Date: Tue, 8 Dec 2015 14:19:20 +1100
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chaper 48

I know that 48 chapters seems long. But, if you are new to this story, may
I suggest that you read patiently from the beginning, to understand the
plot and the characters. You'll enjoy it much more and understand what's
going on!

If you are a regular, thank you for your continued interest!

Warning: If relationships between boys and men is not your scene, or if
you're under age, or if it is not legal for you to be reading this, then
please leave, now, before somebody finds out!

Otherwise, enjoy!



From Chapter 47

"Mum?" I say, and point to the door. My heart begins absolutely racing.

She steps forward, politely raps twice then turns the handle.

The door swings wide open.

OMG! The hair on my arms and neck stands upright. My scalp tingles and I
feel tears well up in my eyes. My almost-fearful contemplations have just
been confirmed...!

As was great grandma, Mum and I must be distantly descended from perhaps
the last remnant of the Jintabudjaree aborigines.

And the old house recognises us both!



Chapter 48


Everyone looks at me, expecting me to say something by way of explanation.

I am faced with a dilemma!

Should I tell Mum why I think that she was able to open the door? Should I
tell Will and Uncle Bill why I think that they couldn't?

My brain, tossing up the possibilities and potential consequences, decides
to take a `time-out' and, so, with upturned palms, I shrug my faked
ignorance, instead of vocalising my theory.

I look at Mum and, with a nod of my head and an ushering hand, I simply
indicate to her that she should lead the way. "Ladies first," I say.

Mum steps through the door and then suddenly stops before Uncle Bill and
Will can follow.

"What's wrong?" I ask from behind the stationary trio. "Is everything OK?"

She replies, "I just had the strangest feeling. It was like an iciness that
made my whole body shiver."

I think to myself, I know that feeling in this house!

Always ready to explain (even fancifully) anything and everything, Uncle
Bill says, "Old houses are like that. Probably just the cooler air inside
escaping through the front door."

"I suppose that's what it was then," Mum replies and takes a few more
steps, to be joined by the other three of us.

Mum and Uncle Bill look around, taking in the detail of the grandeur.

"Oh, my!" Mum manages.

"Goodness, gracious!" Uncle Bill exclaims. "This is a real museum piece!"
Then he adds, "But I don't like the zebra skin. The black and white looks
totally out of place amongst all of the warmer tones."

Will adds his two-cents worth. "What a neat place, eh?"

"Yes, it's very tidy," Mum responds.

"I don't think he meant neat and tidy, Mum," I tell her. "It was more of a
`neat and cool'! You know, amazing!"

"It's cool alright!" she replies, nodding and rubbing her arms as if to
warm up.

Uncle Bill says, "Come on, Susan, it's not that cold, but it is
magnificent!"

Mum, ever the one for manners, protocols and decorum asks, "Is the owner
here? I think that we should pay our respects instead of just walking
around his house."

I look at her and encourage, "I'm sure that it's all right. Every other
time that I've been here, the owner was here." I don't mention how few
times that has been!

I look at Will and he smirks, raising and lowering an eyebrow of
acknowledgment of my cryptic truthfulness.

"Hello?" I call, just to appease her. "Is anyone here?" No response
... obviously ... except for the faint resounding echo of my voice from the
walls. "I'll see if I can find him," I tell them. "In the meantime, do feel
free to look around."

Then Mum stuns me with, "Thomas, what are we doing here? I hope that we
were invited! And, it's very strange that the owner isn't here to meet us."

Will's smirky expression alone is sufficient to say, `let's see you get out
of this one!'

I surprise myself at the simplicity of my hasty explanation. "There's going
to be some restoration work done on the pub in The Village and I wanted
Uncle Bill to see this place and the architect in charge of the work,
Ashley Cook, as well. The owner is happy for anyone to come and look
through. It seems as though somebody working with one of his
great-great-something relatives had a real eye for quality design and
workmanship."

Then, to deflect attention and questions away from me, I add, "Wouldn't you
say so, Uncle Bill?"

"Thomas," he replies, "this building is an absolute treasure. It's
predominantly early Victorian in design but with the addition of decorative
broad verandahs that have become so characteristic of the `Queenslander'
style. This one could have been the very first of its type."

He thinks, then comments, "I just don't know why I've never seen any photos
of it in any of the architectural or historical literature. How could this
place have escaped everyone's attention for so long? Even I didn't see it
when I was here all those years ago!" He adds, "And I didn't see it from
the helicopter either."

I know the answer to that question!

"I should have brought my camera with me!" he admonishes himself.

"You can always bring it tomorrow," I reply. "I understand that the focus
of the `shindig' is for the homestead to be an Open House for everyone in
the district. Apparently it will be the first time that it has been open to
the public for years... decades, actually, so I'm told. Julie Smith is
providing the food and the drink."

I look at Will and, while facing him directly, I flash my eyes to the
side. He grasps my intent and he nods.

"Come on, Aunty Susan," he says. "Let me show you around. I've been here
before. We'll probably bump into the owner somewhere. He's a really nice
guy!"

I wink at him.

Will guides Mum towards the dining room while Uncle Bill and I head into
the library. He begins browsing.

"Magnificent!" Uncle Bill says, again. "Look at this collection! Somebody
has gathered copies of many of the great eighteenth and nineteenth century
works of literature and science and philosophy and ..." He stops abruptly
when, taking and opening yet another book, he gasps. He carefully selects
and peruses another, then another.

"Thomas," he half whispers. "Do you know what these are?"

"They're called books!" I reply sarcastically, and waiting for a return
jibe. With Uncle Bill there's always a jibe or a taunt or a punch
line. However, I do have some inkling of what might follow, according to
Davo's assessment of the room's contents.

"Not just books!" he gasps, surprising me. "Rare books! As rare as the
house! These aren't reproductions. They're the originals. This one is a
second edition, and this is a first edition. And this..." he says,
displaying a wallet of papers and stopping to take a gulp of air, "is a
collection of handwritten letters that date from the same period as when
this part of the country was still being explored. I'm guessing that they
could contain a wealth of information of historical interest. I'd love to
look at them in some detail, some time, with the owner's
permission. Perhaps I might be able to come and look at things more closely
while I'm here during the construction work in The Village."

"I'm sure that the owner would be agreeable to that," I tell him.

Then Uncle Bill adds, for no apparent reason, I guess, other than to
continue his historic comment, "Did you know, Thomas, that the explorer
Ludwig Leichhardt disappeared somewhere out this way around 1848? Nobody
knows for sure what happened to him in his attempt to cross the continent
from east to west. Some say that he made it much farther west than here
while others proposed that he and his party were all killed somewhere along
the way by aborigines."

Now, in high school, I did learn a lot about the state's early history
(including Ludwig Leichhardt), and my momentary rush of blood linking LL
and the Jintabudjaree people subsides; the facts, as I understand them,
don't align at all, despite having the commonality of murder, aborigines
and sudden disappearances. I take a deep breath. The sufficiently
discrepant details put my imaginative mind at ease, almost.

As he seems entranced by his `discovery', I leave (this is going to sound
like a suspect in a Cluedo game...) Uncle Bill in the library with the
books, and I go to search out Will and Mum (and maybe to introduce them to
the elusive owner!)

As I step into the large hall I see them emerge from one of the bedrooms
upstairs, heading towards the front verandah.

"Hey, guys! Wait up!" I call and I take the stairs two at a time, overseen
by the zebra.

I manoeuvre my way between them and slip my right arm around Mum's waist
and my left hand over Will's shoulder.

Mum covers my hand with her own and gives it a loving squeeze.

Will drops his hand behind me and gives my butt a cheeky scrunch.

With my left hand already in place, my response is to apply some
none-too-subtle pressure to his trapezius muscle. He dips noticeably.

"Are you all right, dear?" Mum asks him in response to his flinching
movement.

"It's OK, Aunty Susan," he says. "It was just a sudden pain near my
neck. It's gone now!"

"What a coincidence," she says, rubbing her chest and abdomen. "Some of my
pain seems to have gone too."

While she focuses on the door ahead of us, Will, hanging back, turns and
defiantly pokes his tongue out at me, reminiscent of my little sister,
Amelia's taunts. I assist his firm, easy-on-the-eye posterior through the
doorway by giving him `the finger'. Literally!

He purses his lips. His cheeky glare is one of provocative
appreciation. He's sexy, and he knows it!

As we stare towards the eastern horizon Mum says, "Thomas, this is a
beautiful house and, `magnificent' as Bill has already said." Then she
adds, wistfully, "But I'm very disappointed."

"Why?" I ask, amazed.

"I'm disappointed, Thomas, because the owner isn't here. That's why! I was
hoping to meet him."

"But the owner IS here," I tell her, taking her hand and rubbing it.

She looks at me, apparently confused. "Is he downstairs with Bill then?"

"No," I reply, looking from her to Will, who nods his encouragement that I
should confide in her.

"He's actually on the upstairs verandah with his brother and mother."

She looks around, searching. Then, processing the information, a look of
deduction but incredulity shows on her face.

"You cannot possibly mean...?" she begins, frowning, and pointing at me.

I nod. She looks to Will. He nods. Her eyes widen like those of an Emoji
character. "But..., how...?" is all that she can muster.

I enfold her in my arms and say, "It's true, but it's complicated."

"Even Dad doesn't know yet, Aunty Susan," Will adds from behind me.

"You haven't told Bill?" she asks, holding me at arms' length and searching
my eyes for any hint of untruthfulness. (She was always able to tell when I
was lying as a kid.)

"But, how?" she asks again.

"Long story!" I respond. "I'll fill you and Uncle Bill in on the way back,
so that I only have to tell it once."

I close the upstairs door behind us and we go down. Uncle Bill is still in
the library. Mum looks around, probably to check whether the `genuine'
owner is here.

"Found anything else of interest?" I ask.

"You have no idea what is here, Thomas," he almost whispers. "I feel that I
should be wearing white gloves to even touch some of the books and
documents in here. I wish that I could talk to the owner and shake his hand
at having such a... such a... magnificent collection."

"Then, I'll organise some white gloves for you," I say, seriously.

Mum looks at me.

"I'm sure that he'll let you browse to your heart's content, Uncle
Bill. Deal?" I ask, extending my hand.

He takes it. "Deal!" he replies. I smile. Owner's hand shaken. Wish
granted!

"Let's head back then," I say to them. "We can come back tomorrow with the
other folk from town."

I close the door behind me. "Want to try the handle again?" I jokingly put
to Uncle Bill.

"No thanks," he replies, shaking his head and starting down the front
steps. Mum and I follow. However, I hear Will try the handle
... unsuccessfully ... then he catches up with us.

"I don't believe a word of it!" Uncle Bill grumbles as we approach The
Village and as I finish the story (omitting my theory on the compliance of
the door handle).

"I'll bet that you'll believe it tomorrow!" Will tells him. "Everything
that Tom has told you is true!"

"Very un-bloody-likely!" Uncle Bill exclaims.

"Bill!" Mum admonishes him. "Please restrain yourself!"

"Sorry, Susan," he apologises, then he adds, "Let's see if these two clowns
can extend their joke beyond tomorrow! I'll be asking questions! You can be
assured of that!"

"Why is it so hard for people to believe us when we tell the truth?" Will
asks. Then he adds, "Maybe I should take up lying!" That causes a humorous
ripple.

I pull up the Beast at the pub and give the accelerator a pump to make it
growl, then switch off the ignition.

Now, one of the things that I've learned since I've been here is that
people can identify vehicles by their unique sound. Reg's Land Rover is the
easiest for me, but I also recognise Marty's SUV, his old workhorse truck,
and my own (sorry, Will's) car when it returns from Jake's place or the
twins'. The Beast is a `newbie' and many inquiring heads emerge from the
bar to identify it and its owner. My/Will's car never had that effect on
them!

I say to Uncle Bill, "Why don't you and Mum go and check on Mrs T and
Andy?"

Some pub folk show more than passing curiosity. Some ask to see its `donk',
but I have trouble finding the bonnet release! I leave the door open and
invite them to take a look inside. They start talking `motor talk' and I
have just as much trouble understanding them as I did when Jarrod started
with his technology gibberish in the games shop. Hmm, yes. Jarrod! I owe
him an email.

While they fawn over the Beast (and I even let them wake it up) Mum, Uncle
Bill, Mrs T and Andy emerge from a side door that I hadn't noticed
previously, which would obviate the need for them to walk through the
public bar.

"Tom!" Andy calls, and he latches onto me. "I had a good nap!"

"That's great, buddy!" I tell him. I hug him to me and ruffle his hair.

The onlooking patrons can obviously tell from his gait, his speech and his
language that there is some issue with his mental and physical abilities
and I read their mixed emotions. Some are sympathetic. Others appear
embarrassed. Some nod their approval or give me a `thumbs up' for my
actions. I smile and nod `thanks' back.

"I'm looking forward to a good rest myself," Mrs T says. Then she asks,
"How are you, Susan? It's been a long day for you!"

Mum replies, "Actually, I'm quite fresh and I'm not tired at all. I feel
good. Really good."

"Mrs Thompson," I ask, "could you put a few of Andy's things together for
him to spend the night at Marty's. You know, pyjamas, etc.".

"Of course, Tom," she replies. "It will only take a minute to pick them out
of his bag."

I turn to Uncle Bill. "Can I leave it to you to arrange dinner with Julie
Smith for all of us, please? Oh, and include Marty. I'll take Will and Andy
to Marty's. Will can collect his PJs and a few things for him to stay the
night with you. We won't be long."

I doubt that Will will even be able to find his pyjamas. He hasn't worn any
for months. I smirk. Actually, I wonder where mine are!

Mrs T re-emerges with Andy's small bag and says, "You may as well take
everything, just in case." She motions me aside to speak privately. "Tom, I
know that this is an awful imposition on you, but, at the moment, Andrew
still needs assistance cleaning himself when he uses his bowels. Would you
be willing to do that? Otherwise, he can always stay here with me."

I'm sure that it would break Andy's heart if he had to stay with his mother
instead of with me. "It's OK, Mrs Thompson," I reassure her. "That won't be
a problem at all."

I ponder that, after doing the relationship talk with Will and Jake, wiping
Andy's backside will be a cinch! And, no way could I ever think of taking
advantage of his vulnerability! It will be clean and clinical!

"Thank you, Tom," Mrs T sighs. "So much!"

I suffer a brief emotional spasm as I contemplate the similarities between
my cheeky cherub Kurt and the vivacious young Andy that Will and I met at
the beach. Andy's current condition is a cruel, undeserved blight on his
body and his life. I pinch my nose as if that will help prevent tears from
forming in my eyes publicly. However, I know that privately I may cry many
times for him.

"OK, guys. So, who's sitting up front with me?" I ask Will and Andy.

"Me! Me! Me!" Andy calls, raising his hand and making attempts to jump up
and down.

I look at Will who smiles at Andy's response.

"Hey, Andy," Will says. "If you give me a hug, you can have the front seat
with Tom."

Andy quickly attaches himself to Will. "Hug! Hug! Hug!" he squeals. Then he
adds, "I like you Will. You're my friend!"

Will helps him into the front passenger's seat, I secure his seat belt and
the Beast growls. Mum, Mrs T and Uncle Bill all wave us good bye (primarily
for Andy's benefit and pleasure) then we turn the corner and head south.

The sun dips below the crown of the river gums across to the west. The
result is stunning. The trees appear to be back-lit, with the stippled
sunshine continually streaming between their leaves and branches as we
drive yielding the most amazing light show. It's better than flashes from a
disco mirror ball! It's not only Andy who is spell-bound. I slow
considerably to prolong the experience for as long as possible.

The approaching sound of an unrecognisable vehicle ensures that we are
greeted by both Marty and the dogs; one peering questioningly toward the
final bend in the track; the others barking unsparingly. Predictable!

I silence the Beast but, instead of getting out, I sit and enjoy the
expression on Marty's face, which is a combination of curiosity and awe.

I don't think that he has noticed me yet. He is checking out the car with
the same wide-eyed hankering that I recall when I first laid eyes on Will,
and on horse-boy Sam at the motel, and on Jarrod at the Games Shop, and on
Tony and Rocco at Mr Verdi's restaurant, and on architect Ash and... `Whoa!
Get a grip, boy!' I tell myself.

Will jumps out which breaks Marty's trance-like focus. "Hi, cuz," Will
chirps. "Do you like it?" He can't help himself... "It's Tom's birthday
present from his parents!"

It's only then that Marty squints at the tinted windscreen and recognises
me. I give him the `thumbs up'.

He looks from me to Will, to the Beast, spots Andy, then his eyes do the
circuit again.

Will says, "Close your mouth. You'll catch flies!" Then he looks at me and
laughs at our shared joke.

He helps Andy down from the seat then introduces him. "Andy, this is my
cousin, Marty. This is Marty's house where Tom and I live. Marty, this is
Andy."

I interject for Marty's benefit. "We told you about Andy - the one who had
`the accident'!" I say the last two words slowly and deliberately. Marty
actually knows the whole sorry tale. He nods his comprehension.

Extending his hand, Marty says, "Pleased to meet you, Andy."

Andy grasps it and, shaking it with exaggerated movements, replies,
"Pleased to meet you, Marty. Will is my friend, and Tom is my friend, too."

"Come on, Andy," Will encourages. "I'll show you my bed. You will be
sleeping in it tonight."

Will assists Andy up the four stairs. I stay with Marty to fill him in on
the funeral, the 'Beast', dinner at the pub and the various sleeping
arrangements.

"Poor little guy!" Marty says with genuine compassion. "What are his
chances of recovering?"

"As you can tell," I begin, "there is obviously some neurological damage
that is affecting his limbs, his thinking and his speech. His mother says
that the doctors are hopeful and will be looking for positive signs."

"Like what?" Marty asks.

"They're not sure, according to Mrs Thompson. However, if either his motor
skills or his speech show some noticeable sign of improvement, then there
is hope for the rest. But they can't say for sure whether he'll regain full
use of all functions. His mother said that she could see some improvement
today, but didn't elaborate, so I don't know where he's at in terms of a
recovery." I add, "According to my sister, he was a champion body boarder
and a real heartthrob for all of the girls in his grade at their school
... and even younger ones."

We continue to chat while I show off my `Beast' of a birthday present, much
to Marty's delight and to satisfy his keen interest and curiosity. He
checks it out thoroughly with wows and whistles. "You can drive it up to
The Village for dinner, if you like," I tell him.

"Yes, I like! Thanks," he replies.

There is a pause. Then, out of the blue, he jokes, "So will the Big Willie
and Little Willie be together tonight?"

"I hadn't thought of that," I tell him. I ponder the reactions of both if
they actually see each other naked. Then I confess, "You know, in all of
the years that I've known Uncle Bill (all my life) I've never seen his
`equipment'. But I know that the ladies love him! Will and I met some of
his `harem' during the holidays."

"Hang on! He's your uncle?" Marty asks. "I thought that he was your
father."

I give Marty the whole IVF and 'Uncle Bill' explanation, again I think. I'm
sure that I told him once previously. I can't remember. I've told the story
a number of times to different people.

We stroll inside and I hear muted wailing. I hurry to the bedroom
door. Andy, shaking and crying, is hanging onto Will, with his face buried
in Will's chest.

"What happened? What's wrong?" I put to Will, extremely concerned that Andy
might have hurt himself. Marty is at my shoulder, peering in.

"I don't know," Will replies, obviously very anxious for Andy, whom he is
hugging to himself and rubbing his back. "He was fine until just now. I
showed him Marty's room, the living area and kitchen, the bathroom and then
our beds ... yours on the bottom and mine on the top. Then he just called
out, `NO' and started being really upset."

I go to them and hug them both wrapping my arms as far around them as I can
reach. I feel Will's anguish as well as Andy's pain. "Andy, buddy, I'm here
for you. What's wrong? You can tell me."

Andy latches onto me and cries, rocking his head on my chest, "No,
Tom. No. You're my friend. No, Tom."

I look at Will. He appears terrified.

I have to ask! "Andy, did Will do something bad?" Will vehemently shakes
his head and appears ready to cry at my suggestion of some impropriety.

"Uh-huh," Andy sobs.

"What happened?" I ask, rubbing Andy's back, while staring at Will who
shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. His eyes are now full of tears.

"Andy, what happened?" I ask again. "You can tell me. I'm your friend,
remember? It's OK."

He points at the top bunk and cries, "NO!"

I get it, instantly. "You don't want to sleep in Will's bed?"

"NO!" he wails.

"Is it too high for you?" I ask.

He nods his head, still holding it against my chest.

"That's OK, buddy," I encourage him and ruffling his blond hair. "You can
have my bed on the bottom and I'll sleep in Will's bed on top. That's all
right with me."

I motion my little brother to me and hug him with one arm, kiss his head
and whisper, "Sorry, bro!"

We are all surprised by Andy's response. "NO! You will fall, Tom. You're my
friend. I don't want you to get hurt."

I am greatly moved by Andy's concern for me, based on his own
experience. Will slips his arms around me and holds me tightly. I feel
guilty for even thinking that he might have done something to upset Andy!

The expression on Marty's face tells me that he understands Andy's anxiety
at any kind of height. He speaks up. "Hey, Andy, if you like, you can sleep
in my bed and I'll sleep in Will's bed. I won't fall out and get hurt."

"No!" Andy replies, looking up for the first time. "Tom has a big bed. He's
my friend. He can share."

Will, Marty and I all exchange looks of veiled concern. If it had been Ash
who suggested that any one of us share a bed with him, it would be totally
different!

What is Andy suggesting? Something sexual, or simply two people sharing a
space?

The expression on Marty's face, with wrinkled brow, seems to question my
motives rather than Andy's, not aware of the logistical reason that I've
brought him here.

Will squints as if to admonish me, now, for something that I might be
tempted to do, and his face warns me against it.

"It's OK, Andy," I tell him and look from Marty to Will as well, as if to
reinforce the point. "It's a big bed. You can sleep on one side and I can
sleep on the other side. No problem! Is that all right with you?"

"Uh-huh," Andy replies.

The expressions on the faces of Will and Marty soften.

"Why don't you sit on the bed while Will collects his things to spend the
night up at The Village?" I tell him, gently prising his fingers loose from
my body.

Marty asks, "Would you like some lemonade, Andy?"

"Uh-huh," he replies. Then he adds, "Thank you, Marty."

Marty leaves. Andy sits. Will rummages. And I search their last-remembered
location for my own pyjamas.

We join Marty in the kitchen. Andy gets his lemonade. Marty has a
beer. Will and I settle for coffee.

"So, this is what is happening," I remind everyone, "just so that we are
all `on the same page'. We can all take the Beast up to The Village for
dinner with Uncle Bill, Mum and Mrs T, then..."

Marty interrupts, "So, why did you call it `The Beast'? You didn't tell
me."

"My idea!" Will pipes up. "Don't you think that it growls like some kind of
animal? Kind of appropriate, I thought!"

I continue, "Because of the limited accommodation available at the pub, the
best solution was for Will to bunk in with his dad, Mrs T and Mum have a
twin room and Andy gets to share with me, so that we can talk about
his... `situation'."

Marty catches on first, and then Will's face confirms his understanding
too. I really want to find out what Andy remembers of his ordeal and how
he's feeling. I now already know about his acrophobia, even of quite low
heights.

"Tomorrow," I continue, "there's going to be a lot of celebrations going on
and everyone, I presume, will want to visit the homestead." Uncle Bill is
in for a shock!

I pause for a moment and then pose a question that has been pinballing
around in my head. "Marty, does the property already have a title? And, if
not, do you think that anyone would be offended if I called it
`Jintabudjaree'?"

"That has always been a taboo word around here," he replies, "but I've
never actually heard the place referred to by a specific name. I suppose
that `Jintabudjaree' would be appropriate, considering its history." Then
he asks, "Was there any reference to a name that you found out there?"

I hadn't even thought of that! Perhaps Davo and Uncle Bill can look for
something among the documents in the library. And, I wonder whether any
name is written on the certificate of ownership that Julie Smith was
showing me.

"Have you said anything about tomorrow to your mother, yet, Marty?" I ask
him.

"Oh, shit!" he says. "I forgot that she doesn't know anything!" Then he
smirks that mischievous smirk of his.

"Um-mah!" Andy cries. "Marty said a bad word!" He waggles his finger
admonishingly at Marty. "Your mum's gonna wash your mouth out with soap,
young man!"

We all laugh.

However, I'm encouraged when I think about the complexity of his thoughts
to come out with such simple words. And, they indicate his mother's strict
upbringing of him, without a father for most of it, as I understand.

Marty apologises and back-tracks rapidly. "Sorry, Andy. I meant to say
`sheep'." Then he adds, by way of explanation, "My dad always told us three
boys to say `sheep' and `truck' if there were ladies or little kids
around."

"Hey! I'm not a lady or a little kid!" Andy says indignantly. (Will and I
could attest to both.) He pauses, then adds in a hushed tone, looking
around as if to check for his mother's presence, "You can say `shit'
Marty. I won't tell your mum!" He covers his mouth and giggles at his own
boldness at the public use of a `bad' word.

Marty moves and ruffles Andy's hair. "Thanks, Andy. You can be my little
mate!"

"I like you, Marty. You're my friend," Andy replies. Marty receives an
unexpected hug.

While we finish our drinks, Marty changes for dinner. Will grabs his
`overnight' bag and we head out.

Will stows his bag in the back and then puts his hand out, very
optimistically, for the keys.

"Truck off, Will!" Marty tells him. "Tom told me that I could drive it."

I look at Andy for any reaction to Marty's words. He giggles and covers his
mouth as if he had spoken them. He gets it! He understands Marty's humour!
What a pity that I can't bring myself to tell his mother. House rule!

Will jumps into the front passenger's seat alongside Marty. Andy and I take
the seats behind them.

It's Will's first time in the front seat and he wastes no time in exploring
the multi-function system and checks out all of the knobs, buttons and
switches.

Marty kicks the beast into life and switches on the headlights. Will
quickly flips the switch for the four spotlights. "Holy sh...eep!" he
blurts out. "It's like daylight!"

"Holy sheep!" Andy repeats, then he laughs.

"Trucking hell!" Marty exclaims.

"Trucking hell!" Andy echoes and we all laugh.

As the beast stalks along the track to the road, we can see
everything. I'll bet that they'll see us coming up in The Village long
before they hear the roar of the engine.

We turn onto the road. "Can I see what she'll do?" Marty asks, then adds,
"I'll be gentle."

"Sure," I tell him. "Gently though!"

Marty slowly but increasingly depresses the accelerator. I can feel myself
being pushed back in my seat.

From the purring noises that Marty is making, I don't remember him being so
excited. Ah, except for once. But Ash isn't here now! And I can't help but
wonder whether the throb of the Beast might be having the same physical
effect on him as Ash did.

He pushes the needle on the speedo into territory where I've never
ventured, either as a passenger or as a driver!

"Hell, yeh!" Will exclaims.

"Hell, yeh!" Andy responds.

"Trucking hell, yeh!" Marty adds. Andy has a mischievous grin on his face,
as if tempted to echo Marty's words. But he refrains.

He slows. I'm glad that he is such an accomplished driver.

As we pull up to an admiring audience at the pub, Will blurts out, "I can't
wait to try that!"

"You will NEVER try that!" I snap at him. "Not in this vehicle or your own
car! Do you understand me?" He can tell that I'm serious.

"Yes, Tom," he begins, less enthusiastically. "I just..."

Marty doesn't let him finish. "Sorry, Tom. That was reckless of me, but she
handles superbly. He adds, turning to Will, "Tom is right, Will. Don't you
ever drive at that speed until you've had many years of experience."

Marty hands me back the keys and we head towards the side door for dinner.

Holding back, Andy tugs as my sleeve. "Don't tell," he says quietly, almost
confidentially.

"Don't tell what, buddy?" I ask, thinking that he meant about Marty's
driving.

"Don't tell that I was scared. Please. Mum will be sad."

Again, I'm pleasantly surprised at his caring thoughts for other people. I
meet him at his level. "It's OK, Andy. You're my friend. I won't tell. We
have a rule in Marty's house that whatever happens there, stays there. So
we don't tell what people there say or do. Does that sound good?"

His face beams and he grasps my hand as we go in.

The `oldies' are waiting for us in the dining room and partaking of a
drink. Under Uncle Bill's direction, they shuffle around so that Andy can
sit between me and his mother with Will on my other side. Mum is positioned
between Uncle Bill and Marty.

Conversation over dinner is mostly jovial, despite the fact that we've
attended a good friend's funeral today. Will is uncharacteristically quiet,
almost downcast.

Before dessert, Andy whispers something in his mother's ear then Mrs T
excuses herself and Andy from the table. Some minutes later they return and
she whispers to me as she passes, "You won't have to worry about cleaning
him up tonight. It's all done." I nod my understanding, and am greatly
relieved.

Will nudges me and says very quietly, "Are you still mad at me, Tom?"

"I'm not angry with you, Will," I reply, putting a comforting hand on his
thigh.

"What about what you said in the car?" he asks.

"Will," I tell him, "you've had your driver's license for only a couple of
months. You don't have the experience to drive any car at that speed. I'm
not sure that I do either. So let's not dwell on it, OK?" I pat his thigh.

He is silent, so I add, "How do you think I would feel if Chad had to come
and tell me that you had died in a car accident, because you had been
testing out your skill or just having a bit of fun? I couldn't bear to bury
you, like Mum and Uncle Bill did with their friend today."

He says nothing. I go a bit further. "What if I was speeding and had a
crash, killing myself, Andy and Marty? How would you feel then? I love you,
and them, too much to allow that to happen."

Will gets up without speaking, or even looking at me, and heads in the
direction of the toilets.

I give him a couple of minutes then excuse myself to go and check on him.

I push the external and the next toilet doors open, but there is nobody in
there. I step back out and look around. There is nobody down the corridor
towards the accommodation area. I know with certainty that he wouldn't have
gone into the public bar so I take the side door exit. He can't have gone
anywhere else.

I can't see him. "Will?" I call quietly. No answer.

I cross to the other side of the road and walk about 20 metres towards the
church and school. My eyes adjust to the light cast by the three-quarter
moon. I can see quite clearly now.

I turn and look back past the pub in the direction of where his old house
used to be. He's not down that track!

I cast my eyes towards the Andersen house. My instincts tell me that he
would not have ventured over there to be quizzed by Jan and the boys.

It enters my head that he might be sitting on the school verandah, out of
sight of the pub and I head across that way. I approach the school quietly
and walk through the open gate to the verandah and look along it. He's not
here.

I go back to the gate, stand and look around me, considering any other
possibilities. Would he have taken off back to Marty's as he was accustomed
to doing when he was upset by one of his mother's moods? Possibly. I
wouldn't have to drive far in the Beast until its four spotlights picked
him up.

I take a couple of strides back towards the pub, with a mild sense of
urgency now. Then I stop. I am suddenly overcome by the same strange
feeling that drew me towards the Jintabudjaree homestead.

I turn and walk purposefully towards the weir. The cascading sound of the
water intensifies. When I am quite close I hear
him. Sobbing. Moaning. Crying.

He is sitting on the log of the fallen tree that had once, previously, been
decorated with his and the twins' underwear as they frolicked naked in the
water. I don't think that he is aware of me. I slip up behind him and wrap
my arms around him, over his shoulders and across his chest. He doesn't
need to ask who it is.

He leans, and rubs the side of his face against one of my arms. "You scared
me," he sighs, after a heavy sob.

I kiss the top of his head. He continues, "I didn't want to burst into
tears in front of everyone, so I came over here." It's so peaceful, and
this is the place where I first saw you and you changed my life. It's as
special to me as our `lucky' spot on the track into Marty's.

"Come on," I say, urging him to his feet. "Let's get back, and have some
dessert." He doesn't need a lecture. Just love.

I hug him and he melts against me. "Thank you," he says, and kisses me.

We walk hand in hand. When we near the pub I raise his hand to my mouth and
kiss it, then we separate.

We enter via the toilets to freshen up and ensure that we look OK.

I go back to the table first and announce, "Will and I have just had a
little chat. He was a bit upset by the events of the day. Everything's OK
now." Everyone nods and resumes talking.

Will joins us. "Did I miss dessert?" he asks, putting on a happy face.

"Yes. I ate yours," Marty tells him.

"That's a big fib," Andy admonishes. "No you didn't, Marty!"

Marty makes amends. "We were waiting for you, Will. The house special
tonight is apple pie with custard and cream. I thought you'd like that, so
we've already ordered."

On cue, Julie Smith arrives and begins serving the sweets. Will's mood
hasn't affected his appetite and he has seconds.

Andy yawns and leans into his mother. I take that as my cue. "We'll see you
all up here in the morning, about 9:00," I tell them. "Come on Andy. Kiss
your mother goodnight. There's a big bed waiting for you."

We say our goodnights. I give Mum a long cuddle and a smooch. "Tomorrow's
going to be a great day! Sleep well."

Mrs T and Will follow Marty, Andy and me to the car. Mrs T. kisses Andy
again and says, "You be a good boy and do everything that Tom tells
you. OK?"

"Yes, Mum," Andy replies. "I like Tom. He's my friend." I think I see a
glistening in her eyes. This will be the first night that they have been
apart since his `accident'.

Marty helps him into the passenger seat and then climbs into the back. Will
follows me to the driver's door. "I'm gonna miss being with you tonight,"
he says. His eyes are moist too.

"Be kind to your father," I tell him. He steals a quick kiss, hopefully not
being noticed by anyone else.

They wave. I drive.

The dogs bark but, I think for Andy's sake, Marty refrains from his usual
invective.

"Anything you need?" Marty asks me.

"No. I think we'll be fine," I reply. "Thanks."

"Good night, Andy," Marty says to him, and extends a hand.

Andy ignores the hand and gives Marty a hug. "Good night, Marty. You're my
friend."

"Come on buddy," I tell him. "Let's get your pyjamas on and brush those
teeth."

We head to the bedroom and search his bag. I can only find the PJ
bottoms. "Do you have a top to go with these, Andy?" I ask him.

"I just have pants. No top," he says matter-of-factly.

"OK," I tell him. He doesn't need any prompting. He strips totally naked
without any hesitation or shame at displaying his adolescent gear and bush,
and attempts to put on his elastic-waisted pyjama pants. I contemplate the
fact that he has definitely grown since I last saw him fully unclothed. The
lack of exercise while confined to bed has done nothing to diminish his
ripped musculature. He's a perfect young specimen of a `swimmer's
build'. Firm pecs, flat and defined abs, slim waist and tight
glutes. Definitely `boyfriend material' as Amelia would say.

"Help please, Tom," he asks.

I crouch in front of him and hold the thin cotton trousers open, low to the
ground. He rests his hands on my shoulders and places one leg at a time
into the holes, then grasps the sides and pulls them up. Too far. Apart
from the fact that he seems to have outgrown them for size, I also think
that he has the beginning of an erection. The combined result of all three
is one impressive bulge. "Not quite so high, I think, buddy," I tell him
and I ease the elastic down a little. "Doesn't that feel better?"

"Thank you, Tom. You're my friend... Teeth."

We take his toothbrush to the bathroom and I put toothpaste on both his and
mine. We brush and rinse. He reaches his toothbrush towards the glass where
mine is resting. I put it in. "They can share," he says. I admire his
subtle but incredible sense of humour and ruffle his hair.

"Do you want to sleep near the wall?" I ask him, turning the bed clothes
down.

"Uh-huh," he answers and scrambles onto the bed. He sits and looks straight
at me. I'm tempted to display a measure of modesty in changing but, given
his own lack of shyness, I decide to act as naturally as possible, without
hiding myself from him. I make it quick but unhurried. I strip off and put
my bottoms on, leaving the top in the drawer. My pants are a little tight
too. Maybe I've put on a bit of weight since I last wore them.

"Do you need to pee?" I ask him.

"No, Tom," he replies. "I did a pee and a poo at the pub."

"OK, then," I say. "Get in and move over. I'm going to switch off the
light." I also close the door then slide in next to him. There is
sufficient moonlight to see what I'm doing. "Good night, buddy," I say.

"No," he says. "Pray first."

Now I'm out of my depth.

"OK," I tell him. "You pray, and I'll say `Amen' with you at the end. OK?"

"OK," he says, then he begins to falteringly recite a prayer that I recall
from when I was a little kid:

"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep, If I
should die before I wake, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take."

Then he adds, "God bless mum and my friend Tom, and my friend Will and my
friend Marty, and please, God, make me well again. Amen."

I swallow hard. He is fully aware of his plight! It's all I can do to stop
myself from bursting into tears. I manage to choke out an "Amen" to follow
his. I add an unspoken prayer of my own. `Please, God, make him well
again. Amen'

There is so much that I want to ask him, but now is not the right
time. Maybe in the morning, after a good night's sleep!

We lie side by side. He holds my hand and we chat for a while. Some of it
is meaningful recollections of his day, including his first aeroplane
ride. Much of the conversation is repetitive. When one of my comments
receives no reply I know that he is asleep.

I wonder why he wasn't scared of the Lear jet but was terrified of the top
bunk. I ponder his concern for me sleeping up there and, again, for his
mother if she was to find out that he had been scared.

He has beautiful manners. Like Kurt. Ah, yes... He's just like Kurt in so
many ways. With that thought in my mind I soon succumb to the enveloping
drowsiness.

Sometime after that I instinctively turn onto my side, facing the open room
and I nestle back a little towards the centre of the bed, finding the
familiar contour in the mattress.

I hardly stir later when I sense the familiarity of Will's body take up its
usual position behind me, the skin of his chest against my bare back and
the accustomed firmness between us lower down.

I am only slightly more awake when I sense the movement, the pulsing and
then the wetness.

At that point I become fully alert! It's not Will! I keep perfectly still
and whisper, "Andy?" No response. I speak his name, "Andy." No words. His
only reaction is to roll back away from me.

With the moon having moved to the west, and with the window facing the
river, the room is quite well lit. I turn to look at him. Sound asleep!
He's just experienced a wet dream against my body.

I guess that I AM his friend!

I don't dare wake him. I slip out of bed, remove my PJ bottoms and dry my
wet and sticky backside with them. Quite a load for a young guy, and
through his own pyjamas too! I put on a pair of underpants and slide back
in beside him.

I lie awake for a long time, thinking of what to say, or not to say to
him. Having concluded to say nothing lest I upset him, I drop off to sleep.

My next awareness is the sound of faint sobbing.

I turn my body and bleary eyes to face him. "Are you all right, Andy?
What's wrong?" I ask, laying my arm across his body to console him.

He sobs a lot more then manages, "I'm a bad boy."

"You're not bad Andy. You're a good boy. Why do you think you are bad?" I
ask him tenderly.

"I'm a bad little baby. I wet the bed," he manages to sob back.

"No you didn't, Andy," I tell him. The bed's not wet. Feel it." I rub my
hand between us, then take his hand and do the same.

"I'm all wet!" he sobs. "I did a pee in my pants. I'm sorry Tom. Will you
still be my friend?"

"You didn't wet the bed, Andy," I repeat. "But something did happen and,
yes, of course I'll still be your friend." So much for saying nothing! This
might be as hard as my talk with Will and Jake.

"Andy," I start. "Can you remember when we were surfing with all of the
guys at the beach?"

"Uh-huh," he responds, slowly.

"And do you remember what Luke and Simon did with each other in the
showers?"

"Uh-huh," he says again.

"Do you remember all the white stuff that came out of their... of
their... cocks?" I was hesitant as to what word to use.

"Uh-huh." He seems to be taking it all in, and I can only hope that he is
actually remembering everything.

"Sometimes big boys can make that happen for themselves. Sometimes they
like a friend to do it, like Luke and Simon did. And sometimes it just
happens while big boys are asleep, having a good dream. It just comes out,
and they get wet and sticky in their pyjamas."

"Uh-huh." I think he is processing this.

"Well," I tell him. "You must be a really big boy because it happened last
night while you were asleep."

"Uh-huh," he replies. "My pyjamas are all wet."

"So, you didn't wet the bed, Andy." I tell him, ruffling his hair. "You
just had a big boy dream."

He lifts the bedclothes and pulls down his pyjama pants with one obviously
damp splotch, revealing the remnant of a new morning erection, surrounded
by still-wet stickiness. "See. You're a big boy," I tell him.

He smiles at me. "I like you Tom. You're my really, truly friend." I marvel
at his `new' words.

"Wait here," I tell him. "I'll be right back." I head to the bathroom and
wet a face washer with hot water and squeeze it out.

When I return to the bedroom, he's talking to his cock. I close the
door. "You were naughty to wet me while I was asleep," he says.

I hand him the washer and encourage him to clean himself. He takes it and
begins wiping. "It feels good," he tells me. It's not long before he is at
full mast. "Help me, Tom," he pleads.

Self control! I'd love to help him, like Kurt, but I won't allow myself to
take advantage of him. I take the washer, rub around his abdomen, pubic
hair, legs and give his balls and cock a quick once-over. Then I say, "All
done! Let's get you ready for breakfast. Would you like a bath or a
shower?"

"Bath," he replies.

I head into the bathroom, put in the plug and run the water. I check that
the temperature's good and stay to make sure that the bath's not too
deep. When I turn around, Andy is behind me, naked and still erect. "I'll
help you get in," I tell him, "and I'm sure that you can wash yourself
while I get your clothes ready."

I help him to step in and sit down. I hand him the washer and soap. "I'll
be back in a minute to wash your hair," I say, and leave.

I lay out his clothes and grab a fresh towel. As I head back to the
bathroom, I encounter Marty heading in the same direction. He is, of
course, starkers. "You know what it's like in the morning, Tom," he tells
me, "especially after a few beers the night before." He stops at the
doorway when he sees Andy in the bath.

"It's OK," I tell him. "Just act naturally."

"Hi Andy," Marty calls and walks across to the toilet. He has the decency
to turn his back to Andy while he relieves himself. He washes his hands at
the basin then says, "I'll get breakfast started. Do you like sausages and
scrambled egg, Andy?"

"Uh-huh," Andy replies, adding, "Thank you Marty."

"Have you finished in there?" I ask.

"Uh-huh," He replies. Then reminds me, "Hair." His memory seems good.

I take the shampoo and lather him up. Now, should I get him to lie down to
rinse it off, or stand up while I turn the shower on? Neither. "Back in a
minute," I say. "Keep your eyes closed." I rush into the kitchen and grab a
small pot. "Are your eyes still closed?" I ask him, returning as quickly as
possible.

"Uh-huh," he replies. I dip the pot into the bath water and carefully use
it until I've removed all suds from his hair, making sure that none get
into his eyes.

"There we go, buddy. All done. OK, let's get you out and dried." I
encourage, and help him to his feet. He holds me tightly while I assist him
out onto the bath mat. I hand him the towel.

"Help, please, Tom," he says, holding the towel out for me to take back.

"Why don't you start," I tell him, "and I'll dry any spots that you miss."

He mops at parts of his body while I pull the plug. "Help, please, Tom," he
says.

He has managed his chest and his hands and face. I take the towel, dry his
hair, the back of his neck and down his back. I dry his firm backside and
the back of his wispy-haired legs. He turns around and spreads them. I work
my way back up, drying between his legs as proficiently and quickly as I
can, without dwelling on his plumped-up package which, I can't help but
note, is longer than Kurt's but not as thick. "Sit on the toilet seat while
I do between your toes," I tell him. He complies.

"OK, let's get you dressed." We walk back into the room and I help with
everything ... undies, pants, shirt, socks and sneakers. I lead him to the
kitchen and seat him at the table. "Why don't you have a glass of milk
while I take a quick shower?" I say, and Marty almost immediately puts a
creamy white glass in front of him. "I won't be long," I tell them both.

I lay out my clothes for the day, strip off and head for the shower. I
regulate the temperature, step in and begin with the shampoo. As I rinse
off, I open my eyes and see Andy sitting on the toilet seat, milk still in
hand, watching. I make quick work of the rest of me and step out. I dry
myself quickly and head back to the room. Andy follows. He stands and
watches me dressing. "I like you, Tom," he says, without adding his usual
ending.

"I like you too, Andy. We're friends, aren't we?" I ask him.

"Uh-huh," he replies, smiling and mega-nodding his head.

We return to the table and Marty serves breakfast. "How did you both
sleep?" Marty asks.

"Like babies," I reply.

Andy frowns at me. "I'm not a baby. I'm a big boy. You said so!" I hope he
doesn't say anything more. It would be too embarrassing to try to
explain. I make a mental note of his slightly more complex language and I
feel an excited pang of hope.

I remember something. "Back in a minute," I tell them. I go to the bedroom,
grab Andy's pyjama pants, pat the damp area as firmly as I can with a towel
and head out of the back door. I spread them in a patch of warm morning
sunlight to dry. I'm glad that there was no overnight shower. The pattern
on the pants should help to disguise any residual stain. Maybe his mother
won't notice.

Breakfast consumed, I take Andy on a long, slow walk around the property,
so that we can talk. He holds my hand, for a bit more than stability on the
uneven ground, I think. We go via the track to the river, down past the
Men's Room (without going inside) and eventually return to the house at the
back door. His pyjamas seem dry so I collect them on the way.

I reflect on what he has been able to share of his ordeal, albeit in his
own simple words; that although he can remember almost everything vividly,
painfully, his body now doesn't seem to want to cooperate with what he
wants to do or say. It frustrates him. He cried a couple of times at the
memories. I hugged him and cried with him.

We pack his bag. "Let's brush our teeth," I tell him. That done, we add his
toothbrush to his bag and we're ready to go. "Remember," I tell him. "We
have our House Rule. What happens in the house, stays in the house. So we
both promise not to tell anybody what we talked about, or what happened
last night. OK?"

He pauses. "Trucking hell yeh!" he manages to reply. I'm
shocked. Pleasantly. He looks at me for any adverse reaction. Seeing
nothing but my broad grin, he emits a self-satisfying, conspiratorial
chuckle and hugs me. Then, in a most sincere voice I hear, "Thank you,
Tom. You are my really, truly friend." I think that his mother is in for a
surprise when she hears him speaking today!

At the pub, Mum and Mrs T are having breakfast in the dining room. Uncle
Bill and Will haven't emerged yet.  Andy sits with his mum and I seek out
Julie Smith, who tells me that they have organised to bring a couple of
kegs of beer plus soft drinks and all of the equipment out to the homestead
in the back of a ute, together with a roasting pig and a full side of beef
which have been kept in the freezer. They prepared bread rolls and various
salads early this morning and have already loaded the barbecuing equipment
and are `ready to roll'. We agree that 10:30 would be a perfect time to
start cooking out there so that everything should be ready for a luncheon.

She gives me a hug. "It's going to be a wonderful day, Tom, and we are
looking forward to the official ownership signing. People are coming from
everywhere! I'm very happy for you."

"Thank you, so much for doing all of this," I tell her. "I'll take young
Andy and the ladies out after they have finished their breakfast. Will and
his dad can drive themselves once they've woken up and have eaten."

I join Andy and our mothers and enjoy a brewed coffee while they have
theirs.

"Toilet," Andy says, but when his mother rises to help him, he reacts. "I
can do it myself. I'm a big boy." Mrs T looks bewildered. He's not gone
long, so we can tell that he experienced few, if any, problems, without us
actually appreciating the extent of any effort involved for him.

"Amazing!" Mrs T whispers to me as she sees him coming and I hope that she
is not going to cry, which would set me off too!

I ask Julie Smith if she would pass on a message to Uncle Bill and Will
that they should come out (in Will's car) whenever they're ready.

I help Andy into the front passenger's seat. Mum and Mrs T take the back
seats as they did the other day.

The Beast re-awakes with a low, throaty growl and we pull away from the pub
slowly. I leave the sound system off and enjoy the conversation between Mum
and Mrs T.

"I'm so pleased that you're feeling much better today, Susan" Mrs T tells
Mum.

"Thank you, Doris," she replies. "I thought that the flight and the anguish
of Danny's funeral would drain me physically and emotionally, but I feel
fine, even refreshed."

It must be the country air," I tell them. "I feel great out here,
especially surrounded by so many wonderful, generous and supportive
people."

Not to be left out, Andy joins in and tells his mother, again, what he had
for breakfast at Marty's and what he saw on our walk. He may be slow, and
his speech somewhat infantile, but he's talking!

We pull up at the homestead. The dust settles and we dismount from the
Beast.

I hear Mum telling Mrs T what she knows of the place, and they make a
bee-line for the rose bush.

"Beautiful!" Mrs T comments, inhaling deeply. "I would love a perfume that
smells like this!"

I offer to give Andy a piggy-back up the steps but he insists that he can
walk up by himself, if I help him. He holds the railing with his left hand
and me with his right. We climb together, slowly and a little shakily,
counting each step as we go.

With the four of us standing at the front door, Mum looks at me with a
degree of uncertainty and comments, "I still think that we should knock
before we go in."

Andy jumps at the opportunity, eyeing off the large door knocker. "I'll do
it!" he says excitedly. I'm right beside him because I don't want him to be
disappointed when the apparently-locked door doesn't yield.

"OK, buddy. Go for it!" I tell him.

He reaches for the knocker and raps hard a few too many times, causing his
mother to tell him to stop.

He grasps the handle and pushes the door open!

He takes half a dozen steps inside then stops. He turns to me, remaining
stunned and frozen by the doorway, and says, "Come on, Tom," motioning
eagerly with his hand for me to join him.

My brain is too busy (processing any possible reasons why Andy was able to
open the door) to send a `move' message to my legs.

"Thank you, Thomas," both Mrs T and Mum say, walking past me, thinking that
I've extended to them the courtesy of entering first, and they join Andy in
the great hall.

Andy's hand motioning to me continues.

Mum and Mrs T have positioned themselves on either side of him and seem to
be immediately engaged in discussing the variety of animal hides.

I walk up behind them and stand between Mum and Andy. I comment, "Is anyone
else cold? Or is it just me?"

"I wasn't going to say anything," Mrs T says, "but I felt it as soon as I
came in."

"Me, too, like yesterday," Mum adds. "But there doesn't seem to be a
draught."

"Mee tooo!" Andy complains, and it appears that he is beginning to shiver.

I take Mum's hand next to me. "You don't feel cold," I tell her.

"Feel mine!" Andy insists, holding out both hands for me.

"Nope!" I tell him. "You don't feel cold, either."

Mrs T extends hers, and I confirm her normal body warmth as well.

We make a complete `circle' of hand holding and comment on each other's
temperatures.

As we hold hands, everyone agrees that the perception of our unexplained
sudden chill gradually seems to have passed, to be replaced by a feeling of
warmth and well-being.

"Are you sure that you're OK, Susan?" Mrs T asks.

"Actually," Mum replies, "I feel remarkably well!"

"Actually, so do I!" Andy comments.

Mrs T and I unhesitatingly turn to look at each other, the fluency of
Andy's response having just seized both of our attentions.

Her astonished eyes communicate, `Where did that come from?' I shrug my
ignorance and surprise.

We all go left to check out the dining room. Mum has already been in here,
with Will.

Down the centre, lengthwise is a magnificently carved and highly polished
dining table and 12 matching chairs with ornately crafted backs - five,
without arms, on each side and one at each end, with arms, `carvers' I
think they are called. There is ample room around the table, presumably for
servants to move about freely. It seems a great place for the signing of
the title deeds later, I think to myself.

The ladies want to check out the kitchen. Of course! I tell them that Andy
and I will wait for them on the other side of the house, in the formal
lounge room. I realise that I had not given that room more than a cursory
glance previously to confirm the location of one of the fireplaces.

It's not like Mum and Dad's informal lounge room at home on the coast. Nor
is it like Marty's living area. It has a distinctive aroma; not the cigars
and brandy that I might have imagined (nor Gin and Barra, gee, for that
matter) but it is the heady smell of leather!

The far end of the room is dominated by two seat-three, dark brown,
deep-buttoned Chesterfield lounges, facing each other (presumably to
facilitate conversation), between which is a low `coffee' table of similar
design to the large dining room version across the hallway.

At the closer end to the door and fireplace is a collection of three
armless chairs, covered in rich fabrics; alongside each of which is a small
side table, obviously by the same craftsman as the other tables. Beside the
fireplace is a single-seat Chesterfield-design chair, obviously for the
master of the house. I can't resist trying it. Very comfortable! I can
imagine Jeeves, the butler, bringing me an aromatic coffee and a custard
tart. Make that two!

Andy tries a few of the other chairs then stands in front of me. "Would you
like to try this one too?" I ask him, anticipating an `uh-huh' response.

"Yes, please, Tom," he answers.

What's going on with him?

We swap places and I peer hard into his face for any hint of
aboriginality. It's the only answer that I can think of as to how he was
able to open the door. But his nose is not broad, nor are his lips unduly
thick (but then, neither are Mum's and mine!) His skin colour? A golden
(but faded) surfer's tan gives nothing away either.

"I like this one!" Andy says, returning my inquisitorial stare. Something
in his eyes is different today! Happier. Healthier, perhaps.

Mum and Mrs T enter the room and I extend both my hands to Andy who grasps
them and stands up. "Do you want to check out the bedrooms and bathrooms?"
I ask. I add, "I haven't looked at them carefully."

"Oh, do come on upstairs Enid," Mum says. "They are wonderful, especially
the one in green tones."

We leave together, but Andy is first to the bottom of the stairs.

"Hang on, Andy, I'll help you." I tell him. But he doesn't wait. Using the
bannister for balance, he negotiates them alone to the landing below the
zebra skin, then turns and smiles at the three of us who are spellbound by
his sudden ability. He continues upwards.

Mrs Thompson covers her mouth and nose with her (almost-prayerful)
hands. She looks at me. Her eyes are full of tears. "I don't know what is
happening," she manages to say, "but it's a miracle."

"He did pray last night that he would be made well again," I tell her. Then
I add, "So did I."

She is unable to hold back any longer and the tears escape her eyes and
cascade over her fingers. She sobs silently. My clean handkerchief is again
useful.

I chase him up the stairs. "I'm gonna get you!" I call, and he squeals in
delight at being my prey.

"What kept you?" he says, turning to face me at the top, displaying the
broadest of grins.

I turn to see Mum taking the stairs at double time. "What on earth are you
doing?" I call at her. "Be careful!"

"I haven't felt this good in ages," she tells me and, at the top, gives me
the most wonderful of hugs, spinning us both around. "I can't explain it. I
just feel great."

"So do I," Mrs T adds, joining the three of us. "I have this really
positive feeling, where previously I was overcome by doom and gloom. It
feels so good! I feel alive again."

I really want to test out the door-opening ability on Mrs T too! And, I am
convinced that there is something much more amazing going on here as well.

Andy and I walk behind the ladies. I throw one arm over his shoulder and he
puts his arm around my waist. "Am I still your friend?" I ask him.

"Trucking hell yeh!" he whispers back. He looks up at me and we both laugh.



(To be continued...)

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