“Yeah. One of those. Are these planks safe?”
“I think so.” Nick gave the one he was sitting on a good thump. “They’re not that old, and they were good quality wood when we put them up. We treated so they wouldn’t rot.”
“We?” Jackson moved cautiously, clambering to sit on a plank opposite Nick.
“Me, Pete, and our father.” Nick’s voice sounded younger than usual, more vulnerable, as he added, “He helped us build it when we were kids. Maria was still too little. We called it the Pirate Tree.”
“Must have been fun.”
“Yeah. It was.” His expression was hard to read in the darkness, but the wistful tone tugged at Jackson’s heart. “We had some good times, especially when we were little. I have a lot of happy memories if I look back far enough.”
“When did it change?” Jackson asked softly. Nick rarely talked about his childhood, not with Jackson anyway. Maybe he talked about it to his counsellor. Jackson knew what had happened in later years and knew why Nick had cut contact. But once he’d made that decision he hadn’t wanted to look back. Even with Maria, their childhood was off-limits as a topic of conversation.
“I don’t remember exactly. Maybe when I was twelve or thirteen? I know I was at secondary school, and not having a great time there. Dad lost his job and was really stressed about that. He started drinking more, and then his new job made him even more stressed. His drinking got worse and so did his mood. He stopped laughing, and he never had any time for us—unless he was criticising us for having messy rooms, or having a go at me for not working hard enough, or taking the piss out of me for wanting to be in the school play instead of on the football team.” The angry bitterness in Nick’s voice didn’t mask the pain that lurked beneath. “Nothing I did was ever right. He made me feel as if I was never good enough, and that was before he knew I was gay.” He stopped and let out a huff of frustration. “Ugh. Sorry. I’m ranting.”
“It’s okay. I asked.” Jackson wanted to move closer, maybe offer a hug. But it was dark, and he was afraid of missing his step and falling down the hole in the tree.
“Yeah. But it’s probably not the best time to get myself worked up over all that stuff when I have to go back and smile politely at him over dinner later. It’s stupid that I still care anyway. It’s all in the past.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t count.” Jackson ached to wrap Nick tight in his arms and tell him he was absolutely good enough. He was perfect exactly as he was.
“Fuck him. I don’t care what he thinks.” The childish defiance in Nick’s tone didn’t ring true. It was obvious that he did care, no matter how much he protested.
But Jackson pretended right along with him. “Yeah. Good on you.”
Getting down from the tree was only marginally easier than climbing up, but Jackson emerged unscathed. The last hint of blue twilight had faded from the sky now, so Nick took Jackson’s hand again and used his torch to light their way.
“This is the path that takes us home,” he said as they took a right turn. “It’s not far now.”
When they finally reached the gate, Nick put his phone away and let them into the garden. Warm light poured from windows at the back of the house and they could see both Nick’s parents busy in the kitchen. Reg was right by the window, head down, washing dishes by the look of it.
“Give me your hand again,” Nick said. “In case they see us coming.”
Jackson was happy to oblige, and as a security light on the back of the house came on Reg glanced up. He looked over his shoulder and said something inaudible, and then Sue appeared at the window beside him, waving cheerfully.
Nick waved back, keeping hold of Jackson’s hand.
They let themselves in through the back door, leaving their coats and boots in the utility room.
The kitchen was warm and smelt savoury and spicy. “What’s cooking?” Nick asked as they entered the kitchen.
“Chilli con carne,” Sue replied.
“And apple crumble for pudding,” Maria added. She was sitting at the table with Seth who was in a highchair, his face smeared with yogurt, and a plastic spoon in one chubby hand. Maria glanced over their heads and shot them a mischievous grin. “Aw, look, Nick. You’re under the mistletoe. You know the rules.”
Jackson looked up to see a large bunch of mistletoe tied up with red ribbon hanging from a hook in the ceiling.
“Of course,” Nick said smoothly. “Come here, babe.” Amusement curved his lips as he stepped in close and tilted his face up expectantly. He waited, eyebrows raised as if in friendly challenge.