Date: Mon, 10 Jan 2005 02:56:50 +0000 (GMT)
From: roy p...... <sunbeamtb@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Peter Johnson part 10

Christmas should be a happy time, a time for giving, a time for
sharing, a time for putting right the many wrongs in everyone's
life. This Christmas would be one that the four boys in our story
would remember forever, one that formed a turning point in all
their lives.
This chapter contains the first part of the story that I wrote,
some years ago now. Having finished it, I realised it needed a
'lead-in', to explain how and why the event occurred: that has
been the previous nine episodes. A 'follow up' appears equally
necessary, and hopefully that will come in the remaining
chapters. Please tell me if you have liked the story so far, or
not. I have intended this tale to be romantic in nature: more
love than lust. That's just the way I like stories to go. I'm
uncertain yet as to the boys' futures, and how much of the future
needs to be told, and although I favour a happy ending, I may yet
change my mind.


			  Part 10

		   The Christmas Dinner


The weekend was extremely an busy one for Peter, he helped his
Mother prepare the house for Christmas and the visit from his
Grandparents, who would use Alan's room during their stay. That
meant Alan would share his (Peter's) room, which he wasn't
exactly looking forward to, but he cleared space in the room for
a portable bed that Alan would use, hid away some magazines and
made sure that his computer's history files were deleted.
Nathan, too, helped his mother with last minute shopping for food
and presents, and although he was constantly thinking and
worrying about Peter, he forced himself not to phone him up and
hoped that things really would get back to normal after the
Christmas break.


Ian did go home with Derek on Friday, and they did play that
computer game, at first anyway. After a couple of hours playing,
they had dinner with Derek's mother, and then when they went back
to Derek's bedroom, just as Ian sat on the bed and picked up the
game handset, Derek remained standing and said  "Can I ask you
something?" then paused for a second or two, "Please don't be
cross with me if I'm wrong but - well, I know you're new at
school and all that, but - well - you seem to know Peter and
Nathan quite well." Derek allowed a silence to make a question of
the statement.
"I met Peter last year when I stayed at my Aunt's place in the
summer holidays," Ian explained. "And Nathan was at my old school
until his folks moved here in the spring. We all met up again a
few weeks ago, and they've been great to me, I've had some
problems 'cause my folks are divorcing and - well, lets just say
they've been better friends than I deserve."
"Oh!" said Derek. "Its just that - with all that business with
Mr. Hunt, you knowing him as someone else, and that scene at the
gym, and Nathan and Pete - er, sort of er, - coming out as well,
gay, like, I wondered if they - er, that is, if you, er, were -."
Ian looked straight into Derek's eyes. "Yes I am." He said. "And
through my own stupidity, I lost out on the chances I had with
each of them. I actually hurt both of them a lot because of it,
both physically and mentally, because I couldn't say 'yes I am'
to myself at the time, never mind others, and tried to hide
myself behind being a tough guy who beat queers up. I feel so
fucked up at times, I do so much damage to peoples' lives, just
because I can't sort my own out." Ian felt somehow pleased he
could be that honest with his new friend.
Their eyes remained fixed on each other as Derek spoke. "Well I'm
glad you lost your chances with them." He said, seriously,
"Because it gives me a chance with you." And he leant forward and
kissed Ian's lips.
Ian's heart skipped half a dozen beats, then he gently placed a
hand behind Derek's neck and kissed him back. When the kiss
eventually broke, Derek went to his bedroom door and locked it,
then returned to Ian, took his hand and helped him stand, then
unbuttoned his shirt from the neck down and whispered "And it
won't be school gravy I let run from my lips now!"

Christmas morning was a calm, happy occasion in all of the boys'
households.
Derek phoned Ian and they talked for a couple of hours, even
though they had spent much of Sunday and Monday on the phone to
each other. Mrs Warner hadn't been too happy that Ian hadn't come
home until early Saturday evening, she had wanted him to help her
with the last minute shopping but with only a brief phone call on
Friday night to say he was staying at Derek's, she'd had to
struggle on her own with almost too much to carry on the bus home
from town, but he was here now and she wouldn't have a Christmas
on her own as she'd had for many years now. Nathan sat with his
Father who told him that his Mother and he had talked about
Peter, and that if he was really certain of what he was doing, he
still loved his only son and hoped he would find the happiness he
wanted.
Peter and Alan, who had struck up a truce bordering on friendship
from their having to share a room at night, opened their presents
and watched their young sister open hers, remembering their
younger days when Christmas held a magic known only to the very
young.
At varying times between twelve and half-one, the four families
had sat down to their traditional Christmas Dinner.




The Johnson family sat silently, motionless, at their places
around the dinner table, as if frozen in time. They were a close
family - they thought that they knew all there was to know about
each other - but like most folks, each had a terrible secret that
nobody else knew - they hoped.
Today, though, at the worst time - Christmas Day family dinner
and in the worst place - in each other's company they were
hearing words that were so shocking that they drained all life
from their faces.

The surprising thing was, however, that the words weren't the
ones they had dreaded hearing.

 Henry Johnson, production manager at the Iceberg Refrigerator
factory, had just pulled a small new potato from his fork with
his teeth and the fork was hovering an inch from his lips.

"You are dismissed for stealing that new freezer last month"

Marjorie Johnson, former deputy head teacher at the local junior
school, was squeezing a floret of broccoli against the roof of
her mouth with her tongue, savouring the flavour of her favourite
vegetable.

"They've found out after all these years about your school's
petty cash account."

Alan Johnson, sixth form Prefect at the town's Grammar School,
six straight 'A's in the end of year exams and scorer of the
goals which took the school football team to the top of the
county junior league for the first time, was biting through a
roast potato - his mum always overcooked them - and half of it
was pushing his lips forward in a grotesque pout.

"Sally's pregnant, then?"

Keith and Mary Hoskins, Marjorie's parents, visiting the homeland
from their retirement villa on Minorca for the first time in
three years, had finished picking at their
meals - they preferred salads now, even in the winter - and were
sharing the gossip they had picked up from their former
neighbours and friends. "Jane was telling me about how messy the
divorce was -"

"The Town Council Treasurer has traced the other bank account
that the builders of the Old Folks Home used."

Albert Johnson, Henry's younger brother and proprietor of a small
removals and transport business was cutting a slice from his
turkey leg. It managed something it had never done when it was
alive - it flew gracefully through the air - but then landed with
a gravy-cushioned floph on the white tablecloth.

"The Insurance investigator is asking why the old burnt-out
diesel lorry should have a spare petrol can in its cab".

Anne-Marie Johnson, ten year old youngest of the Johnson family,
and by far her parents favourite, was pushing a brussels sprout
around her plate, wishing that Troy, their Golden Retriever, were
at her side to surreptitiously pass the unwanted soggy greens to,
watched as the disliked green orb twitched off her plate and
rolled down her new pale yellow dress to her lap, leaving a trail
any self-respecting snail would have envied.

"Mum's worked out how you could afford to buy that new doll last
month - well she did when she went to her Christmas Presents
savings tin".

None of them heard those words, those weren't the words that were
said.

Peter Johnson, fifteen-year-old middle child, the quiet one of
the family, the mistake, under average in looks, abilities,
achievements and ambitions, until recently a moody, quietly
insolent difficult teenager, had finished his meal. He had eaten
like a starving man faced with a banquet - hard and fast, an
inner determination preventing the intrusion of distractions
around him. He couldn't bear the thought of his secret any
longer. This was the time, it had to be now. He had placed his
knife and fork together on the plate, pointing at five o'clock to
indicate his completion of the meal, sat back in his chair and
made his announcement.

"I think this is the time to tell you all something - I'm gay."
He stood, slid his chair neatly into place under the table and
looked around the family, frozen as if in a photograph. "And I've
learnt to live with it."

Life returned to the room as he left. He heard the sounds - the
choking cough from his grandfather, a soft sob from his
grandmother, a giggle from his sister, a 'wheew!' from his
brother, 'Peter' softly from his mother, 'Come back here!'
shouted by his father - and ignored them all. He walked into the
front room and stood by the window looking out on the world. It
was beautiful, a cloudless blue sky, a bright sun, an empty
street.

Peter was aware that they had all followed him into the room, and
some of them were speaking to him, some softly, some sternly, but
heard none of it.

Today was his day, and he savoured its flavour, the
satisfaction of a task at last done.

Alan came behind him, placed his hands on Peter's shoulders and
said "Good for you, bro" then as their Father, angry and non
understanding as ever, stormed in saying "You'd better explain
yourself" and "No son of mine..." Alan spun round and shouted "If
he's no son of yours, then neither am I. You're always spouting
on about us growing up, being honest and doing our best, and when
Pete here does that you jump down his throat. You're just a
hypocrite. He's my brother and I don't care if he's gay, I still
love him. At least he isn't a thief..." He stopped, he'd gone too
far.

Anne-Marie burst into tears and ran off to her room, thinking
Alan's "Thief" was her.

Keith Hoskins harrumphed and returned to the dining table,
thinking it was him.

Mary Hoskins thought so as well, and followed her husband.

Marjorie Johnson coloured up red, thinking it was her. She stood
at the back of the room, by the doorway.

Henry Johnson knew it was him, and drew back a clenched fist to
swing at his eldest child.


"Go on then, hit me. It'll be the last time you ever do!" Alan
snarled. Henry dropped his arm, turned on his heel and stormed
out of the room, pushing Marjorie out of his way as he went.

Peter continued staring out of the window, at nothing. His fate
was sealed, he'd done the deed. For the moment, he didn't care
what that fate would be - he wallowed in his own satisfaction.


Alan stayed behind his Brother, beginning to understand him
better. He'd seen them together a lot recently, his brother and
that new friend from school, and thought it unusual because Peter
didn't usually have any 'close' friends. It all started to fit
into place.


Marjorie went to her son's side and wanted to hold him, protect
him, comfort him, but she couldn't. She didn't know how, not with
Peter, he'd always been different, from the day he'd been born.
Somehow right from the start he'd distanced himself from her,
something was missing from the relationship that exists between a
mother and her offspring. It was there with Alan and Anne-Marie,
but not with Peter. She'd always thought it was him, his fault
but now - now that she knew - perhaps it was her that was missing
the last piece in the puzzle. Because of - all those years ago.
"Is it Nathan?" she asked, gently.


Peter turned his head to face hers. "Yes, Mum." He said, quietly,
matter-of-fact. "It's Nathan. I love him more than I thought love
was possible."  She took the one step to his side, held him round
the waist with one arm and held his head to her shoulder with the
other and whispered, "I know, Peter, I know." That last piece
fell into place and the picture of life was complete, at last.