The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 7

Dad and Kerry seemed to get on pretty well over Sunday lunch. I'm sure mum had primed him for this first meeting which Kerry was a bit worried about, unsurprisingly. What sort of impression he would make on dad and whether he would like him. Kerry did all the right things, unprompted by me. He spoke when spoken to, answered questions accurately and honestly and generally presented himself very well. He looked as good as usual too, still in the shorts I have handed down to him, and a few other useful items as well. Dad was good too, not pressing him on any issue such as his background or anything like that that he might have found difficult to talk about, or not even known about, and still a mystery to me at least, but I suspect mum has delved into all that and doubtless found out a few things. Miriam, his granny and saviour, is coming later for a cup of tea and then take him home to beddy byes. Tea will involve us all. Kerry even got a hair ruffle from dad. That was a good moment with smiles all round, and emotional me, made my eyes prickle. Even my big sister Fiona weighed in with some encouraging remarks. Everyone is trying to make him welcome and valued. And he is, bless him. I took him upstairs, getting one of those looks from Fiona, as in, have a nice time boys . I suppose it's pretty obvious that our friendship goes a little deeper than a just being casual buddies, and it must be showing. So what, I care not what people say or think. Why should I?

'Well done Kerry. You might have found that a bit of an ordeal but you survived it brilliantly. Dad seems to have taken to you which is good.'

'He's nice.'

'He's kind when he wants to be. Quite strict though, but fair.'

Dad is one of those lucky people who are invested with authority from birth. I have an English teacher like that who has the gift of authority, and he's also like that. I love him. He's fantastic and is threatening to make me enjoy Shakespeare, but so far failing with Milton. I guess it's never too late.

There was a long pause. Kerry is sitting on the edge of the bed looking down, his hands together.

'Thanks Arlo.' He says, finally.

'Are you alright? You look………'

I think it was relief more than anything. He's just been through a trial basically, and passed a tricky test. I moved from the chair and sat next to him and put one arm around his shoulder. He folded into me and we lay down, tight against each other. He just needs to stay exactly like this for a while. He needs nothing more than this, just to lie quietly with me for as long as it takes him.

He actually went to sleep in my arms, the sweet boy. Goodness, I am in love with this delectable creature. I could eat him, subsume him into my own body, become one with him, one being, joined for ever and ever. It actually feels quite painful. I had been gently stroking his back all that time which, amongst other things, gave me incredible pleasure. All on warm virgin skin under his tee shirt. It's nurturing I suppose. I think I'm a natural carer. It was a gesture freely and lovingly offered. We lay like that for twenty minutes, the boy in my arms. Magic minutes.

Miriam arrived bang on three o'clock. Dad was working in his study which is the small fourth bedroom. My sister Fiona has one, I have one, and mum and dad have the best and biggest one at the front of our Edwardian semi. Mum serves the tea in the front room with us boys there too. It was all a bit stiff and formal to start with, but mum knows how to do these things. We were packed off upstairs again so they could talk about everything they needed to talk about. Miriam is an old lady and anything but wealthy, at least in terms of cash, or so we think. If I know mum, she will be generous in any way she can be, and in all sorts of ways. She's just like that, very………practical. She will know what to do about all this. I fairly sure mum and dad get on well enough, still. I know one or two boys at school whose families have broken up. They still have sex too which I'm told is a good thing. How do I know that? Lets just say I do know. It was the first semen I ever saw, at the end of a Durex thingy, a condom. I hate that word. Ugly. I suppose the spermy stuff was pretty ugly too. I think it was the amount of it. The thing was lying on top of the other rubbish in the swing bin in the kitchen. What else could you do with it? I picked it up knowing what it was, and the contents just slip down to the end in a big pool of the stuff. It turned me on because it told me what I could do, sometime or other.

October has been a mild month with a couple of days of rain and then lovely sunny weather and warmer than average. I took Kerry down to Hythe beach which is just a five or six-minute walk down Stade Street and then you're onto a wide promenade that runs eastwards to Sandgate and then on to Folkestone beyond. Kids ride bikes all along there weaving amongst loads of Sunday afternoon strollers. We sat on one of the seats overlooking the sea which was relatively calm for once. We have had a couple of gales recently. Kerry has been very quiet, and I have been keeping one eye on him to check his mood. It's probably the fallout from the lunch ordeal, not to mention tea as well. Or something. I feel slightly sick again. Kerry keeps taking deep breaths. There's something going on here. He's building up to something. I know that feeling well enough. The pressure builds up and then you let go. Mum says we should all do that from time to time. Let go and just cry for as long as you need to until the pressure is released completely.

'You can tell me what it is Kerry. What the matter is? I think you need to tell me something don't you?'

'Can we go down to the water now? We could throw pebbles in?'

Some children were playing on the pebbly beach, shingle in some places, and a couple of others were timing each other as they worked their way around the massive chunks of rock that form a perimeter that surrounds a large kid's sandpit. They have to jump from one rock onto the next and then the next, and so on, like an obstacle course. It's a good game that one, who can round the course the quickest.

Pebble chucking and skimming was a good distraction that seems to get Kerry level again. Ten minutes of that is enough. He turns towards me, smiling that winning smile of his. That smile will get him anywhere and anything. He's just a metre from me.

'Go on Kerry, what is it? I know there's something bugging you?'

'I just wanted to say…….oh, nothing. It doesn't matter.'

He picks up another pebble, examines it for suitable flatness, and then side arm, floats it out on the air seawards. I took the couple of steps to get behind him and get two arms around his middle and pull him tight into me. He pushed his head back under my chin. I kissed the top of his head and held my mouth there before lowering my head so I can get my mouth level with his cheek. He got more of the same. And then I told him, probably not the best thing to have done at that moment. I told him how I felt about him. How glad I am to have met him. And something else. I said something else to him. I put one hand on his face to feel it. I love to feel this boy's face in all its beauty, its softness, the contours of his mouth and lips, all around his eyes, and his ears too. Nose as well. I went back to his eyes and felt the tears there. I felt it too, the joy and the privilege of tears. I told my very best friend in the world at this moment, that I loved him.

The pebbles are reasonably comfortable on this beach. It's all a matter of size, the larger they are, the more uncomfortable they are to lie on. These are not at all bad. We kissed because it seemed precisely the right thing to do, and what we wanted and needed, and we touched each other. We have seen each other but never touch like that before. We kissed again and touched a second time, out of sight, I think. The touching was discrete, in front and explicit. I felt a bone. His. He felt a bone too. Mine. It's amazing how kissing does that to our bodies.

There was on one slight interruption to our lovely little get-together lying on the pebbles. A mini-sized plastic football must have rolled down the upper level of shingle and came neatly to a rest just by Kerry's head. Yellow it was, with red dots all over it, about six inches in diameter. Not distracted by this inanimate intrusion, we carried on with what we doing. A few seconds later a boy, about nine maybe, stood over us staring down. He was wearing a Liverpool F C kit, I think, and a pair of those thin white flappy shorts. Breaking off from my engagement, I looked up and noticed the boy was sans underpants.

When the boy had picked up his ball and began his tortuous climb back up the steep bank of small pebbles I asked Kerry 'Did you notice something about that boy?'

'Umm.' He says, like he's just tasted something nice.

'It reminded me of something.' I teased.

We both had a discrete chuckle.

I can tell you something about Kerry. He's a very different boy when he's up , if you know what I mean by that, than when he's down. I wonder. I have often wondered what it would feel like if one was kissed in a place other than the mouth? When one considers the whole geography of the human body, that gives the kisser quite a choice. Oh well, we can but dream.

The next morning. Monday 07.55

When I arrived at the bus stop Kerry was already there. Typical of him, he must not be late. Doing the right thing is what he's about, the dear boy. I'm wondering if there will be any fallout from our encounter on Hythe beach yesterday afternoon before granny dragged him off back to hers, kicking and screaming. Her three-bed terraced house is where he should be; most of the time, but Miriam told mum how lovely it was that Kerry had 'met' someone, especially such a nice boy as Arlo. Thank you granny! How kind. I feel like going round there and telling her I'm rather pleased as well! I would leave out one important detail however, that we have now progressed a little and touched each other in a very intimate way, albeit through our clothes. That could change.

I've never had a sexual relationship with anyone, male or female, boy or girl. I'm sure I'd like girls if I knew any, but I know I like boys. I have a feeling, perhaps prophetically, that I always will.

We made our way to back of the bus, technically a 'coach', a single deck 53 seater, and really rather plush, but no loo at the back. If there was we'd have the girls going to do unnecessary wee wees all the time, thus ruining our glorious isolation and privacy back here.

'Is it ok to do maths practice tonight Arlo?'

'Of course it is. Monday, Wednesday and Fridays after school. Until you do the test. Then we can think again; if you want? I'd like to stick to our arrangement if you do?'

He does. Great. A couple of minutes pass as we glide along past Seabrook towards Sandgate and the little golf course on our right, the grey green English Channel beyond, and in the fresh breeze, a regiment of seahorses rolling in. I love the sea. I can stare at it for hours. I've tried painting it with fairly disastrous results and very messy fingers. My art teacher likes my work. Goodness knows why he does. He told me to look at those crazy American artists Jackson Pollock and Franz Kline. Why them?

'It was good on the beach yesterday Arlo.'

'It was Kerry. Lovely.'

'What was the best bit, for you?'

'Have a guess.'

'That bit, when the boy with no pants on came by?'

'Not exactly that bit, although that was……..amusing. What we were doing at the time maybe?'

'That's what I thought. That was my best bit too.'

'Now?'

It was a cooler morning and we had coats on. Just as well.

We didn't get up to any tricks at the back of the bus coming home. Kerry's school is the only stop on our journey from Hythe to Folkestone, or Cheriton to be more precise, where the trains in Channel Tunnel emerge into the light of day, and its passengers get their first sight of this precious stone set in a silver sea, to quote the dying John of Gaunt. We're doing Richard 'the turd' this term.

'You know that notice we saw on our way back from church yesterday, advertising that job for a student?'

'Yes.'

'Do you get any pocket money Kerry?'

'No. Do you?'

'Not much. Not enough.'

Mum had asked dad if I could have a bit more cash each week as I didn't dare tackle that subject with him. I thought I'd get mum to do my dirty work. When he came home he saw me about it.

'I know you help around the house Arlo, but everything has gone up in price. And I mean everything . Council tax, our food bills are getting ridiculous, gas and electric, it's all going through roof these days. And there's Budget coming in November. That's going to be bad news yet again. Sorry, we just don't have it. How about a Saturday job? Have you considered that? I wish you would.'

So that told me straight. No I can't, but it's done one thing for me. I'm going to phone that number as soon as I get upstairs. And I have no intention of telling anyone. I had taken a photo of the advert. It's someone called Phil I need to speak to. I'm just a little nervous. I have never attempted to get paid work in my life.

'Phil speaking. How can I help?'

'Hi. My name is Arlo and I saw your advert for a Saturday job a couple of days ago.'

'Right Arlo. How old are you and where do you live?'

'In Hythe and I'm fourteen; nearly.'

'Ok. Do your parents know you're phoning me?'

'No, not yet. I thought I'd phone first and if………..'

'Ok. You're at school I take it?'

'Yes. The Grammar in Folkestone.'

'Cheriton. That one? Which year?'

'Yes. Year nine.'

'Do you have an interest in photography?'

'Yes, I………take photos all the time. My friend Kerry. I take photos of him.'

'Right. Ok then. After school sometime? Any day, best after four o'clock. Would that suit you? Oh, and I'd like to see your work with……..Kerry was it? Bring that with you.'

'Do you mean portraits. That sort of thing?'

'Yes, or anything else like an activity you do. Games you play or places you go to. Things you do together. Anything you like Arlo.'

'I was wondering; could I bring him too? He's from a very poor family and he doesn't get any pocket money at all. He comes back on my bus so……….'

'Bring him along too. I can't promise anything mind. Let's just see how we go shall we? Tuesday would suit me, after the life class. That finishes at four thirty. You won't be in the way. What time does your bus get back to Hythe?'

'At four. We could be there at about ten past?'

I sat down on the bed thinking, into the lion's den! Still, it would be money, something both Kerry and I are currently rather short of. And in cash! Perfect.

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The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 7