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Subject: heatwave in the city chapter 29 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 29 Morning as always, and curled up with two of my boys. Simon was one, and you can guess who the other was. A couple of American boys snoozed quietly at the other end of the bed, but we were comfortable and happy. Peter, snuggled up with Jake, looked peaceful too. Simon had an arm thrown across me. The boy was asleep, so it wasn’t deliberate, but added to the temperature. No matter – he was happy, so I was. Luke was facing the other way and seemed comfortable with his cute little backside pressed against mine. “Time we gotta get up?” asked Jake. “When you and Peter decide you can’t hold onto each other any longer without one of you melting,” I replied. I recieved a quick kick in the backside as one of the American boys propelled himself out of the other end of the bed. “Sorry Jonah,” said Kori. “Be more careful Kori, ” said Jake, correctly divining what he was apologizing trabzon escort for. “It’s nice to have friends, but it’s not nice to kick them to death.” The boy said nothing, but fled the room. “I suppose that means we’d better move,” I said. “Breakfast in half an hour,” said Jake, saving Kori the trouble. After showering, then finishing the packing, we went down to a breakfast fit for a king. “what is it Kori,” I asked as I entered the dining room. “Bubble and squeak” he replied. “I asked you what it is, not what it does,” I said. It didn’t matter anyway. Kori had made it, so it was bound to be delicious. I was not disappointed. After a last look around to ensure that we were leaving everything as we had found it, with the addition of a bottle of Glenlivet on the hall table, we set off for the station. “I hate that stuff,” said Liam. “That’s alright Liam, ” I said. “You don’t have to drink it. Somebody will, but you’ll never meet them.” We caught the next train down to Sheringham, with a driver we had not met before, driving the standard 4. At the East end of platform 1 at Sheringham is a small building separate from the rest. This was originally the Great Eastern Railway’s parcels office (although it was on a Midland and Great Nothern Joint Railway station). Normally known as the GE room it had once been a mess room for volunteers. Now it is an office, and it was there that Simon and I headed with my envelope, addressed to Tom Glaze. In the entrance hall we met a young lady apparently locking up the inner sanctum. “Can I help you,” she asked ( or the nearest Norfolk equivalent). “I’ve just got this form for Tom Glaze,” I told her. “Oh! Well just a second.” She pushed open the door she had just been locking. “Tom, there’s a gentleman here to see you,” she shouted. It was too late to protest as the man himself appeared in the doorway. “Jonah, are you now off to catch your train?” I told him that it was so, and handed him the envelope. “Ho, well thanks for that,” he said. ” Hope you have a pleasant journey, and Bob say he’ll be in touch when he’s coming up again. Hope to see you again soon Simon.” Simon smiled as we said our farewells. We set off across the road to the National Rail platform and arrived there just as our DMU arrived. Soon Sheringham was vanishing into the distance as we sped toward Cromer. Roughton Road, Gunhouse, North Walsham, Worsted, Wroxham, Salhouse then Norwich followed Cromer. At Norwich we changed into a train of Mk III coaches with a class tunalı escort 90 electric loco at its head. Trainspotting was carried out all the way back to Liverpool Street, and it didn’t stop there. I had to remind the boys that we couldn’t tour London Stations with all our luggage, and Monica, Miriam and Joe would be expecting us. The mention of Joe and Miriam set up another thought in the minds of Luke and Peter which made further resistance unthinkable. They climbed into the taxi without another word. Our flat had been possessed. Joe was cooking and Miriam was dusting whilst supervising Jacob. Monica had assumed command. She allowed herself to be kissed by all the assembled children, including Jacob, who was not prepared to be left out. She also allowed herself to be kissed by Jake and myself, though we had to be careful that our lips didn’t develop frostbite. I didn’t care. It was good to be back, and even Monica couldn’t spoil that. I dragged our luggage upstairs and parked it all in my bedroom. Liberating a small carrier bag from my case, I went downstairs again. “Monica,” I said, “can I have a word?” She followed me back upstairs. “Jonah, you can hardly expect………….” I held up a hand for silence. She subsided. “How long have you been going to North Harrow?” I asked. “Since I was a girl.” she replied. “And I’ve been going to Cannon Lane since I was,” I said, “a boy, that is, not a girl. Probably not as young as you were though, because I was at St. John’s Wood before I came here. I only just realised last week that the two Churches don’t use the same hymn-book. We’re still using “Hymns and Psalms”, while your Church is using the new “Singing the Faith.” “I know,” she said. “There’s a lot who don’t like the new book, but I like it. It still has a lot of the old hymns in it, but some of the new ones make you think a little.” “I’m glad you like it,” I said, “because Jake and I hoped you would accept this.” I pulled a thick red book from the plastic bag and passed it to her. She opened it to where I had written, “To Monica, for the many things that you do for us, but mostly for being you. With much love, Jake and Jonah.” There were tears. “I don’t know what to say.” “Well I don’t know what you should say either but, so long as you carry on being the Monica that we love, that doesn’t matter.” I got a hug for that. It was worth it. Back downstairs the plastic bag produced presents for others and Joe, bless him, produced dinner – for which we were more than tunceli escort ready. After dinner the ever energetic Jacob affected a singularity by falling asleep on the lap of his Godfather. We were all very quiet. “How is our favourite Doctor,” I asked. “Oh, he’s coping,”said Monica. ” Phil’s been trying to keep him off call-outs after last week. He’s still been taking surgery though.” “I bet his partner has too,” I remarked. “I wouldn’t fancy my chances of stopping either of them,” she replied. “No, and I’m afraid there’s always going to be RTAs.” “Phil had one yesterday,” said Monica. “Hit and run down Eastcote Road. Schoolkid got hit. Witnesses thought it looked deliberate.” “Fatal?” “Not so far, but the kid’s in a bad way. In intensive care Gladys says.” “Poor kid.” “Poor Phil as well. He’s really upset by it.” “I’ll have to pop round and see them after Church tomorrow,” I remarked. “That’d be good. It’d probably cheer both of them up a bit,” said Monica. “Hate to break everything up, but I do have to get Jacob back home,” said Miriam. “You going to wake him up to take him away to put him to sleep again?” queried Jake. “I was hoping you could put him in his pushchair without waking him up,” she replied. “OK, I can take a hint. I’m ready when you are,” said Monica. Jake strapped Jacob into his pushchair and the four of them set off for home. Now I’m normally a fairly easy-going chap, and usually fairly cheerful to boot, so when Jake asked me if there was a problem I immediately denied it. “It’s just that you’ve been moping all evening and twice haven’t responded when people talked to you.” “Something Monica told me disturbed me,” I told him. “I’m not sure if it’s anything to worry about, but it just doesn’t seem right somehow.” “Something you can’t do anything about?” “Not for the moment anyway. What are the boys doing?” “Losing to Liam at Monopoly,” he said. “I think I’ll go up and lie down. Can you get the boys to go up when it’s time” “Yeah, sure. Go get some rest.” I didn’t know whether I could do that, but I was certainly going to try. 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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