4 comments/ 10715 views/ 6 favorites In Dreams Ch. 01 By: Denham_Forrest In Dreams By Denham Forrest (The Wanderer) My thanks go to the folks who have assisted me in preparing this story for posting. A few clarifications that might assist the uninitiated and/or those from foreign parts. Emmet: A Cornish (and West country) term for holidaymakers or seasonal visitors. Punter: A person who is (unwittingly) gambling on the services he/she has paid for being successfully provided. In this particular example, paying to be taken out on a boat to see some basking sharks and/or dolphins, doesn't necessarily guarantee that the "punter" will see anything but the bottom of a sick bucket. Stroppy: bad tempered and/or argumentative. Bill/Ol'-Bill; Police In Dreams, Chapter 01 The human brain is a strange and wonderful thing; buried inside it somewhere is our consciousness... our mind, or even our soul, if you like to call it that. Every second of each day our brain monitors the most complex machine known to man and keeps it all running tickety-boo; heart rate, breathing, temperature and many other bodily functions are all monitored and maintained at the optimum. Along with the former, the brain stores our memories... if sometimes not as fully or accurately as we'd like. Now memories are even stranger because although we believe that we remember everything about our lives; in fact we can recall very little in detail. Some parts of our life, which I suppose our brains have decided are poignant we find we can remember in great detail, but regretfully these recollections are often but very short episodes... recordings, if you like; usually only of the highlights of the more significant occasions. Still more of our memories are but mere snapshots that our brain (in it's wisdom) somehow reassembles into what we believe are proper memories. I'm only explaining this to you now, so that you might understand, that the following are my memories; my recollections of the significant events of those few months, what actually happened between the described... poignant events, I really can't recall now. My story starts on a sunny afternoon in mid July, 2010. It had been a good day for me really. I'd taken a group of ten people out on the boat and we'd found three Basking Sharks, one of them a real big bugger. That's what the punters were paying for to see; the sharks up close and personal. I'd earned my money that day and back at the landing stage the party had climbed off "Quiet Times" (my boat), a group of happy Emmets (Summer visitors, holidaymakers and the like from up-country and/or foreign parts. Emmits all, to us local country bumpkins). As usual after I'd disembarked the party at the charter boys' landing stage, and having topped up the fuel tank, I moved Quiet Times over by the quay wall. There I could refill her water tank, generally tidy everything away and swab the decks down a bit, before I took her back up river to my mooring. I was almost finished making her all ship shape and Bristol fashion, and had stopped for a moment to stare at the water; checking the state of the tide, when. "Excuse me, but are you Mr Carson?" A rather young sounding female voice, somewhat tentatively, asked from somewhere high above me on the quay. "That I be Miss!" I replied in my best Cornish nautical, and I'll add without lifting my gaze from the waters surface. By the way, I'm not Cornish by a long chalk; but I've been living down here for a good few year and had been pretty well accepted as one by the locals. And of course the punters sort-of expect that I should be; consequently one has to play the part as best one can. "Are you Mr Taylor Carson?" The voice asked. Now that caught my attention! No one addressed me as Taylor anymore. I'd been plain old Carson to everyone around those parts (including the Emmets) ever since I'd settled in that neck of the woods! Except that some of the punters would call me Captain Carson or even skipper... on occasion. I looked up to see whom I was addressing and the sight before me took my breath away. Gazing back down at me was an extremely familiar looking -- rather shapely and very attractive -- young woman. But no, she wasn't a young woman, she couldn't be; your the mind can play some devious tricks on you sometimes. Oh, she was familiar all right; too bloody familiar looking by a long chalk. And she even had the look about her or of a young woman. But from the sound of her voice – and maybe more so my unconscious mind speedily fumbling through a few complicated calculations which had their roots in long discarded memories -- I figured that it was far more likely that she was a mere child. My high speed mental gymnastics led me to the conclusion that she could be no more than thirteen years old... roughly; mental maths ain't ever been a strong point of mine. Unless I'm calculating dart scores that is; which is a subtraction exercise anyway. Whatever, I had to admit to myself that the younger was certainly well developed for her age, and could easily have passed for being somewhat older. It should be obvious to you though, that my estimate of her age, was influenced by the fact that -- on that first glance -- I'd very much suspected... Well I was positive when it comes down to it, that I knew exactly whose offspring my unexpected visitor was. But I had no clue as to what her name was or as to what possible reason she could have had for being on the quay that day. I also had no intention of letting-on to the youngster that I did recognise her. That's called... well self-preservation, I think? "You have me at a disadvantage Miss?" I said prompting her to introduce herself. But she'd obviously decided to play her cards close to her chest. Suspiciously close to her chest from my point of view. Hey, I'll add, that by the look of it, that was going to be one impressive chest one day, once it had developed to it's full potential. Yeah well, the youngster was definitely taking after her mother; that was something I was definitely sure about. The one thing I suspected was going to lead naturally to the other, as nature dictates. "Tara," she replied, "May I come aboard your boat please Mr Carson, there's something I need to discus with you." The name Tara immediately brought final confirmation to my suspicion of whose offspring this particular young lady had to be; not that I'd needed any. The young woman I'd immediately pictured in my memory was a little more than... fixated on the film "Gone With The Wind". I'd been obliged to sit through all 238 minutes on it's on... too many occasions for my personal taste. But for the life of me, I still could not figure-out the why or wherefore, of what Tara was doing in my neck of the woods. Or of rather more concern was, why she would feel the need to search me out. But, being the gentleman that I am, (A description of myself not wholeheartedly shared by the rest of the world, I'll admit!) I could do no less than acquiesce to her request. "Be my guest young lady! But be careful on that old metal ladder; it tends to get a little slippery at low tide. Although I do still have some chores to finish here, so if you don't mind I'll be working while we talk. And then I've got to get Quiet Times to her moorings, before the tide turns. So if you stay aboard for too long, then you'll probably find yourself shanghaied into a trip up river." "That's fine with me, I can help you clean-up if you wish. I'm in no hurry to do anything but talk to you this evening." Tara replied, then holding her arm out, she called out "Catch!" as she dropped the jacket she'd been holding down to me, swung herself onto the ladder and shimmied down onto the deck beside me. Then she turned to face me again, and smiled, picked up the deck brush -- that I'd been forced to drop, to facilitate the catching her jacket -- and the bucket, before asking. "Where do I start?" . Probably with a bewildered expression on my face, I gestured towards the foredeck out in front of the wheelhouse. Tara smiled back at me yet again, then I watched as she carefully negotiated her way around the side of the deckhouse and out onto said foredeck. "Water?" she asked, then added. "Oh, that's a silly question isn't it?" When after I'd looked back at her and then glanced over the side at the harbour waters all around us. I've got to admit, whilst she lowered the bucket into the harbour to fill it, I did take a long look at the way her... well, her pert derriere filled those tight fitting jeans she was wearing. "God," I thought "The girl has wonderful figure even at her age; she is definitely going to grow into the image of her mother." I had to remind myself that whatever age Tara looked, my in-built radar was telling me that she was not yet fifteen years old. She had to be a lot less than half my years and that the wicked thoughts that were trying to wangle their way inside my perverted brain, were quite definitely illegal! But in my defence, I must say that they might not have been thought's; they quite possibly could have been memories. If you do not understand where I'm coming from here, I'm afraid there's nothing I can add that might make it any clearer at this time. I finished up topping-off the water tank from the hose that hung from the quayside, then ran the engine up and let it tick-over for a while to warm-up a little. "Are we going up the river now?" Tara asked as she re-entered the well deck, where I had been waiting for her. "Yeah, to my mooring, only about a mile or so. The tide is just about to turn shortly and it's easier to pick up the mooring during the slack... that's if I can time it exactly right. I'll bring you back in the Rib after; if you'd like to come along for the ride." I replied. "Please," she said, "it'll give us time to talk." Casting off the single line that attached Quiet Times to the quay, I reversed her away from it in preparation for the turn to run up river. The Boys on the regular charter boats (who were still undertaking their crafts evening ablutions) waved, but were uncharacteristically quiet as we passed them. Usually, if I still had a... female passenger aboard when I went up river after a charter... Well, we'd be greeted with a volley of wolf whistles and the like, and very often with a few – luckily completely unintelligible to the uninitiated -- suggestive or ribald remarks thrown in for good measure. But to my surprise, that day the guys just waved or respectfully touched their caps. The ebb tide was still slowly running, so I was sure that with luck on my side, we would arrive at the mooring on the slack. Thereby making picking it up far easier and safer to do single-handed. Once the tide started to flow, it moved very fast on that river and Quiet Times would have been a real bugger to hold steady while mooring her. Tara had made a fair job of scrubbing the foredeck, but that didn't make her a sailor. From her body language I somehow doubted that she had ever been on a boat before, let alone handled one. I doubted she'd be of much assistance in picking up the mooring. Because Tara was looking at me expectantly -- which I found a little... well, disconcerting -- I told her where to find the coffee making gear and she quickly disappeared below into the galley; returning shortly with two steaming mugs. It was obvious that someone had taught Tara how to make a decent mug of coffee, if nothing else. But I had to wonder how she had managed to know exactly how much sugar I was in the habit of using. I somehow doubted that she could have guessed that right first time. After I'd complemented Tara on her coffee making skills and she'd seated herself near me on the bench that runs all around Quiet Times well deck, I asked. "So what's all these important things that you need to discus with me?" "This is a very nice boat?" She replied, obviously chickening-out of explaining the reason for her visit as long as she could. "Hmm, need time to compose yourself, do you young lady?" I wonder what you are up too? I thought to myself. "Right lets scotch that one as quickly as we can and get down to brass tacks." Tara then got the standard holiday charter speech. Well part of the usual banter anyway. "Yes, she's a retired Royal Navy pinnace. Quiet Times was built for the admiralty in 1956; out of Larch, on oak frames. She's forty-one feet long, eleven-and-a-half feet wide, and she draws roughly around four-and-a-half feet of water, near enough anyway. That helps to make her pretty stable when things get choppy out there. The noise and the vibration you are aware of, is her Kelvin diesel engine down under our feet here; she'll plug on like this for just about forever, providing you treat her respectfully. "Oh, and there's two berths and a head, plus the little galley down in the for'ard there. But you've already acquainted yourself with the galley, and there are another four berths jammed into those two cabins back there. "I mostly use Quiet Times for personal recreational purposes; but she is licensed to carry fare-paying passengers should the need arise. Consequently when the charter boys get a little over-busy with the holiday makers in the summer, I can help them out; it brings in a bob or two as well." "Right Tara , that's the boat sorted. Now lets get down to the why and wherefore you looked me out, and what it is that you really wanted to talk to me about?" I looked over at her and I could see a sort-of confused expression in the child's eyes. She promptly averted those eyes from mine for a few moments -- to compose herself I assumed -- then after taking a deep breath she turned to stare right back at me. "I think that you are possibly my father!" Tara announced. For a moment I couldn't think what to say to her. I'm going to admit I wasn't expecting her to say anything like that. But I didn't need to have to think on the subject, for very long. "So you are Ottilie Thorn's daughter, I am correct, aren't I? She replied with an almost imperceptible nod of her head. "I had the feeling that you were; you have your mother's beautiful eyes. But I'm sorry to have to tell you young lady, that there is no possible way that I could be your father! I'm afraid that the time line just couldn't be mangled enough to fit into the timeframe." I replied, hoping that I hadn't confused her any more than she already was. But then I went straight on to add. "I will say though, that I'm sorry, because I would really love be the proud father of a daughter as beautiful as you are, Tara." Tara blushed a little "But... I... You... How can you be so sure?" Tara finally managed to ask. "Tara, one look at you, tells me that you do not carry my genes." Okay, I was being a little more than economical with the truth there. Tara looked so much like her mother when she had been the same age that no other features were apparent; except for Ottilie's. "Ottilie yes! You have your mother's eyes and you are definitely developing her fine figure, if you don't mind me saying? Christ, Tara, you are the spitting image of your mother when she was your age. But unfortunately there's nothing of me, or my family about you." Which should be no surprise to anyone, because Tara could really have been mistaken for her mother's twin. Wasn't that how I'd known who she was.... Sorry whose daughter Tara had to be, in the first place. "I would suggest, Tara; that Bill Morris is your father. I'm right there aren't I; your full name is Ottilie Morris?" I asked her. "How did you know that, mother told me that you left the country some time before she married Bill Morris?" Lets just say that I knew that Bill Morris was your grandfather's chosen candidate as prospective son, shall we; well before Ottilie and I stopped keeping company. And your grandfather always has had the habit of getting his own way. But isn't that a rather informal... disrespectful even, way to talk about your father?" "Some father!" She commented casually. I'm afraid that I failed to read any significance into Tara's comment, and let it slip right past me. Bill Morris was no concern of mine and I was more curious as to what reason the child could have to think that I might be her father in the first place. "Tell me Tara what in heavens name, gave you the idea that I could possibly be your father? And why did you bother coming all this way down here to confront me about the ludicrous notion... you know nothing about me after all. Come to that, how did you know where to find me anyway?" "Google of course, and your boat here!" She replied, I think I saw a hint of a smile, on what had become a very sad looking face. "I Googled you on the Internet last week and up you popped, just like that. Some of your passengers have some very nice things to say about you on their websites." "I'm on the internet?" "Sure you are! And some people have written all about how much they enjoyed themselves when you took them out on your boat." "Well that doesn't say much; we put on an act for the punters." "Okay!" she grinned, "Taylor Carson... Almost universally known around these parts as Carson. You arrived in the harbour here about seven years ago on this boat. After living on your boat for most of that first summer, you bought a derelict building beside the river; an old Victorian brickworks or something. Anyway you lived on Quiet Times... moored to the brickworks quay, while you had the building repaired and converted into a cottage. But it looks a little large to me, to be called a cottage. You did some of the work on the cottage yourself, but a local builder did most of it. "There's some conjecture about where you get your money from; it's generally agreed locally that the few charters you undertake would not bring in enough to run Quiet Times, let alone live on. Consequently some people think that you're an eccentric millionaire; others think you won the lottery. But maybe the one equals the other. "You're generally well liked locally, and you are known for paying your bills promptly; but not for being extravagant. You drink quite frequently, usually in one of three different pubs... two fishermen's pubs in town and one public house and restaurant that is over there, on the hillside; quite close to your cottage. But you are not known to overindulge on alcohol. You are single, but not celibate. Rumour has it that you prefer one-night stands. Most often your partners are visiting holidaymakers, or they come from amongst the seasonal staff who work in the local hotels during the summer months. You appear to steer clear of any of the eligible females who live locally." "Jesus Christ, you got all that from the Internet?" "No, of course I didn't! I arrived down here a couple days ago. I wanted to get to know something about who my father is today, before I set about meeting him; so I asked around town. Once I'd explained to them that I was your daughter and that you probably were unaware that I even existed... and I'd showed them some photos of you and mother together... My resemblance to mother proved very convincing there, and you haven't changed very much; except for that beard." As she was speaking Tara had reached for her jacket and retrieved an envelope from a pocket. From which she extracted a few snapshots of her mother and I together when we were about Tara's own age. "Anyway, having heard my story and seen those pictures, most people couldn't have been more obliging. Oh, they all sing your praises by the way." "Holy Christ, you've told everyone that I am your father? But I'm not! what gave you the ridiculous idea that I could be your father in the first place?" I insisted. In Dreams Ch. 01 That kind of disappointed expression returned to Tara's face again and she remained silent for a while staring down at the deck. Then she looked up at me again "Promise you will never tell, father?" "Stop calling me that, I'm not your father young lady. Not tell who, what, anyway?" "Whom father! My mother of course! You promise that you will never tell her how I found out that... Sorry, why, I thought you were my father. Are you really so sure that there's no possible chance that you could be?" Confusingly for me Tara was back to smiling at me as she spoke. I kind-a got the idea it might have been because she'd been able to correct my grammar. But she didn't make a habit of doing so after that. No bugger could do that, even if they wanted to; because it would probably prove to be a full-time occupation. "Tara, I'm absolutely positive that there is not the slightest chance in hell that I could be your father. But I can assure you that I'm deeply saddened by that fact; you are a most strikingly beautiful young woman. Whom... I'm sure any father would be proud of!" I assured her. Oddly I thought, Tara grinned back at me. Have you ever had the suspicion that someone knows... or thinks they know, something that you don't? Well at that instant I got that suspicion about Tara. However I knew categorically that I could not be her father; so... whatever the child thought she knew... I knew that she was wrong. And I was just a little unsure how I was going to be able to let her down gently; if you get my drift. ----- The reason that I was so sure of myself, was because -- when I'd left the country for Canada some years before, I had not seen -- or had any... er intimate relations with – Tara's mother Ottilie, for the better part of eight months. We'd been childhood friends and sweethearts on and off, since we'd first met at our primary school. However as we grew into our teenagers, Ottilie's parents had made it painfully clear to us that they did not consider that I was suitable company for their daughter to be keeping; I'm sure you get the idea. If I remember correctly, it was just after Ottilie's seventeenth birthday that they took positive action on the matter. Of course it have might been that Ottilie's parents had discovered that our relationship had... well, moved onto a higher level. Or at least they had suspected that it might do in the near future. Whatever, they set about separating us permanently, by shipping Ottilie off to some public school somewhere where I could not get in contact with her. Their plan had worked. I was completely unaware that she was even going away to that school, until after Ottilie had gone. The fact that Ottilie had kept that information from me had injured my pride and pained me very much. Because I was aware of Ottilie's parent's disapproval of our relationship, it was no surprise when they kept me in the dark as to the school's name and location. Effectively as far as I -- and all of our mutual friends -- were concerned, Ottilie had vanished from the face of the earth. But rumour had it, that Ottilie had been sent to one of those exclusive Swiss finishing schools that you used to hear talked about at the time. The rumour sounded about right to me, because -- in my considered opinion -- Ottilie's parents had always had delusions of grandeur. The disappointment at Ottilie's sudden disappearance from my life had the immediate effect of leaving me kind of rudderless. I really didn't know what to do with myself most of the time and turned into a bit of a loose cannon. That led me to getting involved in a few ruckuses that I still can't fathom the reason for, and becoming reacquainted with the local authorities. I had no idea if I was on my head or my heels for a good few months. Not knowing the what or the why of Ottilie's going seemed bad enough to start with, and then when I received no word... telephone calls or even letters from Ottilie... well, I began to get very seriously depressed as well as in trouble. So much so, that my family began to get very worried about my mental health. It was around that time that I first heard mention of a distant relative of ours in Canada, Uncle Percy. Uncle Percy was childless and he had always been inviting any young male members of the family - who fell so inclined -- to join him out there and become a partner in his mining operation. No one seemed to know exactly what doing so would involve, but it had always been assumed that Uncle Percy worked the mine himself and was looking for extra labour. Eventually it was suggested that I might take him up his offer -- even if only for a short while -- to get away from things and my mind off of Ottilie. I declined the idea to start with, although I did discuss it with a few of my close friends. But then rumours began to circulate that something was (and had been for sometime) going-on between Ottilie and a guy called Bill Morris. Bill Morris was a local lad who had always been a near neighbour of the Thorns. I knew that Ottilie had been friendly with him all of her life, but very few other youngsters I was familiar with, knew him at all. You see, Bill Morris had attended public schools and he didn't make a habit of mixing with us hoi polloi when he was home during the holidays. Like all rumours, tracing the definitive origins of the ones concerning Ottilie proved to be impossible. I know; my friends and I tried. But it appeared that they nearly all -- and there were several variations of those rumours -- could all be traced back to the few local youngsters who could be classified as being friends or acquaintances of Bill Morris. Those rumours ranged from "Bill and Ottilie are residing and studying at the same public school and having been dating each other." Which I thought was vaguely plausible; but somehow didn't quite fit in with the Swiss finishing school scenario. To "Bill and Ottilie had got married in Paris and are living in France somewhere." Which I found totally unconvincing. However there were several other rumours that suggested that Bill Morris was courting Ottilie, and which -- over time, having not heard from Ottilie myself -- I did find I was beginning to believe. Then came the bombshell, the announcement in the local weekly newspaper that William Morris and Ottilie Thorn were engaged to be married. I didn't have to see the thing myself; the morning the paper was published my telephone nearly caught fire as one after the other, all of my friends called to give me the news and commiserate with me. Without my involvement my parents made arrangements for me to fly over to Canada as soon as possible. I believe they were hopping that I would have flown out of the country before Ottilie's wedding date was announced. They didn't beat the announcement but I was gone before the wedding service actually took place. It was on the first Saturday of that August, three days before I was due to fly board a flight to Canada, that I'd caught one last glimpse of Ottilie. And by coincidence I was flying out of the country some four days before Ottilie's much-advertised nuptials with Bill Morris were due to take place. She was out in town with her parents and prospective spouse that morning. Actually Ottilie appeared to look directly at me for an instant, but gave no sign that she had recognised me. Mind you, I was inside a passing bus at the time, so it is possible that she didn't actually see me. However, her father and Bill Morris certainly did spot me – or maybe even heard me shouting at least – and they had manoeuvred themselves to ensure that Ottilie did not get a second opportunity to spot me. Regretfully I could not persuade the bus driver to stop the bus and let me off at that point in the High Street. By the time I'd run back to the area where I'd seen them, they had all disappeared. For all I know, Ottilie could well have been pregnant at that time, but from what I did see of her, there was no way in hell that she was eight months gone -- If you understand where I'm coming from there? -- when I'd last clapped eyes upon her. I suppose that you're wondering why I did not take "The Graduate" approach to the situation. Well, yeah I did think about it, but my airline ticket was paid for. And after all, Ottilie had not written me even one letter in all the time she'd been away, or called me on the telephone to tell me that she had returned to the area. Ottilie had known where to find me if she'd wanted to and she must have known that I'd had no idea how to find her. And... I don't know. Maybe I was sulking a little as well. And maybe a little of the "You've made your bloody bed girl. Now you go lie in the bugger!" Mentality has to be added into the equation as well. Who knows why we do anything when we're young? ----- Tara had fallen silent; I could almost hear the cogs grinding in her brain as she sat there thinking. Then finally she said. "I discovered where mother hides her diaries and things. In one of them..." "Woe-up there girl, you stop just there." I butted in. "Are you telling me that you've been reading your mother's private diaries?" "Yes, I found them when I was nosing around, looking for stuff to take to grandfather's house. Well, mother didn't actually keep a diary as such; she just wrote down her feelings about things that happened in her life in the back of some old school exercise books. Clever really, she could hide them by leaving them in plain sight; who looks at old school books?" "Proud parents do! Oh shit, I wonder..." I was saying but Tara was still gabbling on. "Oh I should imagine that she hid them better than that, when she lived with my grandparents. Mother wrote a lot about when you and her were together at school, you know... and what you did after school as well!" I wasn't so sure that I liked what I was hearing. Especially if when added in the suspicion I had, that Ottilie's parents might possibly have come across those diaries. That would explain their sudden determination to permanently separate us. "Hold on, Tara! You are telling me that Ottilie wrote some of those diaries or whatever, after we had left school, when we were at college? Tara smiled, and nodded. "Exactly how much detail did your mother go into?" Tara blushed a little. "Intimate and detailed, I'm afraid father!" "Very detailed?" I enquired. Letting the father comment slide for the time being. "Very!" Tara assured me, with a rather wicked grin on her young face. "Oh shit!" I said. It was my turn to blush! "Bouncer, it was obvious from those diaries that you and my mother were so very much in love with each other. What happened, why did you break up?" ----- Damn it, I knew there wasn't a chance in hell that Tara had been pulling my leg about reading those diaries; when out of the blue like that she used my old nickname, "Bouncer!" The name I was known by during my latter school and college years. But no one had called me Bouncer in many years, by then. Why Bouncer, well I was the guy who bounced the school bullies and anyone else who came on all stroppy, or tried to play the tough guy. It wasn't that I was particularly good at fighting or anything like that, or even very tough when it came down to it. It was more that I had always been able take a punch or two and still be around to deliver a reply. You've heard of boxers with glass jaw's who go down the moment someone lands a punch on them. Well I was the opposite; I could take just about anything that was thrown my way and still be standing there hitting back. I didn't always come out of it unscathed of course, but I was... nearly always, the last man standing. Regretfully my abilities to absorb so much punishment and then finish up the victor -- in fact, if not on points -- didn't do much for my reputation. I was a pretty good scholar, but I became infamous for my fighting abilities. By my teenage years I was on first name terms with most of the local constabulary and the majority of the local magistrates. Ain't it funny, how some right little twerp of a kid, who goes around beating-up the littler kids all the time, goes crying home to mummy when he meets his match? (Mind you, I've come across some adults who act the same way.) Anyway I was up before the headmaster and then in Juvenile and latterly the Magistrates court, more times than I care to remember now. Of course I always had plenty of witnesses who would say that I didn't start the ruckus. But unfortunately there were a lot of bullying types in the world, and only one of me. Consequently it was my face that became familiar, and I got the bad reputation. And somehow, picked-up nickname Bouncer along the way. But I've digressed. Tara had just asked me why her mother and I had stopped seeing each other. ----- "I really think you should ask your mother that question Tara." I suggested. "Now slip this on, we're coming up to the mooring." I said, handing her a life jacket; I still had a boat to get safely moored. "I don't need a life jacket, I can swim!" She retorted. "So can I young lady; but what d'you think this thing is?" I said, opening my jacket and showing her the slim-line lifejacket that I always wear when on my boat. "If I can wear one so can you, we're going to change to the Rib in a minute. Picking up the mooring and transferring to the rib can be a dangerous business. Now please be a good girl and do as I ask. What would Ottilie say to me, if you fell into the river and got drowned or something?" "She can't say anything." Tara mumbled, as she took the lifejacket from me and began making a pig's ear of putting it on. "Why can she not?" I asked helping her sort the straps out. "My mother is in a coma, she has been for almost a year now!" "Holy cow, what happened? Was she in an accident or something?" "William Morris happened! He turned up and beat her up... again!" "Oh my god, that's awful. But wait a minute, lets get the boat moored and then you must tell me all about it." Cutting the engine at the right moment, I managed to hook the rib on the first try and -- after pulling it alongside and passing the painter to Tara to hold -- I climbed into the inflatable to retrieve Quite Times mooring chain. Then I made my way to her bow and made her fast. "Again, you said. How many times has Morris knocked Ottilie about in the past?" "Too many; more than I can count! Mother divorced him years ago after the first time he put her in hospital. But every time he gets out of prison, eventually he comes back and beats her up again; I don't think he's all-there! Bill Morris seems to think that it's mother fault that he was sent to prison in the first place." "Sounds like a complete nutter; I always did think Morris was a sandwich short of a picnic. But your grandparents thought the sun shone out of his... backside." "I can assure you that my grandfather has changed his opinion of Bill Morris now. Actually, granddad has changed his opinion about a lot of things... especially people!" She said, with an implied tone to her voice. "I can't believe what you're alluding too there, young lady. Although I can understand your grandfather wanting to castrate Bill Morris, if he knocked Ottilie about. I'd have come and sorted the bugger out myself, had I known about it." "I'll bet you would have too!" she smiled, "But I'm not joking, Mr Carson." "It's just plain simple Carson, Tara. Or uncle Taylor if you want to be formal." "Uncle? I'd much prefer to call you, dad!" "Well I'm afraid that you can't do that young lady, because I'm not your father. Look, just what are you doing here anyway, Tara?" "I came to get my father to come to town and talk to my mother." "I thought you said that Ottilie was in a coma." I figured I'd let the father bit slide again; for the time being. "She is, but her doctor said that what she needs is for the people who love her... and whom she loves, to talk to her. He says that that might help mother wake up." "I've heard of the theory, but I really can't see how it would work. Besides... although I did love your mother once, she ditched me for Bill Morris." "My grandfather can have a very domineering personality when he wants to... Uncle Taylor." "Don't I know it!" I replied. "Yes well, my mother isn't so strong-minded; you must have known that, as well?" "Yeah well, what her daddy wanted he usually got with your mother. Except where I was concerned." "So I understand." "The ol' sod battled for years to get us apart and eventually he sent Ottilie away to some flash finishing school to get her away from me. Unfortunately his plan worked, the next thing I hear, she was getting hitched to Bill Morris." "Some flash finishing School!" Tara commented with a strange tone to her voice and expression on her face. "Well, it was a Swiss finishing school, wasn't it?" "Not exactly, no dad! It was proving to be a little annoying, but I let the "dad" bit go over my head yet again, because I was more interested in finding out exactly what Tara was trying to tell me. "Can you recall when mother went away; or more importantly when she came back?" "I could probably quote you the exact date, well almost. It has to have been about one month before I flew out to Canada. I was due to go out there to work for a relative for a couple of years when I discovered that Ottilie had to be back home, although I had no idea where that was because her parents had moved. Anyway I read the announcement of her impending wedding in the local newspaper." "But what year." "Ah now, let me think. Dates and numbers aren't my strong point." "Well, let's cut to the chase then, Uncle Taylor. I can tell you that you flew out to Canada in late August,1996; exactly fifteen years ago next month." "Yeah probably, that's about right." "Well here's some news that might possibly surprise you. I celebrated my fifteenth birthday on the third of this month... father!" It took second or two for the words Tara had spoken to sink through my thick scull. So I sat staring back at the grinning child for god knows how long. "Well?" she demanded. My mind was in turmoil; I was angry I suppose! What man wouldn't be when he had just been given the information I had. But I realised that there was little point in being... or showing that anger towards the child; she was only the messenger, after all. And I knew that blowing my top was not the best way to go about building a relationship with anyone; let alone a daughter you had never known... no realised even existed. And in the back of my mind somewhere was the suspicion that maybe I hadn't... I don't know... asked all the right questions I suppose, before I'd shot off to Canada. But hey, I had been just a snotty teenager back then. Not a good excuse I know; but the best I can come up with. Anyway there was the chance that young Tara -- a teenager I'll add -- had... well, got it all upside-down and backwards, if you get my drift. Some teenagers do make a habit of getting hold of the wrong end of the stick. In this particular instance, possibly a stick of dynamite! "Are you sure?" "Daddy, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't! When mother discovered that she was pregnant she made the mistake of confessing to her mother first; she thought her mother might be a little more sympathetic than she knew grandfather would be. But my grandmother wasn't; both of them went ape-shit of course, and they promptly shipped mother off to an unmarried mothers home, a bit sharpish." "Do those places still exist?" I asked, not really knowing what else I was expected to say. The full... implications of Tara's announcement had not fully sunk home at the time. Actually I was still trying to get my head around all the misconceptions that had guided... and controlled the previous fifteen... almost sixteen years of my existence. In Dreams Ch. 01 "They did sixteen years ago; well, one did at least!" She assured me. "Mother told me once, that it was like being in a prison camp. She said that although she'd tried, she could not get a message out to her boyfriend. I knew that mother wasn't talking about Bill Morris by the way. "Neither could she get out of that place herself; she tried doing that as well. I wonder if we could sue them for false imprisonment or something? Probably there's a statute of limitations or something now. "Anyway the next thing that mother heard, you had emigrated to America. So when William Morris asked her to marry him, she accepted. Mother had no idea where you had gone, or if you were ever coming back. I only discovered that you had returned to the UK a few days ago, through the Internet." "I hadn't gone. I saw Ottilie in town with her parents a few days before I was due to fly out. Mind you, I'd already read about her impending nuptials with Bill Morris in the local paper. And I weren't best pleased." "Yeah I know that now, but mother still has no idea. My grandfather admitted to me last week that he was a little more than economical with the truth concerning actual date you had left... were leaving, when he told mother you had emigrated. "She never saw you in town that day, you know; but Granddad did. He told me all about it few days ago. Actually he said that they made damned sure that mother didn't catch sight of you that day, because they knew that she would never have married Bill Morris if she known that you were still in the country." "Why would your grandfather come clean with you about all of this now?" "Because granddad didn't know how to find you in the first place, and even if he had known he couldn't come to find you himself, well not alone anyway. He suggested that that might be tantamount to attempting suicide. Granddad seems to be under the impression that you can be violent when you choose to be. Mind you, he tempers that a little, by claiming that you are only violent towards people who... well, he said, asked for everything they got! And he admitted to me that he has given you more than enough cause to want to kill him." "He has done! But I'm not a violent person by nature, Tara." "I didn't think you were, I'm sure mother would have told me; she told me so much about her old boyfriend. But I had to be careful. That's why I wanted to talk to you first; before I proved to you that I am your daughter. Just to make sure that you are the man my mother used to tell me about. And the man I read about in her diaries." "I'm still a little confused here Tara. You said that your grandfather told you about what he did to keep your mother and me apart, why now?" "Well, you see father... mother is in a coma, like I told you. But her doctor said that it's not a normal coma. A-typical I think he called it. "As I understand it, my mother is in a very deep sleep and the doctor said that she does not want to wake from it. The doctor can't be sure but believes... suggested that she's possibly in a dream world and she likes it there; so she doesn't want to wake up. I think I've got that right! But he was probably simplifying things a little; he always treats me like a child, which I'm not!" "Oh my, my poor little Ottilie." "Anyway... mother does mumble quite a lot sometimes; but you can't understand what she's saying most of the time. Well, what she says usually does not make any sense anyway. That is except for a couple weeks ago when grandfather swears blind that he heard her asking where Bouncer was. "Something like that anyway, granddad was a little emotional when he told me about it. My grandfather... my pillar of strength, broke down and told me that it was all his fault! My mother was lying there in a coma because of his arrogant behaviour years before, in ignoring her wishes and deciding that he knew what was in the best interests of his daughter and grandchild... Me that is!" "I kind-a gathered that, Tar... daughter." Tara looked me in the eyes and smiled. Then she came over, put her arms around my neck and kissed me on the forehead. "Hi dad." "Hello my daughter. You do realise that I'm going to have some trouble getting my head around all this, don't you?" "It's to be expected. You had no idea that you had a daughter. I've always known that I had a father out there somewhere, who wasn't Bill Morris. I just didn't know what your name was." "But surely in Ottilie's diaries..." "Nope, you were only ever referred to in those diaries by three stars, mother trying to be secretive I should imagine. And after she'd kicked Bill Morris out of our lives... Well, you have to try to understand it from mother's perspective. Mother had been told, by my grandfather that when you had learnt that she was pregnant with your child... Well dad, Grandfather told her that you had run away to America, with your tail between your legs; instead of standing up to your responsibilities. "Mother never could understand you doing that, by the way. It confused her and caused her great anguish. "All she knew for sure was... or maybe I should say that she believed, that you were not there anymore and that Bill Morris was. So when he offered to marry her she accepted. But she confided in me more than once after he had gone, that she'd had serious reservations about marrying him in the first place. Unfortunately her parents kept on harping about me needing a father, in consequence mother made what she has always considered the second biggest mistake of her life." "What was the first?" "I really wish you hadn't asked me that father. And before I tell you, I must ask you to bear in mind that my mother did believe that you had deserted her in her hour of need." "Oh, I see, but surely she didn't think that I could..." "Unfortunately mother did come to believe that you had. What else was she supposed to think? She did forgive you though, if that's any consolation. I always thought you skipped out on us as well, until my grandfather broke down the other day and confessed all to me. Had we been having this conversation a couple of years ago... Well, I think we'd better not talk about how angry I would have been with you. "Very often when the two of us were alone, mother talked about you... actually her one time boyfriend she always referred to you as; the great love of her life. But she would never tell me your name. Mother said that it wouldn't be fair on you, because you had probably married someone else in America and she knew that I'd go searching for you on the Internet. So up until my grandfather told me last week, I only knew that you had been known by the nickname Bouncer." "If your mother would not tell you my name, how did you work that out?" "Ah, right from when I was little, I realised that the name Bouncer had to hold some significance. It doesn't take even a young child long to put two and two together. Especially if, when her father and mother were arguing... Her supposed father... Bill Morris... was repeatedly referring to me as "Bouncer's bastard." He even did that sometimes just when he'd got drunk. Which is not an uncommon condition for Bill Morris's to be in, by the way. Anyway I had it sussed that he couldn't be my real father, before I can even remember. "Actually that is why I investigated your drinking habits, by the way. Sorry, but mother doesn't need another weirdo in her life. "Actually I kind assumed for a long time that your surname had to be Bouncer or something like it. Don't try doing a Google search on Bouncer by the way dad, you get millions of hits!" "You tried?" "Of course I did, I've been looking for my father for years!" Suddenly I noticed Tara shiver. "Put your jacket on, you're getting cold; and besides we'd better get ashore before the sun goes down." "Where are we going; back to town?" Tara asked over the noise of the outboard motor, after we'd pulled clear of Quiet Times." "No, I thought we'd go to my cottage first, so that I can change; then we'll have something to eat up at the... Hold on, if you've been down here long enough to snoop around and thoroughly vet me. How did you get down here and where have you been staying?" "Grandfather drove me down, he and uncle George are waiting back at the hotel in town. But I told them not to worry; all going well, I'd probably stopover at your house tonight." "You better call the hotel when we get to the house and confirm those arrangements though." "I'll use my mobile." "No you wont, not down here anyway; you'll not get a signal. So good old Frank brought his brother along did he? I assume that you're referring to your mother's uncle?" Tara nodded. "So Frank was coming mob handed, was he? Taking precautions just in case I got all-unnecessary with him? It's just what I'd expect of the old sod, but I wouldn't waste my breath on the bugger!" "I've always known him as Uncle George. But he didn't come along to protect grandfather. Uncle George is along with us to drive grandfather and me back, after you've punched my granddads lights out!" She grinned. "Do what?" I exclaimed, as I ran the rib up onto the riverbank beside the old brickworks quay that served as my landing point. From there we could step onto some planks that allowed us to get ashore without getting caked in mud. "Well grandfather says that he deserves anything that choose to dish out to him. And he promised me that he won't take any legal action against you, if you do." "I'm afraid I wouldn't trust anything that Frank Thorn said as far as I could throw him, young lady. Anyway, I don't go around knocking old men about; no matter how much I believe they deserve it. I told you, I'm not a violent person by nature. Now you'd better get inside and call the old bugger, before he brings the ol'-bill down on me. "And while you're at it, you'd better tell him that although I'd love too, I wont be breaking his neck. But you can also tell him that I never want to... well; he is never to address me personally. Anything he feels to need to discuss with me, will be said through a third party. George would suffice, he weren't a bad old stick by my recollection." Tara made the call, but there was nothing that Frank Thorn and I needed to discuss that evening. Then after I'd showered and changed, my daughter and I walked up the pub to have dinner. We didn't stay very long though; after we'd eaten we took a long walk through the trees along by the riverbank. It was a whole new experience for me, strolling along with my daughter hanging on my arm, listening as she talked about her mother, and their life together. Back at my cottage, after a cup of tea, I showed Tara to one of the spare bedrooms and she helped me make up the bed for her. Those spare rooms had never been used before, so it was quite an operation. Then I offered her one of my clean tee-shirts to use as a nightdress, but Tara insisted on using the one I had been wearing that evening. It's a little... I don't know... disconcerting I suppose you could say, when your brand new daughter insists in sleeping in the tee-shirt you've been wearing that evening so that she could enjoy your smell. Actually the fragrance of my aftershave, I suspect. And that isn't how Tara had put it, but it was in fact what she insisted on doing. I was too new at this fathering lark, to know how to talk her out of the idea. During the night something woke me and when I went to investigate, I found Tara kneeling beside my filing cabinet in the darkened lounge. She'd moved the lamp from my desk so that she could see what she was doing. I discovered that Tara was so absorbed in whatever she'd found, that she was totally oblivious to my presence until I was almost standing right over her. Apparently not at all surprised or perturbed that I'd caught her snooping about in my private papers Tara looked up at me and smiled. "I knew that you were still in love with mother. You have many more pictures of the pair of you together than she does. I couldn't find any old dairies though." "That's because I've never kept a diary, Tara. And you have to understand that those pictures are just fond memories!" "Don't be so defensive dad. From what I've been hearing You only ever had one night stands, now that tells me something as well." "That I'm yet to find a woman with whom I've shared the right chemistry, Tara!" "Oh yes you have, but she's lying in a hospital bed right now." "Tara please go don't getting your hopes up. Of course I'll go up there and do everything in my power to help Ottilie wake from her coma. But when she does, please don't expect us to fall into each other's arms. Dreams like that are what fairy tales are made of; they are not real life. Possibly in her coma your mother is dreaming of the times we were together. But when she wakes, she'll be in today's world, fifteen years later." "She'll still be in love with you, I know it!" "Tara there's nothing else in there that will interest you. Go back to bed now, please?" After placing another kiss on my forehead, my child left me and went back up to her room. I put everything back as it should be, and then returned to bed myself. The next time I awoke, I was aware of the daylight trying to break through my bedroom curtains and some unusual pressure upon my chest. I also discovered that I had more than a little difficulty moving my arms. When I was fully awake I realised that the reason I could not move was that my daughter was all but lying on top of me, her arms entwined around my neck. Albeit, she was on top of the duvet and I was under it. As I struggled gently to disentangle myself from her, Tara awoke. She lifted her head and smiled at me and then moving slightly kissed me on the forehead again. "I really don't think this is appropriate way for you to sleep, Tara." I suggested. "Why not? I am your daughter, aren't I? You have accepted that as fact now?" "Yes I have, but you are also your mother's daughter, in every respect and almost a young woman. Daughters sleep in their parent's bed when they are little children, Tara. They do not usually share their father's bed when they've reached your age." "Yeah well, but we've got some catching up to do dad. I've missed out on having a father up until now. I intend to make up for lost time. Tara meant what she said as well. It was about all I could do to stop her sharing my shower with me that morning. Christ, it takes some getting used to, remembering to lock the bathroom door every time you go in there. Well, I had lived alone for many years and suddenly it seemed to me that wherever I went in the house that morning; Tara would very soon show up looking for me. George Thorn arrived at the front door of my cottage uninvited at around eight-thirty, his excuse for calling was that he was delivering Tara's suitcase, which proved handy. He wasn't invited inside because, frankly, I had no interest in talking to him or his brother. Having heard and then seen him driving into my yard; Tara decided that it would be... more diplomatic, if she went to the door. George also brought the news that he and Frank Thorn would returning up-country that day. Tara must have told her grandfather that I'd agreed that I would go up to see if my presence... Well, the sound of my voice would have any effect on Ottilie. After George Thorn had left, Tara took her suitcase up to her room, then returned extremely quickly -- for a member of the female gender -- looking more alluring than ever dressed in fresh form hugging jeans and a remarkably tight jumper. From a father's point of view – especially one new to the job description – excessively form hugging and too damned tight! But I figured I'd better not voice my concerns at that early stage in our relationship. Well, I had missed out on fifteen years of training, hadn't I? Tara stood there for a few seconds, I think enjoying my stare. Then she crossed the room and putting both arms around my neck kissed me; on the cheek that time. I figured that it was about time I returned the complement, or the child might start to develop a complex or something. So taking her head gently in my hands I -- tentatively -- kissed her on the forehead. That brought the biggest smile I'd seen thus far to Tara's face and she hugged me so tightly that I could hardly breathe. It took me far longer to prepare for my unexpected trip up country than I'd thought it would. Besides packing my gear, I had to call numerous people to postpone various appointments and find a couple of the lads to take on the bookings I had for Quiet Times. What made it more of a problem was that I had no idea how long I would be away. So other friends had to be roped-in to keep an eye on the boat and the house. And of course -- as briefly as I could -- I had to repeatedly and explain why I was going. Finally I remembered to call Mrs Clegg my cleaner, and tell her that I wouldn't be around for a while. Regretfully Maud Clegg -- as I had feared she would -- wanted full chapter and verse. That call took far longer than I'd hoped it would. However I was sure that on my return, half of Cornwall... the other half – everybody that Tara hadn't already spoken too -- would know that I was now an unmarried parent. It must have been almost twelve o'clock before I could finally lock the front door. Tara had walked over to the old – battered and very muddy -- SWB Landrover pick-up that I use as a day-to-day run-around. Having dropped her bag in the back, Tara was in the process of trying to persuade the passenger side door to open, when I redirected her to the garage. With a shrug, she retrieved her bag and carried it along after me. "A Range Rover!" Tara exclaimed, as I'd opened the garage door. "Yeah, I don't use her much. The old Landey does a far better job of clearing the Emmets from the middle of the narrow lanes down here. That mangled front end hers scares the life out the buggers." "Emmets?" Tara queried. "Yeah Holidaymakers, they're as numerous as ant's down here in the summer. And an Emmet means an ant in this part of the world. Probably old Cornish." "Anyway the Rangey here, don't get used much; so a nice run up country wont do her any harm. It's a little more comfortable as well." On the drive out of Cornwall and across a good part of Devon, Tara didn't say much, probably because she had music blasting through those earphones she had on. But I was aware that she kept looking across at me and I have to admit that I kept glancing across at her as well; not the safest way to drive. I know I keep saying it, but I was still getting used to the idea that the angel sat beside me was... well, of my own issue. We were passing the Tiverton turn I think, when I was jogged from my musing by Tara saying "Da---ady?" I'd overheard the word being pronounced in the same way so many times before -- by the punters on Quiet Times, children -- that I instantly recognised that it was the precursor to a request that was about to flow from my daughter's lips. It felt really strange to hear myself answering, "Yes sweetheart!" "When did you come back from America?" Actually, I lived in Canada, Tara. And I came back... Oh must be almost eight years ago now. I'd bought Quiet Times over the Internet from some guy in Maidstone. After spending the winter months sorting her out at a boatyard on the Thames; I set out to circumnavigate the United Kingdom. Cornwall was as far as I got. "What did you do in Canada?" "Ah now, that was some party! Turned out that my Uncle Percy was a bit of a nutcase. Well, a little eccentric to say the least. He lived, literally, in the middle of nowhere, really out in the back of beyond, the quickest and easiest way to get in and out, was to fly in a floatplane in the summer, ski-plane in the winter. In Dreams Ch. 01 "But Percy didn't live a Spartan life. He had the biggest log cabin that I've ever seen. With air-conditioning, and central heating for the cold winters; it had its own generator and everything. Fuel and supplies were trucked regularly during the summer months by a couple of real characters. "Percy and I were looked after by two very attractive young women who did all the house keeping and cooking. It was all an act to keep Percy happy, but the two girls were supposed to be Native American Indian. Percy always kept harping on about Canadian heritage and that kind of thing. They both had long black hair and fairly... well dark complexions; but I happen to know that one of the girls was Mexican and the other originated from Eastern Europe somewhere. "There were several guy's who I think were real Indians, they looked after the stock that I rarely clapped eyes on, unless I was out riding in the summer." "Horses?" "Yeah, or one of the trail-bikes. There were some of those skidoo things for the winter as well. But I preferred to stay hunkered down in the house during the winter months, it got bloody cold over there in the winter. Snow ten feet deep and more!" "You liked it there though?" "Loved it, but you never saw a soul. The nearest neighbours lived miles away. I think I only met them a couple of times in all the time I was out there." "What about the miners, surely someone had to work the mine?" "Ah now, the mines were hundreds of miles away. Uncle Percy owned the land and had the rights; but some big conglomerate did the actually mining. Percy got a healthy dividend on every ton of ore they extracted." "But I thought you went out there to help in the mine?" "So did I, when I went out there. I was expecting to be working underground and digging the stuff out of the ground by hand. But it appears that my eccentric great uncle, several times removed, had really been looking for an heir and not... as he used to put it, god rest his soul, a freeloader. On my arrival I discovered that Uncle Percy was the last leaf on the Canadian branch of my... our family tree. He'd inherited the mines, the ranch and things as his relatives died off one by one. Being unmarried and without issue..." "Issue?" Tara queried. "He had no children of his own, that he knew of, Tara. Anyway, that left him with the problem of who to bequeath his assets to. He wanted them to go to someone who had the same Carson blood running in their veins as he had. Percy was into that kind of thing. He said he'd been looking for someone who shared the quest for adventure, living off the land out in the wilds. Well, eventually he got me! Not the best of deals, but Percy appeared quite happy about it! "When he'd contacted my family years before to invite any of my young cousins who craved some adventure and excitement in their lives, to go out and join him. Percy had painted a picture of hard work and Spartan living. In fact, I did almost nothing at all while I was out there, except live in isolated luxury and enjoy myself. Very isolated luxury, but Mina and Totto were always there as well and they weren't much older than I was." "The two housekeepers?" "Yeah... the housekeepers. They were company of sorts." I assured her, remembering exactly whom I was relating the tale too. "So I assume that your uncle must have passed away and that's why you came back to the UK." "Spot-on Tara! Canada was very nice, but I prefer... Cornwall actually. Only I didn't know that when I did come back, I just stumbled across the county. "In his will, Percy bequeathed Mina and Totto a lump sum each, invested wisely I believe; the interest it makes should keep them comfortable for the rest of their lives. And I got the rest of his capital and receive the dividends from the mines. The hands got the ranch and the cabin to share between them. I'm not excessively rich, but I'll get by." I was being a little less than frank with Tara there. I've seen the effect overindulgence financially can have on some people, especially children. I'd decided that whatever happened I'd make sure that Tara would get everything she needed in the future; I'd make sure of that. But I had no intention of spoiling the child, if I could help it. Three hours after we'd left my home in Cornwall I parked the Range Rover in the hospital car park and my daughter led the way to Ottilie's room. Tara entered first alone, to ensure that her grandfather was not present. Tara discovered later – from a nurse -- that her grandfather had seen us crossing the car park from Ottilie's hospital room window and promptly made himself scarce. But before going he had informed the doctors and nursing staff that I was coming, and told them that I should have unlimited access to Ottilie and be advised and/or consulted about her care in the same way they did himself. Ottilie did look a little different than I remembered her; but she was some sixteen years older, so that was not really a surprise to me. She was just as beautiful as she'd ever been. However almost immediately I discerned a couple of scars on her face that should not have been there. No one said, but I assumed that they must have been the result of Bill Morris' actions during the previous fifteen years. I made a mental note to find the bugger after he was released from prison and extract my own personal reprisal for those blemishes. Now if you thought -- like I think my daughter might have done -- that there was going to be that Snow-White scene, where the handsome Prince swept in and awoke his sleeping beauty with one kiss... Well you got it wrong! I did gently introduce myself to the comatose Ottilie that day and I kissed her on the forehead, twice. Once, shortly after we arrived and a second time just before Tara and I left. But Ottilie did not stir a muscle all the time we were in the room. Except for the fact that we could see that her chest was rising and falling to prove that she was breathing unassisted; Ottilie might well have been dead for all I could tell. Tara was well-versed in the procedure and quite blasé about it, but I had to learn the art of talking to a comatose patient. Eventually -- after listening to Tara at work for a while -- I realised that one has to have a one-sided conversation with the patient. Of course some people would probably find it far easier to get the hang of than I did. You should not talk to yourself (which I'm sure we all do); you have to talk to the patient. During our visit a doctor came in to see me. He gave me chapter and verse on Ottilie's condition, going into minute detail. I'll be honest, besides learning that Bill Morris had fractured Ottilie's skull in several places and the doctors appeared to have been surprised that she'd survived the attack. I'd got more information -- that I could understand anyway -- out of Tara's explanation. One thing he said that did register though, was that they had no idea how much long-term brain damage had Ottilie incurred. The guy implied that Ottilie -- if she ever did regain consciousness -- might be just confused for a while, at one extreme; or her brain function could be seriously impaired, at the other. "We'll only know what the scenario is going to be, when and if she does regain full consciousness!" The doctor said. "By full consciousness, do I take it that she..." I began to asked "Oh yes, several times we thought that Ottilie was about to regain consciousness, but then she relapsed into deep coma again. She can become quite vocal on occasion." He informed me. From the way he had phrased it, I got the impression that it was when Ottilie did do her muttering act that I... everyone was supposed to... well, try to talk her into coming back to us. Listening to two people talking at the same time is not a strong point of mine. But as the doctor was speaking to me – and possibly the reason that I didn't understand half of the medical gobbledegook he had sprouted -- Tara had been relating to her mother, her recent adventures in Cornwall. How she'd successfully tracked down her father, and all about the ocean liner called Quiet Times he owned and the mansion that he lived in. She even mentioned my Range Rover and added a vivid description of the old Landey. But what really caught my attention was when I heard Tara say. "Daddy's still in love with you mother, you really need to come back to claim him now. Before he starts to think that you don't want him again!" Should I have said something to Tara about it later? I don't know! By the time the doctor had left I figured it was too late anyway. Whether Tara gave her mother the same speech subsequently when I was not within earshot, I have no idea. I didn't hear her repeat it, if she did. My daughter and I had our first... disagreement as we left the hospital that day. Tara wanted me to stay in Ottilie's house; back to where she implied, she was intending to move to be with me. But after the previous nights experiences, I insisted that she remained living at her grandfather's house. I figured that I needed a lot more time, to ease myself into this daddying lark. Oh by the way, somewhere along the line I'd come by the knowledge that Tara's grandmother... Ottilie's mother, had passed away several years before. Under what circumstance she had died, I know not and I have never enquired. Whatever, Tara and I exchanged a few heated words, before I reminded her that I was her father and told her that she should humour me. But I added the bribe that I would take her out for dinner later that evening. However Tara did insist on coming to the hotel with me while I booked in. Then I dropped her at her grandfather's house before returning to the hotel to wash and change. As I entered the hotel foyer on my way to collect Tara for dinner, I found her already there waiting for me there. She had talked her grandfather into dropping her off on his way to the hospital. We enjoyed a leisurely meal together, then I dropped her back at her grandfather's house before returning to the hospital myself. Tara living with the old sod, turned out to be useful in a way; because I knew that if his car was there, then it was odds-on that he wouldn't be at the hospital. I really was not looking forward to our first physical confrontation; I feared that I might do something that would shame me forever. Over the next few days and weeks, my life fell into a rough routine. Up for breakfast around eight AM. At the hospital just after nine where Tara would already be in her mother's room. Tara and I would have lunch together, then around three I'd drop her back home. Why three o'clock? Because that was when Tara's grandfather would take over. During the evening Tara and I would eat together and I'd usually drop her home again before returning to the hospital for the night shift. I'd usually leave to go back to my hotel around four in the morning, although sometimes I'd pass-out in the chair beside Ottilie's bed. The nurses would never wake me unless they wanted me out of their way for some reason. The first thing of real significance that occurred was while Tara and I were sitting there with Ottilie one morning a week or so after I'd got up there. One of the nurses came into the room and attracted Tara's attention by calling her Miss Carson. This made me look up and I immediately noticed that both the nurse and Tara were grinning back at me. "What's so funny?" I asked. "Oh Miss Carson! Thinks it's terribly funny that you haven't noticed." The nurse replied. Because the nurse had repeated it, it struck home. "You mean Miss Morris." I told her. "No she means Miss Carson, dad." Tara replied, "I've had my name changed by deed pole. Well to tell you the truth grandfather organised it for me. Now everyone will realise who my father is and we shouldn't get any more of those strange looks." I hadn't noticed any strange looks. But perhaps I'm not as observant as my daughter. Or maybe I didn't dash around like a dervish introducing Tara to everyone I vaguely knew that we happened to run into. Literally anyone Tara could think of an excuse to introduce me to, to be precise. A week or so later, when the time came for Tara to return to school for the autumn term. She even wangled it for me to go to her school one morning and be introduced to her teachers so that they could inform me of her progress. I had never had the opportunity to attend any of the school open evenings. Anyway, another new experience for a totally unprepared parent. It appeared that most of her teachers were fully aware of the circumstance of my sudden appearance on the scene and didn't appear at all phased by Tara's change of surname. Neither did any of Tara's school friends she introduced me to when the opportunity presented itself. I was finding everyone's reaction that morning quite confusing until Tara led into her English teacher's classroom. To my complete astonishment Mrs Carter turned out to be Sylvia Carter one of Ottilie and my childhood friends. Much to my consternation and the amusement of her class, and Tara. Sylvia she didn't formally shake my hand as Tara's other teachers had done; Sylvia embraced me, kissed me on the cheek, and addressed me as Bouncer. She further embarrassed me by announcing to her students -- I suspect aimed at the more unrulier of them -- that as a young boy I had gained a reputation for teaching ignorant fellow pupils a few manners and how they should behave in the classroom. That probably explained why I'd never found myself getting expelled from school for fighting. It soon became obvious to me that Sylvia, on hearing of Tara's name change, had put two and two together and promptly briefed Tara's other teachers on the full situation in the school staff room. I didn't mind that really, because it had saved me from a lot of repetitive and unnecessary explanations that morning. After singing my daughter's praises, and assuring me that Tara was a model student. Sylvia suggest that we should have dinner together one evening; when -- she added -- she would be able to reintroduce me to her husband; another of my old school buddies. It was painfully obvious to me that Sylvia and Ottilie had not been on good terms when they'd last met, probably at a school open evening. I came to that conclusion, because Sylvia did not mention Ottilie by name, habitually she referred to her as Tara's mother. I had had some experience with a few one parent, divorced passengers on Quiet Times. In my experience one parent referring to their ex-spouse as the child's mother or father, tended to indicate a certain amount of animosity. Sylvia having grown up, as I had, with Ottilie; I figured that something had to have driven a wedge between them. Of course at the time I wasn't savvy enough to realise that that wedge would turn out to be me. But I'll come to that shortly. A couple of days later Sylvia got in contact with me to invite me out for a meal with some of our old friends. In fact I found a brief message waiting for me at the hotel reception desk when I arrived back there at five AM that morning. The message made it patently clear that the invitation was for me and that Tara was not included. I sort-of figured that was for teacher student reasons, but that assumption was subsequently proved wrong The night of the meal, I walked into the restaurant to find that almost the whole gang of our old school friends were present; including their respective spouses, many of whom I did not know. Introductions were made all round and then getting on for thirty of us sat down to eat. During the meal I was questioned about all my experiences in the wilds of Canada. They got the exaggerated flowery version. Once again it became obvious that everyone was purposely avoiding mentioning Ottilie. As we adjourned to the bar, I realised that there was hidden agenda behind the evening. Sylvia and Mavis Burton (nee Crouch) steered me to a table at the far end of the small bar. I was all but pushed in behind it, then all of the girls and a couple of my old school mates seated themselves around the rest of the table as best they could fit in. All their spouses headed for the other end of the room, as far away as they could get. They only came near to keep everyone around the table's glasses well filled. "Okay Taylor what's the real story!" Toby, One of my old mates asked. "I'm Tara's father and that's all there is to it!" "No, come on mate! What are you doing back here, running around her; after what Ottilie did to you?" "She ditched you without a word of explanation and then decided to marry Bill Morris and made him the father of your child." Sylvia joined in. "That's not just callous, that's evil... calculated cruelty. We know that you didn't know about the child when you left, but Ottilie ditching you without explanation and marrying Bill Morris was what drove you into leaving the country in the first place." "Ah now, for many years that's what I thought as well. But then my daughter tracked me down." "Yeah well, learning that you did have a child that you didn't even know existed... I would have thought that would have made you even angrier, I know that I'd have blown my bloody top." Toby replied. "Funny thing Toby. The news that I had been a daddy for years and hadn't known, did piss me off some. But then, when you've got an angel like my Tara bringing you the news. Well, it kind-a tempers that anger a little. Then she told me that Bill Morris had been knocking Ottilie about... well I think a lot of my anger transferred onto him. And Ottilie's father of course, he was behind everything that happened back then, as someone sitting around this table well knows." "What's that supposed to mean?" Toby asked. "Well Toby. My daughter can be one hell of a chatterbox when she gets started. And it seems... and I'm not completely sure why, that Frank Thorn confessed all to Tara a few weeks back. Following something that Ottilie had apparently muttered during one or her vocal sessions. And guess what, I came to the conclusion that someone sitting around this table, related the story to Frank Thorn that I might be thinking about heading to Canada for a few years; well before I'd actually made up my mind to go." "But it was common knowledge that you were going." Sylvia pointed out. "It was Sylvia, but only for less than a month before I went. My family wanted me to go, but I hadn't agreed to, until that announcement that Morris and Ottilie were engaged appeared in the local paper. And my Tara insists that her mother never agreed to marry Bill Morris until after she'd been told that I had already left the country. Now, besides my family, the only other people who were aware that I was even contemplating the trip are sat around this table this evening. So I have to ask which of you..." I was interrupted by Mavis Burton... um, well, her husband Peter who had been seated beside Mavis had suddenly disappeared backwards, crashing to the ground. I hadn't been watching them, but there was no mistaking the fact that Mavis had to have... well, thumped him. And I'll point out that Mavis -- had she been a boxer -- would have been fighting in the heavyweight class. Super-heavyweight, more like; if you get my drift? Mavis had always been, what is known in polite society, as a big girl! You bastard, Taylor was our friend!" Mavis shouted down at her dazed and prostrate husband. Pete Burton made no attempt to get up. I think he was utterly shocked by his wife's sudden outburst. As we all were. Mavis looked around the table and then said. "Well... didn't we all wonder how Peter swung that bloody apprenticeship at Ballard's. Christ nearly all the boys went after it, and they took Peter?" In Dreams Ch. 01 "Well, Pete was never the brightest light in the class, but he weren't exactly dumb, Mavis." Jimmy Morgan replied. "But you did wonder why Ballard's picked Peter over the likes of... well, yourself even? You went for it and so did Mickie there. I can remember you bitching about it at the time, saying that you were both better qualified and better suited to the job than Peter was." "Yeah, but what does that prove, Mavis?" Jimmy asked "Nothing in itself. Until Taylor tells us that someone was spying on him for Ottilie's parents and you add in the fact that Peter's father was a member of the golf club. You know thinking back I'm sure I saw Ottilie's dad playing golf with Peter's father more than once. "But what's that got to do with Ballard's?" "Frank Thorn is... well he was, a director at Ballard's." I informed everyone. All eyes moved to Peter Burton who was still sat in the chair, which was lying flat on its back on the floor. "I didn't know what was going to happen!" He exclaimed, old man Thorn just asked..." "Shut up, Peter I'm not interested!" I said, "Just get the hell out of here, will you?" Pete struggled up and set the chair back on its legs. He didn't reposition it because one of the other guys snatched it from his hand and took the vacant slot beside Mavis. "May I stay?" Mavis asked. "Course you can, gorgeous!" I replied. I had no beef with Mavis. "Oh this is awful, I feel so ashamed of myself." Sylvia said, taking me somewhat by surprise. "Why, what did you do behind my back, Sylvia?" I found myself asking. "Oh god, nothing to you Taylor. But I've wronged Ottilie something rotten. We all have!" "How?" "By blanking her, we all did, didn't we?" Nods and murmurs of embarrassed agreement were returned from around the table. "Taylor when you went off to Canada, we blamed Ottilie for you going. We had no idea that she was pregnant with your child. Well she must have had Tara by then, only we didn't know it. But we all thought... as you did, that Ottilie had been two-timing you with William Morris. We didn't know how, when or where, but it seemed obvious to us at the time. Hey, it weren't as if any of us were welcome at her house, anymore than you were. We figured that she had had plenty of opportunity, if you know what I mean. Then she goes off to that exclusive private school and... That exclusive School Sylvia, turns out to have been a bleeding unmarried mothers home. "Shit. I should have worked that part out at least. Christ I've been teaching Tara English for three years, she's just too damned old to be... Well, I suppose she could have been Bill Morris' child." "Bill Morris is not Tara's father, of that I'm sure. I'm her father!" "I'm sorry! But why are you so sure?" "Tara told me and I believe her. Besides she found Ottilie's diaries; apparently in them Ottilie wrote all!" "Including Sam's seventeenth birthday party?" "Including Sam's party!" "Oh bugger, I bet it was embarrassing when Tara told you about that." "Tara's very diplomatic, but the little tyke knows how to hint at what she has read. Now let's get back to Ottilie herself, may we? You were saying..." "Yes well, we thought that Ottilie had done the dirty on you, so we all made a pact to blank her if and when we ever saw her again. Not that any of us did see much of her, I don't think. Until Tara started at the school that is." "Yeah Tara told me that Ottilie and Morris lived out Faversham way until she separated from him. Morris was a piss-artist and knocked her about a bit." "We read about that in the local paper; they said that he nearly killed her. Tara disappeared from school for awhile and the head told us not to question her about it when she came back." "So what happens now?" Mavis asked. "Do we all go and apologise to Ottilie when she wakes up?" "No, you go tomorrow while she's still in her coma. Well, some of you do at least. Look guys and girls the quacks reckon that Tara needs to be talked to while she's still unconscious. Kind-a reminded of her life when it was good. They say that it might help her come out of it. That's why I've come up here and I want you guy's to help in... well, we'll bombard Ottilie with memories of when we were all together; twenty-four hours a day. Or as much as we can anyway." "All the embarrassed faces around the table had disappeared, everyone was looking and sounding enthusiastic about my plan, even though some of them were confused about what I had been saying. In short, utter chaos, as those who did understand explained to those who didn't; while others appeared to be sorting out a rota. I'm afraid I couldn't follow who was saying what to whom!" The party broke up well after chucking-out time, the restaurant staff were looking quite peeved when we finally dispersed. I suppose discussion of who would be visiting Ottilie and when, must have gone on all evening, but the girls didn't think I needed to be included in their rota. Some of the guys were roped in as well, but it was considered that I'd be around anyway. Consequently I spent the rest of the evening relating more tales of my adventures in Canada and Cornwall. I really don't think that I... we... our old gang that is, were on the hospital managements' favourite people list. Because of Ottilie's unique condition, all visiting hour restrictions had gone by the wayside months before I arrived on the scene. After that evening though, the two visitors to a bed restriction was ignored as well. And Ottilie was moved to a more secluded room pretty smartly. When I arrived at the hospital the next morning, I found three of the girl's -- including Mavis Burton -- sitting around Ottilie's bed. I was graciously given access so that I could kiss her on the forehead as I did every time I visited Ottilie. But then I was pushed aside, as the girls carried on reminiscing about some outing they'd all been on together. I learnt some things that morning, I can tell you! Actually I learnt a lot of things over the next few weeks that I'm sure should never have seen the light of day again. All three girls had been replaced by other old friends by three o'clock when I was due leave owing to Frank Thorn's imminent arrival. But a guy called John something-or-the-other, a serving police officer (never a close friend of mine, but he courted one of the girls for a bit), stuck his nose in while at the hospital on official business. He talked to me about Bill Morris and said he'd try to discover where he was incarcerated and when he was due to be released. John did not enquire why I would be interested in such information. And one of the guys -- who's a postman -- joined the group around the bed when he'd completed his rounds for the day. Christ, I really couldn't keep up with those girls myself. That was the measure of things for the next couple of months. Some of our old friends, seemingly being beside Ottilie's bed talking to her, almost twenty-four hours a day. I mostly did the night shift twelve till seven AM alone, getting out a bit sharpish when I saw Frank Thorn walking across the car park with Tara. I'd have breakfast in the café down the road and then take Tara on to school, before returning to my hotel to get my head down for the day. In the evening I'd meet Tara at the hospital and usually take her somewhere to eat. Sometimes we'd eat at Sylvia's or one of the other girl's houses, and then I'd drop Tara home and return to the hospital. Although I wasn't what you might like to describe as "on shift" until midnight. There was some excitement, like the first time Ottilie returned to one of her states of higher consciousness and started babbling. The girls by her bed thought that she was awakening and a couple of them dashed outside to call everyone on their mobile phones. It was pandemonium in that ward when a dozen or so of our friends (including me) came dashing in. Only to be let down when Tara informed us what had actually happened. I must say, that I thought that those periods of higher consciousness were getting more frequent during November and early December. But the medical staff -- whom I assume kept records -- insisted that they weren't when you averaged them out. Remember that Ottilie had been in her coma for almost twice as long as I'd been around and the girls had been visiting. It was a Sunday about ten days short of Christmas. I have no recollection of why now but Frank Thorn wasn't there that day, so I was at the hospital mid afternoon along with Tara, Sylvia and a girl called Joan Harper. I remember it vividly; Sylvia and I were sat on one side of Ottilie's bed, Joan and Tara on the other. The stories of the gang's miscreant behaviour in our younger days having been repeated so often that they were driving us all nuts. Even though I found it fascinating how different people recalled remarkably conflicting versions of the same event, interesting as well when two of the girls disagreed on a point or two. Anyway I was thrilling my audience of four by relating an incident I'd had on one of Quiet Times' charters. Where some guy was so intent on getting a close-up of a Basking Shark he lent over the gunwale too far, and -- when a swell caught Quiet Times – he went base over apex into the drink. Discarding his camera the guy screamed for help, apparently believing that all sharks were of the man-eating variety. I'd better mention that Basking Sharks are filter eaters and only consume plankton; just in case, like the poor guy in the drink that day, you didn't know. Having finished my tale, I headed off toward the visitors facilities to empty my bladder. I will admit that I'd had partaken of a little light liquid lunch in a nearby public house, with Sylvia's husband Mark. For some reason that little room, the only one us visitors were supposed to use, was right down at the entrance to the ward. As I exited the ablutions the first thing that grabbed my attention, was a red light flashing urgently over the door to Ottilie's room. Then two nurses appeared and started hurrying along the corridor pushing the crash wagon between them. I'd seen it often, parked opposite the nurses' station. A small trolley, that had a defibrillator and some other miscellaneous medical equipment sat on top of it. I found that I couldn't move, I seemed to be rooted to the spot as other nurses and a doctors rushed passed me all heading in the same direction; towards Ottilie's room! Then to my surprise and confusion several of the nurses backed out of her room again and stood staring back into it through the open door. Eventually one of the nurses turned to look down the corridor at me, and started frantically signalling to me to join them. Then Tara's face appeared around the doorframe and she started waving as well. I knew what the Crash Wagon would have been needed for and -- to be frank with you -- it had frightened the crap out of me! But the obvious grin on Tara's face was implying the opposite of what I'd at first feared. End of Chapter 01 In Dreams Ch. 02 Regaining my composure I walked back to Ottilie's room. "See Ottilie he's here, Taylor only went to the loo." Sylvia was saying to the comatose Ottilie as I entered the room. "Ottilie, Ottilie," she repeated, "Taylor's here now. Ottilie..." "It's no good, she's gone again by the look of it." Sylvia said with tears running down her face. The nurses and doctors fussed around Ottilie for a few minutes but very soon most of them left except a staff nurse who took Ottilie's pulse and temperature and then made copious notes on her file. Eventually she said, "I'm sorry. But it is a good sign." and then she left the five of us alone. Apparently the three girls were chatting after I'd gone off to the toilet and Ottilie had suddenly asked them where I'd gone. For an instant all three had been so shocked that they hadn't even replied to her. Then Joan had realised that something significant had just happened and thought she had to do something, pushed the big red button that had a sign saying "Do not touch!" fixed above it. Regretfully "Where has Taylor gone?" Were the only four words Ottilie uttered that day. But then the following evening I definitely heard her say "Hello Sylvia." Ottilie's voice was weak, hardly more than a whisper and somewhat croaky as one might expect if you haven't used you larynx for a while. Actu-ally she'd sounded very similar to how she sounded when she talked or mumbled in her sleep, but a lot... I don't know... more distinct I suppose you might call it. There was no mistaking that she had to be awake. And the day after that, Ottilie asked where I was again. But of course I wasn't there to witness it that time either. That night Tara positively refused to go home to her grandfather's house and insisted that she stay at the hospital with me. I still wasn't experienced enough as a father to argue the point without the possibility of that confrontation deteriorating into a shouting match. We were in the wrong place and the time wasn't right for me to risk that happening. Besides she didn't have to go to school the next day because of the holidays. I was sat in the armchair, supposedly supplied for the patients use only; but experience had proved it to be the best one for dozing in. For a long time Tara had sat by her mother's bed in the darkened room. Leaning forward. her arms resting on the bed as she chatted away to the unconscious form before her. I'm afraid that I didn't listen to what she was actually saying to her mother. Probably I did doze or fall asleep for a while, it had been an eventful few days. So at what time Tara plonked herself on my lap I'm not sure; but she was soon fast asleep her arms draped around my neck, her head resting on my shoulder. I assume that I fell asleep shortly after Tara had. "Are you awake, Taylor?" Ottilie's croaky voice roused me from my slumber. Opening my eyes I could only just make out that Ottilie's head was no longer pointing straight up as if looking at the ceiling. It had to be turned towards me, for I could just make out her eyes gazing back into mine. "Yes Ottilie I'm awake." I replied quietly, for some inexplicable reason not wanting to disturb Tara. "Thank you for coming Taylor. Our daughter's beautiful, isn't she?" "Like her mother!" I replied. "You always were so sweet. I'm sorry Taylor, I made such a mess of things, didn't I?" "Now don't be hard on yourself Ottie. If anyone's' to blame its..." I stopped speaking as I realised that Ottilie was no longer looking back at me. I could clearly make out the outline of her profile; her head was looking up towards the ceiling again. Suddenly I wasn't at all sure her head had moved at all. "Did I just dream that?" I was forced to ask myself. The next thing I was aware of was Tara fidgeting on my lap as she woke. It was light by then and patently obvious that the nurses had been tippy-toeing around us while they administered Ottilie her morning ablu-tions and breakfast. Actually Ottilie was fed a milky looking substance by a machine connected directly into her stomach; through her abdomen somewhere, I think. Breakfast, lunch a dinner, it was always the same milky white substance. Ottilie's bodily waste products drained into regularly emptied receptacle tucked away under her bed. I only tell you this in case you were wondering why she didn't have all kinds of tubes and things coming out of her nose and mouth, like folks tend to have in films and on TV. At first glance, all anyone would ever notice were a few wires connected to a machine that kept an eye on Ottilie's heart rate and breathing. It had a little oscilloscope screen, on which you could watch her heartbeats and it could go beep, beep, beep! But for the majority of the time, the sound -- in her room -- was switched off. Only making a noise -- automatically -- should her heart rate vary beyond the norm (for Ottilie's condition that is). I was told that the sound coming back on, set off an alarm at the nurses' station as well. But I never witnessed the equipment work in anger, although some of the others did. Anyway we'd no sooner awoke, than the Staff Nurse looked at me and tapped her watch. This was my re-minder that Frank Thorn was due to arrive (or he had arrived and was in-hiding somewhere). I have no idea how much the nurses knew of the situation; probably all of it, if they'd overheard Ottilie's visitors talking to her. Yeah, nothing was taboo, we'd been told by Ottilie's specialists. But I believe that some of the doctors didn't know the full story, because more than one of them referred to him as my father when they mentioned Frank Thorn to me. But even they were aware that Frank and I... avoided each other like the plague. Probably complicating life for the hospital staff some. Well they were (at his request) forever having to repeat things to me, that they'd already explained to Frank Thorn. Not being sure that my short conversation with Ottilie hadn't been a dream, I didn't mention it to Tara as we went to a nearby cafe to find some breakfast ourselves. My daughter was due to be taken Christmas shopping by Sylvia and Joan (and their children) that morning, so I then drove her to Frank's place where she washed and changed; I waited in my car, before dropping her at Sylvia's house. Sylvia and her husband, had become my mentors where Tara was concerned. It was Sylvia who advised me on Christmas presents for my daughter, and Ottilie. Frank I'd try to ignore but Sylvia's husband had pur-chased a bottle of Scotch for the old sod, without my knowledge. Or financial input I might add. Christmas Eve was a complete mad-house at the hospital, well in Ottilie's room at least. It appeared that everyone on her visitor rota had bought her presents. Now ask yourself what do you buy a comatose woman who you haven't spoken to when she had been unconscious for getting on for sixteen years? Well it seems that between them they'd worked that one out... clothes! They were all convinced that very soon Ottilie was going to be needing a new wardrobe. Anyway I kind-a figured that Tara was going to have a busy Christmas morning opening all of her mother's presents or at least... Oh shit I can't recall now what I thought was going to happen that day; I wasn't intending to be there anyway! We had this very diplomatically worked out plan in place. While some of the rota girls sat with Ottilie Christ-mas Eve, I was eating that night with Joan and her family. Tara went to out to dinner with Frank, who then took her back at the hospital to sit by her mother until 10 PM, when I was due to takeover. Tara would see me when she came down in the lift... Oh yeah well, Frank and I worked to an unwritten rule, lift up, stairs down! Tara or one of the other girls rid-ing down in the lift would indicate that the other one of us could go up in it, because the other had started down the stairs; simple, if difficult to explain! I'm not quite sure who worked the system out, but it worked. Anyway that night it was planned that Tara would ride back up with me so she could say hello, then she would take the same lift back down again and go home with Frank. I was to be alone with Ottilie all night; but things didn't work out that way. Any hospital on Christmas Eve is a strange place. All the patients who could be, were allowed home to be with their families, even for just a day or so, are. So a good half of the beds are empty. Most of the nurses, doctors and ancillary staff on duty are volunteers. Although the Accident and Emergency had to be kept fully functioning; just about every other department runs on a skeleton staff. Consequently any loose bodies around, can find themselves roped in if things get a little hectic. I'd had plenty of time to kill -- while Frank had been in Ottilie's room -- over the previous few months so in a way, I'd become a sort of occasional volunteer porter. Providing that those portering tasks did not require me to enter Ottilie's ward. I'll add that my reputation from my younger days, had led to me being asked to assist hospital security on occasions. And members of the local constabulary when circumstance had required their presence; usually evicting drunks from the A and E department. My job had basically been to (unofficially) persuade the bug-gers not to return; but no-one ever (officially) knew who I was. Security and the police are required to handle brainless idiots with kid-gloves, if you get my drift? Okay, so I'd took a couple of hits over the months, but nothing serious! Where was I? Oh yeah! Anyway I hadn't been beside Ottilie's bed for long when my presence was requested down in A and E. The lone security guard had an inebriated patient's two even more inebriated friends to cope with. They weren't being violent; they were just trying to spread a little Christmas cheer. However they couldn't understand that they were in the wrong place to give a very loud -- and out of tune -- rendition of "God rest you merry gen-tlemen!" The police were somewhat busy that evening, so their arrival on the scene was delayed some. Eventually our entertainers were bundled into a police van and transported to, I don't know where. Either their home or a police cell for the night; I suppose that depended on how full of the Christmas spirit those two officers felt. It was gone midnight when the security guy and I sat down for a well-earned mug of tea made by one of the A and E nurses. However mine didn't get drunk because another nurse dashed in and told me I should get back to Ottilie's room, a bit lively. As I dashed up the stairs -- quicker than waiting for the lift -- The Staff Nurse -- obviously waiting for me at the top -- told me "Not to run!" "You'll be no good to anyone with a broken ankle Taylor!" She scolded. "What's happened?" I panted back at her. "She woke up and asked for you about an hour ago. She scared the life out Nurse Watson, she went in Ot-tilie's room to change her waste container and Ottilie suddenly asked her where you had gone. Nurse Wat-son hadn't even noticed that Ottilie's eyes were open." "Are they open now; is she properly awake?" "I'm sorry, but she drifted back into coma again before I got there. But she did wake and ask for you again about fifteen minutes ago; but then she went again. But Taylor, the doctor's here and he's been looking at the records of her brain activity this evening. He believes that she's coming out of it! He thinks that she is in the process of waking up properly." At first sight I could see no sign that anything had had changed in Ottilie's room. Of course there was doctor and nurse Watson in there, The doctor was examining Ottilie, -- repeatedly shining a little torch into her eyes and then moving it away again -- when I entered the room. "Hmm" and "That's good." He kept mumbling as he did so. Then after gazing at a long strip of paper -- I believe a printout form that monitoring machine -- he turned and addressed me. "Well I can't be sure Mr er..." "Carson!" the nurse prompted him "Mr Carson; it's not really my field. But I do believe that Ottilie is in the process of joining us again. I've spo-ken to her consultant and he'll be here first thing in the morning. He'll be able to assess the situation far bet-ter than I can. I'm sorry but I have to go now, I'm needed elsewhere according to my little friend here." He said, waving what looked like a pager at me. "Thank you, doctor." I found myself saying as he swiftly left the room. "Taylor's here now Ottilie, are you going to say hello to him?" Nurse Watson said confidently. Actually as if she was expecting Ottilie to reply. "Okay, he's a patient one. I'm sure he'll be here sitting by your bed when you want him. But just in case he has to leave for a minute or two, I'll give you this." Nurse Watson took the patient call button of its hook on the wall and pressed it into Ottilie's right hand. "Now all you need to do Ottilie, is press this button and I'll be here and so will Taylor! Just press it, like this!" She repeated pushing Ottilie's thumb onto the call button." "Can she hear you?" I asked. "I have no idea Taylor, but we have to hope that she can. There's no mistake about it though Ottilie has woken and spoken to me twice this evening; she even moved her head." "She did the other night as well, but I thought I'd dreamed it." I informed her and that got me chastised for not reporting the incident. Nurse Watson left us then and I took one of the uncom... less comfortable chairs and placed it as close to Ottilie's bed as I could. Sitting on the chair, I lent forward and took hold of her left hand, then I talked my heart out for god knows how long. Telling her that I was there and... Oh bugger. I really can't recall what gibberish I told her. Eventually though, the excitement of the evenings events having worn off I must have fallen asleep. For I was suddenly aware that the ward lights were up and that I could hear Nurse Watson explaining to her relief about Ottilie speaking to her during the night. I kind a gathered that they figured... well, nurses are usually pretty quiet as they go about their duties, but lets say they had developed a method of informing me that it was time to get out of the way and let them get with Ottilie's morning ablutions. I said "Good morning!" to the angels of mercy and wished them "Happy Christmas!" Then nurse Watson suggest that I should take an extra half hour over my morning coffee because the physiotherapy girls were coming early to pull and push Ottilie around. They usually spent some time every-day keeping her limbs exercised and massaging Ottilie's face muscles. All visitors were encouraged to leave the room while they did so; although Tara was in the habit of helping them. I suppose that -- had I actually been Ottilie's husband, I'd have been roped in as well. Whatever at that moment a third nurse wished us all happy Christmas and apologised for being late as she entered the room. That was obviously nurse Watson's signal that she could finally consider herself off-duty. A quick glance from her invited me to join her for a little breakfast down in the hospital staff cafeteria. Yeah well, I'd had breakfasted in there with some of the nurses numerous times before. Well I told you, I was sort-of considered an unofficial member of the volunteer staff by then. As was my routine, I lent down to kiss Ottilie on the forehead and say goodbye. But one of the nurses said. "On her lips, Taylor; it is Christmas, after all!" Since I'd started visiting Ottilie, only once that I could recall, had I kissed her on the lips. I'd been tempted to many a time, but had to keep reminding myself that I was -- in effect -- kissing a sixteen year old memory. Who Ottilie was going to be when... if she did awake, was anyone's guess, so I'd stuck to respectful kisses on her forehead... and sometimes her cheek. But as Nurse Clarke had said it was Christmas so I took the liberty of staring at Ottilie's closed eyes was I gently placed my lips upon hers. I suppose you've guessed it, but the instant my lips touched Ottilie's her eyes flicked wide open and stared back at me. I have no recollection of how I reacted to Ottilie's eyes suddenly opening as they did, besides probably jump-ing a couple of feet into the air. But in the next instant all three nurses were around the bed all gabbling at Ottilie at the same time. While I stood there in shock, Ottilie was moving her head and... well talking to the girls; admittedly in that croaky voice of hers. And then the staff nurse, followed by the duty Ward Sister came into the room. Eventually the doctor (from the evening before) all seemingly magically appeared. I have to assume that one of the nurses had to have pushed Ottilie's call button. Organised chaos appeared to reign for a while, but I soon realised that everyone knew exactly what they were about. In fact I was ushered out of the room while the doctor gave Ottilie a full examination. Although I was allowed to say goodbye to her and tell Ottilie that I'd be back shortly. I was a little confused by Ottilie's reaction when I did so though. She kind-a gave a half smile. More suc-cinctly a rather embarrassed looking smile, as if she had no idea she how she was supposed to react. One has to remember that I'd been warned in advance that all of Ottilie's muscles (including her facial ones) would have atrophied a little, despite the valiant efforts of the physios'. So I really had little idea what to make of Ottilie's smile. Less so the, "Thanks Taylor." She managed to mumble out. Nurse Watson and I went down to the Staff cafeteria and she had breakfast. I couldn't bring myself to even contemplate eating, and sat there drinking coffee. As she ate Nurse Watson spelt out what was going to happen with Ottilie during the next few days and pos-sibly weeks. Operations to remove Ottilie's feeding tube and reconnect her... colon. Then lots of physio-therapy and psychological assessments. The doctors still had little idea if Ottilie's brain function had been impaired by her ordeal. It turned out that Nurse Watson had been involved with long term Coma patents previously and knew the ropes well, if you get my drift. Then our conversation sort of drifted back to Nurse Watson's love life -- a regular topic of ours -- for while. Before Tara came bouncing into the cafeteria complaining that they wouldn't let her it to see her mother yet because Ottilie's consultant was with her. Nurse Watson assured Tara that he wouldn't stay long (on Christmas day) and that she'd be able to be with her mother for the rest of the day. He had to be in the hospital somewhere because he'd driven Tara there and I suppose Frank must have been up to the ward, seen Ottilie and her Consultant (before he'd left); but there was no sign of him when Tara and I arrived back at Ottilie's room. My daughter rushed across the room and virtually launched herself at her mother's bed. How she didn't do Ottilie some kind of bodily injury I really don't know. But after smothering her mother with kisses and excited chatter for god knows how long a she eventually ran out of steam and allowed Ottilie to... well, whisper a few words back to her. I didn't hear what Ottilie said, but it caused Tara to slip off the bed, sit in one of the chairs beside it and then turn to glance at me, before looking back at her mother. I'd kind-a progressed very slowly across the room, most likely I'd stopped to watch the tableau of mother and daughter together. I'm not really sure that I knew what I was doing; I fear that I'd lost my nerve and found that I was doubting myself... or maybe I was doubting Ottilie. Whatever I was totally confused about what I should do. However Tara's glance in my direction had prompted her mother to look at me as well... and confused about how to handle things or not, that was my cue to approach Ottilie's bed. In Dreams Ch. 02 I cannot explain the reason why I did what I did next, it was all spur of the moment thing governed I think by the -- what I can only describe as -- apprehensive expression in Ottilie's eyes. I crossed the room took gentle hold of Ottilie's left hand -- that definitely flinched at my touch -- and kissed the back of it. Then, pulling a chair close to the bed, said "Hello Ottilie!" as I sat on it. Then I sat there staring at her expectantly. "Hi Taylor! I wasn't expecting to see you here." Ottilie replied. "Oh you know me, kiddo; I'm like a bad penny you never know when I'm going to put in an appearance." I found myself replying. "How are you feeling anyway?" "Tired and confused. They tell me I've been in a coma for a long time." Ottilie replied with more than a shade of difficulty. "Well over a year mum!" Tara interjected and then she rolled straight on to quoting exact dates. And from there... Well, whether intentionally or not, it all poured out of my daughter. About how Bill Morris had shown up at their house and after arguing with Ottilie, he had beaten her senseless. And I might add done some-thing I had been unaware of up until that time, attacked and knocked Tara out cold as well, when she'd tried to go to her mother's defence. A lot of mutual (mother and daughter) crying and commiseration went on, that I wasn't really a party to. I might have felt close to my daughter, but Ottilie was still an enigma to me. Well the one who'd woken from a Coma that morning was. The night before she could still be that young woman I recalled from our teenage... romance. As Tara kept talking, I began to get the suspicion that my daughter might have bearing a cross that I had been totally unaware of. When I reflected on it later, it seemed obvious to me that Tara had misguidedly been blaming herself for Ottilie's injuries. Possibly because -- from Tara's perspective -- she had not called the police the instant she had become aware that Bill Morris was in the house. I figured that I'd better mention that to someone, I had no idea what to do about it myself; except maybe talk to Tara. But I still wasn't comfortable in my new position as Tara's father, and had no idea how I should ap-proach that kind of a problem. I vowed to address the problem with my muses Sylvia and her husband. Whether for good or worse, I was effectively -- if unintentionally -- sidelined by my daughter who monopolised Ottilie for the next hour or so. In a way I'd sort-of expected that would happen, if not welcomed it. I had known for some time that when she woke up there was going to have to be a frank exchange of views be-tween Ottilie and myself on numerous subjects and I had it figured, that that would best happen in private. What that ultimate result of that exchange bring, I had no idea... I hadn't been thinking that far ahead for some months by then. But as I sat there that morning -- half -- listening to what the two women were saying to each other, I began to feel more than a little apprehensive about the outcome of that exchange when it did come. I had grown to like the idea of having a doting daughter, and I had become more and more convinced that I really would like to try to make a go of it with Ottilie. Although I understood that there were going to be a lot of hurdles to leap in that one. Firstly I had no idea how Ottilie felt about me... or if she still felt anything for me. After all, the long lost boyfriend Ottilie had described to Tara, had -- in fact -- been a self-centred hormo-nal teenager; a half forgotten memory probably seen through rose tinted spectacles in Ottilie's mind as well. I haven't ever claimed to be perfect... and, as they say, a bloody lot of water had flowed under the proverbial bridge since Ottilie and I had last been together; whilst she had been conscious of the fact that is. As they chatted... or rather Tara gabbled away at Ottilie, who managed to fit in an acknowledgment or nod of understanding here and there. Ottilie would cast the odd brief glance in my direction. When she did so I could definitely recognise the flicker of a nervous expression in it... or maybe a concerned expression in Ot-tilie's eyes. So when the Staff nurse -- apparently checking the readout on Ottilie's monitoring machine -- subtly tapped her watch to tell me that Frank Thorn was around and wished to see his daughter. I announced that I really should be heading to Sylvia's house; where I was supposed to be sharing their Christmas dinner. Tara and Ottilie both made a show of not wishing me to leave. I was sure I could trust Tara's reaction, but I was unsure whether Ottilie wanted me to stay, just because our daughter did. However there was no way I was sharing the same air, as Frank Thorn and Tara understood that when I explained that he was on the ward. However there was no mistaking the completely mystified expression that Ottilie had on her face when I left the room. Or the mystified expression that came over Tara's face as she watched me kiss her mother's hand again. Frank Thorn was waiting by the nurses' station and he tried wish me a happy Christmas as I passed him... Well, I assume it was me he was addressing! However I blanked him and carried on walking as fast as my legs could carry me. "God Taylor, Ottilie still doesn't know!" Sylvia said, as I explained the morning's events to her. Oh, I had called Sylvia early on in the day and informed her that Ottilie had regained consciousness. Sylvia was the first link in the chain that was set to very quickly inform all of our old friends. "She doesn't know what?" "Anything! Why you really went... or even when you left the country. Ottilie probably still thinks you ran off the moment you heard that she was pregnant. She's been unconscious remember; Ottie probably wont even remember that we've all been trying to apologise for blanking her." "But she's been semi-conscious or whatever that quack called it, sometimes while we've been there and eve-ryone's apologised and explained enough, haven't they?" "That doctor said that Ottilie would probably be in a dream world, Taylor. If she heard and remembers any of it, she'll probably think that she dreamed it all anyway." "Oh god, I didn't think! I was to busy trying to read her facial expressions this morning." "No, obviously you didn't. Ottilie was probably trying to figure-out where you'd suddenly popped-up from. To Ottilie, the last god knows how many months just haven't existed." I did not get back to the hospital until quite late. Surprisingly Tara and her grandfather had already left. Things had done an about face; the medical staff were trying to ensure that Ottilie got enough rest. "If she's asleep, you can stay as long as you like." Nurse Watson informed me. "But If Ottilie's wakes-up, then I might have to ask you to leave; she's got a lot of recovering to do. And boy your daughter has worn her mother out today. Once she gets started that kid of yours doesn't stop for breath." Besides the decorations Tara and I had been allowed to put up. Ottilie's room was dotted with an amount of detritus one would expect to see lying around on Christmas day; all somewhat unusual for a hospital room. Including what looked like a large stack of unopened presents, but I had to assume that Ottilie had been too tired to witness opening of them all; I was pretty sure that our daughter would have undertaken the physical task on her mother's behalf. As Nurse Watson had implied Ottilie was asleep, looking almost as serene as she had for the preceding few months. Although, the monitoring machine was conspicuous by its absence, Ottilie's feeding machine was still there as was that container under her bed. I found myself looking through a few of her Christmas cards and realised that they were nearly all new -- wel-come back to us -- cards, that I'd never seen before. For an instant I felt annoyed with myself because there wasn't one from me amongst them. Then feeling uncommonly tired, myself, I settled in a chair and gently took hold of Ottilie's left hand again. How long I sat there before I drifted off to sleep myself I do not know. ----- As I struggled out of my sleep, I first became aware that I had the mother of all headaches, and secondly that I could hear someone talking. "I would have expected him to have shown some sign of consciousness by now. We'll do another blood test and see what the concentration's like; perhaps he isn't clearing sedative out of his system." A male voice was saying. "Oh he's showing signs all right, Doctor. He's been fidgeting and mumbling away to himself all night!" A fe-male voice replied. "There, he just moved his head again!" Because, I had just moved my head slightly -- although still not opened my eyes -- I'd instinctively feared the effect the obviously bright lights in the room were going to have -- so that I could hear what the nurse was saying more clearly; a quick bit of mental fumbling assured me that the two voices had to be talking about me. That caused me to do a quick bit of general reassessment and I realised that I could be no longer sitting be-side Ottilie's bed. I was lying flat out on my back on a bed, myself. Okay, that called for a little more... mental gymnastics. In my time... well, I did tell you that I had been in a few more scrapes than the average youngster, and -- although I hate to admit it -- I had been knocked clean out, on more than one occasion. Consequently I was more than a little prepared for the mental confusion that usually follows such an incident. That "What the hell happened?" and "Where the hell am I?" moment! The two questions your brain tries to work-on at the same instant, and that adds to its general confusion Maybe I recognised the distinctive pounding in my head as well; that doesn't quite equate with the after-effects of the excessive consumption of falling-down water. A night on the binge! And I was also well aware, that generally, one tends to forget exactly what has happened in the preceding few hours'... days sometimes. After daring to risk opening my eyes just a tiny fraction -- to kind-a test the waters -- I screwed them tightly shut again. Jesus that room was brightly lit. "Did anyone get the number of that ruddy bus?" I found myself asking. "Ah, good morning you've decided to join us at last!" The doctor said. "You've been keeping us waiting you know. How are you feeling?" "Like crap! The lights a little bright in here!" "Sorry, close the blinds for a while nurse, that should make Mr Carson a little more comfortable." A few seconds later the light forcing it's way through my eyelids dimmed so I opened my eyes to test the wa-ters again. Above me stood a doctor, dressed in the ubiquitous white coat, a stethoscope hanging from his neck. And a moment later an enchanting nurse appeared at the other side of the bed. At that time I wasn't risking move-ment, or my built in radar might have spotted her first. "Hospital?" I asked. "Royal Cornwall, Trelisk." The doctor replied. "And the bus?" "A car actually. Some old biddy made a bit of a pigs-ear of parking on the quay. The story goes, that she hit the accelerator instead of the brake pedal or something. Anyway she ended up parking in the harbour. The car hit you and your boat on the way in." "How's Quiet Times?" I found myself asking. The doctor couldn't answer that one; possibly he had no idea what I was talking about. Okay, so I knew I was in hospital and why I was there; but the information had confused me more than I'd been when I awoke. Simple questions were racing around in my head that I somehow doubted the doctor or nurse could answer. Like, "What the hell was I doing back in Cornwall?" and "What had happened with Ot-tilie when she woke up from her...?" "Doctor how long have I been out?" "Three, nearly four weeks. You took one hefty knock on the head my lad; we had to keep you sedated until your brain healed itself. You know, you've got one tough skull there my friend, you only suffered a hairline fracture." I forced a glance at the closed blinds. "The date today?" "August the Twenty-fifth!" The doctor replied. "Year?" "Are you that confused? 2010 anyway. You've only been out for a little under four weeks." "Bugger!" I found myself saying, unintentionally. I'm not exactly dumb, the doctor's revelations could only mean on thing. I'd dreamed everything about Tara, Ottilie and the others while I'd been in a drug induced Coma myself. Quite a let down, I can tell you! "Sorry, Mr Carson?" "Doc what would you say if I told you that I was celebrating Christmas 2010 last evening." "I'd say that the sedatives we've had to keep you on, have caused you to hallucinate in your dreams." "I thought dreams were hallucinations anyway." "Yes well, I suppose they are; sleep disorders aren't really my field. Whatever, Christmas is still some months away yet my friend! Good party, was it?" "No party doc, just... well things are a little vague, you know how it is." Disappointed I might have been, but I didn't want the doctor to start to think I'd gone off my trolley; so I de-cided to play down the subject. "Yes, I find dreams confusing myself, as well. Never mind, I should imagine that you'll have forgotten them by tomorrow." Then the doctor proceeded to put me through a thorough examination. Standard stuff, basically making sure that everything that should be working, was! Then he smiled and told me that they would probably discharge me after a day or so's observation and left. The charming nurse proceeded to make me comfortable, both physically and mentally, as only pretty young nurses can do. "So have any of the boys been in?" I asked her. "Oh several times from what I hear. But I'd have thought you'd be more interested in your female visitors." She replied with a cheeky grin that told me that she noticed that I'd been subtly checking her... No. Let's leave that shall we. "Female visitors?" I queried. "Yes. Mrs Clegg and four other ladies." Mrs Clegg, well I suppose I could understand her coming in to visit me; she was just about the closest thing I had to family in the county. But four other ladies the nurse had said and I had no idea who they could be. "Four other ladies; I wonder who they could possibly be?" I found myself expressing my thought's out-loud. "Well two women and two teenagers. I'm sorry, the only visitor I've seen by your bed whom I know by sight is Maud Clegg; I looked after her husband for some time before he passed on. I can't tell you much about the others I'm afraid; except that they aren't local. We're a little short staffed here nowadays, Staff might know something, as she's spoken to them I'm sure." "How often have they been coming in?" "I really can't tell you Mr Carson. I'm on the agency, a spare-broom, I fill in where I'm needed. I'm rarely on the same ward two days in a row. I'll see what I can find out for if you like?" "Thank you nurse. I'm really a little confused about all this." "You're not the first by a long chalk Mr Carson. A lot of people have those dreams while in a coma you know. From what I understand some of them can be really convincing. And of course there's always the chance you'll have a little amnesia as well. That can be very confusing." Then the nurse... bounced out of the ward, throwing me an... er, interesting glance as she went. I looked around the other five beds in the little ward. At first glance it looked like only mine was occupied. But the nurses must have been tidying things away because -- on closer inspection -- two others looked like they could be in use. I was still wondering where their occupants could be when that smiling nurse's face reappeared. "If I'm not mistaken," I thought to myself, "That pretty young nurse was tipping her hat in my direction. You'd better make sure you get her name and telephone number before she goes off duty." "Sorry Mr Carson." The nurse said. "Staff can't tell you very much either. Mrs Clegg is listed as your next of kin and besides passing the time of day with the other ladies, Staff hasn't spoken to them. But Staff believes that one of them might be called, Sylvia and thinks that they refer to one of the younger ones, as Tara." "Chatterbox?" "I don't know I'm afraid. Maybe George and Tony will be able to tell you." I must have looked even more confused. "Your roommates. They're either watching the TV in the dayroom or having coffee downstairs, or more likely perhaps they're outside having a crafty puff. Probably both of the latter two, at the same excuse." She winked and was gone again. I lay there half-listening to the noises of people moving around in the greater ward and half trying to get something to make a little sense of everything. You have to remember that in July when the doctor inferred that I'd been struck on the head, I'd didn't even know that Tara had ever existed. Consequently, I could not understand how the Tara the nurse had just mentioned, could be my Tara. In which case, who in heavens name was she? And then who could the woman called Sylvia be. I'd er... been acquainted with a few Sylvia's over the years and... well, I had been more than a little acquainted with a few of them, if you get my drift. But there hadn't been a Sylvia around for... well, lets just say that they wouldn't have come rushing to my bedside, anyway. Sylvia and Tara! No, confusing as it was, the only two that I could come up with was the two from my dream. But surely that was impossible! Eventually just as lunch was in the process of being served. Two reprobates wondered into my enclave, one of which I recalled, was a regular client of one of the local pubs I sometimes frequented. Besides a brief exchange of smiles and nods when they first entered the ward, we didn't speak while we consumed our meal. Well, not to each other anyway, a few racy comments were exchanged with the nurses and auxiliaries who served us; until Staff paid us a brief visit, then decorum returned. Possibly the other two guys had got a little loud. "Carson you ol' bugger, you back with us for good?" Tony said walking over to my bedside as the remains of my meal were being cleared away. "I hope so, Tony." "Jesus mate, you took a real bash on the noggin. If it hadn't been for that bleeding lifejacket you habitually wear, you'd 'ave been a gonna!" "Do you know what happened? The doc told me some silly bugger drove off the quay." "Yeah that's about it, I didn't see it 'appen. I was in the Fisherman's when someone rushed in and shouted that a car had gone into the drink. By the time I got down there some of the lads were in the water dragging the old biddies from out of the car, which had ended up under your boat, onto it. Then some bugger spots you, in your lifejacket floating around, so they dragged you back onto your boat as well. They realised that you were right out of it. We had to clear the quay for the air-ambulance to land." "What about the old ladies?" Wet and cold, but otherwise they were fine I think. They might have drunk half the harbour though. Anyway they were taken away by a land ambulance and released from hospital the following morning. You made the TV news you know... or rather the ol' biddies did." "Tony, you been in here long?" "A week; had a little problem." He replied, pointing down at his private parts. "Alright now though; so my sentence is up tomorrow morning." I decided to enquire no more about the reason Tony's hospitalisation. "I've been told Maud Clegg has been in to visit me." "Yeah, every evening regular as clockwork; you could set your watch by her." "Anyone else?" "Yeah, two of your conquests, I should imagine. And two teenaged girls, pretty little things! Say Carson, what do you get up to when you're not out on that boat of yours?" In Dreams Ch. 02 "Did you manage to overhear any names mentioned by any chance?" I asked; ignoring the question. "See George, I told you he was dangerous. I wouldn't let my misses loose in the same pub with the bugger." Tony directed at George, who had remained silent during the exchange so far. Actually that was an odd statement for Tony to make because I was sure he was not married. Well I knew that he was single anyway. "Sylvia, Katie, Ottilie and Tara. Mother and daughters by the look and sound of it." George offered. "But that's impossible!" I found myself saying. "Sorry Mr Carson... it might be worse than you think!" "It's just Carson, George. Or Taylor, makes no never-mind." "Cheers Carson, but it might be a little more worrying for you to learn that that Tara child..." "Yes?" "Well, she says... or seems to think that she is anyway... your daughter!" "George, as confusing as all this is, she's quite possibly correct. But I can't understand how I could know that! I can't even understand how those women knew I was in here in the first place." "Oh that's easy to explain." George replied. "That Sylvia woman was down here on holiday with her family and she saw the accident reported on the local TV news. They must have mentioned your name and the next morning she was in here looking for you. She created quite a fuss and hung around all day until they let her in to see if you were the Carson Taylor she'd been looking for. "She's come in to visit you everyday since, usually she has her daughter with her. Then a day or so after your accident the other two turned up with her. They met the older lady.... Mrs Clegg in the ward here when she came into visit and since then they've all been coming together. I think the other four are staying with Mrs Clegg now." "Cheers fella's, a nurse mentioned my mysterious visitors earlier and I was getting just a little concerned." "So our Carson has had a secret family that no one has ever heard of, tucked away all along!" Tony com-mented. "Tony, you might not believe this, but I had no idea I had a daughter until..." "Until when." "Would you believe, that I had I no idea that I did have a daughter when that car came off the quay that day. I'm having a little difficulty understanding it myself, but when I woke up today I find that I know that I have a daughter! I know, it don't make much sense to you, it makes even less sense to me. But it is fact!" "I think you need a little more time to get your mind straight my friend." George smiled at me. "I've heard some people can be a little confused about all sorts of things when they wake-up after a long coma." "George, I don't think three weeks can be classed as a long coma." I assured both my companions who were staring back at me with... yeah all right I think they both thought that I was still a little on the doolally side, after my ordeal. Their sympathetic expressions, I found annoying. "Right, you see when they... if they turn up again today. You ask Tara's mother; she'll tell you that I had no knowledge that the child is mine." "Yes of course we'll do that, if you wish Carson. Now how d'you fancy a nice cup of tea?" Tony suggested, obviously noting my... demeanour and doing his best to pour a little calming oil. Most of that rest of our afternoon was spent discussing... Nope, with my two roommates discussing the finer details of what should have been long-forgotten premier league football matches. No, I don't share the fas-cination that some have for the game. In fact, I spent most of the time trying to ignore their prattling and recall my dream more clearly. I kind of couldn't understand the time-scale of that dream, if that's what it had been. To me it seemed like I'd been living in another world... another dimension maybe. But even that didn't make any sense, because the timeframes didn't match. In my dream I'd been living a good four months ahead of myself. In all the books that I'd ever read, when someone supposedly jumped from one dimension to another, the time and date were always the same. Sometime later a couple of nurses arrived and told me that I had been deemed fit enough to get out of bed. Good timing actually, because (the doctor and nurse having removed my catheter that morning) nature was beginning to get a little insistent. The nurses also suggested that a nice shower wouldn't do me any harm. What they didn't say, was that they'd have to supervise me during my shower because I had just woken from a coma. I'll admit that for a minute or two there, I was somewhat unsteady on my feet; but the sensation didn't last long. The boys had drifted off to one of the other beds by the time I returned. So I lay on top of my bed and closed my eyes to pretend that I was taking a nap. I had a lot of things to think about. In fact I must have dosed between my musings because I suddenly noticed that Tony was missing and that George had visitors. I guessed, George's wife and children. I must have dozed a little more, until I was aroused by a voice quietly asking "Mr Carson?" The boy I'd assumed was George's son, was stood nervously by my bed. Instantly I recalled that I'd seen the lad around the town now and again, one of the local urchins who hang around the boats during the sum-mer. I must have had a questioning expression on my face, because without further ado he went on. "Mr Carson. My dad told me that you were... well, asking about... your visitors." He said. Then the lad went silent, I got the feeling that he had lost his nerve. "It's just Carson lad, what's your name?" "John sir... er Mr Carson!" "Jesus lad I don't bite! Oh yeah well, I have to admit that I can be a little sharp with you lads sometimes. But you have to admit that you can be a bloody nuisance when you want to be. Anyway we're not on the quay here and you're not getting in the punters way. So what are you trying to tell me? Or should I really be ask-ing, is it Kate or Tara who's caught your eye?" Tara 's too upset to talk to anyone Mr Carson. But I had a long talk with Kate outside Parson's boatyard the other day. Tara was inside inspecting the damage to your boat." "Quiet Times, in Parson's place; how did it get there?" "I don't know sir. I think it was taken there on the day of your accident. But the Parson's man said that the damage was only cosmetic, if that means anything to you." "Thank you John, I was more than a little concerned about her. You'd better pencil yourself in for a trip out on her when I'm back on my feet. "Thank you sir." "John, its Carson got it? He nodded "Right, so what did you learn from young Kate during your conversa-tion. Pretty little thing isn't she?" "Oh, I wasn't..." "No my lad, of course you weren't. But please remember that I and your mother and father were all teenag-ers once; we know why handsome young boys like yourself find themselves in conversation with pretty young ladies. "Well sir, Kate told...." "John, lets try a change of tack. How about you call me skipper; will you find that any easier?" A confused expression came over the lads face for a second or two and then it sank home. "Yes... Skipper, I think I understand." He grinned. "Right lad, what gems of wisdom have you got for me?" "Well Skipper, it didn't make any sense to me, but Kate told me that they're down here because you're Tara's father." "I should imagine that that is correct, John." "But Kate said that you're not supposed to know that you're Tara's father. They're all a little... "Concerned." I suggested. "Yeah, worried. They said that you didn't know that Tara had been born and they are... concerned about how you're going to react when they tell you." "This evening should be fun for everyone then. Because John, I do know that Tara is my daughter.... Mind you, I can't begin to try to explain how I know. Or how I know that young Kate, who appears to have caught your eye, is such a pretty young thing. You do realise that I have never seen Kate or Tara in my life, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of their mothers for the last sixteen years." "I knew it was a long time... Skipper, Kate told me." "Anything else you can tell me?" "Not much Skipper. They are staying at old Mrs Clegg's house, and Kate's mother drives them all around in one of those people carrier things." "Sylvia, Kate's mother's husband?" "He took Kate's brother home with him. They were down here on holiday and saw the accident on TV. Kate stayed when Tara came down because they are friends at school." "And Tara's mother, any mention of a husband?" "Er, no Skipper, I thought at first that you were... But Tara's mother's name is Thorn so..." "John, better you don't try to get your head around that one. But do you happen know what Tara's surname is?" "Oh yeah, Carson sir!" "Okay John, thank you for the information. I owe you a couple of trips out on Quiet Times at least. Oh and as a matter of self-preservation, you don't go mentioning to Kate that you've spoken to me today." "Why Skipper?" "Trust me son! If you've got any designs on young Kate, then you keep-schtum about our conversation to-day." The lad smiled and then returned to his father's bedside. I pretended to be asleep again while my brain ru-minated on what the lad had told me. George's visitors had left by the time I was disturbed again by a nurse doing the rounds and updating my chart. Apparently right after she'd gone our evening meal arrived, but I might have dozed for a while again. At half-six Betty -- barmaid at the Rose and Crown -- strolled in and made straight for Tony's bed. It didn't take me long to understand why Tony always seemed to be in that particular pub. A brief kiss and quiet talk to Tony lead to Betty looking my way. She smiled, waved and called out, "Hi Car-son, feeling better?" I think I replied with a thumbs-up and smile. Then the two of them dropped into what I can only describe as furtive conversation. Punctuated by Betty glancing my way. Then Tony and Betty went over to George's bed and had a few quiet words with him. George glanced up at the ward clock and then he was on his feet. Making a show of retrieving his cigarettes from his bedside locker, George waved them at me and then all three of them left the ward. For an instant I wondered what they were doing, then I recalled one of the guys mentioning that Maud ar-rived at the same time every evening. "You could set your watch by her!" they'd implied. I found myself checking the ward clock and found that it was ten to seven. Then I tried to recall what time they said Maud and the others habitually arrived. I came up blank on that one, and cursed myself for really not concentrating on what the guys had been telling. It was dead on seven o'clock when I heard Maud Clegg's... dulcet tones echoing down the ward. Maud's voice is not loud. But it is uniquely distinctive, and it... carries. I think everyone in our town knows Maud Clegg; if not by sight, then by sound! Maud was very obviously talking to a couple of different nurses, possibly at the nurse's station. But it wasn't Maud who first walked into my little side ward. Tara rushed into the room and then stopped dead in her tracks when she saw that I was staring back at her. Less than a second or so later Kate followed Tara into the room almost crashing into her. Then the two girls stood there, mouths open, staring at me. Although I had a general plan for the evenings visit, I didn't have any kind of a script worked out in my head. So I was really flying by the seat of my pants. "Hello Tara. Hi Kate. Now, I don't look that frightening do I? Come sit on the bed?" Yeah I know, but what was I supposed to say? Tara moved first, I think possibly, Kate was letting her lead. Tara walked slowly over to the bed, took hold of the hand I had outstretched and eventually settled serenely onto the edge of the bed. Or rather she tried too, but I literally had to help her up; hospital beds are pretty high. Then I helped Kate up onto the other side of the bed. All pretty helpful, in a way, because it broke the formality of the occasion. "You know? Don't you?" Tara asked. "That you are my daughter? Well I think I do. It's all a little confusing Tara, I appear to know a lot of things that by rights, I shouldn't and couldn't know. I just have no idea how I know." "Both girls looked confused. "Lets see what I know shall we. You are Ottilie Thorn's daughter and you are fifteen years old, yes? "Yes." "Then that has got to make me your father then, doesn't it?" "Yes but you weren't supposed to..." "And I can assure you that I didn't know anything about you Tara, when I had my recent accident. But for some reason I do now. I also know.... Or think I know that you two are best friends at school, and that Kate's mother is your English teacher, Tara. Is that right? "Yes." Both girls replied in unison. "Right, let's not dwell on what I know or how I know it, for the moment. Because there are just couple of things, that don't really make any sense to me. I'll need to speak to your mothers about them. But I really would appreciate it if my daughter at least would give her father a hug." I was still hugging Tara when Maud, Sylvia and Ottilie appeared at the end of the bed. I exchanged a brief non-verbal greeting with Maud; smiles and knowing nods of the head. Then I locked eyes with Ottilie and was surprised to see tears running down her face. "You'll have to excuse me Tara, I think a hug is needed elsewhere." Oh I'll add that I'd decided that it would be best for me to be sitting up on my bed during this encounter, or at least the first part of it. I kind-a had it figured doing so would allow... well both Tara and Ottilie would be able to... well control the distance between us. They could decide how close or how far they were away from me, during the exchange. Both Tara and Kate slid off the bed while Sylvia guided Ottilie to Kate's side of it. Tara noticing her friend had vacated a space for her mother, climbed back up again. Ottilie sat on the side of the bed and I put my arms around her and pulled her close. Tara did her best to cuddle up to both of us. "Taylor, I'm..." Ottilie began to say, but I put my finger against her lips, to silence her. "Later Ottie, I'm confused enough as it is. You're here with me and that's really all that matters. Oh and Tara of course, but she's a bright girl; I'm sure she wont object to us all just cuddling for a while." I'm not sure how long we sat like that, but eventually Sylvia must have decided that we needed to talk. "Taylor, you don't appear to be at all surprised that we're here?" "I'm not, the nurses told me that I've had four... Sorry Maud, five enchanting women visiting my unconscious form everyday." "But they wouldn't have known who we are!" "No, I'll give you that. For now, lets just say that it was an inspired guess on my account." "Bloody inspired! We haven't seen hide nor..." "Sylvia, some people say that dreams are wishes, and maybe sometimes those wishes come true. Well some of them do anyway." I replied. But as I spoke Ottilie... well, she reacted. She disentangled herself from my arms and raised her head so that she could look me in eyes. "Taylor, did you dream while you were unconscious?" "Well yeah. Sort of!" "Vivid dreams?" Ottilie insisted. "Yeah, pretty life-like." Ottilie turned away to glance at Sylvia for a second or two. I couldn't see Ottilie's face but that glance had caused Sylvia's eyes to grow as large as saucers. "Taylor, do you know a man who dresses like one of those mountain men from the cowboy films?" Sylvia asked. I used to. My Uncle... "Percy!" Ottilie and Sylvia said in unison, before I had a chance to get the word out. "That's right, but he's dead now. He was the guy I went out to live in Canada with. But you knew that Syl-via." "No we didn't. All anyone knew was that you went off to America..." "Canada! Sylvie," "Is there a difference?" "Try asking a Canadian that one. Or your Geography colleagues at school." "Anyway we never did know exactly where you went, you weren't very communicative with anyone at the time, if you remember?" "I remember too well, Sylvia. But to be honest I had no idea where I was going when I flew out. If I had I might not have gone. So... where does Uncle Percy fit in to this anyway?" "Ottilie knows him very well. He popped up in her dreams when she was in a coma last year." Oh no, don't tell me that Morris actually did..." I didn't have to complete the question, Ottilie was nodding at me. "Last October?" I ventured. "Ottilie nodded again." "How long were you in cloud-cuckoo-land?" "I woke up on Christmas morning." "You didn't happen to see anyone else there; you know, before you woke up properly, Ottilie?" "Well I thought I saw you a couple of times." "Ottie, you did! I was there.... Well, yesterday. I had Tara sat on my lap, asleep." Things got a little... er, confusing after that. It was pretty soon obvious that Ottilie had confided all of her dreams to Sylvia; probably in far better detail than I've managed to explain mine here to you. I wont go into any of that at the moment, I'll leave it until Ottilie told me about them herself. And no -- what you might call -- "clearing the air" conversation went-on between Ottilie and myself. I think we both thought that would come later when we were in private. Actually after those in the know, Ottilie, Sylvia and myself, realised we thought we had a good idea what had happened the subject was promptly dropped. Well, the two youngsters and Maud were looking at us as if we gone crazy. Somehow the conversation switched to accommodation, and plans were made for the four visitors to move from Maud's little house into mine. Where they'd all managed to find to sleep in Maud's place, I'll never know. It's just a one up, one down, fisherman's cottage; okay with a little modern extension out the back. When the nurses dimmed the lights that night, to tell the remaining visitors that it was time they left. Ottilie was still sitting on my bed, very firmly attached to me. The others left, leaving her alone with me for a few minutes. "Taylor, this isn't another dream is it?" She asked. "I bloody hope not Ottie, I've had enough disappointments in my life" "Thanks for not..." "Ottilie, sixteen years ago I lost you. For gods sake please still be here when I wake tomorrow." "I will be back in the morning, right after we've moved to your house, Taylor; I promise!" She replied and then kissed me on the lips. Yeah well, technically it was a kiss, but it would be more properly described as a snog, I think. It went on until the Staff Nurse came in and cleared her throat loudly several times. ----- The morning brought a disagreement between my nurses, the doctor on duty and myself. I felt fine and de-cided that I wanted to be at home with Ottilie and Tara. The doctor wanted me to remain under observation for another day or so. Eventually I vetoed that plan, something I knew I had to do before the doctor got rein-forcements in the shape of my family. My new family! Luckily Tony was going home early that morning, so I cadged a lift off of him and Betty. I very quickly discov-ered -- much to Tony's amusement -- that Betty, it appears, is a frustrated racing driver. The girls were still in the process of unloading Sylvia's car, when Betty roared into the yard in front of my house. I must admit I was somewhat surprised to discover that we'd made the journey in one piece and vowed, "Never again!" Considering the excitement of our arrival, I was surprised to find that none of the girls were aware of my presence. I found them all in the lounge with Maud, looking through the pictures on the mantelpiece. In Dreams Ch. 02 "And that's got to be Mini and Toto." Sylvia was saying as I entered the room. "And the one on the right, is Ottilie and me together at the fun fair." I volunteered (loudly) as quickly as I could. Making them all start, by the way. But in my mind, I was wondering exactly what Percy had told Ottilie about the two young women in her dream. It had dawned on me by then, that by whatever means those weird dreams had been created in our minds, they were proving to be uncannily accurate in their... er details. Well, mine were anyway. All four women were the image of the people I'd dreamed about, so much so that I felt I knew my daughter Tara even better than I did her mother. Which was going to prove confusing to the child over the following weeks. The confusion started for her that day, when I carried Ottilie and Sylvia's cases upstairs to show them to their rooms. Tara and Kate had gone up first carrying their own luggage and I directed Tara into the first room on the right, describing it as Tara's room. "I thought you said that they could choose what room they wanted to use?" Maud commented. "They can Maud, and Tara did choose that room!" "But they've never been here before." "Trust me Maud. Maybe Tara hasn't, but her presence has. That's the room Tara will prefer." I said reaching the landing myself. "Kate, there're two beds in there; you can share or pick a room of your own. Kate grinned and said that she'd share, if Tara didn't mind. Whether Tara realised what I had been implying or not; I'm not sure. But she looked back at me and asked, "What bed did I prefer then, father?" "The one by the window Tara. You can see Quiet Times from there when she's on her mornings. And it's dad, okay?" "You're the boss... Dad!" She grinned and threw herself onto the bed. "Did we choose rooms?" Ottilie asked. "No sweetheart. You were unconscious and Sylvia has never been here before." "Which is your room, Taylor?" Ottilie asked with a strange expression her face. "Third on the right!" "Okay, I'll take the one opposite. Not so far to move." I ignored the comment and placed Ottilie's case in said room. Sylvia decided to take the room between the children and mine. Mainly I think because it had a double bed and she implied that her husband Mark would be coming down to visit that weekend. She kind of hinted that she'd have to think about getting back up country before the school year started. I left the ladies to sort their beds, with Maud's assistance. Remember those rooms although fully furnished and equipped had never been used in anger. Maud Clegg had had some fun seeing to that over the years, buying most of the soft furnishings and stuff when she saw them on special offer somewhere. I took a shower and changed. Undertook an operation that took surprisingly longer than I expected it would, or remembered. And one which led to me being greeted by grinning stares on everyone's faces when I ap-peared in the kitchen. "Oh yes, Taylor. So much more civilised." Maud was the first to make comment. "Daddy, your beard!" Tara ventured next. "Yeah well, Maud is always complaining about it, so I figured that it better, go before you lot felt at home enough to comment." "But I liked your beard." Tara replied. "No you didn't Tara! After the... novelty of your new father having a beard wore off, anyway." "Makes you look ten years younger, Taylor!" Sylvia commented. Ottilie just sat there and smiled at me. Maud announced that my cupboards were looking very bare, so she'd have to make a run to the supermar-ket. She refused all the offered assistance, and told us our time would be better spent getting to know each other. Then she left, driving my battered old Landey. Noting that lunchtime would soon be upon us, I suggested a brief tour of my estate (the old brickworks). Fol-lowed by a stroll up the hill for a spot of lunch. And well, actually, I fancied the idea of a decent pint; I felt that I was in need of one. Suddenly I was in the company of four females -- and dream or not -- I was not quite used to the situation. And besides, telling them about all the construction and changes I'd had made... and about the history of the place, saved me from confronting any of the issues that I should have been. You might call it cowardice! I'll call it stalling for time, if you don't mind. At the pub the landlady and her husband greeted me like a returning hero. And then I had the problem of introducing my visitors to them. I chose to simply introduce Sylvia and Kate as friends of mine, but Tara I introduced as my daughter. I figured some noses would be put right out of joint if I didn't. Well I figured it wouldn't take very long for the information to become knowledge. Ottilie, I introduced as Tara's mother. Somewhat to my surprise, neither revelation drew a raised eyebrow out of either of them or any of the pubs other customers. When we sat down to eat, I realised why. Tara and Kate listed their order without consulting the menu. It appeared that my introductions might have come a little late. Obvious really, Maud Clegg's house was but fifty yards away from the pub. I should imagine that all five of them had been in for a meal together numerous times before. And locals being what locals are, they would have wanted to know who Maud's visitors were. While we ate a couple of the regulars came over to... you know, enquire about my health, and assure me that the damage to Quiet Times had not been serious. One guy insisted that Parson's were making a good job of fixing her, but -- like me -- he had no real idea who had arranged and/or authorised the repairs. I did glance around my companions, but they looked like they had no idea what I'd been discussing with the guy. As we left the pub Tara wrapped her arm around mine and asked me if I fancied a nice walk back through the woods and along the riverbank. A much longer way around, I'll point out. Walking into her trap with my eyes wide open -- to humour my child -- I said that I thought it would be a nice idea. "Right, you and mum go that way then; the rest of us will meet you back at the house. But I'll need a key, dad. You'll be hours!" Ottilie looked as bewildered as I felt, as Tara -- quite forcefully entwined her mother's arm around my own. "You two need to talk!" Tara said, as the three of them made off at a cracking pace, back down the hill to-wards my house. "Where are we going?" Ottilie asked. "Along the road aways; there's a footpath that leads down through the woods to the river. Haven't you been exploring?" "No, we only ever walked up to the pub from Maud's." "Well obviously Tara has!" "No Taylor, I'm sure she's hasn't been along here. Kate and Tara have walked down to the town a few times. But I've never seen them go off this way." "Odd, she must have been talking to some of the local kids then. It's a regular spooning haunt for the teen-agers around here. The riverbank is a public footpath and runs right through the brickworks yard. I'm sure the path down through the woods isn't official though; but everyone uses it." "So what are we supposed to talk about do you think?" Ottilie asked as we began strolling along the road. "I'm not sure, there's so many things. Christ it's been a long time girl." "Yes, I suppose I should start by saying, sorry." "What for?" "Not believing in you, I would have thought that was obvious." "Oh that. Yeah well, I'm more sorry that I've missed sixteen years of my daughter." "She's only fifteen years old Taylor." "Yeah but I missed watching the fun part... you know you getting all fat, then calling me those nasty names as you gave birth to her." "You should be pleased that you didn't experience the sleepless nights though; Tara was a terror. But I don't understand... why aren't you angry, Taylor." I stopped, so Ottilie had to turn and look me in the eye. "Ottie, I've lost far too much time out of our child's life to waste anymore of it being angry. Especially with you! Tell me, how many years of your life have you wasted with the misplaced anger you felt towards me?" "But... you know?" "No buts Ottilie, dreams! Now tell me, exactly what did you dream about while you were in your coma?" "Okay me first, but then you have to explain your dream to me." "As well as I can remember it, Ottie!" As she'd done every time I'd used it, Ottilie smiled when I addressed her with my childhood name for her. "Well that uncle of yours appeared to me and... well he told me that you... anyway he showed me that you were missing me." "How?" "Well, it was like a vision. You were with those two... First Nation women, did he call them?" "Yeah that sounds like uncle Percy alright. You know they weren't don't you?" "I didn't care Taylor, I was just upset that you were sitting there cuddling them and talking about me. You didn't paint me in the best light you know. Although you told them that you still loved... Anyway then your uncle took me back to London and... Well, do you remember just before you left for America, I was in the High Street." "And I was on a passing bus!" "Yes, that's the incident! I'd been told that you'd left the country months before, when you'd first learnt that I was pregnant. But for some reason I've always remembered that day. I honestly never saw you go past on that bus, Taylor. But your uncle showed you banging on the window, and then I saw you running back to the spot after we'd gone. I'd always wondered why my dad was so suddenly in such a hurry that day; perhaps that's why it stuck in my mind! "Then your uncle showed me your parents advising you to try to forget about me and go to America. But I somehow knew that had preceded the High Street incident. Maybe I'm recalling that dream in the wrong or-der." "And then?" "Well, that's about it really. When I got out of hospital, those weird dreams nagged away at me and eventu-ally I went to see Sylvia. You know that none of our old crowd would speak to me, don't you?" "I didn't for many years, but I do now." "Well, when Bill and I got married we moved straight into a house out in Wokingham. I didn't realise it at the time, but that was to keep Tara secret from everyone back home. My dad couldn't risk one of the gang tell-ing you about her, could he? He couldn't even risk your parents finding out about her." "Fat chance of that happening. Once I was out of their hair, they took off for warmer climes as fast as their legs could carry them. Retired and living it up on the Costa-De-Plonka now, they are. I sometimes wonder where all the money suddenly came from? Maybe dear old uncle Percy had a hand it that somewhere, as well." "Well, Sylvia was the only one of our old gang I knew how to find, and I only knew where to find her because she was Tara's English teacher. And by coincidence Kate and Tara were best mates in school. Sylvia would never... well, it was strictly business when we met at school open-days and the like. And she even discour-aged Kate from mixing with Tara outside of school." "Hold-up Ottilie, something's been bugging me. When I left for Canada, there was no way on gods green earth that Sylvia was pregnant; Christ she was at the airport to see me off. And.... Well I know for sure that there was no baby Kate kicking around either." "Oh, but there was. Kate is not Sylvia's child; she's her sister's baby. You remember Rosemarie don't you? Rose and her husband died in a road accident when Kate was four years old. Sylvia told me that she and Mark moved their marriage up a few months so that they could adopt her." "Well that explains that then, Kate looks so much like Sylvia, but her age has never made any sense to me, even in my dream. I kind-a chickened out of asking." "Are you going to tell me about that?" "Hold up kiddo, you haven't finished your story yet. Sylvia had always been blanking you?" "Oh yeah. Well, when I got out of hospital I found out where Sylvia lived from Tara's address book. And I went round to have it out with her. We were having a real old ding-dong on her doorstep until Mark called time. He had never known you or I, so he sat the two of us down in their lounge and played mediator. It ended in tears, with both of us crying on each other's shoulders. "Sylvia told me that when Tara first moved to her school she'd suspected that you had to be her father. They'd all been angry enough with me for marrying Bill Morris, when twelve years later Sylvia discovered Tara existed. Well, she says that if it hadn't been for her job, she'd have scratched my eyes out the first chance she'd got. "Funny I'd have never thought of Sylvia as the violent type." "To my good luck probably. Anyway, since that day we've been best mates again, and we've both been look-ing for you. Well, we've all been looking for you really, all of our old friends; but we were looking on the wrong bloody continent. "Then Sylvia and Mark came down here on holiday and they heard the name Taylor Carson mentioned on the TV news when you had your accident. Christ there can't be many Taylor Carson's in the UK. There are a few in America I can assure you, but in England? So Sylvia and Mark went to the hospital and eventually they were allowed in to see you. Even with that beard, Sylvia recognised you straight away." "Is that It?" "Just about; until you woke this morning, yes. Although Tara had my father organise changing her name to Carson by deed pole a few months back. Actually I should mention that I don't talk to my father anymore, but Tara sees him quite often. Tara's says that now my mother's gone, he doesn't have anyone else." "She's a sweet kid. Okay, here's my recollection. I was on my boat, possibly the day of the accident, and Tara turns up on the quay. She tells me that she is my daughter and that you're in a coma after Bill Morris knocked you about. Then she drags me up country to sit by your bedside for months on end, until Christmas day; when I woke-up yesterday morning." "No uncle Percy?" "Nope, no uncle Percy. Just hours of sitting by your bedside, talking to myself. Well, you actually." "Well, that doesn't explain your nonchalant attitude when we arrived at the hospital last night! Or why you've been so forgiving." "Ottilie, well, maybe I've been a little brief. In my dream I spent what... four months getting to know Tara, and Sylvia and all of our old friends again. I learnt all about what really happened... that so called, Swiss finishing school that turned out to be an unmarried mother's home your father shipped you off too. The care-fully timed, and choreographed announcements of your engagement and impending wedding in the local press. "Pissed off about? Of course I was pissed! But I had four months... dreamed months I might add, to get over that anger. Four months to think about nothing but the time we'd all lost together, you, me, and our Tara. Nice name by the way. I'd somehow would have expected Scarlet, but Tara was no surprise. "Tara Scarlet to be precise. I'd have liked just Scarlet, but it comes with... connotations, in some people's minds. "I'd probably have plumbed for Ottilie, I've always loved women with that name." Ottilie stopped walking, which had the effect of swinging us inwards so we were facing each other again. "You mean that?" "When do I say anything that I don't mean, Ottilie? I told you many times that I loved you." Er well, I'm not sure who kissed whom first, but lets say there was a short interlude in our perambulation. Or maybe pretty long one, I wasn't watching the clock. "Hey, what do you know about Mavis and Peter Burton?" I asked when we finally started walking again. "Mavis Todd, Taylor. Mavis divorced Peter Burton years... How do you know she married Peter anyway?" "They were in my dream?" "Together?" "Yes. Well kind of! In my dream at least, I think my presence was the catalyst for a rift to develop in their happy relationship." "That's funny. I've seen Mavis a few times since I've been... exonerated. She's always... I don't know... it's like she wants to say something to me but can't bring herself to; do you know what I mean?" "I've got a good idea why as well. My good friend Pete Burton was spying on me for your father. He told your father, that I was contemplating going to Canada. That, I presume, prompted the engagement an-nouncement and that kind-a made-up my mind for me. I couldn't risk running into Mrs Morris and her hus-band walking around town, could I? I'm not sure that I could have contained myself." "Well, that might go someway towards explaining why Mavis refers to Peter as Judas Burton, but why would that make her feel uncomfortable in my presence? Surely she wasn't spying on you as well?" "I don't know, perhaps Mavis eventually found-out what Peter had done... or at least suspected the true chain of events, but she wasn't sure. Maybe now she's feeling guilty about not telling Sylvia and the others about her suspicions. It could be, that you might have been brought in from the cold a few years sooner if she had." "Logical, but Sylvia and the gang's hatred of me was very strong. For Mavis to appear to have taken my side... well, she might have finished-up an outcast herself." "We'll ask her when we see her." "No we wont, it'll only embarrass her more. We'll forget about it and show her that we've buried the hatchet!" We eventually emerged from the woods near my house. Well, we were standing in the brickworks yard that served as my garden anyway. I spent a few minutes, telling Ottilie about my plans for further improvements and she ventured a couple of very good suggestions of her own. I really couldn't believe how relaxed I felt discussing it with her. We hadn't seen each other for almost six-teen years, and it felt as if those years hadn't existed. Our discussions were halted when Tara's voice asked. "Well have I got a proper mum and dad now, or an estranged family? I don't really fancy running backwards and forwards between one and the other of you all the time. Mind you, I could try to play one of you off against the other, that might be fun." "And I might decide to introduce you to being put over my knee young lady!" "That might be fun as well... father! What do you think mum?" "Your father certainly has had cause too where I'm concerned, Tara. But I really don't think spanking you or me is in his nature. But, yes it might be fun." "Well, are you two a couple again?" Tara insisted. "Now Tara, you can't expect these things to happen overnight, it's been a long time since your mother and I even saw each other." "No it hasn't! I can dream as well as you, you know!" She replied. "Sorry?" I found myself replying. "Dad, when Bill Morris beat mother up, he knocked me out as well. I was only out for a couple hours, but I dreamed that I found you. We walked along that path you've just come along together. And I was sitting on your lap when mother woke-up in the hospital and said, 'Thank you for coming Taylor. Our daughter's beau-tiful, isn't she?' Oh, and you agreed that I was, of course! For some reason, I just know that both of you will recall that from your own dreams. Oh yeah, and mum there's a brand new Range Rover parked in that ga-rage over there. How's that grab you kids?" "It's not new; it's several years old. It just hasn't got many miles on the clock." "That's new to me dad, and how do you explain that I know that it's in there. The doors are locked, so there's no way I could have seen it today. "I didn't say anything to anyone about my dreams at the time, because I didn't understand them and I thought that they were that, just dreams anyway. Wishful thinking, if you like! But both you and mother talk-ing about dreams got me thinking. Besides when I first saw you in the hospital, I knew exactly what you looked like without your beard. I don't know what you and mum, dreamed about, but I know what I did." In Dreams Ch. 02 "It would appear that someone... or something, has been interfering with our dreams Taylor. The sandman, do you think?" "I have no idea Ottilie, but if there's an afterlife, it might actually be my Uncle Percy. He was a funny old stick. He believed in the Indian spirit world and all the guff." "Well your uncle Percy did appear in my dreams. The man I saw was definitely that old man in those pic-tures you have on the mantle. How would my mind be able to conjure his face up if I'd never seen him?" "Ottilie how would I recognise Tara having never seen her before. Except of course that she's the image of her mother." For some reason that prompted a kiss from Ottilie. "I also recognised Kate and knew her name." "Lets not go there, lover. Lets just...well carry on from where, whoever or whatever has manipulated us to, and live a good life. Together maybe?" "I can't see our daughter standing for a maybe, Ottie." "Well, we've got until bedtime tonight to work that one out, Taylor." "Why only until bedtime?" "Taylor, I've missed you and I don't intend to be sleeping alone tonight!" "But what about... well, we're not married and there're youngsters in the house." "Dad, it's about sixteen years too late to worry about those kinds of niceties, thank you very much!" Our daughter commented. I'd almost forgotten that Tara was with us. "Anyway, by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife!" She announced formally, "There, happy now; kiss the bride please, father?" "What power would that be, Tara?" I asked, although I took Ottilie in my arms to kiss her anyway. "The power that you and mum invested in me when you decided to make me in the first place, father!" "Sounds logical enough to me, Taylor." Ottilie said breaking our kiss. "I think I can accept that." I replied, "Never try to argue with the logic of women, Taylor me-lad; that's what my Uncle Percy used to say, all the time!" "Our Uncle Percy!" Ottilie replied. End of Chapter 02 In Dreams Ch. 03 As I began to waken the following morning, just as I reached that senseless half-awake half-asleep state where one usually finds you are wondering what day of the week it is. Well, I kind-a found that I was more than a little reluctant to actually open my eyes. And for more reasons than the two that I'd instantly become acutely aware of, because I could actually feel their warm bodies against mine. Yeah well, if you're old enough, have ever been lucky enough (and have been around the park a few times) to be able to recognize that unmistakable sensation of having two females sharing your bed with you; then one might have some clue as to what I'm talking about. There was definitely no mistaking the fact that there was one shapely and very warm body snuggled up tight against my back and yet another pair of breasts pressing against my chest. I could also feel someone's warm breath on my face. Please remember that I had been a bachelor -- who'd ostensibly lived alone -- for many years. But waking on the odd morning to find a warm body snuggling up close had not been a particularly unusual experience for me; if you get my drift. And I'm definitely not talking about Maud Clegg when I say that! However I'd often found that successfully recalling the young woman's in questions correct name... Well now, that's a whole different ball game, after a good few bevvies... Yeah-well, names have never been a strong point of mine. So you see, on that particular morning, I had a few more important things to ruminate upon; besides those insane bloody dreams! And luckily, I was at least with-it enough, to prevent my hands from going exploring, if you get my drift. You see, as the morning twilight turned to daylight, I lay there wondering if... Well look, if I could dream about Tara being stood on the quay that day, and all that followed after that... Well then, what the bloody hell was there to stop me dreaming about the accident and waking up in hospital to find Ottilie had come looking for me. And er, well, also discovering that I had a daughter, that I kind-a knew about from the first dream... Oh come on, you surely can understand what I'm raving on about here! You see, there was yet another very obvious scenario, that sprang into my mind. One that -- over the years -- had happened to me, maybe a little too often; if I'm being completely honest. Dreams, both pleasant and unpleasant of my youth, including Ottilie, had not been that uncommon for me. Not many really if you add them all up, but enough to... well, set my mind off down what might be calculated to be a more obvious path. There was the distinct possibility that I could have hooked up with a... or even a couple of lookers from the charter party the day before and... Okay, and maybe I had got carried away with the occasion, and probably tied one on a bit; in all the excitement. I knew from experience that too much hard liquor does tend to fog one's memory of what exactly what had occurred the night before, and I was well aware that alcohol can also lead to some pretty off-the-wall dreams, or even nightmares on occasion, as well! So you see, I was lying there that morning not daring to open my eyes; wondering about just everything. And yes, I did have a headache. Only on reflection, I realised that it wasn't so much a hangover type headache; it was more a "Jesus I'm bloody knackered!" type of headache. Eventually I dared to open one my eye just a fraction and (much to my relief) instantly recognised Ottilie's face smiling back at me. I suppose my body language must have advertised that relief to Ottilie in some way, because she appeared to instinctively know what I'd been thinking. "Feeling better, now that you know that it is me you're in bed with?" Ottilie whispered, as I kissed her on the tip of her nose. "Ottilie, I..." "Oh come on, Taylor; I'm not daft. You're a handsome, virile and exceptionably eligible young man. Just look at this place, I really can't believe it. That you're still single that is!" "Ottie I don't..." "Taylor there's signs of all of your conquest's tucked away all over this room. Oh, and I wasn't spying honestly! I was looking for your PJ's" "My pyjamas? Oh, that's what you've got on." I'll admit that I had been a little curious about Ottilie's night attire; what I could see of it. "The top, yes; you've got the bottoms on. I figured we might have company when we woke-up this morning, and we have!" "Ah got you! I was kind of wondering myself... well, if you're there, then who is it behind me. Mind you, there was only one possible candidate on the list. But I don't recall putting these trucks on. But then again, I'm not sure I can recall much of last evening after you produced that third bottle of Champagne. That stuff don't agree with me, you know." "So I noticed; but you were hitting the rum harder than the bubblies. And you didn't put your... trucks on, I did! You were... Well, I hate to say this, but I think I wore you out last night. It had been a long time Taylor and I... well, not for a long time anyway. However I am pleased to be able to say, that you weren't out of practice. "Better than I remember, if anything. I suppose that's down to all the training you've been putting in." "Oh yeah, I seem to recall a rather energetic workout now." I said, desperate to move that conversation away from the direction Ottilie appeared to be steering it in. "A little more than energetic Taylor, you... Well, let's just say, that I had a night I won't forget in a hurry!" "Oh Christ, but did we...? well, are you on the.... you know?" "Isn't it about sixteen years too late to worry about those kinds of niceties, daddy?" Tara's voice asked from behind me. Then, when I turned my head to try and look at her, Tara raised herself up, gave me a mocking smile and then kissed me on the cheek. Then leaning right over me she kissed and said good morning to her mother. "You're still supposed to be asleep, young lady!" I retaliated. "Not much chance of that, if you two are awake. I'll leave you to... well, to do whatever you need to do this morning. Please don't take all day about it though; I could do with some breakfast. See you later parents!" As Tara was speaking, she had climbed over both Ottilie and myself, and then after throwing us a last cheeky grin she exited the room; firmly closing the door behind her. Mind, as she did so, I realised that I was going to have to do something about the squeaky springs in my supposedly antique bed. Something that had never proved to be a problem when I'd lived alone of course. Company or not, there had never been anyone else in the house to hear the noise. Who wasn't actually sharing it with me, if you get my drift? "Am I going to have trouble with that daughter of ours?" I asked. "I don't think so Taylor. You know she's wanted her father for so long, that probably the noise this bed of yours made during the night, assured her that... Well, I am not likely to be letting you get away again, am I?" "Ottilie, it's been a long time; I might have changed. How can you be so sure you're going to like this Taylor Carson?" "You're not kidding you've changed; so much more considerate in bed to start with!" Ottilie grinned at me. "I hate to have to be the one who has to point this out to you, sweetheart. But we've never actually been in a proper bed together before!" "Oh you're so right, Taylor. I must have been thinking of someone else." "And that's supposed to imply?" "Well, hopefully it will bring us to discussing that bloody great elephant!" "You've kind-a lost me there, kiddo." "The elephant in the room, Taylor... The man I married, William Morris! The person you seem to be so nonchalant about." "Ah now, I've been dreading this one. And, I was hoping to avoid it, if I possibly could." "Why?" "Because basically I'm a coward when it comes to all this... emotional stuff. And your life... well, your love life at least, with Bill Morris, is of no interest to me. I'm pretty well pissed-off that he knocked you... and Tara, about, and should our paths ever cross in the future; then I'll let the bugger know exactly how annoyed I really am about that. But there's little else about that relationship I wish to hear about." "But..." "Ottilie. Did you love him?" "Well, I suppose I sort-a thought I loved him for a while. But I knew I didn't love him in the same way or anything like as much as I'd always loved you. When I agreed to marry Bill, I liked him, but that's about all. And Tara needed a father! "I suppose I'd have to admit to you, that after we were married, I did begin to fall in love with Bill. You can't live with someone as man and wife, for several years and not have a special bond develop between you. I suppose that's how all those arranged marriages work! "But then suddenly, just after he graduated from Uni, Bill turned funny and began to resent Tara; which I thought was very strange. Bill was swearing undying love for me one minute, and apparently doting over Tara. The next, he began to resent the one reason that I'd agreed to marry him in the first place, our Tara! "Do you know why?" "Not really. Tara and I suspect that it could have been for one of a couple of reasons. But I had made it very clear to Bill before I accepted his proposal; that the only reason I was marrying him was because... Well, I thought..." "Your parents thought; you mean!" "Yes, you're right, Taylor. They sort-of convinced me that Tara needed a father and that you weren't interested in the job. If I'd only seen you on that bus that day..." "Life is full of ifs.... and buts, Ottie." "That's right, but why aren't you... I don't know... pissed-off, that I married William Morris. And... shared... myself with him as I did with you, last night!" "Ah now, that's hitting bellow the belt, Ottie. I'm annoyed about it, but I think I can understand why you married Bill Morris in the first place. If you don't mind I'd prefer not to think about any... conjugal issues that might pertain to that... er, situation though. In short, yes, I am bloody jealous of the bugger! "And besides, although I never got married... Well, as you so delicately pointed out to our daughter this morning. No one could claim that I've been celibate for the last..." "Yes I know, Mina and Totto. Uncle Percy made that quite clear to me!" She grinned. "And you're not annoyed?" "Good heavens no! That could be construed, as the kettle calling the pot black, couldn't it? Wasn't there an old song, something about if you can't be with the one you love; then love the one you're with? "So I can understand that, but I'll admit that I'm more than a little Jealous of those two; more than I am about any of your so obvious more recent conquests. Do any of them live locally by the way; are we likely to run into anyone who thinks she's staked her claim?" "I don't believe so, Ottilie. Why do you ask?" "I don't know really. Maybe I thought I might be able to prove something to you, if I showed you that I was prepared to fight for my man!" "No, you won't have to do that. Good old Carson's, alright to have some fun with, but most females around here think I don't take the institution of marriage seriously enough to make it worth their while working on a long term relationship with him." "Why's that?" "Well a couple of the women I've... had the odd encounter with, were not... strictly eligible, if you get my drift." A confused expression had come over Ottilie's face; so I continued. "Holiday romances Ottie. Some women like to forget that they are married when they are away on holiday; without hubby!" "How would you know, if they didn't wear their wedding rings?" "Usually a ring leaves a... well, shadow, and... well, most of the local guys keep their eyes open for that little white mark around that finger. It's like an advert that the female is looking for a bit of strange. Besides that, where would they get all the kids from, if they weren't married; and who the hell is paying for their trip if they are divorced? Widows and divorcees who are not actively... well they, tend to keep wearing their wedding rings, by the way." "They do?" "They do Ottie. You'd never make a seaside gigolo, you know." "Is that what you've been?" "No, well I hope I haven't. Although I can't claim that I've ever been one to pass-up on a sure thing. Christ, I'm only human! Here, I thought that you were telling me why you thought Morris turned all uppity on you, anyway?" "Oh yeah, sorry. Well, after Bill graduated, my dad got him a job on the management of Ballard's. Poor Bill, he never was the brightest light on the Christmas tree and he always did have a pretty inflated opinion of his own capabilities back then. "Bill had no idea of diplomacy; I should imagine he stormed into Ballard's thinking that he knew it all, and rubbed his subordinates... bloody hell, most likely he rubbed everyone up the wrong way. I know he upset a lot of the other managers; they complained to my father about him. "Anyway instead of being a new broom that whipped his department into line. Very quickly strange and unexpected things began to go wrong for Bill, and somehow things kept going wrong; from what I understand from my father. "I think that my father made things worse for Bill, by stopping him getting fired right at the start. When it became obvious that he couldn't handle the job. "Everyone at Ballard's knew that the only reason Bill had got that job in the first place was because he was Frank Thorn's son. I believe they... well, I don't think people would have minded that so much, if Bill had been able to handle the position. The truth is that he couldn't, he was completely out of his depth and I suspect they did everything they could to undermine him. "I also know that at least one person there did their homework. Someone must have worked out that Tara was more likely to be your daughter than Bill's. And they let Bill know that they knew." "How would they know that; did he tell you?" "No, Taylor. I think it was Tara's age, and how long Bill and I had been married. All those delicate details were on Bill's personnel file after all and I think some vicious bugger must have gained access to them." "Anyway, after I had the police remove Bill from the house; I went nosing around his computer and found... well, some rather nasty emails. Anonymous of course. In brief they claimed that you and I were still... Well, getting at it!" "How did they know about me in the first place?" "Taylor, when we were young; everyone around our way had heard of Taylor Carson, even if they'd never clapped eyes on him. It was also common knowledge that you and I had been... an item, since the year dot!" "Not quite, Ottie." "Near enough Taylor. At least one person in the management at Ballard's must have worked it out anyway. And they made it their business to let Bill think... I can't believe that it actually was a widely known fact. Anyway, Bill began to believe everyone he worked with was talking about him behind his back. He thought that they knew that he was raising Taylor Carson's child. "I believe that was what pushed Bill down the drink road, and when he was drinking he didn't do much thinking... or maybe he thought too much. Eventually he lost it, and I ended up in St Thomas's." "If I'd known about that..." "Taylor, you don't have to say it. I know what Taylor Carson's reaction would have been, had he known what was going on. I've seen you in action, more times than I care to remember; if I'm being honest!" "And the other reason Bill got uppity? You implied that there was more than one." "Oh yes, Tara's theory. Well Taylor, it would appear that I sometimes talk... mumble really, in my sleep. I didn't know I did it until Tara told me that I did. Tara claims that she's heard me say the name Bouncer more than a few times. And she suggests that Bill must also have heard me say your name and maybe he got... well annoyed about that as well." "I can understand that that wouldn't do much for a man's self-esteem. I... well one time, I was with a... anyway she called out someone else's name at a very inopportune moment. Kind a squashed my ego flat, I can tell you!" For some reason me saying that brought a massive grin to Ottilie's face. "Are we done with all that breast-beating malarkey now?" I asked her. "If you're completely happy, yes!" "I'm just happy that you and Tara are actually here this morning Ottie. I don't want to think about the past ever again." "Okay then, Elvis has left the building." I'm not sure what expression Ottilie saying that, brought to my face; but it caused her to add. "The elephant has gone back to the zoo Taylor! What shall we do now?" "Breakfast would be nice." I suggested. "Yeah, but later." Ottilie replied, and pulled me real close. ----- Some -- indeterminate -- time later, I staggered down stairs to find that everyone else -- except Ottilie and myself -- had already eaten. They (including Maud) were all out in the yard watching my new friend (from the hospital), George's young lad, John, mowing what I used to loosely describe, as my lawn. Ottilie and I did not join them; we snuck into the kitchen and prepared our... brunch. Then we sat there like a couple of teenagers, giggling about nothing, as we ate it. "I'd have cooked that for you." Maud said when she joined us a little later. "Sorry Maud, but I needed to prove to my man that I do know how to feed him." Ottilie replied. "I..." was as far as got when Maud cut in with. "Taylor, be quiet man! In the kitchen Ottilie's in charge... when I'm not here that is! Honestly Ottilie, he's positively dangerous in here. How he has never poisoned himself or burnt the bloody house down, I just don't understand! I'm forever throwing out-of-date stuff out of his cupboards. And don't trust him shopping for food either, especially if he's hungry. Taylor will buy anything he can eat in the car on the way home, and forget to buy what he went to shop for in the first place." "Par for the course!" Ottilie replied. "I think I'll go and see how young John's getting on with that old lawnmower." I said, and made a quick exit. By the way the lawnmower wasn't old, I'd bought it (discounted) at the end of the previous season. ----- Tara greeted me with a hug and a kiss when I joined the others outside. Yes, I had ignored the conversation that I knew was going on in the kitchen. The sooner Ottilie learnt of all my... failings the better, as far as I was concerned. We had lunch at the pub (well Ottilie and I had a liquid lunch) and then the six of us (Maud having gone home from there) walked down to Parson's boatyard to inspect Quiet Times. Not really the damage, because the repairs were almost complete; there was just a few layers of varnish that needed to harden. The longer it can be left to dry, the better. I learnt that there had been some suspicion that Quiet Times stern gear might have sustained some minor damage while it was being moved from above the old biddie's car. A manoeuvre necessary to facilitate the removal of said "obstruction to navigation" from the harbour I was informed. The harbour master had been in somewhat of a hurry to do that, or so I'm told. Whatever, some of the boys took her straight to Parson's boatyard for safety's sake. Who in turn had lifted her out of the water so that the old biddie's insurance company's loss adjusters could inspect her. There was some minor damage to the rudder, more than likely sustained when Quiet Times scraped the bottom at sometime in the past. But who's to know for sure? Then, because the insurance company had accepted responsibly for rudder as well as the damage to foreword cabin roof, and a few scrapes on her side. Old man Parsons had got on with the repairs while the getting was good, so to speak. He figured (correctly) that I would want Quiet Times back in the water as soon as I was well enough to use her again. In Dreams Ch. 03 In fact my self-discharge from hospital had interrupted Parson's plans. He had intended to put Quiet Times back in the water, on that mornings tide. But on hearing that I was out and about, he thought I might want to take a good look at her bottom, while she was high and dry. All of our party climbed aboard her, then Tara showed her mother, Sylvia, Kate, and John around. It didn't strike me as odd at the time that Tara knew where everything was, because I recalled John saying he'd talked to Kate outside the boatyard. I kind of assumed that old man Parsons or one of his boys, had given Tara a tour while she'd been there. However my mind began to change when I heard Tara saying. "... admiralty in 1956. She's made out of Larch, on oak frames. She's forty-one feet long, eleven-and-a-half feet wide, and she draws around four feet of water; whatever that means!" "I'd have said, more like five!" John interrupted Tara, "She's a big-un you know. I wouldn't risk taking her in anything less than seven or eight feet of calm water." Then the lad looked at me, for confirmation I suppose. "It's four-and-a-half feet, John." I corrected the lad, then I asked, "But how do you know all that, Tara?" She grinned back at me. "I can't be sure dad, I just do! Maybe I dreamt it sometime. In here for instance," Tara lifted one of the bench seats to expose the locker beneath. "I know you keep all the life jackets. And in that one over there, there's couple of mops and buckets for washing the decks down. Maybe it's female intuition?" "Or it could be that you had a good look around the other day." I suggested/ "The paint was still wet father; they wouldn't let me come up here!" Tara grinned back at me. I looked across at Ottilie, who'd listened to the exchange in silence. Ottilie shrugged, smiled and then mouthed "Uncle Percy!" back to me. "I'm beginning to get worried about exactly what the old bugger's been up too." I grinned back at her. But then I let the subject drop, because Mr Parsons, Sylvia, John and young Kate were... Well, they'd obviously lost the plot somewhere along the line, and were looking at me as if I'd gone loopy. We left the boatyard after arranging to witness Quiet Times going back into the water the following morning. But as we left the yard, I remembered something I'd needed to discuss with old man Parsons, so at my insistence the rest of the party walked on, while I doubled back into his office. "Are you sure lad?" Parsons had asked when I explained what I wanted him to do. "Oh yeah I'm sure; that little scene on the boat just now convinced me." I smiled back at him "You're the boss lad, I'll do my best to have it all ready in the morning for you. But don't you go forgetting to do all the paperwork, will you. You know what officialdoms like; those buggers will be all over you if all the paperwork isn't right!" The old boy reminded me as I left. So instead of heading for the house to join the others, I headed for the Boat Charter company office from where I knew I could make the necessary phone calls with a modicum of privacy. Well, privacy in as far as I required it anyway; certain people needed to know what I was planning. I'm sure young John must have nipped home at sometime during the day. But he was back sniffing around Kate -- who appeared to enjoy his company -- by the time I made it back to the house. Whatever, as I walked into the yard I was greeted with an immediate summons to attend my doctors surgery. It appeared that my physician was quite perturbed that I'd discharged myself from hospital and chewed me out over the fact. But then he went on to say that under the circumstances he understood my actions. From that I gathered that he knew all about Ottilie and Tara and their arrival on the scene. It also became apparent that he was aware that Quiet Times was going back in the water the following morning. And he somehow invited himself, his wife and two children along on what would be a kind of inaugural cruise. He had it sussed that I'd want to take the girls out for a spin on her. By the time I returned from the doc's, -- after he'd given me the full once over -- Maud, Ottilie and Sylvia were... well, they sounded very busy in the kitchen preparing our evening meal. I kind-a stuck my head in there to say hello and I then retreated as quickly as possible. Albeit having been given the task of chilling the wine they'd selected from my meagre collection. All right, I was told "Get lost!", my input would not be necessary until it was time to open said bottles of plonk. Not in so many words maybe; but that was about the gist of it. I retreated, first to the lounge and then further outside, out of earshot; to hunt down the youngsters. Yeah well, as I said Maud's voice carries, and I could hear her... Well, I suspect that while I'd been unconscious, Maud had been diplomatic in her exchanges with Ottilie. It appeared that now that I was up and about, Ottie was getting a rather fuller description of some of the more humorous interludes from my life that Maud had been witness to. Unfortunately, far too often, those reflections featured some of my more notorious encounters with females. I can't say that I was upset about it, because I wasn't! If Ottilie didn't hear about my peccadilloes from Maud; then eventually, she'd surely hear about them -- probably related with a lot less diplomacy and humour -- from someone else in the town. The youngsters I found, giving the rib a good scrub down. I'd known the boys had removed it from Quiet Times' mooring (most likely for security reasons). But I'd had no idea that they had put her on her trailer and dragged her up under her winter cover. I pitched in with the clean-up and then we returned the Rib to the water. We were going to need her the following day and John was quite excited that I charged him with running it down to Parsons' boatyard. I didn't sleep alone again that night, as you might guess, but at least Tara hadn't joined us when Ottilie decided to wake me that following morning. At the rate Ottie was going, I began to wonder how long I was going to last. She certainly appeared to be making up for lost time; if you get my drift? John (and another youngster) arrived very early -- as planned -- and the two lads roared off in the Rib, much to Kate's surprise. I think she (and maybe Tara) had assumed that they'd go with him. Ottilie and... well all the girls', remarked that John had left rather prematurely. But I told them that the boys probably wanted to dash around like a pair of idiots in the rib for a while, as youngsters tend to do. "That Rib can go quite fast if you give some wellie!" I told them, "The youngsters probably want to have a little fun, while I'm not watching." Both Ottilie and Tara were curious that Quiet Times bows were sheathed in canvas although she was hanging from the boat crane above the water. Parsons had carefully positioned a mobile platform from where he knew (by experience) that Ottilie would be able to reach her bow. Once we'd all scrambled up there. Mr Parson handed Ottilie a bottle of cheap Champagne and a printed sheet of paper to read from. Then he pointed out the place on the boats bow that would best serve to smash said container. Ottilie read the words on the paper to herself and looked across at me. I urged her to get on with it. I had one eye on the tide (as always) and I must admit that I was also just a little curious as to why several boats that shouldn't have been, were milling around each other out on the water. Ottilie got the timing wrong, smashing the bottle a little too early so all anyone heard her say was, "I name this ship..." (Actually the paper had said craft, but we'll forget about that.) Anyway as the bottle smashed, the air was filled with a cacophony of noise. The craft off the boatyard, (and numerous cars in the locality) all sounded their horns at once. The noise continued as craft, both up and down river, joined in until a coaster moored at the China Clay quay drowned them out with her foghorn. Then a visiting Cruise Ship decided to join in, and probably deafened everyone in the town. I have no idea whether everyone blasting their horns was planned, or whether hearing everyone else doing so, caused them to decide to join in. Whatever it was very impressive to hear. As the noise had gone on the boatyard boys had pulled the canvas away to show the world that "Quiet Times" was once again named "Ottilie". (I'll explain that comment shortly.) Then Ottilie watched quietly as her namesake was lowered gently into the water. As we climbed down from the platform, (at a signal from me) young John informed Tara that it was her turn and handed her a bottle of the same Champagne. Then the lad led Tara over to where the rib had been beached. Where she performed a similar ceremony on the semi-inflatable craft. Tara actually smashed her bottle on Ribs anchor held just clear of her bow (broken glass and rubber boats don't mix well). Then Tara, dragged me out of her mother's arms so that she could hug and kiss me herself. Our party boarded Ottilie and I backed her out of the boatyard, before handing the helm over to John and instructing him to head her out of the harbour. Well, I kind-a figured I'd be able to watch what the lad was like, while he thought I was busy with all the guests aboard. Lets just say John passed muster, but he needed a little more experience with something of that size. We'd cleared the harbour and I'd just told John to head for a couple of other craft just visible on the horizon, when Ottilie got around to asking. "Why does it say re-name this craft Ottilie on this piece of paper Taylor!" "Because she was called Ottilie when I bought her; that's how I found her to be precise. For some reason I can't recall now, I typed Ottilie into Google one day and one of the hits was... well, you're standing on her. She was for sale and I was kind-a thinking on coming back to the UK, but I had no idea whereabouts I was coming too, if you get my drift. Home weren't home because the folks are out in Spain, and besides..." "Besides what?" "Never mind Ottie. Well, I suddenly got the idea into my head that I'd buy a boat and sail around the coast looking for somewhere to settle. In consequence I finished up buying this one." "But why did you rename her, Quiet Times!" "Ah now, Ottie; I'd have thought that would have been obvious. Ottilie is not a common name and far too many folks kept asking me where it came from. Not that she was named after you specifically in the first place. But I soon found that it was bringing back the wrong kind of memories, if you understand me; so I renamed her Quiet Times." "Should I enquire why you were Googling the name Ottilie, in the first place?" "I'd rather you didn't. Surely you're a big enough girl to be able to work that one out without asking." "See, I told you mum?" Tara's voice butted in. "You told your mother what?" I enquired because the two women were by then... you know, doing that thing, where they hold a conversation with each-other without actually using words. Mina and Totto used to do that to me all the time, like they knew something that I didn't. I've always wondered how the female of the species appears to be born with that gift, whereas us males, kind-a missed out on it. Whatever, I got no reply from either Ottilie or Tara. We didn't actually see any basking sharks that day, but that wasn't really the reason for the exercise. Basically it was to introduce Ottilie and Tara, to what was going to be the fourth member of our family, and even let them play at taking the helm for a while. Yeah, honestly; it was a "Love me, then love my boat!" situation. God knows what I would have done, if either of them had shown a tendency towards seasickness. Sylvia, the doc and his wife, seemed to find a lot to talk about, and very often when she wasn't with me, Ottilie would be chatting with them as well. Then later I saw Tara and her mother having a quiet word, and purposely out of my earshot by the look of it. Whatever Ottilie was saying to her, Tara didn't look best pleased at first, but then suddenly a big smile came over her face and whatever the disagreement had been... well there was no mistaking the fact that it had been resolved. We didn't stay out on the boat too long, returning her to her mooring about four o'clock. My doctor and his family stuck around for a while, but left before we sat down to eat the dinner Maud had prepared for us. ---- It was that night as we got into bed that Ottilie decided that it was time to pin me down. "Okay Taylor, we need to talk about the future!" she said as she snuggled into my arms. "Talk sweetheart, I'm listening." I replied. Well, when a female says something like Ottilie had just said to me. I knew that what she really meant was "that she'd been thinking" and that she was about to... persuade me, that she'd got everything all worked out. "Well, what about us?" Ottilie asked. "Is your divorce final?" "Years ago!" "Right, we get hitched. A bit sharpish, like!" "Okay then, but where will we live?" "Ah now, that's a problem. I find that I suddenly have three loves in my life. You, our daughter and the newly christened 'Ottilie', out there. I don't think I could bear to be parted from any of you. "Re-christened Taylor. But I'm afraid you're going to have to be apart from one of us for a while at least." "I don't think I like the sound of that. Which one were you thinking of Ottie?" I asked defensively. "Tara, she's got her GCSE's next spring and she's already been working on them at her school up there. It wouldn't be fair on the child for her to have to change schools now." "But if Tara goes to school up there..." Oh don't panic, I'm not going... Well, I'm going back up there with her; but I'll not be staying long. What, and risk leaving you down here with all these predatory female holiday makers, you'll be bloody lucky! "No, I figure that we can get hitched as soon as you're ready, and Tara can stay with her grandfather until after her exams. She's got Kate and Sylvia living just around the corner; she'll be fine. "Mind you, she'll be coming down here every other weekend or so... Sylvia and I managed to talk her out of coming down every weekend. And for all the school holidays." "And what does our daughter have to say about that idea?" "Tara's all for it, really; not changing schools that is. She's a little bit more reluctant about the idea of not being down here with us. But she agrees that her exams must come first and she say's it'll give us the opportunity of getting over the silly stage in our relationship." "The silly stage?" "Er yes, as our daughter put it; 'The newly married all googly-eyed bit!' Where we... er can't keep our hands off each-other. "Tara seems to think that we'll be... to put it briefly, she thinks that there's lots of places we'll feel the need to christen over the next few months. Do you understand what I'm saying?" "That she thinks that we'll be bonking like a couple of demented rabbits, you mean?" I suggested. "Close enough, Taylor; close enough!" "She could be right about that. How long will you be going up there for?" "Just long enough to pack the house up, and put it on the market. My father will take care of things after that; that's the bloody least he can do. Besides he's said as much already." "What, that he'll look after Tara?" Oh yeah, and get the house sold for me. Daddy's a little... well, he admits he screwed-up and he's apologised to me many times." "Well, just tell him not to waste his breath on me?" "Taylor, did you have a good time in Canada?" "Yeah brilliant!" "And, your boat, 'Ottilie'; you love that boat don't you?" "Almost as much as I love you and Tara." "Well, here's something that you might like to think about. If, my father hadn't been such a complete... arsehole, all those years ago. Then we wouldn't be lying here together now, would we?" "No, but we'd be snuggled up together in a different bed, somewhere. We'd have been together for all those years... And you would not have been knocked about by Bill Morris." "Yeah there are two ways of looking at it, I'll give you that. But I prefer to try to forget all the bad stuff and just see the good that has come out of it." "You're too forgiving Ottilie." "Possibly I am a little. But we... you and me, Taylor. And Tara of course! We need to look to the future. Christ we're thirty-one years old and we've still got our whole lives in front of us. Plenty of time to... well, Tara suggested that a little brother or sister, or maybe two, sounded like a good idea to her." "Hey kiddo, one child out of wedlock is enough for me, we'd better get a wedding sorted then. Besides we're thirty-two... I'm nearly thirty-three." You don't look it and a woman is allowed to be a little conservative when she quotes her age Taylor. The older she gets the more conservative she's allowed to get. Anyway, may I suggest we sort out the marriage side of things a bit sharpish then, my sweet! After-all, the clock is ticking and as you discovered yesterday morning I'm not using any protection. And we have been going at it quite a bit." "You think we should use..." "No, you can't! I ditched them all the other night when I was looking for your PJ's. Somewhere safe where you'll never find them." "Ottilie, that sounds like an attempt at entrapment to me!" It sure was; well, a sort of attempt at it! Christ Taylor, luck must start to go my way sometime in my life. Only this time I do it, knowing exactly what I am doing. With Tara, it was bad luck and the ignorance of youth. This time I'm going to make sure that you don't slip through my fingers. And besides, without your little supply tucked away in that drawer, you can't... Well, while I'm away... you can't, can you?" "I wouldn't want to Ottilie. Tell you what, I'll give the Reverend whatever-her-name-is, a call first thing." "I don't think you'll even need to do that, Taylor. Maud kind-a hinted that she'll be dropping by around breakfast time tomorrow. To officially welcome a new member to her Parish, according to Maud. You're not a regular churchgoer nowadays, are you?" "Nope, but Maud and her best mate the Curate, have hopes of saving my soul. I only know her as Jean. They have managed to get me to church a few times though. Lots of things are based around the church or chapel around here; so one has little choice if you're not going to be an outsider, and want to be part of village life." "Village life? I thought it was a town." "Ah, but the town don't start until you get to the bottom of the hill, Ottie; by Parsons' boatyard. Out here in the sticks, we're considered to be part of the little village over the hill. It's either that, or you are branded an outsider. One of the many second-home set; who've pushed house prices out of the reach of most of the local youngsters." "Aren't you an outsider?" "No, I'm an incomer... and so will you be. We relocate to the county to live and work. We're accepted because we actually live here all the year round. Well I do, and you will be very shortly as well. As will Tara and any other member who happens to join our family." "Let's get to enlarging the family then, shall we?" Ottilie said switching off the light. ----- Ottilie's... interview (because that's what it was) with our local curate went fairly smoothly. Jean very diplomatically asked certain pertinent questions of both of us. But as she had known me personally for some years by then, it was mostly Ottilie who got the grilling. Jean had always taken after Maud a little, (where I was concerned anyway) and often tried to play pseudo mother to me when she got the chance. In Dreams Ch. 03 It was pretty obvious that Jean and Ottilie had met before, but I suspected in a social (via Maud) and not pastoral context, if you get my drift. I kind-a had it figured, that Maud would have dragged all four of my visitors along with her to the regular Sunday Service. Probably Maud hauled them down to the Methodist Chapel as well. Maud believed in hedging her bet's. Whatever both ministers and religious establishments appeared to serve almost all of the local churchgoers equally. If you couldn't get to one for some reason or the other, then the other establishment would do just fine. Although some folks did tend to refer to themselves, as "Chapel" or "Church." "Well, what kind of time frame are you two thinking about?" Jean finally asked, bringing me back into the conversation. "How about yesterday? I said jokingly. "Carson... From the way you two have been carrying-on; the day before that would have been better. But no mind, in a way it's served a purpose. Half the village thinks you two are married anyway, mainly because of young Tara. The other half thinks that you were married at one time, when you were very young; but divorced for some reason. They believe that you have suddenly found each other again and reconciled. "Now Ottilie. Your divorce, do you happen to have the relevant paperwork with you?" Ottilie said that she didn't. "In that case, I'm afraid that it will take a little longer Carson. Because I know that Ottilie has been married before, I have to tell the registrar, and she won't issue an emergency licence until she's actually seen Ottilie's divorce papers. That's a shame really because we could have fitted you in on Saturday." Sylvia's husband brought down the relevant divorce paperwork that weekend. So Ottilie not holding a grudge against her father proved handy, in more ways than Tara staying with him for a year. Ottilie had told him where to find them and given him the combination to her little safe. As Ottilie read the safe's combination out to her father over the phone; I found myself looking at the old wooden chest that I kept all my important and legal papers in. And sort-of wondered whether I should have had a safe as well. An unimportant question because very soon Ottilie's safe became our safe and is now bolted to the floor where that old sea chest used to reside. Oh, Tara purloined that rather quickly! She uses it (with a couple of cushions on top) as a seat by her window. What secrets she has locked away inside that old trunk, I know not. Delaying the wedding a week, unfortunately allowed time for my parents to attend. Albeit with their (replacement) significant others. As I've said before, a sudden excess of money can have some unexpected repercussions. I'd have never thought that my parents would ever... But maybe that's something I should be angry with Percy about, but I'll never know for sure. My folks did their best to get along, but you could cut the atmosphere with a knife if either's significant other was also in the room, if you get my drift. We farmed them out to two different hotels, one just outside each end of the town. It worked, ..... some of the time. Frank Thorn, his brother, sister and significant others came down for the wedding, but I don't know where any of them stayed. Let's just say that Frank kept out of my way as much as was humanly possible. The service was brief as they go, and nearly the entire village turned out, as well as some acquaintances from the town. Mostly boat people, that I did business with, and some of the more presentable clients of a few of the local watering holes. There was no formal meal after the service. That would possibly have resulted in carnage. Instead two buffets and plenty of alcoholic refreshments were laid on. One at my... our house, and the other at the pub up the road. Ottilie and I spent the evening wandering between the two, until it was time (or rather the tide was right) for us to board a friend's launch (tarted-up inshore fishing boat) and head upriver to another friend's holiday-cottage for the night. When young John collected us and took us back to the house the following day there was little evidence left from fun and games of the night before. That's if you ignored the stack of bin-bags full of empty cans and bottles. Then, I had to say goodbye for a few days to my new wife, and of course my daughter. I had suggested that I might go along with them, to help Ottilie sort her house sale out. But... well, lets say better judgement and diplomacy dictated that I didn't. Ottilie's father would be around after-all, and whenever I did clap eyes on him, I kept getting a strong... almost overwhelming urge, to smack the bugger on the nose. Ottilie returned less than a week later, accompanied by several thousand cubic feet of Pickfords' removal lorry, and some nice porters to unload the thing. By the time the van had squeezed itself back out of the gate, the garage and every other watertight building was chock full of Ottilie's worldly possessions. It took us several months to decide what would go and what would stay, choosing between each others as we thought would best fit the house. A surprising amount of Ottilie's stuff did replace some of mine, in the house. But not the bed! No, neither of our beds stayed. Ottilie's, because... well, do I really have to say. And mine because it was too damned squeaky. Not that that was a problem when we were alone in the house, but we'd become too... aware of it, when Tara and Kate were down. Yeah, Kate tended to come down with Tara. Ostensibly, she was acting as Tara's travelling companion; but more likely she came so often because John would always be kicking around somewhere when the girl did visit. I noted that when the girls were down, John was often accompanied by seemly endless string of different young companions. Whether, Kate had asked him to drag the poor wretches along or the boys themselves had requested an introduction to Tara, I do not know. But apparently none of them received Tara's seal of approval. However, the following Easter on a family and friends so-called fishing expedition -- aboard 'Ottilie' -- my physician's son obviously did, because he and John suddenly became the very best of friends. I got a little concerned at that point, but Ottilie told me not to worry. "Taylor, our daughter has had a very good demonstration of how to mess up your life in us two. You don't really think she'd do anything as silly as we did, do you?" "Well, kids will be kids." I replied, "And teenagers do think that they know it all!" "And young Mike is scared witless of Tara's father. Jesus, the way you looked at him when Tara told us that were going out together the first time... You could have given the little bugger a heart attack!" When young John's at school -- college now -- Ottilie crews for me. Funny, but I never thought I needed a crew in the old days. To be perfectly honest, if she's got nothing else on, Ottilie crews for me whether John's there or not. Well, I think that's about it. I appear to have turned into a Frank Thorn character, where my daughter's concerned; that -- I've been told -- is about par for the course. Luckily (for me) Tara's taken-up with a pretty sensible lad; well, he seems pretty sensible to me. Sylvia and Mark moved their family to Cornwall a while back. They're not far away; close enough for Kate to spend most of her time with Tara, and Ottilie and Sylvia to share the school/college run, when I'm not available. Mark works from home most of the time... I'm not too sure what he actually does though, something to do with computers as far as I can make out. Bill Morris? Well, I took a little trip up country to visit him in prison. I can't say that he appeared too pleased to see me. Anyway, I kind-of pointed out to him that -- when he gets out next year -- visiting the southwest, would probably not prove be congenial to his continuing good health. I think he got the message, especially when I pointed out how much deep water we have surrounding the county. Well, you have to be careful in those places. You don't know whether the authorities are listening in, or even recording your conversations. Life goes on.