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Subject: Heatwave in the City Chapter 27 This is a work of fiction. Everybody in it is entirely my own creation. Don’t even think of suing me for putting you in a story, because I haven’t. If you happen to be resident in one of the places mentioned, or to belong to any of the institutions mentioned, don’t even think about telling me I haven’t portrayed them accurately. Work of fiction. The name of the institution only occurs because it is common knowledge so I couldn’t get away with pretending it was otherwise. If I’ve borrowed your Church, school, police station, laundrette – I haven’t. I’ve merely used the name on the building because people walk past and see it every day. Work of fiction. None of the people in the story exist, so none of the things that happen in the story can have happened to them. The world, however, is the one exception to this – the world which has in it so many wonderful people that writing fiction of this sort becomes an obligation – for me; not for everybody. You’ll have found your own place in the scheme of things, and can be wonderful in your own way. This is a story of love. It isn’t a story of sex, though that might get mentioned. There is no pornography here. Some of it is cross-generational, but it isn’t about perverted love either. Some is what nowadays is termed “gay”, but the same applies. If you think you might be offended by that, the time to go and read something else is now. Still reading? Then enjoy, and remember, you don’t pay to read these stories, but it does cost Nifty money to bring them to you. Please consider donating to Nifty at fty/donate.html Heatwave in the City by Jonah Chapter 27 I woke early on Thursday morning to find Kori calmly pushing his little toe into my mouth. I remembered how upset he had been and decided against doing anything about it. He had probably thought he could get me to do things with him, even if it was only sucking his toes. I would have felt bad doing that under the circumstances, but I hadn’t the stomach for another confrontation with Kori. Far better, I thought, to pretend to be asleep. The soft pad of his toe rested on my tongue, but I stayed motionless. It was only as he withdrew it and slipped the next toe in that I turned over and faced the other way. Kori slid a leg across my body so that his foot was in front of my face. “Lie still Kori,” said Jake quietly. Kori stopped moving about. I lay there for a few minutes more then got up and made for the bathroom. I didn’t know whether to return to the bedroom, since I was not remotely sleepy. I decided against it, and headed downstairs with a towel tied around my waist. In the drawing room I found another book to read and sat down. within minutes there was a soft tread on the stairs. I groaned inwardly. Kori was becoming tiresome. It was not Kori. Simon sat down beside me. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Is Kori awake?” “Yes, unless he’s cried himself back to sleep.” “He’s going to have to make up his mind that sex with adults isn’t on the cards for him. He doesn’t need it and it’s not happening.” “It might be the best thing for him,” he observed. “It’s illegal, it’s exploitative and it could destroy him,” I snapped. He sat in silence for a minute, or maybe two. “I don’t think Kori knows any of that.” “No he doesn’t,” I said more calmly. “He’s convinced that things should be happening to him that just aren’t. It’s being a teenager almost. He knows he isn’t a child any more and he thinks that makes him a man.” “Doesn’t risking your life to save somebody else make you a man?” “Do you know, I hadn’t thought of that.” I said. “I wonder if Kori thinks it does. I bet it makes him feel like one.” “Well I’ve got to pack myself some sandwiches and get some breakfast. I’m due at the shed in less than an hour.” I put down my book. “You do the sandwiches, I’ll get on with breakfast. I hadn’t thought about it, but I could do with some myself.” I put on a large frying pan and a saucepanful of beans just as Kori came through the door. “Want a hand with that?” he asked. Now, if Kori had committed a murder, raped the vicar’s sainted aunt and stolen the Church silver into the bargain, there would still be no way of being cross with him when he cooks breakfast. I was not about to prevent him from doing that. I got out plates and cutlery while Kori took over the cooker. As soon as Simon left the kitchen to pack his bag Kori said, “I’ve been kind trabzon escort of a heel haven’t I?” “And we all still love you,” I replied. “When Liam does something bad, he says it’s hard when folks keep loving him. I’m just starting to find out what he means.” “That’s what life’s about Kori. We keep learning things. You’re doing fine boy.” Actually he was doing better than “fine”. He was cooking a Kori-type breakfast. You can’t get better than that. Yet, in less than a week, Jake would be taking this boy back to America. How dare he? All three of us got breakfasted in time for Simon to get out his bike and ride down to the shed. “You on the ‘Pocket Rocket’ again this morning?” I asked, referring to the class 4. “No, she’s due for boiler wash-out tomorrow, so she’s cooling down. We’ll be lighting up the B12.” “Well have a good day,” I said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Yeah, likewise,” said Kori, giving him a farewell that involved lips, tongues, groping of crotches and the best part of several minutes. “If he can concentrate on his work after that,” I said once the door closed behind him, “he’s not half the man I thought he was.” “Awww shucks!” said Kori. “I was only kissing him goodbye.” “Forever, by the looks of it,” I observed with a grin. “C’mon, let’s go for a walk, since the others aren’t up yet.” It was a beautiful morning, in the beautiful Norfolk countryside. Bees buzzed, birds twittered, lovers billed and cooed. Actually, it was a bit early in the day for that last one. We just had to use our imaginations. The leafy lane down to the railway bridge was dappled with sunlight. A couple of rabbits chased each other into the road. Beyond the bridge, to the village, the scenery opened up some more, and the village was different when the tourists were still in bed. The tide was in and rattling the shingle. We lay on the bottom of the cliff, closed our eyes and listened to it. “Do you reckon it’s been making that noise for thousands of years?” said Kori, after a while. “Thousands,” I agreed, without really caring what I was agreeing to. If Kori had said at that moment ‘can I tear off all your clothes and have my wicked way with you?’ I’d have laid back and thought of England. “Doesn’t it feel kind of special being a part of all that?” he said. “Mmmmm!” I murmurred. I felt his breath on my cheek, then his lips as he delivered a quick peck. After witnessing his farewell to Simon, I felt cheated. Suddenly, Kori was the srergeant-major again. “Come on,” he said. “The others’ll be wanting breakfast by the time we get back.” It transpired that he was right. “Where’d you plan on going today?” said Jake as he polished of the last of the fried eggs, smoked bacon, Lincolnshire sausage, baked beans, quartered tomato, hash brown, black pudding, mushrooms, fried kidney,fried bread and toast (did I mention that Kori cooked breakfast?). “I was thinking we’d take the car down to Cley, stock up at the picnic shop, then take the coast path back towards here to find a place for a picnic. We’ll have to walk back to Cley again, because that’s where the car will be, then we can go and have a look at Wells.” “What’s at Wells?” said Peter. “You’ll see”. The boys were not sorry to be visiting Cley again. We visited the “picnic shop” and stocked up with sandwiches, scotch eggs, chopped cucumber and tomatoes, and a fair bit of fruit. I made sure there was plenty of water in my back-pack and everybody took a non-fizzy drink. The Coca Cola that Liam picked up, he was firmly told to put down again. Liam isn’t silly. He picked up the ‘Coke’ to see if I’d notice. I did, but said nothing. His big brother, on the other hand, put him right in terms that left no room for doubt. I smiled and ruffled Kori’s hair. “Come on Champ,” I said to Liam. “You know better than that.” He grinned and picked up a bottle of flavoured water. We set off to the beach and picked up the Norfolk Coast Path, heading Eastward this time. The path at Cley is not on the clifftops – they don’t start until it gets to Weybourne. Instead it follows the narrow stretch of shingle that separates the sandy beach from the salt marshes. Large inland pools were inshore of us, and a perfect habitat for sea-birds and other marine life. Further round the coast, at Blakeney, I knew there was a seal colony. It would be unusual to see a seal here though. The pools trapped shellfish and other sea creatures, tunalı escort so the birds loved them. The boys were spotting all sorts of different flora and fauna, and I had Liam looking out for the paper bags in which the common cormorant (or shag), is said to prefer to lay its eggs. He didn’t see any however, so wandering bears must have been about. It was about eleven when we found a dry grassy bit to sit and have our picnic. Once we had eaten we set off back to Cley to reclaim our vehicle. It only took a short while for us to drive further up the coast road to Wells-next-the-Sea. This is another very large village, with plenty of eating places and shops for tourists. Unlike Cley, however, it also boasts a railway station. We arrived at about twenty past twelve and had time to explore the village a bit before making our way to the Wells and Walsingham Light Railway’s station to catch the 1330 train. This train included a semi-open carriage in which our boys chose to sit. The motive power for it was a diminutive Beyer-Garratt locomotive with a cab in which the driver seemed positively cramped. No sooner had we seated ourselves than the guard hurried up to sell us tickets. In the middle of a hot July the train was busy. http://www.wwlr.co.uk/ At One-thirty precisely the little locomotive jerked us into motion and we were off to Walsingham. It was hot, and the exhaust from the locomotive was virtually invisible. Occasionally some dark smoke would show, but for the most part only a feather of steam from the safety valves could be seen. The exhaust did not have the deep throated roar of a standard gauge engine. These little narrow gauge locomotives utter a rapid beat, like sandpaper. At speed it sounded more like a sewing machine than a railway locomotive. We passed under several railway bridges that were clearly designed for much larger rolling stock. At Walsingham the train terminates. It has no choice because the railway does. It terminates at a gate beside a country road. Beyond the road the trackbed is tarmacked. In mediaeval times Walsingham was a shrine. There are plenty of ecclesiastical buildings still there, incuding the ruins of the former abbey, but we had little time to explore as we were catching the same train back. We were back in the Kia again by ten to three, which was good, since I wanted to be back at Weybourne. We all piled out at Weybourne station in time to catch the steam train up to Holt. The B12 had to get a good head of steam before leaving Weybourne, and we waited for the 9F to come down the bank. A feather of white steam flew from the lifted safety valves. Once the other train arrived our train was ready for departing – loudly. Once clear of the station the train would be climbing at 1 in 80 and even a big locomotive like the B12 would need all its strength to drag it up there. Heads were out of the windows all along the train as we got into the cutting and the deep-throated exhaust echoed back off the cutting sides. Up we went and, even in the Summer heat, the exhaust mounted to the sky in a tall plume. BOOF! BOOF! BOOF! BOOF! rang out loud and clear and the passengers risked getting a faceful of cinders. Nobody cared. The spectacle was too good to miss. At windpump cottage the driver shut off, wound back his cut-off and opened up again more quietly. We ran down quickly into Holt. I walked up to watch the driver watching the fireman watching Simon uncoupling the B12. That done I joined the others in the compartment. After the run up, the run back to Weybourne would be anti-climatic. It proved to be a fast downhill run, but without any fuss. At Weybourne we headed for the cottage. Everybody showered and changed because I had told everybody that we were going out once Simon got home. There would be no cooking dinner. Simon was back in good time. Apart from that one run on the B12, he had been working on the shed all day, preparing the class 4 for washout, so there was no engine for him to dispose. I told him to shower as soon as he came in. Once everyone was respectable we loaded everybody, including Kori and Liam’s sailing dingies into the car and made for Sheringham. Jake parked up in the Crown car-park. We walked to the prom where a good few people were still wandering about enjoying the fine Summer evening. The tide being out, there were still families down on the sand, though most of the shoppers had forsaken tunceli escort the High Street. We made for the Two Lifeboats and found ourselves a table. “Do you want a drink, Simon?” a young man at the bar asked. “No thanks Ben. I’m with the family.” Simon replied. “I’ll get them one too,” responded the young man. “They must be good folks if they breed good railwaymen.” “They won’t touch alcohol,” said Simon. “I’ll tell you why sometime, and they won’t let me drink underage either.” “What do they have then? Coke?” said the young chap. “Heather, can I have seven Cokes please?” I was just about to intervene, but it was plain that there would be no arguing with the young man. “That’s very kind of you,” I told him. “Thess all right,” he replied. “We look after our own on this railway.” “Ben’s a passed cleaner,” said Simon. “He’s not a fireman, but he’s allowed to cover firing turns. He was teaching me firemen’s duties this afterrnoon.” I suddenly realised where I had seen the young man before. He had been the fireman on the B12. He looked different cleaned up and out of uniform. “And you learned them quickly,” said Ben. “it’s good when you get someone who want to learn.” “Are they doing food in here?” I asked. “Yes, Heather will give you a menu. Heather, can we have some menus for these folks?” Heather obliged. “Rusty and Sid’ll be in here in a bit,” Ben told Simon. “Bob’ll be in later, but he stay at the Burlington and he always have his dinner afore he comes in.” “Doesn’t Bob live locally then.” “Gor bless you no,” he replied. “He come from North Walsham ‘riginally, but he live in Watford now ‘cos that’s where his work is. He come up here at weekends mostly, but he’s on a fortnights holiday at the moment.” “I work in Watford too,” I told him, “but we live in Harrow.” “Well I daresay Simon could get hisself a lift up here sometimes if he wanted to,” Ben replied. He paid for our drinks and began distributing them. “Ben Pigeon by the way.” he said. “Jonah Cummings, ” I responded, “and that’s Simon’s brother Peter, and his half brother Luke. The Colonials are Jake Roberts and his foster sons Kori, and Liam. They’re taking a rest from America.” “Pleased to meet you,” he said, “and Simon says you’re going home Saturday morning.” “That’s right, we have to,” I said. “Well, don’t be too long before you come to see us again,” he said. I couldn’t help feeling that events had moved on a notch or two without my active participation, but I couldn’t say I was displeased. We ordered dinner and everybody was satisfied. Then we bid Simon’s friend goodbye and headed along the promenade to the boating lake. There we sat and enjoyed the evening air, whilst Kori and Liam sailed their model boats, with some active interference from Peter and Luke. Jake sat in the clifftop shelter and watched while Simon walked over to the fence and leaned on it, idly watching the waves. I walked over and did the same. “You’re thinking of volunteering here on a regular basis?” “I’d like to,” he said. “It’ll cost to take weekends away up here,” I said. “You’ll need to be saving all your coppers.” “Assuming I’m allowed to in the first place,” he remarked. “Yes,” I said. “Assuming that I’ll allow it, and assuming that the railway will have you. Somebody will need to be prepared to take responsibility for you while you’re away from me. Do you think Bob would do that?” He turned and looked at me. “Are you saying that I can do it?” he demanded. “No!” I said firmly. ” I’m not saying anything of the sort at this stage. What I am saying is don’t rule it out – not yet. I’d like you to do it, but there are a lot of complications to sort out first.” “If we weren’t out in public, I’d kiss you,” he said. “Yes,” I muttered. “That’s one of the complications.” Back at Weybourne we sat out on the Patio till gone midnight. It was such a beautiful night that it seemed a shame to be indoors. We finally retired in the early hours of the morning of our final day in Norfolk. TO BE CONTINUED If you’ve enjoyed this story, you’ll probably enjoy other stories in this series by the same author. This is the latest in a series that includes “A letter from America”, “Stranger on a train,” “Marooned”, “the Boston Tea Party”, “Immigrant,” and “A Cantabrian Operetta”, all the foregoing are on Nifty’s Adult/Youth site. “The Pen Pals” is on Young Friends. You might also like “A Neglected Boy”, by Jacob Lion, also on Adult/Youth. You can find links to all these stories, as well as some illustrations on Jacob Lion’s website bly/jonah-stories.html My thanks go to Jacob for providing this facility as well as for his kind and generous support without which I would never have written any of them.

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