DANCING AT THE CROSSROADS                                                               

                                                                 Chapter Four

                                                                   Scene One

 

The coach trip to Vancouver was not well named for it was long and slow. Three days and two nights, both spent in hostels of dubious quality, but Michael was sensible enough to see it for what it was - just a step along the way to a new life. Unlike his previous experience at the docks, this time Michael had no need to look over his shoulder. A near decade of respectability had in a curious way provided him with credentials that were quite acceptable to the port authorities, and his passport was genuine, albeit a replacement for the one he had 'acquired’ a year or two earlier in order to attend an motor exhibition in Quebec. His third class ticket had been bought without delay or dispute at the New York shipping office, where no awkward questions were asked. Neither was there any need to consider working his passage this time, nor the need to look for a go between, who would smile at you as he stole your last dollar.

        Eventually the long boring sail between America and Australia was upon him. Mile upon mile of sea unbroken for days on end, the only relief being the size of the waves and the proximity of the clouds. The sky was sometimes blue, but more often it was a multitude of shades of grey. The sea, which could be flat and benign and seemingly motionless one minute, might be a raging torrent of heaving water the next. Whatever its condition it would be at the mercy of the wind and would dance unfettered to its tune.  

        Though a country born man, despite being latterly of the city, Michael was surprised by the endless variety of the wind and the waves. Many hours of his early days at sea were spent staring at the watery vista, before gradually, despite its magnificence he tired of it. His main preoccupation became to beat was the boredom. Day after day the only change to the horizon was an occasional mirage brought about by rain and wind, sun and spray, which played on the mind and dulled perceptions.  Seldom land!  Any land he thought he saw was either an optical illusion, or some small island well beyond his ability to see it properly, or lost in the horizon's shimmer

        In part Michael's frame of mind was conditioned by his being in something a vacuum. Once more he was cut off from the life he had known. Once more cast adrift due to circumstances he had been unable to foretell, and which, to some extent at least, had been out of his control. He felt as though his past no longer counted; that whatever he had been he was no more, and that his previous foundations, until recently firm and secure, could no longer carry his weight. As to his future, most of the time he didn't feel that he had one. There, out at sea, all he could see were endless tracts of nothing and that seemed to mirror his perception of the future. The optimism he had felt when planning his journey across the world had all but disappeared, and what lay ahead was packed into those old cases, dumped into a corner of his little cabin, like an abandoned seaman’s chest on the dock side waiting forlornly to be claimed. 

        Michael had known moments of despair before, sometimes fear, but this was a new experience. Neither despair or fear, but paradoxically something of both. Despair perhaps because not only had he not paid penitence for his original sin, but he had compounded his tally with further misdemeanours. For some reason he thought of his family; a very rare event. It was not that he had failed make his peace with them for he knew that may never be possible. Rather it was because he had failed to make peace  with himself.  And despair because he had once again thrown away a hand of cards for which most men would have exchanged their souls with the Devil. How would he ever find happiness when he could not see it staring in his face? 

        Gradually, as day by day the new world came nearer, his boredom, his despair and fear, imperceptibly gave way to a blankness; a numbness of the mind which refused to let in meaningful thoughts. Some kind of self hypnosis took him through the last few days until one day he heard the call. Land ho. Australia was in sight, and within the space of a few hours all of Michael's verve and enthusiasm returned. His optimism was renewed for the new world and the new life which was waiting for him. And he was waiting for it.

        After disembarkation Michael stood on the dockside as if in a trance. People  bustling everywhere. All, it seemed with a purpose; things to do somewhere to go. All, it seemed, knowing where they were and where they were going.

        Eventually Michael moved on following the tail enders into the customs building. Despite his earlier confidence as to the validity of his documents, there were a few anxious moments as the customs officer checked them and his passport. At one point the two old and well worn suitcases by his side seemed to be attracting the official's attention and Michael silently prayed that he would not be asked to open them. It was not that there was something in them that might be considered contraband. To his considerable shame, if anything, it was just the opposite. Everything he owned was in those two old cases and there was nothing of value.

        He could not help the thought that those two battered cases were a sad reflection of himself, and it was that shame rather than fear of any consequences that bothered him. There he was, a man in his thirties, a father, and recently a successful businessman, yet he had nothing -  absolutely nothing - to show for it. He looked down at the suitcases, one held together with an old belt, and the other with a piece of string, and he allowed himself a wry smile.

        "Even in that condition I bet the cases are worth more than the contents." he muttered.

        "What was that?" the customs man asked, looking up.

        "Sorry." Michael answered, a little flustered, "I was asking if you wanted to see the contents."

        "Don't think that will be necessary." the smart uniformed man answered, with little expression on his face, but with discernible disdain in his voice. However, despite his self doubts Michael's documents were deemed to be in order, and with a confirmed home to go to and satisfactory work qualifications as a motor engineer, the customs officer waved him through.

        With a curios mixture of apprehension and excitement Michael made his way out of the customs shed to re-emerge into the Australian sunshine. He contrasted that with the cold rainy day when the ship had pulled out of Vancouver in what seemed like half a lifetime ago.

        Again he stood motionless, aware that he had taken a step that was likely to change his life forever, but unaware how that would happen. He seemed rooted and despite the warm sun on his back, and yet he felt unable to make the next step.  How long he would have remained standing on that spot he would never know, but a voice, faint at first, but growing impatiently louder finally made it into his consciousness.

        "Michael; over here." it was saying.

 

 

Chapter Four

Scene Two

 

"Michael; over here." a voice was calling.

        With great joy Michael dragged himself and his cases to the rather large if somewhat battered car behind which the familiar face and body of Jessie was standing. Dropping his cargo Michael rushed to her, his arms encircling, pulling her close for a passionate embrace.

        "Whoa there big feller," Jessie said, while with both hands on his chest, she shoved him firmly though not unkindly, away. "We've got a lot of catching up to do before there's any of that."

        "Ah Jess, sorry lass; but I'm so pleased to see you."

        "Yes and I'm pleased to see you too, but one thing at a time; OK?"

        "Sorry." he said again, "Is there someone else?"

        "Never you mind, and watch your p's and q's. Just because your Irish blarney worked once before doesn't mean it will work again."

        Michael recognised something in Jessie's voice, a twinkling sound he knew so well, and laughed out loud. In a moment Jessie joined in, and soon she allowed a kiss. Not a passionate kiss, but it was decidedly more than a polite peck. It was  warm and friendly, and this time when she pushed him away, it was gentler, less urgent than before.

        Michael leaned back in the passenger seat as Jessie wove her way through the traffic, heavy at first as she negotiated the busy dockside area roads. Like most other city's Sydney was a complex mixture of busy roads, large buildings, constant noise and movement. As the journey progressed Michael fell into a silent almost dreamlike state. So much was the same as the New York he had left behind, and yet so much was different. It was sunny and warm, and everywhere seemed to be both clean and free from graffiti. Neither had he seen any evidence of the poverty which was so hard to avoid in New York, especially in that part of the city's society which, at least in the early years of his stay, he had inhabited.

        Jessie's route had avoided the city centre as far as that was possible, but since her home was north of the city, and the docks were to the South, it could not be avoided completely. Neither could they avoid crossing that water except by a very long drive around the enormous extent of Sydney Bay. As the journey round  the bay would have taken half a day there was but one route - the Sydney suspension bridge. Like most non residents of the city Michael's mental image of the monument was the one created in newspapers and the cinema screen; that which is seen either from the sea or the air. But even arriving by road and seeing it for the first time from an end on perspective did not distract from its magnificence. It was for Michael, as it was for most newcomers, the single most defining image with which he was able to identify. For Michael at that moment the bridge was Sydney, and Sydney was Australia, and Australia was Jessie, and Jessie was . . well, time will tell.

        For the first time in many a long month Michael was content.

        "Yes." he told himself, "This is the new world and the promised land all in one.

        "Yes." he repeated, loudly this time, shouting with both hands thrust towards the sky.

        Jessie turned her head a little, amused but fully understanding Michael's curious mixture of excitement, anticipation and joy.

        Then he settled down to enjoy the ride. He felt rather like a small boy going to the circus for the first time. Excited at what he might see; a little nervous at the prospect, and not entirely free from some nagging doubts.

        The rest of the journey became a blur. Every turn or twist of the road presented a new vista of the watery world that is Sydney bay. Inlets and creeks at every turn, small craft galore and many bridges.These were of course less spectacular than the big one, but fascinating in their variety. Michael allowed it all to wash over him, and sooner than he expected Jessie pulled the big old car off the road and up the drive of a fairly large bungalow.

        "Home sweet home."

 

Chapter Four

Scene Three

 

The first few week passed quickly and in retrospect Michael could not truly account for them. Those were the early days following his arrival down-under. It was a time of mixed emotions;  excitement at the prospect of a new life before him, the anticipation of renewing his romantic liaison with Jessie; and uncertainty. He was unsure of his place, unclear of his value, and uncertain of his welcome.

        Jessie had indicated in her reply to Michael’s letter, telling her of his intention to follow her to Australia, that he may stay at her home until he was settled. 'But not in my bed', she had underlined.

        Michael understood. At least he thought he did. They had shared a long passionate affair back in New York; an affair which, as the song would have it, had been too hot not to cool down. That it had cost Michael his marriage was a price he had paid for that adventure. But, he told himself, his marriage had been as good as dead anyway, so his infidelity had  just moved things on a little. More to the point it was being found out that had brought things to a head. Maybe that was it. Perhaps he had flung himself into the affair throwing caution to the wind somehow wanting his infidelity to be discovered.

        But that was then, now is quite different. All their lives had been changed by the events of recent years. Jean was now far away in New York. Was she still remorseful and angry, looking after their son; no doubt telling him what a bad lot his father had been. Jessie was back home now with an invalid father. True he was being cared for in a good home, but she clearly wanted to play an important part in his life and live an 'Ozzy' life-style.

        "And me." Michael pondered? "Why would she want to be tied to a penniless Irish nobody?" A man not only without money; not only without prospects; but at the moment without ambition.

        Yes, Michael understood, and though he knew that for Jessie he probably was 'yesterday's man', he knew that the same was not true for him. Despite her coolness he knew it would take only the slightest hint from her to renew the flame of passion in him, and, he hoped, rekindle the dying embers in her.

        Nevertheless he was content and grateful that she had at least provided him with a home until he found his upside down feet.

        The first weeks  went by so quickly, almost a blur as Michael sought to recall. Jessie going to work each day, and Michael wandering the streets looking. Just looking. Looking at anything and everything; looking for the sake of looking, before eventually realising that he was no longer looking, just wandering. The excitement of being in a new faraway country soon faded, for in truth, despite the difference in climate, and his more affluent surroundings, Michael felt almost as lost in Sydney as he had in his first weeks in New York.

        Then two things happened that were to change everything.

        Not far from Jessie's home was a small, somewhat dilapidated second hand car sale room. He usually paused as he walked by, and occasionally he would stop for a moment, before resuming his aimless stroll. It was now about eight weeks since his arrival, and despite his promise to look for work, and his declaration to the authorities of his engineering skills, he had made no attempt to find work. In this new environment he had somehow felt safer in the outside looking in. The thought of taking that first step from the safety of anonymity into the spotlight of a would be worker - an immigrant at that -  scared him.

           But on that day one of those defining moments was about to take place, though it would be some time before Michael would be able to look back and see it for what it was.

        On a bright and sunny day, contrasting with Michael's usual cheerless mood, he paused; he stopped; and he stared. In the parking lot in front of the sale room window was the same row of old, mangy, tired and unloved cars. Trade-ins every one, discarded by owners glad to be rid, who had then driven away in their slightly newer, slightly cleaner models. But this time Michael was stopped in his tracks. Not one of the cars were worth a second thought, far less a mention, and all, Michael thought, were bound for the scrapheap. All that is save one, a recent addition he believed, for there, looking just as sorry and as worn out as the others, was a yellow roadster, almost the same as the car that Jessie had fallen in love with when she had walked into the showroom that day in New York.

        It was that car, or at least one just like it, which had led him to Jessie, and now to Australia.

        Michael entered the sale room.  It wasn't much better on the inside than on the outside, but he felt a tingle. Somehow the fact that he was a potential customer and not the salesman made no difference. It was the arena that he sensed, and it was in that arena where he felt indomitable.

        "Gooday mate." a cheery voice enquired.. "See anything you fancy?"

        Michael was surprised. The voice sounded surprisingly young for a man who seemed to be in his seventies.

        "Not really, think they've all seen better days."

        "Guess so." The old man studied Michael who, by his appearance had also seen better days. "Depends on how much you want to spend."

        Michael was engaged, and something of his old spirit returned. "Well here’s the thing," he started, "there is a car out side; looks like it's just about had it, but there's a sentimental reason why I would like to buy it." He stared at the old man, waiting for some reaction.

        "Which one young fella?"

        "The yellow roadster."

        "Yes, that's a fine car; I know the last owner; a careful old lady."

        Michael lifted his hands "Whoa there old timer; I been in this game too long for that. We both know it's headed for the scrap heap, but I'll tell you, I have a special reason for wanting to buy it. Trouble is, I've no money."

        "Well I guess that kinda counts you out son. Pop back when you have a couple of hundred dollars and then maybe we can do a deal."

        "One hundred dollars?"

        "Thought you said that you had no money?"

        "Would you sell it to me for a  hundred dollars if I had?"

        ""I guess so. Things are a bit quiet just now. Bring me a hundred dollars and you can tow it away."

        "Tow it away?"

        "Only joking; drive it away."

        "Yes I see you were joking, and you can see me laughing." Michael countered strait faced.

        There was a longish pause as both men seemed to be sizing up the other, then almost spontaneously they were both laughing, each enjoying the encounter, though neither of them certain who was winning.

        "Now Mr ...?"

        "Willson; Tom if you prefer."

        "Well now ... Tom! I meant it when I said I have no money, but I am a good mechanic, and a good salesman. How about letting me work for you for nothing until I have earned  a hundred dollars, and then the car's mine."

        The old man waited before he replied, a half smile on his face, "One hundred and fifty."

        "One Hundred and twenty."

        "One hundred and twenty five."

        "Michael waited too, also  wearing a similar smile. "One hundred and twenty five it is then." he said as he offered his hand.

        Michael knew the game inside out. The extra five dollars made little difference, but it allowed his new boss to have the last word. He could live with that. "Think I'm going to like working for you." he said. "See you in the morning."

        "And don't be late. Eight o'clock; on the dot."

        Both men were still smiling when Michael left the showroom, both confident that they had outdone the other, but neither certain if the contest was finished. For Tom it was simply a matter of money. He had sold a car (sort of, he might concede) for one hundred and twenty five dollars for which the best offer so far had been ninety.

        For Michael on the other hand the cause for his euphoria following this little contest was much more basic, much more intoxicating. He was reborn.

 

Chapter Four

Scene Three

 

The next few weeks were quite different to the previous few, for where Michael had felt dead, he now felt alive. Of course he told Jessie that he had found a job; how else would he explain his new regular hours?        

        "Only temporary," he hold her, "don't expect it to last too long."

        "Well at least it's a start." she retorted,  "and it's about time you started to earn your keep."

        Jessie had been very philosophical about Michael's stay with her. She still liked him of course. Hell; hadn't she spent all that time with him locked in lover's embraces. It had to count for something. "After all," she told herself, "we never fell out. It was just circumstances that parted us; one of those things, that's all."  

        Just the same, they both needed time to adjust to their respective new situations. She knew that it would take some time before Michael was able to face up to his new life, and find his place in it. She was in no hurry. With the death of her mother the house was effectively hers. She had her father's blessing and had promised him that he would be properly looked after and that no matter what, she would remain part of his life.

        Jessie's mother had left some money so there was a nice little pot in the bank now, so she didn't need Michael's rent, but she did need him to find himself. There would never be any future for them as a couple if he remained a work shy layabout living on handouts. Her jibe about paying his way had been entirely for his benefit, not hers.

        She was therefore delighted to hear that he had found a job, quite content that whatever it was, it was a start.

        Michael worked as hard for his new employer as as he had for Benny, and for nothing. He made it clear from the start that he would do whatever Tom asked him to do, and for as long as it took to pay off his $125 debt. He was quite happy to let Tom be the one to judge as to when that was, for he trusted him to give him a fair shake. Just the same he kept a careful note of all he did, just in case that trust was misplaced.

        After that it be up to Tom to let him go; with the yellow car of course; or hire him at the proper rate for the job.

        In two weeks he had virtually transformed a tired old showroom into a vibrant welcoming place. He set in motion changes and schedules to the repair bay, and to the spares department to bring them up to date, and on top of that he sold a few cars.

        In those same two weeks he far exceeded his debt, and Tom had come to realise that he was no longer up to running the business, and that here was a young man that was.

        "Ah Michael," he said, on the day that he handed over the keys to the yellow classic, along with a healthy bonus "if only you had some money to buy me out, you could make a real go of this place."

        "We could make the same deal again." Michael answered, looking directly into the eyes of his boss. Same terms, some outcome."

        "How do you mean?" Tom asked, not understanding.

        "You tell me what the business is worth; fare and square mind; I'll trust you as far as I can. You give the business to me and I will pay you as much as I can, when I can, until I don't owe you a penny, and then its mine."

        "It's a damn funny way to do business." Tom said, a curious expression on his face.

        It's probably the only way you'll get your asking price, but I understand that you might think it's too much of a risk. I may not be up to it."

        "Oh, you're up to it alright. Saw that from the beginning. My only concern is that it's all going to be done on trust. Do we know each other well enough to trust each other that much?"

        "Ah trust!" Michael said quietly. "It's a bit like faith in God. My dad used to tell me that. If God could be proved there would be no such thing as faith. It's only because you can't prove it that it works. Well I think trust is like that too. If it has to be backed up with lawyers and legal stuff, it's not trust any more. If that's what you want you'll have to take your chance in the market place and get what you can. With my way you'll get a fair price - whatever that is - no questions asked.  I will trust you and pay you that price as and when I can; but that means you will have to trust me too."

        Tom and Michael stared at each other for some minutes before Tom held out his hand. "Yes," he said, "I can trust you."  The handshake was firm and the deal was done. Michael was back in business.

        Arrangements for the takeover were made swiftly, for it was soon apparent that Tom was just as keen as Michael that there were no slip ups. His previous failure to sell the business had left him with little optimism for a regular retirement, and he saw this unexpected development as perhaps his last opportunity to settle down and do some real fishing, not to mention all the other things he had dreamed of doing.

        Despite their expressed wish that the transfer of the business should be done free from the hands of the legal people, Michael and Tom both conceded the practical need that the job should be done properly and the transfer done legally. Tom of course had his own legal advisers, and Michael was happy to use Jessie's family solicitor. The only snag arose when Tom's team had to restrained; the possibility of a killing seemed beyond their capacity to ignore. They seemed not to understand that the business should be fairly valued in all aspects, not least of which was that in all Tom's previous attempts to sell up no prospective buyer had ever had come close to his asking price.

        Finally however they were persuaded, despite their reluctance, that the business would be offered to Michael at an amount five percent higher than the highest verifiable previous offer. That payments would be made as and when Michael was able, but with as much haste as was reasonably possible and that interest at standard rate would be added.

         Everyone it seemed was happy, with possible exception of Tom's legal advisers.

 

Chapter Four

Scene Four

 

Six months had transpired since Michael's acquiring of his business, and nine months since he had arrived in Australia.

        Only nine months? So much had happened; so much had changed, that sometimes he had to stop, think back, and wonder how it had all come about.

        The first thing to go was the name. 'Tom's Motor Shack'  was removed without much ceremony and In its place Michael substituted a large sign over the entrance, 'The Yellow Roadster'. As soon as possible he gave pride of place on his outside forecourt to the car that had started it all off, the replica of Jessie's Yellow roadster, now outwardly restored to pristine condition, and clearly marked 'Not For Sale'.

        Most of Tom's few staff had stayed with Michael when he took over, accepting a wage freeze until Michael's new approach started to pay off. One or two had left, unwilling or unable to face an uncertain future, but were quickly replaced by new members, willing to take the risk of 'jam tomorrow'.  Michael's staff now numbered a round dozen.  His philosophy was simple. If you give the customer a fair deal he (or she) will come back. That about summed it up. In his repairs, and in his sales, he always endeavoured, as far as was possible, to be  straight with his customers.

        He knew only too well, following his time with his mentor Benny, that the reverse was all to often the case. His customers were seldom completely honest with him, especially when it came to part exchange. They would always expect top dollar for their old banger against a mouth watering low price on whichever car had taken their fancy. The would however, more often than not 'in the heat of the moment' forget to mention that their car needed a new clutch, or that the electrics were shot.

        So there was a degree of compromise; some give and take; but always, where ever possible, the bias was in the customers favour. It was a winning combination, for quickly he acquired a reputation for fair play. An unusual attribute in the second hand car business. Just as quickly however it became known that he was nobody's fool. Those who came along with some old banger, often dealers, hoping to get a better deal that the scrap value were soon seen off.

        Then came the time to celebrate his first year in business. Twelve months of trading was inevitably an occasion to take stock, and for Michael it was no different. But there was to be something different that he was yet to discover. It was on that celebratory occasion that Michael's life was to take another twist.

        During the time while the business was growing Jessie had stood back, ready to help when called upon, ready to provide whatever support Michael may need, but always at arms length. This was his shout, and she was delighted at the way he had found his own way to make his breakthrough. It had not taken long for her earlier feeling for Michael to re-emerge, for he was once more the man she had fallen in love with in New York. Nevertheless they had, at least in matters of the heart, maintained separate lives in her house. In particular, separate beds! She knew of course that at the slightest hint Michael would come running - he had made that abundantly clear. But while his thoughts and energies were directed elsewhere she had deliberately avoided renewing their former passionate status.

        Now, one year on from Michael's rebirth as a man with a mission, she knew that this was the time. Not least in her thinking was that he was now quite a catch, and if she did not stake her claim, someone else certainly would.

        It was easy and Michael didn't see it coming. Jessie had prepared a party for Michael's team and their wives, husbands, and partners, plus of course Tom and his wife Peggy. A number of suppliers from the industry were also represented, as were one or two local councillors.

        By common consent the party was a resounding success, and Michael and Jessie arrived home late, tired, and happy. Michael especially so for during the evening Jessie had been more affectionate that at any time since his arrival in the southern continent. His happy mood was shattered however when he went into his room to find the bed stripped and all his clothes neatly folded and stacked on the bed, his shoes and other belongings in boxes, and his smaller items and toiletries in a small travelling bag. His heart sank, and he turned when he sensed that Jessie had quietly joined him in his room.

        "Why?" he asked, unbelieving, "After all this time; especially now. Why are you throwing me out?"

        "It seemed like the right thing to do. I thought it was about time you made a move."

        "But this!" Michael gestured toward the bed. "everything packed and ready."    

        "Not quite everything." Jessie muttered, "there's something in here." She turned and walked into her own bedroom, Michael following, "There’s those as well."

        It took a moment or two before the penny dropped, for there, neatly folded on Jessie's bed next to her nightdress was a pair of man's shorts and a tee shirt - Michael's usual night ware. Michael looked at Jennie and she smiled. In a moment they were in each others arms, enjoying the first real kiss since Jessie had left New York two years earlier.

        Michael did not need his night ware that night.

 

Chapter Four

Scene Five

 

The period that followed was like a second honeymoon. In some ways better for they both felt the thrill of a love renewed, a love that they both thought that had been lost, but was now found again. There was however one major difference. Where before they had been involved in an affair, with all the subterfuge and danger that an affair brings, now they free to express their love openly. Of course they also missed a certain feeling of excitement that comes with clandestine assignations, but their freedom to display their love openly was a new and heady experience.

        "Can it get much better?" Michael asked Jessie one night after a long and fulfilling love session.

        Jessie was quiet and did not respond as he expected. He lifted himself up and with his arm on the pillows looking down on his girlfriend and lover. "Something wrong?" he asked.

        "I'm not sure." Jessie answered, but Michael was not convinced. Then he spotted a moistening in the corner of her eyes; the very beginning of tears.

        "Whoa there my lovely, he said, "what's this all about?"

        "Things have been going so well for you; for us; and I don't want to spoil it."

        "Spoil it?" he shifted a bit more so that now he was looking more directly at each other, their nakedness for the moment forgotten. "What can you possibly do to spoil it?"

        "Well, I know that you are doing well and you're a bit ahead on your payments, but I'm not sure my little contribution helps."

        "Of course it does. Never any doubt about that, and one day I'll make it up to you."

        "Oh I don't care about that."

         "What then. What are you trying to tell me."

        "It's just that I won't be able to help you as much in a little while."

        "How's that! You haven't gone and lost your job have you. I keep telling you that your tongue rules your brain."

        "Oh', thank you. Well I haven't done too badly for myself."

        "I know, so come on; what’s this about. Is it me? Do you want me out?"

        "No, it's nothing like that, nothing to do with you. Well it is to do with you, but not that way."

        "Oh this is silly." Michael said as he got up from the bed, "I'm going for a beer - want one? - And when I get back I want it straight."

        Jessie heard the hiss when one can of Fosters was opened, followed momentarily by the second. She waited until Michael was by her side and smiled, amused at the sight of her man carrying a tray on which stood two still fizzing cans and two packets of crisps.

        "That's better." he said "I like a cheeky grin."

        "Couldn't help it," she replied, "seeing you carrying that tray with not a stitch on."

        It was a little light relief, but Michael could see that she was still troubled. "Come on now, what’s bothering you." he asked as he set the tray down on a little bedside table then passing one of the cans to her.  She reached forward putting her hand on his inner thigh and gently pulled him to her until he flopped side by side onto the bed, managing not to spill a drop from the can.

        "Come on then."

        "Straight?" she asked.

        "Straight!" he answered.

        "I'm pregnant. That straight enough?"

        Another milestone, another crossroads. Michael sat up and pondered the news. That Jessie was expecting a child was hardly a surprise given the intensity and abandonment of their lovemaking since their coming together after the party, nearly four months earlier. What was surprising, because of her passionate nature, was that it hadn't happened before. Therefore he concluded, it was not something that had been left to chance. In their previous relationship, and others she had doubtless had with other men, she had clearly taken steps to avoid that eventuality. Just as clearly this time she had not; ergo she wanted this baby. The only question now, he pondered further, is whether she considered it to be her baby, or 'our' baby.

         "That's great news," he said, "but why didn't you tell me you wanted a child?"

         "In case you didn't."

        Michael looked at her long and hard, before he uttered his next words. "And if I didn't, what then?  Have I been used as a convenience; a man to serve a purpose. A donor?"

        Jessie sat up too. "Oh no, much more that that. I want you to be much more than just a biological father. I want you to be a real father."

        "So why didn't you tell me what was on your mind?" Michael was as much puzzled as Jessie about his response to the news. Sure, it was great news, but something irked him. Not being part of the plan to create new life; not being consulted.

        "You don't want a baby then?" Jessie said, visibly upset.

        "Sure I want the baby, I just wish that I could have shared the anticipation with you, that's all."

        "I'm sorry Michael. I didn't mean for you to be shut out. But I didn't know if you wanted to be a father just yet."

        "You could have asked me."

        "I can get rid of it if you want."

        Michael was stunned. Not so much because his religious convictions were rock solid, that surely was not the case even though the foundations of them were there, ingrained since childhood. It was the fact that this woman who clearly, desperately, wanted this newly conceived child, was prepared to give it up for him.

        "Oh no you don't." he answered. "I've lost out on three children already. I'm not going to lose another."

        "Three children?" Jessie asked, surprise in her voice. "I know about your two with Jean; where does the other one fit in. Are you carrying baggage that I don't know about?"

        Michael had not burdened Jessie with all the details of his earlier life. During their affair in New York, which both of them recognised to be just that, an affair not expected to to be lasting, he had not felt it to be relevant. But now?

        "Quite a lot to be honest, and I think that now is the time for some honesty on both sides."

        With that he sat down and told her about Connie and the baby she was expecting; about Co'lin and their fight which left his best friend dead in a ditch; about his life on the run, and about meeting Benny and then Jean.

        "And then you came into my life." he concluded the potted version of his life story.

        "So you have another child in Ireland?"

        "All I know is that Connie was pregnant when I left her."

        "When you deserted her."

        "Oh Jessie." Michael started, suddenly overwhelmed by emotions he had somehow kept locked away for so long. "What do you want with me, I'm nothing but a spineless snivelling rat."

    For the first time in years Michael cried, sobbing as though his heart would break, wrapped inside Jessie’s arms, safe in their tightness while he released the flood of remorse which for so long had been held back.

        "Did you never want to know?"  Jessie asked quietly, her lips close to his ear. "Did you never try to find out?"

        "For a couple of years I thought of nothing else, but I was too frightened to do anything about it. Too much of a coward I guess. And as the years went by there seemed to be less and less point. Nothing much I could do about it by then, and gradually it moved from the front of my mind to the back."

        Michael had stopped crying now, though only just, and he gave Jessie a wry smile.  "How she must have hated me. And now, how you must hate me too."

        "It's a tough tale I'll grant you, but perhaps it's not too late to find out."

        "Oh I think it is; maybe one day when I can't do any more damage, but not now. Somehow she will have made a new life for herself, and I doubt that she would thank me for barging in and ruining it again."

        "Right." Jessie pulled away, instinctively knowing that it was the right time. "That's where we should leave it. From now on it's just the  three of us. You me and junior." She patted her tummy. "Time to get on with our lives."