Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2014 22:01:39 +0000
From: Spasm Two <spasm2@hotmail.com>
Subject: Hugo 1

Chapter 1: an unfortunate incident.

      A couple of years back an abrupt and messy split up from my long-term
partner meant that I urgently had to find somewhere new to live. Even
though it still held some painful memories I had no wish to move far from
the village which had become our home over the past six years.

A couple of factors affected my decision about the new place, firstly, I
didn't have a great deal of spare money, and secondly I wanted somewhere
secluded where I could lick my wounds in private. When I was looking around
for somewhere to live I was offered an old farmhouse to rent, quite cheap,
partly because it was well off the beaten track, and also because it was
situated in a working farmyard. As it turned out, there was only ever a
limited amount of activity from the farmer, mostly he'd just pick up a
tractor and head off into the fields, or in winter, he'd be seen feeding
some cattle in the barn across the yard, beyond that I was left entirely to
my own devices.

Other than the farmer, who had built himself a new house about 500 yards
away, there was only one other house within about a mile, and although I
could see its roof through the trees, it didn't overlook me. It looked
quite large; usually there were a couple of newish and expensive four wheel
drives parked in their yard, and a regular column of tradesmen's vans
visiting during the week. I saw nothing of the occupants during my first
winter, but when spring finally came, and the cows started calving, I would
occasionally see someone on a mountain bike flashing along the farm track,
or idly note a bike propped up against the barn doors on the other side of
the farmyard, not being particularly interested in my neighbours, I thought
little of it.

      As the weather gradually improved, I began to spend more and more
time in the garden, and I would occasionally hear the sound of a bicycle
speeding up and down the road to the big house. One day I was standing in
my kitchen doing the washing up and gazing absently out across the yard
when a boy on a bike shot past the window, did a flashy 180º turn and
disappeared in a cloud of dust back the way he came. I had little time to
register any more than that he looked to be somewhere in his early teens,
had darkish floppy hair and was dressed in dark school trousers and a white
shirt. Other than that he appeared quite attractive looking and was
evidently the visitor to the cow byre. Little did I know that quite shortly
our paths were due to cross in ways that would have profound effects on
both of us. I grew accustomed to the occasional fly past from the mystery
boy, I realised that he was probably quite curious and was checking me out,
but I made no effort to help him, after all, what would I want with a poor
little rich kid getting under my feet and cluttering up the place. I should
explain that I am a designer, and work from home at least some of the time,
I can also be away for weeks, sometimes in exotic locations (more often
not, unfortunately), that this was a major contributor to the breakup of my
relationship is undoubtedly true, and I had tacitly decided it was better
not to get involved with anyone else for the time being.

      The day I first met him properly was bright and sunny, we were just
entering into a heat wave, although I didn't know it at the time, and I was
planting some seeds in the small garden at the back of my house. I heard
the sound of the bicycle approaching at speed, but didn't look up; sure
enough he shot past, disappeared round the house and into the farmyard. I
heard the squeal of brakes as he made his trademark 180º turn, but
instead of the characteristic sound of tortured rubber on the dust I heard
a brief outcry followed by the unmistakable sound of metal landing on road
metal. `Oh bugger,' I thought, rather uncharitably, `I'd better see what
the little sod's done.' I walked round to the front, sprawled in the dirt
the boy looked small and vulnerable; his slender limbs entangled with his
machine, instantly I regretted my cynicism and rushed over to the scene of
the accident. `Are you ok?' I asked, unoriginally.

      The boy was stirring, so at least he hadn't knocked himself out, he
was wearing a faded red t-shirt, brown board shorts and converse
sneakers. I crouched down beside him and touched him on his shoulder
softly, this seemed to bring him round, `Are you alright?' I asked again.

      He turned his face to me, his eyes were bright blue and at that
moment brimming with tears, `the chain jammed at just the wrong moment,' he
said softly in a local accent, `and I was going too fast to stop it from
going over.'

      'Are you badly hurt?' I asked, my first aid training kicking in,
'don't try to move if you think you've broken anything.'

      'No, I'm ok, mostly winded,' he replied, 'but I think I've hurt my
leg.'

      `Right, I'd better take a look, and if you're ok to move I think
you'd be better off on my bench, not lying there in all the cowshit.  Let
me help you up,' I said, offering him a hand.

      The boy put his warm, sun-tanned hand in mine and I gently helped to
haul his light body onto its feet, as soon as he was upright he let go,
possibly a mistake, as straightaway his legs wobbled and buckled under
him. Swiftly I put an arm round his chest and caught him before he fell, `I
think you'd better sit down while I check out your wounds,' I said, and I
half-carried, half-steered him over to the garden bench. I lowered him
carefully onto the wooden seat and stepped back, now that I could see the
other side of him I realised that he had a big gouge on his knee and he had
skinned his elbow, both the wounds were already dripping bright scarlet
blood. He also had angry red scrapes on his wrists and ankles. `Sit tight
for a moment and I'll get some stuff to patch you up,' I commanded, `let me
get you a drink first of all, shock makes a man thirsty you know.' Briefly
he smiled at my feeble humour, and it was as though his face lit up. I went
into my kitchen and poured a glass of squash for him, `there, drink that,
and I'll get all this blood mopped up.'

      Years in my industry had taught me the importance of carrying a first
aid kit, and opening the door of my battered old Landrover I took mine from
its customary stowage. `Ok, hold still, just need to clean you up a bit, be
brave, this will hurt a little, but you'll soon feel better.' I wrapped his
bleeding elbow in a sterile dressing, `here, you hang onto that, hold your
arm up and keep the pressure on it while I attend to your knee.' I fetched
a bowl of warm water into which I had stirred a couple of spoons of salt,
and after dipping another swab into it, I began gently to dab at the wound
on his knee. I heard his sharp intake of breath as soon as he felt the
salty water and put my other hand on his warm thigh to stop him pulling
away from me, `that's better,' I said calmly, `we'll soon be rid of all
this muck and blood and in a couple of days you'll have a scab you can be
proud of.' Once again I'd managed to make him smile, I was enjoying the
fleeting moments of happiness, a smiling boy is a beautiful thing,
especially one as handsome as this one had turned out to be.

      Once I'd cleaned away all the blood and dirt, I was able to inspect
the wound more closely, it was quite a big scrape, but it was superficial
and I couldn't see any foreign bodies embedded in his flesh. `Right now,
watch out for a moment, this'll sting like billy-o, but only for a couple
of seconds, then it'll very suddenly feel much better,' I sensed him
tensing up, and quickly squirted the wound with antiseptic spray before I
clamped a lint free dressing over it all. I looked up into his face, the
tears had started again, but he was being brave, `I should have asked, do
you have any allergies? Plasters, surgical tape and so on?' Mutely he shook
his head, `Good,' I continued, `that simplifies things, I'm crap at
bandaging; you might have ended up looking like an Egyptian mummy. Can you
straighten out your leg for me?'

      Tentatively he did as I asked, by now the mild anaesthetic in the
spray had numbed the pain, and it didn't hurt him as he'd expected, swiftly
I taped the dressing to his leg, the white startling against his golden
skin. `Same procedure for your elbow, then I think you'll be good to go
home.' With a fresh bowl of water I cleaned up his skinned elbow, gave it a
good squirt of magic spray and put a dressing on it.

      `Now, before you go home, are there any other aches and pains? What
about those scrapes on your wrists and ankles, they look sore, but they
seem to be healing.'

      `No,' he stammered, `they're ancient, nothing to do with this.'

      `Did you bang your head? I notice you're not wearing a helmet.'

      `Helmets are for woosses,' he said defiantly.

      `Yeah, but they do help to keep you alive when you try to headbut a
road,' I said firmly.

      `Touché,' he grinned, `I don't think I hit anything else, but
perhaps you should check my head for lumps of cowshit just in case.'

      `Ok, but if you start to feel a bit queer later, you must tell
someone immediately, who's at home to keep an eye on you at the moment, by
the way?'

      `Just my big brother Tom, back from Uni,' he answered, `mum and dad
are away in New York for a couple of weeks.'

      `Is he sensible?'

      `Aye, he can be, depends if he's had a few bevvies or not.'

      `I'll give you my home number; you can call me tonight if you feel at
all worried.' I softly ran my fingers through his wavy chestnut hair, there
were no unexpected lumps or bumps that I could feel, but I did notice that
when my fingertips skimmed across the nape of his neck he gave a little
shudder. `Did that hurt you?' I asked anxiously, gently repeating the
action.

      `No, not at all, it feels fantastic; no-one's ever touched me there
before.'

      `Well, I think you're ok,' I said, ignoring what he'd just said for
the moment, `I doubt you'll be able to walk properly for a bit, so I'll
take you over in the Landie.

      `Thanks,' he said softly, `I was a bit worried about how I would get
home.'

      `You sit tight for a minute and I'll pop your bike in the back. Will
you be able to fix it up?'

      `Oh yeah,' he said confidently, `I expect it's my own stupid fault
for not tightening up the chain guide enough.'

      `Right ho,' I said, and picked up the bike, putting it carefully into
the back of my car. `Now, d'you think you can walk to the car?'

      He pushed himself up off the bench, and stood, wobbling a little.

      `Here, let me give you a hand,' I offered.

      `Thanks,' he replied, `but not in front of my brother, ok?'

      `Yeah, ok, I understand.' I put one arm round his slender waist and
braced him with the other as we limped the short distance to my car, he
sank into the passenger seat and I carefully lifted the injured leg in for
him. I grabbed one of my business cards off the dashboard and handed it to
him, `Stick that in your pocket and call me if you need help,' I said,
`don't bother with the mobile number it doesn't work well here, but you
already know that I expect.

      `Yeah, mine's the same, texts do get through eventually but calls are
pointless,' he smiled.

      I slowly drove up the track to his house, and pulled up close to the
open front door, the boy eased himself carefully out and hobbled the short
distance to the door. `Careful now,' I said, `and mind, you'll be stiff in
the morning.'

      `No change there, then,' he grinned cheekily, `I'll call my brother;
Tom, can you come out here a minute!' he shouted into the interior, after a
moment or two a dishevelled and much older version of my visitor appeared.#

      `I'm just returning your brother to you, he's had a little crash in
the farm yard. I've patched him up, but you might need to keep an eye on
him, especially if he starts complaining of headaches or he stops being
able to talk.'

      `Chance would be a fine thing,' he said grumpily.

      `Seriously though, he may need a tetanus shot if he's not had one for
a while, farm yards are full of germs.'

      `Ok, ok,' he replied, `He should be alright I think, we've been based
out in Africa for the last three years and he must have had every jab
going. I will keep an eye on the little toerag though, he shouldn't have
been going out without the stabilisers on his bike anyway.'

      `Oh ha-ha,' the boy said sarcastically, `you'd better get back to the
telly, if that`s all you were doing, I can look after myself.'

      Without further comment, the older youth retired into the murky
interior, where indeed I could hear the sound of some sporting fixture
blaring away.

      `Will you be ok?' I asked.

      `Oh yeah, I'll be fine, I'll go up to my bedroom and play on my
computer for a bit then I'll go to bed.'

      `Here,' I said, `you'll need to change the dressings in the morning,'
I handed him a handful of sterile dressings and a roll of micropore tape,
`I'd suggest that you take a long hot shower after you've taken the
dressings off, it may all look a bit ghastly, and if it's badly swollen or
smells bad, you're to get to a doctor pronto, understand. Oh, and if you
want a tip, rip the tape off quickly, if you try to do it slowly then it'll
hurt you much more, not that you are very hairy of course. As soon as you
can, leave the dressings off and don't pick at the scabs or you'll end up
with a scar on your beautiful skin.'

      `Yes mother,' he said patiently, `I'll be fine.'

      `I'm sure you will, but just in case anything doesn't seem right,
you're not to panic, you know what to do, and if you're not sure ring
me. I'm away on business first thing in the morning but I could ring the
doctors for you if you need it.'

      `I promise I'll call you if there's any problems, and thanks for
taking care of me,' he said gravely and turning away, he limped into the
house.

      I unloaded the damaged bike and propped it against the garage doors,
before turning round and driving slowly back to my house. As I tidied up
the mess created by my al fresco surgery, I suddenly realised that I didn't
even know what his name was.

      Sometime later that evening, my phone pinged, a text from an unknown
number; `thanks again for your help, my wounds are sore and hot, but I've
googled it, and apparently that's a good thing. My name is Hugo by the way,
pleased to meet you at last.'

      I replied; `glad you're recovering well, call me John.' I was
irrationally pleased that he didn't use text speak, and that he was able to
spell.

      That, for the moment was that, next day I went away for a couple of
days, and my curious encounter with Hugo faded in my memory, he sent me no
more texts and I assumed that all must be well.