UMA

Dear Diary,

Been months since last we met. Since then we have almost been killed several times, had our home trashed and there hasn't been an awful lot of time for tapping out the story of my life. We've been too busy living it. Suffice it to say, we are well, moderately happy, homeless (but Terry thinks he's found something he likes) and ticking along.

I know what you're thinking! You would imagine after what had happened to us back in February that the three of us lived happily in domestic bliss for ever and ever again. We must by now realize how lucky we are to be alive, in love, parents of a beautiful daughter....

Hmmmm. Just listen to this then:

"Have you been messing with my fucking underwear again?"

"Excuse me? I thought you enjoyed that..."

"Funny...I mean there are socks mixed in the same drawer as my skivs..."

"Good God! Have the woman arrested!"

"You know I like them arranged properly..."

"You've got a serious mental problem, you know?"

"Yeah, you."

"Funny. Just get your socks on and stop having a fit. I'll do it later..."

"Later? Yeah...in that mysterious future time when you actually manage to do absolutely fuck all...how do you manage to take so long to do nothing? It's quite a bloody art form..."

"What is the matter with you? Have you got PMS or something? I work damn hard every day and you just don't ever thank me for all I do and I'm stuck in this tiny flat which was never meant for a family and you are either working or entertaining or just bloody drinking with your bloody mates and I never get to go anywhere..."

"Whoah...that time of the month again?"

"You make me sick!"

"That's two of us...but then we both eat your cooking, don't we?"

"OH! YOU....YOU....!"

"...Don't start one of your tragedy queen acts. That's all I need. I'm off. I'll probably be late..."

Door slam.

Maia starts to cry.

Yes...a fairly typical morning in the Thorne household.  You see, you can't stay like tragic lovers all the time. Once you have ridden off into the sunset, life goes on. Terry and I are volatile, to put it mildly. So we erupt all over the place. He is his usual grumpy and anal self and I am, well, to be honest, I am not too good at the moment. He's really pushing my buttons these days, big time.

 What's the matter?

Do I have to tell my fucking diary everything? None of your bloody business...

TERRY

It was mid morning when I got a chance to shut out the world and do some thinking. I had walked into an emergency call from one of our men on the ground panicking over a difference of opinion between him and the client's family. Do these guys need me to hold their hand on everything? They never heard of a field decision? Or of actually having the guts to put their own necks on the line? So, as you can imagine, that was not an ideal start to my day.

"Rachel, hold my calls and get me a pot of coffee. I don't want to be disturbed, you got that?"

I stood by the window looking out over the dock. I felt pretty bad. This morning had been lousy - and it hadn't been the first mindless nitpicking row we'd had recently. Not sure what is wrong with her this week. She's been dripping around like a ghost, pale and wan, dreamy and forgetful, giving me this look like I've done something and she is suffering in silence, burning the dinner... How much do I have to bloody well take before I blow?

I still felt like a heel. She's holed up with Maia all day long and never gets a break. I've just been so busy recently, away a few times, long hours, lots of meetings, evening functions - what the fuck am I supposed to do? Bring her and baby along? She's so unreasonable when she gets that mood on her. Even so, she must be a bundle of hormones these days. I shouldn't be so hard on her. You know what women are like. Since she weaned Maia off the breast she's been worse than ever, weepy and guilt -ridden. She fed her for ten bloody months! Surely that would be a decent length of time in anyone's book? But, no, she has some idea that she has lost her bond with her. I reminded her she would look pretty kinky popping into High School at recess for Maia to have a warm drink. As you can imagine that levity went down well. Not.

I'd better call her. Maybe we could get someone to babysit and I could take her out to dinner tonight? She'd like that. Get all dressed up and really paint the town. Maybe even go dancing. Like last month when Henry was staying and he offered to keep an eye. I smiled to myself at the memory. No arguments that night. We'd even been very naughty in the car on the way home. Sometimes that woman is just completely crazy. Tossing me off on the Motorway and then daring me to pull off onto some country road and ...well, she didn't have to ask me twice... I'd better call her...

Before I could lift up the phone, Rachel beeped me. "Incoming call, Mr. Thorne..."

"I said, hold my calls...." I grunted in annoyance.

"It's your son...I thought you'd want me to make an exception for him..."

I sighed.  "Sorry, Rach...I'm just a bear this morning..."

She laughed at the other end of the receiver. "Oh, really? I just thought you were being your normal cheery self, Terry... line one..."

Shaking my head at yet another sassy woman in my life, I pressed the button. "Hiya, mate, what's up? Need some advice on women? Here's a good one. Become a monk..." I began but the silence on the other end alerted me that my son was not really in a joking mood. "What is it?" My manner changed very quickly.

"Er...Dad...I need to talk to you. Could we have lunch today?"

I had a lunch appointment with our bankers but they would just have to starve. These days I do not make my son wait in second place behind the demands of my career.

"Sure. There's a decent pub across the road from here. You in town already?"

"Yeah...I'm here. See you at 12.30ish then?"

"Are you sure everything's all right, Henry?"  He should be up at Cambridge; exams were starting any day. Something very urgent had brought him down to the smoke.

"I'll explain then, Dad...."

"Wait...your Mum know where you are?"

"No. I'd prefer if you kept this between us, Dad..."

Warning bells. What had my son done now?

HEATHER

Here we go again.  I hate that uncomfortable awareness of impending implosion.  A fight is brewing.  I can feel it.  It's like clockwork.  We have almost no time together anymore between all the overtime Lach works at his construction job and all the hours he puts in at night school.  He is nearly finished getting the certifications he needs to fly here in this place where the only proof of his existence is one dog-eared passport, courtesy of the benevolent entity Dea. 

What makes it hard is that I want to spend time with him.  I do.  I long for him in every way a woman can long for her partner.  Emotionally.  Physically.  Sexually.  It's just that something always seems to happen on those rare occasions where he's not working, studying or sleeping, and I end up pushing him away... when what I want most is to be held in his arms.

This morning it was his timing.  It was the first day he'd had off in weeks... and the first morning he'd been able to sleep in.  No easy feat with Tristan running around.  He doesn't talk much yet, I think probably because he put all his effort into figuring out his motor skills, but he shrieks a lot, especially when he's frustrated.  I'd tried to keep him quiet but I could have been trying to catch the wind for all the good it did me.

I thought Lach would be mad when he opened the bedroom door (after Tristan made a shrieking hoot that could have put a howler monkey to shame) but he just smiled at the two of us instead.  He is such a good man.  It made my heart go all melty to see that instinctive reaction to us, that moment of love shining out of his eyes.  And I love sexy rumpled morning man with too much stubble and bedhead, too.

Lach strolled in, yawning and scratching and plopped himself down on the floor next to us.  That's where it began to go bad.  

"Mornin', Tris."  Tristan was making noises and rolling a ball around on the carpet.  He didn't look up.  I got a huskily whispered, "Mornin', Blue," but his eyes were on Tristan.

"How'd you sleep?"  He hasn't been sleeping well at night.  

He shrugged.  "Fine."  

Liar.

"Lach..."

He just shrugged off my concern and tried to get Tristan to come to him.  He refused, shaking his head.  "NO!"  Lach couldn't hide the flash of pain in his eyes any more than he could his earlier joy.

He tried again.  "C'mon, mate... come give me a hug....your old dad misses you."  Wasn't that the truth?  Lach was usually gone before Tristan got up and he came home long after I'd put him down for the night.  That was bad enough, but Tristan was also teething and going through a phase where he only wanted me.  He howled when Lach held him.  And that just killed Lach.

It also didn't help that Tristan was still nursing.  On one hand, it was probably a good thing.  We'd had a really hard winter, monetarily speaking.  Sometimes we had to choose between paying the rent and buying food.  At least Tristan never went hungry.  On the other hand, it seemed like we couldn't even have a conversation where Tristan didn't pull on my shirt at some point, wanting to nurse.  Sometimes it felt like I spent half my life walking around doing chores with him clinging on to me like a limpet, sucking away.  His own living, breathing pacifier. 

I think it was a sort of double blow for Lach; half this feeling of his son rejecting him in favor of his mother, and half a man's irritation that he couldn't ever have a moment alone with his lover and partner.  Frankly, I don't know how he bears it.  But somehow he does.

This morning he just shrugged and kept at it, abandoning trying to get Tristan to come to him but still trying to get him talking.  It was slow going.  He rarely says more than mama, dada, NO! and 'up' when he wants to be held.  He makes all kinds of noises though, and Lach encourages it.  It was the same this morning.

"What sound does a cow make, mate?"

"....moo."

"What sound does a dog make?"

"...woo."

"What sound does frog make?"

"....'ibit."

That one always makes me laugh.

"What sound does a platypus make?"

Tristan stopped and looked up, blinking with this huge question bright in his eyes.  Lach giggled and fell over.  He loves to try to sneak one under the radar like that.  We must have the only toddler on earth who knows what sound a wombat makes.

I playfully kicked at his hairy leg and tried not to notice that I could see the soft wrinkled pouch of his scrotum where his shorts gapped open at the leg.  "And what sound does a pilot make?"

"Oh, that's easy, Blue."  He sat up.  "He goes like this..... 'What's a bloke got to do around here to get a cuppa...?'...."

I snorted.  "Make it himself!"  

Lach pulled a face.  Tristan giggled and aped him.  Now I had two boys with their tongues out.  Perfect.  He'll probably do it again later at some wholly inappropriate time.  Tristan probably will as well. 

We trooped into the kitchen for breakfast.  It was a disaster like usual.  Dry cheerios crunching under my bare feet.  Lach with his tea and dry toast, moaning about how he preferred it with jam but what he really wanted was a side of crispy bacon the size of a prize hog and a dozen eggs to wash it down.  Mmmm, bacon!  I can't remember the last time we had the money for that.  My boys ate their usual.  I had nothing.  Lach looked at me.

"You not eating?"

"I ate earlier."  It wasn't really a lie.  I'd had tea.  Our cupboards were nearly empty again.  He gave me the eye.  I hoped he wouldn't hear my stomach growl.  Lunch wasn't that far away and there was a can of soup with my name on it.  Or rather half a can. 

Tristan squealed.  Juice flew.  Great.  Now the cheerio crumbs would be permanently glued to the floor unless I could get it cleaned up before it dried.  Lach got up to retrieve the cup (thank God for tippy-lids!) and stubbed his toe on the leg of the table.

"Fuck!"  I don't think he would have said it if he hadn't been preoccupied thinking about how we were going to afford a very necessary trip to the grocery store... but it still reverberated through the whole tiny apartment. 

Tristan blinked and looked up through lashes as long as his dad's.  He really does look like an angel....

"Fuck!" he echoed.

Oh.  My.  God!  My son just said 'fuck'.

Lach stopped his hopping and hid his face in his hands.  "I am sorry!  I am so sorry!"  He looked sharply at Tris.  "That's a bad word.  Don't say it again.... you cheeky little parrot."  Tristan's little face screwed up as he tried to work that one out.  "All this time... and that's the word you pick to repeat?  Not 'plane' or 'footy' or 'book' or...." he started laughing.

"Don't you dare encourage him!"  

The earlier feeling of standoffishness melted away and we had a pleasant little family breakfast.  Maybe a little too pleasant.  By the time Lach had finished his second cup of tea and Tris was back to playing with his ball, Lach was hinting that maybe I'd like to play with a very different sort of ball.  He rubbed up against me and I could feel his erection poking me in the hip.  It made my milk let down.  Damn it.  Now my shirt was wet. 

"C'mon, Blue.... just a quickie... he'll be fine in the playpen for a few minutes... he won't even know...."

I pushed him away.  "Gee, that sounds pleasant."  Enough for him to get what he wanted but too damn bad for me, right?  I remember when we used to make love for hours.  I miss it.  I miss him now.  Like I didn't want to make love too?  Just not when I had a milky shirt and mess in the kitchen to clean and laundry to be done... and from the stench wafting this way, a diaper that needed to be changed.  How can he just tune all of that out?  Cos he's a man, that's how. 

He nuzzled my neck and I felt the warm press of a heavy erection through the thin cotton of his shorts.  I wriggled away.  He was annoyed but he sighed and blew out softly, trying for a calm that I could tell he didn't really feel.  Lachlan is a physically demonstrative person by nature, often preferring that to speech.  Like father like son, I thought with a warm smile.  They would both rather have a cuddle than express themselves with words. 

My smile faded as I got closer to him and I heard Lach giggle in the background.  He thinks it's so funny that I still haven't mastered the gag reflex when it comes to diapers.  Course he wouldn't know, would he?  It's not like he ever changes one.

It was an unfair thought.  I knew it.  Lach hates that he has to work so many hours... and sometimes I wake to find him in Tristan's room just watching him sleep.... but it still put me in bad mood.  

"Whew!  You stink, mate!"  Tristan giggled at the tone of his dad's voice.

I gave Lach the eye.  "Great... so you're both full of it."

"Oh, I'm full of something all right...."  Lach gave me a very rude look in return.  Or maybe it's just a man can't help but look rude with an obscene tent in the front of his shorts. 

I rolled my eyes, making sure he was well aware of exactly what I thought he was full of.  

"I'll just go have a shower then," he called over his shoulder as he marched out with a sooky expression on his face.  Fine.  Be that way.  I stuck my tongue out at his back.  Did he honestly think I preferred diaper patrol to a shower with him?  I might have been changing Tristan but my mind was conjuring images of Lach in the shower, naked and dripping.  He was whipcord thin these days.  Too lean, I thought... but it only exaggerated the masculine angles of his body and accentuated his wide shoulders.  I could just picture him... wet hair falling in his eyes, legs spread wide as the shower sprayed down on him... and his beautiful naked cock.

I have to give him credit where it's due though.  From the looks of things after his shower, he hadn't taken things in hand, so to speak.  It said a lot about his needs.  If he'd just wanted an orgasm, he could have had that by himself in the shower.  He wanted intimacy.  With me.  It was really kind of sweet and just the knowledge of it put me in a better mood.  He even waited patiently while I finished dressing Tristan and cleaned up the disaster breakfast had left in the kitchen and saw to the laundry. 

I even made a half hearted attempt at cleaning myself up.  Not that it did much good.  I hate how I look these days.  Even if we'd had money for decent clothes, it still wouldn't have helped.  It was my body I hated the most.  I was pale and gaunt, like some weird bony skeleton with milk engorged breasts.  I bet I wouldn't even hit the hundred pound mark. 

Dea must be laughing somewhere at the irony of that.  All my life I'd fought to keep myself at a decent weight and envied girls who were so effortlessly lithe and willowy... and now that I had the body I'd once wanted so desperately, I hated it.  Most of the time I kept it hidden.  Even Lach hadn't really seen me properly in weeks.  And I was always cold now.  My face was white.  My hands were red.  I was always worn out from lugging Tristan around all day.  He got so heavy.  Poor Lach.  It must be like sleeping with a bag of cold bones.  Pulling on a clean flannel, I raked a brush through my hair, looked at the sallow reflection gazing back at me in the yellowish light of the ancient bathroom fixture... and gave up.

I was feeling more than a little self conscious when I came out but the look in Lach's eyes was full of want.  "Come give us a cuddle, Blue."  He patted the couch beside him, ready to envelop me in the soft blanket he had around his shoulders.  Tristan was playing at his feet on the floor.  I slipped down into his arms as he pulled me onto his lap.  He smelled so good and felt even better.  He was going a bit faster than I would have liked, but it was still nice.  Hands on my breasts under the blanket.  Kisses on my neck.  Whispers in my ear. 

And then I felt it.  A tug on my shirt and the pitiful little sniffling Tris makes when he's hungry.  "Mama...."  Another tug.  I sat up.  Lach groaned and cursed softly under his breath as I pushed one man away to make room for another.  He crawled up and plopped himself down in my lap, his little fingers worming into the shirt his father had opened only moments ago.  I cradled him in my arms and sighed at the sweet little face looking up at me as he nursed.  I was annoyed at the interruption too, but my heart melted looking down at his rounded little cheeks and dark curls.  Our precious little son.  What we suffered for him!  What we are suffering still.

Lach, however, wasn't quite so willing to be put off this time.  Not after being rebuffed again after being so patient all morning.    

"Bloody hell!"

I gave him a sharp look.  He knows I don't like him talking like that around Tris.  "Great, that's just what we need.  A repeat of this morning.  You want the only toddler who sounds like a trucker?"

"Better that than a fishwife," he snapped back.

Tristan's eyes flicked back and forth between the two of us and his face wrinkled up as he sucked harder in response to the escalating emotions. 

Lach huffed and made no attempt to be discreet about rearranging the awkward jut of his genitals.  

"Charming."

He ignored me.

"Put him down."  I was irritated at Lach for making me feel guilty about feeding our son.  "Has he always got to be hanging off your nipple?  Can't we ever have some time for ourselves?"  I felt even more guilty because he was right.  There were times I used Tristan almost as a way to keep Lach at arm's length.  I'm not really sure why I did it... especially when I knew deep down I wanted the same things Lach did.  At least I think I did.  I was just so tired of feeling guilty and worried.  Hell, I was just tired period.  How much longer were we expected to go on like this?  "This is not how it is supposed to be."  He was so frustrated. 

But so was I.

"So, I should just let him go hungry so you can stick it up me whenever you like?"  My temper flared.  So did Lach's.  

"Whenever I like?  No," he scoffed.  "But once in a blue fucking moon might be nice."  

He shoved up off the couch, grabbed his jacket and stormed out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to startle Tristan into biting my nipple with his new tooth. 

My eyes watered.  Tristan pulled off my nipple, screwed up his face and whimpered before burying his sweaty little face in my neck and sobbing.  He can be a little terror but he's also a sensitive little boy.  He was scared and upset.  I was too.  I held his warm little body close, put my face in my hands and burst into tears.    

TERRY

I strolled into the pub at 12.30 sharp but he wasn't about. Taking a seat by the window, I picked up a newspaper but wasn't really taking it in. My mind was running over the possibilities and none of them seemed very desirable. Didn't want Penny to know? Had to be either he was dropping out of Uni, in some money trouble, or just possibly he had come foul of the law in some way. Motoring offence? Written off the car I had bought him that his Mum had said was too fast anyway? My name would be Mudd. Not that it wasn't already.

I saw him before he saw me. Crossing the road, long and lanky, his jeans hanging off his arse as if they'd been designed for someone else, his long fair hair blowing about his face, a baggy sweat shirt hanging messily only accentuating his leanness. I rubbed my gut thoughtfully. When do you change from that to this?

Henry wasn't all I saw. I also clocked the young woman holding his hand. And my heart sank a further few notches. Jesus Christ! What was coming next? I could hardly imagine that this was a simple matter of 'Meet my new girlfriend, Dad.'

They entered the pub. I observed how they exchanged a glance before they stepped in, and how she squeezed his hand. He stood back to let her go first and then guided her in with a hand on her back. It seemed a very mature thing for my boy to do. It also seemed a very significant gesture. I know what that suggests about a relationship.

Henry shook my hand, I clapped him on the back then he turned to his companion. "Dad....Imogen...this is my Dad...Terry..."Henry introduced us nervously, jigging about, his hands in his back pockets. I stood up and shook her hand. She was tiny. Looked about twelve to me. Pale, blonde and ethereal, tiny little body clad in faded denims and a pink washed out T-shirt, her hair stuck up in some clips and falling out at messy angles. No make up. No adornment except a leather thong around her neck and some badge promoting an ecological charity. She carried a cloth bag covered in other politically aware badges. A little activist in the making, methinks.

"Pleased to meet you, love," I shook her tiny cold hand. She didn't seem much bigger than Maia. She also didn't seem to be bothered about saying she was pleased to see me.

We sat down. "Drinks?"

She asked for a mineral water, Henry for a pint of lager. I went over and got the order in and a lunch menu. "Here ya go...what do you fancy for lunch? Or we could go to the Italian round the corner..."

"No...this is fine, Dad. We didn't really come here just for a chat..."

I gave him a shrewd look. "I didn't really think you did. So...how's Uni? Imogen...are you there as well?"

"Yes."

"Reading?"

"Social and Political Sciences."

It figured. 

"So where you from Imogen...?"

"Yorkshire." You would not have guessed from her extremely plumy accent. "Not that I go home. I don't approve of my father's politics..."

Minefield, Terry...do not go there.

"Right...so...Henry...let's choose something for lunch, shall we?" I needed to loosen her up. And get Henry talking. 

Whilst we waited for our selections, I lit up and sat back.

"Do you mind putting that out? I hate smoking," Imogen announced. 

I cleared my throat but extinguished the cigarette and took a long swig from my pint. Frosty Miss Imogen was beginning to get on my tits.

"So you and...Imogen...you known each other long?"

Henry hunched his shoulders.

"Was that an answer, Henry?" I prodded.

Imogen broke in. "Long enough, Mr. Thorne."

"Long enough for what, love?" I gave her a very probing look and she blinked and looked away. Baby, you are out of your depth if you are going to try and scare me.

There was another silence. Henry stood up to get another round in although Imogen had barely touched hers. I threw him a twenty quid note. He's always skint, although what the fuck he spends it on, God only knows. Not clothes, food or hair products that's for sure.

"You're Australian, aren't you?" Imogen asked when we were alone.

"Yeah," I answered without much attempt at charm.

"I am very concerned about Aboriginal rights. Do you have any idea of the crimes you have done to the native Australians?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Me personally?" I replied.

She tutted. "One must accept a communal responsibility for crimes against mankind..."

I gritted my teeth. "So when you gonna pay for the British Empire, sweetheart?"

She blushed and took a drink of her water. Henry returned and our food arrived. It gave us something to do. I ate. Henry ate. Imogen played with a salad and then excused herself. "I think I'm going to throw up. I hate to see people eating meat..."

I threw my fork down while she ran off for the ladies. "Where the fuck did you pick her up? The bloody thought police. How old is she? How come she knows the meaning of life already? Henry...run a fucking mile before she nails you and has you in hand knitted sweaters baking bread in some commune in the Scottish Isles..."

"Dad, please....don't be like that. She just has strong ideals. She's a really gutsy girl. Been on demos and everything. Been arrested, had a suspended sentence..."

I exhaled and got back to eating my meat. "Great. Henry, you wanna get laid, fine. But you don't have to take all that baggage on board as well. You're not a vegan. You bloody smoke, I know you do. Be a man. You've got your own fucking principles - you don't have to subscribe to hers..."

Henry swallowed hard and began to play with a table mat. "Well, I think she's right."

"Since when?"

"Since...since...Dad...I'm in love with Imogen...it's changed everything..."

Now we were coming to the crux of the matter. 

"Changed everything?"

He looked down at his empty plate and ran his hands through his unruly hair. "Imogen and I have decided to leave Cambridge. What's the point? We think that degree courses are merely the intellectual indoctrination of the minds of young people into the rigid and hierarchical power structure of the state. It is better for us to educate ourselves with minds free of brainwashing..."

"WHAT? What the fuck you talking about? You're reading Aeronautical Engineering not Marxist theory...and how the fuck you think you're going to get into the RAF with nothing but a life experience in living in squats and marching on anti war demos...?"

"That's just it, Dad..."

"...He isn't going to join the RAF." Imogen was back, paler than ever.

"Isn't going to join the RAF? It's been your ambition since you were five. You meet this girl and five minutes later you throw away everything you've ever worked for? What's the matter with you? Sex addled your brains?" I was near to losing my famous cool here in the face of this crock of shit.

"Actually it wasn't his ambition. It was yours..."

"Mine? I was a soldier..."

"Oh I know what you were, Mr. Thorne, and I know what you are now. A bully boy for international superpowers. Let me tell you this. You were an absent father who never showed your son much affection. All his life he has striven to win your approval. This decision to subjugate his own desires in life to become what he perceived you would find acceptable was just an abandoned boy's mechanism to try and win his father's love. It is a common facet of child development in dysfunctional relationships..."

"Oh yeah? Henry, you shut her up before I do...with the greatest respect, Imogen, you know fuck all about my life or that of my son here. I'm not quite sure what he has told you but you are way off..." I was not only annoyed by prissy Miss and her holier-than-thou lecture but that Henry had talked about me in a way that had led her to believe that I was some kind of cold hearted bastard of a father. I had my faults - but is that how he had always perceived me?

"Way off? I don't think so. You were a senior SAS officer involved in all sorts of covert operations in Northern Ireland and the Middle East. The dirty tricks business, I believe they call it. Now you are involved in mercenary work for the highest bidder..."

"...I'm in K and R...I rescue kidnapped people held illegally..."

"...I didn't see you parachuting into Guatanamo Bay..."

This was becoming a war of words. If she didn't shut up soon, I was going to take a few pieces of her.

"...kidnap and other related terrorist activities are the only things now left to many disenfranchised and disenchanted groups. You reap what you sew. If you will not allow people the right to their own self rule and freedom then they must take it in the only way they can..."

I stood up. "I've heard enough. I'm not sure what you two came here for today but I am not about to sit here and be lectured to by a little smart arse like you with about as much knowledge of the world out there as my baby daughter. So you're leaving the university? Fine...see how you manage without my support. I'm not funding you to lie around and find yourself. The monthly cheques stop now. Go get a job or live of the fucking state that you hate so much...." I moved as if to storm off; Henry put out a hand to stop me.

"Dad, please, that isn't why we came. Please sit down. And Imogen, shut up. We need Dad's help. Stop making him out to be the villain of the piece. We chose him because he's the only one of them even likely to understand - and you are doing nothing but putting his back up!" He turned back to me. I slumped back down again and waved my hand in a cursory gesture, an annoyed sign that I was prepared to listen further. Imogen pouted but shut up and let him speak.

"It's like this, Dad... I can't find an easier way to tell you. Imogen's pregnant. We need your help, Dad. We can't manage this alone..."

"Pregnant?" I repeated, looking from one to the other. I knew they must be sexually active but - pregnant? They looked like two babies themselves. "Jesus Christ!" I ran my hands down my face. I hadn't expected this one. "Pregnant? You never heard of contraceptives? Or has Miss Know-All here got some pie-eyed theory on that too?"

Henry's chin shot up at my comment. "None of your damned business. You didn't seem so hot at birth control when you and Mum got started. Don't blame me for making the same mistake you did..."

"So you're a mistake, are you? That how we make you feel? Can I point out that when you came on the scene, I was a grown man, with a good career - and I married your mother. I may not win any Father of the Year Awards but I did right by you all. I didn't have to go crawling to my Dad for help either..."

"Mum was only my age. And granddad made you marry her. Your career would have been on the line if you hadn't. So don't try that one on, Dad. You didn't want to be married. You never loved Mum. You broke her heart..."

I stared him out stonily at that. My only response was to take out another cigarette and light it. "Fresh air's outside the door, love, if you don't like this..."

"Look, Dad," Henry went on. "...I didn't mean to slag you off or anything..."

"You're wrong about your Mum and me. I don't know what she's told you over the years but that wasn't how it happened. But if you choose to think it was, not much I can do about it now. I missed the boat. She raised you. I have to accept that. Let's get this over with. What do you want from me?"

The fire seemed to have gone out of me. You can take a lot of crap in life, but your own kid can bring you down with one sentence. I just wanted to get out of there and go bury myself in work.

"We...we know this is too soon to be parents. Imogen wants an abortion. I agree. It wouldn't fit in with our current lifestyle. We want to travel, see the world, make a difference...you can't do that with a baby round your necks..." Henry spoke softly, as if he was almost talking himself into it. He looked at Imogen and she gave him a watery smile back. The girl was on the edge of tears. No wonder she had been so irritable. They were both completely lost and afraid.

"You want me to fund an abortion. Is that why you came to me?" I asked, somewhat bluntly.

Henry nodded. "But we chose you because we thought you'd understand. I can't tell Mum. You know she'll have a nervous breakdown probably. And Imogen's parents will just kill us both..."

I laughed wryly. "So I have my uses? I'm the parent who you think doesn't give a damn, so you come to me?"

Henry reached a hand out and rested it on my arm. "No, Dad. I don't mean it like that. You're the one who always understands 'cos you've been there. They just live in some upper middle class cocoon. All they care about is what the neighbours will think, or the golf club crowd. It's all about keeping up appearances and following the sheep. You see life as it is. Please, Dad...I'm begging you here. Don't just walk out on us..."

I took a while before I replied. I wanted to make them squirm. They needed to squirm. I needed to think.

"There's no question of me walking away from this. But you've given me a card here and I'm gonna play it. I know how to negotiate somewhat better than you two do. Yeah, I'll pay for the private clinic. But it'll cost you both. There'll be no more talk about dropping out of Uni. You get that degree and then you talk about what you do with your life. You got that, Henry? And as soon as I get out of here I'm calling your mother. Which I do not relish. But our relationship is bad on a good day and I am not allowing it to get any worse. Not to mention that she has a bloody right to know and it's a disgrace that you haven't told her. She raised you. How dare you leave her out on this important issue just because you haven't got the bloody guts to tell her? As for you, Imogen, you are on your own here. I cannot influence whether you stick with your course or not, nor do I intend to take it upon myself to inform your parents. But my personal recommendation would be that you do. Life is long and you will change as you mature. Lose your parents now and you may one day live to regret that. I know I did. And..." I raised a finger as Imogen opened her mouth to speak... "...I have one more thing to say. No woman gets rid of a baby without it marking her. And many men feel that sense of loss too. I may agree that it is the best course of action in the circumstances, but don't kid yourself it's as simple as pulling a tooth. I recommend you have a word with my partner. She might shed some light on what an abortion makes a woman feel... and remember this, Henry. Your mother and I did face this together. And we made a different decision, for better or worse. Tell me now I was wrong?"

The pair of them said nothing but just sat there with downcast eyes. They looked so pitifully young, like naughty children caught and given a chastising by an angry adult, knowing they were wrong. I let them stew a moment and then took out my cheque book. I wrote a substantial sum and handed it over. "A long time ago, a very long time ago, my Uncle Jim did this for me. You don't even know who my Uncle Jim is. But he was a good bloke and he did this for me when I had got a girl in trouble. As a result, I pursued my ambition in life, my girlfriend went on with hers and married someone else. Things could have been very different for me. You love each other. But life changes you. Live a little before you make decisions that will turn your whole life around. And go on the pill, love."

I stood up to leave. "I have to get back. Call me. Keep me in touch. Come and see your sister. Talk to Uma. And ring your Mum before I do?"

Henry threw his arms around me and I held him to me. We didn't say anything. I'm not sure either of us dared.  Imogen waited until we had broken apart and then she came up to me and kissed my cheek. "I'm sorry. I handled this very badly."

I chucked her chin. "I'll live. Just take care of yourself. And my son. And use that good brain of yours for more than close minded propaganda. Life isn't black and white, love. Take a good look at the grey...that's where it really lies... Come and visit. Anytime. I think you might like Uma. She...isn't quite what you might expect..."

I decided not to call Penny until the evening to give Henry a chance to get to her first. Late afternoon, Rachel gave me the ominous message. "Your ex-wife's on line one, Terry...you want coffee or the Scotch?"

"Terry...what is going on?"

"Hello, Penny. I take it Henry called?"

"He did. Why the hell didn't you warn me? So typical of you to sit on something like this and leave me out of the loop! Haven't I been the main carer all his damn life? Why the hell he goes to you and not me? That's blatantly obvious, though isn't it? You will simply write a cheque and probably have a laugh with him for his potency. He knows you won't look at the moral issue here or the long term effects or question who this girl is that seems to have so much influence over him! No, to you it's just Henry being a bit of a naughty boy. Have you even the least idea of what it takes to be a father? But then, your own private life shows me you aren't much more mature than your son. Streams of girlfriends all over the place and then you shack up with some woman and have a baby out of wedlock. Don't you think you ought to get married? What kind of example is that to your son..."

I accepted the large Scotch Rachel poured out for me and let her rant. Mate, you do not even try to negotiate with this woman. I just let her have her say, sipped Scotch and then thanked her politely for her advice. She slammed the phone down.

It was then I remembered I had never called Uma.