Christopher thought he began to, and nodded encouragingly. "Okay, I won't be so polite in future. But you agree to abide by that promise? You'll wait?"
"I'll wait, sweet Christopher. I'll wait."
"Right, that's promise number one. Now number two. You must promise me that you won't do anything silly while you're waiting. I don't just mean trying to kill yourself again. I know you're not the sort to do that really. You only did it today because you were over wrought and half way out of your mind and didn't know what you were doing. But there's to be no more of it - not even thinking about it, you understand?" Jamie nodded gravely.
"But it's not only that. You must promise not to do other sorts of things too. There's to be no getting desperate and trying to come and find me at university, or at the old folks' place in London in the next three weeks. Agreed?"
"Yes," said Jamie.
"You must promise me that, Jamie, dear. I've got to make you promise that, because I know you well enough to know that I'm the only person there is you'll keep a promise to. That's right, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Jamie again. "I don't like lying, or breaking promises, but I'd always break them if I had to for you, or for us. But I won't break a promise I make to you."
"Good. Then promise me you'll behave yourself until we're together."
"I promise," said Jamie softly, squeezing Christopher's hand painfully hard.
"That's all right, then. I told you the other night, I've got to get my degree, so I can get the sort of work I want. Remember that, and if it's any comfort, think of it that every day we're apart it's another day towards setting ourselves up the way we want to - for ever, as far as I'm concerned, my J." Jamie smiled, thinking about it. "It won't be easy," he said slowly.
"It's going to be hell," said Christopher, "for both of us. But we've got to do it, so we will. But I've got one or two promises to make to you, too. First of all, I'll write."
"But..." Jamie broke in.
"No buts. I say, I'll write. I know what Dr Lane said, but I'm going to fix that. I think I've gone up a few notches in his esteem today, and he's letting me go to the house when I leave here to talk to him. He's a reasonable man, Jamie, you know that better than I do. I think he loves you - he's very fond of you, at any rate. Believe me, I'll square it with him, and you'll get a letter from me... every day if you like, even if it's only a note sometimes..."
"Every day, Chris. I want a promise this time. I don't care what you say. I know you'll be busy a lot of the time, and there won't be much to say in lots of them. But just a slip of paper with 'Love from Chris' will do. Every day, Chris?"
"Every day. I promise. In return, I want a letter from you at least once a week. Tell me everything that goes on. It'll be just about what I live for, J. Will you do that for me?"
"Every day, Chris," said Jamie in the same tone as he had said the words before.
"I'd like that best of all, but I won't hold it against you if you miss a day or so now and then."
"Yes, you will, Chris. Please. You must."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Christopher in perplexity.
"That's what I meant about being told, dear Chris, about you being so polite. I want you to tell me you want a letter a day and you won't accept anything less. You're so nice to me it makes me feel guilty, and I hate feeling guilty - except over things like today, when I've really done something to be guilty about."
"All right, Jamie. One letter a day from me to you, and one letter a day from you to me - without fail, both ways. Same conditions for you as me - if there's nothing special to say, just a note saying you love me'll keep me happy. Very happy. Okay?"
"Of course it's okay." Jamie stroked Christopher's face and neck and smiled up at him. Christopher thought he looked happier than he had looked for weeks.
"Another promise from me to you," he said. "We will meet, fairly soon." Jamie caught his breath, and squirmed and fidgeted, beginning to get excited. "Don't, love," said Christopher. "The nurse said I wasn't to do anything to upset or excite you." Jamie obediently lay still. "I'm supposed to be ill," he said, grinning.
"I know, she told me," said Christopher. "Did they tell you what's the matter?" He glanced anxiously up at the drip.
"The tablets I took are pretty nasty," said Jamie. "Apparently they destroy your liver. That's what that stuff is. It's got some long name. Unpronounceable. If you take too many of those Panadol they have to pour about a gallon of this stuff into you to protect your liver, otherwise it packs up and you die... Chris. Chris, what's the matter? What have I said?"
Christopher had gone white and suddenly had to prop himself with both hands on the counterpane. "It's okay," he muttered after a moment to recover. Jamie saw the colour come back into his face with enormous relief. "Christ, Chris, what was it?"
"Nothing, love. I just thought what a close thing it was, and then I thought of you with your poor liver failing and dying alone, and I... I... Well, I just had a sort of premonition - no, not a premonition, a sort of inkling of what life without you'd be like."
"What would it be like, Chris?" Jamie asked interestedly.
"Short," said Christopher. Jamie saw his face, and pulled him down roughly with his free arm.
"You said we'd meet, though, Chris darling," said Jamie happily when at last he let him go. "When?"
"I can't say for certain," said Christopher. "I'll be with the old couple for three weeks from tomorrow. I'll send you the first letter one day early next week - give me a day or so to get sorted out. I go to the university three weeks on Monday. I'll tell you the address in one of my letters before I go there. The term's ten weeks. Thirteen weeks in all. I'll definitely see you early in the holiday, so thirteen or fourteen weeks is the longest you'll have to wait. But there's a very good chance that I'll be able to get back for a few days during the term. If I do, I shan't tell anyone except you. I'll work something out so I can stay somewhere off the beaten track, and we'll arrange something. But you'll just have to trust me to fix that nearer the time."
"I trust you," murmured Jamie.
There was a light knock on the door and the sister came in. "I'm afraid you'll have to go very shortly," she said pleasantly to Christopher, and to Jamie, "Are you feeling all right?"
"Well, not too bad, thanks," said Jamie, pulling a face. "Pretty sickish, I suppose. And I've still got that headache."
"That's a hangover," said the sister severely. "Your first, I trust. And your last, if you've got any sense."
"The whisky was vile," said Jamie, remembering. "Funny, Chris, I can hardly remember anything about the whole thing. I felt very funny, sort of light-headed. And that was before I'd drunk any of the whisky. I just didn't seem to be able to think straight. And I don't know how long I'd been lying there after having the whisky and taking the tablets before you got there. I thought it was me dying when you thumped me. It was very unpleasant," he said. His voice had sunk to a murmur, and there was horror in it. "I didn't need to promise you I'd never do anything like that again, Chris. I'm glad I did though. I like promising you things," he confided in a whisper. The sister took the hint, and went out. "Five minutes," she said to Christopher as she went. Then she saw Jamie's face. "Ten," she said, with a soft chuckle. As I thought, she thought to herself in the corridor outside.
They poured as much of themselves into their last ten minutes as they could contrive, like condemned men over their last meal, investing every tiny action or word with the special significance of last things. "We're not parting for good and all," said Christopher into Jamie's mop of dark-red hair. "But it feels like it, doesn't it?" answered Jamie sadly, nuzzling Christopher's throat. He suddenly had an idea. "Got your knife?" he said.
"Yes, here," said Christopher, fishing it out of his pocket. "What do you want it for?"
For answer Jamie pulled Christopher's head down to him, and Christopher felt him sawing at a thick hank of his long hair with the blunt pen-knife. Jamie sat back, with a hefty twist of the hair in hi
s hand. He looked at it fondly. "Take some of mine now, Chris," he said. "Quick, before she comes back. I think she's guessed about us, you know," he added, grinning at him. "That's why she's being so decent about the time."
"Well, if she's decent about the time, I couldn't care less if she knows all about us," said Christopher, blessing the woman in his heart. He sifted Jamie's thick, heavy hair, looking for a lock that would not be seen to be missing. He cut a long, thick curl and rubbed it between his fingers. "Got an envelope or something?" he asked. "I'd hate to lose it or get it dirty or anything."
"There's some sort of surgical bag in the waste bin," Jamie said, pointing down on the other side of the bed. "There was a needle or something in it when I first came in here." Christopher got up and went round the bed. "Got it," he said, and he was slipping the lock of hair into the little autoclave bag when the sister came back into the room. The first thing she saw was the bag in his hand, and he had no chance of concealing what he was slipping inside it. To Christopher's surprise, she blushed. She was a pretty woman, he saw for the first time, and the blush made her prettier. He wondered how it would feel to be attracted to her. She made some excuse of having forgotten something, and left them alone again, with a brief but unmistakable look of warning. "That was bloody decent of her," Christopher remarked. "Time's up, Jamie."
They made as good a farewell as they could, and at last Christopher said, "I'll have to go. Goodbye, Jamie, my dearest. Don't forget - a letter a day, starting the day you get the first from me. You'll wait for me?"
"I will."
"And you'll be good?"
"I will. I will. My Chrissie." The name that only his father, and occasionally his brother Neil, used, stopped him at the door. He turned back and smiled to Jamie, giving permission. "Bye, love," he said. "Bye, Chris. Bye, my dearest," said Jamie. It was the last word he heard in Jamie's voice for a long time. The last thing he saw as he blew a kiss, slipped out and drew the door closed was Jamie's smile, through the first of many tears. Half-blinded, he had a near-collision with the returning sister as he turned to walk down the corridor. She looked at him with pity. "I'm sorry," he muttered thickly. He stopped and tried to smile at her, blinking hard.
They got past each other. As she was about to go into Jamie's room he turned back. "Sister." She stopped and looked back at him. "I don't know if you were wondering," he said, with a better attempt at a smile. "But the answer is yes, we are." Before she could respond, he had gone out of sight.
***
"Come in Christopher," said Edith Lane. She let him in, looking at him with interest. Apart from the hectic few minutes at his home that morning it was the first time she had seen the young man of whom she had heard so much and who had unwittingly brought such upheaval into their lives. She saw a slim, boyish figure, a pale face, pretty in a plain sort of way, but with a neat bone structure, a little ravaged at the moment by strain and anxiety; brown hair falling in a heavy mantle to his collar and curling over his forehead in a fringe; a pretty mouth, but beautiful eyes, large, dark brown, with a mildness about them that she thought women would find very appealing. She realised with a moment's shock as she appraised him that that was not a consideration that would interest him.
She immediately gave herself another moment's shock, because she realised that he was standing patiently, allowing her to take stock of him without apparent resentment. He saw her start, and smiled faintly. "Christopher, I am sorry," she exclaimed, "whatever must you think of me? I'm afraid I was a little curious about you, having heard so much. But that doesn't excuse an inspection parade in the hall, does it? Do come through." She ushered him into the living room hurriedly, to cover her embarrassment, but he just gave her a rather strained smile. She thought he had a very nice smile, and even nicer manners. John Lane rose from his chair and offered his hand. Christopher shook it delicately.
"Please sit down, Christopher," said Lane. "Can I offer you a drink? Or tea, coffee, some such?"
"Thank you," said Christopher. "I'd love a beer, if you've got such a thing."
"We can find you a lager, I think," he said. "I don't drink it myself, but most of my younger masters seem to live on it. It's always struck me as a beastly substance: nothing but gas. But there we are. Now then, Christopher, what did you wish to discuss with me?"
Christopher settled himself in his deep armchair, accepted his lager gracefully when Edith brought it, and sat for a minute or more in silent thought from which the Lanes wisely did not disturb him.
"This isn't very easy," he said at length, looking at them from under his long eyelashes. "I don't really know how much you know about what there is between Jamie and me. But I believe you understand better than my people - better than anyone else at all, I think." He paused, waiting for them to say something, but they would not interrupt him. "I'd like to try to explain it properly to you," he went on. "I would try to do this for my parents, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't understand. I think you will.
"I've just left him in hospital. He's very ill. He put on a brave face for me, but he's in a lot of pain. He's been stomach-pumped, and he's still got a hangover. He's got a needle stuck in his arm, which hurts him every time he moves. Though I don't think he's thinking about that very much at the moment."
"What exactly do you think he is thinking about, Christopher?" asked Dr Lane.
"Sir, I think he's worrying about whether I told him the truth earlier this afternoon." Their attentive expressions encouraged him to go on. "I told him that I was coming to see you. I said that I would fix it with you that I could write to him," he said, coming out with it baldly.
"I know you've told him that he won't be allowed to receive letters from me," he went on. "But, sir - Mrs Lane -I don't think you should try to enforce that. I've spent ages this afternoon, sitting with him, persuading him that we'll be together soon - in a bearable time - and I believe I've convinced him that it can be done - that we can wait and come together when it's safe. I really think he'll wait for me, as I've promised I'll wait for him... provided we can have some contact.
"Dr Lane, I've promised I'll write to him every day; and he's promised to write to me. What I'm really here for is to ask you - to beg you, if necessary - to let me write to him here. You know him almost as well as me. You know if you say no, we'll find some other way of keeping in contact; I don't say that as any kind of a threat, or blackmail. I'm simply stating a fact. You know how resourceful Jamie is when he needs to be. And you know that I wouldn't allow scruples to get in my way either, if he was involved.
"I don't pretend to be my own master in this - I can't resist him, and if he called me, I'd go, whatever the cost. I want to avoid any such extremes, if I can, sir. I think if he's left with no means of contacting me at all, he'll do something foolish. But I think if he's allowed just enough contact - like, say, a letter every day - he'll be all right. I really believe I've managed to get him into a frame of mind in which he's ready to wait, and wait in some sort of patience, for me - just so long as he's got something to wait for. Without those letters, I don't think he'll last out."
Christopher sat sipping his beer, wondering if he had made a terrible mistake in asking to see the Lanes. They made no answer for a very long time, and he was beginning to feel sure that he had put his foot in it when, suddenly, Dr Lane shot a question at him. "Christopher, how do you reconcile this attempt with the fact that you face a prison sentence if you are found - ah - consorting with Jamie?"
"Sir," he said without hesitation, "I shan't be 'consorting' with Jamie, as you put it. I'm asking you to allow me to write to him openly - instead of doing it secretly. You must know we couldn't just be apart and have no contact whatever. It would kill him, and it would kill me. We'd do it somehow, clandestinely, under the counter. There would be some sort of hole-and-corner meetings, when we'd be terrified all the time in case we got found out. But you know better than to think we could simply accept being kept apart like animals in a zoo."
He looked at Dr Lane
with a great deal of pain in his pretty, pale face. Lane looked closely at him, and saw something else there also: there was a dignity there, which he had not seen in the boy before. "You're being very honest with us, Christopher," he said.
"I haven't got a lot of choice, have I?" he said, looking straight into Lane's eyes. "I've done my damnedest to talk Jamie into being sensible. I think I've succeeded. I really do think he'll wait for me, and not do anything silly. In fact, sir, I think I've done something no one else could have done -because frankly, I don't think he'd have made any of the promises he made to me to anyone else. In fact I know he wouldn't. That took a hell of a lot of doing, sir. All I'm asking you to do now is to help me by allowing my Jamie a minimum of contact - official, sanctioned contact.
"It can't possibly do any harm," he pleaded. "I'm begging you, sir. I shall be a hundred and fifty miles away. All I intend to do is to write to him every day. He'd probably show you most of the letters, if you insisted. He needs some contact with me, and I don't mind admitting I need it too. I don't think he needs me any more than I need him, in fact; but he's not as good at controlling his wants as maybe I am. I hope you'll be keeping him preoccupied, sir - overworking him at school, making him play the lead in the school play and so on. But he won't survive without some sort of reassurance - some sort of regular contact with me, and I'd be kidding myself if I convinced myself he was all right without it."
He fell silent. After a long pause for thought, Dr Lane asked Christopher, "What promises did he make to you?"
"He promised me that he wouldn't try to kill himself," said Christopher, and Edith shivered a little at the starkness with which he said it. "He also promised he would behave himself, not try to come after me when I'm at university -that sort of thing. He's promised to behave, sir."
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