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Good Year For The Roses

By: Denham_Forrest



 My thanks go to LadyCibelle, and my friend SH for proofreading, sorting my foul-ups and editing this tale for me. But... well, I've been fiddling again, so there could be all kinds of cock-ups that have slipped in since they saw it last!

As is not unusual for a DF story, there is no actual sex in this story. 

* * * * *

God! That was a day to remember I can tell you! To all intents and purposes it was a normal Saturday evening dinner. Even young Rachel was there, staying with us for the weekend, as she most often did.

Oh, I suppose I'd better explain up front about Rachel being there. Rachel's mother, Andorra - who by the way, I'd never laid eyes on at the time -- was a widow and she worked some pretty horrendous hours as a controller for a taxi company most every weekend. Otterley and Rachel had become best buddies at school and somewhere along the line it had become commonplace for the two girls to sleepover at each other's houses.

Eventually it had become standard procedure for Rachel to sleep over at our place Friday and Saturday nights whilst her mother did 12-hour night shifts and grabbed a few hours sleep during the day. Marge (Otterley's mother and my onetime wife) had obviously gotten to know Andorra quite well, but quite honestly at the time I'd never laid eyes on her. Not for any particular reason that I can think of, - unless Marge thought the lovely Andorra would turn my head - it was just how things had worked out.

I was on the road a lot back then; the company I worked for was young, and we were busy trying to grab our own chunk of a market that had been pretty well sown up by other suppliers for many years. It just so happened that Marge did all the dropping off and picking up. Although Rachel was often picked up from our place on Sundays by any of the Taxi's who were passing. 

I think Rachel enjoyed being spoilt by those taxi drivers arriving armed with sweets and ice creams etc. when they came to collect her; come to that, Otterley didn't mind when they called to collect Rachel either, she normally got the same goodies as they gave her.

Anyway where was I? Oh yeah, that infamous Saturday evening meal. So there the four of us were, sitting around the table eating. Marge had just served our sweet and I think I'd just returned to the table after putting the main course dishes in the kitchen. Anyway without a second thought about the two girls' sitting with us, and with no prior warning or build up whatsoever, Marge suddenly announced.

"Pete I want a divorce, I'm leaving you!" Then she tucks into her sweet like she'd not dropped just about the biggest brick she could come up with, on my head.

"Sorry?" I believe was the extent of my reply. When your wife of ten years, drops a statement like that into the conversation completely out of the blue; your first reaction is wonder whether your ears have just deceived you.

"I said that I want a divorce. I've found someone else and I want to spend the rest of my life with him."

Yeah well, what the soddin' hell could I reply to a statement like? Remembering of course that there were two impressionable eight-year-olds -- one of whom was our daughter - sitting there at the table with us, to witness my every word and/or physical action.

I do believe that under the circumstances I showed outstanding control that day and the patience of a saint. On reflection I have always been very proud of the restraint I displayed.

For some considerable time I sat there and played Marge's words back over in my mind. That is until I convinced myself that I hadn't gone gaga and she had just told me that she wanted me out of her life.

I think I must have made some stupid statement like "If that's the case, I'll go flat hunting tomorrow." Or something like that anyway.

Remember, I suppose I was in a state of shock at the time, so my recollection of the details is probably a bit faulty. Whatever, I did say something about moving out of the house, but Marge came back the real humdinger.

"No, you'll have to keep the house, I won't be needing it and you'll need it for Otterley."

I stopped pretending to eat the rapidly melting ice cream on my dish and stared at Margery.

"We're going on a trip around the world, and Otterley can't afford to miss all that schooling at her age." Marge nonchalantly added, not even looking up from her dish.

"You have to be kidding me!" I replied in a rather louder voice than I'd intended.

Look, I wasn't keeping my emotions in check for Marge's sake, but for the two impressionable young girls sitting at the table with us. On reflection Marge had probably chosen to make her announcement during the meal, because she knew full well I'd restrain myself in front of the children.

"I want to see the world whilst I'm still young enough to enjoy it!" Margery responded. Completely failing to see the irony in her statement.

At that point words failed me, and, if it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation, I might well have burst out laughing.

You see, when Marge and I first got together I was dead keen on travelling. I'd grown up with the plan in the back of my head that when I finished my engineering training, I'd travel the world for a few years before I settled down. 

When Marge had come into my life, I hadn't seen any need to change that plan; I pictured Marge and I backpacking around exotic places together.

Marge however, had seen things a little differently. Yeah, just like me she had been keen to see the world. The Grand Canyon, The Rocky Mountains and those great big redwood trees they have over there. We even talked about places like Ayers Rock in Oz and the North Island of New Zealand with its boiling mud pools and things. A New Zealander mate of mine had told of us about his skiing trips on the south island; that had always sounded like fun; a bit more exotic than the Alps anyway.

But Marge had a slightly different game plan to mine in mind. Whereas I figured we'd get married and lit-out right after I'd qualified with what savings I/we'd managed to stash away. I'd figured, a couple of years or so travelling and then we'd come back to the UK, settle down and have some kids. That's always assuming that we hadn't found anywhere else we'd like to settle whilst on the road.

Marge's plan was to have the children first; ironically "Whilst I'm young enough to enjoy them!" had been her exact words. Was that ironic or what?

Okay at the time I thought I'd understood Marge's stance. Her parents had been quite old when her mother had her and she'd always been conscious of the fact. Anyway Marge's idea was that when the children flew the nest, then we'd travel the world together.

Apparently - or so it appeared - Margery had had a change of heart. Maybe looking after Otterley hadn't been as much fun as she'd thought it would be. I know that the pregnancy and actually giving birth hadn't been to her liking. The idea of having three children had rapidly been removed from the master plan once Otterley had been born, without much of a discussion with anyone; that I had been aware of anyway.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

I think that was the moment that I nearly broke, but I couldn't very well laugh out loud; although looking back now, maybe I should have done. I couldn't sit there listening to Marge's crap anymore or I'm sure I would have lost the plot and done something I'd finish up regretting for a long time. I just got up from the table and went out into the garden, where for some reason, -- probably out of habit and because it was just a job that had to be done - I started deadheading my roses.

I have no idea how much time passed before I was aware that I had company. It was Rachel's arm - I think - I noticed first as she started deadheading the bush next to the one I was working on. Then I noted that Otterley was working on the bush the other side of me. Neither of the girls had said anything to announce their arrival.

"Mind the thorns girls; you haven't got your gardening gloves on!" I found myself automatically warning them.

"We'll be careful daddy." Otterley replied.

"What's your mother doing?" I asked kind-of absentmindedly. I'm not sure why I asked my daughter that, it was like another automatic response. 

"I think she's upstairs, packing." Otterley replied quietly, as if it was an everyday occurrence.

Suddenly I was so very angry again, I couldn't continue deadheading the damned roses. I feared that if I did, I'd pull the fresh blooms off as well. I found myself stepping back and watching the girls continue.

Really, I wanted to rush upstairs and throttle Margery. But not so much for announcing that she was leaving me out of the blue. More because she'd virtually told our daughter that she didn't want Otterley to go with her. I couldn't understand how any mother - let alone my wife -- could do that to her child.

"I'm sorry Otterley!" I found myself saying, without any further explanation/

"Why daddy, you haven't decided to leave us, mummy has?" My daughter replied obviously understanding what my apology was all about. "Most of the kids at school; it's their daddy's who have gone. I'd rather stay with a daddy who loved me, than a mummy who..."

Otterley didn't complete her sentence and I wonder to this day what she had been intending to say. I've always wondered but I suppose I'll never know what I'd missed over the years; had Margery somehow given Otterley the impression that she didn't love her? 

I thought not, well not that I had noticed; Marge had always seemed to me to be a loving mother to Otterley. She also seemed to dote over Rachel when she was at the house as well. But if I was blind enough not to see that my wife had herself a fancy man tucked away somewhere, I had to wonder what else I had missed? 

But then perhaps Otterley had read into Margery's announcement that her mother didn't love her, purely because she wasn't taking Otterley with her.

Suddenly I noted that the two girls were then working on the same rose bush together. What's more they were holding hands, one pulling the dead rose heads and the other taking them from her and dropping them into the basket.

At almost the same moment I realised that I could hear Margery talking to someone -- probably her new man - on the telephone in the bedroom. The windows being open because it was a warm day.

I couldn't hear what she was saying to him, but knowing that children's hearing is often far better than adults, I realised that the girls might be able to.

"Ice-cream!" I found myself announcing loudly. "Come on girls, let's go and get ourselves the biggest ice-creams we can find?"

I knew they'd just had ice cream for their desert. My own, having melted whilst I pushed it around the dish. But it was the best idea my confused brain could come up with at such short notice.

Both girls erupted into whoops of joy and instantly seemed to forget about the roses and high five'd each other; something I'd never noticed them doing before. I found myself walking to the car with an eight-year-old skipping along each side of me each holding one of my hands.

To make it a little special, I didn't take the girls to one of the local fast food places; we didn't have a proper ice cream shop locally. Instead I headed for one of the many restaurants around our town and ordered their blow-out desert ice cream Sundaes. I doubted that either child would actually finish eating them though; blimey was I wrong! 

It took them some time to consume them, and that proved useful to me. I was beginning to get over the shock of Margery's sudden announcement and come to terms with what Marge was doing to us. And to take stock of what the resulting immediate and long-term ramifications were going to be.

For some inexplicable reason I found that personally I couldn't give two hoots that Margery was going. Oh yeah, I'd miss her but... Well any actual love I'd felt for the woman had been instantly annihilated by her announcement and how she'd made it in front of Otterley.

But there was going to be a big problem her leaving was going to give me, and that was childcare. Oh, I was sure I could look after Otterley all right, but I'd had to have someone to take her to and collect from school every day. I was sure that my employers would be as helpful as they could, but our office hours were nine until five; whereas school hours were nine until three. And who the hell was going to look after Otterley during the holidays.

Rachel? Well, I was sorry, but I had my own problems; her mother would have to sort hers out as best she could. I remember thinking I'd have to call her later and explain the situation.

The only plan I could come up with, was my sister. Carol lived a good distance away, but maybe somehow she could collect Otterley from school in the afternoons; even if it would mean a long drive for the both of us. The only drawback I could see, were Carol's own children, they possibly finished school at the same time as Otterley did.

I found myself pulling out my mobile phone and calling Carol; maybe if I threw the ball in her court, she'd come up with some plan or the other. Carol had always been pretty good at that kind of thing.

"She's done what!" Carol shouted down the telephone at me, when I explained Margery's announcement as briefly as I could and trying not to go into the details - what I knew of them -- because the girls were sat at the table with me. Actually I surprised myself in how little I'd learned from what Margery had said. I had no idea how long her affair had been going on or anything; not even the who, she was having it away with.

"Carol, I said that Marge has run off with some guy and left us."

"Who? What guy?" Carol demanded.

"I have no idea Carol, just some Casanova she's picked up somewhere, I suppose. I didn't bother to ask!"

"His name's Ronald!" Otterley announced, taking me completely by surprise.

"He's a customer at the library!" Rachel added, probably not to be outdone.

Marge had been doing a little part-time work, helping out at the library for some months. Just for pin money and to get herself out of the house, or so she'd said.

I found myself staring at the two girls who were still sitting there nonchalantly battling their way through their giant ice cream Sundaes, at the same time as I found myself echoing their statements to Carol.

"... but my problem is Carol. I have no idea what I'm going to do about picking up Otterley from school everyday. I can drop her off in the mornings and go into the office a little late; but there's no way I can knock off at half two everyday."

"That's all right daddy. Rachel's mother will collect me from school." Otterley pointed out with the logic of a child, and before Carol had time to reply.

"It wouldn't be fair to ask her to do that everyday Otterley." I tried to explain to the child.

"Oh, it'll be no problem," Otterley informed me. "We've got it all worked out, haven't we Rachel?"

Rachel looked up from her ice cream, nodded and then grinned at me; somehow telling me for the first time that the two girls had been quietly conspiring together. But where they had found the time, or opportunity that afternoon, I had no idea.

"Rachel will stay at our house on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights," Otterley was explaining, "and I'll stay with Rachel and her mother on the other school nights. You can take us to school on Mondays and Rachel's mother will pick us up when she gets out of bed in the afternoon." 

Otterley gave me one of those child's satisfied 'easy-peasy, problem solved looks'. 

I'm not sure what expression I had on my face, as I sat there in amazement. Carol though, must have overheard what Otterley had said because she was saying. 

"Sounds like a brilliant plan to me, Pete. Have you asked her?"

"Well no Carol, for some reason I never thought about it. Look I've never met Rachel's mother, the idea never entered my head. I honestly have no idea whether she'll go for it; it's a lot to ask."

"The taxi man has been asking mummy to work on Sunday nights for a long time." Rachel suddenly joined the conversation. "Mummy said she'd get more money working Sunday nights at the taxi place than she does at the shop. But she didn't want to impose on Otterley's mother by asking her to look after me."

I had to gather from reading between the lines of Rachel's statement, that her mother must have been working part-time in a shop somewhere during the week. Christ the woman must be working around the clock, I thought to myself.

"Sounds to me like the children have got your problem licked. What's Otterley's friend's mother like?"

"I have no idea; you know, I've never met the lady, Carol." 

I had to be careful what I said, because I knew by then, that the two little innocents sitting the other side of the table were earwigging every word that I said.

"Well brother I'd say you'd better get your arse round there and have a chat with Rachel's mother a bit sharpish and see what she thinks of the children's plan." Then returning the subject to Margery, Carol asked. "Has the bitch moved out of the house already?"

"I have no idea Carol; the girls and I are in a restaurant in town. I brought them out for ice cream before... Yeah well, you know! But I think she was packing when we left."

"I'd say that you'd better pick up some new door locks whilst you're in town then; I'm sure you don't need the cow trying to come back! Call me later if you need anything tonight Pete, or Frank and I can come over later if you want. But if we both come, we'd have to bring the children with us."

"Thanks Carol, but I don't think that will be necessary. You know, I do believe I've got all the help I'm going to need this evening, sitting here with me now."

The two girls grinned at each other, then at me and finally high five'd each other again; something I was to see them do many times in the following few months. Only at the time, I had little idea what the little sods were really up to.

Another thing I didn't notice was that Carol not only hadn't sounded especially surprised to hear that Margery was leaving me; she didn't sound particularly upset about it either. But then, I'd never have claimed that the two women got on at all well, and they definitely never could have been described as being close friends.

The girls' ice creams eventually finished, we made our way back out to the car. But I still didn't drive home; I had a rather delicate mission to perform first. Rachel's mother had to be informed that I'd be the only adult in the house with the girls that night, and I needed to be assured she was okay with that. Well, there's some pretty weird characters about nowadays and as far as I knew, Rachel's mother had never clapped eyes on me.

I stopped outside the taxi office and - leaving the girls in the car - went in to find Rachel's mother.

"My names Pete Thomas and I'm looking for young Rachel's mother." I said to the taxi driver sitting behind the counter, who I thought I vaguely remembered collecting Rachel from the house one Sunday afternoon.

It might seem odd but I had no idea what Rachel's mothers name actually was at the time. Both Marge and Otterley had always referred to her as Rachel's mother in my hearing, and Rachel had always called her mummy.

Several Guys - obviously taxi drivers on a break - were sitting around in old armchairs drinking tea or coffee. I felt that I had immediately become the centre of attention for them all, the moment I mentioned Rachel. All concentration on the TV playing in the corner of the office and conversation had come to an abrupt halt at the sound of her name.

She's indisposed at the moment in her private office; she'll be back soon." The guy behind the counter smiled at me, gesturing with his head towards a door bearing a sign saying "Ladies Only", but that some wag had taped a piece of paper to, bearing the words "Andorra's Office".


Good Year For The Roses



I stood and waited, trying not to show that I'd noticed that everyone in the place was studying me intensely. It seemed an eternity until the door finally opened and I got the surprise of my life. 

I'm not sure what I had expected Rachel's mother to look like, but certainly it was nothing like how she did look.

It wasn't like she was dressed to the nines or anything; actually she was just wearing a pair of - extremely close fitting - old denims and a matching blue blouse; equally figure hugging. But damn, she was one of those women who had presence; she'd have look good dressed in an old sack. Add to that, the immaculate make-up -- not overdone just enough to accentuate her facial features - and not having a hair out of place. God the woman looked like a model on a catwalk; she glided along with the same grace - style or whatever you call it - as they do as well as well. 

I could definitely see and understand why, all those drivers had showed interest in my asking about her and possibly why they were all hanging around the taxi office.

"Andorra, there's this guy here, wants to see you." The man behind the counter said.

"Hi Pete, is there a problem?" She asked with a big smile on her face, but maybe a slightly concerned tone to her voice.

"Yes... no, well there could be." I replied, looking around nervously at all the guys who were by then pretending, not to be watching and listening to us. "But Rachel's fine and there's nothing really to worry about; I just think I should let you know what's going on, that's all. Can we talk somewhere private?"

Instantly all the guys began to rise from their seats, I assume to go outside and leave us alone in the office. But Andorra told them stay; that we'd go outside.

"What's up Peter, you don't look too clever?" Andorra said, as the door closed behind us. But then she spotted the girls with their noises squashed against the car window and waved to them.

"Well the problem is... Andorra... Margery has left me!" I stumbled out.

It felt very strange talking to her, and even calling her Andorra; it was the first time we'd met. I had also been confused that she'd instantly recognised me and knew who I was; I was sure we'd never met before. 

"Oh my god, you poor man!" Was her first reaction; then her mind must have realised the possible implications. "Oh, does this mean we have a child care problem this evening?"

"Oh no... Andorra." I was still having trouble with that name. "It's just that we've never met and I thought... Well I don't know what I thought... That you should know that I'll be minding the children on my own this evening, I think. I just thought you should know, after all we're virtual strangers."

"Not all that much Peter. Rachel goes on about you all the time; you might not realise it but she treats you like a surrogate father. She's even got a picture of you along with the one of my husband beside her bed.

"Oh my, where did she get that?" 

"Otterley gave it to her, I believe! Anyway, do you want me to get the night off and take the girls or anything...? I can, if you want to be alone."

"Oh my god, no. No, I just thought it would be prudent to let you know the score. Christ I'd be in a real state if they hadn't been there this afternoon. I'm fine looking after Rachel; I was just a little concerned that you should know."

"I'm sure Rachel couldn't be in better hands, Peter." She said reaching out and taking hold of my hand as if to emphasize the point. "I'll come by and collect Rachel in the morning."

"No you need your sleep; five o'clock as usual will be fine. But maybe you could drop by yourself, because we really need to discus what's going to happen in the future. If you like, I can bring Rachel home?"

"Oh yes... the future... I wasn't thinking." Andorra replied, a somewhat even more concerned expression coming over her face. The possible long-term implications of Margery leaving me must have suddenly come to her mind.

"Don't be concerned I think between us we can possibly work something out. The girls are full of ideas already." I smiled at her as best I could.

Andorra looked slightly relieved. "Oh right, but I'll collect Rachel, I'm sure you'll have lots of things you need to concentrate on!"

"Thanks, yeah I suppose I have, if I could just get my head around them. I'll see you tomorrow evening then, and please don't worry about Rachel; she's a remarkable young lady."

"Aren't they both!" Andorra commented, as we walked over to the car, where she had few words with the girls, kissing them both good night and telling them to behave themselves.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

There was a strange car parked in my drive when we arrived at the house. Margery got out of it and came over as I pulled to the curb.

"Where have you been, I've been waiting here for hours?" She demanded, before going on to tell us curtly that she was leaving now. Honestly even after that bomb she'd dropped on me earlier, I couldn't relate the way she was acting and speaking, to the woman I'd been married to for so long.

"If that's who I think it is, I suggest you tell the git to get his car out of my drive before I move it for him!" I replied just as curtly. Actually I was very near the mark, and I was extremely annoyed with Margery for having the guy there when we returned. Kind-a like rubbing my nose in it, I thought!

Looking back, I really think that I'd controlled my emotions impeccably that day; I'll admit mainly because the children were present. But to me it appeared that Margery had been trying to push me over the top. Possibly, she could use that as some kind of justification to herself for what she was doing, if to no one else.

Margery gestured with her arm and the Jag roared into life, then slid out of the drive and parked across the street. Ignoring the fact that Margery was standing close beside the car, I slipped it back into gear and swung across the road so that I could reverse into the space where the Jag had been standing. Margery was complaining that I'd almost run her down, as I climbed out of the car.

"Oh are you still here, I thought you'd gone." I lied and walked towards the front door. But then I stopped and turned to look at her. "Aren't you taking that?" I demanded, gesturing towards the little Nissan that Margery usually drove. It had suddenly registered in my mind that the Jag was apparently packed to the roof with Margery's belongings, but the Nissan was empty.

"Not much point, you might as well sell it. We're flying out of the country on Wednesday." She retorted.

"Where to? Where do I have my solicitor send the divorce papers?" I found myself demanding. But Marge had pre-empted me.

"The address of Ronnie's solicitor is on the kitchen table, he'll know where to contact us." She curtly replied, and then turned to speak to Otterley who along with Rachel had also got out of the car by then.

I'm afraid I didn't wait to hear what they said to each other, and my daughter and I have never discussed it since. But it couldn't have been very much because both girls followed me into the house seconds later and firmly closed the door.

What I didn't see, but I heard - somewhere in the back of my mind - was the pronounced "slap" of their hands as he little devils high-five'd each other yet again. I'm afraid to say, that I didn't read anything into the sound at the time.

The girls and I settled down on the sofa to watch TV for a while before I told them that I thought it was about time they hit the hay. Both gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, before disappearing up to bed without argument; a first on Otterley's part from my recollection.

I have no idea what time I eventually hit the hay, although I'll admit I had a couple of scotches to help me sleep that night.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

I awoke Sunday morning to the usual smell of frying bacon permeating the house. For a moment I forgot that Margery was gone, and looked at the clock in wonderment that she was up first on a Sunday. Then the memory of the day before came flooding back and I found myself looking around the room; something was not right, or different about it, but for a few seconds I couldn't put my finger on exactly what?

Then I realised, that when I'd gone to bed, there had been signs of Margery's departure all over the place; dresser draws left half open and her wardrobe doors ajar. Now they weren't just closed, all sign that Margery had ever existed had disappeared from sight. Even the damned pictures of her mother and father I remembered noticing she'd left, were not on top of the now completely bare dressing table.

I staggered out of bed and into the en suite for my usual ablutions and to my further surprise the personal detritus that I was sure Margery had abandoned in there was also missing. 

I was forced to deduce that I'd had visitors whilst I'd been sleeping, who had done some tidying up, and there were only two possible culprits who I could think of.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

"Come on Daddy, breakfast is getting cold?" I heard Otterley call up the stairs as I exited my bedroom.

In the kitchen I found both eight-year-olds waiting for me, they insisted that I sat whilst they served. I had a fry-up with a glass of fresh orange juice and a cup of coffee, presented as if I was enjoying breakfast in a high-class hotel somewhere. The two girls had apparently both settled for Cornflakes, orange juice and tea.

I made the necessary enthusiastic comments about my lovely breakfast and the skill of the chiefs and was rewarded with big smiles on both girls' faces.

Carol, her husband Frank and their children arrived before we had completed the meal; their arrival breaking the spell -- and tranquillity - a little.

But it was apparent that their arrival had been anticipated -- either that or the girls had greatly overestimated my coffee consumption -- because Otterley and Rachel promptly supplied Carol and Frank with mugs of coffee. It took a little persuasion on my part to convince the two girls to leave the washing up to me and go out to play with Carol's children. 

Actually Carol did the washing up, whilst Frank and I sat drinking more coffee and watched, at the same time as I described the previous day to them in detail. 

My sister and her husband told me they'd do whatever they could to help. Frank coming up with the name and details of the solicitor who'd represented his sister in her divorce; she turned out to be a good choice.

Carol cooked dinner for everyone from what she dug up from the freezer and fridge. I think I spent most of the day messing around with my roses when I wasn't talking with Carol and Frank.

One thing I do recall from that day though, was that sometime during the afternoon Rachel and Otterley helped me mollycoddle my roses for a while, and what's more I can recall Rachel - whether by coincidence or design -- quoting the line from a the song, "It's Been A Good Year For The Roses."

I'm pretty sure that she was much too young to understand the parallels that could be drawn between the song and the events of the previous day; but I certainly did.

I will never know whether I reacted in some way when Rachel said those words. But I do know, that - whether consciously or not -- Rachel has oft repeated that line over the years. Both the girls seem to like the song itself and we hear them playing and/or singing it quite often. Even more oddly, especially if and when Margery, has been mentioned by someone.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

A taxi arrived outside the house around four thirty and Andorra climbed out of it. The girls let her in and we did the introductions. Then Carol, Andorra and I adjourned to the lounge, whilst Frank shooed all of the children out into the garden and kept them occupied.

Andorra commiserated with me over what had happened and then before I had a chance to say much, Carol informed Andorra about the girls plan concerning child minding.

Andorra confirmed that she had mentioned to Rachel - in passing - that she'd been asked to do the Sunday night controllers shift for the cab company. And told us she'd get more money doing that than she could from the four mornings she put in at the local shop she was working at.

Almost without any further discussion or much modification it was decided to follow the plan outlined to me the night before by the children; with some vague discussion about Carol helping with day care of both girls, a couple of days a week during the school holidays etc.

Andorra called the boss of the taxi company to clear it with him that she could do the extra shift. He apparently was over the moon with the news and asked her to start that night. For some reason she looked at me for conformation, I just smiled and nodded, so she agreed to do it.

It wasn't quite that simple because Rachel needed her school clothes for the following day. So Carol drove Andorra and Rachel home to collect them, Otterley insisting on going along for the ride.

It was as I was carrying Rachel's bag into the house from Carol and Frank's car, that the thought hit me.

"Andorra, do you drive?" I asked.

"Yes, but I haven't been able afford to run a car since Tony's been gone." She replied.

"How do you fancy a little Micra as a run-around?" I found myself asking.

Andorra stopped and looked at Margery's car, parked there on the drive.

"I couldn't." She replied.

"Why the hell not, she doesn't want it, she told me to get rid of the damned thing? You might as well have use of it, as you're going to be running Otterley to school and back everyday."

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"Come on," I found myself insisting, "let's call the insurance company and get you put on my policy as a named driver. Might as well take Margery off at the same time, Rowland the rat can sort out all of her insurance from now on."

"His name's Ronald, daddy." Otterley corrected me.

"Who gives a monkeys what his name is, he's Rowland the rat to me!" I replied, probably somewhat sharply.

"He can't be daddy, Rowland the rat's, funny and nice." I was corrected.

Well, I couldn't argue with my daughter's logic on that one, so I caved and altered things a little. "Okay, if you insist, it's Ronald the rat." I grinned at her.

Oh, for those not in the know, Rowland the rat was at the time, a puppet character on a morning TV news show.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

Over the next few weeks we all settled into the new routine. Although Carol -- often with Frank and the children in tow -- would turn up most Saturday mornings to inspect the contents of and advise me on replenishment of the larder. Normally she'd finish up cooking lunch as well, providing we didn't all go out somewhere to eat.

And yeah, all right. Carol never actually put the white gloves on; but she did tend to do Captains Rounds whilst she was at the house. Housework ain't exactly my forte, but I soon found I had sod all else to do in the evenings with Otterley not there. I tended to do little and often, I think the house came up to inspection most of the time; Carol never seemed to find much to criticise anyway.

I was to find the weeknight's lonely, but I got used to it, eventually. Fridays were great when I got home from work to find Andorra and the girls there. Very quickly Andorra took to preparing a meal for us all before she went off to start her Friday evening shift.

The bad times were during the week, especially when I arrived home from work to an empty house and awoke in the mornings. No matter what animosity I felt towards Margery for what she'd done; when - after all those years of marriage - you suddenly find yourself waking up alone in bed every morning... Well shit, it just takes some getting used to!

The divorce got a little complicated. Marge and her fancy man had left the country and were apparently travelling around quite a lot. I read into the trouble Marge's solicitor was having staying in contact with her, that it was possible that her fancy man was purposely trying to complicate things.

Eventually I discovered that he had a very distraught wife after him for maintenance payments for their children. I met her once when both her and my solicitors got together for a council of war. But to be honest, I had my own problems and didn't wish to get involved in hers. I know that she eventually managed to lock up all of his British bank accounts though, and I do believe that she got her hands on all of his UK assets in the end.

Without getting involved, I helped the best I could, by relaying to her solicitor Marge's whereabouts when she called home to speak to our daughter. Although the credit for getting that information should really go to Otterley, because she grew adept at wheedling Marge's exact location out of her when she called. Then, not very subtly, the little minx would relay the information on to me at the first opportunity. Whether Otterley knew the reason why I wanted the information or not, I don't know. 

Strangely the difficulty Margery's solicitor kept having in communicating with her, worked to my advantage. After another court appearance where Margery's Solicitor asked the Judge for yet another adjournment, because he was awaiting a reply about some point from Margery, the old boy got shirty. He demanded to know where Margery was and when the poor sod of a solicitor had to admit that he had no idea.

The Judge turned to me to ask if I had any knowledge of her whereabouts?

"I'm sorry sir," I replied rising to my feet, "but I have not spoken to, or had any direct communication with my wife since the day she decided to walk out on my daughter and myself." I replied, rubbing the desertion of Otterley in as best I could, and technically - because not a word had passed between Margery and I in person since she had left -- speaking the truth.

I kind-a forgot to mention that Margery called Otterley every three weeks or so. But hey, that wasn't the question the Judge asked me, was it? And well, you know how the buggers go on about you to answering their questions without embellishment.

I'm really not sure, but I must assume that the old boy had had a bad day or something. Or maybe even the old bugger was presiding over Margery's fancy man's divorce as well and he had lost his patience. Suddenly I heard him saying, 

"...Unreasonable behaviour" -- my grounds for seeking a divorce -- "could be interpreted in many ways." Briefly he went on to say that Margery not keeping in touch with her own solicitor, being one of them. He then suggested that I had grounds for seeking a divorce for desertion. But whatever, he was granting my decree immediately and giving me full custody of Otterley.

"I can't see that shared custody of the child could ever work in this case. If Mrs Thomas can't effectively liaise with her own legal representative on this mater; then what possible chance would Mr Thomas have of sharing important decisions concerning their daughter's welfare with her?" The beak lectured Margery's council. "Mr Thomas!" the old boy said turning to look directly at me again, "from today, I'm giving you full and exclusive custody of Otterley. And I'm removing all claims Mrs Thomas has to parental rights over the child completely, but with one proviso." The Judge looked back towards Margery's solicitor. "If Mrs Thomas wishes to present herself, in person, before me within twenty-one days, then I might be persuaded to reconsider my decision. Will you attempt to inform her of that?"

Margery's solicitor replied sheepishly that he would do his best to pass the information on to her. On hearing the poor buggers reply, the old boy raised his eyebrows and returned his attention to me.

"Well Mr Thomas, I don't hold out much hope of that occurring and I doubt that I could be persuaded to change my mind anyway. I find it surprising that you don't appear to have requested any maintenance for the child from your wife?"




Good Year For The Roses



"I honestly couldn't see that I've got much chance of collecting it, your honour; unless Margery ever returns to the country." I replied.

The Judge lent forward and had a short whispered conversation with his clerk, then shuffled some papers as he looked for something on his desk.

"I think we'll make an interim order for one hundred pounds a month anyway. It's a nominal figure to establish precedent only. Like you, I very much doubt that you will ever receive it. But if Mrs Thomas returns to this courts jurisdiction then we can adjust the figure accordingly at a future date. I suggest that you have your legal representatives look into any assets Mrs Thomas might still have in the UK."

That was it; I walked out of that court a single man and with all the assets of the marriage. And apparently any other assets that Margery had in the country if I wished, assuming that we could find them. I never did bother looking.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

Checking the call log at home the following Monday, I noted that an international call had come in the previous day; probably whilst I'd been mowing the lawn, that would explain why I hadn't heard the telephone ringing. 

The call had obviously come from Margery; she was the only person who called from outside the country. The odd thing was, neither Otterley nor Rachel had mentioned that call to me, and they didn't - as they usually did - relay Margery's then whereabouts to me either.

You can read what you like into them failing to do so; but I know what I read into it. Although, because Otterley hadn't been in court that week -- I tried not to make a big thing about the divorce to her -- I did wonder how the girls knew about the twenty-one day bit. I doubted the social worker - who'd been appointed by the court to look after her interests - would have told her.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

As time passed Margery's calls to Otterley became more and more infrequent. I wasn't really surprised because -- from the few that were within my earshot -- I discovered that they were very one-sided affairs. Not counting subtle enquiries from my daughter as to exactly where in the world Margery was; but even those stopped once her fancy man's divorce was settled.

As an aside, I have no clue as to how Otterley or Rachel discovered that bit of information, about his divorce being settled that is. I think I concluded that - being local - his children most probably attended the same school as the girls; maybe all the children colluded together and exchanged information. But if they did, the girls never said anything to me.

I suppose the same reasoning could be used to explain the information the girls originally had about the "whom" and when etc. when Margery first made her announcement and moved out. Adults can all too easily underestimate their children's understanding of exactly what is going on.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

I can't remember now, I think the divorce had been final for about four months. I had taken Otterley and Rachel to the cinema one Saturday afternoon and we were enjoying hamburgers in the local McD's when Rachel announced that she and her mother were soon to be moving home.

I, of course, innocently enquired why, and was informed by Rachel that the lease on their flat was up for renewal, but her mother thought the landlord wanted to hike-up the rent too much.

No, at the time I didn't see or understand what was going on, or that there was yet another conspiracy in the offing. Come-on they were two nine-year-old children, conning an ice cream or two out of me, or even a day out, was to be expected. Them coming up with the idea, and planning to con me into inviting Andorra and Rachel to move in with Otterley and me, was something I'd never even contemplated.

They sprang the trap on the following Friday evening when we were all eating the meal Andorra had prepared before she went off to do her shift at the cab office.

Otterley - apparently innocently - asking Andorra whether she'd found a suitable flat yet. Before Andorra had a chance to reply, Rachel started relating horror stories about the places they'd seen. Although Andorra did manage to get out that they weren't quite as bad as Rachel described them.

For some reason I missed the point completely that if Rachel had seen those flats, then so had Otterley, because the two girls were always together, no matter which of us -- either Andorra or I -- were looking after them.

Then Otterley dropped in the suggestion that - had I been a little more sceptical - I should have seen coming a mile away.

"Da--ad, we've got the guest room going spare upstairs." Otterley pointed out. "Why can't Rachel and aunt Andorra move in here with us? Rachel has her own bed in my room anyway and it would save us having to keep moving from house to house."

Actually I must admit that I thought that, Otterley's idea wasn't a bad one. It would save a lot of chasing about and Andorra having to pay the rent on her flat, amongst other things.

I looked at Andorra for guidance but she avoided locking eyes with me. It was an embarrassing situation I found myself in. Had I rejected the suggestion immediately Andorra could well have taken umbrage. But then again Andorra might not like the idea and I could put her in an embarrassing position if I placed the ball in her court. I decided the safest way out was to murky the waters a little.

"Um well, Sweetheart. You see... well... sometimes there can be problems when a man and woman who aren't married to each other live in the same house. You know, some people might get the wrong idea." I stuttered out.

Surprisingly it was Andorra who giggled. "Christ, Pete; you sound like a real prude."

"I'm not, Andorra; I was just thinking of your reputation."

"My reputation... you must be kidding! Do you want to know the real reason why we're being pushed out of our flat? It's because I disappear on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights every week. What's more, I used to be dropped home by a taxi in the mornings, and now I drive around in a brand new car."

"I don't understand; the Nissan's not new!"

"It is, next to some of my neighbours' cars. Some of them are pretty well convinced that I could only afford a car like that if I did a certain type of night work." Andorra sat waiting for me to digest what she had said, with a coy expression on her face.

"You're kidding me!" I gasped.

"No I'm not, they wrote to my landlord. I've told all of them that I work for the taxi company, Christ I've even talked to some of them when they've phoned for a cab; but the rumours still persist."

"Oh my god the sooner you're out of there, the better."

"My thought's exactly, but finding another decent flat that I can afford, isn't as easy as it sounds."

"Well what about Otterley's idea then, there is plenty of room here?"

"Are you sure? You didn't sound too enthusiastic." 

"Yes I'm sure I am. This place is pretty much like a morgue without the girls around, and besides you ain't half as bad a cook as I am."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"In relation to my cooking yeah. The room's there if you want it, Andorra; and by the look on these two faces, they can't wait." I said gesturing towards the two grinning faces of the children.

"We'll have to discuss rent!" Andorra suggested.

"No, I don't think we will. House keeping isn't one of my favourite pastimes and I've already said, you make a better cook than I do. How about you becoming a sort-a cook-come-housekeeper here."

"Pete I'd do that anyway, but I'd have to pay you something... towards the heating, electricity and council tax at least." Andorra insisted.

"Let's leave that until a later date; at the moment I have to ask you if you're sure you want to move in here."

"If you are inviting us, then yes I'd... we'd love to!"

Then let's say the deal's done. When do you want to move in? Oh yeah, what about, er... well this place is furnished."

"Oh don't worry; most of my stuff isn't worth worrying about. A lot of it can be ditched. I sold all the good stuff years ago just after Tony went, when I was short of cash."

"Oh what happened?" I asked. But the look Andorra gave me told me she would tell me when the children weren't around. I'd been married to Margery long enough to recognise the expression.

I was aware that Andorra's husband had been killed in a road accident some years before, but I had never known the details.

A little later as we went to walk Andorra out to Nissan; I heard a distinct slapping sound behind me and swung around to see what it was. Only to find Otterley and Rachel standing there looking back at me, with butter wouldn't melt in their mouths expressions on their face.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

The girls moved in during the following week. Most of Andorra's furniture was ditched, but some found its way into the house. Other stuff was stored in the back of the garage. And her TV and music centre found their way into the girls' bedroom.

The house suddenly became a full time home again. Even the guys at work commented on the improvement in my demeanour. There was also the odd comment about me not joining them for a drink after work so often. But I had a daughter... well two daughters to get home to read bedtime stories to every night.

Oh yeah, my travelling days had all but come to an end when Marge left. Not knowing how things were going to work out, I'd kind-a put my foot down a little; my boss caved and started to send some of the other guys instead of me. I just didn't volunteer to travel anymore, if I could help it.

It wasn't very long after Andorra moved in that I began to fall in love with the woman, although I thought I was very good at not showing it at the time. 

Well what did you expect? Andorra was a pretty tasty piece of real estate by anyone's measure. Maybe a year or so younger than me, she seemed to be able to present herself immaculately no matter what she was - or wasn't - wearing; all right I'd seen her pass between the guest room and bathroom a few times wrapped only in a bath sheet, but that was all!

Andorra had a killer sense of humour and never did seem to get upset with the girls -- or me -- no matter what the little minx's got up to. She apparently turned a blind eye to my, er, idiosyncrasies. Look, I never claimed to be no bleeding angel to live with.

Mind I had been taken with Andorra from the first time I laid eyes on her, so it was to be expected.

I think that Carol was the first to realise that I was hooked that Christmas; she and Frank had brought their brood around for Boxing Day. Andorra was fussing over the dinner she was cooking.

"Have you told her yet?" Carol asked as we laid the table in the dining room together.

"Told who, what?" I replied.

"Andorra of course, brother!"

"Sorry kiddo, you've lost me. What am I supposed to have told her?"

"That you're in love with her, stupid." Carol announced.

"Do what? Don't be silly Carol."

"Oh come on, Pete; I can read you like a book. You're even more hooked on Andorra than you were on Stephanie Mathers!"

Oh, I'd better explain Stephanie Mathers. She had been my first love when we were all back at school together. A friend of Carol's, I worshiped the ground the girl walked on for several years before I got up the courage to ask her out. She led me on for a while and then broke my heart when she dumped me out of hand.

Stephanie was immediately and irrevocably declared, persona-non-gratis by my sister and her friends. Several of whom, consoled me over the following months. Jesus, they made sure that I soon forgot about Stephanie in a hurry.

"Of course I've grown attached to her; she's a very nice person, Carol. But I'm in a delicate situation here; the status quo suits both of us. If I do anything to upset the equilibrium... Jesus, I could really upset the apple cart!"

"Peter, the woman's stuck on you just as much as you are on her. Christ the pair of you dance around each other like a pair of lovelorn school kids."

"What the hell are you on about, Carol?"

"Pete, to get from one side of the room to the other, both of you will go the long way round so that's there's no chance of you actually -- god forbid - touching each other."

"So we don't want to encroach on each others personal space."

"Bullshit! There's only two reasons that two people sharing the same house together do that kind of thing. Either you hate each other, which I somehow doubt because no one has ever heard a cross word pass between you... or you're in love with each other. And don't try to give me any crap; you never exchange any suggestive jokes or anything. That's unusual for two people who spend so much time in such close proximity to each other. Think about all those jokes you exchange with the girls at the office. No, both of you are too scared of messing up what you've got."

"You think that Andorra's attracted to me then?"

"Oh my god, Pete; she does the same dance as you do. Christ the two of you are dancing to the same tune, even the girls can see that."

"So what do I do?"

"Buggered if I know Peter! Tell her how you feel I suppose. Come on she's not the first female you've been called to work that golden tongue of yours on. You were a dab hand at chatting girls up before you got hooked up with the bitch."

"You never liked Margery did you?"

"No, I never trusted her. Somehow I felt she twisted you around her little finger and then led you around by the nose. Much like Otterley and Rachel do now, but I doubt that you'll ever see that either. The difference is, those two little girls really do love you, something I never felt Margery ever did."

"Oh, you're mistaken, Carol; of course Margery loved me when we were married."

"Think what you like, Pete. You saw love. I saw a girl taking the easy ride; you had a bloody good job for a young man of your age and really brought home the bacon. Christ, Frank weren't earning half of your salary when I married him. I've always been convinced that all Margery ever saw in you, were pound signs." 

"No you must be wrong, Carol."

"Whatever, it doesn't really matter now, does it? Peter, someone's given you a second chance at happiness; there's a woman in the kitchen who I'm pretty sure is in love with you. You're just going to have to find a way to break the ice."

Before the conversation could go any further we heard Andorra coming, she entered the dinning room to see how the preparations for the meal were going, so Carol and I had to change the subject.

During that meal, Carol kept catching my eye and making subtle gestures with her head towards Andorra. She also appeared to be enjoying a private joke with Otterley and Rachel; but I don't think anyone else noticed.

Over the next couple of days I almost broached the subject with Andorra a couple of times, but kept chickening out at the last minute.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

New Years Eve arrived and Andorra was working. Carol and Frank had taken the girls, so I could go to a party with some friends from the office. I didn't want to leave the girls but everyone insisted.

Conspiracy again, I don't think so, there were too many unconnected people involved. What happened that night must have just been coincidence?

It was about four in the morning and the party was winding down. Well, those who were going home had gone home and most everyone else had crashed anywhere handy.

Not spotting any comfortable looking vacant spots to crash out myself, and having consumed far too much falling down water to even contemplate driving home - well not if I wanted to get there in one piece anyway - I called for a cab.

"Hi beautiful, how 'bout sending one of the guys over to take me home." Maybe not the exact words I used, but near enough what I said to Andorra when she answered the phone at the taxi office.

"Are you pissed, Pete?" Andorra asked.

"You bet babe. I had trouble working out which of these two phones to call on."

"I'll have one of the boys there in five minutes."

"Thanks sweetheart."

"Oh and Pete!"

"Yes gorgeous?"

"Try not to throw-up all over the back seat."

"Have you ever seen me throw up when I'm pissed?"

"I've never seen you when you're drunk, Peter; I have no idea what you'd do?"

"You'd be surprised?"

"I bet I would. Now Phil's on his way and please don't make a mess of his car, we've got enough of the guys back here now trying to get the smell of puke out of their cars."

"Your word is my command my love."

"If you only meant that?"

"What?"

"Never mind, Phil's outside the front door now. How about you see if you can find your way to his car?" Andorra said laughing; then the line went dead.

"Jesus, Pete; you've had a bleeding skinful." Phil the driver - who obviously knew who I was, even if I had no idea who he was -- said as he helped me into the rear seat of his cab.

But as he started driving - even in my inebriated condition - I realised that he wasn't heading for my house.

"You're going the wrong way!" I told him, or to be more precise probably slurred at him.

"You're going to need someone to put you to bed me-ol'-mate, and I don't intended to do the honours. I think I know who's going to volunteer though. Its' pretty quiet now, one of the guys can sit on the bleeding phones for the rest of the night.

To be honest I think I must have fallen asleep then, because the next thing I remember is Phil and Andorra dragging me from the rear seat of the car. Okay maybe I did put the helplessness act on a little, especially when Andorra snuggled up close under my arm to help me to and through the door.

Although Phil's assistance was required for me to successfully negotiate the stairs to my bedroom. It was back to playing possum for me again once he'd disappeared and Andorra began to loosen my clothing in an attempt to make me comfortable.

You know you can get away with doing some stupid things when you're pie-eyed. Because your inhibitions are lowered you can find that you can get away with saying things that you'd never dare to voice sober. To me it appeared the perfect opportunity to try my luck. But maybe the booze didn't help me to choose the best words to use.

Suddenly the perfect opportunity presented itself. Andorra was leaning over me, and was looking straight into my eyes, at very short range.

"You know, you're one hell of a babe Andorra!" I mumbled out.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"That you're good enough to eat, and I'm hungry." I slurred, probably with a drunken grin on my face.

"Oh you are, are you? Well, I suspect that if you ate anything, you wouldn't be able to keep it down for very long. How much did you have to drink tonight?"

"Not enough!"

"Christ, Pete; you're as pissed as a newt."

"Yeah, but if I'd had a few more I might have the nerve to tell you how much I love you!"

A big smile came over Andorra's face. "I'll believe that, when you can say it to me sober. Now get some sleep and we'll see how bad your head is in the morning." 

"Good night, Peter!" She added, then stood and went to leave the room.

"No you can't go!" I insisted. "I might be sick and I could choke to death."

"Oh well, where am I supposed to sleep then?"

I had managed to grab Andorra's arm as she stood and I gently pulled on it so that she fell onto the bed beside me, from where she didn't actually try to get up again. Nothing else was said and eventually I must have drifted off to sleep. Well, possibly quite quickly what with all that drink inside me.

Andorra was right; the daylight streaming through the bedroom windows didn't do my head any favours. And I was somewhat disappointed to find that she was no longer on the bed with me.




Good Year For The Roses



I went to lift my head from the pillow and suddenly realised that it wasn't a particularly good idea. I suppose I must have moaned in pain.

"Here drink this!" I heard Andorra's voice say from behind me.

"What is it?" I asked, shielding my eyes from the sunlight as best I could when I rolled over to look in her direction.

"Well it's not liable to be poison until you've married me, is it? I've got to make sure that I can get my hands on your life insurance before I bump you off."

"How do you know I won't turn the tables and bump you off first?" I quipped back.

If Andorra wanted to play the comedian, then I figured I'd try and be witty as well.

"No you couldn't do that. You've got two daughters that you'd need someone to look after."

"One of them's yours!"

"That isn't the way they see it, Peter. They like to think of themselves as sisters and they both think of you as their father."

"Oh, and you?"

I think I'm considered to be Otterley's mother as well now. Haven't you noticed the Aunt Andorra bit has gone lately? Several times she's called me mummy in the last week or so."

"She has? I haven't noticed."

"I know, and you didn't bat an eyelid when Rachel started calling you dad a few weeks back either."

"Oh, I'm not very observant am I? Has she really been calling me her father?

"Daddy to be precise, Peter. She's been calling you daddy for a month or so now. Even Carol and Frank noticed it."

"Ah, and did you discuss it with Carol on Boxing Day?"

"I discussed a lot of things with Carol on Boxing Day, Peter."

"Ah then, that explains it."

"What?"

"Why she's already planning her wedding outfit." I replied with as best a smile as I could muster, considering I had this little guy crashing around with Thor's hammer, in my head somewhere.

Andorra sat there starring at me, still holding whatever concoction she'd made for me in her hand.

"Well?" I asked after she apparently hadn't reacted for an absolute age. 

Andorra was sitting there with a confused expression n her face. I'd expected a question from her in reply to my comment, but it hadn't come as I'd hoped it would.

"Well what?" she replied.

"Well, are you going to marry me or not?"

"You haven't asked me to."

"I know, I'm a coward; I was trying to get your answer out of you before I asked. It's far better not to look a prize prune when I get turned down."

"Hmm, well let's see... I reckon you're not going to look like a fruit cake if you ask. But!" Andorra replied.

"But what?"

"I've got an admission to make to you before you commit yourself to anything."

"Ooh that sounds serious, should I be worried?"

"No, but I am! I'm not a widow Peter; Tony isn't dead. Actually, legally I've never been married to him. Well I was married, but I wasn't."

"I think I'm losing something in the translation here Andorra."

"Tony was a bigamist Pete. He was already married when he married me, so legally my marriage to him is kind of null and void."

"Oops."

"You could say that? Tony actually married three of us at different times and he fled the country during his trial. That's why I told Rachel he was dead; if they ever track him down he'll be inside for years. Not that I ever think they will, the bastards probably conned some other silly cow in to marrying him by now."

"So you're not a widow and you were never married." I said.

"No, I suppose technically I'm an unmarried mother. It's just a lot less complicated to tell everyone that I'm a widow."

"In that case will you do me the honour..?"

I never did get to ask the rest of the question and Andorra never did get to answer it. I'm not even sure where that damned drink she made me went. But we spent the next hour or so rolling around the bed - and the floor - like a couple of teenagers; my headache almost forgotten.

No we didn't, we were just kissing, cuddling and whispering silly sweet nothings to each other. It was fun, even if my head was still giving me some gyp. With a head like that I really don't think I could have performed anyway.

By the time Frank brought the girls home about three in the afternoon. Andorra and I were sat in the kitchen making plans and wondering how we were going to break the news to the girls.

But we really didn't have to tell them, the little minx's seemed to know immediately; mind that might have something to do with the fact that Andorra was almost sitting on my lap when they charged in the door. Anyway they stopped dead in their tracks stared at us for a few seconds then high five'd each other again; before coming around the table and cuddling both of us.

I think we both felt like we had flashing neon signs on our heads when Frank - as he entered the kitchen - did a quick double take and simply said, "Congratulations! When?" Which both Andorra and I translated as "What date had we set for the wedding?"

That called for some further discussion, which included Carol, who Frank called on the telephone. The date was eventually set -- pretty arbitrarily really - for the middle of February.

Andorra and I wanted a fairly low-key affair, but our girls wanted something far more extravagant; I think we settled on somewhere in between. We decided on having the wedding itself at the registry office and a rather luxurious but small - neither Andorra nor I had much in the way of living relatives -- reception afterwards.

The registry office was chosen because... well there were no banns to be read and no entry in the parish newspaper to worry about. Notices like "Spinster of this parish" and "attended by her daughter," might have confused some folks. Andorra was supposed to be a widow!

After Frank had gone home, Andorra had to perform the delicate task of handing her notice in to her boss at the cab company. There's was no way that a wife of mine would be doing night shifts anywhere, for reasons too numerous to mention; and personal pride or mistrust doesn't come into that equation. It's more a kind of personal preference kind of thing; I'd got pissed off with sleeping - or rather the not sleeping - alone.

Andorra and I had another big decision to make when it was time for us to go to bed that night. Eventually we decided on separate bedrooms until after the wedding. We both realised we'd have problems justifying any position we took about sex outside marriage with the girls when they got older, if they had seen us sharing a room before we were married. 

But that doesn't mean that I didn't develop the habit of nipping home for "lunch" most days once the girls got back to school. Okay, so I took a few long lunches no one at the office seemed to object, most probably because of the further improvement of my general demeanour. 

Andorra did her last shifts at the cab company the following weekend. It took several taxis to transport all the flowers and boxes of chocolates home on the Sunday morning; we had to ration the girls for weeks afterwards. Andorra didn't do the Sunday night; some of the drivers -- and their wives - took us out for a meal and a bit of a party at a local pub. Taxis were in short supply in town that night. 

The wedding itself was upon us almost before we realised. Everything went off extremely well considering and our girls made impeccable bridesmaids. I do believe Andorra and Carol spent more time getting them looking perfect that they did on my bride. But then as I think I've said before Andorra would look good in just about anything.

Andorra and I didn't have a honeymoon as such. One night in the honeymoon suite of the plush hotel we'd held the reception in; the girls going home with Frank and Carol's brood for the night.

Our master plan was to get away for most of the school summer holiday that year, with the girls. That first year, we spent five weeks kicking around Florida, the Caribbean and Southern California. Never staying anywhere for more than a few days and taking in just about everything we could see and experience in the time available.

It was only a week or two after the wedding I got home from work one evening and immediately knew something wasn't quite right. The girls seemed happy enough but Andorra was edgy about something. It was after the girls had gone to bed that she told me what was bothering her.

"Rachel knows that Tony isn't dead?" She informed me as soon as I came down from tucking both girls in and reading them a chapter of their book.

"Christ how did she find out?" I asked in surprise. I was sure we'd never discussed him whilst the girls were even in the house.

"I have no idea. Although I've suspected something was up ever since we moved in here. You know those pictures by the girls' beds? Well..." 

The beds in the girls' room are parallel to each other. There's three small cabinets, one each side of them and a third in the middle. The centre one had two pictures on it, one of Andorra and one of me. The outside ones have pictures of Margery and Tony respectively on them. Andorra went on to explain that latterly she'd found the girls had been putting the pictures of Margery and Tony in the drawers most nights.

It suddenly struck me that I'd seen neither picture that evening.

Eventually Andorra had challenged the girls on why they were hiding the pictures away. The reply she'd got from Rachel had been "They don't want us, we don't want to look at their pictures!" Further discussion proved to Andorra that Rachel was well aware that her father had not been killed in a road accident but had run away, although she didn't appear to know why.

Andorra -- out of embarrassment - had chosen to leave Rachel in ignorance of the details; she didn't want to have to explain to the child that she was technically illegitimate. Although Andorra worried for a while about Rachel's reaction to the knowledge that her father was out there somewhere, the child didn't seem to give two hoots. Personally I thought the information made the girls feel closer to each other.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

Andorra proved to be a perfect wife, better than a perfect wife she was a sensational mother to both of our girls. Not only was she great with the children, she was extremely patient with me when things got hectic at the office. Yeah, no matter what Otterley claims, I do have my shortcomings, but Andorra seems to overlook them, without ever mentioning them.

She's had the most wonderful sense of humour and has worked out plenty of ways to turn me on during the evening and tease me until the children have gone to bed, or we do. Sometimes my nights can be very tiring.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

By the beginning of summer Margery's telephone calls to Otterley had almost dwindled to zero. Mind I'm not surprised, Otterley had changed tack, gone on the offensive and become very vocal when Margery did call. 

I know that she had been angry with her mother, but both Andorra and I had to step in and chastise Otterley for referring to Andorra as her "New Mummy" when talking to Margery.

Otterley dropped that trick and instead kept talking about how much fun we all had when we went out together as a family, "Daddy's wife" and "My Sister Rachel," being mentioned at regular intervals.

Andorra and I discussed Otterley's attitude towards Margery a few times and how she spoke to her on the telephone. But we came to the eventual conclusion that we couldn't lay down a never-ending list of words and phrases that Otterley was forbidden to use to her. Otterley - with Rachel's connivance - was bound to be able to come up with some new ones, whatever we banned. We decided that Margery had made her own bed that day in the kitchen; now she'd have to get used to lying in the damned thing.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

We hadn't been back from that holiday all that long when Otterley and Rachel started on the mummy and daddy thing again. For a time Andorra and I had trouble understanding what the minx's were hinting at, then we realised they were asking whether we were really their mummy and daddy, and here I blame the Internet.

Suddenly Andorra and I started to find printouts concerning adoption procedures lying around the house, with -- we assumed -- the intention of prompting Andorra to adopt Otterley and me Rachel. Also the girls had researched the legal technicalities of getting Rachel's name changed to Thomas and even gone so far as to print out the relevant forms.

As far as the adoption idea went, after some discussion Andorra and I decided it would have to be neither or both. Rachel's father, although he'd deserted her and Andorra, still retained his legal rights concerning her. Eventually we placed the problem in the hands of the same solicitor who'd handled my divorce.

It took over a year but eventually we succeeded in getting Tony's parental rights revoked and both adoptions went through. Whether by coincidence or design on our solicitor's part, the same judge who handled my divorce presided over the removal of Tony's parental rights, and I very much suspect that might have had some influence over his decision.

Legally our family now consisted of Mr and Mrs Thomas and our daughter's Otterley and Rachel. We did discuss additions, but eventually chose not to add to the family, well that was the intension.

Not very long after our marriage I'd received a promotion at work and with promotion had come a larger salary and the opportunity to delegate more of my workload. Our summer jaunts became a regular thing, I really do think Andorra planned them as a kind-of compensation for me for missing out on my travels when I was young.

The second year of our marriage we spent five weeks touring around Europe. The third we hit India - a surprisingly large country -- and Sri Lanka. The fourth we did Australia and New Zealand and yeah we had made the miscalculation that we arrived down there in the middle of their winter; but hey, we're British we had some of trouble noticing the difference.

By the time our fifth summer came along we were old hands at travelling. Otterley and Rachel - by then both fourteen-year-olds - had their own Video cameras and were getting pretty good at documenting our travels.

Canada, the Northern USA and Alaska were on the itinerary for that year and for most of the winter and spring all three of my girls had been making detailed plans. By then I left them to it, just dropping the name - of some out of the way place I'd heard of years before -- now and again and knowing that we'd be calling in there sometime during the trip.

There was one thing I don't think any of us had taken into account. About two years after our wedding, Andorra and I had started to receive Christmas cards from Margery. Otterley had always received Christmas and birthday cards from her. But we had no idea why she'd suddenly decided to send Christmas cards to us. We couldn't reciprocate, because none of the cards ever contained a return address.

However, the point was - and this was something that I and I assume the rest of the family overlooked, - they all bore Canadian stamps. Which would lead anyone - who was actually thinking about it -- to believe that Margery and Ronald had settled in the country somewhere. 

Regretfully Margery was rarely mentioned in our house anymore, and I don't think she'd called Otterley on the telephone for several years, so no one raised the point.

Anyway as always the master plan for our extended summer vacation that year got changed as time went along. When the girls informed me that we had no chance of visiting every place we wanted in the time available, and that was after we'd done some very heavy clipping of the list. Eventually we decided to draw an arbitrary line down the continent in a similar way as we'd drawn one across it a few years before. That summer we'd visit the west; the east would be left for another year. 

We flew Into Winnipeg on an air Canada flight in late June and after a day or two looking around some historic sites near the city - this isn't a travelogue so I won't go into details and then set off on our tour proper in a hire car. Travelling west from Manitoba into Saskatchewan then turning south and almost back on ourselves through the Dakotas, Nebraska and down as far as Kansas before we swung west and then north again passing through Colorado and Wyoming where we spent a few days on what I think is called a Dude Ranch.

The horses were pleasant to ride, but I think I'll stick to English saddles in future. Comfortable as western type saddles are, I found that I got the feeling that it wouldn't be as easy to bailout should anything go awry; not that I got the slightest inclination that it would. Neck raining was also an interesting experience. 

There are two theories about ridding horses or motorcycles; when the doo-doo hits the fan that is. Stay with it and hope you can recover control; or bailout and hopefully hit the ground, on your feet and running. The prospect of getting on for anything up a ton of horse or a bike with its engine still screaming and rear wheel spinning, landing on to of me, had never been my idea of a good time.

Anyway I've digressed a little, eventually we rolled into Montana and stopped at a town I'd heard of somewhere and I'd always wanted to visit. I'd probably read about the place in a western novel or something. After checking into our hotel, motel or whatever you like to call it, we headed for a restaurant; a diner I suppose, that we'd seen near by.

The restaurant was busy and somewhat noisy as well, what with all the patrons chatting to each other. But then suddenly there was an almighty crash followed by absolute silence; everyone stopped speaking, - as it always happens in the circumstance - one of the waitresses dropped a tray loaded with some poor buggers' meals.

It's one of those reflex actions that you can't control isn't it; like everyone else in the establishment Andorra and I found ourselves looking to see exactly who had been so clumsy and disturbed our meals by dropping the tray. A pretty thoughtless thing to do really because surely the culprit would be embarrassed enough about making the noise; they sure didn't want every bugger in the place staring at them.

I spotted the culprit very quickly and somewhat to my surprise found that I recognised her. What's more it was fairly obvious that she'd spotted me as well, - on reflection I realised that it was possibly her recognising me that had been the cause of her dropping that damned tray in the first place - the poor woman was standing there with her mouth open and wide-eyed, staring right back at me.

From Andorra's reaction I gathered she recognised the woman as well. Whatever, both Andorra and I were to react by saying 'almost' exactly the same thing in unison to our girls.

"Eat your dinner Rachel/Otterley, it's nothing for you to worry about." Andorra had addressed Rachel, and I Otterley.

Sometimes old habits die-hard; although they were "our girls" now - we'd both legally adopted each other's daughters - even after five years there was still the tendency for us to chastise our own child first.

Not that it made any difference; both children were twisted around in their seats to see or who had been responsible for the disturbance.

Otterley turning back almost instantly on recognising the woman and I believe uttering the words "Serves her right!" under her breath, then she returned to eating her meal as if nothing had happened.

Rachel stared a little longer until after the waitress had turned and fled the public area of the restaurant. Then she looked at me smiled sweetly, then moved her gaze to her mother's eyes, before she returned to eating her meal, as Otterley had.

The waitress's departure had lead to quite a few of the other patrons looking in our direction. Maybe some had looked our way before the waitress fled but I hadn't noticed. Whatever it was obvious they all realised that it had been my families and/or my presence that had prompted the incident.




Good Year For The Roses



Andorra the girls and I, tried to ignore the stares and continued with the rest of our meal as best we could.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

"It looks like the grass wasn't as green as it looked!" Andorra whispered to me as we trailed along behind the two girls as they skipped their way to the car.

"What do you mean by that?" I replied, maybe a bit more curtly than I intended.

"I should imagine it's pretty safe to assume that she isn't with Ronald anymore if she's working here."

"Probably one of them cheated on the other. They say once a cheat always a cheat." I replied.

"But she didn't cheat on you; the silly bitch just walked out on you and Otterley."

"You can't be trying to kid me that they didn't consummate their relationship before the divorce went through. And besides, walking out on your daughter is tantamount to cheating in my book. You can bet that either she couldn't keep her legs crossed or he couldn't keep it in his pants."

"Does it matter?"

"No, providing she doesn't try to cause trouble here and now. Otterley was confused enough as it was, she doesn't really need to be put through any more turmoil." 

"She's far too late to try anything like that Pete. Besides I think Otterley handled it far better than you did really. After all it was the girls who..."

"Don't say it, Andorra; I know exactly what the little tykes did, and am I pleased that we do have a couple of manipulative little minxes. Although just sometimes I have to wonder how far their manipulations really went."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh nothing really, but it was obvious they were working to a plan. Sometimes I wonder how far in advance they'd laid the thing. Don't worry I couldn't be more pleased than I am with the outcome, I just get curious sometimes." 

We'd arrived at the car by then, I'd unlocked the doors with the remote as we approached and the children had jumped in the rear seats. I opened the nearside front door and held it for Andorra. But she didn't get in; instead she stepped close to me, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me.

Whoops and shouts of encouragement came from the two little devils sitting in the rear of the car. Followed by comments like "Not in public!" and "Can't you two wait until you get to your room!" 

Some folks might figure that they were pretty disrespectful and forward comments to come from two fourteen-year-olds. But both our daughters were very mature for their age. Christ they'd had to grow up fast! Andorra had lost her husband when Rachel was six and she'd struggled along as a single parent for years.

Otterley had watched her mother walk out on us and - all but publicly - disown her when she was eight. An occurrence that I didn't handle too well, I can assure you; but my daughter -- with Rachel's assistance - had risen to the occasion of someone far more mature in years.

Very suddenly Andorra broke the kiss and stepped back a little.

"We've got an audience!" she whispered looking over my shoulder.

I looked around and saw that Margery was standing in what I assumed was the kitchen doorway watching us.

"Do you think that Otterley should...?" Andorra suggested.

"Yeah, I don't think we've really got much choice." I found myself replying. I knew full well I'd have had to come back later to speak to or rather confront Margery, and that would most likely have lead to us arranging for Otterley to see her mother in private. To be honest it was too good an opportunity to miss, it would get that side of things out of the way anyway.

"Otterley." Andorra who was leaning into the car - was saying, whilst I was still thinking. "Your mothers over there, I think you need to go see her."

"Do I have to?" Otterley replied.

"She's your mother, Otterley. Now please do as we ask, or in years to come when you are older, you might be very sad that you missed the opportunity."

Otterley shrugged and began to climb out of the car. "I don't want to see her, can't Rachel come with me?"

"No we are just here; we won't be out of your sight." Andorra assured her. 

Eventually having climbed out of the car and with a marked reluctance in her step -- and looking back at us dejectedly several times - Otterley walked towards her mother, stopping about ten feet short of her.

Margery obviously said something -- which we couldn't hear - and took a step towards her, but Otterley promptly took a step backwards.

It was a little frustrating that we couldn't hear what they were saying to each other, not that I think Otterley said very much anyway. The point we noticed was that if Margery moved towards Otterley at all, the child retreated.

"This is not good." Andorra mumbled, I believe so that Rachel wouldn't overhear her.

But almost as she said so Otterley turned and ran back to the car and without a word jumped into her seat, slammed the door and began to fasten her seatbelt. When I looked back the doorway where Margery had been stood was empty, I assumed she'd gone back inside.

I would have preferred to have got in the car and got the hell out of there, but Andorra had a different plan she must have been halfway to that door before Otterley had the seat belt secured. So I stood there like a lemon for ten minutes until Andorra returned.

I gave Andorra a questioning look when she finally climbed back into the car. I got one of those looks in return, where Andorra was ostensibly looking at me but her eyes gave a quick flick towards the two girls in the rear seat. The message was shut up and drive, we'll discuss it later.

The plan that afternoon was to take a hike along a path beside the river and see the falls the town was named after. We kind-a got the impression the hydroelectric installations had stolen some of their original grandeur, but they were impressive anyway. As usual on these strolls -- Andorra and I never overdid the hiking bit if we could help it -- the two girls drifted off in the lead and that allowed Andorra and I to talk.

"So, what did she say?"

"He's gone, ditched her two years ago when he picked up some waitress in town here."

"Much as we'd guessed. But I wonder why she hasn't she gone home to the UK?"

"He buggered off and left her holding the Motel bill. The motel was short of staff in the restaurant so she figured she might as well stay and work the bill off. Apparently she shares a room with some other woman. Anyway they both work in the restaurant during the day and serve drinks in the bar over-the-road at night."

"Sounds like fun!"

"What else has she got to do, Pete?"

"Gets herself laid every night by some bar fly I suppose."

"There's no need to be nasty, Peter. Margery made a mistake and now she appears to be paying the price. Anyway you're meeting her when she finishes her stint in the restaurant at six. She's only got a couple of hours before she has to be on duty at the bar, so you can have a chat whilst I take the children somewhere else to eat.

"Andorra what the hell have I got to say to her?"

"You need closure, Peter; whatever you believe. You need to sit down and talk to her... and remember that she is Otterley's mother."

"Pity she didn't remember that?"

"Margery's words exactly, Peter. She regrets what she did and I believe she'd like to apologise to Otterley as well as you. Unfortunately I don't think Otterley's ready to accept that apology yet; that was obvious from what happened at lunchtime. But in time, I'm sure she will; we'll just have to make sure that we don't lose track of her again."

"You take a magnanimous view of all this, considering what Tony did to you?"

Pete, is there any point in going through life with hate in our hearts all the time? What Tony did to me could be considered worse than what Margery did to you... and Otterley even. You know for a while I hated him and the other women he'd conned into marrying him as well. Then one day we were all sitting there in the waiting room at the police station and I realised we were all in the same boat. We'd all been conned, and none of us was to blame; so we made friends."

"Tony! Well what was the point in wasting my time cursing the bugger? If he ever shows up, I'll rat on the sod to the police as soon as I get the chance; but I'm not going to waste my time or emotions hating him. I've got more important people to worry about!" Andorra pulled me close and kissed me on the cheek. "And besides... Think about it, if Margery hadn't run off with what's his name, where would we be now?"

"Good point Andorra!"

"I know it is my love."

"We better get cracking then it's gone four now."

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

I was waiting in the restaurant car park when Margery came off duty. She came out with another very dark-haired women who studied me closely before she went on her own way. Margery looked nervous, not the confident woman I'd last seen laying the law down in the kitchen all those years before. Although she still looked pretty attractive.

"Hi Peter, thanks for coming. The bar should be quiet at this time of day, shall we go over there and talk?"

I'd avoided speaking in reply, but gestured for her to take the lead.

I followed Margery to a booth at the rear of the bar, it was fairly obvious that we were expected, I'd noted the dark haired woman sitting at the bar talking to the barman as we entered; I'd also noted that the booths near to our one were all empty as well.

The dark-haired woman followed us over and placed two beers on the table, then said something to Margery, in Spanish I believe. Whatever Margery just nodded in reply; I had to assume she'd picked up the language whilst she'd been on her travels.

"You wanted to see me Margery! I said reminding her that I hadn't asked for this meeting.

"I... I just wanted to say that I'm sorry, Peter." She eventually whispered. I only just caught her words.

"I'm not; you did me a great favour!" I replied. Come on, I'm not cut out to be a bleeding diplomat.

"Yeah Andorra did get the best end of the deal; I should have realised that she'd get her hooks into you the moment I was gone." She replied bitterly.

"It was the other way around Margery, once I clapped eyes on Andorra..." I'm not exactly sure how I had intended to complete that sentence. Maybe I was thinking that had I met Andorra before Margery had left, it might have been me who did the walking act. Wishful thinking maybe, but somehow I doubt that I would have done; I'm the kind of guy who's too tied up in duty and that sort of thing, or to have acted so selfishly.

One wonders "sometimes" whether that could be a failing?

"What happened to lover-boy anyway," I found myself asking Margery "And just where did the bugger get all his money from? You know he left his wife and kids without a penny, so she had all his bank accounts seized.

"Ronald's money, that's a laugh! Everyone else's money you mean, he was a con artist Peter; he's wanted all over the place. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why he dumped me in the end; I helped him with some of his cons and, well... we had to skip out of Argentina a bit quick, when my picture was in the local newspapers down there."

"I think he nipped over the border into Canada when he got wind that the FBI had turned up at the Motel here looking for him. Just by coincidence, with one of the waitresses from the Diner. What you might call ironic isn't it, now I'm doing that bleeding waitresses job!"

"Weren't the FBI after you as well?"

"No... well yes really, but I did a deal with them. As long as I'm prepared to give evidence against Ronald, when they get their hands on him, then they have agreed not to throw the book at me. And in return, I got my hand smacked; two years probation for assisting a fugitive to escape or some nonsense like that. Mind you, I'm pretty well stuck in the country until they do find the bugger; and I have to report to the authorities every week or so. But that's not too much of a bind, because Buster, the deputy who I report to, is in here or the diner most days."

"Are you still in debt?"

"I was up to my eyes in it. Like a prune, I signed for just about everything including the hire car Ronald and that bitch took off in. I've nearly cleared it all, but there's still a couple of thousand dollars owing. No Pete I can't!" Margery had seen me pulling my chequebook out.

"For once in your life do as you're told, Margery! Right, I'll make this out for five thousand quid, that's getting on for ten thousand dollars, that should clear your debts and give you something to fall back on, if you need it. If you decide you want to return to the UK in the future, when and if they catch the bugger, then we'll help you find somewhere and get settled. But don't think this gives you the right to try and step in and mess up our family. Oh and you know the courts removed all your parental rights concerning Otterley don't you?"

"She made that very clear to me this morning!"

"Oh I'm sorry, that isn't what we sent her over for."

"So I understood when Andorra came into the kitchen. Pete, I was stupid... I really never mean to hurt you and Otterley like that. I don't know, I just seemed to get lost in all Ronald's exciting stories. It wasn't very exciting, I can assure you!"

"Margery that was all a long time ago. Truthfully I'm just pleased to find you safe and well. But Otterley and I have a new life now and I'm afraid you're not part of it anymore. Although Andorra and I will try to make sure that Otterley stays in touch with you."

"That's more than I deserve, Peter; and I really don't deserve this cheque."

"Well you'd better take it; it'll ease my conscience a little when we leave here tomorrow. We'll come to the diner for breakfast in the morning; perhaps we can have another go at getting Otterley to speak to you civilly."

"I don't deserve the kindness you're showing me, Peter."

"No you don't, Margery!" I had to speak my mind even if I'd tried to convince myself not to. "But you're Otterley's mother and there's sod-all I can do about that. Now, if you don't mind I'd like to get back to my family?"

"Sure, I'm sorry, Pete."

I got up and left without looking back.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

When I tracked the girls down, you could say that everyone was waiting for me with bated breath; well, I think that's the right expression. I took Andorra aside and gave her a quick run down on my conversation with Margery and told her about the cash I'd given her.

"She doesn't deserve you!" Was the only comment Andorra made when I mentioned the Cheque.

"She almost said the same thing." I replied kissing my wife. "But you do!"

"Thank you," was all she replied to that comment.

A little later I collared Otterley alone and I was just about to begin on the "You've only got one birth mother routine," when she informed me that Andorra and Rachel had already been there. From then on, the conversation didn't go as I intended

Otterley informed me she'd now be happy to speak with her mother the following morning and that she'd also try to keep a civil tongue in her head. Although she added the proviso that she would not be alone with her mother, Rachel or I would have to be there with her. When I enquired as to why, I was curtly informed that one of us had always been there during the fun times. I'm not sure what I made of that statement; I let it pass without comment.

They -- Margery, Otterley and Rachel - sat at a nearby table and talked for a long time the following morning. I can only assume that Margery's friends covered for her because I'm sure she was supposed to be working. About the only part of the conversation Andorra and I overheard were the two children raving on about how well the Roses were doing in the garden back at home. Whatever, all three had smiles on their faces most of the time.

As we left, Margery walked to the car with us and kissed both girls good-bye. Then she turned to Andorra and I. "Those two are very lucky; they've found themselves the best mother and father in the world." She said, somewhat taking me by surprise, then turned and ran back inside the restaurant. I do believe she'd started crying as she ran.

I kissed my wife, then we got into the car and headed north for the border, and Calgary.

From watching them in the rear-view mirror as best a could, I don't think either of the children looked back, or particularly perturbed that we'd left that town for behind.

Life goes on

 ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

Epilogue 

After we got home that year, Margery stayed in touch; Andorra got into the habit of writing to her quite regularly I believe. We never did find out whether Ronald was ever tracked down by the FBI. But we did get the news, less than a year later that Margery was going to marry her deputy sheriff, or whatever he was.

We had a family meeting and after a lot of soul searching, it was decided that we'd turn down the family invitation to attend Margery's wedding. But I managed to slip over there on my own for a few days to attend. Don't ask me why, for some reason it was something that I felt I had to do.

Buster - or Buddy as everyone seemed to call him -- turned out to be a really nice guy, once I got to know the bugger. He even picked me up from the airport and introduced me to all his friends and family.

One thing I found out from Buddy was that Margery had been very straight and open with him form the beginning. She'd admitted everything she'd done and told him how much she regretted the choices she'd made in the past. It transpired that Buddy had arranged for some of his truck driving pals to post her Christmas cards etcetera, to us from various different towns in Canada. I believe that Margery was trying to the hide true circumstances she found herself living in from us.

It is just a little bit weird, giving your own ex-wife away at her wedding, but I suppose some idiot had to do the job. Maybe that's why I went, it kind-of put a closure on everything? 

I don't believe that Otterley and Rachel worked out where I went for those five days, but they might have done; those two always were one step ahead on me on just about everything... and well... if I'm being honest, they and Andorra still are!

Over the next few years we received the news that Margery had given birth to two boys. Although we have never seen them, except for in photographs. Now that they are a little old I believe that the boys are in touch with Otterley and Racal on a fairly regular basis, but neither of my daughters mention them or Margery to me very often.

 ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- 

Otterley and Rachel married two brothers eventually. Actually sometimes I feel really sorry for the poor sods. The girls are still unbelievably tight with each other and definitely call all the shots in those marriages. When our two girls get to scheming together, it takes some kind of a man to come out on top. I don't think I ever did.

Both have two children each, and - suspiciously to my way of thinking - on both occasions the girls gave birth in close remarkably proximity to each other, date wise and physically. Andorra and I have enjoyed watching our grandchildren grow to be so much like their mothers'.

I retired last year as managing director, and Andorra and I are now enjoying an eight-month world cruise. We were wondering whether we'd spot anywhere we fancied settling down. But to be honest, I think our daughters and their families will draw us back home to the UK again.

We didn't sell the house; the girls wouldn't let us because of the roses. God knows how much time they spend around there looking after the things, but we get regular reports. Only this morning when I was checking my email and I received a picture of my garden from them entitled. "It's Been a Good Year For The Roses!"