like to, . . . you know."
"Don't worry about it," I say reassuringly. "It's something that lots of boys do. Most of them get into girls later."
"D'you think I will?" he asks.
"I've no idea," I tell him. "I always knew I wouldn't. So what do you and Arlo like to do, exactly?"
"We suck each other off."
Now that does set alarm bells ringing. When he talked about messing about, I didn't expect them to have gone that far.
"You've got a hard-on," he whispers, giving me a cheeky grin.
Of course I have. I'm sitting with a very cute boy and we're talking about sex. He stands up. He's got a hard-on too, his snug-fitting shorts doing nothing to hide it.
"Come on!" he says, grabbing my hand.
"Just a minute!" I say firmly. "We have a problem here!"
"What sort of a problem?" he asks. "I thought you liked me!"
"I do like you," I assure him. "The problem is that I have a steady boyfriend. I go with him. He goes with me. That's it."
"So where is he today?"
"He's working."
"So what does he do?"
"Franny!" I snap, getting irritated. "That really isn't your business!"
"Sorry," he says, backing off a little. "But we can still mess about, can't we? I mean, he's not going to find out unless you tell him."
"There is another problem too," I say quietly, "which is that I'm sixteen and you're twelve. If anyone found out, I'd be right in the shit."
"But nobody will!" he insists. "I haven't even told anyone that I've come here today! Please, Ian! It'll be okay, I promise!"
I can feel my resistance begin to crumble. I've got a third problem, of course. Having not seen Scott since Monday evening, I'm so horny, I hardly know what to do with myself.
I get to my feet. With me standing in front of him, Franny opens the front of my shorts, easing them over my hips. They fall to the floor. My boxers quickly follow.
"That's big!" he breathes.
We swap places. I've stopped thinking. The hormones have taken over. I just do what's expected. As I lower his shorts, I discover why they're such a snug fit. His thighs are amazing, really powerful and athletic looking, like a smaller version of Scott's. Wow!
Underneath he's wearing a pair of skimpy red tangas. I pull them down too, exposing around four and a half inches, uncut and still fairly slim, just the tip of the head visible beyond his foreskin. That's more than impressive on a twelve-year old. Although he hasn't a trace of pubic hair, his well-formed balls have started to drop into position. He is gorgeous!
He pulls off his tee-shirt. He's broader across the shoulders than I am, and has bigger hands. I'd guess he weighs a little over a hundred pounds, about the same as I do. After licking my lips, I run my tongue up his shaft, savouring the feel of his throbbing hardness under its velvet-smooth skin. Reaching the head, I take it into my mouth, gently working my way down until I'm sucking it right down to the root. Oh yes! The sensations are unbelievable: steel-hard, mind-bendingly smooth, and throbbing with life. I could do this, like forever!
After a couple of minutes, his breathing starts to become uneven. Knowing what will happen if I don't, I immediately pull away. Without even thinking about it, I discard my sandals and polo shirt. Taking the hint, Franny pulls off his trainers. Giving each other a quick glance, we swap places again.
I don't need to tell him what to do. Sitting on the bed, he immediately goes down on me. OMG! He's sucking me like he's been doing it for years. The sensations are exquisite. Holy shit! Not even Scott can suck me as well as he's doing it. He's turning me on so much, I hardly know which day of the week it is! After barely a minute, I feel myself starting to get close, and gently ease my dick out of his mouth.
"Have you and Arlo ever done a sixty-nine?" I ask.
"No, we've never had the chance."
"Want to try it?"
"Cool!"
Getting onto the bed, we move effortlessly into position, lying on our left sides. Oh, fuck! I don't need to show him how to do this, either. Within seconds, we're totally going for it, sucking each other like we were born to it. I mean, I know I was, but I hadn't expected Franny to be into it like that. It's totally amazing! I can't believe how good it feels. I'm on autopilot now, driven on by the most primal of impulses. Thinking is no longer an option.
Instinctively, I slip my hand between Franny's legs, my fingers gently massaging his perineum. Suddenly, he begins to shudder. A moment later, his prick jerks into action, little jets of watery boy-juice coating my tongue. Within a few seconds, I'm there too, pumping several volleys of teen spunk into his eager, sucking mouth. After a short pause, we carefully let each other go.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Sure!" Franny says, grinning. "You make lots of spunk, don't you?"
"Quite a bit," I concede. "After all, I am sixteen."
"That was awesome!" he breathes, "especially the way you were stroking me behind my balls. When we go back to school, I'll have to show Arlo how to do that."
We quickly pull on our clothes.
"Are you hungry?" I ask.
"Sure! I'm always hungry!"
We make our way downstairs. I fix us some lunch. My brain's spinning. I can hardly believe what we just did.
"You know you can't tell anyone about this, don't you?" I say, looking him right in the eye.
"Stop worrying!" he says, giving me his most disarming smile. "You can trust me!"
So that's it. We take the bus back into town, and spend an hour or so wandering around. It sounds boring, but he's so much fun to be with, it just isn't. At twenty past three he catches the train to Birmingham. It's time to go home.
Sitting on the bus, I try to make sense of it all. Scott's everything I ever wanted. After coming back from France, I was sure I'd never do anything like this, but I have. I'm annoyed with myself. I should have been stronger, but Franny made saying no so bloody difficult! In the end, I just couldn't resist.
But it's done now, and I'm sure I can trust Franny not to say anything. So I can bury it, just like I've buried what happened in France. Of course, he may call me at half-term, but that's easy. As Scott will be around the whole time, I won't be available.
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