A Pure and Honest Heart
by Zambezi
Chapter Four
Brad hated Christmas. The biggest problem was that it was chiefly a religious festival, and he regarded religion as a load of hocus-pocus that rational people should avoid. Then there was the Church, home to some of the most sanctimonious and intolerant people he had ever met. He had a mental note in the back of his mind to find out more about secular humanism. He didn't know exactly what that was, but it sounded much more reasonable to him. The other problem was that Christmas was, according to some, the season of goodwill to all. Brad had never found much goodwill in many of his fellow pupils at Trinity - at any time of the year. At Christmas, they seemed particularly nasty with all the competitive present boasting and one-upmanship that seemed to go on. He knew that he'd never be able to compete. The year before, he had been delighted when his parents had bought him his hi-fi system. So what if it was made in Korea? He didn't own anything so valuable, and he had been immensely proud of it. The trouble was, Brad had been dismayed when the first pupil he had shown it to turned his nose up at it. He could never compete with Bob Davis's brand new Jeep Wrangler. Now, he knew that it would get even worse in January when school restarted.
Thus, Brad had very mixed feelings when the last day of the Michaelmas term dawned. Sure, the idea of four weeks' holiday seemed wonderful, but that meant that in four weeks' time he'd be having to say goodbye to Sarah and his family again. He hated that even more than saying goodbye to people like Tony, who had left the day before for the flight to Harare.
With a certain amount of trepidation, he seated himself in the Chapel for the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols which traditionally began the Christmas holiday every year. The little building was packed; nearly every boy had his family there. Brad's family never came to functions like this; they simply felt out of their depth and Brad was usually left to mingle with the overseas pupils whose families were also unable to attend.
This year seemed different. Brad had figured that his last Christmas at Trinity would provoke perhaps stronger feelings than usual, but this year there was something completely different which he couldn't quite put his finger on.
As usual, the service began with Once in Royal David's City. A young boy treble who had been a real discovery when he joined the choir a month or two before was chosen to sing the opening stanza. Both of Richard's parents were in the congregation to listen to their son's debut solo, although Mr Stephens had been in charge of seating and had tactfully placed them as far apart as possible. The performance was, however, aimed at only one person in the building. Brad knew it, and was feeling a trifle uncomfortable. He had encouraged Richard to audition for the part because it seemed the right thing for him to do, and as he sat transfixed in the boy's gaze he prayed that no one else noticed where Richard was looking.
Afterwards, Brad was loading his suitcase into a taxi ready for the short ride to the station and the journey home to his family when he heard a voice calling his name. Richard came running up to him, panting. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"
"Well you'd better make it quick, 'cos I'm going to miss my bloody train unless I go right now!"
"I just wanted to thank you for helping me sort out my plans for the holidays. I really appreciate your help. Can I have your contact details in case I need to talk to you?"
Brad quickly scribbled down an address and number on the back of his service booklet as he sat down in the back of the minicab. "I'm sure you'll be fine, but I'll be at home most evenings. Call me whenever you need to."
"Thanks, and thanks for everything again."
"You're welcome. I guess I'll see you in January, then. By the way, Richard, your singing was beautiful. You have an amazing talent." Brad gave a contented smile, then added, "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Brad. I'm gonna miss our talks, you know."
The taxi driver fired up the engine. Richard closed the door for his House Captain, who mouthed an "I'll miss you too" over the din. The taxi pulled away.
As he finally got out through the school gates, Brad sat back and reflected on the term just ended. It had been his first term in office, and although as the House leader he knew he had been fairly mediocre compared to some of the flamboyant characters who had held the post in years gone, he also knew that he had been excellent at the job he had been briefed to do: the nasty bullies in his senior year had been kept more or less under control, and the juniors had therefore been allowed to settle in and find their feet without being in constant fear for their well-being. It didn't make for an exciting life in Wordsworth House, Trinity, but it made it far better for the vast majority for most of the time.
He had been down to Oxford University for his interview and was waiting to see if he would get an offer of a place. Even if he wasn't absolutely convinced, his family and teachers thought he would get in. That meant he would have to redouble his efforts in the classroom, but the bulk of his coursework was over and much of the substantive classroom teaching was winding down to begin a long stretch of revision. All in all, things were looking pretty good.
But Brad had been around long enough to realise that there was always a cloud on the horizon. Frankly, his relationship with Richard was troubling him. Everything he knew about boarding school life suggested that Sixth Form and Third Form do not mix with each other by choice. Although his own standards told him that when a child came to him for friendship and acceptance then that was what he gave, he somehow also knew that he had to keep it secret from everyone else for both of their sakes. To Brad, sitting quietly with Richard chatting about nothing in particular - or nothing at all - seemed the most natural, comfortable thing in the world. To everyone else in the House however, the friendship which was gradually developing would be wholly unnatural. He was happy in the boy's company, but somehow ashamed that he enjoyed it and furious that he had to keep it secret. Sarah, he thought, would understand, and he knew that the first place he would head when he got home was her house. He rather hoped, too, that her parents wouldn't be there!
Deep in thought, the other thing he gradually became aware of was just how tired he was. He hadn't slept for two nights trying to complete his History project before the end of term, and had somewhere even played a full game of hockey since he last got out of bed on Thursday morning. He must have dozed off, because it wasn't until the driver woke him up that he realised he had already arrived at the station.
The journey home to the family farm outside Faversham required a cross-London transfer by tube. He hated big cities, but was still mesmerised, like a kid in a candy store, by the pace and bustle of London only ten days before Christmas. It was already dark, cold, and there was a light sleet falling. Brad figured that scenes like this were what inspired Dickens in his writing.
Several hours and a cancelled train later Brad was home, hugging his parents, his now thirteen year old brother Jamie and Rosie, his six year old sister. "So what have I missed since half term?" He was ecstatic about being home, but he instantly sensed something was badly wrong. His mother put an arm around him and led him over to the wall unit which held the few family photographs on display.
"We heard some bad news from Brighton this morning."
"Grandma?" Brad asked needlessly, referring to his only other living relative in the country. He suddenly became acutely aware of a clock ticking very loudly somewhere in the room. It chimed 9pm.
"I'm afraid your grandmother had a stroke this morning. The nurses at the home called an ambulance very quickly but it seems that even if she survives she'll be badly disabled for the rest of her life. We're going down there tomorrow to see her - you will come, won't you?"
"Of course I will, Mum. You know that for me family always comes first." Sarah would just have to wait. "Does Uncle Gareth know?" Gareth was his mother's brother - his father had no relatives left - but now lived with his own family in Cape Town. He had vague memories of meeting him once, many years ago, but they hardly knew each other except through the usual family photographs which went out every year and the odd phone conversation every few months. Brad didn't need to wait for his mother to reply. "I'll call him now."
Ten minutes later, Brad slowly returned the phone to its cradle. "Are we going to go there tomorrow?" he asked, unnecessarily. Taking in the nod from his mother, who was on the verge of tears, he looked at Jamie, "Plan a route. I'll drive." Brad figured that someone responsible ought to take charge while the adults were still in shock.
Brad's Grandma died late the following morning, with her daughter, three of her grandchildren and son-in-law around her. Immediately afterwards Brad took the ancient family Sierra up to Heathrow to meet Gareth, his wife and their two children off the flight from Cape Town that afternoon. As they headed down the M23 back to Brighton, Brad mused that this must have sucked, arriving just after the event without the chance to say goodbye. He was impressed with the dignity with which his uncle and cousins carried themselves. He hoped it ran in the family.
The funeral was a muted affair, coming as it did three days before Christmas. The week leading up to it was a daze, mainly sat in motorway traffic as the battered Sierra battled back and forth between Faversham and Brighton. He did, however, find time to check his email at an internet cafe and respond to Richard Young with details of his bad news. For practical reasons the South African contingent decided to stay in England for Christmas with the Johnsons, which meant his cousin Henrik, a handsome strapping lad of 16, continued to share the double bed in Brad's room while 14 year old Jacques topped and tailed with Jamie in the single bed in his room.
One evening, as they were lying in bed about to go to sleep, Henrik turned to Brad and asked out of the blue "What are your thoughts on gay people?"
"To be honest, I don't know any openly gay people so I never really thought about it."
"You know one."
"Who?"
"Me dummy. I may be a perfect little boertije in my mother's eyes but I can't deny who I am. Luckily Dad, your uncle, brings some of that famous British liberalism to our perfect but blinkered Afrikaaner world and they are pretty accepting of it all. I just wanted to see if you were all so open-minded. Dad says you are, that his family always were."
"I guess knowing that about you doesn't make me look at you any differently. You're still my cousin and I still like you. I don't ever recall consciously choosing to be straight, and I can't imagine anyone would choose to be gay. I never really thought about it until you just asked, but I guess I base my opinion on people for the choices they make, not for ones they can't."
Henrik moved a hand over to rest on Brad's chest. "I appreciate that. Thanks. You are a really attractive guy Brad. It's a real shame we can't have anything more."
Brad was slightly taken aback. Here was his hunky cousin, a back row rugby forward and general nice guy, coming on to him. "Uh, Hennie, I have a girlfriend, Sarah. You met her this afternoon, remember?" Strangely, though, Brad didn't feel at all uncomfortable. He knew he was straight, that nothing would ever happen with Henrik, and that he could cope with a homosexual crush from his very handsome cousin. His sexuality was not in doubt; on the contrary he rather enjoyed the attention.
"Yes, of course I remember. Nice girl."
"Goodnight Hennie."
"'Night Bradley."
Brad dreamed, once again, about Sarah. They had just walked through the woods near the villa in Provence and had got back to the house horny, heading straight for bed via separate bathrooms so that they were clean in all the right places. He scooted up against her, running his hand over her smooth body before licking her from navel to neck. He pulled back up to spoon against her for a while, before reaching his arm around to gently grasp and manipulate her cock through her boxers.
Brad awoke with a start. Last time he had checked Sarah most definitely did not have a cock. He looked at his cousin lying next to him. Henrik was looking right back, a rather smug grin on his face. "I never knew you cared. You should have said something"
"Fuck you. I was dreaming about Sarah."
"Hehehehe. Of course you were."
"Hey, just because I am a horny teenager it doesn't mean I'm not straight OK?"
"Course not."
"Fuck you again."
The boys rolled over and went back to sleep, although for Brad it look rather longer as he replayed over and over in his mind holding his cousin's throbbing cock.
* * *
Brad's uncle, aunt, and cousins left to head back to South Africa the day after Boxing Day, although not before Henrik had planted a big kiss on Brad's lips to as a thank you for his hospitality over the previous ten days. Brad blushed a bit, but somehow didn't feel remotely perturbed despite the strange looks they both got from all four parents.
The following day a small parcel arrived for Brad with a Guildford postmark. He opened it to find a new Omega Seamaster watch inside, along with a short handwritten letter from Richard.
Dear Brad
By the time you read this Christmas will have been and gone.
I was sorry to hear about your Grandma and wanted to do something to make you feel better, just like you always do for me when I am hurting. I found Tony F on ICQ and he told me that this is the one tangible thing that he knew would make your life better right now. I hope he wasn't joking, and that you enjoy it.
My Mum reckons you'll be reluctant to accept it because you'll probably feel you need to pay me back somehow. That's easy: come and stay with me for a few days before school starts again.
Looking forward to seeing you soon, one way or the other.
Richie
"Of course you are going to stay with him. You're giving the bloody watch back" was the response from Brad's father when presented with the news later that day.
The day after that, Brad was up at 0500 to start work with the cows. After he finished setting up things in the milking shed he stepped out into the yard to give himself two minutes to think. And all he could think of, no matter how hard he tried, was Richard Young, and how he had put an arm around him one evening at school weeks previously and had wanted to protect him from everything the world could throw. Now it seemed like Richard was looking out for him.
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