Conversations 05

I touched a few of the little cogs on the bench.

"So my question is this: what should I have done? I really want you to tell me, so try, no matter what."

He opened his mouth and I put my fingers in my ears. I could hear a faint drone, but none of his words got through. He tried talking louder and I made la-la sounds to cover it. Finally he gave up.

"Why did you ask my opinion and then refuse to listen," he grumbled.

"Because it has nothing to do with you, whether I ask your opinion or not."

I saw the first spark of understanding light in his eyes.

"This is not about what you want, or – to a large extent – even what your mum wants. This is all about what I want. Every single action has a consequence – that's just physics. Your mum decided to take an action, but it is up to me to decide what the consequence will be. Do I live with it or do I divorce her? Ddo I forgive her but keep her on a chain of suspicion like a dog, or do I forgive and forget?"

"This is my choice, and therefore only my opinion matters. Not yours, not cuck's or wimp's, not some random stranger who wants to voice an opinion. There are no rules for this situation, and I don't have to follow any convention. I am free to choose as I want. When I choose, that will be my action and consequences will flow from that.

"Do you understand? This is only about what I want. That's it. It's that simple, and it's almost intoxicating in its simplicity. I can be nasty, rude, mean or even savage in that choice. Or I could be loving, forgiving or magnanimous. The choice can be as simple or as complex as I wish. You can have an opinion on what I chose after I make the choice, and you may or may not like it, but it doesn't matter. It's my choice. It's just about what I want."

"Jeez Dad," he complained. "Way to make a guy feel involved."

Then he smiled and I knew he understood.

At that moment, the excited voice of my wife called.

"Honey, she's here. She's here!"

James looked confused. "Who's here? What's going on?"

"Ah, the final thing we need to talk about," I exclaimed.

I took his arm and almost dragged him to the house. We made our way through it, the lovely old three storey house where the three of us had lived, loved, fought, slept, played in and done almost every other human action and interaction for the last twenty years. But we'd never done this.

My wife opened the front door as the door bell rang, almost wriggling like a puppy in her excitement.

James' mouth dropped open as I stepped forward and drew the visitor in.

"Welcome to your new home," I said, giving her a gentle hug, and seeing the taxi I had arranged drive away into the distance. My wife slipped her arms around her from behind and we sandwiched her there for a long moment. She was stiff and still for a while. We had hugged her every time we visited and she always stiffened up. Then I felt her relax and tentative arms go around my waist. She gave me a squeeze.

"Luanne?" said James, looking stunned.

"Luanne," I said, turning to my son. "You already know James, of course. He'll be helping you settle in and be comfortable and happy here, just as we will."

"Thank you for letting me stay with you, er... here, I mean. I really didn't know if you meant it when you offered."

"You are more than welcome," I assured her. "I... we hope this will be your home for as long as you like. Take a couple of years to find your feet and as many more years as you need to make it the home you want for yourself with the three of us."

She smiled and it lit up her face like the sun appearing after a storm. "I don't know how you talked my gran into letting me stay with you for a while, but your house is so lovely. When you showed me the photographs of it, it looked so warm and friendly I think I fell in love with it straight away. You really have a bedroom just for me?"

"Absolutely we do. As to your gran, well she was reluctant, but my Mother was very persuasive," I said. "She's a nearby neighbour and when she heard that your gran wanted more room to stretch out, she just had to make the offer."

I smiled to myself, knowing my mother would prefer the fucking old bitch stretched out in her grave. My mum hadn't wanted to talk to the woman at all, and in the end I actually had to beg her to do it. Once she got stuck in, however, Luanne's gran had more chance of staying dry under the Victoria Falls than getting Luanne back to torment all over again.

I looked at James, and suddenly realised he was staring into Luanne's eyes as if he had caught sight of the Holy Grail. I made a quiet bet with myself that he would now be able to describe them down to the last tiny fleck of the astonishing green in them. And, although her tits were quite impressive in the outfit my wife had bought her for when she left the hospital, I don't think James had looked at them once yet. But I guessed he would, given time. He was still shaking her hand after a full two minutes, and she seemed quite happy for it to be in his. I was happy too. She wouldn't have to worry about any and all of the shit that goes with being a teenager with James at her side. I decided not to laugh at him.

I didn't know how things were going to work out. One thing I knew was that I wasn't going to let the world shit on Luanne any more. There wasn't a chance in hell that I would allow that. And once my wife had heard her story and the emotion I couldn't keep out of my voice when I told it, she had met her at the hospital during the daily visits we made. After that, she was more than determined to give my plan a chance and offer the little waif a solid, confident start to the rest of her life.

So I had made my choice. I was going to give my wife something else to think about and break that never-ending cycle of guilt in her head; give her a chance to come back to me again as she had been. I wasn't going to break my family up into small pieces, I was going to grow it bigger, to four of us.

This was what I wanted. I hoped promises could be kept this time, and that trust could be built up and not just torn down. It was a chance, I knew that. I wasn't fooling myself as to what might happen if things went wrong. But the broken clock had a chance of being a good clock again.

I had made the choice to take that chance.

What I wanted. My choice, and mine alone.