A sequel to ‘At the Turning’

Published: 19 Jul 2018

It was late in the afternoon of Tuesday when Wayne finally returned to Cairns and while passing through Federation Bay he called in on Biff, where by unfortunate chance he ran into Albert Verrocchi, who without courtesy abruptly approached him at Biff’s door blocking his entry.

“Have you thought any more about my offer?” The man asked, his voice demanding, his looming posture threatening. Two of his sons stood shotgun at distance, grinning superciliously but obviously remote from the procedure, yet willing to intervene if the situation developed against their father.

At first Wayne thought to stall his response by giving a negative answer, preferring his decision to come through Jack Miller and then as his blood rose he reneged on such a thought, deciding to be done with it all at the source of his irritation.

“I have Mister Verrocchi and I have already sold the land.” Wayne answered quietly while passing into the General Store, leaving Verrocchi stunned by the news at the entrance.

Verrocchi’s shock soon turned to rage. He filed in behind Wayne, demanding to know who he had sold the farm to and for what price.

Wayne remained composed, refusing to disclose the details of the sale.

“Who did you sell it to?” Verrocchi repeated his demand, his voice breaking into its rich southern Italian accent while his sons remained distant and grinning as if they were enjoying the procedure.

“That isn’t any of your business Mister Verrocchi.” Wayne answered quietly sounding somewhat condescending. Once spoken the short Italian broke into his native tongue and stormed out of the shop, bringing Biff to beam with approval.

“I’ve been waiting for years for someone to stand up to him.” She joyfully declared.

“Wasn’t my intention Biff but it is a long story and I will truly suffer from its outcome.” Wayne took a deep breath, taking on a lighter manner, “I feel I can confide in you Biff, I have sold the farm to Ralph.”

“To Ralph?” Biff spoke with speculation on the lad’s ability to purchase the property but kept her thought quiet.

“Yes for one dollar. I didn’t need it and don’t want the bloody Italian to have it but I do worry about Ralph, would you keep an eye on the situation as there may be trouble.”

“Sure I would without asking.” Biff agreed without inquiring further.

“It’s more for what Verrocchi may do.”

“I wouldn’t worry greatly about Verrocchi as I believe at present he has other problems.” Biff shared.

“Nevertheless, if he discovers Ralph has the farm he may do something.”

“It won’t come for me.”

“I’ll leave you my telephone number,” Wayne offered and reached for a scrap of paper lying on Biff’s counter, “there you go, call any time. Passing the note to the woman he continued, “Thanks, by the way what is your name?”

The woman smiled, “just Biff.”

Back at his unit Wayne took a shower to wash the heat from his body. Cooled, he wrapped himself at the waist with a Hawaiian style wrap, then poured a rum and coke and with his drink threw himself back onto the couch to consider when he should contact Louise. He didn’t have to ponder long, as he swallowed his first mouthful the telephone rang.

“Hello.”

“You’re back then.” It was Louise and lacking any poise.

“Yes I arrived about half an hour ago and was just about to call you.”

“What’s wrong with your mobile, I’ve been calling it since early this morning; you said you were coming back yesterday.” She asserted.

“I was held up, battery is flat and I forgot my charger.” Wayne lied.’

“How was Mareeba?” Louise asked after a lengthy pause.

“Hot.” Wayne answered then asked where she would like to go for dinner that night.

“You weren’t in Mareeba. You were down at Federation Bay at that bloody farm.” Louise’s voice went from cold to ice as she accused, “why did you lie to me?” she demanded leaving Wayne without any answer but the truth.

“I’m sorry Louise but I didn’t want your father to know,” he protested weakly.

“Know what? That you sold the farm?”

“How do you know?”

“Verrocchi telephoned dad and was as mad as hell. I was there when he called and could hear his voice right across the kitchen but that is nothing to what father is going to say to you.”

Silence…

Wayne had to say something and quickly.

More silence.

“Louise I had no choice, I couldn’t let Verrocchi have the farm. It was my family’s home.” Wayne’s entreat went without sympathy.

“Bullshit Wayne you didn’t even know it was the family home until your aunty died.” Louise’s anger was rising with each spoken word.

“That’s not true I spent a number of Christmas holidays there with Grace when I was a kid.”

“Even so, it obviously didn’t hold any sentiment.”

“Louise it was my property, can’t you understand it was mine to do what I wished to do with it,” he paused, “surely you will be behind me with that.” His voice now became pleading.

“I’m sorry Wayne but family comes first and how can I trust you now that you’ve lied to me.”

It was then Wayne asked the question that was troubling him since he accepted Ralph’s shiny dollar coin, “where does that leave us?” he asked quietly.

There was a long pause followed by an equally lengthy sigh.

“I don’t know Wayne, at the moment dad doesn’t want you near the house.”

“And what about you, what do you say?” Wayne’s voice lowered even further as he spoke.

“I think we should cool it for now.”

“What about the wedding?”

“Dad says it’s off.”

“What do you say?” Wayne was attempting to either bring the ordeal to a head or force Louise to choose their future together over her parent’s demands.

“What I say Wayne is we should cool it for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Wayne asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll call you.” Wayne suggested.

“No I’ll call you.” Louise answered abruptly and with a sharp click she was gone.

Wayne sat in silence with the telephone receiver still at his ear but lacking remorse. Part of him was dejected. Part angered, while the greater aggregate was relief.

“Well that appears to be the end of that.” He quietly spoke to the silence within the room.

“What do you think?” He asked of the silent air hot in his apartment.

“Pity I’ll miss the sex but I’m not going to get myself depressed over it,” Wayne nervously laughed and holding his right hand up in front of his face amiably spoke to it. “Looks like you are going to become overused my friend.” He made a wanking motion though the air, “at least you never have a headache.”

“Oh well,” he said as the comedy drained from the moment.

“What do you think Wayne my boy?”

A long sigh;

“I don’t rightly know what to think, I guess time will tell.”

Wayne stood and moving towards the bedroom he aimlessly stuffed fresh clothing into a travelling bag and with keys in hand departed. His first intention was to return to Federation Bay but immediately removed the thought as it may appear needy, yet obviously he was compelled to be away from his unit, from Cairns and the influence of Louise, to somewhere he could think out his immediate future.

Without inkling of destination he set out and began to drive. Firstly he headed north but once at Stratford turned from the north onto the Kuranda Range road, towards Mareeba and the tablelands.

On crossing the Barron River at Mareeba Wayne thought of visiting an old school friend who lived locally, or maybe his cousin Bradley. Once within the town proper he again changed his mind, deciding to check on his three cottages in Yungaburra.

Two of the cottages were rented but the third he kept vacant as a weekender for when he and Louise wished for a few days away from Cairns and its tropical humidity. Slumming was her idiom for such excursions, returning to reality was Wayne’s and was always enjoyable, as it extracted Louise from the influence of her family and many society friends, achieving opportunity to be a real couple. In truth it never worked, even in Yungaburra Louise had friends from her early school years and they were all party animals.

Yungaburra was close to the lakes of Barrine and Eacham, noted as the craters of extinct volcanoes and surrounded by tropical jungle, which although now tourist traps, had a few secluded arrears where swimming in the cool waters was most refreshing. Wayne’s first choice was to book into the inn at Lake Barrine but doing so would only remind him of Louise and his situation, besides it was growing late and only a short distance to Yungaburra.

No sooner had Wayne entered the cottage than he became restless for company. Being late afternoon he knew there would be a selection of farmers who, after a hard day’s work, would be enjoying a cold drink at the town’s only watering hole. Also the Lake Eacham Hotel was noted for backpackers, often travelling females looking for male company, sometimes even a little more.

Wayne knew the Eacham well as before he and Louise had become an item he often frequented the hotel and occasionally in their early courting days without her knowledge but once they declared their affection towards each other Wayne had become monogamous, oddly without missing his wandering days. Now considering he was once again single he believed he didn’t owe Louise integrity, besides what harm could an afternoon’s company deliver.

The Eacham had its usual collection of farmers and by their attire were directly from the field, abandoning the tractor mid paddock, as the heat of the day and a thirst for beer and companionship, like a magnet drew them to the pub. There was also a small group of females, obviously backpackers following the picking seasons on their Australian holiday, while apparently lost in their own company, swapping stories of how much they were paid, or how basic was the accommodation and how it was all but impossible to keep their employer’s eyes and hands from their person.

Seated by himself at the opposite end of the bar from the farmers was a young fellow and by his focus most interested in the girls. Wayne took the seat close to the lone drinker and ordering a beer before also turning his attention towards the group of girls.

“You won’t get far with that lot mate.” The stranger dismally advised.

“They look Scandinavian.” Wayne confessed.

“And don’t speak a word of English, or don’t when it suits them.” The lone drinker offered. “By the way I’m Stephen Henderson,” he introduced.

Henderson had twinkling blue eyes, if there were any criticism to be made, would be, they were too close set but his infectious smile counteracted any natural fault, while his long dark hair reached towards his shirt collar.

Wayne had a feeling of knowing the stranger but he was sure he had never encountered the name Henderson before except on the decaying plank he had found near the farm gate and even then it was only supposition the name was so.

What did strike Wayne was the stranger’s clothing, appearing to be somewhat up market for a lad from Yungaburra to wear to the local pub, even if he were to be on the pull.

“Wayne Jenkins” Wayne introduced. “You know something Stephen? I feel I know you from somewhere.” Wayne shared as they released their hand shake.

“Where are you from?” Henderson asked. He ordered two fresh beers and pushed one across the bar towards Wayne.

“Cairns but I do have a number cousins scattered around the Tablelands and Mareeba and I did live here for a short while when I was a kid.” Wayne freely shared.

“Cousins, so do I and further afield than that as well,” Henderson quickly finished his drink displaying a measure of urgency, “how long are you up here?” He asked and collected his change from the beer sodden bar runner.

“As long as I like – why?”

“I have to be somewhere but if you are around tomorrow night, we could have a drink eh? – around eight?”

“Sure.”

“See you tomorrow night then.”

Henderson once again offered his hand and departed, leaving Wayne to cast his eyes over the female backpackers, while wondering if he should at least introduce himself to them. One of the girls caught his eye and smiled before turning back to her conversation.

‘Was that an invitation?’ he eagerly leant into the thought.

“Wayne Jenkins.”

The surprised voice was female and came from over his right shoulder. Wayne turned to face a vaguely familiar young lady with long dark brown hair, tied to the back in a ponytail, wearing a dress that barely covered her ample breasts, its length longing for the company of her knees while over familiar with her rear; a most pleasant distraction from his questioning of a future without Louise.

“What are you doing in town, the last I heard you were getting hitched?”

“Anne Kemp, well I’ll be – it must be all of four years.” Wayne commented on recognising the scantily dressed girl.

Anne was what one would call cute but not pretty, reminding him of an axiom he had once heard on the meaning of cute, being ugly but adorable. His recollection of Anne Kemp being far from ugly and definitely not adorable, nor was she backward when she had designs on one of the opposite sex.

At school Anne was notoriously described as the black widow, the devourer of boy’s innocence but given up to her without dissent.

“More like five, you must have been about seventeen and a randy little bugger if I remember correctly.” Anne pleasantly reminisced.

“In truth you were my first.” Wayne freely admitted.

“That was obvious you only lasted three minutes and most of that time was removing your pants, you were so nervous and shaking so much you couldn’t manage the buttons,” Anne laughed.

“I have improved somewhat.” Wayne protested and offered a drink.

“Straight scotch but you must admit I was a good teacher.”

“The best,” Wayne agreed while guiding Anne to an empty table close by the somewhat noisy Scandinavians.

“So are you and Louise married yet?” Anne asked as they took their seats.

“Nope and it doesn’t appear that we ever will be.”

“Just as well she was always a stuck up bitch.” Anne commented loudly, turning the head of a platinum silver haired Swede.

“I wasn’t aware you knew each other.” For a moment Wayne believed the Swede was checking him out but soon realised his imagination was gathering hope.

“Know the bitch, we were at school together.” Anne was still loud but the Swedish girl didn’t return her glance.

“Be nice Anne, besides it’s not really over we are just cooling it for a while.” Wayne protested without believing his words then before he could decline, Anne took herself to the bar for another round of drinks. “Double Scotch” Anne declared on returning and placed the beverage before Wayne. He smiled and thanked her for the drink.

“Rot gut,” Wayne offered on taking a sip.

“What is?”

“The scotch.”

“So we are a connoisseur are we?” Anne teased.

“On scotch but I shouldn’t complain.”

“Are you living back in town?” She asked.

“No only visiting for a day or so.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I have a cottage in Eacham Street.”

“Is it that cute little one down the end near the empty shop?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the inside.”

“There isn’t much to see, I guess it was built as a workers cottage.”

“I should think you have a bottle or two of your top shelf connoisseur scotch in one of the cupboards.”

“Is that you way of asking me to take you home?” he answered with a knowing grin.

“I thought you would never ask.”

No sooner had the two entered into the cottage than Anne commenced to discard what little clothing she had been wearing.

“Where’s the bedroom?” She asked impatiently.

“I’m using the room at the far end on the right, the other’s full of junk. You’re eager?”

“I do have work early tomorrow.”

“Where do you work?” Wayne asked.

“The Tableland hotel in Malanda, I’m housemaid in the morning and barmaid in the evening.”

“I thought your parents owned the pub?”

“They do but dad has never been generous and I have to earn my keep.

“So why go slumming here at the Eacham?” Wayne asked.

“I guess I’m too well known in Malanda besides most of the hotel’s punters are stodgy old dairy farmers on the pull behind their wives backs; what about yourself? The last I heard of you was working at the Tobacco Board in Mareeba.”

“That was a long time back and lasted all of two weeks, they sacked me, said I was lazy, besides it’s closed now, no more tobacco, it’s mangos and macadamia nuts now, and I don’t see much future in stringing or grading mangos.” Wayne drolly elucidated.

“So what now?”

“Nothing, I guess I’m still lazy; I work the stock exchange mostly.”

“Good work if you can get it.” There was a slight sting of envy in Anne’s tone as she discarded all but her frilly blue knickers to quickly hide beneath the bed linen of Wayne’s double bed.

“Nice body you keep yourself in good shape.” Wayne complemented with a greedy smirk.

“Are you going to join me or not?”

The following morning Wayne was up early, awakened by Anne, demanding coffee and a quickie for old time’s sake before scurrying out the door.

“When will I see you again?” She asked hopefully.

“We’ll see; I don’t get up this way too often.”

“I could always visit you, so give me your home address.”

Wayne obliged but suggested the address of the farm and not his Cairns apartment believing the distance would discourage any future visit.

“So you are secretly a farmer?”

“No but I think it would be best not to contact me at the unit, besides I’m mostly down the coast,” Wayne lied, “and if you happen to chance upon Louise, I would prefer you not to mention me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, why not call in and have a couple on the house tonight?”

“I’m supposed to meet someone at the Eacham.”

“Then you can’t say I didn’t offer.” Anne checked the fall of her dress and makeup, “Well how do I look?”

“I guess you look alright,” Wayne flippantly complemented.

“You guess?”

“I don’t want to give you a swelled head.”

“I suppose alright will have to do,” Anne searched through her bag, retrieving a small card and passed it to Wayne.

“What’s this, you hand out business cards now?” Wayne laughed.

“No it’s blank, you’re about to write down your telephone number, I don’t have a head to remember addresses.”

“I don’t have a pen.” To which Anne brought forth a stub of pencil,

“You have now.”

At the door Anne faltered, musing how she may entice him further and was he worth the bother. There were always a number of backpackers through the town and Wayne was somewhat wooden in technique, appearing disinterested. She advanced a final farewell and without further encouragement departed, “If you change your mind, the Tableland, you know where it is, from seven ‘till closing,” she reminded from the gate while having difficulty with the latch.

“I’ll try,” Wayne answered without conviction. ‘Why did I get tangled up with Anne again?’ Wayne complained, realising he had been used as a sex aid, which he didn’t mind and did enjoy but Anne was a heavy smoker and lacked some basic hygiene, creating in Wayne the notion, kissing her was somewhat akin to kissing an ashtray.

‘Smoking – another trait on Louise’s negative side,’ Wayne postulated as Anne continued to struggled with the yard gate.

“Lift and turn towards the left.” Wayne suggested.

“Got it,” she paused and waved, “See ya,” she called and was gone. “Smokers,” Wayne sighed, that in Louise he didn’t like and couldn’t relate how many times he suggested she should give it up, or how many times she did, only to recommence even heavier than before.’

Wayne returned inside and made another coffee, spying Anne’s ashtray on the side bench. “Dirty habit,” he mumbled and instead of emptying the tray’s contents he binned the lot, butts tray and all.

“Now that’s one experience I have no wish to revisit, well not for a while anyway.” Wayne shook his head in humour as the mornings shower created rivulets down his body to tickle as they gathered between his buttocks. He liked the feeling and although tempted didn’t take advantage of the moment. Instead he dressed and after breakfast consisting of a third coffee and a number of dry biscuits he discovered in the kitchen cupboard left over from an earlier visit, drove for an aimless tourer of the lakes national park.

At the Lake Barrine car park Wayne faltered, turned off the motor only to restart the car and move away. It was useless he couldn’t dislodge Louise from his mind, feeling it was his ego that was damaged and not his future prospects, being more concerned for what others may think than any eventual break-up of their relationship.

“Bugger you Louise,” he grunted adversely while diverting back towards town.

Forcing Louise from his reflection, Wayne brought to mind his chanced meeting the previous night with Anne, hopeful she would not disclose the occasion to Louise. Why would she; didn’t Anne admit they were never truly friends and Louise now moved in more sophisticated circles she considered far above the tone of Anne Kemp, in truth, also above that of Wayne, bringing him once again to question what Louise saw in him in the first place.

“Huh,” he ironically huffed, “She is partial to a large dick,” he answered with an arrogant smile, feeling most adequate, at least in that department. He knew it to be so, as certain conversation between friends and Louise had been recounted to that conclusion.

What did he most like about Louise? His mind was blank. It had to be sex on demand but did that compute, most of the time sex was rationed, forcing Wayne to self medicate. He smiled remembering a certain occasion. Louise had lacked interest, so he rolled onto his back and commenced to masturbate, making all the associated grunts and moans deemed necessary as he progressed. Louise became so incensed, she reluctantly allowed him to have his way but a quick hand trolley would have been as satisfactory as she had put as little effort into the transaction as possible.

Have you finished yet? Your three minutes is almost up, was her response and was twice requested during the transaction, compelling him to sham conclusion and roll away to his side of the bed, considering finishing the act by hand to spite her. He thought not, it would only start an argument and at one in the morning not worth the effort. Instead he shamed the need to piss and finished the job alone in the toilet.

“Stephen Henderson, I feel I know him.” Wayne digressed from Louise and the solitary art of masturbation.

“Possibly it was from school?”

“Maybe only because of the name I found at the farm.” Wayne had not intended to meet with Henderson that night but curiosity was developing, besides what harm would there be in a little conversation and a few friendly drinks, being a welcome distraction from thinking about Louise and their pending break up.

“I think we should cool it for a while.” Wayne sarcastically mouthed Louise’s suggestion loudly into the air-conditioned atmosphere of his vehicle as he placed power to the accelerator while transacting a slight bend in the road. Common sense slowed his advance with memory of his parent’s demise.

“I know what cool it means,” he answered loudly and struck the steering wheel with a clenched fist. “Temper,” he growled, “a lot of good damaging the car will do.” Both hands returned to the wheel but his thoughts remained on his situation.

“Damn you Jack,” He complained bitterly against his would be father-in-law, “you have to control everything.”

“Don’t kid yourself!”

“You only agreed to marry because Louise popped the question.”

Leap-year, she said on February the twenty-ninth, ladies choice to ask the man and it still took him two days to agree. That should have been a warning, also her falter when he finally agreed. Now sold on the idea of marriage she calls it off. Another warning should have been her statement when he finally offered away his independence, there would be no kids. Isn’t that what marriage is for? Wayne had asked, receiving possibly later when in their thirties, as kids would only get in the way of fun, fun, fun.

“It’s only a cooling.” Wayne spoke sarcastically.

“Yea I know what cooling means, goodbye kid nice knowing you.”

‘Do you love her?’ That was a daunting thought, almost too alarming to allow to surface, as with it came another more startling truth, one he could not put to word but was a definite attack on his sexuality. It had always been there, like some small child hiding behind a door, occasionally poking an importunate head around to assert its presence, as if to say I’m still here and one day you will admit so. That thought was soon quashed and once again Wayne dwelt on his bruised ego.

Back at the cottage Wayne was approached by one of his tenants complaining about her rear door. The frame had shifted due to the abnormally dry weather, causing the lock to miss catching.

“Thank you Mister Jenkins, I was fortunate finding you in town.” Sophie Fairchild declared as Wayne straightened the door’s frame and realigned the lock.

“It was only a couple of loose screws in the top hinge of the door,” Wayne admitted and touched onto the hinge with a finger displaying assurance.

“Even so I could not have fixed it.” The woman admirably admitted.

Miss Fairchild was a tall and slender woman in her middle thirties, a primary teacher at the local state school, originating from somewhere down south but never quantified.

Sophie Fairchild had the look of the nineteen twenties about her. Raven black hair, bobbed and fringed, with alabaster white complexion highlighted by a choice of deep red lipstick, while her dress sense was to cover as much of that alabaster flesh as it was possible in neck to ankle dresses, yet sleeveless, allowing her long sun-shy arms to express freely, tipped with elongated fingers that knew their way over the piano keys with ease; all that and sensible shoes in basic black. Even with the woman’s attempt to exclude all attributes of sensuality, there remained a wanting within her character and while her persona screamed non tangere her ambience cried for romance.

Sophie Fairchild had never married, neither had she a long term relationship. There was once a young man who caught the eye and took her heart but after he absconded with Sophie’s best friend she withdrew from availability, now so many years later only the shell of the woman remained and a very tense shell at that. Yet Wayne could feel her eyes on his naked back as he worked.

“There you go Miss Fairchild; as good as new.” Wayne declared standing away from his handy work. The woman tried the lock, becoming settled as it caught the latch and held firm.

She gently shook the door. It remained firm. “Thank you Mister Jenkins you never know who is around these days, with all these backpackers.”

“No worries you should be safe now.” There was a measure of mockery in Wayne’s tone as he collected his tools.

“How is dear Louise?” The woman enquired as from the kitchen her whistling kettle called.

“She is fine thank you.” Wayne answered.

“I suppose you will be married soon.”

“Yes quite soon.” Wayne lied, wishing people would let it be and stop reminding him at every opportunity. “I wasn’t aware you knew Louise.” Wayne adjoined with some surprise.

“Oh yes Louise was once a pupil of mine.” The woman admitted freely.

“So was I Miss. Fairchild.” Wayne attached.

“I don’t remember so.”

“Only for a matter of weeks, after my parent’s accident I was sent up to stay with an uncle before settling with my Grandmother in Cairns, I was also in attendance in my earlier grades but that was before your time.” Wayne explained.

“That would be Ernest Jenkins?”

“You know my uncle?”

“One sees him around on the occasion, has that farm out at East Barron, grows maze and potatoes and I think peas. I have put the kettle on would you like to stay for coffee?”

“That sounds like Ernest, no thank you I have to meet someone in a little while.”

“As a matter of fact I have your cousin Trevor in my class, a lovely boy.” The woman admitted.

“I hardly know Trevor, the last I saw of him he was a boy or five or so.” Wayne recollected.

“He’s in grade seven now and smart, he eventually wishes to go to university and study veterinary but his father said he would better using his time learning how to farm.”

“Then Trevor can’t be a relation of mine, I was never any good at school work.” Wayne grinned at the thought, remembering his report cards being marked – Wayne could do much better if he only concentrated. Admitting he would have concentrated if they offered interesting subjects and not history and geography, not to mention verse after verse of riming poetical love stories.

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Miss. Fairchild disregarded with a rare smile, allowing her vocation to believe even the worst student could learn if the teaching was sound.

“I’m afraid so, there you go the door’s as good as new and if you chance upon Ernest give him my regards, best I be on my way.”

“I guess my lease is almost up.” Sophie admitted as Wayne gathered his tools.

“Oh, I didn’t realise.”

“Would you like to arrange an extension?” She asked.

“No real need,” Wayne issued.

“No, I like to have everything neat and tidy then there can’t be any misunderstanding.”

“I guess if you must, I’ll have my accountant draw it up for you.”

“Thank you, I am contracted to the school for at least another year but after that I may ask for a transfer, I think one can stay too long in the same district.

“Where would you like to go?” Wayne asked.

“I was thinking I might try further north, maybe Cooktown or if possible even Yarrabah, I do like working with Aboriginal children.”

“I don’t know about Cooktown but I am sure you will find plenty of native children at Yarrabah.”

“Where will you and Louise settle?”

‘There it goes again, why can’t folk flaming well leave off asking about the wedding,’ Wayne crossly thought. “That is something that hasn’t yet been decided,” he answered attempting to express the nicest possible tone and expression he could gather.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay for coffee?” Sophie again asked.

“Maybe another time, if you have more trouble with the door, you have my telephone number.”

Let Gary Know that you are reading and what you think of his story. Drop an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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