The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 3

'What do you think of him then mum?'

'I like him Arlo. I like him very much. In some ways he's a bit like you darling.'

'Quiet, sensitive and intelligent? Is that what you're saying?'

'Of course darling! But seriously, he's seems quite a bright little boy.'

'He's not a little boy mum. I can't be friends with little boys can I.'

'He seems to want to be friends with you. He is a little younger than you darling.'

'Do you think that's a problem mum. I'd like us to……..well, you know, become proper friends.'

'In what way darling? What do you mean by that Arlo?'

'I'd like him to feel that he can come round here whenever he wants to, or needs to. I like him mum. Did he tell you he's got his Kent Test, the 11 plus thing, in four weeks? And thanks for altering his school sorts.'

'Oh that. Easily done. And no, I had no idea he had to go through that ghastly process. Goodness, that a bit rough when he's just started at St. Judes. It doesn't give him much time to prepare. Do you think he has a chance?'

'No idea really. Do we still have those sample papers we worked on when I did it?'

'I'm sure we do still have those somewhere. I'll look. But Amy will have. I can ask her?'

Amy is mum's best friend and helped me a lot, privately. My problem wasn't answering the questions correctly, but my pace. I was too slow. The Kent test is a very clever device designed to beat the kids who are coached within an inch of their lives for it, and find the kids who are really bright problem solvers in the Numeracy and Reasoning tests. The English is different. That is a real test of your grasp of the grammar and understanding. The good early readers have the advantage with this one, and the middle-class kids who have been talked to since day one. So many kids are not engaged in family or any other kinds of conversation at all. The mothers are all on their phones all day; or watching daytime television. The lucky ones learn early how to hold and contribute to conversation and therefore expand their vocabulary. And they read.

Mum found the papers. I looked through the samples and I'm amazed I ever passed the maths thing, but the English was easy. They are reasonably straightforward, but you need, at least I did, some practice to get to the necessary pace required in the limited time allowed. But how will Kerry cope with it?

I think of a number. I multiply it by 5. I add 3. I subtract 8. The answer is

95. What number did I start with?

One of the following numbers is the correct answer 15 20 25 30

Got it? The answer is 20. Of course you did, but without practice, unless you are very quick, you might be taking too long over it.

In the two sentences below, the letter below the best word or words need to be chosen so they make sense and use correct English. Circle the correct letter.

He waited, silently hoping the beast couldn't wouldn't shouldn't could've return. A B C D

He hoped that the branch would beer bear bare bring his weight.

A B C D

Not too difficult. Answers, B, and then B again.

'Have you seen this kind of thing before Kerry?'

'Sort of. Are we ging to go through all of them?'

'If you want to? It should improve your pace because you'll be expecting more or less what you get in front of you on the day.'

I'm watching Kerry's face a he ploughs his way through the various disciplines, some of it language based, some arithmetical, and others about visual conundrums, all incredibly, and probably expensively devised by a group of clever boffins, all designed to weed out the brighter boys and girls from the rest. I'm not arguing for the wisdom or the justice or the fairness of this system but that's what we've got in this corner of England. So far it has worked for me. I don't have to sit in a room of kids who constantly disrupt teaching. I sit in a room where one or two might try it on, but generally don't succeed.

Kerry has a beautiful face, so open and friendly. But his spirit and soul is vulnerable. That's what mum thinks and so do I. She knows I've got a soft spot for him. I don't know what's happened in his life to necessitate his moving down south to live with his granny. I think mum has found out a couple of things. She works as a classroom assistant so she's used to dealing with children, all sorts, with all sorts of problems they don't even know about. She is a child psych and worked in the Health Service but felt she needed a break so now she goes into schools and talks to kids all day. I'm sure she's really good at it. She has a knack of getting inside peoples' heads and getting to the core of a problem, me included! She knows I prefer boys to girls. She suspected it way before I began to realise myself what I was starting to feel at the onset of puberty. That's when one's preferences start to show. A lack of interest in girls for one thing. And then establishing deeper friendships with boys. And while this is going on, there are the physical changes.

No matter how much I tried to hide it, she knew I had started masturbating, or wanking as the other kids call it. I hate that word. Just say what it is; masturbating. Pure and simple. Shortly after that I carelessly left the evidence either lying under the bed in the form of a damp tissue, or on the sheets. We boys think they don't know but they do. A mother's intuition, or just believing their eyes, and ears too, is more than enough for her to know what her little boy is up to these days. Mothers are not daft. They have friends who have older sons and they tell them what to expect.

'Wait 'till your lone hits puberty Jane.' Says her friend Amy who has a boy aged fourteen. 'You'll find soggy tissues under the pillow or on the floor under his bed, or stains on the sheets. You'll know. He'll come down a bit late for breakfast looking a bit tired. Or you'll find a magazine or torn out pages with naked girls posing. Something along those lines, or have a listen outside his door, but don't let him catch you. He'll be very cross with you. It's a very private thing for boys. You mustn't interfere with their development. It's all perfectly natural. I know George started quite early; around eleven I think it was. His bed, his old one, squeaked a bit. The springs or something. I always knew when he was having a good go, bless him. Leave a box of tissues for him to use rather than getting it on the sheet, but don't say anything to him. That will annoy him. But he won't mind you knowing that he's growing up.'

'It was girls was it Amy?'

'Yes, always girls. Why? Has Arlo……….?'

'I think so. There's a boy on his bus now. They sit together on the back seat. I think something has sparked in him; and with this boy. He's very sweet. Kerry. Lovely dark hair and pretty eyes. Arlo has him over regularly these days.'

'Ah. Is he. Taking him upstairs to show him his toys?'

'Umm, always. They're in the kitchen for a few minutes to get that bit over and then it's upstairs. They're up there for ages. I know he's taken a couple of the books from our bookshelf recently, both about sex. We got them years ago and forgot about them and he's found them.'

'Well that's fine isn't it?'

'One deals with gay sex techniques. It's very explicit.'

'Right. May I ask why you've got a book about gay sex?'

'Brian was given it. He said it was of no interest but he didn't like to throw it away.'

'Ok. Has Brian ever said………..'

'No, but I don't think he's ever got over his boarding school days. He's admitted a few things. Affairs he had there. You know, the usual things that happen in those places, crushes on boys. Older boys; and one teacher. He' always talking about his old art teacher. I think it must be him. I think he modelled for him when he was quite……..'

'Oh dear. But all in the past now?'

'No. He goes to those reunion things a couple of times a year. He's away for two or three days.'

'Right, ok. Another coffee Amy?'

Back from school one afternoon I found a box of Kleenex on my bedside cabinet. I looked at it and instantly knew . I was mortified, but in another way, rather thrilled. I felt more grown up, more of the world, empowered to take responsibility. I was at last growing up. It's like that with Kerry. I want to help him. Nurture him a bit. Protect him from all ills, but at the same time, love him. Yes, I want to love him, hug him and tell him how I feel about him. I want to cry with him when he's sad, and laugh with him when he's happy. I want to do everything with him. I want to tell him that I love him but of course I can't do that. Only in my dreams. Then I can. I dreamt last night that we made love in my little bed together. We had beautiful sex. I came inside his gorgeously tight and gripping little bottom as he cried with joy. He came too, just as I did, but nothing came out.

I went downstairs to thank my mother. She had her back to me in the kitchen busying herself, probably expecting me, and waiting for some reaction to her gift.

'Thanks mum.'

'What for darling?' She says not turning round.

'For the tissues. I saw them. Thanks.'

There were tears in my eyes as she approached, taking off her apron.

'Oh darling.' She said, wrapping me up in her arms.

I looked at her.

'Are you pleased darling?'

'I suppose I am. How long have you known?'

'A little while now. I'm thrilled for you. You know I'm always here darling, if you have any worries. Please, please tell me. I can help, I really can and I would like to if you will allow me to. Please remember that.'

'I will mum. There is something.'

'Is it to do with Kerry?'

'Yes it is.'

No prizes for guessing what that something is.

'You must remember Arlo, that he's younger than you. Quite a bit younger.'

'Only a year and three quarters mum.'

'Yes, but at his age that's quite a significant difference. He's not at the same physical, and very importantly, the same emotional stage of his development as you are. What you are beginning to think about more seriously now hasn't occurred to him yet, at least I doubt it.'

'He's like me; I think. We've talked about it.'

'Right. That's interesting. But physically……'

'No, you're right mum.'

'Is this why you like him so much Arlo? The fact that he's younger?'

I wasn't sure how to answer her question. I've not thought about that aspect of it. It. What is it, exactly?

'I'm not sure. He's like a kid brother might be, if I had one. You just want to cuddle him, really hard. I know he'd love me to do that. He's missing things like that. It's what he needs.'

'I know darling, he does, very much, and I'm not saying for one minute that you two should not be friends. What do you think you would feel if you both cuddled together?'

What would I feel if we cuddled? I know what I would feel. I've already seen it, hidden away in there, but not felt it. Last night I did feel it, albeit in my imagination. It was totally and completely wonderful.

'I think I'd feel excited.'

That was the best way I could put it.

'Right. Do you think he would too?'

'Yes mum. I know he would.'

'But you haven't done anything like that so far?'

'No mum, we haven't.'

'But you would like to. Both of you?'

'Yes we would. I'm sure he would. He seems pretty keen to be……..friends.'

'It doesn't take me to tell you Arlo, that you have to be very careful in this situation. It is of paramount importance that you don't make him feel that he has to do something he's not entirely comfortable with. Am I making myself clear?'

'Yes mum, perfectly.'

'One last thing, just to clarify. Are you noticing any kind of physical change in you , when you're close to him?'

'Yes mum. I get sort of feelings I don't usually get. Feelings, sensations really, that I have never had before if that makes sense. It's not nervousness; a kind of excitement I think, in my tummy. And you know what boys can get sometimes? Down there? It just comes when you don't want it to, like it did when Aunty Betty told me off for it? Do you remember that? Last summer on Hove beach when we spent the day with her at her hut on the seafront?'

'Yes darling I do remember. That was silly of her.'

'I got one like that. On the bus. Kerry sits next to me now. I could feel him close to me, actually touching, his leg against mine. I was next to the window so it wasn't me doing it, it was him. I liked it mum. I got one of those things.'

'What about Kerry? Did he realize that he was so close to you?'

'He must have done. I could hear his breathing mum. He was the same. I looked. I could see it there. He still had it when we got off the bus.'

'Oh dear.'

'Sorry mum, but you did say to tell you anything. There's something else too.'

'Oh goodness. What Arlo?'

'You know he comes twice a week now.'

My dear mother looked shocked; before I realized my poor choice of words. I know I blushed when I realised. Blushed good and proper. Mum noticed. She just looked at me, waiting for clarification I assume.

'He comes here, doesn't he? Twice a week. To this house. For revision sessions with me.' I said, as a rescue attempt which probably made it worse.

'Yes darling. How is he doing?'

'Not bad, but slow. Can he come on Saturdays too?' I asked, using the word come again, to water it all down.

'Yes, If that's what he wants, or needs?'

'He could do with more sessions.' I said, making it awkward, again. Sessions . The boys at school talk about 'sessions' with girls, as in 'I had a fantastic session with Rossy last night. I came twice. She is so hot that girl.' That kind of thing, and all lies, every effing word of it.

That thought got my tummy fluttering; a session with Kerry. How I would love that to come about, and I know he would. On the bus he's been edging closer and closer to me. Last Friday he made it pretty obvious. Oh, that lovely hand was so close to mine! On Monday, the next time I'll see him, I'm anticipating further progress on that front. Meanwhile I need to keep on the offensive with my dear mother.

'So does that mean he can stay?'

'What do you mean by stay Arlo?'

Here goes……the big question .

'Stay the night mum. He's already asked me if he can. His granny is really old and I'm sure she would love him to. It takes the pressure off her doesn't it? That would be a kind thing to do for her, and Kerry. Will you promise to at least think about it? For me; and Kerry; and his granny?'

I can do emotional blackmail when I need to.

I'm going upstairs for a bit, and when I come down, I'll have the answer from her. She won't keep me waiting with that popular excuse, 'I'll need to ask your father.'

Forty-five minutes later.

'Hi mum. That smells good. Did anyone tell you that you are a fantastic cook? And you're a very loveable mummy. May I have hug………please?'

That should do the trick!

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The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 3