A misty autumn morning with the rolling heather bathed in a steam of mist, a watery sun attempting to break through. The young man, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his tweed jacket, strode out across the damp grass, following the muddy path by the edge of the lake. His hobnailed boots crunched as they walked on the sodden burnished carpet of leaves. He watched as geese flew over the bleak scene, eager to leave the burgeoning winter and fly to warmer climes. East raised his eyes and wished he were a bird.

This was his last morning of he-did-not-know how many mornings since he had arrived in this place. There was his life, then there was nothing and then there was here. He walked to the far side of the grounds to where the hospital backed onto the large estate of a nearby Lord. Sitting on a high stone wall, he stared out over the purple heather and shivered in the cold dampness. In his mind's eye he saw the landscape of his home, the hot sun and open spaces. He dreamed of riding free across the countryside, bathing with his horses in the creek, having a beer with mates in the local hotel.

It was good to remember. His mind, starved of images for years now, ran free- places, people, good times, some sad...but no matter how he racked his store of memories, he could not understand. Why was he here? What had caused an English woman called Grace McAlister to bring him across the world, a brain damaged young man, the victim of a riding accident?

Somewhere just beyond his reach was an answer, but whenever he felt he could almost reach it, it danced away beyond his fingertips. But one thing he knew for sure-something had happened which had shaken him to the core. A deep shadow hung across his life.

A man on horseback galloped across his line of vision. Instinctively East committed to mind every nuance of animal and rider, reading the carriage, stride, handling and gait. He knew he himself was a horseman and longed to mount again; it seemed to him the ultimate freedom. The one that had almost taken his life.

At long last he had seen enough and jumped down from the wall to make his way back to Craiglockhart War Hospital. It was his final morning. Today he was to be discharged and cast out onto the world, a whole man again. A whole man who had lost  six years of his life, his youth.

My dear Miss Grace,

I am not sure that there are any words to describe how much I owe to you. This endowment of money has made it possible for me to apply to university; I hope to receive good news from that quarter soon. I know I cannot repay you but assure you that I will endeavour to do you proud. One day I will come to England and present you my first published work. It will be dedicated to you.

Your news about East was wonderful; I am so pleased to hear that he is much recovered. Will he return now to New South Wales? I cannot imagine him anywhere else. Give him my fondest regards. He was always a good friend to me.

Things are much the same as ever in Turalla. My sister Elsie has a new baby girl and Bushman is still courting and evading the widows- I doubt if he will ever make the required move...!

Grace read over the letter, a smile on her face. Dear Alan! Almost a man now - he must be eighteen or nineteen. How the years fly! She had been delighted to send him a bursary once she had realized his predicament. Alan was a fine boy and an excellent scholar - and perhaps the nearest thing to a child that she had ever had.

For the hundredth time, she checked the clock. His train would arrive at 3.45. She could scarce contain herself. How would he look? How much did he remember? Was his speech fully restored? Dr. Rivers had spoken of his faculties and said they were sound once he had woken up from the twilight world he had inhabited for so many years. Of that time and the circumstances leading to his accident, he seemed to have no memory- and it was possible that this would always be the case.

It was a near miracle that any recovery had been possible, given the length of time since he had sustained the injury and the severity of the regression. But the brain is a remarkable and little understood organ and with the modern methods available at this experimental hospital, so familiar with the workings of damaged young minds shattered by bomb, gas, constant shelling and sights of horror unimaginable, that a return to a normal life had been facilitated. East, previously illiterate, had even learnt to read and write at last, taught apparently by a soldier who had been a teacher in civilian life. But, Grace sighed, he had never once put his new skill to use and written so much as a line to her, despite the regular correspondence that she had sent to him.

It had been a seemingly interminable journey from Scotland to London. Finally in the capital, East spent the night at the Station Hotel with the intention of catching an early afternoon train to Sussex and then home. Home? He was going to a place that he did not remember, to people he did not know. It only heightened the sense of alienation and displacement that he felt.

Sometimes at night, his dreams were filled with erotic images. A beautiful woman whose face he could not see gave herself to him; they made love unrestrained, wild passion that shook him, relief found in his hand. Was it purely imagination? Had he ever actually known a touch like hers?

East knew that he had had women; there was a memory of visiting whores and chance flings with women he had met at horse fairs or here and there on his travels. But the woman from his dreams was different. She made him feel uplifted in a way that he could not explain.

London was muggy and wet. As East trudged along the platform wrapped in his blanket of loneliness and the ache of partial memory, a woman approached him and thrust something at him.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" He jumped back from reverie into the present with a sudden jolt. Before him stood a middle-aged woman, homely and unremarkable, her face contorted with hatred, pushing a white feather into his hand. East stared, puzzled, unaware of her intent.

"Why?" He muttered haltingly, speech still an unfamiliar thing. "What did I do?"

She sneered. "Nothing! You did bloody nothing! While better men lay down their lives, you swan around, you yellow bellied coward!"

The reality of her words dawned upon him. To her he was apparently an able-bodied young man in civilian clothes when millions of young men in uniform were lying bleeding and shattered on French soil. He recalled an article in a newspaper he had read, in his still-laboured fashion, about the battle of the Somme. They said that some days you could hear the guns fired in Normandy from London itself.

The woman spat on the ground before him and stormed away; East looked about him and saw the silent contempt of others directed his way on that miserable cold station. They might not be inclined to make a scene as she had done but nor did they have any sympathy with his embarrassment. He was unable to explain. What words would adequately describe who he was or what he was doing here when he didn't even know himself? Tucking the feather absentmindedly into his pocket, he walked on, still stunned by the vitriol that she had poured at him and tried to remember when he had last smiled.

After a meal in the stark dining room of his Hotel, East wandered out on to the city streets, late night. He fancied a beer. It was dark and rainy, an autumn night with the sharp tang of cold weather in the air and the trace of falling leaves rotting where they drifted. Spring at home; he remembered that. Warm days, blue sky and the wild flowers bursting out in the high meadows- nights still crisp and clear. He didn't recall any sky but grey in all his time here in this alien closed-in land.

Pulling the collar of his jacket up for warmth, still unused to the raw cold and damp, even after all this time, he crossed the street, keeping his head down so that he drew no attention to himself. Entering a shabby, nondescript public house, he ordered a beer and sat down in a dark corner, picking up a discarded evening newspaper and setting himself to read.

He was still slow, but the thrill of the written word drew him in- he was enthralled by his new found ability. Even the tragic news from the Western Front that swamped most of the pages and the long list of the dead edged in sombre black, the roll of the missing and the casualties too, did not distract from his pride in deciphering and understanding the text. At least something good had come of it all.

Deep into his reading, his concentration total and his mind fully absorbed, he did not see the woman who sat down opposite him.

"Hello, love, you want some company?"

He looked up sharply, already preparing himself for another barrage of abuse, but instead saw a pretty woman, her looks somewhat faded but still with the echoes of her former girlhood smiling across at him. She had wispy fair hair, a little frizzy at the ends from cheap curling tongs and her makeup was too obvious, a false glamour against her shabby attire. East felt a flicker of interest borne of loneliness and want. He was a young man who had not touched a woman in six years. What his mind did not recall, his body cried out for.

He tried a smile. It seemed almost to hurt his facial muscles. "Wouldn't say, no, love. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Port and lemon would go down a treat." He stood up and bought her drink and another glass of beer for himself. As he set them down on the table, he noticed the woman had a gold wedding band on her finger. She saw him glance at her hand.

"Don't worry. He's not here. Not bloody anywhere. Dead, I think. You never know, do you? They don't find the bodies..."

She spoke in a matter-of-fact way as if what she had just said was completely normal instead of nightmarishly obscene. But it was probably normal to her and her contemporaries. While he had slept inside his head, the world about him had gone even madder than he and half the flower of Europe had been offered to some crazed, insatiable god of war.

He drank too quickly, unsure whether he wanted to leave with her or simply excuse himself and move away. But something appeared to have him rooted to the spot, watching her sip her drink, her rouged lips slightly moist and a stray curl hanging over her cheek. He felt a sudden compulsion to touch her.

"You just going to stare at me all night, luvvie? 'Cos I'm a working girl. My time costs money."

East swallowed hard. "How much?" She mentioned an amount. He nodded with a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his head. She smiled knowingly, fingered the loose curl and knocked back the remains of her drink. They stood up and she led him to the door, leaving behind the cheery, brightly lit crowded local to step into the drizzly street. Turning into an alleyway to the left of the doorway, the woman leant back against the wall and began hitching her skirt up.

East looked sharply around, followed her and placed his hand on hers. "No. Not like this," he muttered, "I've got a room in the Station Hotel. Across the road."

She shrugged, dropped her skirt. "That'll cost you ten shillings more if I have to strip. Come on, dearie." She took his hand and they crossed over to his hotel. Slipping into its faded hallway, a sign of a former more elegant and carefree era, East observed the stony stare from the wizened old man on the desk who must have seen this sordid transaction a thousand times, and led her up the staircase to the second floor and his small corner room.

The door clicked shut. "All right, love. Don't be nervous..." Her sharp little Cockney accent reminded him that this was a business deal first and foremost. East took off his jacket and began to undress. The ,woman pulled out her hat pin and rested it on top of the cupboard. "What's your name?" East asked giving her a sideways stare and watching her through hooded eyes.

"Ruby Jackson."

"East Driscoll."

There was an awkward pause while they continued to unbutton their clothes and shrug them away. He continued staring at her, caught her eye and then looked away, turning to lay his shirt on top of his jacket on the wooden chair against the wall. When she was standing there in nothing but her bloomers and vest, he came over to her; she looked at him, smiled shyly, and eased down his braces.

"You're a fine figure of a lad, East, I'll give you that," her fingers stroked the large pectorals and ruffled up the light chest hair, running down the line of scruff until she came into contact with the button of his trousers, deftly popping it open and continuing with the rest until his fly was wide open. "Not seen muscles like that for a long time. Nothing to say we shouldn't enjoy this, eh?" Placing a wrapped condom into his palm with a slight tilt of her head as if to show she would take no objection, she slipped her small hand in and found the vent in his combinations. Naked flesh against naked flesh; East hissed at her grip and the long- forgotten sensation of human touch.

With a nod, he closed his palm around the rubber and reached in to kiss her. Ruby's body stiffened in his grasp and she tried to pull her lips away, but his natural tenderness and the deep sensuality which was innate in this young man seemed to draw her back. She broke her golden rule and returned his kiss. His lips were soft and fleshy, his tongue tasting of the bitter beer he had been drinking; she felt the rough stubble of his upper lip graze her tender skin and it excited her in a way she had not felt for years. She made her living by opening her legs for men, fed her children on the profits of her body but she usually shuddered at the very touch of male flesh. She had never much liked it anyway with Cyril her husband and it seemed a particular irony that she should now be selling intimacy several times a day when she had only allowed him a coy poke once or twice a week.

Deep in his throat she heard a low rumble of pleasure, like a cat purring. His hands tenderly held her upper arms, smoothing up and down as he pulled her close, his mouth trailing kisses to her ear, hot breath on her lobe and pressure of a rasping tongue on the delicate skin beneath. Ruby heard herself gasp, threw back her neck and offered it to his kiss. She felt him grind his body against her in undulating waves, his hips rotating sensuously, graceful as he brought her body into contact with his.

They were still standing together in the middle of the room, he wearing his trousers and singlet, his braces hanging down, she in her underwear. He did not hurry and paw at her, made no attempt to invade her intimately, but simply used his hands on her neck, shoulders, upper arms and his mouth on her face, throat and lips. She felt confused and realized that she was losing control where normally she gritted her teeth and let them at it. It frightened her how he was already mastering her body and yet, she wanted to know what he knew that could make this sordid business feel so fine.

At last he broke his kiss and looked into her eyes- they seemed far away and intense; she wondered what he saw and knew it wasn't her.

"God Almighty, dearie, you've done this before, haven't you?" She whispered for something to say that acknowledged her surprise and that restored her professional edge. He took her words at face value.

"I reckon I have, Ruby, and I reckon it was good." He smiled shyly and then his face burst into a wide grin; it made her laugh too.

"Well, come on, Mr. Driscoll, what we waiting for?"

They stripped each other in the middle of that room, his large hands surprisingly delicate as they pulled away her liberty bodice and eased down her knickers, unclipping and rolling down her stockings until she was quite naked. Ruby tugged on his singlet and eased it over his thick shoulders, having to stand on her toes to clear his head; he shook himself like a little boy at the irritation of her clumsiness. Then she opened the remaining buttons on the fly of his corduroy trousers, bent down to unlace his boots, slipped them off and then his socks before returning to drop his trousers to the floor. He was standing there in his woolen combinations, his penis, a bulky obtrusion jutting at an awkward angle, a wet circle already visible on the vent, his heavy balls filling the pouch at an alarmingly impressive size. Ruby's eyes widened at his manliness.

East looked down and gave her a charmingly bashful grin before pulling them off and returning his attention to her. In one fell swoop, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed; they fell onto it together and for one wild moment it felt to Ruby like love, not business. East lay half on her body, half on his side and he lazily mapped her contours with his rough but tender palm. She felt as though he was gentling her and the soft enraptured dreamy look on his eyes made her smile. Stretching out her hand, she gripped his rock hard cock and circled it, rubbing the pungent drip into its head and jerking it skillfully; her action woke him from his passive enjoyment of her body and began to fire desire in him again.

"I want you..." he gasped and she let him part her legs with his hand and smooth between them, his fingers confident and more urgent now as they found wetness and then the slick haven of her cunt. He moaned soft and low and rolled above her, she arched and widened and then remembered. "Hey...Johnnie..." she pulled away and indicated the rubber that was lying on the bedspread beside them. Ruby snatched it up and donned it quickly as he panted a little at the sudden interruption to his ardour. The moment it was in place, he was on her again and with a powerful action, he lunged and guided himself in to her; she gasped as he entered. He thrust, she cried and he thrust again, slowly and purposefully hilting himself deep within her, his eyes closing and his head sinking forward, almost in an attitude of prayer.

Ruby held him, whispered to him what a man he was, what a fine body he had, how he made her feel and for the first time she realized her words meant something- not the usual sleazy chatter to make a man come quick and maybe tip her some more. East writhed and pounded, pulling out and pushing deep, grinding the neck of her womb; her walls instinctively surging and tightening round his girth and sensation flooded her, wild nerve-jangling pleasure until she could do no more than grip his powerful shoulders and hang on, weak with coming. He came, a quiet shuddering sigh emitting from his lips as the waves of orgasm shook his body violently. It was almost so intense she wondered if he had felt actual pain.

Together they lay in some mimicry of affection, legs and arms entwined, naked on the coverlet, pounding hearts beginning to return to their normal beat. Ruby eased away from him, he pulled off, knotted the soiled rubber and threw it away from him, but then gathered her to him again. "Thank you, Ruby. Thank you, ma'am," he muttered into her ear.

She smiled lazily and pulled his face up to look into his eyes. "Who taught you to love like that? How did a bloke like you learn all that?"

East stared quizzically at her and shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe I just knew it. Strikes me a woman is a fine thing for a man to touch. He ought to treat her with gentleness and she will touch him back the same way. Like a horse..."

Ruby laughed at that. "Like a horse? Well, you might know how to fuck, love, but you've a lot to learn about small talk!" She rose from the bed and began to gather her clothes; East looked around, suddenly embarrassed.

"I love horses...you don't understand..."

"No, love, I don't. I'm a woman not an animal. But then, to a man - who knows? You treat us like pieces of meat, so maybe a whole animal's a step up..." she observed as she put on her knickers and reached for her bodice.

East blushed. He hadn't meant it like that- not to upset her; it was how he felt- all creatures, human and animal, deserved love and kindness. That's all he had meant by it.

"Ruby...I'm sorry...I'm no good with words...I didn't mean to offend you...here...let me sort you out...what do I owe you?"

Ruby watched as he jumped from the bed and fumbled to find his wallet in the inside pocket of his discarded jacket. She stared longingly at his powerful back, watched the ripple as his muscles played beneath the skin, mentally caressed the shapely buttocks and the sturdy thighs. She found herself smiling.

"Never mind, East, this one's on me. Wouldn't be fair to charge you. You gave me as much as I gave you..." she muttered shyly.

East pulled out some pound notes and handed them to her. "You're a working girl with mouths to feed. You can't afford to waste a night's earnings..."

She shook her head. 

He thrust the notes down her blouse. "Then it's a gift. Buy your babies something." He smiled at her and she knew he would not take it back.

"Thank you," she whispered. 

Just then an idea occurred to her. "East? How about a deal?"

"Deal?" He stood there naked before her, seeming oblivious of his natural state; his ease with his body intrigued her.

"Can I stay the night? Would you like that? I'd like to lay down next to you just for one night. It's been so long since I had a man near me in the dark."

His face broke into a wide grin, like a boy suddenly, not like a man. "I'd like that better than anything, Mrs. Jackson. Come here."

Ruby walked over to him, shy now that she could no longer hide behind her brittle professional face. East slowly stripped her again and lifted her up in his arms. He placed her in the bed and covered her over before turning down the mantle and pulling open the curtain to let in the moonlight. "I like it better by natural light. Makes me remember how it used to be...' he murmured enigmatically before climbing in beside her.

They lay side-by-side in the semi-dark. Ruby rolled closer and curled up on his chest; East absentmindedly stroked her hair. "Where do you come from, East? I never heard an accent like yours before," she asked softly.

"Australia. New South Wales."

"Bloody hell! What you doing here? Come to fight?" She gasped.

"Dunno what I'm here for. It's a bloody long story and I don't even know the half of it..." Haltingly, East began to tell Ruby what he knew of his injuries and the years in between. Then he tried to explain what his home was like and how he had lived in a little stone cottage with only horses for company and the wild rugged landscape all around.

Ruby listened enraptured. "But why did this lady bring you here? What was you to her?"

"Dunno. Makes no sense to me."

"Were you lovers? Was she in love with you?"

"What? She's some kind of lady. What would she have wanted with me?"

Ruby laughed. "She's got blood in her veins, hasn't she? Believe me, no woman leaves her husband and brings a damaged young man half way across the world to nurse him back to health at her own expense unless she's in love with him. What's she like- do you remember her?"

East was quiet for a while and then he rolled over and leaned on one elbow, his hand trailing across her naked breast, suddenly animated. "I've tried and tried and all I can remember is this bloody ostrich. It ran away across the bush and I raced after it on my horse. She followed. We were sort of racing each other. I wanted to catch that damn animal for her so she'd notice me but all I got was this feather...but she noticed me...I know she did..." There was a cocky smile on his face, like a young man who is so full of his own spunk that he can't help but enjoy it "...but I cannot remember her face..."

Ruby giggled. "Not sure I know what you're on about but I'll bet I'm right about her. And I'll bet that's why you're so good with women. I think you've had lessons from a real fine lady..." East caught her mood and joined in the laughter.

"So you think I'm good at it? Wait until you get a better taste..." Rolling her over him he pulled her to his lips for a kiss, his hands pressing on her buttocks to feel the impressive rise of his erection, already hard and pulsing against her lower body. Ruby moaned in anticipation and rose up to show him that she too knew what a man liked. Straddling his waist, she ran her thumbs over his nipples and writhed against his groin as he lay there, his eyes now glazed with desire, and watched her. She licked her lips, took his hand and sucked on each finger sensuously before wriggling down towards his genitals with a playful grin.

His penis was surging as she brought her lips close. She had no idea how many cocks she had sucked off over the years; it was something she preferred to full on sex- it was quick and she didn't have to look at them or feel their clammy hands all over her and smell their foul breath and unwashed bodies. Not that she liked the taste of their come- but it was soon over and she always kept a hankie ready to spit into. But here, so close to East's beautiful specimen, still pungent with the remnants of his previous orgasm and the slight undertone of rubber, she experienced a wholly different sensation. He made her sex weep and her breasts ache. His taste and smell enchanted her. This time she would do this act for herself as well as him.

She kissed his tip and let her tongue tease his hole. Round and round she licked like he was a big stick of Brighton rock, finding the sensitive ridge beneath the swollen head and flickering her tongue round it; he hissed and parted his legs instinctively, beginning to rock in towards her. She stroked and then cupped his heavy hairy balls and sucked down hard as his hands entangled themselves in her hair. He felt so moist and warm, such a combination of hard and soft textures, smooth and wrinkled, naked skin and thick scruff of hair; he smelt so musky male. Her head swam with him as her body loosened in its own pleasure.

Ruby thought he would come- was expecting it -but suddenly she felt him lift her gently away and he brought her to him. Sitting on the bed, he held her, she wrapped her legs around him and he kissed and caressed her like a lover, his hands mapping her naked curves, his lips trailing kisses on her face and neck. She returned his love passionately feeling him deep inside as he thrust slowly and purposefully and she writhed on him, tightening her fluttering walls until they were both hardly able to breathe for the sensation of the act. She was surprised he made so little sound, where most men grunt and groan like animals. East was silent apart from his deep breathing and the low sighs she could hear when his mouth was close to her ear. The closeness of the position, nestled in his lap, was more intimate to her than any sexual experience she had ever had. He might be taking his pleasure on her body as so many men had before but he was also giving it back with as much tenderness as any man in love might have done. For once in her grim life, Ruby Jackson felt safe and cherished.

Passion spent, they lay awhile and spoke softly; she told him of her children and her life before this war had changed things forever. She spoke of girlish dreams and the one time she had been out of London on a trip to the countryside and seen green fields and cows grazing. He was astonished at the thought that people lived such restricted lives where he had once had an open range to live his life on.

"Will you go back to this Turalla place?" Ruby asked.

"One day," he replied staring at the ceiling.

"Why wait? Nothing here for you but death and destruction."

East thought awhile. "Reckon I need to understand a few things first. About myself. About life."

Ruby wasn't sure she understood what he meant but liked what he said anyway. There was something deeper in it than she had ever really thought about before. She had thought life was just something that you did. It had never really occurred to her to try and understand it.

Morning came and East woke early with a sense of a dreamlike state still clinging to him. There had been a woman and he had loved her - there was a stable and the smell and sound of horses near, so acute that he had believed himself there. His eyes flickered open and he was buried inside the woman in his bed who was sleepily smiling up at him.

"Wonder who you think you're fucking, love?" she whispered as she bucked and arched; he sighed and came, too confused and sleep-soaked to control himself.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." he muttered as he pulled away and rolled back to lie panting on the pillow. Ruby sat up and stretched.

"No need to apologise. That was just lovely. So soft and warm...East, you're a great bloke and I hope you find what you are looking for..." She jumped from the bed and reached for her clothes.

"Wait...I'll buy you breakfast...take you home..."

"No, you bloody won't. Let me get off now. My Mam will be going spare about me staying out all night as it is -  and you're not going near my kids...it doesn't work like that, dearie. I'm sorry. I have to go..." Ruby leaned over and gave him a kiss before deftly buttoning up her jacket and rolling on her stockings.

East got out of bed, thrust his legs into his pants and pulled up his braces; she stayed him with another kiss. "No, East. Back to business now- last night is over,"... but there was a wistful quality in her voice as she stroked his face and let her fingers wander across his naked chest. "It was good. Let's just remember that, eh?"

"But..." East caught her hand... "How can I find you again?"

She smiled and shook her head sadly. "You can't. That's the point, love. A body for hire and then you move on. We both move on. Don't let either of us think this was anything more than it really was..."

He dropped her hand and she picked up her purse. With a last look back, she ran out of the door and was gone. Over by the window, he stared into the murky morning and watched her as she scuttled up the street, a nondescript woman looking like any other on her way to work. A trolley bus passed by and she jumped on; he remained by the window until she disappeared. Sitting on the bed, he thought about the night he had just passed and the memories it had stirred, both good and bewildering.

On the floor lay a knotted used condom. Then something occurred to him. They had made love three times and used a contraceptive once. Say he had left her with another baby? It could happen. Imagine if a child was born he never knew? A part of what he was would live on in the body of a cheap little whore from the East End of London. He smiled. Maybe it would do her some good. Like breeding horses. He couldn't do much, but stud duties might be something to consider- after all isn't that what you do with a stallion once he is past his best?

The train chuffed into the neat little Sussex station with its little white station house festooned with flower boxes, some still blooming even in the autumnal chill. Here in the leafy quiet rural villages, young men embarked from these picture-perfect idyllic homes to die swallowed in the churning mud, their bodies blasted into infinitesimal pieces. How could these two existences still thrive a mere hundred miles apart?

God. I will pack and take a train
And get me to England once again!
...Stands the Church clock at ten to three
And is there honey still for tea? 

(Rupert Brooke. Grantchester.1912)

East stood by on the corridor by the door, watching the platform as the train chugged to a halt. The name on the little green sign board read: Petworth. He heard the whistle of the station master and the clang of heavy doors opening and parcels and goods unloaded. An image of another train and a sliding door pulled back and the mad confused surreal scene of a charging ostrich, a helpless gang of beaters and a glorious day spun across his mind. Ruby had been right. Grace McAlister was some kind of key to unlock the questions in his head.

He leant through the open window and released the door handle, jumping down onto the platform, his small leather case in his hand. Most of the few greeters had by now met their sons and lovers home from the front or whoever they were meeting. Just one party remained. At the end of the small platform, just beyond the little white fence that led to the country road was a pony and trap and in it sat a woman. She was straight-backed and slender, dressed moderately in a well fitted brown velvet suit with a tie and a large wide brimmed hat of a fashion that had now passed; it appeared an odd ostentation in the overall aspect.

She raised a gloved hand to her eyes- the afternoon sun was shining directly in them- and then she gave a little wave and her mouth opened as if she was crying out, although no sound emitted. East looked about him and saw no one else respond. This was Grace McAlister, his benefactress. Slowly he walked towards her in a stiff and hesitant step. He had little idea what he ought to say to her. The lady broke the ice.

"East! Oh my God, East! You are so recovered!" Her hand shot to her face and he noticed a lace handkerchief crushed in her fingers and the trickle of tears down her face. He stood and looked at her quietly in his impassive way, his eyes the only guide to his thoughts. What he saw surprised him more than he could say. At a distance he had seen an elegant and independent sort of woman, a handsome woman, slender and proud of bearing. The kind of woman that a man such as he watches from afar and whom instills in him a sense of his own uncouth lack of knowledge and breeding. But still, a woman that a man such has he would level in his mind by his own awareness that underneath her fine clothes and haughty demeanour she was a woman after all and he was still a man.

Closer now, the vision before his eye- perhaps formally enhanced by his subconscious mind's eye- was different. This woman was much older than she appeared at first glance. Her face was still handsome and her features distinctive and even, but she was a mature woman. More than mature. Her thick chestnut hair- or what he could see of it beneath the flamboyant hat- was streaked with grey. Her pale skin was lined, wrinkles around her eyes betraying worry and anxiety, guilt even? What had once been laughter lines were now crow's feet and her hooded eyelids - that men had once thought an erotic delight - were merely hanging flaps of skin. He noticed her mouth- once no doubt full and ripe, now down turned, the skin of her neck was dry and loose; the mark of time was in every crack and hollow where her flesh sagged. This lady was like an ancient monument commemorating lost beauty and the brutality of time. East imagined she must be somewhere in her mid- fifties, a fading beauty from a different era.

"East? Do you know who I am?" she whispered, her voice still sensuously deep for a woman but with an edge of old age in its gravelly tone.

"You are Grace McAlister." East answered.

"So you remember me?" She seemed to relax and her face took on a younger expression, almost girlish for a second as tension fell from her.

"No. I just presumed you were. I'm sorry. But I don't remember you at all- I can't remember ever meeting you before. But...I want to thank you for your kindness to me. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your charity...I know that much..."

"Charity?" A brittle tone rasped in her reply; she made a pained attempt at laughter. "Ah...charity! Perhaps I would prefer to call it reparation. How singularly appropriate."

He did not understand her observation but continued to stand awkwardly before her.

"Well, then, you had better climb up here and I will take us both home. I suspect we have a lot to talk about- but there's no need to rush things. Take your time, East. Everything will be new to you."

They drove home in silence mostly. At one point Grace looked across and surveyed him up and down before asking: "Are you quite physically recovered?"

He wondered what she meant by that, but answered: "Yes. I have no health problems." She nodded her head but did not venture further.

Later, as they drove across the edge of the South Downs and he saw the picturesque countryside opened out before him, he asked her: "Have I seen all this before?"

She sighed and replied: "In a manner of speaking - but not in a way that would have registered on your thinking brain. We used to take you for drives when you were...incapacitated...but we never knew how much awareness you really had. The little we could understand, it seemed that you thought you were back in New South Wales inside your head."

East sat back pensively. Imagine, he had been like a child- helpless and incontinent, like a dribbling idiot! He felt ashamed at what this woman must have done for him and again wondered what bond a woman must have with you to make her wish to endure all that.

They finally reached a property, its high wall clustered with ivy and moss, and flanked the edge of it until reaching the main gateway. It was a fine house, not a great estate, but a country manor of some substance, obviously belonging to a family with some standing in the community.

"This is my home- or to be exact, my uncle's home. He is my mother's younger brother and the house has been in their family for a few generations. He kindly allows me to live here. He is unmarried and I am his only relative. One day, I suppose it will be mine but who knows? He's a wily old bird and could easily outlive us all." There was affection as well as a little edge in her voice. East wondered what it felt like for a woman of her age to be living on the goodwill of relatives and wondered what had become of her husband.

She brought the trap to a halt by the wide driveway and a servant ran out to help her down. "Thank you, Stanley...is my uncle about?"

"Yes, Mrs. McAlister, he's in his study....Mr. Driscoll, how good it is to see you looking so well! Everyone will be so pleased...we don't hear much good news these days, to be sure..." Stanley Brookes was one of the few men left on the estate after the War had drawn all the ablebodied men away. He was sixty if he was a day, a retainer of the old school, born and bread in Petworth, good old Sussex stock, and his life since boyhood had revolved around the Grange. He was married to Mrs. Brooke (her given name Doris was never used and no one could imagine her as anything else) who was the cook and housekeeper. Apart from the two of them and a few young women from the village, the house was very low on domestic help these days.

"I'll see to the horses, Stanley..." Grace said; East intervened.

"Let me. I still know how. Point me in the direction of the stables..." They went down together. He unfettered the horse and gave her a rub down before leading her to the stall and replenishing her water and feed. Grace watched his instinctive rapport and the way he touched and stroked the animal, aware that it must have been years since his last contact with a horse and yet it seemed as natural as could be to see him back in that environment. It gave her a little thrill of hope that buried within him were all his latent memories and feelings- it was simply a matter of time now.

"Thank you, but you must be tired from traveling. Would you like to lie down? Take a bath? Just make yourself at home, East. This is your home. Whatever you like..." Grace said as they strolled back to the main house.

East looked across at her. "Home?" he exhaled slowly. "It doesn't feel like home," he added softly and she blushed slightly, unsure whether that was simply a statement of fact or a more significant comment. How much did he really know?

Entering the comfortable hallway, wooden floors still polished and ancient furniture well kept, if somewhat faded, they were met by Dr. Ralph Bertram, Grace's uncle. He was a bookish man, bald and as ancient as the house, paper thin skin and stooping shoulders on a tall, skeletal frame. But his eyes were kindly and he had a hint of fun and an unorthodox manner about him. "So good to see you again, boy. Your progress has kept us enthralled. Who would have thought it possible who saw you four months ago? I am a doctor myself but can scarcely credit the new methods! You are most welcome- consider this your home!"

The two men shook hands, large warm youthful palm gripping cold and bony fingers. East smiled shyly and thanked his benefactor. Later he would learn that the good doctor had spent a large sum on his treatments ever since Grace had first brought him, a pathetic creature, mumbling and frightened after a long and grueling sea journey, from the other side of the world. Dr. Bertram knew little about what had happened but was shrewd enough to imagine most. His niece had always been a woman of unusually independent character and in her youth had been wayward and scandalous in her reputation. She had been a great beauty and this enabled her to sidestep many of the conventions of her day but in the end she could not contravene them all. As every other woman she had to accept conformity and marriage in the end and had perhaps by then lost her real chance to make a happy or at least successful alliance. He had known that McAlister was wrong for her but it was not his right to intervene. A woman of passion needs a man of likewise spirit not a stiff and rigid shell of a husband.

He guessed that Grace and Driscoll had been lovers- she had taken them from the lower classes before. Perhaps this time she really did fall in love. She was aging and grasping life before it was too late and not as haughty and cruel as in her younger days when young men had almost died for love of her and she had simply played the field. Even the heartbreaker can one day see the roles reversed. But whatever the truth of the matter had been, East Driscoll was her crusade in life and she lived for him. Looking at them together it was easy to understand why she found him attractive but the doctor wondered how this young man would perceive his niece. She was still a fine looking woman but the past years had taken their toll and eventually life catches up with even the most favoured of us. What could she offer a virile young man now?

Courtesies exchanged, Grace showed East to his room and a young girl, Maisie, unpacked his few possessions and put them away with the things already remaining in his chest of drawers. She smiled at him curiously- he had been like a freak when he left and she could barely recognize this quiet, handsome stranger. He paid her little attention and seemed awkward at her presence so she bobbed her leave and scuttled off.

Alone he traced his hand across the dust free surfaces of this plush room. It was unfamiliar. The floorboards creaked slightly beneath his heavy boots as he wandered round and observed. Large comfortable bed, deep feather mattress, soft clean sheets and heavy brocade counterpane. Armchair, upholstered in a rich red fabric by a decorative table which contained writing implements and a few books. Wardrobe with a few jackets and trousers in his size. Cupboards with shirts and underwear and woolen jumpers. Large sash window hung with heavy velvet drapes giving out on to the back of the house and the paddock and meadows beyond. A door leading to a bathroom - his own bath and lavatory, a sink to shave in...luxury, indeed after life in a ward and shared washing facilities- or the creek he had used to use with a tin bowl and a cracked mirror in his cottage for shaving.

East smiled sadly to himself and pulled off his clothes, wrapping a towel round his waist as he opened the taps and let the water splash into the old porcelain tub. The ancient plumbing creaked but performed well and he was soon lowering himself into the warm water and washing himself with a bar of perfumed soap. He wrinkled his nose at the flowery smell and thought of lye - and laughed. What was he doing here?

Cleansed, shaved and dressed in the freshly laundered clothes, he lay back on the soft bed to stare at the ceiling. He began to doze off, sleepy after his active night, the tedious journey and the warm bath. On the brink of falling, just at the moment when one is almost still aware of wakefulness and hands oneself over, he saw something in his mind's eye. It juddered him back to consciousness. Above him on the ceiling was a crack in the plaster shaped like a hook. It had brought a memory flooding back- a fixed and vivid image. He had been looking at this ceiling and then a hand had taken his face and moved it down so that he might see. A naked woman was sitting above him. He was naked too and she was writhing over him and had forced his hands to cup her breasts...

It was a simple flash and then gone, triggered by the fault in the paintwork above but the feeling that it engendered made him shudder with revulsion. He wasn't sure why. What was the memory telling him? That he had loved a woman in this bed? But how could he have done- he had been a half-man, incapable of...but East stopped. Just because his head had been messed up, didn't mean his body hadn't still worked. He had seen it in the hospital: young men deep into their psychoses, lying still and far away in their comatose states, but they still pissed and shat and...yeah,  they still were hard when a nurse washed them.

Had she done that to him? Cared for his body, seen to his needs, and then used him to see to hers? Christ, what kind of woman wants a man like that, who can't even control his own bladder? Sitting up, his feet now firmly planted on the floor, East felt a cold sweat run down his back. Was this what he was remembering? Some kind of warped, perverted love - abuse of his body while his mind was gone? Had she had some strange desire for him, unrequited, like many of the women in the district, always making eyes at him and flashing their smiles, leaning over him to show him their breasts or wiggling their hips as they walked by? He had watched them all in Turalla and the towns about, married ladies, nubile young women, little girls, and he had known the effect he had. Mostly he held off because he hadn't wanted to get embroiled in anything- angry husbands, fathers with shot guns, girls with babies in their belly, all blaming him or trying to get a halter round his neck.

He had preferred to use the women who knew the score- casual flings, good time girls, whores...or best to keep it away from his patch where they couldn't easily come find him. Had Mrs. McAlister been one of those itchy ladies and seen her chance? The idea made him heave. He felt like a stud horse, covering a mare. Like an animal. Insensible to anything but instinct. What had Ruby said: "I'm a woman not an animal! But then, to a man - who knows? You treat us like pieces of meat, so maybe a whole animal's a step up..."

East wondered if this accounted for Mrs. McAlister's nervousness, that air of someone who was full of guilt and shame. Had he been some pitiful plaything for this sick woman? His sense of alienation deepened. Just a dumb animal who could be made to dance for her entertainment?

Dinner was a quiet affair filled with good food and polite chatter, hardly something that East excelled in. He ate, grateful for something to do, and made his literal responses.

How was the journey?  Fine.

What did you think of Scotland? Rugged. Cold. Beautiful in its way.

Is the food to your liking? Very nice, thank you.

You've lost weight- your clothes are loose. I've been more active recently. Out and about, ya know?

It seemed everyone was grateful when the dessert was cleared away. The doctor excused himself, claiming correspondence needing his attention, and withdrew. Grace and East surveyed each other across the long oak table. Suddenly he stood up.

"If you don't mind, Ma'am, I want to take some air. Maybe look in on the horses..."

"I'll come with you. I think we need to talk."

He sauntered out of the French windows and she followed, a wrap hastily donned against the chill in the night air. They wandered in silence down to the stables and she watched him tend to the beasts in his strong and confident way. He was their master and there was no sentimentality in his behaviour towards them, but his touch was imbued with respect and tenderness- much as her memories of him as a lover were. Until that time when she had indulged in that mockery of love; she was still ashamed to remember how she had used him. She thanked God he had no memory of that travesty.

"East? Do you have any questions to ask me?" Grace began, knowing she must broach the subject.

He continued stroking down the horse, seemingly intent in his task but she recognizing the sudden tension in his back; he had heard her.

"Questions?" he asked.

"...About the things you don't remember. Perhaps I can help you recall the past events...?"

Slowly East turned around and fixed her with a stare. "What happened? Why did I fall off the horse? Can you explain that?"

She sighed and steadied her nerve unsure how much to say and how much to leave out. "There was a village dance and you got drunk. You argued with some men and lost your temper- a fight broke out. They threw you out of the village hall and you stormed off. The next thing we heard was that Alan had found you the next day. You had fallen and been dragged along for who knows how far, sometime in the night. Your horse returned home, you were lucky to be alive...Alan, he saved you. Alan was a crippled boy...."

"I know who Alan Marshall is. Bushman's son. He was my mate. Little bugger followed me around like a pet dog...good kid..." East grinned to himself at the memory.

"So you do remember!" Grace exclaimed, her hand to her face in surprise.

The smile left his lips. "Oh yeah...I remember everything. My life. My horses. My home. My mates. But...I don't remember you and I don't remember what made me so damn angry that I rode off that night. Now why is that, I wonder? Why does my brain not want me to know that? What is it hiding from?" His expression was suspicious and yet knowing; what he could not remember, he could still surmise.

Grace looked down, her face pale. She gripped the side of the stall and pulled the wrap closer round her bare shoulders. "I don't know. Can one ever really understand? The mind is very complex..."

"I think you got a sight more idea than I've got, love." His tone was suddenly harder and more aggressive. He was angry about something. She remembered once hearing him speak in a similar way to Alan for spying on them. A cruder, more brutal side of him was revealed.

"I didn't say I didn't know more about the circumstances. I said I didn't know why you couldn't remember," she answered evasively.

"You asked me did I have any questions? I've got a question. Why did a real fine lady like you leave her husband behind and bring a poor wreck of a gibbering idiot like me back to England and then spend all this time and effort on him? What the bloody hell am I to you?"

His voice rose as he reached the last sentence. Grace blanched slightly, unsure how to put this to him. But she couldn't evade anymore. He wasn't a fool, however naïve and hopeless he had been when faced with real life choices. "I was....very fond of you. You worked with my mare. I knew you well."

"Oh, yeah? How well? Or how well did you want to know me?" His answer came straight back, his voice sardonic.

She blushed. "Well...very well indeed, actually." She paused. "We were closer than we had a right to be, if you understand my meaning."

His tongue slipped between his lips as he considered that and walked slowly towards her. "You mean we fucked?" His profanity shocked her, made her blink and she drew back from him instinctively. East had used strong language to her when they had been intimate but never in a sordid way- he had laughed then and said he didn't know what else to call it anyway.

"I suppose we did. In a manner of speaking..." she replied haughtily, trying to gather up the last of her self respect.

East grabbed her by the waist and turned her face to his. "Not in your manner of speaking though, eh? You probably have some fancy name for it to make it sound better. To make it sound all nice and proper. But it isn't, is it? It isn't nice and proper at all...it's dirty and sweaty and..." he pulled her against him and rubbed up his groin up and down against her thigh. She cried out. "What's the matter? Don't you still want it? I'll promise to lie there and let you play. That's how you like it, don't you? Just a body that you can do what you like to- even better if the poor bastard doesn't even fucking know...!"

"NO! It wasn't like that! It wasn't dirty and sordid...you loved me...I loved you..." she sobbed out.

East let go of her arm and laughed cruelly. "Loved ya? Me? Listen, I've had my fair share of lonely married women who fancy a bit of the other...even if I don't remember every dirtying my own nest... I used to take it to other towns. No chance of husbands and fathers giving me grief or women turning up saying...'you got me in the way, what you gonna do about it?'..."

Grace staggered back. "I wasn't some woman that you played around with! Do you imagine a woman like me would have been interested in that?"

"I think a woman like you would be very interested in that, love, a nice bit of rough, hey? I'm not fooled by the fancy clothes and la-di-dah talk. I've had ladies before. You're all the same when you get your knickers off..."

Her hand snaked out to hit him but he caught it before it impacted. "HOW DARE YOU! We were lovers. It was you who ruined it all with your immature notions that we could somehow run away and live together in the city...you asked me and I refused to go with you, so you lost your temper and made a fool of us both. My husband's men threw you out of the dance that night and you had a childish tantrum because, for once in your life, you couldn't have it all your own way. You ruined your life and you ruined mine....!"

East started to laugh. "What? I asked you to run away with me? Are you bloody mad? What for? What would a young man of twenty three want with an old woman like you?"

She stared at him in horror. He had no idea, not even a trace of the feelings that had once almost destroyed him. To him she was an unknown aging woman whom he might have slept with for something to do, but would never have taken seriously. Somewhere along the line, his love for her had been buried so deep that it appeared to have ceased to exist. Instead he was resentful of her and seemed to think that she had taken advantage of his helplessness and tried to steal him for herself. What made him think like that? Or was it simply that he couldn't imagine any other motivation for her actions than that she was a spurned woman who had taken her chance when it had arrived. It was the final and most cruel blow of all.

Running from the stable, she skittered madly back to the house, trying to stifle the sobs that rose in her breast. It was over. She had finally lost him just when he was restored to the man he had once been. What pitiful irony was that?

East let her go and hung his head, ashamed of having spoken in that way to a woman who had tried to help him. But some latent anger had risen in him and she had borne the brunt of it. He hadn't asked to be brought here. He didn't want her to want him. Maybe she should have left him as a babbling idiot. Maybe Alan should have left him to die. All he wanted now was to turn the clock back to how it had once been. To the wide open country of his homeland. To the cottage. To his horses. The creek. Nights out in Turalla in the boozer with a few mates. A pretty girl now and then. He had been a king in that little place. All the men and boys wanted to be him. All the women and girls wanted to have him. No worries. No cares. Nothing to bind him or hold him down.

Somehow she was responsible for talking all that away from him. In a way he still didn't understand, he knew she had taken his world and crushed it, like once his brain had been mangled by the blows to his head. He shouldn't have been so cruel to her but he couldn't help it. It had all come pouring out when he had heard her lies and make believe. She needed to face the truth as much as he did.

What now? He was well and fully recovered. He could go back to his life and start again. The people of Turalla would be glad to see him. East Driscoll could become the wild young rover again, live free and let no man - or woman- shape his fate.  Go back and it would all be as it was. Long hot days and nights. The open bush. Freedom. No bosses. Nothing ever changing. Live by the old ways. It was time to leave this cold land and find his way in the world again. Be a man.

East was gone when the house woke up to the new day. He had taken little of what was in his room; just enough changes of clothes and the little bit of money in his wallet to get him by. On the writing tablet in his room there was a brief note, carefully executed with a laboured hand:

To Mrs. Grace,

I'm sorry I did not intend to hert you. Thank you for you kindness. I'll be off then. Take care.

East Driscoll

It rained that day, a heavy grey curtain of rain obliterating everything, leaving an absence of colour, as if the life had been sucked out of the world. It reflected her reality. East had been the colour in her world and had been ever since she first set eyes on him, that elemental masculinity set in a body of a young god, a spirit as wild and free as the one she always wished she could have, a master of her body as few men ever had the ability. Had she loved him? Or had he merely been the last obsession as her youth drained away from her? Was his presence in her life- as knowing as any virile man but as innocent of her world as a child- some kind of elixir to ward off the march of time? And what had happened? Her child-man grew up and wanted commitment. Now his circumstances had made him shed even the naïve sentimental dream that he had weaved for himself. And in its place he saw the truth. The clear unvarnished truth. She was no longer an image of the unattainable. She was what she was. A faded beauty in her twilight years and he was a man in the prime of his life.

Her light was dimming. His had sputtered as she circled his flame. But now he was burning bright again. Blinding bright. Grace closed her eyes and let her tears douse the last embers of her fires.