To Make of Monsters [2/2]
Title: To Make of Monsters
Fandom: Chalet School
Pairings: John Bettany/OMC
Warnings: M/M, Underage intercourse
Word count: 10,966
Author's Note: I have used the age reference in Bride which EBD seems to have retrospectively changed.
[1]
He slept late, which was so unusual that Bride commented on it at breakfast. He just shrugged.
“I hope you aren’t coming down with something, mavourneen,” Mollie was there immediately, putting her hand against his forehead, fussing. “You look very heavy-eyed. Did ye not sleep well?”
“It’s the heat,” John muttered.
“The radio said it’ll thunder tonight,” Peggy said, cheerfully. “I do agree though - it’s far too hot! I vote we all go to the beach this afternoon. Come on, Rix, you can leave your books for a few hours!”
“I never thought the day would come when someone would say that to you, Rix,” Dick Bettany teased. There was general laughter, and talk turned to other things. John escaped when he could, did his chores quickly and sketchily, and decided to go down to the village. It was well after lunch but Cook always made him sandwiches and left them in the pantry.
“John! Have you done your chores?” His aunt was in the kitchen, talking to Loveday. “Where are you going?”
“Just down to the village. I have done them.”
“If you’re going down to the village then I’ve a list of groceries,” Bridget handed it to him. “Thank you.”
“Should I bring it all back?”
“Let me see... No, just the flour and the tea. The meat can be delivered tomorrow. You can pay the grocer’s bill though. I’ll write a cheque.”
“I’m sorry I was late last night,” John decided to pre-empt her, as she seemed to be in a good mood.
“Then we’ll say no more about it. Oof, ‘tis hot it is! I can’t imagine ‘twould be much hotter in Kenya. Oh, that reminds me, could you take my letter to Pat to the Post Office? Where’s my purse... ‘Twill need an international stamp.”
John waited, masking his impatience. He wanted to see the Lieutenant, to talk to him properly and maybe... He turned his thoughts away, guiltily and took the letter, the money, the cheque and the list in his aunt’s pretty handwriting, putting it all in the pocket of his flannel trousers.
Bridgie followed him outside. “I don’t like the look of that sky. Look at those clouds coming up from the north! If you get caught in the storm, stay in the village.”
“I will. I might go and see Lieutenant Passmore.”
“Don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”
“I won’t.” John frowned. Was he making a nuisance of himself? Adam had seemed so - he had initiated everything. Hadn’t he? Filled with a new doubt, he left the Quadrant and made his way down to Channing St Mary.
He went to the grocer’s for the flour and tea; left the meat order with the butcher, and handed over the cheque. Maurice now went down to the Post Office to collect the Quadrant’s mailbag before breakfast, but the elderly postmaster knew John well and they chatted as he arranged for his aunt’s letter to be mailed.
“Good morning,” the familiar voice made the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand up.
“Good mornin’ Lieutenant. Stamps, is it?” The postmaster was polite, but Lieutenant Passmore was a stranger in the village so he wouldn’t chat with him the way he would with the Bettany boy. John stood aside as Adam bought his stamps.
They left together. Adam held the door open for John. “What are you doing now?” he asked, quietly.
“Oh, nothing,” John felt shy. “I should get the groceries back home...” A growl of thunder drowned out his words.
“Not in that, you won’t. Come on - it’s starting to rain. Come back to the cottage.”
Fat raindrops started to fall, immediately becoming a heavy downpour. Lightning flashed across the sky. They hurried to The Laurels, a mere five minutes’ dash away, but both were drenched when they arrived. John put the groceries down on the kitchen dresser as Adam went to fetch towels.
“I don’t think you should stay in those wet things,” he said, with a smile, when he returned. John came to him and Adam started to unbutton his cotton shirt; now wet and clinging, and making John shiver.
Happiness bubbled inside him, as well as desire and arousal. Adam thrust him hard against the doorframe; kissing him hungrily, his hand wandering down to unzip John’s trousers.
“I’m glad you came back,” he panted, as they broke apart to breathe. He ran his fingers through John’s hair, taking a grip and forcing his head back as they kissed again. Their tongues explored each other’s mouths.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” Adam moaned.
“Do what you did to me yesterday,” John asked. “Please.”
Adam smiled. “Yes. First, I’m going to phone your parents.”
“What!? No - why?” John panicked. Adam gripped his shoulder.
“Calm down. I was just going to suggest you stayed the night. I think that storm’s set in for most of the day. It’s the ideal excuse.”
“I-I thought...”
“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Adam resumed stroking John’s back; calming rhythmic movements; a real juxtaposition to his earlier almost violent passion. “I promise, OK?”
John nodded. “It’s probably best if I speak to Mother. She’ll think I’m inconveniencing you.”
“No, it’s fine. What’s the number?”
John recited it, fastening his trousers and sitting on the sofa.
“Mrs Bettany? Oh hallo, it’s Adam Passmore here. I’m so sorry to disturb you. Yes, the weather’s frightful isn’t it? I have John here with me. No, absolutely my pleasure. I think the rain’s setting in for the long haul. Yes... Yes. Oh no, perfectly happy to keep him for the night. We’re having quite a good chat about my ship. Yes, of course. No, he won’t stay in his wet clothes.” Passmore smiled, and winked at John. “Good afternoon, Mrs Bettany.”
He hung up, and turned around. “Come here,” he ordered, unzipping his own flannel trousers. John went to him, wordlessly.
*
Afterwards, in bed, his warm body pressed next to the Lieutenant’s, and his taste still in his mouth, John fought sleep. It was barely dinnertime. The storm had stopped, but the rain still lashed against the windowpane. Adam slumbered, his arm thrown over John, and every so often he snored. John didn’t mind. He lay still; deep in thought.
Adam opened his eyes. He smiled at John, and sat up. “Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat.”
“No,” John reached out for Adam’s shirt, which he had left on. “Could I see?” he asked, nervous of the older man’s reaction.
“All right,” Adam unbuttoned his shirt, clearly reluctant. The wound had scarred over, but was still very noticeable.
“Does it hurt?” John asked.
“Only if I overdo things. Why did you want to see it?”
“I don’t know... It’s just... At Dartmouth, they talk about how exciting it is to serve, and how it’s our duty; but they never say anything about, well...”
“I know.” Adam’s expression softened. “It isn’t as bad as it looks, though. I’ll be back out there soon enough.”
“I’ll be there next year. I expect so, anyway. They said on the radio last night that more troops will go to Korea, and...”
“God, I hope you won’t be there next year, or ever.” Adam threw back the blankets and got up, abruptly, starting to dress. John sat still, wondering what he had done wrong.
“It’s a horrible place,” Adam said, seeing his stricken expression. “I hope they wouldn’t send kids there.”
“I’m not a kid,” John said.
“Don’t spoil it,” Adam sounded irritated. John got up and scrabbled for his clothes. He suddenly didn’t want to be in the cottage anymore.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just don’t like the idea of you going out there. It’s war. It’s not some boys’ own adventure, whatever they tell you at Dartmouth.”
“It’s OK,” John dressed. “I should probably go.”
“Please stay. I am sorry. You can’t walk home in that rain. Besides, your mother thinks you’re spending the night, doesn’t she?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll make us something to eat. You must be hungry.” Passmore went downstairs. After a moment or two, John followed him.
“I don’t think it’s an adventure, honestly,” he said, earnestly. “I’m frightened, if you must know.”
“It’s not too bad. You’ll cope. I did. I felt exactly the same, but the nearest I’ve come to dying is this,” Adam pointed to his side, “And even that wasn’t too bad, considering. Are your brothers at Dartmouth? I assume not, otherwise your aunt would have told me and sent them round with you.”
“No. Rix is at London University. Maurice is going to Winchester in September.”
“No cousins or uncles in the Service?”
“Only Uncle Michael. He used to be. He lives in Ireland now.”
“Write to him, I’m sure he’d give you some useful advice.”
“Can I write to you?”
“Of course,” but the hesitation was too great and John knew his letters would not be welcomed.
He left the kitchen, wishing it would stop raining and he could go home. Adam had some books on the shelves, not many, but they were an excuse to waste ten minutes looking through them until his eyes stopped watering with self-pity.
John loved reading which often surprised people because he was so active. He looked through Adam Passmore’s sparse collection of books now and found every one dull. He sighed, but then spotted the radio. It would be better than nothing.
He turned it on and twisted the dial. It crackled and whistled but eventually a programme became audible. It was a play and he sat on an elderly armchair and listened without much interest.
They ate the casserole that Adam had heated up mostly in silence. Adam drank three whiskies, but John barely touched his own glass.
“Why don’t you come and sit with me?” Adam asked, eventually, moving over to the sofa. The news was just starting, and he frowned suddenly.
John, who wasn’t listening any more, went over obediently, but the Lieutenant had frozen still and was listening to the radio with an intentness that was quite alarming.
“What’s wrong?” John asked, but Adam shushed him. John listened then, and caught the word ‘ceasefire’.
“I don’t believe it!” Adam beamed. “Oh, thank God. I hope it’s over for good.”
“I’m glad,” but John secretly felt a tiny twinge of disappointment. He had wanted to see action in Korea; he had heard his parents talking about it and had wanted to make them proud.
They made love in front of the fire, there and then, with the curtains firmly closed against the over-interested population of Channing St Mary. Afterwards, both went upstairs, utterly spent, to collapse into the big bed and sleep, their limbs entangled. Adam Passmore’s nightmares did not visit, and John’s own dreams were sweet.
*
“Would you like to go swimming now?” John asked, as they washed up the breakfast dishes together.
“Why not,” Adam put down the tea towel and lit a cigarette. “Will your parents mind?”
“Not if I’m with you. They just don’t let us swim alone,” John dried his hands on another towel. He felt happy. Last night had been good; their lovemaking the best yet. “I need to go back to the Quadrant for my trunks.”
“Swim without,” Adam smiled. He put his hands on John’s hips and pulled him nearer, nuzzling his neck. John laughed; but with a loud knock on the door, they sprang apart instantly.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said, smoothing down his dark hair and straightening his clothes. “It’s probably the butcher’s boy.” He went towards the front door, whistling. John rearranged his own clothing and leaned nonchalantly against the dresser.
“John!” Rix strode in, confidently; not even dreaming he could be unwelcome. “I’ve got the car outside. The Rosomons are coming for lunch so I thought I’d pick you up.”
“OK.” John reluctantly. He picked up the groceries and looked at Adam. “Thank you,” he said.
“Pleasure,” Adam stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“How are you finding Channing St Mary?” Rix asked politely.
“It’s a very pleasant village,” Adam was formal. “I’ll be sad to leave it.”
“When do you go?” Rix frowned at John, who was dawdling over leaving; apparently hanging onto the Lieutenant’s every word.
“Early next week,” Adam said, gruffly. He didn’t return John’s agonised look. “I’ll rejoin my company in Portsmouth.”
“I expect you’re looking forward to getting back,” Rix continued the small talk as he forcibly took the groceries from John and steered him towards the front door of the cottage. They’d be here all day if John didn’t move. He made their farewells and they headed outside.
“Why did you come in the car?” John asked, getting in. He felt empty inside. He glanced back at the Laurels, but Adam had closed the door.
“Just to give it a bit of a run. Shall we go up to Trennington Point? See the lighthouse?”
“Why?” John asked.
Rix shrugged, and crunched the gears. “I thought it would be fun. We’ve barely seen each other all holiday. We don’t have to go.”
“No, OK, I mean, I’d like to go to the Point. We haven’t been there for years.”
“Is everything OK, Jackie? You’re awfully jumpy.”
“I’m fine.” John closed his eyes. “It’s John.”
“Sorry.” Rix rolled his eyes.
He parked as close to the lighthouse as he could. It wasn’t manned now; hadn’t been since the war. The Bettanys knew the coastguard and he had never minded them spending time there when they were children.
“Shall we go up to the top?” Rix held open the door. John grinned, which was a relief. Rix had wondered if there was something seriously wrong. There had been several times during the holiday when he had thought John had wanted to speak to him, but equally he didn’t want to interfere.
They climbed the spiral staircase; John leading.
“Did you hear that they’ve declared a ceasefire in Korea?” he asked, when they had reached the top. He leant forward, looking out across the sea. “If it holds, then I probably won’t go after all.”
“Good,” Rix said. “It was in the newspapers. I think Mother and Dad were pleased - relieved, I mean. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to go. I wanted to matter.” John said, forlornly.
Rix stared at him. “Of course you matter. What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” John felt his face grow hot. He gripped the metal rail and it felt cool against his hands. The air smelt of salt and above them gulls called out to each other.
“I know,” Rix said, suddenly.
John felt his blood run cold. He could only look at his brother, unable to find words.
“What - how?” he managed.
Rix looked uncomfortable. “I felt the same. The summer before last; before I went up to medical school and for ages once I was in London.”
“What do you mean?” John breathed out, heavily.
“I felt like I didn’t know who I was and that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. Well, I knew I wanted to be a doctor, but I didn’t think I’d be very good at it. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. It’s just a phase, honestly. The last year of school is always strange and here - you feel like you’re an adult, but sometimes you feel you’re still a kid. I did, anyway. Does it help to know it’s the same for everyone?”
“Yes. Thanks.” John just felt pure relief. Rix didn’t know, didn’t suspect he was queer. He gave him a quick look. Rix was looking out across the bay, frowning, embarrassed he had revealed so much of himself. They were brothers, they were close, but they never spoke like this to one another. For a brief, tiny second, John battled with himself. Would Rix understand if he confessed? Would he understand that although he wasn’t normal, he couldn’t help it? Would he be sympathetic or revolted?
He couldn’t risk it. Sighing, he turned away.
“If Korea’s all finished - and this ceasefire might not hold, you know - there’ll be another mission.” Rix wondered if he was actually getting through. John had been so strange lately! Always skulking off alone and he looked so unhappy all the time.
“I know. Thanks Rix.” John tried to smile. Rix grinned back.
“Didn’t you say that Naval Lieutenant had a boat? Do you think he’d take us out in it?”
“I thought Daisy and Laurie were coming for lunch?” John prevaricated. He wasn’t at all sure if he wanted Rix to spend time with Adam.
“I didn’t mean right this moment!” Rix looked at his wristwatch. “We should probably get back.”
“OK.”
They were both silent on the drive back to the Quadrant which took them along the cliff road. Rix’s thoughts had turned back to his medical studies and John was thinking about Adam Passmore. Could he sneak away after lunch?
Daisy and Laurie Rosomon had already arrived; but they were family so it didn’t matter. Their baby son, Tony, was passed around for everyone to admire and then they enjoyed a laughing and relaxed lunch together.
John felt like an outsider; his secret felt like it was burning him from the inside out. He caught Laurie Rosomon looking at him once or twice and wondered if he suspected. It made him nervous and his hand shook as he took a sip of water.
Laurie, in his turn, wondered why John was so quiet and picking at his meal.
“How’s the diving coming along?” he asked, genially, knowing that their interest was shared.
John roused himself. “Good,” he said, self-consciously. “I’ve been working on it this summer. My swallow dive is getting better, I think.”
“When? We’ve only been out a handful of times this summer.” Maeve interjected, in clear, bell-like tones, looking at him curiously. “I didn’t see you do a swallow dive!”
“Oh, just the other day I meant,” John went red.
“Have you been out swimming alone?” Bridgie demanded as silence fell across the table.
“I-I...” John couldn’t tell an outright lie.
“John?” His father sounded surprised rather than angry.
“No, we went swimming together the other day.” Rix cut in.
“No, Rix. I have been swimming alone. I’ve been going in the mornings. It’s a stupid rule. I swim alone at Dartmouth all the time anyway.” John pushed back his chair and stood up. He didn’t care anymore. Adam was leaving and nothing else mattered. The next four weeks of his summer holidays stretched out before him, desolate. “I don’t see why we should be punished for what happened to Patrick and Michael and Kevin years ago!”
“Oh, John...” Aunt Bridgie went white at the mention of her dead sons.
“John, go to your room,” his father ordered, with a glance at his sister-in-law. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“Whatever.” He left, registering their collective shock. Tantrums were more Maeve’s line and he had never behaved like that in his life. Instead of going to his bedroom, he ran to the scullery, pulled on his outdoor shoes and was gone, running across the grounds before Cook even saw him.
He ran most of the way to the village, stopping when a stitch jabbed at his side. He angrily dashed away the tears in his eyes. He shouldn’t have said that about Patrick and the others.
Adam Passmore was in the front garden, fiddling with the honeysuckle. He looked up in surprise as John came up the path.
“What’s wrong?” After a quick glance around, he caught John in his arms.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Come inside.” He stroked John’s hair, just briefly.
“I have to go back to my ship,” he said, gently, once they were safely inside. “You knew I do.”
“I’m in so much trouble. They found out about the swimming. My parents are really angry with me.”
Adam shrugged. “They’ll get over it.”
John felt embarrassed. Adam didn’t need him here crying on him and being childish. He barely seemed upset that they’d be parted. “I don’t want you to go,” he repeated, feeling the hot tears well up behind his eyes.
“You knew I’d have to go back sooner or later,” Adam felt sorry for the kid and guilty - it made his tone sharper than he meant it to be. “I shouldn’t have started this. I’m sorry. You’ll be fine.”
“Yes.” John turned away.
“John. Please.”
“I have to go.” John scrubbed at his eyes, angrily. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what you did to me.”
“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” Adam shrugged again. “Come on, John. It doesn’t need to be like this, does it? We can stay friends. I’m very fond of you.”
“You don’t want me to write to you...” John couldn’t stop the tears from falling down his face. Adam took a step forward, but John backed away.
“It’s too dangerous! Who knows who might intercept your letters? Come on, you need to be realistic about this. People like - people like us - it can’t be a long-term arrangement.”
“No.” John choked off the flood of tears. He didn’t want Adam’s sympathy. He walked over to the door.
“I am sorry.” Adam said; sounding a little choked himself. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, you know.”
“I know.” John wrenched the door open and blinked in the sunlight. He left and he didn’t look back.
*
For the first time in his entire life, he was frightened to return to the Quadrant. His father was easy-going but that didn’t mean he would be prepared to overlook what John had done. Aunt Bridgie would put her oar in too. He shouldn’t have said those things.
He took his time walking back - he was tired now - but eventually the Quadrant loomed large before him. The front door was nearest and he opened it and walked inside, preparing to face the music. Nobody was around. He reached his bedroom and threw himself onto the bed, moodily.
“John,” his father came in, without knocking, looking cross. He took in his son’s red eyes and raw misery and his expression softened slightly.
“There’s no need to upset yourself like this, old man,” he said, digging out his own handkerchief and handing it over. John took it, but didn’t reply. He wondered what his father would say if he knew the real reason for his wretchedness.
“Auntie Bridget is very upset.” Dick Bettany continued. “I think you should apologise to her, don’t you?”
John nodded. He knew he shouldn’t have brought up his cousins as he had, but he had wanted to hurt his aunt.
“I’ll still go swimming. You can’t stop me,” he said, wishing he could stop crying. It was hard to sound determined with tears flooding down one’s face.
“I know we can’t stop you,” Dick calmly ignored the belligerence. “However, your mother and I have discussed it and we think you’re old enough and experienced enough now not to end up drowning yourself. If you want to go swimming, you can. Next year you’ll be going into the Navy, to God knows where. You’re not a child anymore.”
John felt ashamed of himself. “I was this afternoon. I’ll say sorry to Aunt Bridgie.”
“Thank you.” Dick looked at him; worried. He had never seen John this upset and his behaviour at the lunch table had been completely out of character. “Is there something wrong? Something else, I mean?”
“No.” John said at once. It took a huge effort but he met his father’s eye.
“You know you can always talk to your mother and me.” Dick said. “Whatever the problem is I promise we will understand.”
“I know,” John said hollowly, his arms around his knees. He knew for certain his parents would not understand.
“Is it the Navy?” Dick asked. “You know, if you didn’t want to go then you can do something different. Anything you want.”
“I do want to join the Navy.” John realised he did. Anything to get away. At Dartmouth, as long as he kept his head down, he was largely anonymous. Nobody got close enough to find out what he was. The Navy would be the same. Nobody there would pay much attention to him.
“I’ll go and find Aunt Bridgie.” John moved to get up.
“Tomorrow will do. Why don’t you have an early night, get some sleep.” Dick reached out to ruffle John’s hair, but John flinched away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, mournfully. “That I disobeyed you and that I said those things.”
“Goodnight, Jackie,” his father called him by his baby name, but for once John didn’t protest. He lay down and closed his eyes and was asleep before his father had left the room.
*
The next morning it rained. John apologised to his aunt, awkwardly. It was accepted, Bridget was kind to him. Nobody else mentioned the argument; perhaps they had been told not to do so.
He spent the morning in the estate office with his father helping with the endless paperwork. It was a good distraction. John did sums on the back of an envelope, tidied up his father’s papers and felt slightly better. He buried any thoughts of Adam Passmore.
“Shall we go and get some lunch?” Dick leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Hello - we seem to have a visitor.”
“Who...” John looked up and saw Adam Passmore on the path, approaching the office. He looked really quite ill - pale, tired and with dark shadows under his eyes. He looked tormented. John quietly shuffled the papers into order, and stood. Was Adam here to confess? If so, he, John, would deny everything.
“Good afternoon,” Adam said, quite formally. “I’m just here to say goodbye. I’m leaving Channing St Mary this afternoon, slightly earlier than I’d planned.”
“So soon?” Mr Bettany shook hands. “Well, thank you for looking after John. It was good of you to spare the time.”
John looked at Adam, who returned his gaze directly. For a second, he couldn’t speak. “Thank you,” he said, finally. “Thank you for everything.”
Adam smiled. John could see the relief in his eyes. “I’m glad we met,” he said, carefully. “Good luck with Dartmouth and everything.”
“Thanks,” John repeated, and shook hands; there was nothing else they could do with his father stood so close, watching them.
“I’m sure everything will work out well for you.” Adam let go of his hand. He looked away and bit his lip; a muscle worked in his jaw. John stood still. He didn’t flinch when his father put a hand on his shoulder; a fatherly, mildly protective gesture in response to the intensity, although wild horses couldn’t have dragged out of Dick Bettany why he felt he had to protect his son.
“I suppose the only thing left to do is wish you bon voyage!” He said, cheerfully. The spell was broken. Passmore quietly bid them farewell and left. John sat back down at his desk and watched him go. He didn’t look back.
“He seemed a nice chap,” Dick said, conversationally. He put down his pen with a sigh. “I think we should go and lunch and afterwards we should rout out your brothers and sisters and have a game of cricket on the beach. What do you think?”
“Yes,” John smiled. “Yes. That’s a good idea, Dad,” he said, and they both walked out together into the sun.
Fandom: Chalet School
Pairings: John Bettany/OMC
Warnings: M/M, Underage intercourse
Word count: 10,966
Author's Note: I have used the age reference in Bride which EBD seems to have retrospectively changed.
[1]
He slept late, which was so unusual that Bride commented on it at breakfast. He just shrugged.
“I hope you aren’t coming down with something, mavourneen,” Mollie was there immediately, putting her hand against his forehead, fussing. “You look very heavy-eyed. Did ye not sleep well?”
“It’s the heat,” John muttered.
“The radio said it’ll thunder tonight,” Peggy said, cheerfully. “I do agree though - it’s far too hot! I vote we all go to the beach this afternoon. Come on, Rix, you can leave your books for a few hours!”
“I never thought the day would come when someone would say that to you, Rix,” Dick Bettany teased. There was general laughter, and talk turned to other things. John escaped when he could, did his chores quickly and sketchily, and decided to go down to the village. It was well after lunch but Cook always made him sandwiches and left them in the pantry.
“John! Have you done your chores?” His aunt was in the kitchen, talking to Loveday. “Where are you going?”
“Just down to the village. I have done them.”
“If you’re going down to the village then I’ve a list of groceries,” Bridget handed it to him. “Thank you.”
“Should I bring it all back?”
“Let me see... No, just the flour and the tea. The meat can be delivered tomorrow. You can pay the grocer’s bill though. I’ll write a cheque.”
“I’m sorry I was late last night,” John decided to pre-empt her, as she seemed to be in a good mood.
“Then we’ll say no more about it. Oof, ‘tis hot it is! I can’t imagine ‘twould be much hotter in Kenya. Oh, that reminds me, could you take my letter to Pat to the Post Office? Where’s my purse... ‘Twill need an international stamp.”
John waited, masking his impatience. He wanted to see the Lieutenant, to talk to him properly and maybe... He turned his thoughts away, guiltily and took the letter, the money, the cheque and the list in his aunt’s pretty handwriting, putting it all in the pocket of his flannel trousers.
Bridgie followed him outside. “I don’t like the look of that sky. Look at those clouds coming up from the north! If you get caught in the storm, stay in the village.”
“I will. I might go and see Lieutenant Passmore.”
“Don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”
“I won’t.” John frowned. Was he making a nuisance of himself? Adam had seemed so - he had initiated everything. Hadn’t he? Filled with a new doubt, he left the Quadrant and made his way down to Channing St Mary.
He went to the grocer’s for the flour and tea; left the meat order with the butcher, and handed over the cheque. Maurice now went down to the Post Office to collect the Quadrant’s mailbag before breakfast, but the elderly postmaster knew John well and they chatted as he arranged for his aunt’s letter to be mailed.
“Good morning,” the familiar voice made the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand up.
“Good mornin’ Lieutenant. Stamps, is it?” The postmaster was polite, but Lieutenant Passmore was a stranger in the village so he wouldn’t chat with him the way he would with the Bettany boy. John stood aside as Adam bought his stamps.
They left together. Adam held the door open for John. “What are you doing now?” he asked, quietly.
“Oh, nothing,” John felt shy. “I should get the groceries back home...” A growl of thunder drowned out his words.
“Not in that, you won’t. Come on - it’s starting to rain. Come back to the cottage.”
Fat raindrops started to fall, immediately becoming a heavy downpour. Lightning flashed across the sky. They hurried to The Laurels, a mere five minutes’ dash away, but both were drenched when they arrived. John put the groceries down on the kitchen dresser as Adam went to fetch towels.
“I don’t think you should stay in those wet things,” he said, with a smile, when he returned. John came to him and Adam started to unbutton his cotton shirt; now wet and clinging, and making John shiver.
Happiness bubbled inside him, as well as desire and arousal. Adam thrust him hard against the doorframe; kissing him hungrily, his hand wandering down to unzip John’s trousers.
“I’m glad you came back,” he panted, as they broke apart to breathe. He ran his fingers through John’s hair, taking a grip and forcing his head back as they kissed again. Their tongues explored each other’s mouths.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” Adam moaned.
“Do what you did to me yesterday,” John asked. “Please.”
Adam smiled. “Yes. First, I’m going to phone your parents.”
“What!? No - why?” John panicked. Adam gripped his shoulder.
“Calm down. I was just going to suggest you stayed the night. I think that storm’s set in for most of the day. It’s the ideal excuse.”
“I-I thought...”
“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Adam resumed stroking John’s back; calming rhythmic movements; a real juxtaposition to his earlier almost violent passion. “I promise, OK?”
John nodded. “It’s probably best if I speak to Mother. She’ll think I’m inconveniencing you.”
“No, it’s fine. What’s the number?”
John recited it, fastening his trousers and sitting on the sofa.
“Mrs Bettany? Oh hallo, it’s Adam Passmore here. I’m so sorry to disturb you. Yes, the weather’s frightful isn’t it? I have John here with me. No, absolutely my pleasure. I think the rain’s setting in for the long haul. Yes... Yes. Oh no, perfectly happy to keep him for the night. We’re having quite a good chat about my ship. Yes, of course. No, he won’t stay in his wet clothes.” Passmore smiled, and winked at John. “Good afternoon, Mrs Bettany.”
He hung up, and turned around. “Come here,” he ordered, unzipping his own flannel trousers. John went to him, wordlessly.
*
Afterwards, in bed, his warm body pressed next to the Lieutenant’s, and his taste still in his mouth, John fought sleep. It was barely dinnertime. The storm had stopped, but the rain still lashed against the windowpane. Adam slumbered, his arm thrown over John, and every so often he snored. John didn’t mind. He lay still; deep in thought.
Adam opened his eyes. He smiled at John, and sat up. “Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat.”
“No,” John reached out for Adam’s shirt, which he had left on. “Could I see?” he asked, nervous of the older man’s reaction.
“All right,” Adam unbuttoned his shirt, clearly reluctant. The wound had scarred over, but was still very noticeable.
“Does it hurt?” John asked.
“Only if I overdo things. Why did you want to see it?”
“I don’t know... It’s just... At Dartmouth, they talk about how exciting it is to serve, and how it’s our duty; but they never say anything about, well...”
“I know.” Adam’s expression softened. “It isn’t as bad as it looks, though. I’ll be back out there soon enough.”
“I’ll be there next year. I expect so, anyway. They said on the radio last night that more troops will go to Korea, and...”
“God, I hope you won’t be there next year, or ever.” Adam threw back the blankets and got up, abruptly, starting to dress. John sat still, wondering what he had done wrong.
“It’s a horrible place,” Adam said, seeing his stricken expression. “I hope they wouldn’t send kids there.”
“I’m not a kid,” John said.
“Don’t spoil it,” Adam sounded irritated. John got up and scrabbled for his clothes. He suddenly didn’t want to be in the cottage anymore.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just don’t like the idea of you going out there. It’s war. It’s not some boys’ own adventure, whatever they tell you at Dartmouth.”
“It’s OK,” John dressed. “I should probably go.”
“Please stay. I am sorry. You can’t walk home in that rain. Besides, your mother thinks you’re spending the night, doesn’t she?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll make us something to eat. You must be hungry.” Passmore went downstairs. After a moment or two, John followed him.
“I don’t think it’s an adventure, honestly,” he said, earnestly. “I’m frightened, if you must know.”
“It’s not too bad. You’ll cope. I did. I felt exactly the same, but the nearest I’ve come to dying is this,” Adam pointed to his side, “And even that wasn’t too bad, considering. Are your brothers at Dartmouth? I assume not, otherwise your aunt would have told me and sent them round with you.”
“No. Rix is at London University. Maurice is going to Winchester in September.”
“No cousins or uncles in the Service?”
“Only Uncle Michael. He used to be. He lives in Ireland now.”
“Write to him, I’m sure he’d give you some useful advice.”
“Can I write to you?”
“Of course,” but the hesitation was too great and John knew his letters would not be welcomed.
He left the kitchen, wishing it would stop raining and he could go home. Adam had some books on the shelves, not many, but they were an excuse to waste ten minutes looking through them until his eyes stopped watering with self-pity.
John loved reading which often surprised people because he was so active. He looked through Adam Passmore’s sparse collection of books now and found every one dull. He sighed, but then spotted the radio. It would be better than nothing.
He turned it on and twisted the dial. It crackled and whistled but eventually a programme became audible. It was a play and he sat on an elderly armchair and listened without much interest.
They ate the casserole that Adam had heated up mostly in silence. Adam drank three whiskies, but John barely touched his own glass.
“Why don’t you come and sit with me?” Adam asked, eventually, moving over to the sofa. The news was just starting, and he frowned suddenly.
John, who wasn’t listening any more, went over obediently, but the Lieutenant had frozen still and was listening to the radio with an intentness that was quite alarming.
“What’s wrong?” John asked, but Adam shushed him. John listened then, and caught the word ‘ceasefire’.
“I don’t believe it!” Adam beamed. “Oh, thank God. I hope it’s over for good.”
“I’m glad,” but John secretly felt a tiny twinge of disappointment. He had wanted to see action in Korea; he had heard his parents talking about it and had wanted to make them proud.
They made love in front of the fire, there and then, with the curtains firmly closed against the over-interested population of Channing St Mary. Afterwards, both went upstairs, utterly spent, to collapse into the big bed and sleep, their limbs entangled. Adam Passmore’s nightmares did not visit, and John’s own dreams were sweet.
*
“Would you like to go swimming now?” John asked, as they washed up the breakfast dishes together.
“Why not,” Adam put down the tea towel and lit a cigarette. “Will your parents mind?”
“Not if I’m with you. They just don’t let us swim alone,” John dried his hands on another towel. He felt happy. Last night had been good; their lovemaking the best yet. “I need to go back to the Quadrant for my trunks.”
“Swim without,” Adam smiled. He put his hands on John’s hips and pulled him nearer, nuzzling his neck. John laughed; but with a loud knock on the door, they sprang apart instantly.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said, smoothing down his dark hair and straightening his clothes. “It’s probably the butcher’s boy.” He went towards the front door, whistling. John rearranged his own clothing and leaned nonchalantly against the dresser.
“John!” Rix strode in, confidently; not even dreaming he could be unwelcome. “I’ve got the car outside. The Rosomons are coming for lunch so I thought I’d pick you up.”
“OK.” John reluctantly. He picked up the groceries and looked at Adam. “Thank you,” he said.
“Pleasure,” Adam stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“How are you finding Channing St Mary?” Rix asked politely.
“It’s a very pleasant village,” Adam was formal. “I’ll be sad to leave it.”
“When do you go?” Rix frowned at John, who was dawdling over leaving; apparently hanging onto the Lieutenant’s every word.
“Early next week,” Adam said, gruffly. He didn’t return John’s agonised look. “I’ll rejoin my company in Portsmouth.”
“I expect you’re looking forward to getting back,” Rix continued the small talk as he forcibly took the groceries from John and steered him towards the front door of the cottage. They’d be here all day if John didn’t move. He made their farewells and they headed outside.
“Why did you come in the car?” John asked, getting in. He felt empty inside. He glanced back at the Laurels, but Adam had closed the door.
“Just to give it a bit of a run. Shall we go up to Trennington Point? See the lighthouse?”
“Why?” John asked.
Rix shrugged, and crunched the gears. “I thought it would be fun. We’ve barely seen each other all holiday. We don’t have to go.”
“No, OK, I mean, I’d like to go to the Point. We haven’t been there for years.”
“Is everything OK, Jackie? You’re awfully jumpy.”
“I’m fine.” John closed his eyes. “It’s John.”
“Sorry.” Rix rolled his eyes.
He parked as close to the lighthouse as he could. It wasn’t manned now; hadn’t been since the war. The Bettanys knew the coastguard and he had never minded them spending time there when they were children.
“Shall we go up to the top?” Rix held open the door. John grinned, which was a relief. Rix had wondered if there was something seriously wrong. There had been several times during the holiday when he had thought John had wanted to speak to him, but equally he didn’t want to interfere.
They climbed the spiral staircase; John leading.
“Did you hear that they’ve declared a ceasefire in Korea?” he asked, when they had reached the top. He leant forward, looking out across the sea. “If it holds, then I probably won’t go after all.”
“Good,” Rix said. “It was in the newspapers. I think Mother and Dad were pleased - relieved, I mean. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to go. I wanted to matter.” John said, forlornly.
Rix stared at him. “Of course you matter. What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” John felt his face grow hot. He gripped the metal rail and it felt cool against his hands. The air smelt of salt and above them gulls called out to each other.
“I know,” Rix said, suddenly.
John felt his blood run cold. He could only look at his brother, unable to find words.
“What - how?” he managed.
Rix looked uncomfortable. “I felt the same. The summer before last; before I went up to medical school and for ages once I was in London.”
“What do you mean?” John breathed out, heavily.
“I felt like I didn’t know who I was and that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. Well, I knew I wanted to be a doctor, but I didn’t think I’d be very good at it. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. It’s just a phase, honestly. The last year of school is always strange and here - you feel like you’re an adult, but sometimes you feel you’re still a kid. I did, anyway. Does it help to know it’s the same for everyone?”
“Yes. Thanks.” John just felt pure relief. Rix didn’t know, didn’t suspect he was queer. He gave him a quick look. Rix was looking out across the bay, frowning, embarrassed he had revealed so much of himself. They were brothers, they were close, but they never spoke like this to one another. For a brief, tiny second, John battled with himself. Would Rix understand if he confessed? Would he understand that although he wasn’t normal, he couldn’t help it? Would he be sympathetic or revolted?
He couldn’t risk it. Sighing, he turned away.
“If Korea’s all finished - and this ceasefire might not hold, you know - there’ll be another mission.” Rix wondered if he was actually getting through. John had been so strange lately! Always skulking off alone and he looked so unhappy all the time.
“I know. Thanks Rix.” John tried to smile. Rix grinned back.
“Didn’t you say that Naval Lieutenant had a boat? Do you think he’d take us out in it?”
“I thought Daisy and Laurie were coming for lunch?” John prevaricated. He wasn’t at all sure if he wanted Rix to spend time with Adam.
“I didn’t mean right this moment!” Rix looked at his wristwatch. “We should probably get back.”
“OK.”
They were both silent on the drive back to the Quadrant which took them along the cliff road. Rix’s thoughts had turned back to his medical studies and John was thinking about Adam Passmore. Could he sneak away after lunch?
Daisy and Laurie Rosomon had already arrived; but they were family so it didn’t matter. Their baby son, Tony, was passed around for everyone to admire and then they enjoyed a laughing and relaxed lunch together.
John felt like an outsider; his secret felt like it was burning him from the inside out. He caught Laurie Rosomon looking at him once or twice and wondered if he suspected. It made him nervous and his hand shook as he took a sip of water.
Laurie, in his turn, wondered why John was so quiet and picking at his meal.
“How’s the diving coming along?” he asked, genially, knowing that their interest was shared.
John roused himself. “Good,” he said, self-consciously. “I’ve been working on it this summer. My swallow dive is getting better, I think.”
“When? We’ve only been out a handful of times this summer.” Maeve interjected, in clear, bell-like tones, looking at him curiously. “I didn’t see you do a swallow dive!”
“Oh, just the other day I meant,” John went red.
“Have you been out swimming alone?” Bridgie demanded as silence fell across the table.
“I-I...” John couldn’t tell an outright lie.
“John?” His father sounded surprised rather than angry.
“No, we went swimming together the other day.” Rix cut in.
“No, Rix. I have been swimming alone. I’ve been going in the mornings. It’s a stupid rule. I swim alone at Dartmouth all the time anyway.” John pushed back his chair and stood up. He didn’t care anymore. Adam was leaving and nothing else mattered. The next four weeks of his summer holidays stretched out before him, desolate. “I don’t see why we should be punished for what happened to Patrick and Michael and Kevin years ago!”
“Oh, John...” Aunt Bridgie went white at the mention of her dead sons.
“John, go to your room,” his father ordered, with a glance at his sister-in-law. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“Whatever.” He left, registering their collective shock. Tantrums were more Maeve’s line and he had never behaved like that in his life. Instead of going to his bedroom, he ran to the scullery, pulled on his outdoor shoes and was gone, running across the grounds before Cook even saw him.
He ran most of the way to the village, stopping when a stitch jabbed at his side. He angrily dashed away the tears in his eyes. He shouldn’t have said that about Patrick and the others.
Adam Passmore was in the front garden, fiddling with the honeysuckle. He looked up in surprise as John came up the path.
“What’s wrong?” After a quick glance around, he caught John in his arms.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Come inside.” He stroked John’s hair, just briefly.
“I have to go back to my ship,” he said, gently, once they were safely inside. “You knew I do.”
“I’m in so much trouble. They found out about the swimming. My parents are really angry with me.”
Adam shrugged. “They’ll get over it.”
John felt embarrassed. Adam didn’t need him here crying on him and being childish. He barely seemed upset that they’d be parted. “I don’t want you to go,” he repeated, feeling the hot tears well up behind his eyes.
“You knew I’d have to go back sooner or later,” Adam felt sorry for the kid and guilty - it made his tone sharper than he meant it to be. “I shouldn’t have started this. I’m sorry. You’ll be fine.”
“Yes.” John turned away.
“John. Please.”
“I have to go.” John scrubbed at his eyes, angrily. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what you did to me.”
“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” Adam shrugged again. “Come on, John. It doesn’t need to be like this, does it? We can stay friends. I’m very fond of you.”
“You don’t want me to write to you...” John couldn’t stop the tears from falling down his face. Adam took a step forward, but John backed away.
“It’s too dangerous! Who knows who might intercept your letters? Come on, you need to be realistic about this. People like - people like us - it can’t be a long-term arrangement.”
“No.” John choked off the flood of tears. He didn’t want Adam’s sympathy. He walked over to the door.
“I am sorry.” Adam said; sounding a little choked himself. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, you know.”
“I know.” John wrenched the door open and blinked in the sunlight. He left and he didn’t look back.
*
For the first time in his entire life, he was frightened to return to the Quadrant. His father was easy-going but that didn’t mean he would be prepared to overlook what John had done. Aunt Bridgie would put her oar in too. He shouldn’t have said those things.
He took his time walking back - he was tired now - but eventually the Quadrant loomed large before him. The front door was nearest and he opened it and walked inside, preparing to face the music. Nobody was around. He reached his bedroom and threw himself onto the bed, moodily.
“John,” his father came in, without knocking, looking cross. He took in his son’s red eyes and raw misery and his expression softened slightly.
“There’s no need to upset yourself like this, old man,” he said, digging out his own handkerchief and handing it over. John took it, but didn’t reply. He wondered what his father would say if he knew the real reason for his wretchedness.
“Auntie Bridget is very upset.” Dick Bettany continued. “I think you should apologise to her, don’t you?”
John nodded. He knew he shouldn’t have brought up his cousins as he had, but he had wanted to hurt his aunt.
“I’ll still go swimming. You can’t stop me,” he said, wishing he could stop crying. It was hard to sound determined with tears flooding down one’s face.
“I know we can’t stop you,” Dick calmly ignored the belligerence. “However, your mother and I have discussed it and we think you’re old enough and experienced enough now not to end up drowning yourself. If you want to go swimming, you can. Next year you’ll be going into the Navy, to God knows where. You’re not a child anymore.”
John felt ashamed of himself. “I was this afternoon. I’ll say sorry to Aunt Bridgie.”
“Thank you.” Dick looked at him; worried. He had never seen John this upset and his behaviour at the lunch table had been completely out of character. “Is there something wrong? Something else, I mean?”
“No.” John said at once. It took a huge effort but he met his father’s eye.
“You know you can always talk to your mother and me.” Dick said. “Whatever the problem is I promise we will understand.”
“I know,” John said hollowly, his arms around his knees. He knew for certain his parents would not understand.
“Is it the Navy?” Dick asked. “You know, if you didn’t want to go then you can do something different. Anything you want.”
“I do want to join the Navy.” John realised he did. Anything to get away. At Dartmouth, as long as he kept his head down, he was largely anonymous. Nobody got close enough to find out what he was. The Navy would be the same. Nobody there would pay much attention to him.
“I’ll go and find Aunt Bridgie.” John moved to get up.
“Tomorrow will do. Why don’t you have an early night, get some sleep.” Dick reached out to ruffle John’s hair, but John flinched away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, mournfully. “That I disobeyed you and that I said those things.”
“Goodnight, Jackie,” his father called him by his baby name, but for once John didn’t protest. He lay down and closed his eyes and was asleep before his father had left the room.
*
The next morning it rained. John apologised to his aunt, awkwardly. It was accepted, Bridget was kind to him. Nobody else mentioned the argument; perhaps they had been told not to do so.
He spent the morning in the estate office with his father helping with the endless paperwork. It was a good distraction. John did sums on the back of an envelope, tidied up his father’s papers and felt slightly better. He buried any thoughts of Adam Passmore.
“Shall we go and get some lunch?” Dick leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Hello - we seem to have a visitor.”
“Who...” John looked up and saw Adam Passmore on the path, approaching the office. He looked really quite ill - pale, tired and with dark shadows under his eyes. He looked tormented. John quietly shuffled the papers into order, and stood. Was Adam here to confess? If so, he, John, would deny everything.
“Good afternoon,” Adam said, quite formally. “I’m just here to say goodbye. I’m leaving Channing St Mary this afternoon, slightly earlier than I’d planned.”
“So soon?” Mr Bettany shook hands. “Well, thank you for looking after John. It was good of you to spare the time.”
John looked at Adam, who returned his gaze directly. For a second, he couldn’t speak. “Thank you,” he said, finally. “Thank you for everything.”
Adam smiled. John could see the relief in his eyes. “I’m glad we met,” he said, carefully. “Good luck with Dartmouth and everything.”
“Thanks,” John repeated, and shook hands; there was nothing else they could do with his father stood so close, watching them.
“I’m sure everything will work out well for you.” Adam let go of his hand. He looked away and bit his lip; a muscle worked in his jaw. John stood still. He didn’t flinch when his father put a hand on his shoulder; a fatherly, mildly protective gesture in response to the intensity, although wild horses couldn’t have dragged out of Dick Bettany why he felt he had to protect his son.
“I suppose the only thing left to do is wish you bon voyage!” He said, cheerfully. The spell was broken. Passmore quietly bid them farewell and left. John sat back down at his desk and watched him go. He didn’t look back.
“He seemed a nice chap,” Dick said, conversationally. He put down his pen with a sigh. “I think we should go and lunch and afterwards we should rout out your brothers and sisters and have a game of cricket on the beach. What do you think?”
“Yes,” John smiled. “Yes. That’s a good idea, Dad,” he said, and they both walked out together into the sun.