September 2003

I am sitting here before an empty page, a cigarette burning away in the ashtray, trying to write a diary. There's a first time for everything, I guess. I know I've tried my hand at these things before - a bit of a lark with Arthur, the Boy Wonder, and my apology to you all but, frankly, they were different. Here and now I am trying to create a record of the next few months before the shit hits the proverbial. This is a real journal of a trip of discovery we are about to go on. A journey into an unknown land.

I know Tink is keeping a diary, one that she wonders whether anyone will ever read. Well, I'll read it. I want to savour every minute of this time, every damn hour of it. It will never be repeated. But I think that I should do the same as she does. As much as we share, no two people are ever completely honest with each other, for many, many reasons. Maybe that's the wrong choice of word. I don't mean dishonest or untruthful. But sometimes you love someone too much and try to protect them from everything you feel. Or sometimes you just find it easier to keep your thoughts to yourself after a lifetime of keeping silent.

Truth? I have wanted to be a father for a long time. I am a father already. I was once a husband, too. Fucked up both of those relationships and then avoided a repetition of either. There has been no man better at wearing a shield - both against the chance of any other woman getting her hooks into my heart or of my wayward cock getting me in trouble again. Used up an entire plantation of rubber trees in my time.

But the natural longing is always there. Of course, if someone tells you that you can't do something then you want it even more. The Brothers shoot blanks; wonder if you girls know just how much that bothers us? Men like us who have a drive to be relentlessly male may not want the reality of screaming kids and sleepless nights but we sure as hell want to know that we can impregnate any womb that we might choose to. I've never discussed this with any of them, men wouldn't, but I'll tell you now. They all fucking hate it.

Then came that fiasco with my good friend Maximus. Christ, I felt like ripping his head from his body when he told me. But I sat there and stared into a fire and said nothing. Just felt the world slipping from beneath my feet- again. I would have stood by her - I meant what I said- but I wonder how that works out down the years? Can it work? Would the bond between them have strengthened when they were together with their child? She has always loved him and he has his own high sense of morality. My gut feeling is that it would have torn us apart and she would have gravitated to him. They would have found their way back through their child.

I tried to manoeuvre Tink into considering having a baby when we went back to Tecala. We fucked that trip up royally and the moment passed. But she made one thing eminently clear to me then. She didn't want children and I didn't force the issue. No issue. But that was before we split and both of us competed for the Heartbreak of the Year award. Neck and neck until fate forced us to compromise - and then something changed between us. She capitulated totally and I stopped trying to manipulate her. End result. Co-operation. Partnership. Felt like a bit of heaven here on earth.

So the old feeling came back. A man and woman need to make something of their love. It is an urge as strong as sexuality, as powerful as the desire to win or protect or defend or attack. It is the urge to generate, the arrogant assumption that your seed is needed for the future. It doesn't make sense. I was a failure when I tried it first. What makes me think I can be a better man now than I was then?

Truth? I'll tell you something about my marriage. It was a disaster from start to finish. Whose fault? Both of us. Fifty-fifty. Straight down the line. She was a bitch and I was a bastard. We were unsuited on a number of levels and should have had a passionate affair and gone our separate ways. But a baby was on the way; I'm an old fashioned bloke and she was prepared to take a chance on me. A bloodless union. We soon forgot even how to have sex - just the occasional desperate wild, 'love you - hate you' fuck. There is nothing as lonely as living with someone who hates you. I know loneliness, he's a good friend of mine, and I've never known it quite as bad as when I was lying in a loveless bed with the fate of an innocent child hanging in the balance. So I walked. My son? He survived but our relationship withered on the vine.

Truth? I was away too much and made little effort to be there when I should have been. He was a little boy when I moved out. Another man became his father. What can I say? What is fatherhood? He began with one out of millions and millions of my wasted sperm. Is that enough to claim a life on? Michael raised him and won his love. Henry might have acknowledged me as his biological father but I was "Sir" and a stranger. And I didn't deserve anything else, to be fair. He's a young man now and doesn't need me at all. But the pain is there, the sense of loss. I made choices that may have been wrong and lost what may have been the most important thing I ever did in my life. Who knows?

Second chances. They don't come easily. Man, they usually don't come at all. But I've got one now and I am not letting it go. As simple as that. I'm a stubborn bugger when I get my teeth into something I want. Once an idea begins to gnaw at my vitals there is usually only one way it will end.

I think there's another factor, too. He makes more of an impact on us than we readily admit. I often wonder if some dialogue in his films resonates more with him than others? He's a bloody good actor and can make sense of any character he tackles but some moments the words that come out of his mouth must be the real man. I feel it. "This job has a rhythm. It kind of takes over. I took up the veil." He fell for her, too - saw the promise of something that had eluded him for years in her eyes. It was an unfortunate error we both made but it tells me something. There is a synchronicity in our lives that is always throbbing, like a pulse. He has found his way home and so have I. We are at peace with ourselves at last. He is going to be a father. And the desire to be one burned stronger yet in me. Just another dream that would not materialize for me- until the day she showed me that piece of paper and I saw the vague possibility of the impossible.

She is doing this for me. I know she is. I don't think the idea would ever have occurred to her had I not shown her my longing. I know she will be a good mother- the best- but it was not part of her life plan. But nevertheless she has thrown herself into this with her full heart, desperate to give me what I want. Her love blows me away- that anyone would do that for me. Now it has come to it, she is as caught up in the act as I am and has suffered each nerve-racking stage by my side. She has never once let me down.

Sometimes I feel she is so fragile that I fear for her, my wild child who looks as if she will spin into some kind of orbit, my little girl who stares at the world wide-eyed and has to touch and taste all its gifts. But at other times she seems the stronger of us- fierce and loving, courageous and sure, holding me and gluing together the fraying edges of my crumbling self-esteem. Then I realize that is the meaning of love. It took me a long time to find out and more wrong turnings than I care to remember. We hold each other up in the moments when the other falls. That is what love is.

Since I had my first taste of pleasure in a girl's arms many years ago, I have searched for the other half of myself, that definitive woman who would be all of the others for me: a sexual partner who would explore the wilder side of my desire, a tender lover who would tolerate my sentimental nature, a bright and fiery counterbalance to my reserve, the friend with whom I could pass hours of my life without ever feeling that dreadful urge to pack a bag and run. Did such a woman exist? I doubted it - so I settled for less and I got less than less. I got nothing.

Then I found her, although it took me a while to really understand. She drives me to distraction but, of course, that is essential. How could the woman that was made for me do anything less? My girl. My woman. The mother of my child. My friend. My partner. My lover. My soul mate. The better part of me.

 

 

October 2003

So we are pregnant. I am going to be a father. Nothing will ever be the same again in our lives. I cannot really express the emotions - I'm not a man for that sort of thing, but I've walked taller since it happened. The first time, when Henry was conceived, it was a whole different ball game. Of course, I felt a sneaking sense of pride- I could do it, knock a girl up, the usual swaggering bravado of the young man. But the rest was panic and "fucking hell!" Even wondered if she would have an abortion but I was glad when she said no. I wasn't quite that much of a bastard, although if she had wanted a termination, I wouldn't have complained.

You think you know it all when you're a kid. Twenty-three and cock-sure. Jesus, it's a wonder I could find my way home. When I think what this means to me now, I wonder how anyone can contemplate parenthood until they are well into their thirties. My mind is teeming with all the things that have to be dealt with and arranged, the responsibility that this will mean, the changes I must make in my life style and the inevitable storm that will break in PW when the Sisters (and Brothers) find out. But most of all I have to shelter her from all that. She must not feel upset or afraid. I just want her to be able to enjoy this miracle and grow fat and lovely and be serene. I already see the signs. She is so much calmer than I would have thought, so sure and soft- even her face seems to have mellowed, the edges smoothed even before her body shows the rotundity of motherhood.

I can't get her off my mind. I used to have no problem when I was working just switching over to 'getting down to business' mode. Now I catch myself daydreaming and find that I have wasted half an hour staring into space. Not like me at all. Sometimes I just can't stand the four walls of the office and have to get out, go back to her, just to check she's real. Or I fart about writing stupid emails like a lovesick kid in his bedroom when he should be doing his homework:

 

 

 

 

So, I'm a sap- there are worse things to be. 

 

 

November 2003

Of course she's doing it tough. She wakes in the morning pale and glassy-eyed, and is chucking her guts before I've even woken properly. Everything sets her off. She can't abide the smell of frying in the morning so eggs and bacon are a thing of the past ever since she threw up in the pan- kind of turned me off somewhat, too. She retches at the smell of coffee and can't abide tea all of a sudden. Usually she nibbles on water biccies and a glass of warm water. She's losing weight instead of gaining it and that bothers the hell out of me.

Took her to the specialist for her first visit; he didn't seem bothered by the vomiting and lack of appetite - he reckons it will pass and she does tuck in at dinner time so at least she gets one square meal a day. The doc said she was fine, healthy and definitely pregnant- the strong nausea was a good sign that she was going to have a healthy pregnancy. There was comfort in that but I hate to see her so pale and listless and the constant heaving wears her out. There have been tears. She sleeps a lot. I feel like a bloody useless galah.

She is developing some really odd tastes. Last week she lived on cheese and onion sandwiches and Jaffa oranges. This week it is green apples and vanilla ice cream. She eats buckets of the stuff.

"Terry?" I was asleep.

"Urrrhhh?" I grunted as she shook me. 

"Wake up, Terry!" I shook the sleep from me with my legendary skill and then suddenly shot up. Was she alright? Had something happened? Maybe she had started bleeding?

"Wassamatta?" I mumbled, checking my watch. It was almost 2 am.

"Terry...can you get me some ice cream?" She whispered.

"Huh?"

"I can't sleep. I NEED vanilla ice cream. I can't think about anything else."

I sat up and ran my hand through my hair. "You want me to get you a bowl of ice cream from the freezer?" I exhaled and threw back the covers.

"No. We don't have any. I finished the tub before. Can you find a 24 hour shop?"

I looked at her. "You want me to go out at 2 am to buy a tub of ice cream? Uma...can't you wait until the morning?"

"Well...I just can't sleep, Terry, I keep lying here thinking about ice cream. I'm so hungry..."

What could I say? I said nothing, except grunt, shoved on a pair of joggers and a jumper and went looking for the car keys. I threw on a pair of trainers, swore when I had to defrost the car, which was frozen solid, and began to trawl the streets. I looked like a pervert out kerb-crawling but I eventually found an all-night garage and a tub of ice cream. The spotty young attendant barely looked at me, obviously used to men coming in for ice cream at 2.30 in the morning. "Give me a box of Mates while you're at it. Safe sex, son...you never know what ice cream will lead to..." Well, I wasn't going to admit that a guy like me was eating for two, was I?

Reaching home, I ladled her a large helping, found a spoon and ran upstairs to serve her Ladyship. Who was, of course, fast asleep, having completely forgotten all about her sudden craving. That's why I sat up eating ice cream in bed at 3 this morning. Do men get cravings, too?

 

*

 

"I have to tell my Mum and Dad." I heard those dread words like a death knell. I have never met Uma's parents for several reasons. Firstly, we try to keep things quiet in PW and don't over-advertise ourselves to friends and family for obvious reason. Secondly, her Dad sounds like the kind of guy who would hate me. Or any man who even looked at his little girl, never mind had extensively rooted her through the Kama Sutra and back and had now got her up the spout without virtue of the rights of Holy Matrimony. Thirdly, I'm a coward and avoid that whole "going home for tea" crap with women. I'm a bit past trying to make a good impression.

"They have a right to know that they are going to be grandparents." A fair point.

"They have always wanted to be grandparents." Yeah...as long as an Immaculate Conception was involved.

"And they do want to meet you." She's talked. Well, wouldn't you know? Uma can't keep her mouth shut. Who would have thought it?

"What have you told them?"

"Just that I have this boyfriend who's Australian and he travels a lot in his job. Oh... and that we bought a house together in London."

"And what did the old man say about that?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"About you shacking up with me?"

"Oh, he doesn't know that. I just said we bought a house. In case. He doesn't know we live together. They think I'm a virgin."

I found that hard to believe. I mean...Uma - a virgin? With a mouth on her like a sewer and a track record for seducing men that would have done credit to Lucrezia Borgia.?

"So...let me get this straight. You want me to take you home and tell your Dad that his innocent virginal daughter has been impregnated by a traveling Aussie who has no intentions of marrying her?"

"Er...yeah...that should do. I told them we were staying for Christmas. Separate bedrooms, I'm afraid..."

"WHAT?"

"Well, we can hardly sleep together when we're not married, can we?"

"You are pregnant. Even they must know what that means. I have had carnal knowledge of their daughter. I have stuck it up her regularly..."

"I wouldn't let them know that. My Dad is Irish. He'll kill you." Which made me feel so much better.

"Can't we stay at a nearby hotel? Wouldn't that be easier for everyone?"

"Then they will know we live together!"

"UMA! You are pregnant!   How do you imagine they think we managed that? A syringe?"

"They're Catholics. Masters of double-think and hypocrisy. They will rationalize it somehow. But bodily fluids will not be exchanged nor will naked bodies touch beneath sheets under their roof. Without benefit of wedding ring. And even then I think pyjamas are a necessity. That's the rule."

I am forty years of age. She is thirty-five. Can this really be happening to me?

 

*

 

I had an urge to buy her flowers. There is a classy florist across from my office that sells these beautiful arrangements at prices that should be investigated by the Fair Trade Office but I love to bring flowers to women, so I hand my money over. It's an old cliché but I have never yet met one of any age whose eyes don't light up when presented with a flower. Uma had been on my mind all day, even though I had been in and out of conferences and lectures. I had left her very early and she had been asleep, all curled up in a ball, her hand on her stomach protectively. You can see the first signs of her belly. It is so tiny and round like a little bump. Dressed you can't tell- most women have more even when they aren't pregnant at all.

I bent down to place a kiss there and felt the slight squirming beneath the skin where my child was moving as his mother slept on unawares. It is beyond my powers of expression to explain how that feels. I envy women that- how must it be to carry life within you.

Flowers. A beautiful arrangement. Red roses. Keep it simple. Roses dressed with soft greenery. Colours to light the winter chill.

It is a miserable night. Snow turning to slush, wet roads with black ice as the temperature drops again. These days I find myself driving slower, more cautious. I cannot afford to take risks any more. How curious. Is this what I needed all my life to stop my tendency to recklessness? The thought that others might need me enough to take that extra care?

The lights of home. Our home. That soft comforting glow that makes my mouth water, my body relax and my heart recognize its resting place. The best part of traveling is coming home. I never understood that until now; I used to long to escape.

Key in door, soft music playing. Food smells from the kitchen. I take off my coat and jacket, rip off the trappings of my public life and stand quietly observing her. She is humming to herself and reading a magazine, her feet up on a chair, her hand idly rubbing her tummy.

"You made me jump!" She smiles and then I walk across to her with the flowers. Her eyes light up. "They're beautiful! You shouldn't have! Let me put them in water!"

She jumps up, rather too quickly for my liking, and arranges the flowers artfully in a crystal vase before coming to me and wrapping herself around me. "Dinner will be about an hour. Let's go and have a bath. I want to hear all about your day and then I want to shag you blind."

"Uma...I just bought you red roses. You are pregnant. What happened to romance?"

"After you've shagged me, you can be as romantic as you like. I am so randy these days."

I shook my head but accepted the offer. I was as horny as hell, too. Romance later over dinner. So what if we do it the wrong way round? Nothing wrong with getting the sex out of the way first to enjoy the rest of the evening, is there? As Monica told Steve. Reckon that line resonated with a few other couples in the theatre, too.

 

*

 

It has been a strange couple of weeks. First, I plucked up the courage to open up about my time as a POW and the effects it had on my subsequent life. It had been on my mind more than usual for months- ever since the events with Raul and the shake up that caused for us. It had never really gone away but it began to rise like spectre looming before me. Uma had had to deal with her fears and darkness and I knew that I never really had.

The conception of our child seemed to make it more of an issue, too. I was still unsure how much of this damage lingered in my psyche - it occurred to me that Uma needed to know these things- should probably have known them already to be fair. I had a burning desire to open up and cleanse myself in her arms but I hesitated. The details were shocking; she was pregnant- was that the right thing to do to her at a time like this? She is strong and has no illusions about the world, but still she is a woman and fragile now- she cries so easily these days, emotions cresting her wave, that I thought what I needed to say would profoundly disturb her. More than anything I want her to enjoy this miracle period of her life in peace and harmony.

But thoughts, once given attention, will not be stilled or forced back down again and I know I did a wicked thing- I played a game with Heather in all her innocence. She is young and curious and sees me as some kind of older lover whom she trusts implicitly. Her intuition is finely tuned but she doesn't always see the direction that her sense is leading her. I played the dirty on her and used her interest to test out my own resolve. How safe was I? She paid a price for that and it has hurt her deeply. For that I am very sorry.

So I came to a conclusion- rather than sit on this powerful repressed powder keg any longer, I decided to broach the issue with Uma- just the bare bones of it, not the detail. But once I started to speak, I couldn't stem the tide. The words just gushed forth like blood from a mortal wound until nothing but water was left. Healing water. I should have realized that she would be the only one in whom I could really confide. She sort of knows anyway. Not the details- they were a shock to her. No, not the details, but the fact that there were secrets that I was keeping - and she is experienced and shrewd enough never to have asked the open question. Uma just skirts the borders until she is ready to act. And then she just curls up, holds me and lets me fly.

I guess when she was forced to confront her own nightmares then I fully understood why she is as she is. You don't go through a life like hers without learning to read men- she understood from what I didn't do and what I never asked for that I had some sexual issues that were not going to disappear. She also never seemed to bother that I had occasionally gone outside the game for sex. It has no meaning for her. Physical fidelity is a concept that she eschews in theory - but if she thought that my emotional heart was elsewhere committed, she would walk away in an instant.

 

 

December 2003

My birthday. How we got away with that I will never know. Darcy downing any glass of wine that Tink was given and getting legless, Tink throwing up at the smell of the caterers unloading the food- thank God, Bud saw her face and dragged her out before anyone else noted it- it looked liked he had gone cavemen on her. The dress she wore that night was so understated and elegant but somehow hardly Uma- black and sedate- the point was to hide her unusually large breasts. I noticed Jack eyeing her up a few times but I managed to get his arm and whisper down the mangled ear "Say anything about her tits and you are getting that fucking cake in your mush- you got that, pal?" He gave me his jaundiced eye but kept his opinions to himself.

I was also worried about the amount of work she was putting in- I could see she was dead on her feet by the time the party started. She's a trooper but I didn't want her to do herself any harm. Later on that night, she was in the kitchen sipping water and I came in to check on her. She looked pale and I only just caught her as her knees swayed and she fainted. Dizzy spells- she gets them when she doesn't put her feet up enough. I was just sorting her out when Ann walked in. Luckily she thought we were up to no good when in fact, I was trying to revive her.

She was weepy that night, too. I think it was over-excitement and tiredness mostly but she cried when we went to bed. She wasn't really up for saying why. I reckon Max's arrival knocked her for six but there were other things that seemed to bother her, too. But if she clams up then you just have to sit it out. She'll talk when she's good and ready. I wondered who had said or done something to upset her? I had a few theories of my own.

I surprised myself at how much I enjoyed my birthday. Made me realize just what this world means to me and how I cherish all the people in it. Family, hey? You can't always choose them but you wouldn't be without them either. But the thought that the events of next July might threaten the likelihood of many such gatherings where Uma and I could attend together left a deep nagging feeling in my heart. Would choices one day have to be made?

We planned to make an announcement that night. Things didn't work out. Tink had asked me to keep it mostly quiet until she was sure everything was all right but by then we felt pretty confident. It seemed a perfect time - but events worked against us. I wanted to be sure that everyone was ready for what we knew was a big blow to the way we all live and would raise some serious questions for the future.

Circumstances were against us at that time- we let the moment pass and somehow it got harder and harder to raise the topic. But I know there was something underlying it all. Something was worrying me, nagging at my subconscious, something that I don't think I quite articulated even to myself- and I sure as hell didn't raise  with Tink. It was an uneasy feeling that there would be a price to pay if this got out. I'm not blaming anyone in the Game- I never thought anyone would ever be a problem, no matter what their personal feelings were. But I felt that there was something else out there and I did not understand or particularly like the feeling. It is still niggling me now as I type this. I bloody hate it when something is out of kilter and I can not whip it into line. I just wish I could see it more clearly.

Change the record, Terry. You're getting on your own tits here. I told Jeff and Paul late on at the party. They were amazed and over the moon about it all.

"No objections? No warnings? No lectures?" I asked with a grimace.

Jeff shrugged. "Me? What can I say? So you broke a flaming rule? I break them all the time. I sleep with a Sister who is not a Sister who has a dick. Reckon that puts me one up even over you, Action Man. What can I say? You're two grown ups and you've made a choice. Good onya, mate, if it's what you want. And I love babies. Hey, Paulie will you have my baby?" The two of them then made a bee line for Tink and they all got very clucky- I left them to it. I might be a proud father-to- be but I'm not into all that crap. Leave that to the girls, hey?

 

*

 

The little fella came early- wouldn't you know? Does that bloke have a charmed life or what? Charlie Crowe, hey? Hmm- I'll resist the urge to play with that moniker - for a while. Suffice it to say- Charles was not on our list of boys' names. Uma spent the day cooing and dreaming about what he looked like etc., I said "Winston Churchill."

"What makes you think that?"

"All newborns do. Or Oliver Hardy without his moustache. Except ours, of course. He'll be so cute, the little baby girls in the nursery will be wetting their nappies for him..."

"You know you do talk some shit, Terry..."

I just grinned.

 

*

 

We are off to see the parents. I loaded the car with the case and a heap of presents for the rellies. The drive, Friday evening M25, M40, M6- it's like the road to fucking Hell- even worse at Christmas time. The distance is comparatively low- 200 miles or so but the traffic, road works and foul weather make it seem like the London to Dacca overland Rally. My mood was not improved.

So, despite the fact that we had set off mid-afternoon, we were still running late, stuck in slow-moving traffic, torrential rain and Uma's bladder adding to the pleasurable trip.

"Terry, can you stop at the next services? I need to pee."

"You peed at the last one and the one before that."

"I can't help it! It's all this rain. And the bouncing on my bladder. This baby bounces a lot."

"Must get that from me," I added sarcastically as she wriggled around in her seat. Indicating, I pulled into the next services and pulled up near the entrance, she slipped out and pelted into the large, sprawling building, teeming with other lucky travelers. A sharp rap sounded on my window; I rolled it down.

"Sorry, sir. Can't park here. No waiting."

"Jesus- it's pouring. My girlfriend's just gonna be a minute. She'll get soaked." Jobsworth with his waterproof mac and a rain hat that made him look like a North Sea fisherman showed no mercy. "Move on, sir." I rolled up the window and didn't move.

More knocking. Middle finger salute. Next thing, a copper turns up. Knocks at the window. I roll it down. "Here's your summons, sir."

"What?" I looked at it and saw that it was a parking ticket. 150 quid fine. I jumped out of the car.

"You must be fucking joking, mate. I am not paying 150 quid for a piss."

"Then you'll pay more than that, sir. Move on."

"If I don't?"

"We tow you."

At that moment the piss artist in question came scurrying up. I was like a drowned rat. She had bought herself an umbrella. As she appeared, looking delicate and wide-eyed, the two men both visibly rocked back on their feet and pulled themselves to their full height.

"Is something the matter, officer?" Uma smiled sweetly.

"Is this your boyfriend, Miss? He's parked illegally and being very uncooperative," the copper replied with a beaming smile.

"He's Australian. They don't really have our notions of propriety. I am really awfully sorry if we have done something wrong but he was actually being a dear. You see I'm pregnant and I was just desperate to reach the bathroom..."

"Really? Then why didn't you explain that, Sir? Give me the summons. I'll deal with that. Just move along and make sure you don't do it again. Can I help you out, Miss? We wouldn't want you to get wet and catch a chill now, would we?"

Of course she had the pair of them eating out of her hand as she was lowered gently back into her seat, dry as a bone. Whereas I had to slip back into mine dripping wet, hair plastered to my forehead, rain water running down my back, sitting in wet jeans. I steamed the last 50 miles- both physically and metaphorically.

By the time we reached the family homestead, I was damp but presentable, or so her Ladyship reckoned. We rang the doorbell and waited as she gave me about a hundred last minute instructions at the speed of light. They all began with "Don't...!"

"Uma! At last! And your nice gentleman friend! Merry Christmas!" The doors to hell swung back.

It wasn't quite as bad as my worst nightmare. But it did match my second worse one. The main problem, as I could see it, was that Uma had explained her sudden desire to go home for Christmas with a "Terry and I have some very special news..." which, of course, her parents had taken to mean as something quite different from the actual news we were delivering. So we arrived to a houseful of friends and  relatives, an enormous family Christmas Eve party, gifts surreptitiously stowed for when we made the great announcement and I reckoned there would be a bloody big cake hidden somewhere as well.

Uma's Dad(you have to see him -he'd have made John Wayne look like a  big girl's blouse) looked me up and down without appearing impressed, pulled me into the front room, handed me a Jamieson's and said "Well then, boyo...I think you have to talk to me first, don't you?"

Now there were two ways I could play this. I could put on the Game face, smile and give him "How do you do? Terry Thorne, hostage negotiator. ..." or I could grin, light up a ciggie and say "OK, mate, this is how it is..." Which one did I choose?

"Good evening, sir. Terrence Thorne. Thorne O'Leary Risk International. Here's my card...."

"What kind of fuckin' job is that? You some kind of City fella? Insurance agent? Can't you get a decent man's job?" He's a very macho sort of guy and how he sired a woman like Uma is hard to comprehend.

"No sir. Not insurance. I am a troubleshooter for Insurance companies. I rescue or negotiate the release of hostages in political kidnap cases."

He thought about that for a minute. "Saw a film about that once. The fella looked a bit like you as well..."

"Really? What a coincidence, sir."

"As I remember the fella in that was a soldier. British army. Were you in the British army, son?"

I looked at him and decided truth would probably serve the best- it would come out eventually anyway. "Affirmative. SAS. Close Combat Division."

"You're an Aussie?"

"British parents."

"My daughter wants to marry a bloody British army bastard?" 

"No, sir. She doesn't. She just wants to have his baby." Well, it shut him up. I excused myself and returned to the main room.

"Everyone....this is Terry." Uma announced me with this coy look that was so unlike her that I nearly burst out laughing. The room full of aunties, uncles, siblings and partners, cousins and girlfriends, grinning teenagers and loads of noisy kids and babies,all weighed me up like I was a piece of meat at the butcher's. There were plenty of exchanged looks and comments behind hands, not to mention giggles and a few come-ons from some of the younger women. Whatever runs through the female line of this family, they all appear to have Uma's libido.

She couldn't be planning to tell the entire room, could she? You honestly never know with Uma who can be as insightful as an eagle or as dense as a block of wood. Did she honestly not know that the family was hearing wedding bells not the patter of tiny feet? I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

"Uma...they think we're engaged."

"I know. What are we gonna do?" She bit her lip and expected me to provide the answer.

"Run? I've got the car keys." I suggested hopefully. At that moment her Mum came in followed by her Dad. Her Mum is lovely- you can see where the family gets their looks from - and she smiled nervously.

"Have we got the wrong end of the stick, love?"

Uma took a deep breath and looked at me. Her face was pale and for a moment I thought she was going to faint, but she held on.  "Mum...Dad...Terry and I have decided to start a family. I'm pregnant.  Twelve weeks now..."

For a moment there was silence and then her mother started to cry. I ran my hands over my hair. Her father put his arms around his wife and looked accusingly at us.

"Haven't you forgotten something? If there's a baby on the way, aren't you going to get wed?"

Fair play to Uma, she pulled herself up to her full height and said. "No. We have no need for marriage. We have made our own commitment to each other."

"So he can pack his bags and sling his hook whenever he feels like it, then?" her Dad replied.

I'd had enough. "Look, mate, I appreciate your feelings but Uma and I are adults and I assure you that we know what we are doing. I have no intentions of leaving her in the lurch now or in the future. This baby is something very special to us both and..."

"Let me ask you this, Terrence...if this child is a daughter. Twenty five years' time...how would you react if she brought some bloke home that you'd never met and told you that he had got her in trouble and wasn't going to marry her? Think about that before you give me some bullshit answer..."

I thought and didn't like my gut reaction. I knew what I would do. I would kick his bloody arse out of my house. So I stood there like a fool with my mouth open trying to think of an appropriate gambit. This topic doesn't often come up in my business so I didn't really have any models to hang it round.

But Uma knew her father well and wasn't in the least fazed. "I am a bit older than that, Dad. I have also been an independent woman for fifteen years. You have always begged me to settle down and I have never taken a blind bit of notice. Well, I'm settling now and it might not be exactly what you had in mind but it's the way I'm doing it. So you better accept that. Terry is the finest man I have ever met and when you know him better you will realize that and be damned grateful that he's the one I ended up with, because if you knew some of the losers I've shacked up with over the years you will count yourselves very lucky that a real man has come along to bail me out. OK?"

And they both just nodded. Uma's Mum hugged me and said "I'm crying because I'm happy. I thought she'd never give me a grandchild. She is such a flippertygibbet, you know?" I had no idea what the word meant but I reckoned her Mum knew her quite as well as I did. I grinned and her Mum gave me another hug. Then she made a slight sigh of pleasure and patted my bum in an affectionate way. I saw her give a meaningful look to Uma who snorted in a most unladylike fashion. Her father coughed, shook my hand and said "You look after them both. There's more to fatherhood than what you've done so far, mate." But he filled up my Jamieson's and we returned to the party.

The word soon got round and we were given plenty of congratulations. An old lady in the corner, Uma's maternal grandmother-ancient but with a lively eye- I reckon this is what Uma will look like when she's eighty- beckoned me over to sit next to her. She smiled sweetly and then said "Haven't you ever heard of birth control pills? Or condoms? In my day you just had to pull out and that was always pretty risky but you've got no excuse. A man like you...I'll bet you know more than your prayers, don't you?" And then she pinched my butt. The thought of growing old with Uma suddenly terrified me. Would she still be after my bum when she was eighty?

The evening passed and it was better than I had thought. It is a big warm, Irish family and although they might have disapproved on one level, they definitely welcomed another life into their hearts. Our child would always be well loved in this family. The party broke just before midnight (they were all off to Midnight Mass); Uma excused herself straight away, proclaiming tiredness and went up to her room. I stayed down and shared a few glasses with her father - who wouldn't go to church with drink in him, so he said- and we formed a sort of bond. He's a good bloke and the kind of man I can deal with. Straight as a die and never minces his words. You know where you are with men like that. He reminded me in a strange way of Bud.

Finally I was shown up to my room- the spare one, a small box with a single bed and about enough room to swing a cat. But I can sleep anywhere. I waited until the house had quieted down and used the bathroom, making my way across the large landing to my room. A door opened. It was Uma wearing absolutely nothing but a big grin. She beckoned me to join her. I did.

It was her own room that she had slept in as a girl, now with the addition of a double bed, but still full of mementoes of her childhood. On the walls were pictures of her in ballet poses from years ago, Her First Communion Day (a little girl with a gap in her teeth and a cheeky smile, wearing a white veil that was already lopsided) in netball kit, getting school prizes, Varsity rowing team (Rowing? Uma?), Degree ceremonies, groups of friends...the story of her life set out before me. She sat on the bed and watched me as I looked through them.

"I was a gawky kid, all legs and arms." She grinned and blushed. I imagined another little girl like her- our daughter. The thought nearly blew my mind. I think it was only then at that moment that I believed what was lying ahead for us. We made love in silence, conscious of every slight creak of bed or floorboard, trying to be quiet but lost in each other. As sex becomes less frantic and X-rated, it has seemed to take on a new dimension. Now it seems to affirm our life and our love; the triumph of the spirit over the flesh. Christ - am I getting philosophical in my old age? As we lay back in each other's arms, her head lolling sleepily on my shoulder, I whispered, "Merry Christmas, little girl." She smiled and wriggled even closer. "Just imagine next year. The three of us. Can you believe that?"

For the first time, I truly began to.

 

 

January 2004 

New Years' Eve at the Temple. What can I say? We should have come clean. We had a thousand opportunities. But we just shirked it. Something at the back of our minds suggested that this was going to cause trouble. I'm not sure any of us knew exactly how or why we felt like this but we seemed to share a mutual sense that somehow we had crossed the point of no return. So we dug in and kept our heads down. Mistake? Not sure. Hard to say.

We escaped to Wonderland for awhile. The Old Country. Oz. Jesus, do I miss it! Uma asked me why I had never moved back. I couldn't actually answer that. She said- I'd live in Sydney any day. I said; " 'Course you would. You think you'll bump into Crowe there every day of the week." She gave me a look. "Are you mental? I live with Terry Thorne- what would I want Russell Crowe for?" "Good point, love," I replied.  Was she winding me up?

Great holiday. Curry got on my tits at times but I am glad to say I did the same for him- men like to share the burden. Heather and Uma were a delight. Girls together are something else. They either scratch each other's eyes out or sit combing the other's hair. Imagine men doing that?

During those three weeks the two of them blossomed. They went golden under the sun and suddenly seemed to grow into expectant mothers. We were pretty easy about dress code and so as the days progressed they got used to just wandering around in little more than nature intended. Uma would invariable have a pair of expensive sandals on or a scarf tied round her or something completely at odds with the fact that she was topless and sporting an impressive little belly. Heather was inclined to a more discreet style- a shirt thrown round her shoulders or a wrap but even those things were largely forgotten after a few days. It was odd. Occasionally I know Curry and I got a little heated at their proximity but generally it was a different emotion that it raised in us. I just felt a sense of wonder about women. They are so adaptable and strong, yet they hide it beneath such a fragile façade- how misleading. We are helpless in the sight of their power over us.

The baby is constantly moving, all the time, twisting and squirming. I still remember the first time I felt it and the utter shock it gave me to feel the quickening beneath my palm. We lie in bed at nights and simply watch and feel the performance- he always seems more active when her body is at rest. Don't know how she gets any sleep- he's a little bugger and will probably be a soccer player if the foot action is anything to go by. She lies on a mountain of pillows, half sitting, and is restless all the time. One minute she is up to wee and then she has heartburn and then her back is aching and then she has hiccups. I spend half the night running about getting her hot milk and rubbing her back, arranging her pillows or just massaging her ribcage and trying to move him down  a bit to let her breathe more easily. Or I just curl around and hold her, my hand on her belly and fall asleep with the comforting presence of the two things that I love most in life close by.

She took me home. I mean my home. Still feel a bit choked up when I recall it. All those nieces and nephews I had never seen- some of them had kids of their own. They adored her. She loved them. I just felt so proud and realized what a fool I had been. All those years alone and I had this back home. What had I been thinking of?

Back home it was business as usual. I stayed back in the States and Uma flew to London. I shouldn't have arranged it that way and was on tenterhooks until she called me from the house, and felt bad about leaving her alone. It was only later that I found out about Maximus' little visit. The bastard.  I mailed him my thoughts and received one of his smug replies. I swear one day I will lose it with him. Curry wasn't much better. What the fuck was he playing at talking to her like that? If I can grin and fucking bear it then so can he. I will not have her upset by any of them.

 

 

February 2004

It happened. The dreaded subject came up as I guess I knew it would eventually. I had cut back on visits but had still made a few since the pregnancy had begun. Uma, of course, hadn't- not real visits- i.e. not where any sexual behaviour was involved. We fought about it one night and I lost it. She didn't say much, which is unusual to say the least, but she was hurt and in disagreement with me. But she made me a promise that I shouldn't have demanded; I wonder if it will come back and haunt me one day? I have a strong suspicion that it will.

She's asked for Bud again. I said nothing- just nodded and pretended to ignore her words. She needs someone with her now. She's almost six months' pregnant and I never want her alone in the house. Bud will protect her with his life. I have to accept that she feels it is right to see him - and anyway he knows the truth. I wonder how he'll react. Something tells me he will treat her like a precious cargo, wrap her up in cotton wool and watch her every moment of the day. I don't think he will touch her. Can't see it somehow. Bud White couldn't live with himself if he laid a finger on a pregnant woman. And I think Uma knows that, too. I don't think her sex drive is particularly high at the moment anyway. We make love but it is almost chaste and innocent, not like the act of sex at all. I hold her and enter her with our child between us. It feels like some act of family. I can protect them. It enables me to share in the unique process that is taking place in her body.

That night I was leaving for a visit with Heather.  Lachlan will stay here- they decided to spend the night elsewhere from our house for propriety's sake. Uma and I had another of our standup knockdowns that evening. My fault. Well, hers too, but I made the bigger fool of myself.

It was morning and Uma was bustling around in the kitchen. I read a newspaper. We didn't speak. I hate it. I expect she does too. Why can't we just say it?

Up to me. I shouted at her. I was the unreasonable one. "Uma...I'm sorry." It wasn't very gracious. But it was an attempt.

She stopped and paused what she was doing before replying. "Actually, I don't blame you. It's not a very nice thought. I don't know what to do, Terry. I'm having a visit with Lachlan. I think he would be some comfort. I don't imagine that we will...you know, Terry, I don't think we will....have sex or anything. I can't imagine he would approve and frankly I don't think I want it. It's just that I reserve the right to make decisions over my own body as you do over yours. That's all."

I stepped over and held her. "You are right. I trust you'll have the instinct to do what is best. And I should never expect you to behave in a way that I wouldn't tolerate for myself. That was just male chauvinism. But it came from the right place, Tink. I just have a problem with it. I think I always have." She let out a long sigh and rested her head back against my chest.

"I know. Any man would. Women too sometimes, you know?" 

 

*

 

I didn't handle things much better on my return. It freaked me out when I found out that she had, after all, let him make love to her. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had imagined that she wouldn't and that he was not the kind of bloke to make a move on a pregnant woman. Unlike me, of course, who couldn't keep my hands off Heather. She was more beautiful than ever, rich and ripe with fecundity, the mother image and yet still vibrant and stunning, all a woman is. I have a woman at home like that- why was that not enough? Because I'm a man and I can. Or perhaps because I feel such intense joy at the moment that I want to taste and touch all life's gifts. Why do I deny Uma that right? Why does it make me incandescent with rage to think of her in another man's arms? My rational mind knows it is absurd, but another instinct pushes me to a knee jerk reaction. It is the cave man response and I'm no different than any other man. I have marked my territory and wish to attack any predator that strays across my patch. I should be ashamed but I still don't really care. It is how I feel. I am a man. It is what makes me a man. She understands - but she doesn't like it and I know it scares her for the future. It scares me too. What will happen when our child is born? How will she see her role in the Game then? Some days I hardly even dare to think about it.

 

 

March 2004

I saw my child on a screen. Heart pumping, beat after strong steady beat; a force so powerful that it might shatter the fragile little body. Arms and legs, fingers, hands, face...even saw the little trace of curls on its head. It's real. In a few months I will hold that child in my arms and it will be a human being with a life mapped out far into the distance, long after I cease to matter. The thought of that keeps me awake at nights, lying by her side, my hand resting on our child and the wonder and responsibility filling my head. I swear I will get it right this time.

So I packed my bag and left one morning as I had done many times before. It was a sunny spring day, garden bright with daffodils, no longer the wild jungle of a few months ago. Tink was waddling around like a little duck, bumping into things and eating everything she could get her hands on. She eats all the time, non stop, as if she's constantly grazing. This from the woman who used to limit herself to lettuce leaves and watch every calorie that went into her mouth.

"Hey, Jabba? Pour us another cup of tea," I called over and she tutted but did as she was told, leaning over me and letting me rub her belly and kiss the hard swollen lump. I cannot stop touching her. Her body fascinates me and holds for me such a tactile pleasure that is hard to explain. I drank it down and checked my watch. I needed to get going. Curry wanted an early start and was already on the plane- he had called half an hour before from Luton.

"So Cort's coming in tonight...he's getting his own way here...don't do too much driving and if you do...don't drift off, Tink. Concentrate. If anything happens- go to the doctor. It doesn't matter if they send you home, just don't muck about..."

"Terry...I still have twelve weeks to go. Nothing's going to happen. You look after yourself over there. I'm very uneasy about this. That president is a fucking nut case and I don't trust anything about his regime. Just don't get into any bother or try to be a hero ...you got me?"

I saluted. "Yes sir! Reconnaissance only and no involvement in activities on the ground! Loud and clear, sir!"

She hit me with the dish cloth and I kissed her, long and deep, hoping she knew just how little I wanted to go, and how desperately I would be counting the days until I returned. She walked me out to the door and I kissed her again on the front porch of our home. I placed my hands on her stomach and had a few words with Junior; she smiled and wrinkled up her nose at my silliness. The last sight I had of her was waving and blowing kisses as I pulled out onto the street, her left hand placed on our child.

If you knew then what you know later, how different life would be! I had no idea that it was going to be the last time I saw her.

I have written this down and now it all seems patchy and rambling. It is nothing like I intended. There were so many things I never said. I was too lazy to write an entry on most nights. And now this is all I have. Somewhere, in some other place, she is alone and scared. What must be going on in her mind? What must she be thinking of now?  I have sworn to find her, but in my heart I am not sure that I will be able to.

One thought comforts me. She is with our child and they will survive. It was not for nothing. At least she will never be alone again.

 

March 19th 2004

 

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