Max, as best man, had reserved the right to choose the location for stag night. He had picked a favourite old haunt, hoping to kill two birds with one stone, i.e. help Charlie spend his last night of freedom soaked in as much expensive alcohol as possible - and perhaps run into some of his former City rivals. What would a trip around the hostelries of the square mile be worth if he didn't manage to bait a few former sparring partners?

The night was still young when Skinner sighted his quarry.  Calling for a waitress to take over a bottle of red, he sauntered after her, glass in hand, to a man standing further along the bar, giving Max his back. "Well, if it isn't my old mate... Hardy Amis, isn't it?  What a perfectly fortuitous meeting! Long time and all that bollocks...How's life on the old trading floor?"

Amis turned, growled and cast a sneering eye. "Gary, you tosser. Gary Amis, as you well know..."

"Surely not anything as proletarian as Gary for a Master of the Universe such as yourself? 'Kiss me, Gary' just doesn't have the ring of 'Kiss me, Hardy', now does it? I could have sworn your first name was Hardy..."

"You turned gay as well as broke, Skinner? Less of the 'Kiss me crap...'"

Max gave him the smug smile of the angler who sees his fish gobbling up the bait. Now to reel him in. " Silly me! Shouldn't expect a comprehensive school boy such as yourself to get the Nelson reference, should I? It isn't your fault if your education was as lacking as your financial acumen. I just remembered who Hardy Amis was. A famous designer of clothes for gentlemen...." Max's eyes scanned down Amis' suit. "...However could I mix you up with a man of style? I must be seriously off my game tonight..."

Amis snorted. "Off your game? What game would that be, exactly? You blew the game, mate, when you quit the floor to chase after Froggy skirt. What happened? She give you the old 'sabot-dans-la-derriere', eh? Oh we had a great laugh about that. Skinner loses his marbles at last...What happened? Mid-life crisis?"

Max helped himself to the bottle he had sent over, topping up his empty wine glass. "What happened? Simple. I took a good look at the market, saw the writing on the proverbial wall, liquidated my considerable assets and diversified into the wine business. Made a killing, naturally, and now here I am buying up shares and properties willy nilly. I absolutely love nothing better than a financial meltdown. It's the perfect time to make money...what's not to like?"

"Wine? What the fuck do you know about wine?"

Raising his glass, Max took a sip. "Yummy....if I say so myself." He filled up Amis' glass. "Try it. Le Coin Perdu. My wine label. Thirty five quid a bottle wholesale...It's what they call boutique wine. There's nothing like wine in any financial climate. You make money, you toast in wine. You lose money, you go drink yourself to death. Win-win..."

Amis spat out the wine. "Your wine? Jesus Christ, you lying bastard, I don't believe it. Everyone's broke. Including you."

"I assure you the wine is mine. And that my finances are doing remarkably well. Of course I cannot pretend to have quite as sizeable a fortune as I once did. On the other hand what is money but an abstract concept? I may not have as much money as before but I would guess I have a substantial amount more than you do and that my buying power on the current market would be ten times what it was five years ago...it's all relative. Sitting on pots of money and making oodles more got boring when it was so easy back then.  What you must understand, Gary, is that there was always a very big chasm between the likes of you and a man like me. It wasn't just a matter of my breeding and class against your snivelling working class chip either. No, it was much more fundamental than that... Any fool can make money in the good times. That's why you and your Cockney mates did so well. But only traders with brains, education and real nous can weather stormy waters like this, Sunny Jim. We were all part of what caused the collapse as we climbed over each other to make millions for ourselves and stick two fingers up at the system. But the difference was - I knew what I was doing and when I had to stop. You greedy little wankers didn't have a clue. Nor did any of you have the first in Economics from LSE that I have..."

"You fucking smug bastard...!"

"... Language, Gary! However, scooping up what's going cheap these days is a positive delight. It's quite brought back my taste for the game... Keep the bottle. You look like you could do with a drink. See you around...Oh and let me know if you need to off load anything. Anything to help a friend down on his luck...Here's a tip for you to help you on your feet again: 'Winning is everything. The only ones who remember you when you come second are your wife and the dog...Oops, I forgot...your wife's left you, hasn't she? Still, there's always your dog..."

Max chuckled wickedly to himself as he swaggered back to the others, leaving Amis spluttering and wishing all manner of evils to visit Maximilian Skinner. Raining curses and threats down, Amis shouted incoherently across the room, warning Max that he was about to wipe the smile of his fat ugly face and swearing he could have him easily in a fight. Amis' apoplectic state and the worryingly purple colour of his face gave the management the impression he was rather the worse for wear. Shortly afterwards, two bulky security guards escorted him off the premises before he could cause any trouble. Mr. Skinner was a high roller. In these times, an establishment could not afford to offend such a customer. Amis had been buying house wine. No loss.

Charlie Willis stared bleary-eyed at the fracas as Amis was dragged to the exit and unceremoniously tossed. "What did you do, Max?"

"Not a thing, Charlie, my boy. Poor guy lost a fortune for his bank and was dumped. Unfortunately he wasn't just using other peoples' money, either. He's on his uppers. The wife kicked him out. He's homeless and still paying the mortgage on a house which is in negative equity, poor bastard...I heard he's been reduced to sleeping on someone's couch...I guess it must have all got to him..."

"Bloody hell, Max, he might top himself..."

"We can only hope, the loathsome little creep," Max muttered. "...More champers, boys? I recommend a double hander this round. Bottle of Bolly in the left and a can of Ireland's finest in your right." He called over to the waitress, "Bolly and Black all round, darling, and have one yourself on me, there's a good girl... This young man is about to take the plunge. We have to see him off in style..."

...Meanwhile, over on the other side of the city, Uma sat nursing a glass of white wine, waiting for the arrival of her mother. She was already more than half an hour late. "I'll give her another five minutes and then I'm out of here," she thought to herself, checking her watch.

"Darrrrling, there you are! Hope you haven't been waiting too long. So sorry I'm late! The traffic was awful!" Isolde announced her arrival with a shriek from the doorway. Uma gritted her teeth. She should have got out while she could. Now it was too late.

"Don't worry, Mum. Why waste a habit of a lifetime and be on time?"

"Oh, don't be so sulky. It really does make you look peaky. You're a pretty girl when you get rid of that sourpuss face..."

"I am not sulky! I am sick of you and your antics. I reserve the right to be annoyed whenever you let me down..."

Isolde ignored her, motioning over to the young barman. "Oi, gorgeous, strut your stuff over here with a bottle of chilled Chardonnay, will you? Oh you are a sweet boy..."

Uma rolled her eyes.

"Don't mind my daughter. She suffers from permanent PMS. Has done ever since she was born..." 

The young man flirted shamelessly back. "Your daughter? Thought you two were sisters..." Uma scowled at them both.

"Frowning gives you lines, Uma. Max Skinner won't like you when you're wrinkly. If you want to collar that piece of Beef, you will have to take more care of yourself or his eye will be wandering. A man like that can have anyone..."

"I beg your pardon? You looked in the mirror recently? Your bags don't seem to worry you. That bar man is barely twenty."

"I know. God, they are so pretty at that age, aren't they? You just can't say no to them..."

"Well, I can. Listen, mum, if you as much as make one move in his direction, I am walking straight out of here..."

"Calm down. I was only windowshopping. Every thing's changed, darling. I'm a reformed character. I've met someone who has turned my life around..."

"I knew it! You got me here on false pretences, making out you wanted to talk about us, when all you really want is a captive audience while you parade your latest unsuitable conquest..."

"Unsuitable? I don't think so, pet. He's just about the most suitable man in the world..."

"I've heard that before..."

"Yes, you have, actually...Look over there. Standing at the door. Recognise anyone?"

Uma cast a withering glance over in the direction of the entrance. Her mouth dropped opened when she realised who was standing there, looking as smug as he knew how.

"OH MY GOD! Daddy? Daddy? Is it really you? What on earth are you doing in London? OH MY GOD! DADDY!!!!" And with that, she flew from her seat, launching herself in the direction of her father who smiled broadly at her progress, opening his arms. She jumped into them.

"Peachy bums! Umpsy daisy! My dear little girliepoopants..."

"Dad must you always call me that!!"

...A small digression is in order to acquaint the reader with some background on Uma's parents. They had met at art school: her father, Casimir otherwise know as 'Caz', had been a young lecturer (or perhaps we should say 'lecherer'?) with a penchant for his female students. Irene Devlin had initially caught his prurient interest and then, to his great surprise, won his heart. This unexpected serious romantic attachment perversely did what several years of philandering had failed to do - i.e. cost him his job. Caz was sacked when the relationship came to the notice of his employers. It was probably a blessing, however, because he had been an appalling teacher anyway, only taking the post originally merely to fund his real interest: his artistic career.

Thrown to the vagaries of fortune, following his departure from the Chelsea College of Art, now truly as impecunious as befitted a great painter in waiting, Caz and Irene spent the summer setting up a rural atelier in a semi-derelict cottage in the Mendip hills. It was 1981,another summer of love, and the location suited them both well: cheap enough for their stretched budget and bohemian enough to suit their alternative lifestyle. It was situated in the heart of the mystical Vale of Avalon, in an area favoured by other avant garde artists who embraced an eclectic mixture of hippie, bohemiana and new age religions with no apparent sense of embarrassment at the contradictions of their patchwork philosophies. Irene was already fascinated by the Arthurian world - or rather the Gabriel Rossetti reinvention that suited her highly emotional nature and fascination with mysticism and the arcane. Little art of any value was created that summer. A lot of marijuana was smoked, psychedelic drugs were liberally taken, and free sex was almost obligatory.

And in that summer of love, amidst the 1500 like-minded souls at the first Glastonbury Festival, obedient to the inimitable message of T-Rex's 'Get It On', Caz and Irene committed an act of public indecency and little Uma was conceived. The relationship did not last. Both went on to other marriages. Uma spent her childhood shunted between different combinations of stepfamilies, always the odd one out in every household, the add-on whom neither parent really seemed to want as they moved on to new and more important relationships. She always presumed she was an embarrassment to her parents, the constant reminder of how much they did not like each other. It wasn't a very auspicious notion for a young girl to hold if she wished to have much self-esteem.

Like many children, however, she had got it all wrong. Her parents apparent discomfort with their daughter came not from any lack of love, but from their deep sense of guilt at having failed her. And also from the fact that they knew they had missed their chance with each other and love when they had foolishly thrown it all away. For what else is a string of failed marriages but an indication of people trying to find a way back? Whatever the underlying truth of the matter, Uma had an uneasy relationship with her parents for most of her life.

Unfortunately, as she spent more time with her mother - from whose endless stream of boyfriends not one ever matched up to her absent father - Uma laid most of the blame at the feet of her mother. Caz, as feckless as any man could be, somewhat unjustly always remained her ideal of what a man should be. His daughter forgave him everything and anything - but never let her mother away with a single thing.

Irene, the aging good time girl with passé hippy tendencies, would always be nothing but an embarrassment to Uma,  A girl would never forgive her mother for that. Even less would she forgive the woman who had taken her away from her beloved Dad. It never seemed to occur to Uma that if Caz had been the wonderful father she believed him to be, over the years, he just might have found a place for her somewhere in his life.

But he had never been prepared to put his little girl first, no matter how much he lovedher.  Lesson number one for Uma. Trust takes a lifetime to gain and a moment to lose...

"...Daddy! Please don't call me that in public! I'm a grown woman!" Uma laughed but still enjoyed his over-the-top greeting. 

"You'll always be my baby," he whispered, taking her by the hand and leading her back to the table where her mother waited with an unfamiliar maternal simper on her face.

That's when the penny dropped.

"Wait a minute...what are you two doing here together? I thought you were going to bring on the new boyfriend..." She halted mid word, her attention caught by the cheesy grin both her mother and father appeared to be sharing. Surely not? It could not be? Her Mum and her Dad?

"You're not actually...dating again, are you?" She stammered.

Isolde threw her head back and laughed raucously. "Dating? My God, isn't that a bit teenage for us two? But yes, your father and I are seeing each other again. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful? Oh my God...I can't stand this. I'm getting out..." Uma lurched from her seat and made a dash for the door. 

Her mother and father exchanged glances; Caz inclined his head as if to ask whether he should head off in pursuit. Isolde/Irene nodded. He had by far the best chance of reasoning with his daughter. Uma would never listen to her. She sighed as he set off on Uma's tail. It wasn't really fair. She might not have been the best mother in the world but she'd been there for their daughter more than he had. Maybe that was the point. Uma had created an image of her father, based on wish fulfillment, his exuberant -if short-lived- appearances in her life and the fantasy she had built up that it was her mother's adultery that had caused the irretrievable break up of their relationship, thus denying both the little girl and her father the comfort of each other. If he had been around more, maybe she would have realised for herself what a louse her father actually was.

Trouble was, even now, he was the most attractive man Isolde had ever known. All her life, ever since he had left her for an even younger woman, she had been searching for him in every other man she met. Or purposely setting her cap at those who were never going to challenge her as he had. Only now was she ready to accept that - whether or not he was an ideal mate - he had always been the one she loved. They were running out of time to waste. Thank God they had both come to their senses at last.

"Uma...Uma... slow down! I'm going to have a coronary...!" Caz shouted after his daughter as she weaved her way through the usual Covent Garden tourist crowds. She stopped, her back still held stiff, turning round with that pouty look on her face he remembered so well. She had always been a little fighter but he knew one thing for sure. When she raised up her dukes, it was always because something had just knocked her down hard.

Usually something known as Mum or Dad.

"I don't want to talk about it! It's your business. I've got my life and you've got yours..."

"I would have thought you would be pleased. Isn't this what you've wanted all along?" He asked her bluntly.

"What? For you and her to fall back in love? And exactly how long is that going to last? She'll be braining you with an empty wine bottle before you know during one of your spectacular rows. Dad, I can't deal with it any more. I've had enough drama in my own life recently. I just can't take anymore...just leave me out of it will you?"

Uma made as if to walk off but Caz caught her arm. "Sweetheart, give me five minutes! Just five minutes. That's all I ask..." He knew she wouldn't resist him. She never could. Steering her out of the crowds, they found an empty bench and sat down.

He let her simmer awhile, kneading her fingers in her lap as she did, an explosive bundle of nervous energy. That's what they had done to their little girl. Made her as neurotic and mixed up as they were themselves.

"Your mother tells me you have a new chap. She seemed to think rather highly of him. Not that her opinion of men is one you can rely on...Look at me, for starters..." he laughed ruefully, his growly voice even more broken than usual.

"I don't want to talk about Max..."

"Well, at least I know his name now. What happened with the husband...?"

Uma shot him a venomous glance. "Like you care? Or am I now going to get a lecture on infidelity? That would be rich coming from you..."

He patted her hand, ignoring her comment. "Don't blame you being angry with me. I just wanted to know how you were. Divorce is horrible. You were married five years. That's a long time in our family..." he smiled wryly, nudging Uma's arm.

She allowed herself a slight softening of her defences.  "Cullen was a mess. I thought I could sort him out. I was wrong. But at least I tried. I stuck in there and tried and tried. I didn't want to be like you two. But maybe I can't avoid my genes, eh? Perhaps I'm just as hopeless at love as you've been?"

"This new guy. He just the pick-me-up after the divorce or is he the real McCoy?"

Uma shook her head. "No, he's not the transit man. He's special. Very special. Difficult in his own way, but really special. I love him, Daddy. He loves me. But, I'll probably screw up eventually..."

Her sad little certainty almost broke his heart. This is what becomes of children who are caught in the middle of dysfunctional relationships. It didn't take a psychiatrist to explain his daughter. "Dearie me, well you will balls it all up if you insist on that attitude. So, I take it this Max is a bit of a bastard, is he?"

Uma hunched her shoulders. "He's faithful, if that's what you mean...but yes. Most people would juxtapose the name Max Skinner with the epithet 'that bastard'..." Let's just say, he can be very hard work..."

"I think you like a challenge, though, don't you?" he observed. "Ever go for nice guys, Ums?"

Uma gave him a meaningful look. "Not often. And when I do, they don't usually end up being very nice, no matter how nice they were when they started. I make sure of that..." The thought of Terry brought the customary little lurch in her heart that memories of him always evoked "...No, not too many nice guys. But any fool can see why. They say a girl learns what to expect from a man from her father, don't they? If you're my ideal of a male role model, what chance did I have?"

Caz winced at her directness but could hardly disagree. What chance indeed with the gene pool she had inherited? "I'd like to meet this Max. Judge for myself. I can still give the prospective suitor my jaundiced eye. I'm still your Dad."

Uma rolled her eyes. "You'll hate each other. He'll think you're an aging hippie and you'll call him a City suit. You know how you hate the establishment..."

"So he's a banker?"

"Used to be a trader. Now he makes wine and runs a restaurant...as a sideline to his real hobby, which remains making oodles of money at the expense of just about anyone or anything."

"Sounds like a real philanthropist..."

"See! I knew you'd hate him..."

Caz slipped his arm around his daughter. "I don't hate him. If he's good to you and can afford to keep you in the style in which I believe my daughter ought to be kept, that's okay by me. The only rules I set down is that he loves you and treats you right...and anyway, who gives a bugger what I think? What do I know anyway? I'm still struggling to make a relationship work."

His daughter smiled ruefully. He held out his hand and she took it.

They strolled through the evening sightseers at a more leisurely pace now, the tension of a short time before already dissipating. Caz swung her hand in his, much as he had done when she was just a skinny little girl. Uma even skipped to keep up with his long-legged stride. They both chuckled at the old familiarity that had fallen upon them so easily. Somehow it had done more than all the words. They had shared more than a few dramas together over the years. They were family.

"You and Mum...are you really trying to make a go of it?" Uma asked hesitantly. 

Caz looked across at her quizzically. " You seem to be annoyed by the notion. Why? I would have imagined that you would have wanted that. You've never been very happy with all the other partners we've picked up over the years..."

Uma shrugged, reminding him of the teenage years when she rarely ever did more than shrug or grunt. Everyone reverts when in the company of those who know us well.

"That's not an answer, girl!"

She thought for a while before she replied. "It would have been what I wanted if it had happened twenty years ago. You know, for years and years I used to dream of that? Of you turning up like Prince Charming after suddenly realising that Mum was the love of your life, getting down on one knee and making it official.  Making me official as well. Then I would fantasise a  fairy tale wedding with me as a bridesmaid and Mum in some insane flamboyant white dress replete with feathers and a train as long as a cricket pitch, walking down the aisle in a Gothic cathedral..."

"You always were a highly imaginative child, given to such fancies...!" Caz muttered and then gave her a grin. "It's not surprising, considering your lineage. Offspring of the Eternal Dreamer and the Diva herself...but, surely, even if it took us a long time to get round to it, aren't you pleased for us? Just a teensy little bit?"

Uma stopped and sighed. They had by now left the picturesque Covent Garden area and were coming out onto the main road. A bus was passing. Uma had an almost uncontrollable urge to run and jump on it, to get away and hide from them both.  Just as she had been doing most of her life. Trying to run fast enough to escape her own head. This holiday in London was no different than that really. The penny seemed to drop all at once. Being here with Max was yet another example of running away from her real problems. It was time she turned and faced them all. The problems and the people who had inspired them. Maybe that was the only real way of overcoming them.

"Daddy...I'm scared to be pleased for you both. Scared to believe that finally something may be turning out right in our family I'm not a little girl anymore. I don't believe in fairy tales and miracle solutions. Because, you know what always happens when I put my trust in fate? Everything turns sour. I'd rather not let myself believe that dreams can come true only to find out yet again that they can't...Look, I'm glad for you but just leave me out of it, will you? And please, don't let me know when it's over..."

Caz caught her arm as she was about to run. "This new chap you're seeing. Does that apply to him as well?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your marriage broke up and let's face it, you've had your share of love affairs over the years...But you still hope that maybe this time, you've found the one? Isn't that how it works?"

Uma's face fell as if he had touched on her deepest fear. A wild look in her eyes reminded him of a trapped animal. He wanted to pick up his daughter and hold her close but was afraid such a show of affection would scare her even more. He hoped this Skinner understood her vulnerability. If he didn't, he'd have Caz to deal with.

"Sweetheart, the day we stop hoping that the dream comes true, is the day we might as well kick the flaming bucket. It's all we have. It's what separates us from animals. The desire to succeed in love. And part of what drives us is the memory of all our past failures. They serve to remind us what we need to rise above. Unfortunately, however, we don't always pay them enough mind. Not in my case, anyway. The truth of the matter is, your mother was the only woman I ever truly loved. But that love came too soon in both our lives. We were young, selfish and not prepared to put in the amount of work that a real relationship costs. You know how difficult she is to live with, Uma! You know how difficult I am to live with, to be fair. We gave up on each other in our foolishness- and spent the rest of our lives searching for the same experience with people who never had a snowball in hell's chance of getting close. We both looked for young easy quick fixes, lovers who could never be true soul mates, mostly because they were shallow or dim and didn't say much more than yes to everything we wanted. That's not how it works in life, sweetie. If love don't drive you demented, then it ain't love..."

"Sounds like a country and western song," Uma mused thoughtfully. "Max drives me insane. He's rude, opinionated, unreasonable, arrogant...but I adore him, even when he's spouting the most awful tosh! And he loves me. He takes care of me. He is always thinking of ways to make me happy! I want this to be the real thing..."

"Then make it so, as that bald geezer off Star Trek always says. It's up to you to keep that precious flame alive. I've no doubt the chap's besotted with you. Who wouldn't be? You're gorgeous, mad as a hatter and entirely hopeless. Men love that in a woman, you know?"

"You're biased. You're my Dad."

"Bet you fifty quid he'd say the same if I asked him."

Uma smiled. "He probably would, although if he knew money was involved he'd lie and demand half my winnings..."

Caz chuckled, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "I am liking him better all the time, my dear. When shall we meet, then?"

She raised her eyes. "Never, I hope." 

He gave her his look. She relented. "Oh, soon then. But not until this wedding is over..."

"Wedding?"

"It's why we're over in Loddon. Max is the best man at his friend's wedding tomorrow down in Dorset."

"Not Old George Willis' boy, Charlie? Surely not! What a coincidence! Your mother and I are also invited!"

"How? What? Are you serious?" Uma gasped.

"He's an old pal of mine from school. We met up recently, since I got back. His boy, the groom to be, young Charlie, handled the sale of my place in the Mendips. You won't remember that old dump, princess. Your Mum and I lived there when we were together. You were just a baby then. It was a seventeenth century worker's cottage. A total pit. Never been updated either. Apparently these old original places go for a bomb these days. Got millions for the house and the land around from some witless pop star, even in this economic climate. And here I was thinking I'd have to pay someone to take it off me! Who knew I'd been sitting on a gold mine all these years!"

"So that's how you knew where Max and I were staying? From the Willises?"

Caz gave his nose a tap. "Contacts, my girl. That's what comes from going to a public school, even if I never had any money..."

"Something else you have in common with Maxie. Boy, are you two going to love each other. You're both completely amoral rogues, the pair of you..."

"...With a heathy eye for the fairer sex..."

"Yeah, that too."

Caz stood up and indicated that they should return to the pub where Mum was waiting. "Looks like we'll all meet up tomorrow then in Dorset? Should be a fun wedding..."

Uma pulled a face. "Not for me. Charlie isn't the only Willis Max knows. He used to be married to Christabel, the sister."

"So I heard. Ouch! But look at it another way, pet...it adds a sort of dynamic to the occasion that will only enhance its attraction, don't you think? She's older than you, I believe. And she cannot be as good looking. Georgie Willis was a round-shouldered nine stone weakling and his wife looks like a horse...  Babes, you are holding all the aces on this one. Play them like I know you know how..."

Uma smiled, a wide smile of pure pleasure. "I love you Daddy! And I do love Mummy too, honestly, although she is a trial that we both must grin and bear. I really am very happy for you both. But I swear, I will kill the pair of you with my bare hands if you bugger it up this time..."

Caz bowed.  "You have my permission to do so. For if I lost her now, my life wouldn't be worth a shit anyway..."

That's when she knew it was for real. For her Mum and Dad - and for her and Max, too. Maybe in the end karma wasn't such a bitch after all.

If you pay your dues, that is. And boy, had she paid hers.