Chapter 17: Heaven and Hades

August 1970, age 15

WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO?!

That was the question on my mind during the three-hour flight from Barcelona to Athens. Perhaps I was just freaking out because I was over tired. It was our nineteenth day on the road, and I was flagging. Jersey, France and Spain had each been interesting and worthwhile places to visit in their own ways. I had made a point of sampling the local cuisine wherever we went, no matter how far removed they were from my usual palate. Different cultures, landscapes, languages — all very educational.

But back to my virginity. Or lack thereof. Fucking hell.

Valentina was a very pretty and sweet girl, but events had rather got away from me. I’ll admit I had been hoping for some level of action that night, but going all the way with a girl I’d only known for 48 hours and could barely communicate with? What was I thinking?! At least the lower age of consent meant it was legal. That was something. But what if she got pregnant? What if I died from having caught a deadly disease?

Strangely I found I was unremorseful about one of the biggest problem areas: having essentially cheated on Ellie. Though I’d never used the term girlfriend, we had been dating for eight months. I suppose it came down to feeling at ease with Valentina, whereas I was always a bit on guard with Ellie and her domineering wild-girlness. What that meant for our future relationship was on the list of things to get my head round. The events of the previous night had happened far too quickly and without my habitual thorough planning. On the other hand, it had been heavenly pleasure (except for being utterly petrified), so I kind of needed my brain to catch up with my dick.

Athens quickly became one of my favourite places in the world. We stayed in a hotel for four nights that was part of our company’s chain. The familiar style and branding made it feel almost like home, so it proved to be the perfect place to recharge our batteries.

We visited the Parthenon, also known as the Temple of Athena after whom the city was named. The Acropolis, the original Neolithic ‘high city’ of Athens, made me feel like we were walking through history. I bought a couple of great books in English about the gods, and was soon damning to Hades or swearing by Zeus. The Greek Gods rock! I was a total convert to the religion of the Olympians. (At least for the four days I was there.) Harry seemed amused at my childish conversion to the old religion but didn’t lower himself to join in. Ewan thought I had heat stroke.

The next leg of our journey led two hours west to Corinth, where the ‘other’ religion took precedence because of some guy called Saint Paul. I wasn’t convinced. Then we followed the coast of the Ionian Sea on to the harbour town of Patras, where a fate worse than death awaited me. Another ferry. And a much, much longer journey than either of the last two. Why the fuck did I plan it this way?

To be fair, the ferry to Italy had cabins and was actually very nice. We had dinner aboard while in the relatively calm waters east of Cephalonia and then slept through most of the journey in comfort.

By breakfast, we were in the Adriatic Sea and docked at the port of Bari shortly after lunch. So from one ancient civilisation to another.

The final week of our European expedition was spent traversing the Italian peninsula. We made several overnight stops on our way to Rome, where we visited the Colosseum and as many other monuments from the time of the Caesars as we could fit in. We did a few of the normal touristy things too, like the Trevi Fountain and the Vatican, but they were trumped by the ancient stuff as far as I was concerned.

We then sped north on an express train to Florence (more churches, museums and art galleries — by that point, one beautiful church looked pretty much identical to another), and stopped off at Pisa to see if we could topple the tower.

I had wanted to go to Venice, mainly because I’d seen it in From Russia With Love, but it was in completely the wrong direction. Instead, the home stretch to the finishing line of our four-week marathon was to Milan Central Station, where we were met by a procession of cars to take us up to the villa on Lake Como.

The welcoming party at the villa was underwhelming. Dan was on a business phone call, Mrs O’Keef was in the middle of baking something, and Caity was in the pool with the entourage of friends she’d brought. The warmest welcome we got was from Simon, Caity’s little boyfriend, who was the only one to stop what they were doing and run over. “I’m so glad you guys are here. The girls have been driving me nuts! Save me. Please, save me!”

Poor kid. He’d learn the error of his ways in a year of two.

I have to admit something serious. Something which risked damaging my friendship with Harry.

After a full month of travel, all I wanted to do was laze in the sun for a day or three. Simon, on the other hand, wanted a serious adrenalin fix, not to be lying around where he was an easy target for the girls. So Harry adopted him, and the two of them did watersports.

At first, I didn’t pay them the slightest attention. I’d have been out there with them if I had the energy — playing on the lake was completely normal. The thing is that, during my daydreaming on a sun lounger, I got thinking again about the Spanish girls, and about Harry. It was almost a year since he had told me, very emotionally, that he preferred boys to girls. Was being sociable with the girls in Spain an act to cover up his real preference, or was he still trying to like girls? And which was worse/better, or were they both good/bad?

Those thoughts meandered through my mind until they came to a lurching halt. Did Harry have an ulterior motive to spending time with Simon?

I rejected that idea as quickly as it had arrived, but it bothered me. Not because I though sixteen-year-old Harry might realistically force, cajole or otherwise manoeuvre eleven-year-old Simon into some secret relationship or activity — that was stupid. It bothered me because I had doubted my friend.

The next day it bothered me even more, as whilst I was with them out on the water I caught myself thinking of myself as a chaperone. Subconsciously, I was having a problem trusting Harry around Simon, despite my rational mind rejecting that premise entirely. What the fuck was wrong with my subconscious? It was making me feel ashamed of myself.

When school resumed in September, it was the beginning of a year of hell. I was in fifth form, which was our O-Level year. We were inside a pressure cooker with the heat on us getting hotter and hotter. Not nice.

Ellie and I spoke over the telephone during that first week back, and I told her that I wasn’t going to be around to date much this term, because of my school workload and flying. That was a bit ad-libbed, but it got me out of regular weekly dates whilst leaving the door open to occasional ones and possible side benefits. Selfish I know, but I still needed some time to figure out how I felt about her after Valentina, and one less distraction might help me get through this tough academic year.

I had a new guy as my home tutor that year, as the last one had moved away. Dan and I had picked the new guy very, very carefully, as he was going to be vital if I was to pass my exams. The next few months were intense. I simply had to do well in my O-Levels if I was to be allowed to remain at school to do A-Levels. Without A-Levels I had no hope of going to university. My grand plan had been for Harry and me to go to uni together, possibly going back to our native Sheffield. With him dropping out of school, that plan was now out the window. I didn’t have a plan B at that point.

By October half-term week I really needed a few days to decompress. I gave myself a prescription for ‘serious relaxation’, with no school books or any form of stress allowed until further notice. I spent lots of time floating in the pool and felt all the better for it.

By Wednesday I felt ready to face the world again and was promptly kidnapped by Dan to catch up on everything company related. Thursday we made a trip up to Cambridge to check the progress of the flying saucer, and on Friday we visited our new theme park, which still looked remarkably like the quarry it had previously been. I still hadn’t fully processed the stuff Ewan had suggested back in France relating to Dan. It was just filed in the back of my mind until the right time.

Dan did share one bit of secret planning that would come to fruition a month or so later. The two of us had a meeting with the head honchos at Rolls-Royce. It came just before my year group had mock-exams, at the beginning of December. The pressure for those was ramping up, but I didn’t mind in the slightest having an afternoon off, particularly when I got to miss PE. Rugby out in the rain? No thanks.

I’d been to corporate offices and boardrooms before and didn’t find them as impressive or intimidating as I had at eleven. A couple of their guys seemed to know Dan and were chatting casually. Others looked very tense. Dan introduced me.