Cammy’s address was 25 Posthwaite Terrace, SE6, London. I asked directions and a kind gentleman, retired from the army actually drew me a map. He’d served in NATO forces and been invalided out, spoke Arabic and Farsi he’d picked up on his billet. He enjoyed chatting with me. Asked me how I’d learned and didn’t believe me when I said just by listening. Anyway, I found a quick way via the underground and electric trolleys to anew section along the Thames where skyscrapers had pushed out old mills and warehouses.
She had a penthouse suite on the 25th floor. The uniformed doorman wouldn’t let me in and insisted I give my name. I hesitated and said slowly, “Aidan. Aidan Watson.”
He called up and spoke into his phone, waited. Seemed surprised and said, “Wait in the lobby. She’ll be down.”
He pushed a button, buzzed and the door opened to allow me entry into a glassed hallway and thence to a large lobby dominated by lush plants, a sparkling fountain and soaring windows to a skylight stories over my head. What a wonderful place to climb. I admired the view and missed the sight of an exterior lift come billeting down.
An older woman ran towards me, dressed in tailored jeans and fisherman’s Aran. She stopped yards from me and her eyes devoured me. Red hair faded to a pale rose, eyes as bright green but there were wrinkles, her smile as blinding as ever. She was crying. “Oh my God! Aidan!” she hesitated and I rushed forward into her arms and squeezed her gently.
“I’m sorry, Cammy,” I whispered. “I would have saved him if I could.”
“You did save him, baby. You kept us all from being bombed into pieces. You died with a bullet in your back to save us. Two hundred people lived because of what you did.”
“I had to come find you. See how you were,” I explained.
“Can you come up? No one’s waiting for you? Where are you living? You look thin, worn down.” she tugged me to the lift and brought me to her flat. The view from her windows was awesome, looking out over the Thames and the top of the Park. I saw the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and the Palace; saw the Royal Flag that denoted the Queen was in residence.
“Sixteen years, Aidan,” she marveled. “You’re sixteen, now? You’ve matured into a remarkably handsome young lad. The chicks will be all over you.”
I grinned and she smiled gleefully. “Dare I remind you to be careful, dear boy?”
“Cammy, I---” I blinked and looked down at my feet. We were in the kitchen, a room all in blonde wood and stainless steel with all the mod conveniences. She still liked to cook.
“Let me make you something to eat,” she suggested.
“Sorry. I ate at MacDonalds.”
“Junk food,” she returned scathingly.
“Really, Cam. Don’t fuss.” I hesitated and asked in a rush, “Cammy, where’s he buried?”
“Tom? He wanted to be cremated. I had his ashes dumped in Cornwall, as he wanted, Aidan. Near your folks place.”
“I want to go home, Cammy.”
“Why don’t you?” she asked sensibly.
“I tried. Something stopped me; I couldn’t breathe, nor make myself go on. Anyway, I live in Somerset now. At an exclusive boy’s prep school.” My face reddened. I thought that she would think I’d come here for money if I told her my circumstances.
“So you’re doing well, then?”
“Just great,” I gushed.
“Sure you are. Your hair needs cutting. Your nails are dirty and the cuticles torn. You have on jeans that haven’t been washed in ages, your collar is dingy and sweat stained, your cuffs are fringed. Your trainers have holes in them. Your socks don’t match. Now, while I realized that teenage lads don’t care about their appearance or state of cleanliness, I do know you, Aidan, and you would never have come to me like this if you had better. Plus, you’re thin; your eyes are hollow and flat.
“Are you out of money?”
I sat there, didn’t know what to say. Finally, I spoke, “Cammy, I didn’t come here to beg for money,” I was insulted.
“I know that,” she said. “Just as I know you’re not doing drugs. Are you living alone, still?”
“No,” I thought of all those boys.
“No?”
“Three hundred other chaps share the place with me. Can’t call that alone.”
“Juvie?”
“No. Cammy!” I was affronted, paused, thought of my next plan and reddened. If I was caught, I would wind up in worse than Juvie. In Jail.
“I came to see how you were faring. It’s Holiday at school, I found my rail pass and thought I’d look you up.”
“Who did you save this time?”
“Girl. Russian. Sent her to America.”
“Anastasia?” Her eyes grew to the size of moons. “How did you die?”
I shuddered. “Painfully.”
She lifted my shirt and her hand traced the dimples and scars across my belly that were more like blemishes than actually scars save for the twin matching pair where I had fallen on the fence spikes. Her hand was warm, the nails a bright orange cut square and sent tingles down to my groin.
“You’re buff,” she said surprised. “Six-pack, too. Do you work out?”
I laughed and her fingers followed the movement of my muscles. My belly quivered. I looked everywhere but at her face. Thought of Tom, how she was like a mother but my newly awakened hunger had no reasoning.
I let her decided. She moved her hand to my chin and raised it. Her eyes were brilliant. “Your body is sixteen, Aidan and ready. Your memories much younger. Your soul is older than I am. I’m old enough to be your mother.”
“I don’t feel like your son,” I whispered. “I came because I need a friend, Cammy. Someone who doesn’t want to hurt me, use me or fuck me. Just love me.”
She wrapped her arms around me and held me while I cried, waited for me to stop, took me to bed, and stayed with me the rest of the night.