HOPE HOUSE WRITTEN BY CAT Part Seven: Saturday afternoon: crime and punishment. Once Gordon had left to attend to Paul's lunch, and the screams, Nat picked up pad and pencil, and with a sigh began to jot down the principal points of care involved in looking after goldfish won at summer fairs. He knew them by heart, having explained them to Nigel often enough, not that they seemed to sink in, not for any length of time anyway, whether from true forgetfulness or a certain amount of wilfulness, he was unsure, it was sometimes hard to tell with Nigel. As an afterthought he wrote down the most principal point of all...not to let Nigel anywhere near them. The muffled sounds of a further kafuffle from downstairs reached his ears, and despite everything, he felt a surge of sympathy for Gordon, it seemed quite a day for shrieks and screams, even more so than normal. Outside, the weather was still erring on the side of atrocious, evident from the steady drip, drip of rainwater filling the container in the corner of the bedroom. Nat couldn't wait for Monday, to begin the business of getting the roof fixed, he permitted himself a rare moment of pride, for having attended the conference, for leading workshops, for sticking it out and for using the opportunity to help raise the funds that Hope House desperately needed to maintain its aging fabric. It had been hard for several reasons, the most salient being that he hated being away from Hope for any length of time, it made him miserable, all his security was here, the life he'd chosen with Gordon. The drip began to irritate, intruding into his subconscious mind like a finger poking a wound. Leaning over towards the bedside table, he turned on the radio, seeking distraction, catching the tail end of Gershwin's classic song Summertime. So, hush little baby don't you cry, ain't nothing can harm you, with your daddy and mommy standing by. He'd heard the song more times that he cared to remember, had even sung it upon occasion, but for some reason it upset him today. Turning the radio off, he blinked away a sudden rush of water to his eyes, angry with himself for being so irrationally, stupidly emotional over a song. Partly, he knew that his emotional instability was due to the fact that he'd interrupted his medication, that it would take time for his system to rebalance, but there was something more, something stirring deep in his mind, rustling like autumn leaves on graveyard trees. A shaft of fear pierced him and he reached instinctively for the stuffed tiger toy that resided on the bed, it had been the first gift that Gordon had ever given to him. Picking it up, just handling it, gave him comfort in its associations with the man he loved. The tone of the drip falling into the container subtly changed. Laying aside the toy Nat went over to inspect it, finding it close to brimming over. With a grimace he drained the glass of milk that Gordon had brought him with his lunch, quickly removing the overfull pan and replacing it with the empty tumbler. He then stepped out onto the landing, intending to go to the bathroom to empty it. "Hello Caleb," he smiled as a tall figure suddenly emerged from the third storey stairs. "Nat," Caleb smiled his serene smile, "I hope you're feeling a little better now? I'm going down for some lunch, and I suspect that Gordon might welcome some moral support. Judging from the sounds I heard, it would seem that all is not well in the state of Denmark." Despite his low mood, Nat smiled. "I reckon poor Hamlet and co would have fitted right in here. You go down Caleb; I know Gordon will welcome your company. I'm just going to empty this, then..." he broke off as a hand gently placed itself on his shoulder. "There are some places that should never be re-visited," orange eyes fixed themselves unblinkingly on Nat's face. "You once stood within the walls of a burned out Church, it seared you, and the world spun from view." Nat felt a chill crawl down his spine as the tawny eyes gazed through him, almost as if they were watching a scene play itself out just beyond him. The hand tightened a little. "You were meant to go there then, you needed to. It was a point of destiny. The eyes clouded slightly, "but not this time Nathaniel, don't walk that path, it will take you only to a place of pain. What can be resolved, has been resolved, all else must be left behind." Nat swallowed slightly, sometimes Caleb was disturbingly accurate in his ability to read people, to guess at things that had not been told him. It was enough to make you believe in magic, or natural psychology at least. He gently patted the slender hand, "I'm fine Caleb, really, don't worry. You go and get your lunch. You need feeding up. Gordon and I were just saying you'd lost weight!" Caleb blinked, then obediently headed for the stairs, turning as he reached the top, "close it Nathaniel, re-lock the box and keep the contents where they belong, don't empower them again. Your heartbeat is as vital as Gordon's to the life of this house, there are people here who need you." Then he was gone, his long stride taking him down the stairs in next to no time. That was tall people for you, thought Nat sourly, as he emptied the water into the bathroom sink, covering more than their fair share of territory in half the time, while those of a more compact stature had to run to catch up. Task done he went back to the bedroom and put the pan back in place, putting the quarter full tumbler on the dressing table. Picking up a book, he curled up in the old overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, trying to distract his mind, to turn it from the course it seemed determined on following. The afternoon darkened, pressing against the bedroom window like a physical entity. Nat shivered, he could almost feel the darkness reaching out long fingers towards him, drawing him on. He got up, closing the curtains, setting a barrier between the inner and outer world. Returning to his book again, he settled down to read, but the words on the page remained static, they failed to hold him, they didn't create scenes, remaining separate, meaningless in themselves. He draped it over the arm of the chair. Raising a hand to his mouth, he began peeling thin strips of skin from his lower lip, an action he knew would not be approved of, especially when a salt tang indicated he'd drawn blood. `They're my lips, I'll pick at them if I want,' he'd once said to Gordon, who, while acknowledging Nat's undisputed ownership of his lips, had still spanked him for what he termed a form of self harm that wasn't acceptable. With a sigh, Nat stopped picking. Caleb's words filtered back into his thoughts, his words about the church. How had he known about that? Ignoring Caleb's advice and his own common sense, he deliberately unlocked and opened the box in his mind. It took him back over twenty three years to a damp October morning and a small notice in an out of date local newspaper. A few words, black on white. He read and re- read them. Something happened as they filtered through the crinkled chambers of his brain, a wall that he had built up over years began to crumble. He didn't sleep that night, nothing unusual about that, for some time he had found sleep ever more elusive. The rising sun found him heading for a place he had not visited in years. He had stood shivering in the cold morning light, the report in the newspaper had been true then, it was all but destroyed, a shell. An echo of something came back at him through the trees, childish voices, a trace of childish laughter. The burnt out church was the last clear thing he remembered, reaching out fire-blackened limbs it seemed to draw him inside. He looked up watching the sky whirl through the shattered eaves; saw the ancient branches of graveyard trees rake the air. Suddenly his mind exploded, a kaleidoscope of sounds and images, pain ripped through him, pain that went beyond anything physical he'd ever experienced, it drove him to his knees. The real world spun away as he stumbled through the emotional wreckage of his mind, it didn't come back into focus for a long, long time. A series of knocks on the bedroom door disturbed Nat's foray into the past. Jerking back to reality, he found that his face was wet with tears he had no knowledge of shedding. Hurriedly composing himself, he took a deep breath, and in tones of forced brightness, called out, "come in." The sympathetic smile he gave the sulky boy who entered was genuine. "Hello Paul, on your way to see Gordon I take it?" Paul nodded miserably, setting the playstation and himself on the side of the bed. "I thought I heard someone in here, have you got one of your migraines Nat?" Nathaniel nodded, "sort of, it's not too bad though. How are you?" Paul burst straight out with it, "I HATE him Nat, I do, I really hate him!" "Hatred is a very wasteful emotion Paul, it should be used sparingly, if at all, and there is no one less deserving of it than Gordon. You know that, and besides, you don't hate him, what you hate is being caught out in wrongdoing and being called to account for it." Paul petulantly twisted a button on his shirt, "he's always horrible to me, and he's banned me from the playstation for a whole month, for no reason at all. He likes jelly baby boy," as if on cue, a piercing screech sounded from downstairs, "better than he likes me. In fact he likes everybody better than he likes me," he glared challengingly at Nat, "he hates me." Nat shook his head firmly, "of course he doesn't. You know that's not even remotely true Paul." "Why is he so strict and bossy all the time then?" Nat grinned, saying lightly, "it's a natural gift!" Paul scowled, he was in no mood to be lightened, "do you think he's going to spank me?" Nat looked Paul squarely in the face, "did you steal and hide those things?" Paul reddened, but admitted nothing, dropping his gaze he mumbled, "it's not fair, I didn't mean..." "What isn't fair, young man," Nat fixed him with his sternest look, "is you taking things that don't belong to you. Not stealing was one of the first contracts of understanding you made with Gordon, and you've consistently broken it. Why do you keep on doing it Paul? If it's a way of courting his attention, then you're a foolish boy, because the only attention you'll get is of the unpleasant variety. Yes, to answer your question, I think you're in line for an uncomfortable interview with him, and what's more, you really deserve it!" "Nat!" Paul looked at him aghast, "please?" "No Paul," Nat held up a hand, "I'm not even going to try and dissuade him this time, I've stuck my neck out for you on more than one occasion, because I believed your excuses, as well as your promises that you would never repeat the behaviour. Stealing is wrong, maybe a proper spanking, and believe me you haven't had one yet, is just what you need to help you remember that once and for all!" "But it's not real stealing Nat, not like from a shop or anything." Paul pouted, his defence and support wasn't materialising as he'd hoped. "No, it's even worse in a way," Nat shook a finger at him, "it's breaking the trust of the people you live with, your family, making them unhappy. You've taken Gordon's patience to its very limits with this." Paul suddenly looked anxious, "do you think he'll send me away this time, where will I go if he does, my dad won't want me back?" Nat quickly draped an arm around the boy's shoulder, pulling him into a hug. "That's not even something that warrants consideration. The only place he's likely to send you, is to your room, or at the very worst, to bed. Gordon will never send you away, he cares about you very much, too much to give up on you." Nat gave a grin, "Gordon just isn't the giving up sort. If that's why you do the things you do Paul, to test the depth of his loyalty, then I suggest, for your own sake that you stop, otherwise you'll be spending the foreseeable future sitting on a tender backside." Paul sniffed disconsolately, "it's just not fair, and I'm much too old to be spanked." Nat gave a rueful shake of his head, "I'm afraid you've a long way to go before that's the case Paul, a long way to go," he patted the boy's shoulder comfortingly, "certainly in the light of your uncle's philosophy." A familiar tread sounded on the stairs and Paul's shoulders drooped. "Don't worry," Nat gave him another hug, "it probably won't be half as bad as you think it's going to be, and it's soon over with." "I thought I could hear voices," Gordon opened the bedroom door, looking at them both unsmilingly. "Better book a session with old psyche John then, hadn't you?" Paul pasted a mutinous scowl onto his face, "living with a houseful of loonies has finally got to you. You'll be seeing things next." Gordon jerked a thumb towards the landing, "get downstairs master insolence! You have no business being in here, I told you to come down to my study, not loll around having a nice chat." Once Paul had sidled past him, he turned to Nat, "is something amusing you Nathaniel?" Nat removed all traces of amusement from his face forthwith, "certainly not dear, as if I'd dare be amused without applying to you in triplicate for permission first." Gordon narrowed his eyes, "have you written that fish article yet?" "Yes my love." "Good," Gordon smiled sadistically, "write it again, in triplicate!" "Gord," Nat borrowed the scowl straight from Paul's face, "you don't really mean that!" "I do Nat, oh I do. It's bad enough that the crew are mutinying, without the first mate joining in. We'll be having a nice long talk about your behaviour later." Nat pulled a face, "first mate! I didn't realise that I'd been promoted, I thought I was just the lowly cabin boy?" "Just thank your lucky stars that I'm too busy to have you keelhauled young man." Nat gave in to a small smile, "incidentally, oh tyrannical one, why was Nigel screaming?" "It wasn't just Nigel, they were all screaming, it's like living on the set of a horror film..." Gordon broke off, "oh, it's a long story, I'll tell you later. How are you feeling?" He scrutinised his partner carefully, "you still look strained and edgy. I bet you hardly slept all the time you were away. I know what you're like in unfamiliar surroundings, and I bet you were swilling coffee every hour of the day." "I'm fine, really," Nat tried to sound convincing. "Do you want me to come downstairs and help out, it sounds stressful?" "No, everything is in hand. All I want you to do is rest and start getting yourself back in balance. Try and sleep for an hour or two, you can come down later." "Gordon?" Nat felt a sudden rush of panic as Gordon reached the door. "What is it?" Gordon turned and smiled at him Nat hesitated, then said quietly, "don't be too hard on Paul." "I'll be as hard as I need to be Nat, I'm only ever that, and really," his eyebrows drew together in a frown, "it grieves me to say so, but that little boy has been taking a real lend of me with regard to this matter, but not for much longer, I've had enough." He looked suddenly weary and Nat felt a flash of guilt. He got up moving across to Gordon, wrapping his arms around him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you'd be unfair, and I know part of the reason you've held back with Paul is because of me arguing his corner. You're right," he reached up to kiss his cheek, "it's time to make an unequivocal stand over this particular habit of his." Gordon put his arms around Nat, nuzzling his neck, "it's not your fault, though I have to say that you present a rather fine argument when the mood takes you. The problem is I've allowed misguided sentiment to cloud my judgement, and temper my actions where that young man is concerned." "Gord?" Nat gazed earnestly into the vivid blue eyes, "will you ever allow misguided sentiment to cloud your judgment and temper your actions where I'm concerned?" "Nat," Gordon gazed back into the evening blue eyes of his partner, "as I haven't allowed misguided sentiment to cloud my judgement and temper my actions in twenty years of living with you, I'm hardly likely to start now, am I?" "I had a feeling you'd say something like that," said Nat gloomily. Chuckling, Gordon went out, re-opening the door a second later, "however, if you're very good for the rest of the day, I'll play Captains and cabin boys with you tonight," he gave a comical wink. Nat grinned, "only if I can be the Captain!" "In your dreams baby boy, in your dreams!" Gordon quickly pulled the door closed on the pillow that was heading his way. *** "Is stealing wrong Paul?" Gordon wasted no time, asking the question even as he closed the study door. "Well," he gazed sternly at his nephew, "I asked you a question little boy, be good enough to answer me, while bearing in mind that I'm no longer in the market for excuses." Paul flushed, staring sullenly, and silently, at his feet, he hated being called little boy. Aside from the fact that it was a device to put him firmly in his place, it was also a sign that a spanking was likely to be lurking somewhere on the horizon. "I'll take your silence as a yes then." Gordon sat down at his desk, which was spread with an array of the objects unearthed by Nigel from the airing cupboard that morning. He pushed his fingers through the miniature treasure trove, mentally reuniting articles with owners, noting that there was one less than he expected. Then he turned his full attention on the sulky, dark haired boy standing in front of the desk, experiencing a sharp stab of sorrow as he did so. He laid it firmly aside, determined to deal with the present without the past clouding the issue this time. "You must know the answer, because goodness knows, we've had this exact conversation often enough. And, each time we've concluded that yes, stealing is very wrong. We've also looked at and discussed the reasons why you started doing it, and once again, come to a conclusion. What was that conclusion Paul, and I strongly suggest you answer me this time?" "That they're not valid," Paul rolled his eyes, trying to affect an air of casual boredom, but the fingers twisting the hem of his over large shirt told a different tale. Gordon speared him with a look. "What else?" "That they never were valid, and are even less so now that I understand the motivation behind them." He refused to meet his uncle's eyes. "And yet, here we are, again." Reaching among the haul Gordon lifted and gently shook one of the objects, "I suppose this solves the mystery of what happened to your tutors car keys last Monday afternoon." He frowned as Paul raised his head, a sly little smirk appearing on his face at the sight of the keys. "So," the frown deepened, "you think that was an amusing thing to do?" "He's an idiot," mumbled Paul, "and it was only meant as a joke." "Joke? I don't think so, it was an act of malice, no doubt he'd reprimanded you for lacklustre work again! That poor man was frantic looking for these, he had to collect his young daughter from school that day, he was worried to death that she'd wander off before he could get there. I don't think that was a funny situation at all. It was fortunate that I didn't have a client and was able to drive him to the school and to get his spare set of keys from home." Gordon set the car keys aside, "you will of course recompense him for the cost of the set he had cut to replace these." Paul scowled at the prospect of having his allowance stopped yet again, "he should carry his spare set with him, I told you he was an idiot!" "That's enough," said Gordon sharply. He picked up another object, one half of a nurses ornate silver belt buckle, balancing it on the palm of his hand, "I take it that you `acquired' this when we took Nigel to casualty to have that hobbit creature removed from his nose on Tuesday. It would seem you had quite a week for picking up things that don't belong to you." His face suddenly darkened, "these buckles mean a lot to the individuals concerned, they're often given as gifts on completion of training and stay with a nurse throughout her career. Have you an inkling, or care, of the upset you probably caused in the theft of this?" Paul defiantly tried to justify himself. "The nurse I took it from was a total witch, it was that horrible one who took down details when we first went in. She was looking down her nose at us, cos of who we are, and she wasn't nice to Nigel, even though she could see he was upset. I was glad when he grabbed at her belt and pulled it loose." There was a hint of pride in his voice as he added, "I took it from the locker top while she was still in the cubicle and she didn't even notice," the smirk came back into evidence, "and neither did you." "The nurses unfortunate attitude does not justify you stealing her possessions. You'll return this with a full written apology." Paul scowled, but didn't dare argue back, his uncle's face had taken on a demeanour that was beginning to make him realise just how much trouble he was in. As ego states went, he'd guess it to be somewhere between displeased adult, displeased child and even more displeased parent. Realising that he'd managed to cause his uncle's ego states to experience a perfect synchronization of emotion brought him no pleasure. Gordon, his voice getting colder by the second, picked up a small pewter Scottie dog. "Nigel broke his heart when this disappeared, and I was cross with him, because I'd told him to leave it on the shelf in his bedroom instead of carrying it around and I believed he'd lost it himself. And then there's the matter of Anna's brace..." "I didn't steal that," Paul rudely interrupted, "I found it, on the kitchen floor, it must have fallen off her skinny wrist, so it's her own stupid fault!" Gordon's eyes turned to hard blue pebbles. "Of course you stole it! You knew who it belonged to, why didn't you return it? Poor Anna, she was distraught, condemning herself because she'd lost something that she valued as a memento of Jennifer. You saw her reaction, you saw her anguish, and could have put a stop to it. You chose not to. Stealing isn't just about taking possessions that don't belong to you, it's about causing distress and hurt to others. I've told you before, you can't make yourself feel better, by making someone else feel miserable." Gordon stood up, "you'll return every single one of those objects to its rightful owner, with a full apology." He looked grimly at his nephew, "where is it Paul, and don't bother playing baffled and innocent, because I know otherwise, it was on the desk earlier this morning?" Paul resignedly reached into his trouser pocket, withdrawing an object and silently holding it out. Gordon picked the simple gold signet ring from Paul's palm with a deep sense of relief, it was the ring that Nat had given him to mark their first anniversary together, it had not left his finger in nineteen years and consequently, the shank had worn thin and split. He had lain it on the desk until such time he could take it to a jeweller for repair. "Why Paul, why take this, what on earth where you going to do with it? It's not as if you can sell it, not with my initials on and the inscription inside, nor could you wear it, aside from the fact it's a mile too big, the shank is broken. It's only meaningful, and deeply meaningful, to me, is that why you took it, because you knew it would cause me distress?" Paul shrugged, "it was just there, I was mad at you for making me write lines, I was going to put it back, I just forgot." What he didn't say was that he liked having something in his possession that spoke of both his uncle and Nat, of their affection for each other, and of the sense of security that came from such steadfast affection. Gordon shook his head, "I'm disgusted with your behaviour Paul, really disgusted!" Paul flushed from top to toe, tears stinging the backs of his eyes, but he retained an air of sulky defiance, "yeah, yeah, so I'm disgusting, is that it, can I go now?" He stalked towards the door, but a large hand closed over his as it reached for the brass handle. "No, you may not go, and incidentally, I didn't say you were disgusting, I said your behaviour was, so let's keep focussed on subject. What did I say Paul, last time we had a similar discussion about stealing?" Gordon calmly led his nephew back towards the desk. When there was no reply to his question, he repeated it, in a whiplash tone of voice, "what did I say little boy?" Paul answered reluctantly, "you said if I stole so much as a glance in future, you'd be seriously put out." Gordon nodded, "and I am, believe me, I'm most seriously put out by this business. Just tell me something Paul, do you feel any remorse, any regret for this episode, any at all?" Paul met the clear gaze solemnly, "yes uncle Gordon," he hung his head sorrowfully for a moment then looked up, a sly smile playing about his mouth, "I'm really sorry that nerky Nigel pulled that towel out of the airing cupboard." Gordon moved across to the large windows, looking out for a moment, before drawing the heavy velvet curtains across, shutting out the dreary afternoon. "Take down your trousers and pants please Paul." "What?" Paul blanched, his jaw dropping slightly. Gordon turned back from the window, gazing steadily at the wide eyed boy. "I said take down your trousers and pants," he lifted the chair out from behind the desk and placed it to one side, seating himself. "I'm waiting Paul." Paul felt his stomach clench at this familiar preface to something unpleasant, only, it had never before included an instruction to take his trousers and pants down, it didn't bode well, this addition to the tableau. He looked appealingly at his uncle, all his cheeky defiance gone, "I won't steal again, I promise, please uncle Gordon, I was only joking before, I am sorry, really I'll be good. I only do it because..." Gordon firmly interrupted, "save the excuses Paul, I've heard them all before along with the promises you've always broken. Here's the picture as I see it: I know that you understand stealing is wrong, as you said yourself, the motivation for it was never really valid, and is even less so now. Your continued, wilful indulgence in this behaviour is totally unacceptable and I will not tolerate it. I'm going to punish you. Take down your trousers and pants Paul, if you don't, I'll take them down for you." Paul began whining, "I don't want to, I don't want to take them down. Pleeease uncle Gordon, I'm sorry, I really won't break my promise again." "I'm delighted to hear that Paul, really delighted, nevertheless," Gordon gently grasped the boy's wrist, drawing him closer, reaching for the button on the waistband of his trousers, "you still have consequences to face." "I'll do it," Paul angrily wrenched himself away, "I'll do it myself, but I hate you!" He began to undo the button and zip on his khaki trousers with shaking fingers, pushing them down to his knees. "There, you pig!" "Underwear too please," said Gordon firmly. Blushing furiously and on the verge of tears, Paul hesitated, but something in his uncle's manner prompted him to obey. He suspected that any refusals would not be well met, and he was, he realised, in hot enough water. At least his long shirt preserved his modesty. As soon as Paul had pushed his underwear down to join his trousers, Gordon wasted no time in drawing him forward across his knees and wrapping an arm firmly around his waist. Paul let out a small whimper as his shirt tail, the last defence between hand and bottom was tucked up out of the way. The whimper became a fully fledged cry and his eyes opened wide in shocked surprise as his uncle's hand spanked a sharp impression of itself upon his right buttock. Oh God, Nat was right, it wasn't going to be as bad as he thought, it was going to be a dozen times worse. He yelled as the hand landed on his left buttock, realising with dismay that the difference between being spanked with his pants up and with them down, wasn't simply to do with embarrassment levels. His uncle's hand stung badly enough over clothing, but compared to this it was nothing, a doddle in fact! After delivering several hard smacks to his nephew's bottom, Gordon paused, "that was for calling me a pig, I suggest any further insults be kept internalised. Now, to business, remind yourself how you came to be in this position Paul." "Cos you bloody put me in it, you...owwww!" Gordon applied a surrogate and very firm full stop to Paul's would be sentence. "What did I just say about insults young man? This is not a joke, it's a very serious matter, something you're going to appreciate all too well before we're done here." The tempo of the spanking suddenly increased, and Paul gasped, struggling and squirming in a desperate bid to try and manoeuvre his exposed flank away from the rapidly striking panzer movement of his uncle's strong hand. "You're in this position because you're a thief," Gordon gripped the wriggling figure a little more firmly, applying his hand with a vigour that quickly turned the pale cheeks to fire engine red. "A thief who gets a thrill out of taking things that don't belong to him, who enjoys causing stress and unhappiness to others, and it has to stop, it's going to stop. You will never do it again, is that absolutely clear?" "Yes, YES!" Yelled Paul, trying in vain to swim forwards off his uncle's knee. "Good," Gordon stilled his hand. "I'm very pleased to hear it. Let's concentrate on making sure the message stays firmly etched in your mind." Leaning over he picked something up off his desk. Paul let out a full-throated howl of grief as something other than a hand spanked his already simmering flesh. He tried desperately to push himself up from his uncle's thighs, but was held in a grip of iron. Twisting his head round he was just in time to see the wooden clothes brush, that usually resided on the hall table, heading towards his bottom for the second time, it reached its destination just as the full sting from the first spank was registering. Kicking wildly he flung a hand back, trying to obstruct the hateful devices target area. The hand was firmly caught and held against the small of his back. The brush wielder then set about the task of giving a new definition to the term global warming. Paul burst into tears, bawling loudly as the clothes brush dusted his rump in a way never intended by the manufacturer. Allowing his left knee to dip slightly, Gordon elevated his right so that his nephew slid slightly further forward neatly presenting the underside of his bottom for the brushes busy attentions. Once satisfied that he'd covered the territory thoroughly Gordon delivered one final central spank and raised the miscreant to his feet. He shook a stern finger in the red, tear washed face. "I'm giving you fair warning Paul, any repeat of this business and that brush will be brought straight back into service?" Clutching his boiling buttocks, Paul managed to gather enough breath to yell hysterically. "I hate you uncle Gordon, I fucking hate you, you're a big pig, and I hate you even more than I hate my bastard of a father!" He screeched anew as he was promptly turned back over his uncle's knees. "That's enough foul language from you young man, more than enough!" Gordon used his hand to spank another stern round of disapproval onto Paul's flaming bottom before returning him once more to a vertical position. "It hurts, it hurts, oh god, it really hurts!" Weeping copiously, Paul thrust his hips forward as if trying to detach himself from the pain consuming his backside. He danced a little from foot to foot, hands up behind him trying to keep his shirt from touching his sore bottom cheeks. "It's meant to hurt young man," Gordon reached for the box of tissues, removing a handful he gently wiped Paul's face. "Try to bear in mind just how much it hurts next time you're tempted to take something that doesn't belong to you. Believe me Paul, I can, and will, make it hurt a lot more. I won't let you be a thief. Pull your pants up, you can stay in here with me until you calm down." Paul dragged his underwear and trousers up, crying harder still as they made contact with the volcanic mounds that had replaced his buttocks. "I want to go upstairs, I don't want to stay in the same room as you, you make me sick." He made a move towards the door. "No." Gordon firmly placed his hands on Paul's shoulders, steering him towards a corner of the study. "You'll stand here, facing that wall, like the naughty little boy you are, you'll think about the error of your ways, and, unless you want to find yourself face down across my knee again, you'll moderate your tone." Gordon returned to his desk and caught up on some paperwork, keeping an eye on his nephew, listening as the sobs gave way to small hitching breaths, finally calming to silence broken only by the odd self-sorrowful sniffle. "You may go to your room now," he said quietly. "Come and have a hug before you go." Paul walked gingerly towards the floor. "No, and I hope you die in your sleep tonight, you're more than old enough!" He wrenched the study door open. "Don't you slam that door on your way out young man, otherwise we'll have to add a postscript to the discussion we've just had." The door closed acceptably enough and Gordon began to tidy his paperwork away. He suddenly paused, the cheeky little devil, he was not old enough to die in his sleep, well, not from natural causes anyway! The door suddenly reopened and Paul ran across the floor to the desk, flinging his arms around Gordon's neck, hugging him fiercely. "Please don't die. Nat would miss you terribly, so would Nigel. I wouldn't, I can't stand you, you're horrible, but they would!" Paul's tears bubbled again, "I didn't mean it, truly, I'm sorry, don't do it uncle Gordon," he pressed his face into the security of his uncle's shoulder, "don't die in your sleep, or anywhere else, oh I wish I hadn't said it." Gordon gathered his arms about the boy, ignoring the salty secretions that were soaking into the collar of his shirt. Rubbing his back, he murmured soothingly, "it's alright sweetheart, don't panic yourself, words alone don't have the power to cause the action implied by them. I'm not planning on dying for quite some time yet, I've got to sort you out first!" "Paul lifted his tear stained face, "good, you'll be around forever then?" Gordon tapped Paul's nose with his forefinger, "I'll take that as the joke I'm sure it's meant to be, however," he hugged him again, "I want you to be very serious about one thing Paul, no more stealing, of any description. You don't have to misbehave to get my attention, because the only attention you'll get is the kind you definitely won't like." "You wouldn't really use that bloo...nasty brush again would you uncle Gordon?" Paul gazed at him appealingly. "I think you already know the answer to that question," Gordon reached for a tissue, wiping Paul's face and his own neck. "Now, go upstairs, wash your face, then go to your room, lie down quietly and have a little rest before tea. You'll need it because afterwards you're washing up, and after that you're tidying that cess pit you call a room." Paul's face fell, "I've been stuck in my rotten room all morning, do I really have to go back upstairs?" Gordon smiled, warmly hugged him and said an emphatic and non negotiable, "yes!" Then both he and Paul jumped almost out of their skins as an unexpected echo came back at them. "Yes!" Nigel gazed at them both, nodding vigorous agreement as he repeated Gordon's answer. He tugged at the back of Paul's shirt, "go to your room." Paul turned to glare at him, "get lost Nigel." "No, " Nigel shook his head, "I can't get lost, I know my way around in here, don't I Gordon, I can't get lost in here, I only get lost when I don't know where I am, that's what getting lost means, doesn't it Gordon, it means you don't know where you are and when you don't know where you are, you're lost, aren't you Gordon?" He moved closer to them, carefully lifting Paul's left arm away from Gordon's shoulder. "Go to your room Paul, Gordon said so, didn't you Gordon?" Gordon spoke sternly, "where on earth did you spring from Nigel?" Nigel pointed solemnly at the open study door, "from there, I was looking for Martin." He tried again to manoeuvre Paul's arms away from Gordon's neck. Paul smirked, slyly poking his tongue out at Nigel as he wrapped his arms still tighter about Gordon's neck. "He's making faces at me Gordon, he doesn't like me and he's making faces, it's not nice is it Gordon, it's not nice to pull faces?" "Be quiet Nigel," said Gordon mildly, "you had no business just wandering in here, you should have knocked, whether the door was open or not, and you know perfectly well that Martin isn't in here." He patted Paul's back, disentangled himself and stood up, placing an object from the desk into his nephew's hand, "you know what to do." Paul glowered, but with his bottom still throbbing a strong sermon against the sins of dishonesty and disobedience, he wisely decided not to risk further wrath. He held out the pewter dog to Nigel, "this is yours, I took it from your room, I'm very sorry for the upset I caused you." Catching a look on Gordon's face, he added, "I won't do it again." Nigel's face lit up when he saw the tiny ornament, he took it reverently out of the upturned hand and examined it, before slipping it in his pocket. He then flung his arms around Paul in a crushing hug of forgiveness. "Well done Paul," Gordon rescued him from Nigel's vice like grip with the ease of an expert. "You can apologise to Anna later, go up to your room now." "What about him," Paul gave a gasp of relief as his ribs popped back into shape, he glared at Nigel, "he shouldn't be in here, send him out?" "Just go to your room young man, Nigel's physical location is not your concern." Paul marched towards the open door, feeling a flash of jealous resentment as Nigel hugged Gordon. Catching Paul's eye, and reacting to some sense of oneupmanship, intermingled with a sense of mischief, Nigel poked out a gleeful tongue at him. "That's quite enough of that Nigel," said Gordon in an admonitory tone. "I wasn't been rude Gordon, I was just using my tongue to wave goodbye to Paul, because my arms were busy hugging you." Gordon opened his mouth, then closed it again, there was no answer to that. He looked at his watch, part of him hoping that by some miracle the rest of the afternoon and evening had whizzed by without him noticing, and that it was time to pack everyone safely off to bed. It hadn't, and he sighed regretfully. "Can I watch Maria again now Gordon?" "No," said Gordon severely, "you may not watch Maria, she has been confiscated for the rest of the weekend. Why has she been confiscated Nigel?" "Because I pulled Anna's hair," said Nigel sulkily, "I don't like Anna's hair, it got me into trouble." "Your actions got you into trouble Nigel," Gordon wagged a finger at him, "you chose to pull her hair in temper." "If Anna didn't have any hair, I wouldn't have been able to pull it." "True, but Anna does have hair and you did pull it, and you hurt her. We've talked and talked about hair pulling and such things." "I wish I'd bitten her now." "That," said Gordon very firmly, "comes under the heading of `such things," and as you know, such things are frowned upon in this house, and will simply not be tolerated. What happened the last time you bit James?" "He screamed Gordon," said Nigel sadly, "he screamed really loudly, don't you remember?" Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb, really, some days were just destined to be long and arduous. "I think," he said solemnly, "that a certain young man may be fated for an early bedtime tonight." Nigel's sulky look vanished to be replaced with one of excited interest, he glanced around conspiratorially, "who Gordon, who is it, tell me, I won't tell anyone else, I'm good at keeping secrets, I am aren't I Gordon?" ** "Was it very bad sweetheart?" Nat smiled sympathetically as a red eyed Paul knocked softly on the door and entered at his invitation. Seating himself carefully on the arm of Nat's chair, Paul nodded miserably, "it was horrible," he dropped his voice as if afraid that walls really did have ears, "don't tell anyone, but I got my backside paddled with the clothes brush, it stung like hell." To his dismay he began to snivel again. Nat rubbed the quivering back, "I'm afraid spankings do tend to hurt. Just try and be good from now on." He handed him a tissue, "mop up sweetheart, it's over with now, slate cleaned, all forgiven, if not excused." Paul managed a watery smile as he took the tissue, "thanks, is your migraine any better Nat?" "A bit, I'll probably go down at teatime, save you all from Gordon's cooking, bless him. Have you been sent to bed for the rest of the day, or are you allowed down later?" "I'm supposed to have a lie down," Paul dried his eyes, "I can go down at tea time," he pouted slightly, "I don't want to, everyone will be laughing at me, I bet they all heard me yelling." "No one will be laughing at you," Nat ruffled the dark hair, "and certainly not in Gordon's presence. I'm sure the only emotion you'll evoke is sympathy. You look tired, go up to your room, a nap will make you feel better." Paul got up, "hey Nat," he gave a sudden impish grin, "if Gordon's my uncle and you're his life partner, which is the same as being married, does that mean you're my auntie?" "Hmm," Nat gave him a look of mock severity, "I can see Gordon really broke your spirit, you cheeky little horror. Go on, skip it, before I add a few of my hand prints to the ones he left on your backside." "You'd never do that Nat," Paul impulsively hugged his neck, "you're much too nice." On his way out he bent to drop his damp tissue into the waste basket, "shall I empty this for you Nat, it's a bit full?" "What?" Nat, already pre-occupied with his own thoughts again, glanced up absently, giving a faint smile as Paul held up the wastebasket, "yes, if you like, that would be kind of you." Once the door closed behind Paul, Nat got up, moving restlessly across the room, flicking aside the curtain, looking out through the darkened window. Author note: If anyone can explain what's gone wrong with the formatting on this page and how to correct it, I'd be grateful.