Date: Sun, 25 Apr 2010 17:41:18 +0100 From: paxos@hushmail.com Subject: Ash Cloud The Nifty warnings apply to this story. Do not read if you are under age or unlikely to enjoy a story in this Nifty category. --- Iceland groans. Down deep, very deep, it boils. A mile underground, resistance cracks. Splinters. White magma sears upward, fast, insistent, relentless. The land, heaving, builds pressure and buckles. Hard rock, a mountain of resistance, explodes. Vermilion hurls skywards, incandescent. Pulse upon pulse heaves upward. The land collapses. A plume of broiling ash, forty thousand feet high and rising. --- "Darling, will you dial Tabitha for me?" She passes the mobile to her thirteen year old son in the front seat as she navigates the medieval streets of Positano. She honks her horn. A shop window reflects the image of the Fiat 500, top down, as they flash past. "Toby...? While Jack's doing that - can you look at the route?" She passes the fluttering map into the back seat. "What's the road number to San Pietro?" Jack passes the phone back to her. She tucks it between her cheek and shoulder, reaching down to the handbag at her feet. "Tabitha?!" "Mum! What are you looking for? Let me find it!" "My diary, sweetheart." Her boy unbuckles his seatbelt to lean into her footwell. He grabs the handbag. "Tabitha! Yes.... No. Not yet...." She decides there is space to pass the delivery truck. "Mum!" She holds up her hands at the lorry driver looking down at her from his battered cab. "Tabitha, darling, yes, tell Henry that the autumn collection absolutely needs Brazzio. He's a MUST darling." "Mum!" The blind bend reveals a battered saloon in the middle of the road. They brake. "Well, he will just have to reverse, darling. There's someone behind me." She looks in the rearview mirror at the ashen faced boy bracing himself in the back seat. "Don't look so worried Toby! No I was speaking to Toby. Brazzio, darling, got it? He's a genius. I'll drop the boys at the airport in Naples and be in Rome by three. Yes darling." Turning to her son, "What's the date Giuseppe arrives from Milan?" "Giuseppe?" Jack flips through the pages and holds it towards her. "Says here May 19, I think." "May 19 Tabitha. Yes. Yes. Yes, very good thank you for asking." "Mum! You are too close to the edge!" Jack is staring down the tortured rocks that beetle to the sea below as the car scoots around another hair-pin. "Must go, Tabitha. Love to Raymond. Muah, muah." "Fucking hell mum!" "Language, Jack!" Out of the port the car strains up the snaking narrow road until the sea shimmers with wind-whipped crests far below. Sun-white villages cling to the cliffs. The smell of hot tarmac and diesel as they follow behind a bus, tyres squealing as they protest through the turns. Jack twists in his seat, grinning at his friend Toby. "Wanna change seats?" Toby shakes his head and looks nauseous. Above the open-top car, far up in the ringing blue sky, a Kestrel tilts and spirals upward on a thermal. Thirty thousand feet higher still, invisible dust hangs in slowly moving layers. --- In the cool of the airport, Jack and Toby sit on their suitcases, bare knees and arms and shorts. Jack has kicked off his flip-flops. His short-sleeved shirt, a dark patterned blue, is open to the waist. He leans back and watches the men who pass him with their trolleys and quick glances. Toby unconsciously fastens the top button of his polo shirt, then stands up. "What's taking your mum so long?" Then, looking at Jack, "You've caught loads of sun." "So have you. Your freckles are well out of control. Wanna see my tan-line?" "No." "I'll show you anyway." Jack pulls his shorts half-way down one hip. "See?" Toby glances and rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Put it away." A young Italian man, perhaps a student, puts his duffle-bag close to theirs. He seems not to notice them. He is staring at the departure board. Jack, leaning back on his suitcase, is tensing his stomach muscles, a four-pack visible under soft curves. He stands and pads on bare feet to stand beside the student, looking up at the departures. Delayed Delayed Delayed Delayed Delayed Jack takes his shirt off, balls it up and throws it at Toby. "Toby, come look at this." --- They had not expected to see the Positano harbour lights again, or the moon across the water. The hotel had let their rooms. "It's late and the boys are tired, I don't want to have to look elsewhere, are you sure there are no rooms available?" The check-in girl disappears to reappear a minute later smiling. "We have a room, twin beds." "We'll take it. Boys you don't mind scooting up together." Jack punches Toby on the arm. "That's fine mum, he don't snore." "Doesn't snore." "I can sleep on the floor, Mrs. Cowley." --- Positano beach is crowded. Blue and white parasols and lines of sun loungers, like the ranks of a Napoleonic army, march down to the sea. A clutter of rowing boats and fishing skiffs at angles provides shade for the two boys, Jack in his speedos and Toby in his swim-shorts. "Why did you sleep on the floor? You're a nutter, and my mum feels bad now." "You know why." "I've never tried it on with you have I?" "No." "Well then?" Toby does not reply. Then: "Did you really do it with Anderson? "Last term?" "Yeah." "Who told you that?" "No one, just heard a rumour." "Who from?" "No one." "Bullshit. Who from?" "NO ONE. Well did you?" "Yeah I did. It was tops." "He's a prefect. He's way older than you." "Seventeen, that's not way older. Anyway, if you're not interested in all that why ask me? You want to, you just don't have the balls." "Nah, that's okay." "Pussy." "Am not. It's just not my thing." "How do you know if you never tried it?" "I just know." "Oh! So you HAVE tried it!" "No I haven't!" Toby picks up a pebble. "Who with? Graham?" "Fuck off." "Little Thompson?" Toby laughs. "Thompson?" "Fuck off Jack, I've never done it, never wanted to do it, never gonna do it." "Pussy." "And anyway, Thompson is in junior school so what is he, like ten?" "Yeah, you perve on him in the choir." "You're crazy. You perve on him you mean." "I've had him." "BULL S-H-I-T." "Have too." "Bollocks." "Wanked him after choir." "You are full of it." "Oh yeah, well you'll be dreaming of that tonight if you can stop perving on my mum for five minutes." Toby laughs and lobs the pebble into the boat with a clatter. "You want her boobies." "You are so sicko." "`Oh Mrs. Cowley... this floor is SO uncomfortable, Mrs. Cowley. PLEASE let me share with you Mrs. Cowley....'" "Yeah well, someone's got to satisfy her." Jack's smile disappears. "What do you mean by that?" "Nothing. It was a joke." "Not funny. Not fucking funny." Jack is on his feet. He runs, dodging the sun-loungers, stumbles and dives into the sea. --- Mrs. Cowley rests her hand on the back of Toby's warm neck. She is not aware of the effect she is having on him. But Jack is and is glaring at him. "Pour me some wine, Jack. Well, you two, this is a pickle isn't it. Every flight cancelled across Europe on account of volcanic ash...." Her hand is still on his neck, she seems to have no intention of removing it. "I've called your parents Toby, and we're all thinking about the best way to get you both back to school." She picks up the chilled glass. Toby stares at the trace of lipstick as she returns the glass to the starched linen table-cloth. Jack spoons Tiramisu into his mouth. When his mother looks away he opens his mouth at Toby and rolls the creamy goo around on his tongue. Her thumb is now rubbing the nape of Toby's neck. He adjusts the napkin on his lap. "The thing is, I really HAVE to be back in Rome tomorrow. The day after at the latest. I mean I suppose you could come with me, but there's nothing for you in Rome. You'd be bored to DEATH, both of you." Toby can smell her expensive perfume. Jack's tongue is making flickering movements. "And there is no TELLING when this wretched cloud is going to lift. Eruptions are still happening according to the news." Jack is mouthing silently the word `Eruptions' at Toby. Toby is trying not to laugh. His shoulders hunch and she starts to knead them with her hand and fingers. She takes another drink and her hand returns from his bare shoulders to the nape of his neck. "Perhaps after lunch I'll call the school." Jack snorts. "What are they going to do? Anyway, there's nothing important first few weeks of term anyway." Toby has picked up a breadstick. With Mrs. Cowley looking thoughtfully out of the window, he is sucking on it, his eyes glittering at Jack. He pulls it in and out of his mouth. Licks it, then savagely bites off the tip. A crumb falls onto his bare chest. Jack puts his forehead on the table in front of him, his shoulders hunched to his ears. "Perhaps your father would have an idea." Jack looks up. He watches his mother pick the crumb from Toby's bare chest. He notices Toby's nipples are hard. "Mum, don't do that, Toby's not a baby." Toby munches on the bread-stick sending crumbs cascading down his chest. Both boys get the giggles. "What's up with you two?" she says. Her hand, at last, returning to her cutlery. --- The boys are pulling their suitcases along the pier. She is striding ahead, clutching a napkin that she looks at, from time to time. "The Aurora." She says as she studies the names of the boats at anchor. "I hate to say this, Jack, but your father does have his uses.... `Aurora'...." "Is it a motorboat?" "No a sailboat." "SAILBOAT!" "Yes, keep looking." The marina is alive with rigging that slaps and chimes on metal masts. "Mrs. Cowley?" A bearded, middle-aged man, is waving. He is standing on the deck of a sailboat, a single tall mast rolling gently against the sky. "I figured there can't be too many mothers with young lads in tow in the marina!" Mrs. Cowley is beaming. Hand outstretched. Jack whispers to Toby: "Captain Birdseye!" "Welcome aboard." "I can't tell you how grateful I am Mr...." "Hemsley, Bob Hemsley. Predictably, people call me Captain Bob." Jack looks disgusted. "Come on boys, let's get your luggage stowed." Captain Bob clatters down a narrow ladder. They hand down their suitcases and follow after, careful on the steep steps. "We'll put you forward in the guest cabin." They make their way through a narrow galley, past a large table with a horseshoe of leather seats around it. Past a cooker and microwave. A narrow sink. Two toilet rooms. At the front of the boat a wooden door opens into a bedroom with a single double bed. "Er, Captain Bob..." says Toby, is there another bedroom?" "There's another single, and then my master bedroom at the other end. I thought you guys might like to share?" "Well, its just that he snores a lot." "Okay, no problem, here's that other room." Another narrow wooden door opens onto a single bunk. "I'll go in there." says Toby, heaving his case over the step. Jack flops down on the double bed. Lays back and splays his arms out. "Tops!" Captain Bob takes Mrs. Cowley back on deck, leaving the boys to explore. "Is it safe?" "It's a journey I have done dozens of times, Mrs. Cowley. Skippering vessels backwards and forwards to the UK for clients. This boat, an Oyster 49, fifteen meters.... A great sea boat this, Mrs. Cowley. You could sail to the United States in this." "Will the boys be okay?" "It'll be an adventure for them. I'll put them to work mind, earning their passage. They'll fall in love with sailing though, so be warned. It can be an expensive hobby." "You are a darling to do this." "Your husband and I go way back. Just glad I can help out. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, and your sons." "They look alike don't they, but Toby is not my son, he's a friend of Jack's from boarding school. Like peas in a pod, those two." "How old are they?" "Thirteen, although Jack is a few months older. You'll take some money for their passage." "Wouldn't hear of it." "We insist." She presses an envelope into his hand. "That's very generous." "Please keep them safe." "Of course." "Boys!" They pop up through two different hatches. "Boys, I am off, come and say goodbye." She pulls Jack to her. He is off balance, his arms by his sides. She whispers to him. "Toby, darling! What a pleasure to meet you. I do hope you'll come on holidays with Jack again. They are not always such an adventure." She kisses him on the cheek, leaving a blur of lipstick. Then with a wave, she is off. They watch her to the end of the marina where she disappears from view. "So boys... what do you know about sailing?" he says smiling, and putting a hand on both their shoulders. He notices that Jack's shirt has come untucked. --- Far out at sea, miles from the coast of Africa, a small boat drifts away, helpless on the tide. --- comments always welcome: paxos@hushmail.com