Unnatural Relations

by Mike Seabroook

  When he had got it all out, now blurting too quickly and tripping over his tongue, now faltering and sometimes dissolving into brief bouts of sobbing, Christopher lay for a while, thinking. He was, he admitted to himself, very scared. By any interpretation, and whatever allowances one made for Jamie's possibly exaggerating in his fear and hysteria, Potten senior sounded a formidable man. Christopher was by no means a weakling or a milksop and he was least of all a coward; but he certainly wasn't a fighting man, and against a man of the size, strength and power of David Potten, as described by his son, he reckoned he had no earthly chance of escaping injury. On the other hand, he was quite decided that he was not going to run away from the thing.

  "Wh...what can you do but keep out of his way?" asked Jamie tremulously, blinking at him through wet eyelashes and looking, Christopher thought, heart-breakingly appealing. He smiled down at him and kissed him on the nose. "Well, I don't know, love, but what I do know is that I can't just keep out of his way. Why, I'd never be able to walk down the street without wondering if the big bloke walking towards me was your father and getting ready to break my jaw when he got level with me. He sounds pretty obsessive. It might fester in him for years, and I'd never have any peace of mind. No, love, I've got to face it out somehow."

  "He... he's terribly strong," said Jamie. "And he's... he's...

  I think he's a bit mad," he said, whispering the dread word. "I've seen him in all sorts of baits, but I've never seen him anything like he was yesterday. He was doing all sorts of strange things, laughing when there was no cause and so on. And one minute he'd be bawling his lungs out at me, and the next he was silky and..." He groped for the right words. "Next minute he'd be, sort of, sinister and menacing, and all the time he'd got these blazing eyes. He looked at me as if he hated me, Christopher. As if I was... well, as if I was just some sort of filth. He called me that - amongst other things. I've never heard anything sound as horrible. It was really nasty.

  "I didn't think I was frightened of him. I mean, I haven't liked him for years, but I never thought he'd ever actually do anything to harm me. But yesterday, you know, I thought once or twice he was going to kill me. I really think he's mad, Christopher. And I don't think you should go near him. He'll hurt you, Chris, and I couldn't bear that. I'd kill him if he hurt you. I don't know how, but I would. But that wouldn't help you."

  "All right, now, Jamie. Hush now, and we'll think it out between us. I promise you I won't put myself in any danger. If it looks as if I'm likely to get badly hurt I'll run for it. But I don't think he'd go completely off his head and do me any serious damage in public. Now just settle down with me, and let's think." And Jamie, starved all his life of someone to trust, and trusting Christopher implicitly, obediently curled up in Christopher's arms, nestled his head against Christopher's neck, and began to feel better for having found one constant in an uncertain world.

  Christopher, conscious that for once his masterful younger lover was not feeling masterful at all, putting him in charge, held him close and gave himself to thoughts which were unpleasant to say the least. Morning drifted into afternoon. In the afternoon they made love, first gently and tenderly, then passionately and at length with a desperation that flowed from the imminent parting. Jamie got hysterical again as the time approached when he would have to set off back to the headmaster's house, and pleaded desperately with Christopher to let him stay longer; but Christopher gently but firmly made him wash and dress.

  "You can't break your word to them," he said, striving to hide his own deep distress. "They've been wonderful to you, and you can't play ducks and drakes with them. You must go back, and be back when you said you would. You must see that Jamie." Jamie did, and eventually he allowed himself to be led through the trees and back along the towpath. They held hands as long as they dared. When they reached the bridge where they had parted the night before they at least had the comfort of going the same way for a while longer. "I'm going to call this the Bridge of Sighs," said Christopher sadly as they crossed it. "Why?" asked Jamie, to his surprise. Christopher explained, and Jamie gave him a damp edition of his devastating smile. Soon after that they parted, and went to their homes deeper in love than ever, and deeper still in pain.

  ***

  Edith Lane had not been thirty years the wife of a schoolmaster for nothing. She had ministered to countless thousands of boys in all their diversity of needs, and was an expert reader of signs. Her heart went out to Jamie when he sidled waif-like into the kitchen. "Hallo, dear," she said cheerfully. Ignoring his watery attempt at a smile she sat him down and quickly produced an enormous mug of tea. She sat next to him and sipped her own tea, pretending not to notice his downcast head. After a few minutes she ruffled his hair and ordered him, kindly but in a voice that brooked no refusal, to drink his before it got cold. He slowly lifted his head and, although she was half torn apart by the grief in his face, she chattered cheerfully and inconsequentially until, eventually, with a feeling of considerable triumph, she extracted a reluctant smile from him. Soon she made him laugh, and the evening's cure was begun.

  Having hauled him out of the depths she worked on him assiduously until he was well towards his normal self. Judging her moment with the utmost care, she waited for a lull in the chatter. Then, catching his eye and holding it she allowed her face to straighten and said, very gently and quietly, "Have you told him?" He looked faintly startled, but she gave him no time to reflect. "I mean Christopher. You've seen him today, of course. What I want to know is, have you warned him about your father? It's very important, don't you think?"

  "Oh, yes, terribly important," he said, and then sat back, his eyes widening as he realised what had been said. "You knew?" he said, gazing at her. "Knew, dear? Knew what?" she replied, poker faced.

  "You knew I'd seen Christopher."

  This was too much for her. She sat back in her chair, threw back her head and went into peals of laughter. "Jamie, my dear boy, I've been sitting here for the last half hour gently probing with a pin to winkle you out of your shell, and it has been written all over your face, in capital letters, if not in neon strip lighting, that you've been with Christopher. Of course I knew. I've just been biding my time to make sure that you warned him of the danger he's in. Because he is in some danger, isn't he?"

  Jamie's face darkened with worry. "Yes, Ma'am, he is. My father's violent. I didn't realise how bad it was until yesterday, but he would have hurt me badly if I hadn't got out of the way. I was lucky. And he said..." He broke down, and for a moment looked close to tears, but he rallied. "He said he was going to find Christopher and break every bone in his body. I had to get warning to him. Didn't I, Mrs Lane?"

  "Why, of course you did. You did quite right." She took his mug and refilled it. "There you are dear. Now then, we've got an hour or so before my husband gets back. He's supervising the play until about six-thirty this evening. I'm sure you know that he is as much on your side as I am, and we both want nothing but to do what's right for you. But I wondered if you might like to talk to me about Christopher. It's sometimes easier for men to talk to a woman about this sort of thing. You don't have to tell me anything, you know that too, I hope. But if you would like to get things off your chest, I think you'll find it may be a relief. You haven't been able to talk about things much, have you?" she added, glancing shrewdly at him.

  "No, Ma'am, I've never had anybody to talk to," he mumbled. "Until Christopher. I can tell him anything. But I... I'd like to tell you about him, if you really..."

  "Come on then, dear. Let's go in the other room. It's a bit more comfortable than this."

  When Dr Lane walked in, exhausted from his exertions with the school dramatic society and Twelfth Night, he found Jamie in full flood. His wife was a very good listener, and, with a little judicious prompting here and there, she had extracted virtually the whole story from him. He had still withheld Christopher's surname and address, and she did not press him for these details, feeling that everything she heard was privile
ged. She had no intention of breaching Jamie's hard-won and very shaky trust. Dr Lane quietly left the room and didn't return.

  ***

  David Potten pulled his BMW on to the kerb directly opposite the Rowe family's house and switched off the lights. He lit a cigarette and opened the window to release the smoke, but took care to keep the glowing end out of sight below the level of the glass. There were very few people about in the quiet street of smallish semi-detached houses, but there were several lights on in the Rowes' house. He sat there, smoking cigarette after cigarette, for almost three hours and saw hardly a soul.

  He was thinking about giving it up as a bad job and driving back for a late pint in the Golden Hind when a light went out upstairs in the house he was watching. A few moments later another went on just inside the front door. The door opened, and a man came down the short path and began wallking up the street past Potten's car.

  There was a streetlight thirty yards ahead. As the man approached it Potten drew away from the kerb and, with his lights still off, pulled alongside him. Under the lamp he saw that the man was in his middle forties, slim but well built. He thought he could detect some resemblance to the face in his photograph, but it was too slight for certainty. From the darkness of the car he called, "Excuse me, are you Bob Rowe?" The man halted in surprise. "Yes, that's..." He got no further, as Potten slammed his foot on the accelerator and the car roared off. Before Rowe had gathered his wits enough to note the colour, size or shape of the darkened car it had disappeared round a bend in the street. He mused for a moment, then shrugged, dismissing the incident as a prank, and continued on his way to the local pub.

  David Potten entered the Golden Hind, in time for his Jate pint after all, feeling very pleased with himself. He had not felt ready to go stalking his prey yet, for, half demented though he was with rage, resentment and the paranoia that was taking hold of him, he could still think coherently enough to realise that even a chance blow in the area of his injuries could be disastrous. But he had established beyond doubt that he had the right address, and spied out the land. He drank his whisky and chatted to Len the landlord in a high humour.

  ***

  Christopher Rowe watched a bit of television and five minutes after the set was switched off he couldn't have said what he had been watching. He toyed with his dinner and answered absently when anyone spoke to him, while the rest of his family grinned at each other. Eventually he went upstairs. He had some preparatory work that he wanted to get finished before he took his place at university in a couple of months' time. But the associations kept reminding him that he would be moving over a hundred miles away. Jamie and he had talked about it briefly in an abstract way, but it was so large a lion in their path that by common consent they had since avoided the subject, marking it as something to be dealt with when it had to be but not before. All the same, the words persisted in swimming wildly before his eyes. He gave it up.

  Throwing himself on the bed he lay with his hands behind his head, considering the options facing him. He thought they reduced themselves to two. He could tell his parents the entire story and seek their advice and protection; or he could simply wait for Potten to make his assault, fight as best he could and do his utmost to see that he escaped without serious injury. Privately he had already made up his mind to follow this course.

  He had subjected himself to a rigorous cross-examination, asking himself if he was afraid to tell his parents and merely putting off the dreaded moment. He concluded that he was willing to tell them, but not yet ready. The situation with Jamie was too complicated; then Neil was in the throes of examinations at school and he didn't want to be the cause of any further distraction. He wasn't at all sure that Neil was distractable, but he liked his brother, and wasn't willing to take the chance. Making a mental promise that as soon as some sort of stability had been secured for Jamie he would talk to his parents, he lay and agonised. He admitted to himself that he was quite badly scared, but he felt a little happier at having come to a decision. He was courageous enough to choose the best of a range of options of which all were bad and most were verging on the frightful. He turned his thoughts to where he could always find solace, and daydreamed of Jamie. Downstairs his brother Neil was tormenting his mother with accounts of the things he planned to say to Chris about being in love, until she cuffed him in exasperation and he fled, hooting gleefully, from the kitchen.

  Jamie was excused school again the following day, and took some work that Dr Lane had set him down to the swim. He and Christopher spent a calmer day. They lay in rather brighter weather and went through the schoolwork together. Jamie, who was knowledgeable about wildlife, pointed out to Christopher, who was not, seven species of duck, four of geese and two of grebe on the lake. They made love peacefully. But of course much of their time was devoted to discussion of current affairs, in the course of which Christopher told Jamie of the odd incident last night, which his father had recounted when he returned from his drink. Jamie's eyes widened. "It could've been my dad," he said in alarm.

  "It could have been," assented Christopher. "But I don't see how he can possibly have known where to come. You've never said anything, have you?" Jamie's face showed his distress. "No, Christopher, I've never said a word to anyone that might give you away, honestly. I promise I..."

  Christopher drew him closely into his arms. "Jamie, my darling, of course I know you haven't. I know you wouldn't. I only wondered if maybe you'd let it slip out without realising it. I wouldn't blame you in the least if you had with the pressure you've been under lately. I don't suppose it can have been your old man at all. As I say, I just can't think how he would know where to come."

  "I can," said Jamie, in great distress. "I've just remembered. You know the day you gave me the photograph of you? The day before yesterday? Well, when I got home I changed into uniform. I always used to do that, so they'd think I'd been at school. And when I changed I transferred your picture into my school bags, so I could have it with me. I was going to keep it under my pillow, so I could look at you when I got up, and kiss you and so on. Only in the fight with dad he grabbed me by the seat of my trousers and sort of chucked me about. And when I got to the head's house after the fight I found the back pocket half hanging off. He must've torn it off when he grabbed me, and your picture must've fallen on the floor. Oh, God, Chris, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

  "Of course you didn't mean it," murmured Christopher, stroking his hair. "How could you have helped it? It doesn't matter."

  "But he must have asked people who it was in the photo," Jamie gulped miserably. "He must've read what you wrote to me on the back. And when I got to the head's I found the trousers tom and forgot all about your photo. Oh, Chris, how could I?"

  "Forget it. I'll get you another photograph, a better one this time, and write something better on it for you. I'm not ashamed of what I wrote. I'm proud of what I said to you. I'm proud of loving you, and proudest of all that it was me you came to, when you could have had so much better..."

  "I'd never find anyone better than you, Chris," said Jamie, burrowing against Christopher and nestling his head against his stomach.

  "You could have anyone you wanted, I think, Jamie," said Christopher seriously. "I shall never want anyone but you," was the muffled reply from his lap.

  "Well, I hope not," said Christopher, quivering. "But I owe it to you to see this business with your dad through. Once it's over and your situation's been settled properly, I'll talk to my parents. They'll be a bit shocked, I should think, but I don't think they'll turn on me." His face darkened in anxiety as he imagined the scene. "At least," he amended, "I'm pretty sure they won't."

  "I just think you're pretty," said Jamie, and grinned up at

  him lasciviously for a moment before sobering again.

  They fell silent, both occupied with thoughts of their own. Jamie wondered about Christopher's family, while Christopher's mind persisted in unreeling various pictures of the confrontation with David Potten, an
d he drew no comfort from any of them.

  Jamie sat up abruptly after a long silence. "Christopher," he asked without preamble, "will we live together one day? When this is all over, I mean?"

  The question was so unexpected that it jolted Christopher out of his brown study. He looked at Jamie, first with eyebrows raised in surprise, then with great tenderness. "I suppose so," he said after a few moments' thought. "I hope so. Would you want to?"

  Jamie looked quizzically at him, then raised his eyes skywards. "Honestly Christopher, you do ask some asinine questions. Of course I shall. I'd like to now," he said more slowly. "I don't suppose we can do that, can we?"

  Christopher looked at him and gave vent to a little bark of laughter. "I don't quite think so," he said. "I haven't got a job, and I've got three years of university to do. I don't really think they'd think I was a fit and proper person to give custody of you to, do you? I'd have to see you off to school every morning before I went off to lectures." He laughed again, and suddenly succumbed to a giggling fit.

  "I don't know," said Jamie, looking dreamily into space. "I could look after the home. Get your dinner, and make sandwiches for you to take with you, and do the washing and things." He looked so seriously at Christopher as he said it that Christopher collapsed into giggling again. Jamie promptly caught the infection, and they fell onto their old blanket and rolled together in peals of laughter, healing and cleansing. They carried on the game, imagining duties for each other and tumbling from one fit of laughter into another, until they subsided weakly into each other's arms.

  ***

  Over the next couple of weeks their lives began to return to some sort of normality. Jamie returned to school, and had to possess his soul in such patience as he could muster until he could escape into Christopher's arms in the evenings. The Lanes quickly came to enjoy the presence of a lively youth in their house for the first time since their own son had left home ten years before.