Published: 2 Oct 2017

As arranged, Awen met with Bishop at Ashe’s bungalow. By his arrival the rain had eased, becoming a heavy mist as thick cloud came down to kiss the land and settle across the summit of the hill, giving perfect conditions to obscure their intent. He knocked. Moments later Ashe poked his head out the door. “I see the rain has stopped.”

“It has but the mist is so think you can’t see more than a hundred yards.”

“That’s good; we don’t want anyone seeing anything Rol’s already here, come in, do you want a warming scotch to keep out the weather?”

“No I’m not in a drinking mood, more worried about what were doing.” Awen answered and entered into the dim lantern light of the living room. He noticed Bishop enjoying a beer.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“No, not as such but is it what Bert would want?”

“Well second thoughts or not, you have to go through with it now, neither Sam nor I will be taking him back to Bradshaw.” Turning to Bishop he gave a flick of the head, “You ready Rol?” Bishop nodded affirmatively and collected the supply of shovels that Ashe had arranged.

“No you can carry the box with Awen, I’ll carry the tools.” Ashe demanded as they moved outside, “not much of a night for a funeral.” he disclosed as the mist turned into light rain.

“We’ll use the van; we don’t want to be seen carrying the box and shovels along the beach, folk will think were up to something.” Ashe decided.

“I suppose we are.” Bishop said nervously.

“I think we should take Bert up the rear of the hill, less likely to be noticed that way.” Ashe envisaged.

The distance to the rear of One Tree Hill was only a few minutes, so with Awen in the passenger’s seat and Bishop sharing the rear of the Kombi van with two lawn mowers, the box, an assortment of rakes, brooms and the pungent smell of two stroke oil and mower fuel they set off.

“You alright back there?” Ashe called over the clatter of the vehicle’s engine. Somewhat uninspired Bishop admitted so and almost before he could think further of his discomfort they had reached their destination.

“We’re not alone.” Ashe noticed as he parked his van. Someone was already sharing the car park at the base of the hill.

“That’s Brian Forest’s panel van isn’t it?” Awen suggested.

“It is and you can guess what’s going on and I reckon it wouldn’t be enjoying the view or the night air.” Ashe released a smutty snigger, as the excluded position of the car park was often referred to as lover’s lane.

“What should we do?” Awen asked realising it wouldn’t be wise to commence their illicit enterprise under watchful eyes, especially those of Brian Forest, as his father was a constable in the local establishment.

“He knows my van.” Ashe commenced to concern.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.” Awen proclaimed.

“Not yet anyway,” Ashe corrected.

“Maybe we should drive off and return later.” Bishop suggested, whipping away the mist from the van’s side window with his shirt sleeve for a clearer view of the situation, he released a laugh.

“What’s so funny Rol?” Awen asked.

“Have you read what’s written on the side of his panel van?”

“No I can’t see through the windscreen, it’s foggy.”

“If this van’s a rocking, don’t come knocking.” Bishop read from the signage.

“Is it rocking?” Awen laughed.

“It sure is, no it has stopped.”

“Listen he’s started his motor; I guess our presence has crowded him.” Awen perceived. Moment later the panel van passed by without incident and they were alone in the swirling mist, free to perform their clandestine exploit.

Ashe was first to alight. He opened the rear door, “you alright young Rol?” He asked while removing the tools.

“I probably stink of petrol and I think I’ve stood in a puddle of oil.” The lad complained.

“You smell sweet enough, righto it’s as good a time as any, Awen you and Rol get the box and follow me.” Ashe ordered and moments later, without further ceremony commenced the climb carrying the shovels, with Bishop and Awen falling further behind. “Quicken your pace you two, haven’t got all night and I think the mist is clearing.” Ashe perceived.

Fortunately the box had rudimentary rope handles, even so it became most difficult to mind their step on the wet slope and manoeuvre the box simultaneously. If they had taken the shorter route at the front, the climb would have been gradual, literally a walk in the park but if the mist cleared their forms against the night’s sky would stand out like the balls on the proverbial dog, so they had to weave their way through stands of shrub, a substantial clay pit, a rocky ledge and then greasy wet grass before accessing the flat top of the hill and protection from the row of Cyprus pines.

Ashe reached the summit as the mist commenced to clear, while his friends struggled some distance behind with the awkwardness of the box.

“You know I never realised how beautiful the town looks at night.” Ashe somewhat sarcastically admitted. He turned towards the east, “but I reckon the sea view looks better.” Not that he could see past the jetty and its row of street lighting, with swirling mist forming ghostly coronas around each weak yellow light.

Puffing from their ordeal, Awen and Rol placed the box down to catch their breath. Ashe shook his head, you two are much younger than me; you’re out of condition.”

“Yea it’s alright for you mowing and surfing all day, you try sitting on your arse in an office for hours and you would be the same.” Bishop objected.

“You don’t work in an office.” Ashe suggested of Awen.

“John Ashe you’re just showing off.” Awen turned to Bishop, “I hope you can remember where you spread Martin’s ashes.”

All three reached the summit. “Sure, see that large rock with a smaller one at its base, count ten paces in the direction of your dad’s mill and that’s where.” He paused, “I choose it as the ground appeared to be less rocky and easy to dig in; I’ve also marked it with a few well placed stones and his ashes are only an inch or so beneath.”

Finding the spot they immediately took turns in digging Bert’s new grave. The first shovel loads of soil were placed aside. Awen believed they should contain a measure of Martin’s ashes, which he designed to place in the box with Bert’s remains. As for easy digging it wasn’t as easy as Bishop hid envisaged, taking more than an hour to reach the acquired depth.

“That should be deep enough.” Ashe declared and measured the depth of the hole against the box using a shovel handle. “Right drop the box in.”

“Hold on a mo,” Awen opened the lid and commenced to shovel in the top soil they had put to one side. “There you go Bert you are at last with Martin.” He said and closed the lid. Minutes later the hole was filled while the three stood over the new grave leaning on shovels.

“How do you feel?” Ashe asked of Awen, his voice hardly audible.

“Don’t rightly know, not a lot.”

“Do you want to say a prayer or something?” Ashe suggested.

“I don’t believe in god.” Awen professed, feeling the procedure to be anticlimactic. What he expected was unsure maybe a loud sigh of relief as Bert and Martin were at last united, some sign of gratitude. Instead only a slight breeze through the Cyprus as the last of the mist cleared inland and Bradshaw once again became silhouetted against the blue black horizon.

“What about you Rol, Martin was you relation.” Ashe asked.

“Na I think enough was said by the family on the day.”

After seeding the grave site with stones and clods of soil and grass to disguise their digging they once again, silently and in single file, marched down the slope to the van and home.

Back at the bungalow the mood remained solemn and the scotch flowing until well into the morning. Ashe offered to bed the two down on the living room floor but Awen believed he had enough vertical left in his legs to manage the walk home. Bishop agreed. At the path Bishop paused.

“Well what do you think, have we done the right thing?”

“I believe so; at least we’ve gone part of the way in righting a misjudgement.” Awen released a sigh. What now, his world had changed forever and maybe he would be forced to be the adult he was supposed to be. His childhood world had split in two, his parents, Bert and now Bradshaw. He knew he would never visit the island again. Even fishing no longer excited him. As for his friends, McDonald had his work and was away most of the time, Billings had been offered permanent management of the second store and Donna had Jack, they would more than likely go with Margaret; then there was Sam. Yes there was always reliable Sam.

“Has dad handed in his notice yet?” Bishop asked bringing Awen back from his morose.

“I couldn’t say the old man doesn’t talk about staffing,” he laughed an ironical laugh, “he doesn’t talk much about anything.”

“Well he and mum will be leaving town in a week or so.” Bishop announced.

“Oh what about you are you going with them?” Awen asked despondently, believing even his present was soon to become his past.

“I haven’t found anywhere yet but I guess I will eventually find something.”

“So you will stay in town?”

“I have a good reason to do so.” Bishop proclaimed without elaborating his reasoning.

“My parents are divorcing.” Awen weakly declared.

“What brought this on?” Bishop showed surprise.

“I guess they just fell out of love, or became so use to each other there wasn’t anything more to talk about. I only found out tonight before I came over to Ashe’s.”

“I guess that could be considered more dramatic that leaving town.” Bishop sympathised.

“Na it’s been on the cards for years.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Don’t rightly know, they will always be my parents and I won’t take sides but things will be different I guess.”

“What about Donna and Jack?”

“I believe Donna will go with mum, Ely reckons it’s about time he settled down with Sarah and Sam,” Awen paused and released a long sigh, “Sam,” he repeated with a measure of concern.

“Sam will more than likely live with John.” Bishop suggested.

“I hope you are correct, Sam is too good a person to miss out. He’s always there for everyone else so I hope the family is there for him.”

“Will your dad sell the house?” Bishop asked as Awen took a slight stagger. Bishop caught him.

“I think I’ve had more than I thought, I don’t really like scotch it tastes more like hot water to me and you don’t realise its kick until it has you by the throat.”

Bishop released a soft chuckle.

“What was that for?”

“Something Sam said about you.”

“And what was that?” Awen demanded.

“I assure you it was in good humour, he said to you coffee tastes like mud, wine like vinegar and scotch like hot water.”

“He did eh?” Awen attempted to appear cross but could not.

“It was only in joke.” Bishop assured believing he should have remained silent.

“Na doesn’t matter, it’s true and I guess I have said it all on a number of occasions,” Awen paused and laughed; “mum always asks if I’ve tasted mud.”

“Well have you?” Bishop questioned.

“As a matter of fact I have, with compliments of McDonald, I upset him somewhat when we were at school and he pushed my face into that muddy area behind the sports pavilion,” Awen paused and laughed, “and the bugger made sure I had a good mouth full of it as well.”

“Did it taste like coffee?”

“I suppose I will have to admit it did for the sake of continuity.”

Both sat to the side of the path as once again the rain arrived. Both chuckled as cool droplets ran from their head, down the back of their necks and under their clothing. “Suppose you can’t get wetter than wet.” Bishop maintained.

“Did you know dad is having an affair?” Awen asked.

“I had heard, I guess nothing goes without comment in a town of this size.”

“It has been going on for years; with that woman who works at Munroe’s drapery.”

“Isn’t she married?”

“Separated I believe, her old man once worked for dad at the mill but has since left town. She has three young kids.”

“How does you mother feel about the affair?”

“She doesn’t say much, I guess as long as it didn’t interfere with the wellbeing of the family she half accepted it.” Awen answered from somewhere deep in his alcoholic state.

“Shame,” Bishop declared thinking he must say something.

“Not really Rol, if the love is gone and the kids are grown, I guess there isn’t much else to hold them together.”

Awen continued his thought on his parents. “Who knows what dad will do, he owns half a dozen houses in town, other’s elsewhere, the mill and has his finger in other business and I don’t think mum will be left wanting and I suppose I will continue working for him.” Awen tasted the rain drops gathering at the corner of his mouth. They appeared fresh, unsullied, unlike anything he had tasted before.

“What about you, where will you live; Mum or dad?” Bishop asked.

“Neither, I’ll move into the cottage, it’s about time a made do for my self.” The rain eased then stoped as the sky to the north east commenced to clear. “How would you like to live in the cottage with me?” Awen eventually gained enough courage to ask. Bishop released a quick breath and burst into the broadest smile possible.

“I thought you would never ask.”

It took a week for Awen to gain the courage to face Alice’s cottage and Bert but on his next visit the atmosphere had changed. The rooms seemed less claustrophobic, less cluttered less lived in. Ahead of Awen’s shift to the cottage, Margaret had been over to collect what was left of Alice’s personal effects and true to her character went further than expected, stripping Alice’s bedroom, the living room and kitchen to bare essentials, leaving surfaces, polished surfaces uncluttered and sterile. Much of Alice’s old furnishings, including her favourite chair, had also been removed, replaced by surplus from the Pen house, believing it would give her son a feeling of familiarity.

Awen had arranged for Margaret to do the final cleaning before he moved to the cottage, as he couldn’t bring himself to doing so, giving only one instruction and that was not to touch Bert’s room. To avoid her over zealous nature he had locked Bert’s bedroom door and kept the key on his person. He had also stipulated not to remove the spare linen as he may be renting a room to a friend, not mentioning Bishop by name.

Standing within the living room Awen felt a wave of Guilt. Margaret had not only cleared away any memory of her great aunt but the cottage’s character and atmosphere. He thought of Bert.

“Are you there Bert?” Awen’s softly spoken words fell like lead through the rarefied air to the pristine floor, to remain unanswered.

“Bert,” Awen repeated and managed the passage to open Bert’s bedroom door. Inside was as he left it, now sunshine streamed freely through the window and made patterns on the polished timber floor. Maybe it always did and was only now noticing.

“Bert,” he once again called but was alone. Had Margaret’s cleaning also cleared away Bert’s memory, had the cottage become too sterile for his passage but his room hadn’t been touched, why wasn’t he there?

Disappointedly Awen relocked the door and went about rearranging Alice’s room to become his own, then the second bedroom for Bishop’s arrival. It took him most of the day to do nothing, while at every turn attempted to feel Bert’s presence. It wasn’t until Ashe arrived late in the afternoon he forgot about Bert. Ashe had come to mow the neighbour’s lawn and noticing the front door open called in.

“So young fellow, you’re going to move in.” He suggested and invited himself to enter, his eyes everywhere, observing the changes, the uncluttered rooms, Alice had surely gone.

“Mum did the cleaning.” Awen apologised, noting Ashe’s surprise.

“She sure did, what about Bert’s room?”

“It kept it locked.”

“And Bert?” Ashe asked keeping an open mind on such matters.

“Gone.” Awen appeared disappointed, “maybe he was nothing but my imagination.”

“Do you have regrets for bringing Bert’s remains back from Bradshaw?”

“No not at all, I still believe it was the correct decision.”

“When are you moving in?” Ashe asked while progressing from room to room, amazed at the fact that no trace of Alice remained.

“Soon.”

“What about Bishop, when is he moving in?” Ashe asked satisfied there wasn’t anything left for him to discover.

“Oh you know about that, he will be doing so in the next couple of days.”

“Good, I’ve often asked Sam to live with me but he won’t do so.”

“Your bungalow is a little small for two.” Awen remarked.

“I don’t know, Sam doesn’t spread himself about and hasn’t a lot of gear.” Ashe laughed. “Some clothes and half a dozen paper backs, I’d soon find space for them.”

“What about his size twelve boots?” Awen made light.

“Yes room for those as well, besides I find the more space you have, the greater the necessity to find crap to fill it.”

“Maybe after the separation he may change his mind.” Awen suggested.

“Possibly.”

“Well both he and Elyan will have to think of something soon, as dad is selling the house.” Awen projected.

“Why would he sell, he has others rented, why not rent it out.” Ashe asked.

“I guess it is like closing a book after reading the last chapter and not happy with its ending.”

“What about your mother?”

“It was her idea, it’s become too large for her to manage and she will be taking one of our other houses.” Awen explained.

“I think you and Rol will get along just fine.” Ashe assured. Gazing vacantly through the open rear door he repeated his opinion, “yes, just fine.”

“I was thinking of my parent’s separation.” Awen spoke.

“Is it concerning you?”

“Not at all but…” Awen paused taking a deep breath he passed by what he was about to relate.

“But?”

“I was thinking, what is there once you become familiar; when the love goes, when the sex dies, when you have noting in common.”

“What’s brought this on, are you having second thoughts about having Rol move in?”

“Do you love Sam?” Awen’s question put Ashe off his guard and was one he believed would never have been asked, especially by Awen.

“You know Awen, I have often asked myself that question.” Ashe answered truthfully.

“And what was your deduction?”

“Firstly I believed it to be something that would never be asked of me and truthfully I find it a little frightening.” Ashe came from the door, finding difficulty in eye contact. His emotions were rising as his masculine side wished to disguise his feelings. “You do realise there is ten years difference between Sam and myself?”

“Mum is twelve years younger than dad.”

“It is different between a man and a woman.”

“I don’t see how, I guess if you love someone the age differenced wouldn’t matter.” Awen disagreed, “besides it should be easier between people of the same sex as the rearing of kids doesn’t come into the equation.”

“I suppose it’s more how we men are brought up. We are trained from birth that love is between a man and a woman, husband and wife, so the thought of love between two males is somewhat abstract.”

“Still you didn’t answer my question.” Awen continued for an answer.

“It’s obvious you aren’t going to let go of it, yes I guess in my way, and Sam in his we do love each other but why do you ask?” Now it was Awen’s turn to be evasive, “do you love Rol?”

“I truthfully don’t know.” Awen sighed.

“You do realise admitting love of a man is one of the hardest things you will come across and truthfully is it necessary to do so, love is more in action than in words.”

“I guess so, sorry if I have embarrassed you.” Awen concluded.

“Not at all, well I can’t stay talking all day, I have to earn a quid, come to tea on Saturday night and bring Rol; Sam will be there.” Ashe offered and with a quick ‘see ya’ was gone.

“Your dinner’s in the oven love but leave some chips for Sam.” Margaret Pen called as Awen returned from delivering the last of his belongings to the cottage. He cast his gaze around the kitchen, would he miss home? He had lived under its room for twenty years and knew little else, except for a number of months living down the coast when he was very young and holidays on an uncle’s farm some distance up river.

Awen guessed for a time it would be strange living at Alice’s cottage, coming home to prepare a meal for himself and Bishop, or arriving to find Rol slaving over a hot stove declaring ‘dinner won’t be long,’ He smiled, it would be like replacing his mother with Bishop and could Bishop cook? Who would clean, who would do the shopping who would do the laundry?

“Have you enough linen over at the cottage?” Margaret asked while delivering a pile of dirty linen to the laundry.

“Plenty,”

“What about kitchen appliances; Alice wasn’t one for modern appliances.”

“I think I’ll be alright.”

“I have a spare mix-master.” Margaret offered. Awen laughed.

“What am I going to do with a mix-master; I’ve hardly perfected scrambled eggs never mind making fancy cakes.”

“It was only a thought, you know Awen I am a little concerned with you cooking for yourself.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage, where is Sam I want to talk with him?” Awen asked while piling a large portion of chips and roast beef onto his plate.

“He won’t be long, mind you have salad with that.” Margaret called from the laundry. Awen said he would and said he had but had not. Margaret returned with a bundle of washing. “I think some of this is yours.” She determined and seeing his pile of chips and meat took on a disappointed demeanour. “I thought you said you had salad?”

“I’ve already eaten it.”

“Don’t tell fibs, when you’re cooking your own meals I want you to eat more vegetables.” Margaret insisted, knowing her demand passed without recognition. “You know you can come to tea whenever you wish.” Pausing for a moment she continued, “and you can bring you mate if you wish, with Elyan and Sam gone, I could do with the company now and then.

“What about Donna, isn’t she going to live with you?”

“For now she is going to stay where she is.”

“Life won’t be the same anymore. In a way I wish everything could remain the same. You and dad and us having picnics out on Bradshaw, fishing in the river, even the skiff is damaged and won’t be fixed.” Awen took in a full breath of air and shook his head. “I do wish I was seventeen again.”

“Well love, life and people move on, you have to change with the times, there isn’t any other choice.” Margaret whimsically answered.

“I know that but I will miss having both you and dad around together.”

“Your father’s never around anyway.” At last Margaret could admit the reality of her marriage and was secretly looking forward to being on her own.

“What about Ely and Sam?”

“Elyan said he was going to move in with Sarah.” Margaret answered.

“What about Sam?”

“Sam will manage he is more resilient than you give credit.

“I suppose so but I do worry about you.” Awen admitted.

“There’s no need to, besides I will do enough for both of us, with you doing your own cooking and washing over at Alice’s.”

“Will you be happy living over in Beatrice street, it’s a little on the small side?” Awen asked.

“Perfectly love, I’m not getting any younger and this place is becoming too much to manage.” Margaret admitted as Sam arrived home.

“Dinner’s in the oven.” Margaret said and nodded towards Awen’s plate, “Awen I think you will have to share those chips.”

As Sam returned with his meal, Awen scrapped a portion of chips to a second plate and pushed them across the table.

“If you want anything I’ll be in the laundry. Have you any dirty clothes Sam?” Sam shook his head and accepted the portion of chips.

“Where are you moving to?” Awen asked Sam once Margaret was out of hearing.

“Are you offering a room at Alices?” Sam asked.

“Well it would be tight but Rol and I could share one room and you could have the other.”

“Do you think Bert would mind?” Sam laughed.

“The offer stands.” Awen didn’t answer Sam’s question, as since Bert’s remains had been reburied all traces of Bert had gone from the cottage and Awen was beginning to believe he imagined him, or had possible dreamed about his presence. Whatever it was, he no longer wished to converse with Sam on the matter, although was more than pleased he had brought his remains back from the island, if only to fulfil Alice’s wishes. “What are your intentions, you could move into Beatrice Street with mum.”

“I don’t think so Awen, I reckon it’s about time I did the right thing and moved in with John, he’s been on my back long enough to do so.”

“Why didn’t you earlier?” Awen asked.

“That should be obvious, what would the local’s make of us living together. Two chicks sharing a house is economising, two blokes have to be poofs.”

“That is also my concern – having Rol at the cottage.” Awen agreed.

“I wouldn’t let it worry you kid, as long as you don’t air your dirty laundry, it doesn’t really matter what other’s think. Besides with Bishop’s folks gone where else is he going to live? As for me, the crew think it’s a good idea to move in with John as it is closer to work. They said if I did I may not be late as often.”

“The bungalow isn’t very big.” Awen deducted.

“It’s big enough, there’s the small store room off the kitchen, large enough for a bed, maybe a set of draws, it will do fine.” Sam smiled, “not that I will be sleeping in there that often.”

That was the first time Sam had ever admitted he was sleeping with John, giving Awen courage to share with Bishop. It would work out he was now sure of that.

Bishop’s family left town early morning and by mid afternoon Rol Bishop was knocking on Awen’s door, standing like a lost irresolute child, carrying two large suitcases. Awen opened the door.

“Well I’m here.” Bishop weakly smiled, half expecting to be once again sent on his way.

“I can see that, come on in.”

“Nice house,” Bishop nervously witted, pretending it was his first visit and he was giving his new place of abode the once-over before renting a room.

“Your parents got away alright?”

“Yea but I think they sneaked out of town without paying the final rent and a few other bills.”

“Your dad hasn’t told my old man he’s leaving work either.” Awen commented.

“Sorry.” Bishop apologised. “I can’t do anything about that but in time I will reimburse dad’s accounts here in town.”

“Never mind, I didn’t tell him either, besides the mills’ in down-time and dad may have to lay off a couple of men but mum knew and of course Sam.” Awen collected one of Bishop’s cases, “come on I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” Bishop questioned expecting to be sharing with Awen.

“For appearance; we can’t have visitors getting the right impression.” Awen released a smug smile as he entered the room.

Settling in was easy. Awen had reservations but no one questioned his intentions. McDonald was back in town and to a degree accepted Bishop into their group. As for Billings he as usual went along with McDonald, while still unsure if he would accept his father’s offer of manager to their second store.

At home Awen’s ability to burn water found Bishop preparing what meals weren’t takeaway, while being Margaret’s son Awen had inherited a portion of her need for cleaning but not to the same extent, so the two soon fell into a most comfortable existence. As for Alice’s shrine to her departed brother, Awen placed all of Bert’s belongings into his trunk and simply redecorated the room without changing its ambience.

Soon after the Pen house was sold Margaret moved to the Beatrice street house and within no time at all she had uncluttered surfaces, polished surfaces and a floor one could eat from. As for company, within days Donna arrived, suitcase in one hand, baby Jack in the other and once again Margaret had another’s child to attend with.

It was the anniversary of their living together, one full month without a single argument or bad word passing between them. Awen sat comfortably as Bishop came from the back. “Want a beer?” He asked as he passed the refrigerator.

“Why not.”

Bishop collected two cans.

“It’s worked out well.” Awen said as he accepted his beer.

“What has?”

“You and me living together, I did have reservations.”

“So did I.” Bishop agreed.

“Oh what were they?”

“I didn’t think you would want me here.”

Quiet moments past, they were comfortable moments when words could be considered more a hindrance than enhancement, eventually Bishop spoke. “What happened to Bert?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I haven’t seen him around since before the night on One Tree.”

“You actually saw Bert?” Awen gasped.

“Often why- I thought you knew that?”

“I was beginning to believe I had imagined Bert and he was nothing more than a dream.” Awen admitted.

“No he wasn’t a dream and on a number of occasions, when you were out of the room or in the yard, Bert appeared and would talk about Martin, always Martin.”

“Well he’s gone, so maybe we were correct laying him to rest on the hill.”

“Still it’s a shame as I sort of liked having him around.” Bishop laughed. Awen became serious.

“You know Rol the strangest of all is that you the great nephew of Martin and I of Bert should fulfil their deepest wish and be together, it is as if they have relived their desire through us and maybe by blood we have become them.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad would it?” Bishop asked.

“No I think it would be wonderful.”

The End

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