Jack Rowan

The Story of Tim

Summary

Disclaimer

Please note: This is fiction. In real life, sexual relationships between adults and teenagers almost always lead to exploitation and physical or emotional damage, and cannot be condoned.

Author's note

The author's e-mail address is no longer active. You may send feedback to the collector using this feedback form.

Measurements

First Publication

Chapter 1. A Phone Call

I wasn't expecting Mira to phone me, but it wasn't a surprise. Mira is my brother's widow. One the whole we get along well enough, and after Tony's death we had looked after each other in a way I found unlikely, but good. That had left a feeling of alliance, but we didn't live close together, and to be honest, we only got in touch when we needed help; more usually, when she needed help.

"David Branver speaking."

"David? This is Mira."

I liked to play these calls along, prolonging the conversation until she felt obliged to come out with it. She knew; I knew that she knew. We amused each other.

"Mira! How nice to hear your voice. How's everything? How's Tim?"

Tim is her son. No, her step son; the son by a previous marriage of my brother's first wife. No relation at all, either to her or me; a casualty of modern family life. But Mira had taken him on, and continued to take him on even after Tony's death. It was one of the reasons why I liked Mira, approved of her. As for Tim, it had been three years since I had seen him at Tony's funeral. I had a vague memory of a thin, pretty child with a mop of fair hair, and green eyes, rather quiet.

"Tim's fine. Well, he's fourteen, you know; adolescence has him in its grip."

We laughed, and I continued the small talk relentlessly. After a while, we were talking about her work.

"Going well. Very well, in fact. In fact I'm off to California. It's a vast contract, a hotel complex."

Mira is an interior decorator. No, an 'environmental consultant'. A good one, very expensive.

"Actually, that's the reason I called."

Aha. And I had won. I laughed, smugly.

"Okay, okay," said Mira. "The thing is this, David. I can't take Tim. There wouldn't be anyone to look after him there. So 3; can you take him?"

So that was it. For a moment I was dumb-struck. It was hard to say no; after all, Tim was as close to me as to Mira, in a way, and I had done precious little to help her with him over the years. On the other hand, I had my life, and in many ways my life was not really an appropriate life for a fourteen-year-old boy to be involved in, no matter how obliquely.

"God, Mira. That's – well, pretty hard. I haven't had much to do with kids. I'm not sure I'd know what to do."

"He's no trouble, honestly. He'll pretty much look after himself, and it'll be good for him to get out into the country for a bit."

"It's miles from anywhere here. He'll be bored witless. And, well, you know what I am, Mira. I'm a gay man. Does it really make sense?"

"Good lord, David, you're not a child-murderer, for heaven's sake. What a bizarre thing to say! Obviously twenty years of gay rights have just whizzed right past you. I'd rather have you look after him than most of my straight friends, I can tell you."

Which was gratifying; but still. This wasn't the way I would have picked to discuss my personal life, but she had to know. "Mira, I'm a sado-masochist. I don't 3;"

"Oh, so what. You think I didn't know? In any case, I don't mind a bit of that sort of thing myself from time to time." She laughed. "More people keep a pair of handcuffs in the nightstand than you'd imagine, I think. And as for Tim, well, kids aren't so naive these days, you know. It won't bother him, I promise you." Her voice was dry. "I trust you, David. It's just not a problem."

'A pair of handcuffs in the nightstand' was in no way an adequate description of what I did. Even if kids today weren't naive, I felt that Mira herself might be a bit shocked by the well-used contents of my basement. Oh, but that was another thing.

"Anyhow the place is a mess at the moment. I'm doing work on the house."

"Excuses, excuses. Look, I can't talk now. We're already on the way. I'm at a service station and Tim's waiting in the car. We'll be there in an hour."

"What?!"

"I'll just have time for a cup of tea and then I'm off to catch my plane."

"What?! You haven't given me much choice, have you? How long will you be away for?"

"A couple of months, that's all, unless there are problems."

"Oh, for God's sake, Mira, you're impossible!"

"Aren't I? See you soon!" She laughed maliciously and hung up.

Chapter 2. A Meeting

The phone said nothing. But my plans for the next two months, maybe longer, were in ruins. Shit! What on earth could I do to keep a boy occupied for that long? And 3; well, it looked like it would be two months of enforced celibacy too. Dammit! Andy would be back in a couple of weeks. I had great hopes of Andy, hopes of something permanent, something which would make some sense of my life. The last thing I wanted was a miniature chaperone watching our every move.

It was a beautiful sunny day. I had woken in a brilliant mood, with the sun on my bed, but now I was truly pissed off. I hadn't lied when I told Mira the place was a mess. I was changing the dungeon round. I'd built a small room in the corner to use as a prison cell or cage. The toilet and shower area had been moved. Most of the work was finished now, but all my toys and equipment were still scattered round the house. The next hour was a scramble. Frantically I dragged as much as I could downstairs, collected as many of the toys as I could and crammed them into a box in by bedroom wardrobe.

By the time I had finished I was sweating in the afternoon heat. There was just time for a quick shower, and when it was done I pulled on a pair of briefs, some jeans and a tee-shirt. I was towelling my hair when I heard the sound of Mira's car pulling up. Sod it, here we go.

The very least I can do is to be gracious about it, I told myself, as I walked to the door. It's not the boy's fault, after all, and anyhow I owed Mira. Well.

Then I saw it: the Chair, I called it. Bloody hell, I should have moved that. But there it was, in the living room. There was no hope for it now. That'll give Mira something to think about, I thought with a touch of malice.

I walked out into the sunlight, avoiding the pile of bricks, the cement mixer and the heap of sand. The house may be fairly small, but it stands in a good bit of ground, and there's a two-hundred-yard [180 m] drive. I may not be Bill Gates, but by ordinary standards, I'm pretty well off. Writing airport novels certainly pays the bills.

Mira was already out of the car and digging in the boot. I kissed her.

"Well, here you are!"

She's a tiny woman, with small, fox-like features and jet black hair. She was wearing her usual black trousers with a dark shirt and a purplish waistcoat, bustling, efficient and organised. It was impossible to stay angry with her; we go too far back and had seen too many things through.

"I suppose I've been a bit of bastard," she said ruefully.

I gave an exasperated laugh. "Oh dammit, Mira, come inside."

She hauled a bag out of the boot. Then the passenger door opened. And the world went suddenly mad.

He was naked, that was my first thought. But he wasn't. He was wearing a skin-tight fawn-coloured swimsuit, and nothing else. Unless you count the flannel sweat-bands round his wrists, and the rubber flip-flops.

He was beautiful.

He was simply the most beautiful human being I had ever seen. His hair was still fair, towseled from the drive. But this was no longer a skinny kid; there was muscle there, in the exquisite lines of the arms, the full thighs and slight ridges of his stomach, in the firm chest. He was five feet and a few inches [c. 1.60 m] tall. The curves of the neck and shoulders, the delectable rounds of his arse, the tiny points of his nipples were all perfect.

The sunlight glinted from his smooth tanned skin. I just stood, thunderstruck; for a moment the world seemed to stop.

"Hello, Uncle David," he said, looking at me, with a smile.

His eyes were still green and large, the lashes absurdly long. His face was fine, delicate, a boy's face, flawless, the mouth small. He reminded me of a Japanese cartoon. I stared at him. My stomach had dropped through my boots.

I gasped and tried to get a grip.

"Forget the uncle," I said. "You make me feel as if I was about 106!"

"Is this all yours?" he said, looking round. "It's amazing!"

He seemed to be one of those boys whose voice didn't break suddenly, but gradually lowered. At the moment it was a light, sunny tenor, it seemed to me, with some of the toughness of a man showing through. Because this was no longer a boy; one glance at his swimsuit showed that. I tried not to look, I really did, but I couldn't help it.

"Well!" said Mira, as Tim ran ahead into the house, and we followed after. "Seems you won't find him such a pain after all!"

I was horrified that she had noticed my confusion. This was the sort of thing which broke up families. At least; it could lead to the lawcourts, and worse.

"Mira! I've never been into boys. Do you really think I'd 3;"

"He's exceptionally beautiful, do you think I hadn't noticed? After all, I'm a practising heterosexual!"

"Mira!" I said again.

"Oh, don't go calling the social workers, for heaven's sake. I'm a good girl. I'm a good mother, actually, for want of a better. Just because he's beautiful doesn't mean 3;"

"No, no, of course not. And of course nothing will happen. Like I said, I've never been into boys," I said firmly.

"Hm. There's always a first time. By the way, he's quite aware of the effect he has. On women AND on men. And he knows you're gay."

"Oh, lord."

"Yes. Expect fireworks. Especially if he wants something. Practice saying 'no'."

"I'm really not used to this. Teenagers. Teenage tarts."

"Not a tart. He's completely, uh, virginal, I'm fairly sure. No girls around, or boys. But definitely a flirt. And doesn't know what he's playing with."

"He's next to naked!"

"His idea. Typical. He doesn't usually wear many clothes. Get used to it."

"Oh lord," I said again. "What have I let myself in for?"

Mira laughed. "Well, you'll see, won't you? Here are my numbers in LA, by the way – give me a ring if he's completely impossible!"

Chapter 3. The Chair

I tried to avoid looking at him. The whole situation had become terrifying, and I dreaded the moment when Mira would leave. How I'd get through the next two months I had no idea. I told myself I just wanted Tim out of my life.

My dick had other ideas.

It's big dick, a good nine inches [23 cm], and thick. I thanked whatever power had made me put on some briefs. I turned away and managed to manoeuvre it sideways. I could already see that it was not going to give me an easy time of it.

"You've got a Nintendo!" he said. "Can I use it later?"

(The NES! Remember that?)

"'Course."

"Great! What else can we do?"

"Well, there are quite a few things we can go and see. The sea's not far away. There's Moulton Castle, you'll like that. And there's Manton House, it's a wildlife park, it's got good rides as well. And we can walk in the hills, if you like."

"Sounds good."

"But I have to do quite a bit of work as well, writing. Also there's the building stuff, and the grounds need looking after. Can you amuse yourself a bit? There's the Nintendo and the tv and I've lots of books and videos."

"That's okay, it's what I do at home. Have you got a computer?"

"Yes, but I use it to work. You can use it sometimes."

"Sounds as if there's lots to do," said Mira, wandering back into the living room.

"What's that painting?"

"It's by a friend of mine. It's a version of The Good Regard of the Kindly Powers. It's a mandala, you know."

"Didn't know you were into that stuff."

I'm not, of course. But I liked the painting.

That's when Tim noticed the Chair.

"What's this?"

Originally, it had been a dentist's chair. You sat in it, and it raised, and lowered, and tilted. But I had changed it. I removed most of the part you put your legs on, and replaced it with stirrups, up and to the side. And I added arms. They were all adjustable. Once my victim was in it, strapped in it (yes, the straps were all there), I could change his position as I wanted. I could get at his dick and balls and arsehole without any interference, and there was nothing they could do about it. It was good for flogging, too. And many other things. It was one of my favourites.

The last man who had been in it I had kept on the edge of coming for six hours, and then flogged to orgasm. Then I had fucked him, very hard, and very long. Tim stood by the Chair, next to naked, with his hand resting gently on the seat. My head whirled with luscious images.

"Er, it's a kind of couch."

Mira gave a burst of laughter.

"What are all those straps for?" asked Tim. He turned his head slightly towards me, and looked out of the corner of his eye. It was enchanting.

"Um 3;"

"I would suggest telling the truth," said Mira, through her laughter.

"Well, they're to hold someone in it. Um."

"Why?"

"For fun, really."

"For fun?"

"Well, it's a rather grown-up kind of fun, I suppose."

"Oh." He blushed.

"Well, Tim, you did ask," said Mira. She gave me a quizzical look. "There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there, David?"

"I told you."

"Yes, so you did. Just how far does it go?"

"Pretty far. Very far, in fact. But always consensual. And, as I said, it's a grown-up kind of fun."

"Okay, okay, I said I trust you, David, and I do."

Tim looked at us, uncomprehending. The Mira looked at her watch.

"Damn, I must be off. I can't miss the plane."

She gathered her bag and coat and started for the car, Tim by her side. I held back to allow them their goodbyes, but I couldn't help hearing them.

"Now look, Tim, try not to be a pain to David."

"I won't, mum."

"None of your lurid looks and fluttering eyelashes, give the man some mercy, okay?"

Tim giggled. It grabbed my stomach yet again.

"I think he'll be fun. I like him."

"Watch your step. Everyone has their limits, you know."

"I'll be good."

" 3;and if you can't be good, be careful!" They recited the old saw together.

They kissed. Mira got into the car and I stood by Tim as we waved her off.

Chapter 4. Getting to Know You

"Sad?"

"A bit," he answered. "But I'm used to it, really. She often has to go away. And this contract is really good. We could do with the money," he added, in a worldly-wise kind of way.

"How about some food? Did you have any lunch?"

"Nope, we just drove straight through. Mira said she'd get something on the plane."

"Okay, I'll just show you your room, then I'll make something."

The room was small, but pleasant, looking out on a wide meadow with a few trees dotted across it. In the background was my wood.

"I haven't had a chance to make your bed. Just unpack your things while I cook."

A short while later he followed me into the kitchen, with a problem. It seemed we had left most of his bags in the car. Of course, no-one had mobile phones then.

"So, what have you got?"

"Just this bag – books and records."

"No clothes? No toothbrush even?"

"No, not a thing. But it doesn't matter, I'm quite happy wearing this."

He showed off his swimssuit in a way which left almost nothing to the imagination, and gave me another of his sidelong looks, the Princess Diana one this time. It was corny, but effective. I really must stop this, I thought, I can't let myself by thrown into sexual begibbers everytime he moves.

"My dear boy, you can't wear a single swimsuit for two months." He giggled. "No, after lunch we'll just have to drive into Banbourn and get some things."

"I can't go like this!"

"Well, unless you'd prefer to go naked, I don't see what else you could wear, so I guess it'll have to do. It's your own fault."

Actually, Banbourn is tourist town, and at this time of year a fourteen-year-old wearing only a swimsuit wasn't that unusual. I put some plates of salad on the table and we ate. Or rather he ate, voraciously; I picked.

"David? How old are you?"

"I'm thirty-four." I felt like saying "thirty-four and a quarter". I supposed I was okay for my age. I run round the grounds each morning, I climb hills, I mix my own damn cement, I cut the grass myself, and my stomach was still reassuringly flat. My hair was showing no signs of thinning, with only the occasional grey one among the black. I still kept myself clean-shaven, and my hair short, and most of the rest of my body was fairly hairless.

"That's twenty years older than me!"

"Yes, and you'd better not forget it. Older, wiser. More experienced. Canny. Perceptive."

Tim laughed. "Worse at Nintendo games 3;"

"We shall see."

"You're gay, aren't you?" He had crossed this particular barrier on the run, without even pausing, although he didn't catch my eye.

"Yes, I am. Is that a problem for you?"

"No, of course not. What do think I am? Of course it's not a problem. Anyhow, Mira has heaps of gay friends."

He showed a flash of real annoyance, and I loved him.

"Have you got anyone now?" he went on.

"Got anyone?"

"You know, a partner. A, er, boyfriend."

"No. Still looking for Mr Right." As I had been since Vincent's departure, eight years ago. I winced internally. Was this the moment to talk about Andy? Probably not.

"Mr Right?" Tim laughed. "What would he be like?"

"Classified information at this moment in time." I hammed an American accent, and he laughed again. "Come on, lad, let's go and get you a garment or two. It could rain tomorrow, and then where would you be?"

Chapter 5. A Trip

"We must be careful you don't burn in this hot sun."

"I don't burn."

"Surely, if you're so fair 3; I suppose you're a natural blond?" It was my turn to give him an arch look.

"Cheek! Of course I bloody am. My pubes are fair too, do you want to check?"

"Perhaps not just now," I gulped, as a huge tourist bus passed us.

"Okay, later I'll show you. The collar and cuffs match, as James Bond said." I looked at him in amazement. "But I don't burn all the same. Mira says it's not fair."

"Not fair?"

"To be blond AND not burn. I suppose it's because I don't wear a lot of clothes most of the time."

And in fact he was tanned all over, not the flat tan of the sunbather, but the shaded tan of someone who spends a lot of time just being in the sun. Shame. I was quite looking forward to the sun block lotion scene – damn, what was I thinking?

"What are you thinking?" he echoed.

"Oh, er, never mind. Look, this is Banbourn. Let's find somewhere to park."

Then we were walking through the crowded streets of the town, me in my jeans and tee-shirt, and beside me this almost naked boy in his flip-flops.

"Not here!" he said, as we turned into a large change store.

"This is utility shopping," I said. "You can come and get clothes you like some other time."

"Oh, okay. It's just 3; Most of this stuff is pretty dull."

"Everyone needs some dull clothes."

"I suppose so, but I prefer to look extraordinary!"

"Well, you're certainly that today," I said drily, and he laughed.

We bought some shorts, a couple of pairs of jeans, some underpants. He chose little briefs, I noticed. Oddly, he insisted on a pair of pyjamas. We added another swimsuit, tight like the first, but with a complex orange and green pattern. An armless denim jacket. A few tee-shirts, a couple of ordinary long-sleeved shirts (he chose plain white), and some loose, short-sleeved ones. Then it was a large, thick pullover (for the hills), and a pair of outrageously expensive trainers. Finally a waistcoat in dark purples and reds, rather like his mother's, and a large padded jacket. And a toothbrush.

"Wouldn't you like to put some of that stuff on?"

"No. Why should I? It's a warm day, and there are lots of other people not wearing much."

"Yes, but people are looking at you."

"People ALWAYS look at me." He didn't seem annoyed or alarmed. "I'm very good-looking."

"You're very conceited." Tim laughed.

"No, I'm not. I just know it's true. I AM very good-looking, aren't I?"

"Well, yes. You are."

"See? It's not something I did, I just AM this way. I'm just lucky, that's all. So it's not conceited to admit it."

"Um. Not quite such the dumb blond, then."

"Dumb blond? I'll GET you for that!!"

"Come on then, oh intellectual and brilliant blond, let's go and get a cup of tea."

Chapter 6. An Encounter

His appetite was enormous.

"David?" said Tim, with a grin, "See that man over there? He's staring at me."

I turned to look, and waved at him

"I just bet he is," I said.

"He's coming over!"

Sure enough, there was Ben Cranton bearing down on us. He threaded through the tables as my heart sank.

"David, dear," he yelled, kissing me, "I haven't seen you in AGES".

Okay, I like Ben, but he can be a bit much.

"Well, no. I've got a book on. I've just been keeping my head down."

"And WHO is THIS? Picking them a bit young, aren't you?"

"This is my nephew, Tim. He'll be staying for a few weeks. And stop making insinuations."

"Well, no harm in keeping things in the family, that's what I always say."

"Ben, you're impossible. It's not like that at all."

"Hm-mm, really. Well, must be away. See you! And you, Tim, keep an eye out for David. He's a dark horse, that one."

If I thought this encounter would disconcert Tim, I was wrong. He was grinning widely.

"Is he gay too? Is he your friend? I think he fancies me."

"Yes to all three."

"He thinks we're having sex, doesn't he?"

"Probably not, but it makes something good to tease us about."

"Well." He paused for a moment, and swallowed. "Are we going to have sex?"

This was getting wildly out of control. But still, if we laid a few ground rules, that might be worthwhile. Also, perhaps he needed to be reassured.

"No."

"Why not?" The question was asked quite simply.

"Well, in the first place it's illegal. In the second place, I disapprove of adults having sex with children. In the third place, you are my nephew, and placed in my care by Mira, and I promised to look after you, so I have special responsibility for you. And in the last place, I'm not into having sex with boys."

Tim was still smiling. I couldn't help looking at his swimsuit; he was seriously hard. I swallowed.

"Have you had sex with Ben?"

"God, you're a nosey child."

"Yes, I am. Well, have you?"

Oh lord. "Yes, once. A long time ago."

"Why only once? Didn't you want to again?"

"I don't think either of us wanted to. I like Ben, even though he can be such a pain, but, well, not in that sort of way."

"He's not very good-looking."

"Unlike you, you mean, you little tart." Oh god, that was NOT the right thing to have said.

"Tart!? Tart!? What do you mean, 'tart'?" His grin was ferocious.

"A tart is someone who has sex with lots of people. Or who behaves as if they did. But I didn't really mean it."

"Tart? I've never had sex with ANYONE," he laughed, "not even once!"

His voice was getting a bit loud, and after Ben's fortissimo contribution, I felt a bit nervous.

"Come on, it's time we went home."

Chapter 7. A Walk in the Park

"Why don't you take all those clothes and put them away? I'll start making some supper," I said.

"Okay. I think I'll put some of them on, if you don't mind."

I went into the kitchen and started to put together a stew. We needed something to warm ourselves up, I thought. A few minutes later he reappeared, now wearing a pair of jeans, a white shirt and the coloured waistcoat, and the trainers. The jeans were light blue, and almost skin tight, wrinkled above his trainers. He had brushed his hair into a kind of halo round his head; I hadn't realised how long it was.

He looked utterly delicious.

"Mira sometimes lets me have a sherry," he said, sitting at the table.

"Does she, indeed. Okay, well, I think we may go that far. You'll find glasses in that cupboard, and a bottle over there."

He got them, but before he could pour I intervened. His was far smaller than he wanted, just a taste. What Tim would be like drunk was something I really didn't want to know at present. I clinked his glass.

"To a nice two months," I said.

"To us."

We drank.

"Do I look good in these?" he asked.

I looked at him flatly.

"As you said, you're very good-looking."

"Yes, but the clothes?"

He held up his arms and twirled, looking at me under his eyebrows. How incredibly camp children can be sometimes, I thought.

"They're fine."

"Good. I like to look nice."

"You amazed me in town. You really enjoy people looking at you, don't you?"

He blushed. "Yeah, I do in a way. Like, when I'm just wearing a swimsuit, like today, if they look at me I know it must be because they fancy me. And they do. Girls – and boys, and men, too. It's nice."

I was pushing him. If he could embarrass me, well, let's see what embarrassed him.

"So how come you've never had sex with anyone, in that case?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, you must have some idea."

"No."

A complete block. The area was clearly verboten. I felt obscurely pleased to have found a limit to his expansiveness, but I refrained from pushing any further. I put the stew in the oven.

"Okay, that'll be done in about an hour. Shall we go for a walk in the ground? You haven't seen it yet."

We rounded the house, and walked across the meadow.

"Is all this yours? It's absolutely enormous!"

"Yes. Cutting all this grass is quite a thing. I have someone who comes to look after the wood over there, and someone else to deal with the garden round the other side of the house. But it still takes a good bit of work. The thing is, there used to be a really big house over there, but it was bombed in the war and completely burnt down. My house was built after, which is why it's much smaller."

"You must be quite rich."

"Well, yes, I suppose I am. I write books, thrillers and so one, I expect Mira explained. They may not be great literature, but they sell in huge numbers. And I've invested the royalties. I do quite well."

"What's round there?"

"Come and see."

Round a small stand of trees we came to the lake. Pond. I was never sure what to call it.

"Hey, that's great! Can you swim in it?"

"Yes, over that side I've had it deepened. This side is shallow and full of frogs and plants."

He ran down to the water's edge, squatting to look into it.

"There's thousands of tiddlers! Don't they tickle when you swim?"

"No, they swim for the hills. There are some really big ones in the middle, though. Sometimes I think they nibble your toes."

"Ew. Can we come and swim here tomorrow?"

"Sure. Why not? But look – don't go swimming without me, right? Promise?"

"I promise."

"I'd hate to have to ring Mira and tell her you've drowned. It could really distract her from her work."

"Bastard! Can we really ring her up? I'd really like to."

"Sure we can. I guess in the morning, seven o'clock, that would be the best time. But we'd better not tomorrow, she'll be dead beat and jet lagged. Leave it till the day after – we'll get her before she goes to bed."

Chapter 8. Games of Various Sorts

"How are you doing at school?"

"Okay. I'll be taking some gcses this autumn."

"That's years early! You must be quite bright."

"I suppose so. The teachers think so. But 3; well, it's not always easy in school to be bright AND good-looking."

"The other kids give you a bad time?"

"Yeah. Basically at school I'm the number one hate figure."

"Not a lot of fun. Don't you have any friends?"

"No. I've given up caring, really. I don't get beaten up often these days. I've learned how to keep my head down and just stay out of the way. I did have one friend but he moved away. That was bad, a really bad time."

"Was he bright AND good-looking too?"

"Two stuck-up conceited little arseholes together, you mean?"

"No, I did NOT mean that."

"Actually, Terry wasn't very good-looking, no, he was quite fat and his face was kind of squashed-looking, and he always had spots. And he wasn't bright at all; he was in the remedial classes for some subjects. But he was gentle and kind."

I looked at Tim. He was very serious, and a couple of tears seemed to be hesitating in his eyes. I was 3; dammit, call it by its name: I was falling in love.

"So, it's not all fun and games, being cute, then?"

"Cute!?" He snapped out of it like lightning. "Cute!? Am I CUTE, then?"

"Yup."

"I always thought of girls as being cute, not guys."

"Some guys are cute. Well, as far as I'm concerned."

"Um. I like it, in a way. Cute. Cute. I'm CUTE," he said, with a grin.

"Okay, cute one, how about this Nintendo, then?"

"Yes!"

So we got it out, and he trashed me at some fighting game several times in a row. I was getting better by the end, though.

"You're rubbish!"

"Hey! I don't know this game, I've never played it before. I don't know any of the moves!"

"Well, you'll just have to learn them, if you want to play with me. Even Mira's better than you!"

"She'd have to be, I guess. Let's watch tv a bit."

I switched to the tv; some police film, I don't know what. He moved to sit next to me, and quickly was leaning against me. I realised suddenly that this was the nearest I had been to actually touching him. We hadn't even shaken hands.

"I'm going to like it here," he said.

"Good. I hope you do."

A pause.

"David? Do you really think I'm cute?"

"I don't think many people would dispute it."

"Do you fancy me?"

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

"Tim, I'm a gay man. I feel some attraction to any reasonably presentable man I meet. Or teenager. You are indeed cute, so it's pointless to say I don't have an attraction to you. But just because I'm attracted to someone it doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to try to get off with them. Life would be impossible if I did that. It's nice being with attractive people, and you can enjoy it just like that."

At that precise moment Tim looked up at me and the urge to kiss him was almost unbearable.

"And now," I said, shaking myself internally with some energy, "it's time you went to bed. It's been a long day. And I think a shower wouldn't be a bad idea?"

"O-kay," he said. "But will you come and scrub my back?" His grin was pure mischief.

"No, I won't. There's a backbrush. Use it."

He laughed and went to his room. As I cleared up the dishes and tidied the kitchen I could hear the shower starting. In few minutes he was back, wearing his new pyjamas. Suddenly he looked like a small boy, completely vulnerable.

"Okay, I'm off to bed. I'm quite tired, actually." Then suddenly he was hugging me. "Thanks for looking after me. And thanks for all the clothes."

He smelled clean and boyish. His body in my arms was overwhelming me; I could feel the valley running down his back, and the line of his backbone.

"Don't mention it, it's a pleasure."

Then he kissed me gently on the lips. I felt I would faint.

"'Night, David."

"'Night, kiddo."

And he was gone.

Chapter 9. A Little Night Music

It was going to be a crazed, agonising two months. Because whether he was doing it on purpose or not, he was being as seductive as it was possible for someone to be. He had me on the rack.

Where had this all come from? I came out as a gay man when I was eighteen. I had never fallen for such a young boy before; most of my partners were of my own age, more-or-less. Had this thing been waiting to spring out on me? Or was this the first signs of incipient middle age? Did a long future face me as a raincoat-clad dirty old man, haunting playgrounds and amusement arcades?

I hadn't lied when I spoke to Tim. I really did feel that for a man of my age to have sex with such a young boy was wrong; harmful and abusive. And when you included the other things I did, that was true double, and in spades.

Perhaps I should phone Mira and demand that she come home, or find someone else to look after the boy? But that would be impossible too. Tim was friendless. He had no-one his own age. It would be an awful blow for him to be rejected again in that way, by someone he liked. I would simply have to keep a grip of myself. God dammit, I was an adult. There wasn't any excuse for this.

I did something I rarely do: found my packet of cigarettes and extracted one. I went outside to smoke it.

It was a beautiful clear night, moonlit and cool. Grasshoppers sang in the grass, and my barn owl hooted in the wood. I decided to go round the side to see if the nightingale was singing.

The damp grass was full of the sounds of small night creatures going about their business. Gradually I managed to calm down. As I turned round the house, the moonlight streamed across the meadow, the trees throwing strange moon shadows. And sure enough, the nightingale was singing, the wonderful melody pouring down from the great beech tree. In the distance a cow lowed. I scarcely dared to breathe.

I glanced at the house, and then looked again. Tim's curtains and window were open. He was lying on the bed. I watched, frozen, as he stroked himself, slowly, fast, slowly again. I watched – I couldn't resist; I could even hear his little sounds as he pleasured himself. I couldn't think, couldn't move. His exquisite head and its halo of hair lay on the pillow; I could see the muscles moving in his arm as he worked. He was about five inches [13 cm] long, perfectly in proportion, utterly simple and beautiful. The little noises came faster and faster, his head strained upwards and back, and then with a cry, he came. I could see the spasms and the juice flying, and he fell back onto the pillow with a groan. And all the time the nightingale sang and sang.

I stood there, motionless in the night, and wept. I wept for age, and youth, and loneliness; the loneliness of a beautiful, funny, generous boy, who could find no friends in the world. And for me, alone for years since Vincent left me, only to be ambushed by an impossible love. I wept for the hopelessness of it all, of life wasted, and death.

Tim's light snapped off and left me in the moonlight. I felt the kind of empty calm which sometimes comes after tears, and walked silently through the night back to the house. I caught a last glimpse of the moon as I turned the corner. She seemed cool, but not unfriendly.

Chapter 10. Ordinary Things

I had a shower and went to start breakfast. I heard the shower going, and then Tim appeared, wearing his new swimsuit, which was even smaller than the old one. He'd already managed to brush his hair out into its usual cloud.

"How do you do that with your hair anyhow?"

"Hair spray. There was some in the book bag. Actually, I don't need much – it stays like that by itself."

"As for that swimsuit – I don't know why you bother. You might as well go around with nothing on."

"I'm shy. Sounds stupid, but I am. Anyhow, I like the feel of it, I like the tightness." He blushed.

I tried not to laugh, but I think Tim caught me smiling.

"So? What's wrong with that?"

"Wrong? Absolutely nothing. Here. Eat."

He fell on the bacon and eggs with his usual voraciousness. As we ate, I explained the plan for the day.

"This morning I need to do some work. Can you look after yourself?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Then after lunch we'll need to do some food shopping. After that I thought we'd have a swim. Then we'll see."

"Sounds okay. Can I use the Nintendo?"

"Yeah, why not."

Tim helped me clear away the dishes. I retired to my work room. For some reason the work went extremely well; I finished one chapter and had a good run on the next. All the time I could hear Tim's game twittering away in the background, but it didn't disturb me. I liked the feeling of having someone else doing things in the house.

About eleven o'clock Tim brought me a cup of coffee. On a tray, with a biscuit.

"Oh, great thinking, Tim, just what I needed. Hey, it's good to have you round the house, you know that?"

He ruffled my hair. I was astonished.

"Back to work, slave, back to work," he sang, prancing out of the door.

At oneish I stopped and made us some lunch. Bread and cheese, with some fruit.

"If we're going to the supermarket, you'd better put on something a leetle less revealing. It's not at all the same as Banbourn in high season. You don't want to give the checkout girls a seizure."

"Oh, must I? I go to the shops with Mira like this."

"Unfortunately, there's a difference. Cute naked boy + woman = mother + child. Cute naked boy + man = child abuse."

"You're paranoid!"

"No, I ain't. Just think about it some more. Sorry, Tim, but this is going to come up again and again. The fact that I'm not actually abusing you is neither here nor there, unfortunately."

"Heh-heh. Well, in that case you might as well abuse me and be done with it."

I gave him a for-god's-sake kind of look. "Just think about it."

"Abuse me!" He leant back and stretched out his arms.

"No chance. Put an ad in the paper. 'Cute fourteen-year-old boy seeks abuser. Dirty raincoat preferred'."

"Yuck. That's pretty horrid."

"Put on some clothes."

"Okay, okay. You're right, I guess."

He came back a few minutes later wearing a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt.

"Good God!" I said, "Those shorts are scarcely better than the swimsuit!"

"This time I'm right. Boy + swimsuit = naked boy. Boy + shorts = clothed boy."

I thought about it. "Okay, I guess you'll do. Let's go."

The trip round Sainsbury's was another revelation, in a small way. People looked at Tim almost as much as they had in Banbourn. He just attracted attention wherever he was.

And he played up to it, too. The checkout girl, two years older than him at most, couldn't keep her eyes off him.

"Say, what are you doing after work?" he said, giving her a look, but with just enough smile that she realised he was joking.

"None of your business, kid," she snapped. But she still looked.

As we drove back, I said without thinking: "I can't understand why you've missed out on the girls. They're all over you!"

"Reasons," he said, looking out of his side window. He was quite subdued, even cross.

Chapter 11. An Afternoon Swim

He came out of his brown study with a jerk. "Great! That'll be really nice."

"I'll just put on my swimsuit, " I said, as we rolled up to the house.

"You mean you're not going to skinny dip?" He followed me in.

"Well, you aren't, are you?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then neither will I. Come on! Get changed!" I yelled from my room.

"I've got it on under my shorts."

"Oh, I see. You like the tight feeling, yes?"

"You won't forget that, will you?"

I laughed. When I came out of my room, he was fingering one of the straps on the Chair. His face was intent, curious. I wondered what was going on in his mind.

"Come on!"

We ran across the meadow to the lake. Without stopping I dived in. On the side Tim was slipping out of his shorts and tee-shirt, and then he dived in neatly beside me.

"Ow! It's cold! Why didn't you say?"

"You're quite a good diver!"

"Not bad. School team, even though I'm only fourteen."

"Nice. Come on, let's swim."

I swum a couple of widths, with Tim easily keeping up with me.

"They haven't nibbled me yet!" he gasped.

"Nor me. Perhaps it's too bright for them. If we came out in the evening they'd circle up slowly, champing their jaws, and then 3;"

I reached down, grabbed him by both hips and toppled him smartly under the water.

"Bastard!" He flew at me and we wrestled in and under and over the water. We ended with his legs round my waist and me just about to duck him decisively.

"You win, you win!" he laughed. I let him go.

"That's only the second time," he spluttered as he surfaced.

"The second time what?"

"That you've touched me."

He blundered to the edge and crawled out. By the time I got out he had flung himself face up in the long grass.

"This is the life! Swimming and sunshine. I could get used to this!"

I lay down near him. For quite a while we didn't speak. The thrush on the edge of the wood was making his proclamations, answered by a neighbour further away. A bumblebee did her rounds of the meadow flowers. I watched the small clouds slowly moving, and the impenetrable blue of the sky.

Chapter 12. Some Truths

"Mm?"

"I don't really understand about that couch thing." He'd been thinking, then. "Why does a person want to be strapped into it?"

A day before I'd have been appalled by this question. Now I didn't feel frightened of giving him some kind of explanation. I could gauge him better.

"How much do you know about me, Tim?"

"Lots of things, now. You live here by yourself. You write books. You're gay."

"Yes, I'm gay. That's to do with sex, who I'm attracted to. But there are other ways a person can be different as far as sex goes. Is this okay for you? You don't mind me talking about these things?"

"I asked."

I rolled over on my side, leaning on an elbow. I could see him still on his back, spread-eagled under the sun. Under his swimsuit he was hard. So was I.

"Well. Some people like to tie people up when they have sex, or when they're playing in a sex sort of way. Or they like to be tied up."

"Do they? Lots of people?"

"Yup. Can you understand that? In a way, it's like what you said." I ploughed on ruthlessly, not sparing him. "When you said, you like the tight feeling. Well, in a way it's like that, kind of all over."

"Yes, I know."

"You know?"

There was a long pause. This was important for him. I waited.

"I do that. Sometimes. When I'm – by myself? You know? Sometimes I tie myself up a bit."

"It's not unusual."

"Really? I thought it was just me, just me being weird."

He turned on his side too, and we faced one another. His eyes were glistening, he was almost crying.

"I thought, I thought I was the only one. That I was – all wrong."

"No. Listen, Tim. There's nothing wrong about it. This is really important. You can't do anything wrong with sex, I mean morally wrong, so long as the other person's okay with it. The only wrong thing is to make people do things which they don't want to do. That's all."

I lay on my back again.

"As for tying people up, well, lots and lots of people do it."

"I didn't know."

I'd have to go on. We'd come to the point where he had a right to know.

"The thing is, though, I do other things. More than tying people up."

I heard him move in the grass.

"Like what?"

"Like, well, when the person is tied up, sometimes I'll – do things to them."

"Oh wow. What things? You'll have to tell me. I, I really want to know. Please."

"Like hurting them. I don't mean injuring them, I mean making them hurt. Sometimes really badly."

"You mean, whipping them or something?"

"Yes, it could be that. There are people who like that, who want that. There are people who want to be hurt in that way."

This time there was a long pause, and then I could hear him whimpering. I waited. There wasn't anything else I could do.

Then, almost a whisper: "Yes. I do."

"Do you? Well, there's nothing wrong with that. There are lots of people around who do."

"I didn't know. It's like the tying up thing. I really thought there couldn't be anyone else who was like that. I thought I was – sick."

"Don't be ashamed. Don't. It's been part of my life for years and years, and there's nothing wrong about it. I have good friends and lovers who are like that too. It's good."

I could hear him turn to me.

"Thanks for telling me. It's, it's really helped. You can't believe how good it feels."

I felt as if a great battle had been fought and won; I longed to hug him, or even hold his hand.

"Whoah! So solemn! I think I'll come over there and – tickle you!"

He leapt to his feet and dashed away from my grip.

"No! No tickling! No!"

He was laughing, but I could see real fear in his eyes. I chased him round the pond. He easily evaded me.

"Come on, Tim," I said, "Let me try. Just once. I won't do it much."

He laughed. But he came nearer.

"Only once, I promise. Come on. Hold your arms up."

He did. I felt like cheering. He was smiling, but his eyes were wide. Very gently, I ran my fingertips down both his sides.

He shrieked, twisted and collapsed. Just a touch, and he was wrecked. Tim was (and is) the most ticklish person I've ever met.

Laughing, we gathered our things and walked back to the house as the sun set.

Chapter 13. tv Evening

I made us some supper, and we watched tv. It was a quiet time. I noticed that he put himself in a chair apart from me, didn't cuddle up as he had the day before. He was thinking about things.

We watched a couple of programmes, talked and joked about them, but I could see that his mind was on other things. Then he leant across and picked the tv controller of the arm of the sofa. He turned the tv off.

"David. Put me in that thing." I started to refuse. "Wait. I understand about it now. You've explained. I know what it means, but I still want to."

"Tim, I really can't. I've explained why. You're just not old enough. I'm sorry if that's hard, but that's just the way of it."

"No. I AM old enough. I've been thinking about these things for ages, I've even 3;" His voice dropped. "I've even tried to do them. Now I want to do them for real. It's time. Please."

"I've still got to say no. I'm sorry, Tim, I'm really sorry. But you need to find someone your own age, someone you can experiment with together. It's the only fair way, the only right way."

"But why!? I know you. You're my uncle, in a way. I trust you. Why can't I learn it from you? You know all about it, don't you?"

"Because I don't know what it would do to you. It's a very, very strong emotional thing. I'm careful even with the adults I do it with. It can turn a person inside out. I can't risk harming you in that way, Tim, can't you see that? You're – you're too important to me."

He paused, then smiled wanly. "Well, I had to ask."

"I'm proud that you did. That you trust me that way."

"Thanks."

"Find someone your own age. If you want advice, I'll always be here. Anyhow, what on earth would Mira say? I couldn't risk getting on her wrong side!"

He laughed. "We'll see about that!"

"You wouldn't!"

"I might."

"Does she know about you? That you're interested in these things?"

"I haven't told her. But I think she may guess. A bit."

I yawned. "Look, I think we should go to bed. We need to get up early tomorrow, to ring her."

"Okay."

He stood up. "What's the thing doing here, anyhow, right in the middle of the living room?"

"Usually it lives downstairs, in the basement. I brought it up here because I was doing some work down there, and when Mira called I didn't have time to put it back. I didn't know you were coming."

"I didn't know there was a basement!"

"Behind that door. It's, it's where I do my things, usually. I suppose you could call it a dungeon."

"A dungeon!? Let me see."

"No way. Definitely off limits."

"You never let me have any fun!" He pouted, miming a spoilt child, and I laughed at him.

"Off to bed, monkey!"

"Okay." Then he was hugging me.

"Thanks for the things you said," he murmured in my ear. "That was really good."

"You're a pretty good person yourself, kiddo. 'Night."

"'Night."

I pottered around a bit, thinking. Then I rang up Andy, and put him off. He was disappointed, and I felt somehow that I had burnt a bridge, an important one. But some situations are just too difficult to be worth getting into.

Then went to bed myself. I set the alarm clock for 6:30.

An hour later I woke, and tiptoed to the kitchen for a glass of water. I could hear that in his room, Tim was quietly weeping. I returned to my room, cursing everything.

Chapter 14. A Phone Call

By the time I had some coffee ready, Tim was up and dressed, if you could call that swimsuit dressed. Once again it was a bright day, and the morning sun shone through the kitchen windows.

"Ready? It's nearly seven – she should be just going to bed. You phone. This is the number."

He picked out the number, and I could hear the American ringing tone. Then she answered.

"Hello? Mira? It's Tim."

I listened to Tim's half of the conversation for a couple of minutes, staring out of the window. Then I heard him say:

"He's been really nice. We went swimming yesterday in the pond behind the house. It was really nice. But he won't put me in his chair thing, you know, you saw it 3; No, he says I'm too young 3; Yes, we've talked about a lot of things 3;"

He was grinning at me maliciously. I mimed fury, and he laughed.

"He's looking at me like he's really mad 3; No, honestly, Mum, I've been really good 3; You know, everything 3; You know what I mean, Mum, don't make me say it, it's too embarrassing 3; No, no, he's ever so proper 3; Oh, okay. Ta-ra, I'll phone again soon."

He turned to me. "Your turn. And I'm to go outside."

"Hello, Mira."

"David, is he being a pest?"

"No, not at all. But it is the first time I've been directly propositioned by a fourteen-year-old, I admit."

"Directly propositioned?"

"Yes, tie me up and do your worst. Honestly, almost in so many words."

"And you said no?"

"Yes. Several times, now."

"He has propositioned you several times? And you have said no?"

"That's right."

"And is he happy about that?"

"Um. No, I don't think he is, really. Although he's puttting a brave face on it. I heard him crying last night. Honest to God, Mira, it isn't easy. I've – I've already become very fond of him."

"You're in love."

"Oh, lord, it sounds dreadful, doesn't it? A 34-year-old man, telling a mother he's in love with her fourteen-year-old son. But, oh god, I suppose it's true."

"Tying up? Bondage? Pain? He, he spoke to you about all that?"

"Mira, this must be only between us. But yes. He says that's what he wants."

"Do you really think this is news to me? If you're worried about betraying his confidence, don't be. I've known it for years."

"Years!"

"Oh, yes, of course. A boy's mother notices these things, especially if she isn't really his mother. It's been a major worry."

"But I won't do anything with him, Mira, please believe me, you can rely on me with this, I won't take advantage. I've been saying, find someone your own age."

"David, for pity's sake. I'm not going to tell you your business, but look. There's poor old Tim. Then there's you, who's an expert in it, and you love him, and you're one of the most responsible and kind people I know, and you're telling him the best thing he can do is to go and experiment with the most dangerous kind of sex going, with some random teenage beginner? Someone who could be stupid or vicious or mad? Or perhaps crawl off to some club in London or to a toilet somewhere?"

"Mira, for god's sake!" The images she painted were horrible to imagine, and all too likely.

"Look, David, why do think I brought him to you? Why do you think I gave you no choice in this? It's been worrying me shitless, this thing, that's the honest truth. As I said, I'm not going to try to teach you your business. I'm in no position to know whether you're the person to lead him in this. But if you aren't, I'm counting on you to find someone who is, and to take it in hand, keep an eye on it. I've looked after him all these years, and it's been a joy, because he's such a love, and I loved your brother so much, I owed him. But this is beyond me, and it isn't beyond you. Dammit, it's your turn, David."

I hesitated. "Okay, Mira, point taken. Don't make me give you an answer. But 3; yes, I'll take some advice. I have friends. I'll make sure that nothing goes wrong, I promise."

"That's all I'm asking. Just don't rule things out, okay? And he may be young, but he's tough, and he knows his own mind. In about fifteen months, he would be able to marry. Remember that."

"Would be able?"

"Oh David, he's as gay as a goose. Hadn't you realised? But look, I must go to bed, I'm dead beat. Meetings all day and bloody jetlag."

"Okay, Mira. I hear you. And I really will look after him."

"Right. Bye-bye. And – and bless you."

Chapter 15. And Another Phone Call

"Tim? I must make a phone call. It's private. Do you mind staying out here for a few minutes?"

"Cool."

I looked up Chris's number, and dialed her. Chris was an old friend. As well as being a significant clinical psychologist, she was a well-known and extremely respected Dominatrix. We didn't play together, but we often met.

"Chris? Have you got a minute?"

"Got a minute? Are you joking? It's eight o'clock in the morning, for god's sake, what do you expect me to be doing?"

I had honestly forgotten the time.

"I need to talk. I have a problem, a really big problem. I need advice, big time."

"Lord. That sounds serious. Don't worry, there's nothing on I can't clear. What's up?"

"I'm in love."

"Ooh. In love? You? How long since that happened?"

"Not since Vincent left."

"The iceberg thaws. It's about bloody time, if you want my opinion. So, what's the problem?"

"He's a child. A boy."

A pause.

"Not so good. Not so good at all. Perhaps you should come and see me?"

"Please. Today. Now, if you can."

"Not now, for pity's sake. Eleven o'clock."

"Okay, I'll be there."

I called Tim in for a coffee.

"So, what did Mira have to say?"

"Various things. Not for public consumption."

"Ooh, very mysterious. You look a bit happier today, though."

"Happier? Didn't I look happy yesterday?"

"Not always. Nor did I, I suppose."

"No. But – well, I've got various things to think about. Look, I want to deal with some letters and stuff, then I need to go out for a wee bit. By myself. Is that okay?"

He smiled. "Sure. Take all the time you need."

I pretended to snarl at him.

"Just watch it, kid. Just watch it, okay?"

He laughed and went to turn on the Nintendo.

There was a fair backlog of mail to deal with, and I tried to lose myself in it. Pretty soon, it seemed, it was time to go. I waved a cheerio to Tim.

"Remember – no swimming, okay? And, er, the door to the basement's locked."

"Spoilsport!"

Chapter 16. A Lesson

In a few minutes I was sitting by a cup of coffee in her kitchen. She went for scrubbed pine and lots of plants. A version of Accidental Blessings, presumably by her, presided.

"So, what's this all about?"

I explained who Tim was, and how I came to be looking after him.

"And what's he like?"

"Stunning. He's really got to me. He's fourteen 3;"

"Fourteen?! Fourteen isn't a child. Oh lord, you had me really worried. I thought you'd fallen for a cute, cuddly six-year-old or something. I was wondering whether I shouldn't call in the social workers! So, you're wondering whether to put the moves on him, are you?"

"I wouldn't need to. He's already put the moves on me. Heavily. Right up to directly asking me."

"And you said no?"

"Yes. Several times. Chris, he thinks he's into bondage. And pain. His mother thinks so too. Also he's gay, she thinks."

"Ah. And you're not sure he could handle it?"

"He's fourteen!"

"Don't just recite 'he's fourteen, he's fourteen' at me! I asked you a question. Could he cope?"

"How should I know? I know nothing about fourteen-year-olds."

"Is he past puberty? Do you think he could come?"

"Yes, and I know he can." I described what I had seen through his window.

"Hot, very hot. And what do you usually do, Mr Major League Master, if you don't know if a man can cope?"

"Go slow. Pace him. Explore. Be careful. Push, but gently."

"Okay. Me too. And does this work?"

"I suppose so."

"When was the last time someone safeworded on you?"

"Five or six years ago."

"And I've still heard you called Cruel David. You're hard. I wouldn't do some of the things you do. You're one of the best, because you really care about your subs. If I had a son, I'd rather he was in your hands than more-or-less anyone else I could think of. Certainly more than some spotty teenage bully behind the bike sheds."

"That's more-or-less what his mother said."

"Did she now? Sensible woman. Honestly, David, I don't know what the hell you're worried about. Is it something that happened when you were a kid yourself?"

Of course, lots of things happened when I was a kid. Not many of them were too good, but that's another story. We talked about it for some time.

"And after all that, you still think he'd be better off with someone else? David, you're off your chump. Actually, I think it's worse than that. You're frightened. You're going to miss the chance to help him along because you're in a pure blue funk."

"Chris! That's not fair!"

"Isn't it? Think about it. But I want to see this boy. Invite me to lunch. Now. Come on, let's go."

And so a few minutes later I was introducing them.

"So, you're the famous Tim," she said, as I went to rustle up some food. She put a finger under his chin and lifted his face to hers.

"God, you're lovely," she said. "Do you always go around in this state of undress?"

"Yes, ma'am. Quite a lot. Especially – especially sometimes."

"Ah. Yes. I think I see what you mean. You're quite a smart kid, aren't you?"

"People say so, ma'am."

"I say so. I'm a psychologist, I know everything. How long have you been here?"

"Two days."

"And that was enough, was it?" I could hear Tim laugh.

"Not so far, ma'am. But I'm working on it."

This time it was Chris's turn to laugh. She strode into the kitchen.

"David, he's adorable," she muttered. "If only you could give him to me. I'd enjoy making him squeal, I can tell you!"

"Oh, god, Chris!"

"You haven't a chance, you know that?"

I gave her a look.

"Tim? There's some lunch in here!"

"I'm not hungry," said Chris suddenly. "I'd better be off. David, a word with you."

We walked to her car.

"David, I've just got this to say to you. You've been brought this. They won't do it twice, if you refuse it. If you miss him, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. And so will he. He'll never forgive you, and he'll be right. Stop swithering. It's unmasterful, it's cowardly and it's wrong."

She swung into the car and started it.

"You need to told, it seems. Take that boy, Mister Branver. I shall want a full report."

I looked at her. She waited.

"Yes, ma'am."

She drove off.

NEXT PART