THUMBS UP BRILLIANT READING MORE SOON

Thanks everyone. The next chapters might be a little slow, but I'm just trying to set something big up.
Please keep reading!

this last bit was one of the most beautiful fanfic chapters i've read - so moving!!!

PART 17

It was nearing seven o’clock when Craig finally left. The sun was beginning its steady advance through the gaps in John-Paul’s curtains and he had concluded that he had better make his exit before Myra had woken. Neither boy had slept, though neither expected – or wanted – to.
Their conversation had been rich and constant. In fact, John-Paul had been surprised by the amount of topics Craig had been willing to cover. He had wanted to know if John-Paul was, or had been seeing anyone, whether he had found Alex attractive and, in a gesture which at once seemed both spontaneous and carefully judged, whether he wanted Craig to arrange a night out with the others in one of Chester’s gay bars. The answer to all three had been an emphatic ‘no’. John-Paul was perfectly happy amongst his heterosexual friends – he had found his last visit to a gay bar somewhat too overbearing and, thanks to the clumsy good intentions of his family, altogether disastrous.
John-Paul couldn’t help but respect the way in which Craig had seemed so willing to accept his friend’s sexuality. It was he that had lain beside John-Paul on the bed, it was he that had been so tactile, he that had breached the subject of John-Paul’s apparently dormant love life. Why had neither spoken to the other sooner? In a way, John-Paul had thought, the previous gulf between them had been a blessing, for now their friendship had a renewed vigour, as if they had met for the first time all over again. John-Paul relished the excitement of it, how words seemed to clamber over one another in his mouth because of the sheer amount he had to talk about. The night had been cathartic, refreshing. They had turned a corner together and were now firmly on the right track.

As Craig had left, he had instructed John-Paul to call him later, as he wanted to come with him for the meeting with Clare. The unselfish offer touched John-Paul, the apprehension he had felt about the possibility of losing his job had all but dissipated knowing that his friend was going to be beside him.
As Craig had walked away, he had grabbed a lamp-post and leaped into the air, clicking his heels together as he did so, an action at which John-Paul had laughed. It seemed fitting – a celebration of the fact that all was once again right with the world.



The doorbell rang loudly, impatiently.
“John-Paul!” His mother’s voice chimed out.
The boy was lain face down in his bed. He had only managed to get to sleep an hour before, his eyes still glazed by tiredness, his body unresponsive to his brain’s command to get up.
“You’ve got visitors, love.” The volume of Myra’s voice increased. She knew that John-Paul could sleep through a nuclear war when he wanted to.
John-Paul groaned in response and dragged his cumbersome, unwilling body out of bed.
Clad in shorts, a slogan t-shirt and his trusty dressing gown, John-Paul lurched downstairs.
“Alright slugger?” Nancy sounded so cheery. How the hell does she manage to dodge every hangover that comes her way? John-Paul pondered to himself.
“We’ve come for the gossip.”
John-Paul ran his hands across his face as he surveyed Nancy and Hannah. They stood, dressed in their fineries, not a hair out of place. By comparison, he felt like Uncle Fester.
“I don’t really wanna go over it to be honest, Nance.”
Nancy smiled as John-Paul’s sluggish journey downstairs reached its end.
“Oh I’m afraid I must insist.”

The three friends sat in the McQueens’ kitchen, each sipping at a mug of tea. John-Paul looked infinitely brighter now. He loved the girls’ company. Myra was occupied in the living room, ironing and watching the Coronation Street omnibus.
“You certainly know how to pick ‘em.” Hannah said, with a detectable undertone of irony.
“She picked him!” He laughed, nodding towards Nancy. He scowled jokingly in her direction.
“It’s your fault I was almost raped by bloody Mother Theresa.”
He was careful to keep his voice down. The bruise on his forehead was barely noticeable and his ankle had ceased to ache, so he had texted Carmel imploring her not to tell their mother about the fight.
“You handled him, didn’t you?” Nancy was defiant. Even in defeat, she was a formidable opponent.
“I can’t believe you nutted him.” The pride swelled in Hannah’s voice.
“You’ll be the talk of the school come Monday. Bit of a hero on the quiet, aren’t you?”
John-Paul smiled.
“Yeah, well, nobody puts JP in a corner.”
He attempted to take a sip of his tea, but spluttered into it as the girls both laughed at the corny reference.
“What about Craig?” Hannah said a little too enthusiastically.
In the living room, Myra’s ears pricked up. She lowered the volume on the television slowly, almost unnoticeably, so as to eavesdrop more clearly.
“What about him?”
“Well.” Hannah continued. “You and him are friends again.”
“Yeah…” John-Paul was apprehensive about where his friend was taking this.
“Is that it? Just friends?”
She winced as Nancy kicked her under the table.
“Yeah.” John-Paul blushed. He had been expecting this.
“You’ve got it all out of your system?”
Hannah received another, sharper kick from Nancy, but for her own peace of mind she had to hear the answer.
“Yeah.” Was John-Paul’s eventual response.
“Well, I think so. I look at him now and all I see is my mate. Y’know, I think we’re both mature enough to move on. What happened, happened. We’re strong enough to overcome it.”
Hannah’s face was a picture of relief.
“Good for you!” Nancy grinned.
“In fact he stopped over last night.” John-Paul continued.
Myra had been making at best a cursory attempt to appear to be ironing, and even this ceased upon hearing her son’s words. Her face reddened, her brow furrowed as she heard John-Paul recount how Craig had hurt his hand, how her son had bandaged it, and how they had lain upon the bed talking together. Myra wanted to interject, to demand that John-Paul had no further contact with Craig Dean. She checked herself. She couldn’t justify this action, not without telling John-Paul more than she wanted him to know. Even so, she thought, how close they sound, how intimate…this was not good, not good at all.

just love this story and your writing!

Fantastic, so realistic. Am loving Myra xxx

what has he done!!!!!!!!!!?

Just bloody fantastic Easy Now!! Loving your fanfic..

Oh this is so good, makes me all giddy when I see you've updated

update CLAP CLAP CLAP update CLAP CLAP CLAP!!!

PART 18

“Ah.” Sarah exhaled a look of languorous pleasure across her face.
“Isn’t this just the life?”
She was nestled between her boyfriend’s legs and rubbed her head fondly against his knee.
“Eh Craig?”
Craig’s eyes were distant, his thoughts far away.
“Craig!” Sarah slapped his ankle impatiently.
“What’s up with you?”
Sarah was genuinely puzzled. When Craig had arrived at her flat that morning, he had been positively bristling with enthusiasm, and had showered her with affection. It was due to his insistence on them spending the day together that they had found themselves in their present situation – drifting peacefully along the River Dee in a hired sailing boat. It was a romantic gesture that had certainly touched Sarah. It was only now being marred by Craig’s sudden preoccupation.
“Hmm?” Craig seemed dazed.
“I asked you what’s up.” Sarah reiterated. “You’ve a face on you like a slapped arse.”
Craig smiled and kissed the top of my head.
“Don’t worry, I was just thinking that if any of my other girlfriends caught me with you now, they’d kill me.”
Sarah turned in her position to face her boyfriend, a look of mock incredulity on her face.
“Yeah!” She grinned. “You’re lucky to even have me, so don’t be getting ahead of yourself.”
Craig returned her grin, wrapping his arms around her so as to gently stroke her stomach.
“So nothing’s up then?”
How could Craig respond to this? In the space of twenty four hours, his head had become a minefield of questions he desperately wanted to avoid.
“Nah, just thinking about the coursework I’ve gotta hand in for Monday.”
The two sat in silence. Sarah was entirely absorbed by the moment, closing her eyes as the balmy sun bathed her in warmth. Craig’s face regained its look of apprehension. He too was enjoying himself, but a voice buried deep in the recesses of his conscience was telling him that, in a certain circumstance, this afternoon could be even better…

It was around ten minutes later that Sarah finally broke the silence.
“I wish it could stay like this forever.”
Craig had once more drifted into his thoughts.
“How do you mean?” Such was his preoccupation with his thoughts that he truly didn’t care whether or not she responded.
“You know.” She continued, tilting her head back further into his lap and looking up at him.
“Just you and me. No-one else around to spoil the view.”
Sarah closed her eyes dreamily as she awaited Craig’s response. After several seconds she realised there wasn’t going to be one.
“Hmph.” Her grunt was disapproving, her face visibly altering to a pained frown. She removed her head from his lap and shifted awkwardly to the other side of the boat, resting her chin on the edge of the boat and running her fingers through the cool waters several inches below.
“You’re a psychologist's dream, you.” Sarah purposefully did not turn to gauge his reaction.
It was only then that Craig realised his girlfriend had changed position.
“What?” He enquired, more than a little surprised at her transition.
“One minute you’re all over me, the next you can’t find a barge pole big enough to push me away.” She turned to him.
“You’re bi-polar.”
There was something in that statement that clung to Craig’s mind, something that resonated with more accuracy than Sarah had intended.
“Sorry babe, I…”
He stopped, again. Once more he found himself at a loss for the appropriate words. He had indeed wanted to spend time with his girlfriend and this morning he had rushed to her flat with a nagging feeling that he needed to prove something to her. Throughout the day, though, he had grown distracted, bored. Not of Sarah, as such, he still enjoyed her company immensely and had an incredible amount of affection for her. He had been feeling this way subconsciously for some time now, but events over the last twenty-four hours had pushed it to the forefront of his thoughts, occupying them so wholly, while at the same time being something he was afraid of, something he could never vocalise.
“I know I’ve been a bit…off colour.” It was lame phraseology, but in this moment he had neither the wherewithal nor the inclination to conjure anything more specific.
“I’ll make it up to you though, I swear.”
Sarah smiled and edged closer to Craig again.
“Tonight then?” She began. “Why don’t you come round to mine? I’m sure I can find a way for you to make amends.”
She gave him a well practised look. Those eyes, those seductive, telling eyes.
“Sorry babe.” Craig was, for once, quick to respond.
“I promised John-Paul I’d be there for his meeting with Clare, he’s a bit worried she’ll fire him after the punch-up last night.”
The provocative look all at once turned to barely disguised dismay in Sarah. It was her turn to feel too dejected to argue.
“Fine.” She said quietly, her voice expressionless.
“Tomorrow, though?” Craig’s words were pensive, reconciliatory.
“Fine.” Sarah said again.
The silence fell between them once more, friction holding both of their tongues.
“You know what?” Sarah made the opening gambit, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“I think we’d best head back to shore. It’s gotten a little cold out here.”
Craig silently obeyed, and slowly began to row them back to solid ground.

brilliant as ever! Please say they'll be more?

I love the way you write, the way you describe everything good stuff as usual

Thanks guys,
The next part is waiting on my laptop at home, but the connection wasn't working last night so it'll be up later today.

PART 18

John-Paul entered the loft with a feeling of trepidation. He came here for work most nights of the week yet all of a sudden it felt so foreign, so hostile to him. Craig followed shortly behind him. The place was already slowly filling with young people eager for a good time. It came as a small mercy to John-Paul that, beyond Craig, he for once saw no-one he recognised.
Craig placed a supportive hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Alright mate?”
John-Paul nodded, the look in his eyes suggesting otherwise.
“Why don’t you go upstairs?” Craig was trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, belying his own apprehension for John-Paul.
“I’ll get us a round in, you look like you need one.”
With his free hand, Craig patted John-Paul on the chest and, with a smile which was gratefully, though nervously returned, he headed for the bar. John-Paul looked at the club’s central staircase, which seemed to stretch for miles, and tentatively made his way up it.

He had been stood alone, plagued by his own worries, for nearly ten minutes. He had been scanning his immediate area fearfully for any recognisable faces until he saw the familiar dark-haired head bobbing up the stairs.
“Here you go mate.”
John-Paul took his pint of lager and gulped deeply from it, swallowing each drop like a condemned man treated to his last request.
“Don’t worry.” Craig moved so as to look John-Paul squarely in the face.
“Clare’s not a bad person, she’ll see sense.” Craig wished he could believe his own obvious lie. He knew that the Loft was ruled with something of an iron fist, and activities of last night’s calibre were rarely taken lightly.
“Yeah.” John-Paul didn’t look at his friend, staring intently as he was at the door to the manager’s office.
“I’m sure plenty of people said that about Hitler.”
Craig didn’t argue. He knew better than to try to placate his best friend with empty sentiments.
The door to the office swung open and Claire, dressed in an intimidating, authoritative trouser suit, strode brazenly through it. Her darting eyes noticed John-Paul immediately.
“Ah.” She attempted a compassionate smile.
“I was just coming to see if you’d arrived yet."
“Not late, am I?” The hesitance and submission in John-Paul’s voice upset Craig, who was far more accustomed to his friend as a confident and upbeat character.
“No.” Clare replied, offering nothing to clarify this.
“Come into the office.”

John-Paul stood, his hands behind his back, shifting anxiously. Before him were Clare, arms folded, and a seated Warren, who looked no less formidable.
“Listen, Clare…” John-Paul began. Clare motioned for him to stop.
“John-Paul.” The severity in her voice unnerved him.
“We take a dim view to our customers airing their dirty laundry here.” She stepped forwards scant inches, enough for John-Paul to flinch.
“But for our own staff to have public scraps is unacceptable.”
John-Paul hung his head.
“It wasn’t like that.” His tone was pleading.
“That guy tried to assault me in the toilets.”
“Comes with the territory in your line of work.” Warren’s reply was sharp and decisive.
“What do you…” John-Paul suddenly made sense of Warren’s remark. His face fell in accordance.
“Oh.”
Clare shot a biting glance to her bar manager.
“What Warren means.” She looked disparagingly to him once again.
“Is that there are certain…” She seemed to pluck at the air for the right phrasing.
“Inevitabilities to having someone of your persuasion on the staff, things we’d rather keep from the punters.”
“We have a reputation to uphold.” Warren added.
“This isn’t the sort of club that…”
“Yeah I know what sort of club this is, thanks.” John-Paul was infuriated but tried his best to maintain composure. His own principles would normally have dictated that he stormed out of the office, quitting before they had the chance to fire him, but the strong desire to DJ for large crowds forbid him from this.
“I’m sorry, John-Paul.” Clare, for the sake of less argument, ignored the boy’s last interjection.
“We’ll have to let you go.”
The words hit John-Paul like mortar shells. One of his greatest passions, and he was to be denied any further chance to indulge in it publicly.
“Please.” The pleading had turned to blatant grovelling.
“It won’t happen again I…”
“Just listen to the gaffer, mate.” There was nothing ‘matey’ about Warren’s command.
“So that’s it?” John-Paul was still incredulous.
“You’re still welcome to come in…” Clare’s offer was laced with insincerity.
“No I’m fine, thanks all the same.” John-Paul regretted his defiance, but the temper that was his family’s birth-right got the better of him.
“I’ll see myself out, yeah?”

Craig was surprised to see the office door burst open so soon, and even more surprised to see the thunderous expression on John-Paul’s face.
“How did it go?” He asked, a little pointlessly.
“How do you think?” Was the spiky response.
“They ditched me.” He continued, seconds later.
“Got their precious bloody reputation to uphold.”
Craig blanched. It was he that had swung the punch so very publicly and, despite the virtuous intentions of that action, was all too aware that it was responsible for his friend’s unemployment. He allowed John-Paul a few embittered swigs of his pint before speaking.
“Give me a minute.”
“What?” John-Paul’s anger was causing him to flare, something he did not want to do in Craig’s presence.
“I’ll sort it.” Craig persisted.
“Are you mental?” John-Paul grabbed at Craig’s upper arm.
“They’ll tear you to shreds.”
With his other arm, Craig loosened John-Paul’s grip. Firmly pressing his hand onto the fair-haired boy’s shoulder, he looked him unflinchingly in the eyes.
“Chance I’ll have to take, ain’t it?”

Craig sized himself up to the door to Clare’s office. It seemed impossibly threatening to him now. The obligatory doubts immediately flooded his mind, but he had to do this. He had to prove his worth to John-Paul, to make him see that having Craig Dean as a best friend occasionally offered benefits.
He placed a hand against the door and inhaled deeply. He was about to enter the snake pit, to face off against its two most poisonous occupants.

Popping his head around the door almost meekly, Craig immediately saw Clare and Warren in heated conversation.
“Can I have a word?”
The sudden interruption made both of the bar’s managers turn with annoyance.
“What’s up?” Warren spat. “The organ grinder gone home to lick his wounds and left the monkey in charge?”
Craig immediately shrivelled. He stole a brief glance at John-Paul who, stood at the bar, was watching from between his fingers, as if not wanting to see the outcome of this clash. Seeing the boy tightened his resolve sufficiently for him to step fully into the manager’s office.
“It’s about John-Paul.”
Clare rose from her chair at this shameless incursion on her space.
“What of him?”
“Well.” Craig mustered as much command to his voice as possible.
“I really don’t think you should fire him. That whole fiasco last night was my fault.”
Clare and Warren did not speak, something which Craig interpreted as a good sign.
“I hit that Alex guy in the middle of the club.” He continued.
“I was just sticking up for John-Paul. You know as well as I do he’s the most placid person going. I don’t care if you bar me or report me to the police or anything. Just…”
He moved forward, his determination stronger than ever,
“Don’t blame John-Paul for this.”
Warren stood, to be for once shoulder to shoulder with Clare.
“The decision’s been made.”
“And.” Clare spoke with ever more authority.
“We have a reputation. We can’t have any old Tom, Dick or Mary coming in here to play out one of your friend’s queenie sagas. We’d be a laughing stock.”
Craig felt the same sudden flush of rage John-Paul had, but suppressed it.
“But he’s a bloody good DJ!” Craig wasn’t letting up.
“He’s hard working, he loves what he does, the place is always full whenever he does a set. Plus…”
He leaned in, almost conspiratorially, sincerely hoping his next gambit would pay off.
“He’s only seventeen. You tell me where you can find another experienced DJ who’ll gladly work for less than minimum wage.”

John-Paul sat at the bar, thoroughly deflated. Not only was he unemployed, but his best friend was probably going to be beaten black and blue for his impetuous need to defend him.
The office door opened, Craig emerged through it and placed his hands behind his head, strutting exaggeratedly towards John-Paul.
“A shift tomorrow at eight o’clock do you?” He beamed.
Craig had barely time to register the smile on John-Paul’s face as he was pulled into an appreciative, bone shattering bear hug.

As usual perfection on the form of words, you make my heart jump whenever I see you've updated

Excellent, unusual to see Warren and Clare getting along, but thats irrevelent- its all about John Paul and Craig! Godd stuff i am loving this story xx

Ah Craig, his gift of the gab worked wonders.

Nice to see Craig being supportive to JP Excellent Chapter!! Please carry on

GREAT BRILL FANTASTIC!!!