I was lying on my back staring up at the sky. It was blue, relentlessly, deeply, ludicrously blue, like the powder paint wash of a little child's daubings. The sky was so vast above me, sweeping like an everlasting arc as far as the limits of my vision. It really was the firmament, the heavens, the stratosphere from here in this land where there seems to be nothing much between earth and god.

Waxing lyrical a little, am I? Well, it's Sunday and we have a day of rest and for once we are on our own and the sun is shining when I know everyone is plunged into December misery back home....so excuse me if I have developed a poetic turn of phrase. I'm just happy. Lazing here with nothing to do, my bloke at my side and a whole summer stretching out inexorably before us.

I turned my head and saw him dozing beside me. Andy is exhausted, I know he is, and really he should have stayed at home today but he felt guilty that we never go anywhere. Plus, we wouldn't have got any privacy at home, would we? So he had driven me all the way out here on the Great Ocean Road, meandering for miles until we found a particularly lonely spot where we could throw down our blanket and get it on.

Then he fell asleep. Poor baby, I just didn't have the heart to wake him. So I let him rest and lay down by his side, thinking about the past few months and composing this letter to everyone in my head. I might as well do it now then while I have nothing else on my mind. By the way, Andy sends his love. Or would do if he was awake and compos mentis. Okay...let's make a start....from the top...

...We landed in Melbourne after a helluva flight. We should probably have made a stopover somewhere exotic on the way but once we made up our minds, Andy just wanted to get home and I wanted to be there with him.

I felt like I had been rolled over by a steam train when we finally touched terra firma again and I don't suppose either of us looked our best. Andy's hair was a picture - but then, you know his hair? And he was all stubbly and grumpy and sleepy, like a little boy with a few days' growth of beard. If there were such a thing.

The plan was to go find a hotel for a week or two while we sorted out the thorny problem of accommodation and Andy helped me in my application for a work permit. I entered as a tourist but obviously had to rectify that as soon as I could. If we could provide evidence that we were cohabiting then he could vouch for me and I would be granted residency fairly easily. It felt strange to be totally dependent on him for once - and not an unpleasant feeling either.

Scarcely had we wheeled our trolley out through departures, Andy riding on it like he always does, I saw his name on a card. 

"Hey, that says Andrew Compton..." I nudged him.

"What? Where? Fucking hell.....Martin?" He made a sudden bolt forward in the direction of the sign and I stumbled behind. It was indeed Martin and his dog standing there waiting for us.

"Andy? Good to see you..." Martin grasped his hand and shook it warmly. "We thought we would come pick you up..."

"Pick us up? Mate, you didn't drive the fucking car again, did ya?" Andy asked, giggling manically at the memory. Martin joined in and they both laughed as they embraced. I stood back staring at the dog who was eying me up suspiciously as though I was an interloper.

"I caught a cab. But I didn't want you arriving without some welcome. Not with your girlfriend in tow. What would she think of our manners? Uma, I believe? Very pleased to meet you..." Martin turned and greeting me. Honestly I would have sworn he could see the way he knew where I was. My face must have said it all because Andy laughed.

"It's scary when he does that, isn't it? He is blind. As a bat. But he sort of sees you with the rest of his senses..."

"Well, I hope smell isn't one of them, I haven't bathed in two days..." I muttered back at Andy as I stepped forward to shake Martin's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Martin..."

"...Your picture doesn't do you justice....lucky man, Andy..."Martin mumbled matter-of-factly.

"How does he know what I look like?" I mouthed.

"I sent him a few piccies..." Andy replied.

"But....but...." I began.

"He'll have got someone to describe them to him. Some woman."

"How do you know it was a woman?" 

The two of them were like a double act. Martin stepped up with the answer. "She down played your beauty. Said you were alright looking. A man would have probably said, "Crikey, how did Compton pick up a sheila like that?" Martin aped a strong Aussie accent. The two men snorted with laughter.

"You should see the dicks in England, mate...even you'd pick up there..." Andy retorted.

Martin smiled at Andy's exuberant, if somewhat thoughtless, reply. "I was wondering if you had anywhere to stay?" he began hesitantly.

"Stay? We were going to get a cheap hotel for a couple of weeks until we found a place of our own..." Andy replied.

Martin cleared his throat nervously. "Er...I was wondering if you might like to stay with me? I know it isn't much but it would save you some money and be a little more welcoming than an impersonal hotel room..."

I mentally screamed at Andy to turn down the offer. I'd seen Martin's place and it was miserable and old fashioned. We had just left the pub where we were never alone for two minutes and the thought of sharing with Martin and his dog did not exactly grab me. But it was a generous offer, kindly meant, and I sensed Martin was lonely and wanted the company too. Although we had a nice nest egg now to invest in a property and business, we were not intending to waste our limited resources and hotel rooms were a needless drain. I looked over at Andy and we exchanged a shrug.

"That's very generous of you, mate. We'd be really pleased. Just for a week or two until we get straight? That right, Uma?"

I nodded, realised that Martin couldn't see that and added. "Of course. Thank you so much, Martin. You don't have a cleaner any more, do you?"

Martin frowned. "There is a lady who comes in a few times a week...oh! You mean Celia?" Andy blushed, coughed and looked down at his feet. "No, not Celia. Seen the last of that old bag. You needn't worry though, dear. I doubt she'd give you any competition..." Martin added with chivalry.

"I was more worried for her than me," I mumbled. Andy chuckled. Martin repressed a smile.

"I think we are going to get on very well, Uma," he observed. "Now... a taxi, I think?"

"A supersize one, Martin. You haven't seen the luggage..." Andy just had to get that one in, didn't he?

So we moved into Martin's pretty dreary semi which seemed to have been stuck in a time warp of the 1970s. He had made no apparent changes but then as he can't see his surroundings the only things he requires are what he needs. An interesting notion, really, but as we can see, it was rather a depressing place to be. Yet, I was grateful to him for all that.

Although we now had a sizeable amount to invest, hotel bills would soon swallow up money needlessly and this offer of accommodation for the time being was a godsend. I swallowed my pride, realized that Andy could live anywhere and was even quite taken with the idea of spending some time with Martin again, and got on with it. I would have been happier without the damn dog, though, I have to admit. We took an instant dislike to each other and it remains mutual. He is smelly and dirty and moults everywhere. There is a stale smell of dog all around no matter how much I open windows and spray air-freshener.

He also fixes me with a baleful stare whenever we are in the same room. Andy says I am imagining it but I know I'm not. If Martin and Andy are not around, I kick him out into the back yard and make him stay there. Dog lovers of the world can hate me. I don't care. There is a limit to my tolerance. The dog gets me back, of course. He pissed on my basket of clean washing the other day. Andy and Martin thought it was funny. I didn't and sat there having fantasies about slipping cyanide into his dog bowl.

We have our own room but it is a bit off putting when you know that Martin's hearing is acute and he is probably able to hear every sigh and moan. Andy thinks I'm making something out of nothing, but after the past year trying to keep our lovemaking off the front page of 'Topics to discuss while you are having a pint at the pub', I was really rather tired of having to bite his shoulder and master the art of the silent orgasm. Then there was the sharing of a bathroom - it was always occupied when I wanted to go. I felt the tiny frustrations of life building up as all I had hoped this time to be came tumbling down around my ears.

Most annoyingly, Andy did not appear to be bothered by the things that riled me the most. He just made out that I was being a prima donna or he babied me like I was a little girl having a tantrum. I could see that we were on the verge of me losing my temper big style. And he had his own worries too. That was probably the only thing that was holding me back really. I could see he was distracted and on edge and knew that the last thing he needed was me letting rip at him for things that were not actually his fault anyway. I suppose that it what being a couple is about when you come down to it. You stop letting the ego have its way, don't always feel the need to be right and have your wants to the fore. Compromise - even giving in to someone else - doesn't feel like you lost some battle of the sexes these days.

One advantage of the fact that Martin's place had its limitations as a residence was that we didn't hang about looking for premises to buy. It only took us a few weeks to scout out a spot, in the back streets but within walking distance of the  waterfront and in an area that had once been industrial and commercial but was becoming rather the in place, full of bars, night clubs, swish spas and celebrity gyms. But it still had it raw edge and enough down-at-heel workshops and old peeling buildings still to give it some individuality and keep the prices down.

We bought a three storey corner lot which gave us rights to some waste ground at the side; there was also a decent sized yard. The plan was to open just on the ground floor at first with an open air dining area as well; it would be easy enough to create an intimate area with a few trellises and lots of greenery and with the summer coming in would be cheaper than renovating the first floor until we had made some profit. The upper storey we decided to convert into a loft apartment for ourselves. It was actually a really huge attic area and had a view of the river - Andy wanted to make a patio up there in the roof for us to catch some sun and soak up the view; something nice and secluded where we could sunbathe naked. After hours in a kitchen, he would need to get some Vitamin E and that was a rather pleasant way of doing it.

We got an architect onto the restaurant design, brought in a firm of contractors to do the downstairs and the kitchens to Health and Safety regulations, but decided to keep it cheap and renovate our own apartment ourselves. It gave us something to do while we were waiting to get to work on the business too - and it got us out of Martin's for most of the day.

But it was damn hard work. The upper floor had been used for nothing for years but as a dumping ground for the business below and just clearing out the crap and ripping up the old fixtures and fittings was really grueling labour. I have forgotten what nails are other than the kind that you use to hammer into floorboards. When we had stripped the place clean then we spent days using some foul stuff called NitroMor to clean up the floorboards and strip down the years of paint on the walls and ceilings. You can imagine what it did to my hands. Jack Aubrey would think I had been manning the sails for years with that amount of callousing and flaky chapped skin.

We lived in a permanent state of exhaustion and aching limbs. I worked hard enough but Andy worked ten times harder and kept letting me have breaks while he soldiered on. At night he would just collapse asleep, once or twice unwashed, flat out on the bed in his jeans, his hair still sprinkled with plaster. I did not have the heart to wake him up. We plastered and painted, scraped and stained; I learnt to replace windows and knock walls in, lay bricks, cover surfaces in something called screed, lay tiles, fit cupboards....I hadn't realized just how competent Andy was at things. The only time he needed to bring professionals in was to install the bathroom and kitchen plumbing, connect up gas and rewire. But everything else he knew how to do and I ran along behind him like his little gopher. I was just so proud of him -but worried too. He had lost so much weight that he was beginning to look emaciated and, although he was always lean, Andy was never thin. I thought he might make himself ill - and we still had the whole problem of the actual setting up of the restaurant, staffing it, devising menus, advertising it....the list was endless...

Which was why this Sunday, on the one day I insisted we took a break, we had dragged ourselves out to the beach and were lying asleep in the sun just soaking up the rays. I watched him and brushed a lock of unruly hair from his eyes; he needs to get it cut. There's never any time.

His eyes opened. "What you looking at?"

I smiled. "This handsome guy I fancy..."

"Yeah, well I bet he still farts...." He giggled and I lay back while he rolled over and kissed me. We played around for a while and then he stopped, slumping back himself and staring at the sky. I got the distinct notion he was on the brink of telling me something but was holding back. I wondered what was on his mind. From time to time I have had that feeling recently.

Andy is absolutely useless at hiding things, even worse at lying. You can see it written across his face and this was one of those moments.

"Everything all right, Andy? You and me, you know?"

He gave me a crossed-eyed look to make me giggle and rolled over on top of me. "Everything is hunky dory. I'm just tired. Take no notice of me. Hey, you want to be naughty?" As much as I wanted to believe him, I knew he was evading the issue but I thought I had better go along with it for now.

"Here? It's a bit public..."

He looked about. We were in an exposed position but apart from a few sea birds, there wasn't a soul for miles. "You expecting a bus load of Japanese tourists?" he chuckled.

"You never know!" I argued.

He scrambled up and grabbed my hand. "Okay...let's go down there. No one will see us there...." He led me down the precarious path to the beach far below and in the shadow of an overhanging cliff, we lay on the fine white sand and made a wild elemental sort of love, the cries of the gulls and the crash of wave on rock as the soundtrack, a warm sun on our backs and the sensation that we were the only man and woman in the world. That's the thing about Australia which is so hard to explain when you are back in crowded Europe. A few miles out of a city and you are in wilderness. The land is so vast and the population is so small. How can that not change your outlook?

Back at the house early evening, I was flaked out on the settee watching TV with Martin. We have bought the TV and Martin has a new hobby. I have to watch it and describe the visuals while he listens. It drives me nuts. I do not have Andy's patience. The show was one of those lame Aussie soaps and hardly worth listening to never mind discussing the visual spectacle that it quite clearly wasn't.

At that moment, Andy came charging down the stairs, showered and brushed up, slinging a light jacket on and shouting. "I'll be back later..."

"What? Where are you going....?" I got up and ran to the door but he was already in the car, shouted something I couldn't hear and drove off. I knew he was trying to get away before I asked any embarrassing questions. I took a sigh and tried to fight off that strange notion that there was some obstacle growing between us. What if he had met someone else, someone younger than me, maybe an old girlfriend? It can happen. Surely not? Things had been so perfect this afternoon. I tightened my muscles and still felt the ache of his presence and the sticky evidence of his lovemaking. Andy could not be deceiving me. I would know.

Back inside, I slumped on the couch. Martin did that party trick of his, pouring out a cup of tea, adding milk first, all proper English style, and never spilling a bit. "I don't need a cup of tea." I snapped.

"Nevertheless you can still drink one," he answered tartly. For all his sarcasm, I could detect a little hint of sympathy in his caustic personality. It annoyed me.

"Do you know where he has gone?"

Martin did not answer.

"I asked you a question. You do, don't you? I bet you talk a lot in those little walks with the dog in the park..."

"Well, surely you never imagined we walked in silence?"

I grunted in annoyance. "Tell me what you know!"

"And break a confidence?"

Now I was really pissed. "Confidence? Andy talks to you about me behind my back and you try to make it all sound noble?"

Martin took a sip of tea. "I didn't say we spoke about you. Not directly. He would never do that. If you are ever mentioned, it is not in any way that would offend you."

I felt ticked off. Martin has that way of making me feel like a child even though he isn't that much older than me himself. But he is a sort of old soul. I can't imagine him ever being young.

"Martin, cut the crap. Where has Andy gone and why can't you both tell me?"

"It isn't another woman. Well, not in the way you think..."

"So it is another woman!"

He sighed and put down his cup. "You are a very annoying woman. Sometimes you sound like Celia..."

"You won't scare me off like that, mate. So Andy likes women with sharp tongues. I might sound like her but I damn well don't look like her..."

"...He's gone to see his parents. He asked my opinion. I told him that he should take you. He disagreed. That's where he is and I think the subterfuge is playing on his mind. That is why I am telling you but I want you understand that his reluctance to introduce you is not in any way indicative of his being ashamed of you. Very much the opposite."

His revelation has stopped me in my tracks. His parents? I knew he had them - a brother and sister too - but by his own admission they hadn't been close for years and he rarely looked them up. Or so he had said. Not ashamed of me? Then why else keep me hidden like a dirty secret?

"No? Well, then please tell me why I am not fit to be introduced..? No, don't bother. I'll save you the dithering about. He doesn't want them to know he's living with a woman eight years older than himself. His parents will not approve. That it?"

"You are eight years older than Andy?" Martin seemed surprised. "I would never have thought it. You sound so young..."

I scoffed. "Can't help it if I'm immature as well as old, can I?"

"That is not what I meant."

I just folded my arms and turned up the TV. For a while we sat in silence and then he said: "It makes more sense now. He just told me that he would not ever let them make you feel bad. From what I hear they are very judgmental people. They do not have a very high opinion of their son. He is inured to that but doesn't want you to be subjected to their social disapproval. I couldn't really understand why he should think they would disapprove of you. I take it the age factor must be the issue that worries him."

I groaned. "I knew it would come up again! Maybe I was fooling myself that we could get past it. For a long time I kept him at arms' length for that very reason. Even after we got together, I struggled with the notion that we could ever be a committed partnership. But we're so happy together, Martin. I just dared to dream it could really work out..."

"And why shouldn't it? You don't sound older to me. Apparently you don't look older from what I have learnt. So what in effect does the actual age matter? It is just a fact about you. Like the colour of your hair or the size of your shoe or what day you were born on."

"Not to other people. Or to Andy, apparently, if even his own parents are an obstacle in his mind..."

"They are not an obstacle. He goes to see them from time to time out of obligation. Today is his mother's birthday. He couldn't really stay away. Each time he visits he returns even more beaten down by them. They make him feel inferior. He is not a successful professional like his siblings. He has no social standing. He seems to be feckless and unfocussed even now in his late twenties..."

"But...he's bought a business...we are going to open a restaurant...that's a real development in his life...!"

"I doubt if he's told them. He doesn't care what they think about him. He told me if they respected him, they would accept him as he was. I don't think he wants to seek to curry favour with them by talking of his plans. They don't deserve it. I rather agree with him. Don't be angry with him. He's a fine young man but he has his pride."

"He needs my support in this," I reasoned.

"He always has your support. He told me that you had given him the sense of purpose that they had never managed. You always made him feel that he could do anything where they made him feel that anything he did would fail. So he stopped even trying. I wonder how many parents do that to their children? Destroy their self esteem even before it has begun to grow?" I wondered how much Martin was referring to himself when he said that as well as Andy.

"Do you know where they live?" I asked him softly.

"Yes. He gave me the address. I have it somewhere..." he rummaged around on the mantelpiece and found a card with some Braille inscribed on and read out the address. "It's in rather a good area of town..." he added. I could see that it was. One of the best.

I called a cab and took a ride, finding the place easily enough. I have to say I was taken aback by the area and when I reached their river front home, I was totally amazed. This was real money. A detached luxury home on the Yarra with your own berth was going to set you back a pretty big sum. I had known that Andy's parents were comfortably middle class but not that they were stinking rich. But then I had never asked him details like that. As far as I knew he was from a well educated professional family but had not finished sixth form himself, dropping out and soon leaving home, the black sheep and disappointment in a family of upwardly mobile high achievers.

Hadn't realized quite how high they had achieved though.

Along the road, I found a bus shelter and sat on the bench watching the house. Our car was parked in the drive behind a few much more prestigious models. I wondered how long I would have to stay there. Going up to the front door and knocking did occur to me but I tossed that notion away quickly enough. That was just the sort of crazy thing I would normally do if I wanted to make a stir and show his stuck up family who they were going to be dealing with in the future. But apparently I have learnt some caution - or is it more that I have learnt to put someone else's feelings above my own?

It was after eight when I saw the front door open and Andy step onto the path, backing out as he talked to someone, his hands thrust in his jeans' pockets. The door closed and he loped away, deep in thought, toeing a loose stone on the path as he made his way back to the car. I walked forward and called his name. He spun round and visibly paled.

"Bloody Martin can't keep his mouth shut?" He recovered quickly and looked angry, stomping over to the car and unlocking the door as I trotted over. For a moment I thought he might drive away but he didn't, just sitting in the car banging the wheel in frustration and waiting for me to slip in next to him.

"I'm sorry, Andy, but I think we need to talk. Why didn't you tell me you were going to see your Mum and Dad? I would have understood. I know it's a bit much to drop me on anyone without a bit of preparation..."

"That is not the point. I am not ashamed of you. How could you even think that?" he muttered.

I shrugged. "So what's the problem then?"

"They are." He started the engine and drove away rather recklessly, taking his temper out on the road. I put a hand on his arm to steady him.

"Has today been okay? It was your Mum's birthday...?"

"Yeah. It was okay. She was pleased I called round. I took her some flowers and a box of chocolates. At least I remembered this year..." his voice tailed off and I saw him wince slightly. I doubt if it had been quite as pleasant as he was implying.

I sat back and let him drive for a while. "Tell me about them, Andy..."

"I already told you." He had told me something of them in the past but this time I coaxed more from him. We stopped at a pub, bought a beer and he filled a lot of details in. Andy was he was the youngest of three children. His dad was a very successful businessman who owned a few factories around the state and his Mum was a primary school teacher. The family had had high aspirations for him and, like his elder siblings, he had been sent to Geelong Grammar, a prestigious school (where Prince Charles had once studied, no less) but he had signally failed at most things. He hadn't been expelled but it had been a mutual decision that the young Andrew was not ideally suited for the competitive and academic regime, so he was withdrawn, aged fourteen, and from then on attended a decent enough place closer to home.

Even then he had been an embarrassment, especially when he made little progress there and was often found truanting and in and out of minor trouble. With his brother and sister at university, all he ever heard was how he was letting the family down, that he was feckless and lazy and selfish and had no backbone. Andy said that if you say something often enough then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy and naturally he became all those things.

At seventeen, he had announced he was leaving school without sitting the VCE and left home under a cloud. Things had gone from bad to worse and it ended up with him rarely going home and when he did he was generally given nothing but lectures and scathing comments, his mother crying and his father belligerent. Everything seemed to revolve around how they felt, what this looked like to their friends, that they were the laughing stock of the golf club - he wondered why no one ever seemed to care what he was going through.

Jamie, his brother, was now a barrister and married to another high-flying lawyer. He was okay, Andy said, but did tend to treat his younger brother as if he were mentally challenged and wondered if that was what his mother had eventually decided to tell everyone when he had failed at everything they had asked him to do. It might explain a lot. Pretty worrying when your parents prefer to think you have learning difficulties than that you might just not fit into their master plan for the ideal family, he remarked.

Helen, his sister, was a vet and her husband, Craig was an environmentalist. They were heavily into every cause going and as Helen was by nature extremely bossy, she just never got off his back about smoking and other things. Andy reckoned she acted like he alone was responsible for the pollution of the environment or so she seemed to make him feel anyway. All in all he found them a complete ordeal to face and this is where his reluctance to introduce me stemmed. He was used to them hectoring him and making him feel like a waste of space but there was no way he was allowing them to treat me like that.

"Have you told them about the restaurant? About your experience and qualifications? Andy, they have to see how you've now turned your life around!"

He hunched his shoulders. "I didn't say anything. Just that I was bunked up with a mate and looking for work. Told them I'd been a barman in an English pub for a while. Why should I tell them? They never gave a damn before about what I wanted to do. Anyway, if I did either my Dad would just tell me I was daydreaming again or he'd try and take over and show me how to do it properly."

"So they haven't a clue? Is that really fair? Aren't you just punishing them for the past? And Andy, I bet you were a bloody handful. So don't forget the bit about how much you put them through too..."

He laughed and raised his beer. I wasn't buying totally into this 'poor Andy and his horrible family' bit. He had been lazy and selfish and would probably have taxed the patience of most parents. Andy was just one of life's late bloomers who floated along for years until they finally clued into life and responsibility. I can imagine that scenario from a parent's point of view and it must be hard to take.

"I don't know. You're probably right. I was a pretty hopeless case. But...we just don't get on now. It's too late."

"Nonsense. It isn't too late. Okay, maybe you are never going to be the favourite son but at least you can show them that you did have skills and talents and backbone after all. Call them up. Tell them you have a girlfriend and you want them to meet her. Ask them to dinner mid week..."

"No!"

"Andy..." I gave him my look. He knows that look. It is pointless trying to argue with it. I always get my way when I'm in that mood.

"We cannot cook for them at Martin's!"

"I didn't mean Martin's. We go out to dinner. Sit round a table and talk. I promise I will be as good as gold and impress them. Andy...we are going to do this. You cannot keep me a secret forever..."

He groaned and put his face in his hands. I knew he was persuaded. Making a call on his cell, I listened as he began.

"Look, Mum...I forgot to tell you something. I'm living with a girl and it's serious. I'd like you to meet her. Can we go out to dinner sometime this week? All the family. My treat for your birthday...and then you can meet....Uma...She's a Pom...I met her in England..."

We had arranged Wednesday night and chosen a little French bistro near where they lived. It was not too upscale but sufficiently classy to show that we knew what a decent place ought to be like. I dressed carefully, simple black cocktail dress, hair worn up and minimal makeup. But the dress had a slightly exaggerated plunge and my shoes were rather more provocative than absolute taste would allow. I wanted elegant, alluring and killer. A vet? She would probably smell of cat pee. And some hot shot lawyer? She would no doubt be grim and power dressed. A mother who taught primary school and was the doyen of the bridge set? Twin set and pearls no doubt.  That still left me three men and they would be putty...

Andy didn't say much. He was too busy fiddling nervously with his tie and worrying about everything. He gave me a quick once over but he doesn't get the hidden language of couture. All he looks for is a short skirt and a clinging low top. He said I looked demure. I took that it was not meant as a compliment in his book.

We arrived on time but the waiting committee was already there and we had to do the perp walk as they all eyed us up. In some ways that worked in my favour as it did allow us to make an entrance. I doubt his parents had seen Andy in a suit for a very long time either.

"Hi everyone. This is...Uma....my....partner..." Andy finally got the whole sentence out. We shook hands formally and I smiled benignly. Everyone sat down and we ordered. There was some polite conversation about the recent good weather and Christmas plans. His sister, Helen, bored us all rigid with some crap about the modern obsession with shopping and our slavishness to the retail gods, not to mention the obscene profits made from the gullible public. Andy snorted into his glass of wine; I kicked his leg. We shared a glance. Somehow her comment kick-started us both.

"And what is your field, dear?" Mrs. Compton asked.

I smiled over at her. "I am a historian by training but latterly was a business woman. When Andy said partner, that is precisely what he meant..."

"Oh...so you're not a couple...?" Mr. Compton replied and moved his chair a little closer. The dirty bugger...wonder if he plays away from home?

"Oh no, you misunderstand. Partners in both senses of the word, I mean. Andy and I have been lovers for almost a year now. We are very..." I turned and stroked his cheek sensuously. "...close...," cooing throatily. Mrs. Compton looked a little shocked. Helen gave me a pained look which clearly said. 'You little tart...' She didn't notice her husband shifting in his seat; I gave him a little wiggle of my nose. Andy's Dad beamed and gave Andy one of those 'There's my boy!' winks. Jamie leaned over to Andy and whispered: "How the bloody hell you pull her, ya bastard?" To which Andy told me later he replied: "I always had the bigger dick..." Jamie's wife pulled him back and I saw her muttering to him under her breath. So I had won the gentlemen over, had I? The ladies might take some more time.

But by the time Andy had explained his new business venture and gone over the details of how far we had proceeded since our return then there was really a different atmosphere all round. His Mum and Dad were stunned at his news but obviously pleased. They promised to come around later in the week and take a look at where we were up to with the building work. The siblings looked impressed and assured us they would spread the word when we were ready to open. Andy acted cool and professional; I gazed up at him in adoration and batted my eyelashes a lot. He told me later it scared him. He kept thinking I was going to do or say something outrageous.

"I wouldn't do that to you! Tonight was about them meeting me and learning to have some respect for you. You think I would undermine that just to win a few points off your family? I'll make my impression over the time to come. But it will be done with a bit of style. For now, they have accepted you have a girlfriend and she isn't a total dog. The next thing will be the age issue. Not sure if they picked up on that tonight..."

"How could they? You looked so gorgeous....Helen was jealous of you. You could see it in her eyes...." 

"Andy Compton, do I detect a bit of bitchin' going on there? Tut, tut, tut. Well, we got our invitation for Christmas Day - and I am so glad that you invited Martin along with us! He should not be alone on then. And he's kind of family now, isn't he? But can we leave the dog...give him a bone and he'll be happy enough...."

So everyone, that's the state of things so far. We're busy, happy, overworked and excited about the future. Andy sends his greetings - well, I just kicked him and he muttered something, but the cricket's on....I am sure he meant to say that. We're going to miss you all this Christmas. Make sure you do not behave yourself. The Come On Inn has standards...

And who is Cullen Murphy? He sent me a Christmas card....he's cute, whoever he is....is that really a bottle of Wild Turkey stuck down his jeans?