The Gates of Heaven Pt. 05

The Gates of Heaven - Part 5

For new readers: Jon is forty-two, a British expat living in Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. Clara is eighteen, a young woman on a week's holiday with her two friends, Suzie and Diya. She wanted a holiday romance with an older man, but now they've fallen in love and have been making love without birth control. Clara was intending to miss her plane home, but that plan was sabotaged when Suzie and Diya denounced Jon and Clara for illegal immigration to the Guardia Civil, Spain's law enforcement agency. Part 5 opens in the airport car park. (The story is told from Jon's POV.)

***

HAVE YOU EVER noticed how the world seems different after you have made a big decision? The sky seems bluer, the sun feels warmer, and the air is somehow easier to breathe. As Clara moved from my lap back into the passenger seat of the van, I felt my mind clear and the details of the world came more sharply into focus.

I knew what to do.

The first order of business was for Clara to let Suzie and Diya know that she would not be joining them on the plane back to England. I had Diya's number in my Nokia flip-phone, so I handed it to Clara to make the call. After she did that, I suggested we head up to Teguise to see my friend Bruno and tell him our news - that Clara and I had decided to get married. She agreed with enthusiasm and I started up the van and drove us out of the airport car park.

But as we joined the main road, I realised there was something else worth doing before we headed north: for Clara to call her parents in England. They were expecting their daughter back from her holiday and if she didn't arrive, I could imagine Clara's father getting on the next plane to Lanzarote. It would be wise for Clara to let them know that we planned to fly to England next week. That said, calling a British landline from my Nokia would be stupidly expensive, so I drove back into town. Puerto del Carmen had several telephone shops where you could make international calls. In years to come, they would all eventually go bankrupt with the rise of the smartphone, but that was still in the future. On this Sunday morning, there were half a dozen places on the main boulevard where you could make a phone call in a private booth and then pay for it at the desk.

I parked the van in a backstreet and walked with Clara to a shop that was, in my experience, the least expensive. I had intended to wait outside, but Clara took my hand and asked me to join her. The black-haired woman behind the desk gave a disinterested shrug - she had seen Spanish holidaymakers cram their whole family into a booth when calling Mamacita back on the mainland, so Clara's request was hardly unusual. Even so, I wasn't keen on the idea.

'I feel like I'm intruding on a private conversation,' I said.

'And I want you with me,' said Clara. 'Besides, we're going to be husband and wife.'

'That doesn't give me the right to interfere in your family relationships.'

Clara sighed and stepped in front of me, taking both my hands.

'Please, Jon,' she said. 'Just sit with me. I'll handle the conversation, I promise. But I would love to be sitting with you while I do it.'

I looked into her big hazel eyes and realised there was no way I'd be refusing her. I sighed, gave a nod and went into the toilet cubicle-sized booth, sitting on the plain wooden chair with my legs spread wide so there was a piece of seat for Clara to sit on. She pressed back against me with a grin, then leant on the narrow wooden shelf at table height where the phone stood. It was the cheapest kind of plastic phone, with large buttons and a flimsy-looking receiver attached by a coiled plastic cord. A laminated printout of international area codes lay on the shelf like a cheap café menu and Clara referred to it as she punched in the numbers.

I put my arms around her waist as she waited for the pick-up. Despite the receiver being at her ear, I could hear the tinny sound of ringing. Then the phone was picked up and I heard a woman's voice repeat the number in a London accent. Clara cleared her throat.

'Mum, it's me,' she said.

There was a silence. Then Clara's mother spoke, her voice faint and tinny, but perfectly audible.

'Aren't you supposed to be on an aeroplane?' she said.

'Yeah, about that...'

Clara took a deep breath, but her mother didn't wait for an explanation.

'I'll give the phone to your dad,' she said. 'He's the one you have to talk to.'

'Mum...'

'Hey, I'm not angry,' said the voice. 'Not that you care whether I'm angry or not.'

'Mum...!'

'But you're eighteen, my darling. You can do what you like. I certainly did when I was your age. I had some fun too.'

'It's not the same.'

'Oh, really?' The voice changed tone. 'You know, your Aunt Katherine used to say that you were more like her than me. She was always more interested in books than boys and insisted you were the same. It looks like I get to tell my sister "I told you so!" '

'Weren't you going to give Dad the phone?' said Clara icily.

'I'm looking for him,' said the voice. 'This is a cordless phone, darling, which means I can walk around the house while we talk. I thought a smarty-pants like you would know such things, unlike your poor, ignorant mother.'

I felt Clara take a deep breath. Her free hand took hold of my wrist and she pushed herself backwards, her body pressing against my chest and stomach. I tightened my hold on her and she seemed to draw strength from the bodily contact. Her breathing grew slower and when she spoke, her voice was lower and more relaxed.

'Mum,' she said. 'I know you think I look down on you...'

'You do look down on me!'

Even though the voice was faint and tinny, the hurt came across loud and clear. I rested my head against Clara's and felt her squeeze my wrist in silent appreciation.

'Okay...' said Clara, choosing her words. 'Sometimes you say things that... that make me think less of you.'

'What do you mean "sometimes"?'

'Oh, Christ, Mum! I wish you wouldn't take this so personally!'

'How can I not take it personally? I'm your mother! Daughters are supposed to respect their mothers!'

'Mum, there are many things I respect about you.'

'Oh, "many things", are there? Well, thanks for your weasel words! They're a great comfort!'

The voice grew steadily more emotional.

'And where is your damn father?' it cried. 'Don't tell me he's gone to the cash-and-carry! Typical bloody man, just buggering off without a word!'

I remembered that Clara's parents ran a pub. I shifted position to get comfortable, still holding my woman close to me. Clara settled herself in, her head tilted towards the receiver.

'Listen, Mum,' she said. 'If Dad's not there, he's not there. I just rang to let you know I'm okay and that you don't have to worry.'

There was a pause. When Clara's mother next spoke, it sounded like she had pulled herself together.

'This call must be costing you a fortune,' she said.

'Don't worry about that,' said Clara.

'Well... I'll pass on your message to your dad.'

'And could you tell him I'll be calling tomorrow?'

'What for?'

'Because Jon and I will be flying over next week. I want you both to meet him.'

'We have met him.'

'Not properly. And not since, um... since Jon and I got together.'

There was a silence. Then the tinny voice spoke, softer than before.

'You really like this man, don't you?'

'I'm in love with him, Mum,' said Clara. 'I am completely, utterly in love with him.'

There was the hint of a sigh.

'Well...' said the voice. 'I'm not telling your father that. You can tell him yourself.'

'I will, Mum,' said Clara. 'I will.'

***

As we drove northwards, Clara had her hand semi-permanently on my leg. I think she would have unclipped her seatbelt and put her head in my lap if I'd let her. Sitting with her in that booth had clearly meant a lot to Clara, but I wasn't sure why. There were obviously some issues in her family and I was curious, but an inner voice warned me against trying to psychoanalyse my woman. 'You have plenty of time to talk,' it said. 'For now, just focus on driving.'

We approached the roundabout that lay at the geographical centre of the island. A large modern sculpture of irregular white blocks stood on the circular hillock and Clara looked at it as I drove around. When I was back on the road north, she jerked her thumb backwards and said:

'Was that by that same artist from the museum we saw on Thursday?'

'Yes,' I said.

'What was his name again?'

'Cesar Manrique.'

'That was it!' Clara shook her head. 'I should remember that kind of thing, now that I'm living here.'

'You'll get the hang of it.'

I gave her thigh a squeeze and then concentrated on the road. Clara looked at me. Her eyes were hidden by her sunglasses, but the rise and fall of her chest gave her away.

'I love you,' she said.

'I know,' I said. 'And the feeling's mutual, believe me.'

'Oh, I do.'

Clara sat back and put her foot on the dashboard, showing off a bare leg. She stared out at the landscape of sandy brown hills and square white houses.

'Do you know how nice it is to know that I love you and that you love me?' she said. 'You know, without any kind of doubt?'

'You had doubts?'

'Well, I must have done, because now they're gone!'

'I don't follow.'

Clara leaned her elbow on her upraised knee and turned towards me.

'You know when you're sitting in the apartment at night and you think everything's quiet?' she said. 'And then, suddenly, the fridge gurgles and stops humming and you realise... oh no, now it's quiet! But you had got so used to the background noise, you didn't realise it was there.'

'Okay,' I said. 'I'm with you so far.'

'Well, that's how I feel about us! I mean, until this morning, I thought we loved each other and committed ourselves to each other. I saw us as a couple. But there must have been doubts in the background, because I was still scared I might lose you.'

She took off her sunglasses and her eyes shone as she looked at me.

'But I don't feel that anymore!' she said. 'Not even a bit! It's almost like we don't have to get married because I'm already your wife! I'm Mrs Clara Jones!'

For some reason, that gave me an instant erection. I took Clara's hand and put it on my lap. Her fingers closed over my cock through my jeans.

'Oh, my god,' she said.

'You see what you do to me?'

'Oh, Jon... we have got to fuck!'

'Not a good time.'

I nodded through the windscreen. The sign 'Teguise' zipped by us as I drove. There were flat-roofed houses to the left and a stony field full of rows of cars on the right. Parked cars lined the road and I slowed the van as we joined the queue heading into town. Clara kept her hand on my lap and craned her neck.

'Can't we drive through the town?' she said. 'And then find somewhere off the road?'

'What about seeing Bruno?'

'Isn't he working at his stall right now? He told me the Sunday market is his busiest day.'

'That's true.' I checked the dashboard clock. 'It'll be a couple of hours before he starts packing up.'

'Well, that's plenty of time!'

Clara gave my cock a squeeze.

'Come on, Mr Jones,' she said. 'I demand my conjugal rights!'

'Oh, you demand it, do you?'

'Yes! My panties are wet and I insist you do something about it.'

My cock stiffened at that. Clara smiled and her thumb began stroking my cockhead through the denim. I groaned and pulled her hand away.

'All right, you win,' I said. 'But once those panties come off, they stay off. Do you understand?'

'Yes, husband,' said Clara with a grin. 'Your wish is my command.'

***

It took twenty minutes of stopping and starting to get through Teguise, but once out on the other side, we had a fairly clear road. I drove through an increasingly barren landscape, heading towards the cliffs of Famara. At the foot of the cliffs was a remote beach popular with locals and expats, although I was more interested in the winding dirt tracks that led there. I passed the village and turned the van off the main road, keeping my eyes peeled for any large rocks that might fuck with my undercarriage. Clara sat up and looked around.

I spotted a dry-stone wall and what looked like a small utility hut, white and square with no windows and a single door. Tyre tracks led off the dirt road and I slowed right down as I followed them. We lurched left and right, the suspension creaking, as I carefully navigated the van to the side of the building. The property owner no doubt had a vehicle with four-wheel drive, but he wasn't here now and hopefully he never came on a Sunday.

I pulled the handbrake, turned off the engine and looked around. Apart from a couple of buildings in the distance, there was no sign of anyone. I took off my shades and looked at Clara. She removed her own sunglasses and smiled.

'So, how do you want me?' she said.

I showed her how to pull the passenger seat forward, and then push the backrest all the way back. The car seat was now almost horizontal. I pushed off my trainers with my feet and began unbuckling my belt. Meanwhile, Clara stripped off completely, including trainers and socks, in double quick time. I still had my polo shirt on when she laid herself back and beckoned me with her arms.

'Keep it on,' she said. 'I want to be naked for my husband.'

My cock sprang to attention. Even as I positioned myself on top of the young woman, I was marvelling at my body's responsiveness. This was so different from the first time I'd got engaged to be married. I had proposed to Lisa because I'd gotten her pregnant and it felt like the right thing to do, but it had never been sexy or arousing. In fact, I associated marriage so strongly with obligation that in order to maintain an erection during sex, I had to mentally pretend Lisa wasn't my wife.

But with Clara, it was totally different! The thought of being her husband was exciting and horny. As I slid my hands around her soft, warm body, I looked her in the eye and said: 'What's your name?'

'Mrs Jones,' she said, her eyes sparkling. 'Mrs Clara Samantha Jones.'

That made me rock solid and I slid my cock between her swollen vaginal lips. As it went all the way in, Clara cried out and her legs bent to press her feet against my bottom.

'Oh, Mr Jones... I love your cock!'

'I love your cunt.'

'Then take it! It's yours!'

Clara's hands found my neck and my back, sliding under the hem of my shirt. Her feet pressed close and her head nestled into the crook of my shoulder. Because of the cramped space, I began to fuck with small rutting motions. Her cunt was so wet, it let out a fart and Clara moaned in arousal.

'I'm yours, Mr Jones... all yours...'

My hands tightened their grip on her warm, soft flesh, but her cunt was hot and slippery. I felt my cockhead slide through her fleshy ridges and that telltale tingle began to intensify. My balls were getting coated by her flowing juices and the cool air on them made my cock further stiffen. I fucked faster and faster, getting closer and closer. I felt Clara ready herself, relaxing her lower body while her toes flexed against my buttocks. The thought that she was consciously preparing to receive my sperm in her pussy pushed me over the edge.

With a great cry, I pressed her tight to me and ejaculated into her. The feeling of semen pulsing through my cock into her body was exquisite, ecstatic, the best feeling in the world. It seemed almost unreal that only a few short hours ago, I had almost put this lovely girl on a plane. This moment alone made it worth all the trouble of changing that decision and even risking the Guardia. I grunted and jerked as I pumped the last drops of spunk into her.

We stayed like that for a time, gently breathing while coupled together. My balls were still slick from her juices and I consolidated my grip so I stayed good and deep inside her. I felt her fingertips move on my skin and I cleared my throat.

'Are you all right, Mrs Jones?'

I felt her laugh.

'What do you think?' she said.

'I think you enjoy having my cock inside your pussy.'

'You think right.'

I moved my head so that I could see her face. We looked at each other and I saw nothing but happiness in her expression. It suddenly struck me as absurd that there were people who would accuse me of using her because of her age. How is a man using a woman when he makes her this happy? Then Clara blinked rapidly and she frowned.

'What is it?' I said.

'I don't know,' she said. 'I know you've just cum, but it feels weird somehow.'

Her cunt still felt extremely wet, although my balls were starting to dry. I reached down with one hand, ran my fingertips over the slick base of my cock and brought my hand back up. Clara gave a gasp and I frowned. My fingertips were covered with pink fluid streaked with red.

It was blood.

***

When I was with Sigrid, one of the things she did like about me was how unfazed I was by her monthly periods. Apparently, her former husband would get freaked out by menstrual blood, even insisting that she keep her tampons and maxi-pads out of sight so he wouldn't be reminded of it. It was one of those things where I scored points with a woman just by not being her ex. If only the rest of the relationship had been that easy.

But now I found myself in a similar situation with Clara. The moment she saw my stained fingertips, she began to apologise over and over. I told her to stop, that she'd done nothing wrong, that this was perfectly normal, and she looked at me with an adoration that made me uncomfortable. Even when we were crouched outside between the van and the hut, cleaning ourselves with tissues and bottled water, she kept saying what a great guy I was. What kind of men - or boys - had she known that being pragmatic about a bit of blood made me 'a great guy'? I wanted to put her straight.

Unfortunately, we could hear the occasional car driving along the dirt road to the beach. After lunchtime, it would probably get even busier, so our priority was to get dressed and get out. Clara had tampons in her turquoise backpack and a change of underwear in her rucksack, so after ten minutes or so, we were both decent. Without wasting a further minute, I drove the van back down the dirt track until I reached the main road.

The landscape was the same on the way back to Teguise, but the atmosphere in the van was very different. We were back to wearing sunglasses like silent dummies, me focused on driving, Clara staring out of the passenger window. Finally, she broke the silence.

'This changes things, doesn't it?' she said.

'No, it doesn't.'

'Really?'

'Yes, really.'

Clara bowed her head. Then she reached over to put a hand on my leg. I gave her hand a squeeze, but then had to use my hand to change gears. She left her hand on my leg for a moment, then removed it to hug her stomach. I glanced over and saw her grimace.

'What is it?' I said.

'Cramps.'

'Do you want me to stop?'

'No, it's okay. But I'll need to use a bathroom when we get to Teguise.'

'No problem.'

I gave her leg a squeeze, returning her gesture, and she gave me a weak smile. I kept my eyes on the road, already calculating where to find a parking space and which café or tapas bar had the cleanest toilets. Rustic old buildings have their charms, but sitting bare-bottomed in a chilly room smelling of stale urine was not one of them.

The sun was high in the blue sky as we entered the narrow streets of Teguise. By this time, many of the visitors had gone and I found a space between two cars on a residential street. We were on the same side of town as Bruno's stall and we still had time to walk there and say hi. But my first priority was Clara.

As I locked the van and took her hand, I saw that I had been too hasty with my reassurances. Clara was right - her not being pregnant had changed something. I wasn't sure what, but we wouldn't be telling Bruno excitedly, 'We're getting married!' The wind had been taken out of our sails and we knew it.

Clara shook me out of my thoughts with a squeeze on my hand.

'Are you okay?' she said.

'I'm fine,' I said, giving her a smile from behind my shades. 'Come on, let's find somewhere nice where we can relax and you can use the bathroom.'

'Sounds like a plan.'

'It does, doesn't it?'

I gave her a one-armed hug and led her through town, over cobbled streets with immaculate white buildings against a blue sky and lots of green palms. Teguise was a beautiful place and I already had a café-restaurant in mind.

***

'Mio Dio!' cried Bruno. 'What a time you are having!'

The two of us were sitting at his favourite tapas bar in Punta Mujeres, our plastic chairs facing across the road to the open sea. The two-storey apartment Bruno rented was visible in the row of houses just down the road, and Clara was there having a lie down. She was feeling tired and unwell, so Bruno and I left her to rest under a blanket on top of his bed. We had walked here, bought a couple of beers, and then I told Bruno about the events of the past forty-eight hours. By the end, he was shaking his head in disbelief.

'No wonder that poor girl is exhausted,' he said. 'And she's only known you a week!'

'Less than a week, actually,' I said.

'My goodness! What's it going to be like in a year?'

I took a sip from my beer bottle and looked out to sea. The sun was still warm and the water foamed over the rocks and stones with a soft rushing sound.

'Bruno,' I said. 'Am I doing the right thing?'

'What "thing" are we talking about?'

'Marrying Clara? Trying to get her pregnant? I mean, however mature her behaviour, she is very young.'

'Yes, but old enough to make her own decisions. And if you were the same age as her, no-one would complain.'

'I'm not so sure about that.'

'Okay, they would complain about the marriage,' he conceded. 'But not about your age.'

'Yes, but my age is an issue. I have a marriage behind me, while Clara is right at the start of her adult life. Shouldn't I take that into account?'

'What does your conscience say?'

That made me stop and think. I crossed one leg over the other and looked down the road towards Bruno's house. I saw in my mind's eye Clara curled up on Bruno's bed, covered by a chequered, multi-coloured blanket. I frowned at the image.

'Whenever I ask the voice in my head,' I said, 'it tells me that my responsibility is to love her well and honour her trust in me.'

'Sounds good to me.'

'Yes, but what does it mean to love a woman well?'

'Aah...! Now that is the question!'

Bruno lifted the bottle in salute and took a drink. I shook my head in frustration.

'You know,' I said, 'when I thought Clara was pregnant, our relationship felt like a done deal. Age gap or not, I'm not leaving a woman who's carrying my baby. I didn't even have to think about it.'

'And now?'

'Now...?' I sighed. 'Now it feels like that whole can of worms has been opened up again. It felt so huge... making love to a woman without protection and knowing we were doing it. But now it feels like... like it was for nothing.'

Bruno made a coughing noise that I knew meant irritation.

'Only an Englishman can make love to a woman and then say, "It was for nothing"!'

'I didn't mean it like that.'

'It is never for nothing!' declared Bruno, waving his bottle in the air. 'It is the eternal dance of Man and Woman! The yin and the yang! The worship of the Goddess!'

'All right, Bruno... calm down.'

'How can I calm down?! You have this beautiful girl who is ready to risk everything to be with you... and you're sitting here wondering "Is this a good idea? Am I allowed to do this?" '

I felt my face burn. Bruno leaned across the table towards me, his hands stabbing the air as he talked.

'Jonat'on, this young woman chose you!' he said. 'This is not some girl you saw in a bar that you talked into going to bed with you! Clara came looking for you! And when she found you, she decided you were the man she wants to have children with! She has made that very clear!'

'Bruno, I know!'

'You may "know", but you do not appreciate!'

'What do you mean?'

Bruno put his beer bottle on the table and forced himself to calm down. He was making me feel like a slow student who was missing something obvious. Bruno took a deep breath and began.

'A wise man once said: Choose a woman who chooses you. Well... Clara has chosen you. But that doesn't complete the circle. You still have to say yes or no.'

'I have said yes!'

'Have you?' said Bruno. 'Because it sounds very much like you only said yes because you thought she was pregnant. And now you know she's not, you're saying things like: your relationship is no longer a "done deal"! And that: "the can of worms is open again"! And why do you ask, "Am I doing the right thing?" Isn't it too late for that?'

I sat back in my chair with a chill in my gut. I was beginning to see what Bruno was getting at. I wanted to say something in my defence, but my throat felt constricted and dry. It was Bruno who broke the silence.

'Do you know what I think is happening?' he said.

'Go ahead,' I mumbled.

'I think you were hoping Clara would "fall pregnant" so you wouldn't have to decide. You could then look her father in the eye and say: "I know it's wrong for a man like me to be with a woman half his age... but it's even more wrong to abandon a pregnant woman!" Who could argue with that?'

I swallowed, trying to get rid of a sour taste in my mouth. Bruno gave a sigh.

'But it seems like the gods have other ideas,' he said. 'So if you want this woman, Jonat'on, it looks like you will have to choose her too. You can no longer use the excuse that you "lost control in the heat of passion". This will be a conscious, cold-blooded decision. And I think you are afraid of that.'

***

Bruno's two-storey home had its bedroom and bathroom on the lower floor, while the upper floor was a single living space with a kitchen and balcony. So when Bruno and I returned, I went straight to the bedroom to check on Clara, while he went upstairs to start cooking supper.

The bedroom had a single small window covered by a blind, and it felt cool and gloomy after the bright sunshine outside. It was bigger than my own bedroom, but not by much. The double bed was pushed into the corner against two walls and, unlike my bare walls, Bruno's were covered with souvenirs of his travels - postcards, prints, raffia wall hangings, and illustrated tourist maps. Even the multi-coloured blanket was from Guatemala and beneath it lay my young woman, turned away from me on her side.

I sat on the bed near her bottom and reached over to brush hair from her eyes. She sighed at my touch and curled herself tighter, cocooning herself in the blanket. I leaned forwards and kissed her shoulder through the material, the rough wool tickling my nose. She groaned and spoke in a weary voice.

'What time is it?' she said.

'Nearly six,' I said. 'Bruno's upstairs making some dinner for this evening.'

'That's sweet of him. But I'm not sure I can eat much.'

'You're not well, are you?'

'It's just come on really heavy.'

'Heavier than you're used to?'

'Yes.'

Clara rolled onto her back, uncurling a little so she could look up at me. It may have been the darkness of the room, but there was grey around her eyes. She looked haunted.

'I think I might have been pregnant,' she said.

I nodded seriously. Clara pulled an arm free from the blanket and took my wrist.

'Jon,' she said. 'I am so sorry.'

'For fuck's sake...'

I kicked off my trainers and climbed onto the bed. I positioned myself to hug her with my body from outside the blanket, leaning over her face and brushing hair from her forehead.

'Clara, this isn't your fault.'

'Well... I know that intellectually. But still...'

'No! No buts! There is no "but"!'

I ran my fingers through her hair and moved my face closer to hers.

'We made love knowing what might happen,' I said. 'But what actually does happen is outside your control. Which means there is absolutely nothing for you to apologise for. Do you understand that?'

Clara smiled. She still looked tired, but no longer haunted.

'Thank you,' she said.

'There's no need for thanks. It's just reality.'

I settled myself next to her and continued to talk as I stroked her hair.

'You know, when Lisa found out she was pregnant,' I said, 'I went with her to the doctor.'

A thought struck me and my hand froze.

'You don't mind me talking about this, do you?' I said.

'No!' said Clara. 'I like it that you've been through this before! It's one of the perks of being with an older man.'

'I'm glad you see it that way.'

'I do see it that way!' Clara kept her gaze on me. 'Please... tell me what Lisa's doctor said.'

'Okay.'

I resumed stroking her hair.

'He asked if this was her first time being pregnant,' I said. 'Lisa asked why that was relevant and he said that first time pregnancies could be... delicate. A woman's body has to adjust for a healthy baby to grow and it's not unusual for there to be a kind of "trial run".'

'What, like a pregnancy that doesn't take?'

'Kind of. Well, Lisa remembered a pregnancy scare she had with her previous boyfriend. The story was that the condom had come off while they were having sex, and she had spent the next week or so in absolute terror. Then her period had come, but heavier than usual.'

'And she thought that might be the beginnings of a pregnancy?'

'Not at the time,' I said. 'But after we saw this doctor, she remembered the incident and wondered whether that heavy period was actually her body having a "trial run".'

Clara frowned as she pondered this. I gazed at the crinkle that appeared between her eyebrows, finding it utterly charming. I laid my head sideways on the bed and she turned her own head to face me. She was still wrapped up in the blanket and I moved my legs to give her space as we gazed into each other's eyes. I put my hand on her arm through the blanket and smiled.

'I love that I can talk about past relationships without you freaking out,' I said.

'That's because I know you love me,' she said.

'I do love you.'

'And also because, out of all the women you've been with, I know that you would choose me.'

I moved my hand to touch her face and looked right into her hazel eyes.

'You're damn right I would choose you,' I said. 'Out of all the women in the world, I choose you.'

Clara smiled. She took my hand and placed it over her mouth so she could kiss my palm. Then she pressed that palm against her cheek and looked into my eyes.

'After I get better,' she said, 'I want to keep trying.'

'I thought you might say that.'

'How about you?'

'Oh, I would love to get you pregnant,' I said. 'But for purely selfish reasons.'

'What reasons?'

'Pride. You are a very beautiful girl, my darling... and your pregnant belly would announce to the world that you had chosen me.'

'I can live with that.'

We exchanged a smile. Then a new thought occurred to me and I felt my expression freeze. It was not a happy thought. With Lisa or Sigrid, I would have instantly looked away in an attempt to hide my change of expression. Sometimes it worked, at other times it didn't. But did I really want to play that game with Clara? No, I didn't. So I took a deep breath, allowed my face to turn serious and saw Clara's face instantly respond.

'Uh-oh,' she said. 'What is it?'

'There is another reason,' I said. 'And it's just as selfish as the first.'

'I'm not going to like this one, am I?'

'I don't know.'

'Is it something Bruno said?'

I stared at her. Clara smiled.

'I'm starting to learn you, aren't I?' she said.

'Yes...' I said, not entirely sure if I liked it.

'Come on then... let's hear what he had to say.'

She moved her arm out of the blanket so she could take my hand. Her eyes never left my face and her hand gave a squeeze to let me know she was ready. I took a deep breath and began.

***

The local supermarkets were closed on Sundays, so Bruno had basically made a meal out of leftovers. Still, as he bought fresh tagliatelle rather than the dried stuff and authentic Italian pesto-and-tomato sauce, I wasn't complaining. The three of us sat at his small dining table, both balcony doors open to the sea and sky outside. There was also the revving of cars driving past on the street below and the occasional smell of diesel from a faulty exhaust, but it was worth it for the view. The sun was setting and the sky had turned orange, while inside we had a lamp on the table. It leant a sense of intimacy to the dinner.

As we ate, Bruno regaled us with tales of his exploits. He spoke of his home city of Rome, of his travels across South-East Asia, his time as a taxi driver in Australia, and his motorbike trip across South America. Clara listened in wide-eyed amazement, eating with more of an appetite than I had expected. When the meal was done, Bruno cleared away the plates and made a pot of coffee. It was now dark outside and the lights were attracting moths and mosquitos, so I reluctantly closed the balcony doors. As Bruno served the coffee, I saw Clara chewing her upper lip. She was steeling herself for something.

'Bruno...' she said, as he sat down. 'Can I ask your opinion on something?'

'You may ask anything, Clarita,' he said, pouring coffee into her small, china cup. 'But I don't guarantee a sensible answer.'

'Oh, I don't mind crazy.'

'Then fire away!'

Clara smiled uncertainly as she held the cup in both hands. She glanced at me, took a deep breath and asked her question.

'Do you think Jon and I are moving too fast?' she said.

'Oh, Clarita,' said Bruno, 'I am not a good person for this question.'

'But you've been married three times!'

'Yes, but you should ask someone with a successful marriage.'

Clara sat back and sighed.

'I'm not sure I know anyone like that,' she said.

'Your parents are still together, no?'

'Yeah, but I wouldn't call their marriage "successful".'

I interjected: 'Yes, but do you see it as a failure? I mean, they brought you and your brother up, didn't they?'

'Well, that's arguable,' said Clara. 'But I see your point. I suppose I can't regard it as a total failure.'

'And compared to them,' said Bruno, 'I am the king of failure!'

'I would still like to hear what you think,' said Clara.

She took a sip of coffee and looked at him earnestly. Bruno let out a dramatic sigh and threw his hand in the air.

'How can I resist those eyes?!' he said. 'It's impossible!'

Clara blushed and looked down. I shook my head and smiled as I looked at Bruno. How did he do it? He was never shy of telling Clara how beautiful she was and yet it never came across as flirting or disrespectful towards me. That's quite the balancing act. Meanwhile, Bruno took a mouthful of coffee and savoured it as he considered Clara's question. He gazed at the ceiling and nodded his head, like a philosopher agreeing with himself. He put his cup on the table and turned to face Clara.

'You ask if you are moving too fast...' he said, '... as though there is a correct speed. But what is the correct speed for a man and a woman to find each other? Does such a thing even exist?'

'Okay,' said Clara. 'Maybe I'm asking the wrong question.'

'Why do you say "wrong question"? A question is a question. Why do you label it "wrong"?'

'No... that's not what I mean...'

Clara's face scrunched up as she tried to organise her thoughts. I watched her through the corner of my eye, hiding my smile behind a sip of coffee. I loved Bruno, but he could go off on wild, philosophical tangents that got tiring if you didn't know him. Still, I was curious to see how Clara would handle him. She seemed to decide on what to say, and she leant on the table to face him.

'Look, here's what's going on,' she said. 'When Jon went to check on me earlier, he told me the two of you talked. And during that talk, you shared your opinion that maybe Jon wanted to get me pregnant so that he wouldn't have to own the decision of getting together with a younger woman. Is that the essence of what you said?'

Bruno paused before answering.

'It's close enough,' he said.

'Well, that got me thinking,' said Clara. 'You see, everyone I know is going to be against Jon and me getting married, (a) because of my age, and (b) because of Jon's age. But if I'm already pregnant, well... then it's a fait accompli. Marrying Jon would become a pragmatic decision rather than a... what would you call it?... an act of "teenage rebellion"?'

'I see,' said Bruno, looking into his empty coffee cup. 'And, um... how much of that is driving your desire to get pregnant?'

'I would like to say: not at all.' Clara looked at me nervously. 'But I'm not sure that would be a hundred percent true.'

I put my hand palm-up on the table. Clara took it gratefully, squeezing it and giving a great sigh of relief.

'Oh, my god!' she said. 'What an emotional rollercoaster this is!'

'Well...' I said. 'Didn't Shakespeare say something about true love never going smoothly?'

'I don't mind the bumps,' said Clara. 'It's the fragility that scares me!'

'What do you mean, fragility?'

Clara turned to face me, holding my hand in both of hers.

'Jon, if you had let me get on the plane and then during that flight, I have to go to the toilet and I start my period... I would have been crushed! Totally devastated!'

'I can imagine,' I said.

'But more than that,' she said, 'Suzie and Diya would have said it was a sign that maybe you and I weren't meant to be together... that maybe it was a holiday romance after all. And the thing is...' Clara swallowed, '... I can see myself believing that.'

She stared at my chin, both her hands holding tight to mine.

'I want to believe that our love is strong,' she said. 'That nothing can tear us apart. And yet it's clear to me that a simple thing, like whether or not you let me get on a plane... that that can change everything.'

***

There followed a deep discussion that evening on the nature of Love. Most of it was between Clara and Bruno, perhaps because they were sharing stories I had heard from each of them individually. But it was also good to see the process of two people I cared about deciding to trust each other and I didn't want to interfere. Plus, when it came to the subject of Love, I wasn't all that clear on what I believed myself.

Clara spoke of how happy endings in books like Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre made her feel that finding true love was somehow inevitable, even though the stories themselves had plenty of characters who didn't achieve that. She also accepted Bruno's point that if Jane Austen had written Pride and Prejudice 2 - the Marriage of the Darcys, it would probably have spoiled the illusion. 'Or delusion,' Bruno had said. They spoke of how many romantic ideas about Love turned out to be wrong, although Bruno went off on one of his poetic rants about life itself being a romantic delusion. By this time, we were sitting snug on the comfy living room furniture and I saw Clara stifle a yawn. That's when I realised how late it was getting.

It was past eleven o'clock when we said goodnight to Bruno and got into the van. Clara had put on a cardigan and she soon drifted off to sleep. I concentrated on night driving, switching the beam on to illuminate the dark road ahead and switching it off when I saw headlights coming the other way. But every now and then, I would steal a glance at the girl next to me, her head lolling to the side. Maybe it was the discussion on Love, but it hit me that this was the first relationship in my life where I was genuinely in love with the woman. It was a terrifying realisation.

I stared out at the road that stretched into the blackness, feeling like a man awakened from a dream. Whatever my feelings about my ex-wife now, I did believe that I had loved her in the past. Up until this moment, that is. But the more I drove, the more another picture began to emerge.

It was the picture of a young man who believed on some level that he was unlovable. None of the girls he fell in love with were the least bit interested in him. So when he met Lisa in his twenties and she wanted a relationship, he had thought 'Why not?' He liked her, he found her reasonably attractive, and regular sex was a vast improvement over no sex at all. After she moved in, it actually felt good to be living with a woman and so he told himself that he loved her. Besides, what kind of idiot lets his girlfriend move in if he doesn't love her? That would be pathetic.

But perhaps the biggest reason I believed I had loved Lisa was on account of the pain when she betrayed me. The cheating, the divorce, taking away my son - I'd been in so much pain that I tried to kill myself. It sent a chill through my body when I realised that, right at this very moment, I was doing what I had been doing on the night of my suicide attempt: driving along a road at night. And here's the thing... would I have gone through all that pain if - deep, deep down - I didn't love Lisa?

But now, more than ever, I wanted to live. My life was something that I was excited about. And the reason for that was in the seat next to me, her eyes closed in sleep, her arms hugging her tummy. I still wasn't sure I knew what Love was, and maybe a big part of my 'love' was based more on Clara's sexual attractiveness than I would like to admit. But as I drove the van out of the darkness and along the well-lit stretch of motorway towards home, I realised it didn't matter. What mattered was to give this relationship my very best shot in every situation... and to trust that this would be enough.

The motorway split into two lanes and I took the one that led straight into Puerto del Carmen. I found myself on the Avenida de las Playas, following the coastline under rows of white streetlamps. It was almost midnight and the only cars on the road were taxis, taking drunk tourists to hotels. I turned off at the corner near Bar Pablo and drove along the streets until I reached my apartment complex. I slowed the van, parked and turned off the engine. It was dark and there was no-one around. I sat in the darkness for a while, listening to the ticking of the engine as it cooled.

There was a groan from beside me. Clara straightened up and blinked like a mole coming up to the surface. She looked adorable.

'Are we home?' she said.

'Yes, Clara,' I said. 'We're home.'

***

We went to bed that night wearing T-shirts and underwear. Clara was still feeling unwell and I held her in my arms as we snuggled together, keeping warm under the duvet. It occurred to me that this was our first night after she was supposed to go home. Whatever this was, it was no longer a holiday romance. I was trying to find the words to mark the occasion, but I drifted off to sleep and lost them forever.

I awoke the next morning, bright and early. It was Monday - a workday. Clara had moved to her side of the bed and she was still fast, fast asleep. I slipped out of bed, changed into my swimming trunks and headed out to the pool.

I swam my lengths in battle mode, my arms churning the water, my mind impatient to get the swim out of the way. I was two lengths shy of my target when I heard the distant clank of a metal perimeter gate. I stopped and craned my neck, my heart pounding as I looked to see whether two officers of the Guardia Civil were walking towards my bungalow. But it was the Swedish guy from Number Two, carrying a bag of groceries. I finished my lengths and hauled myself out of the pool, drying myself off as I walked back.

I filled the coffee percolator, put it on the heat and then went into the bedroom. Clara was still asleep, so I picked out my clothes and took them to the living room to get dressed. When the coffee was ready, I poured myself a cup and then sat at my dining table with my bookkeeping stuff. As a freelance repairman, I had to keep track of my appointments and business expenses, but it also helped to write to do lists for my personal chores. I reached for my A4 spiral notebook, turned to a fresh page and, under the date, wrote: Clara: To Do.

It developed into quite a list.

The trip to England was a topic on its own. Questions came up like: Where were we going to stay? How long should we go for? And should we see my parents while we were there? Also, should I just assume I was paying for everything? I was happy to do so, but Clara would insist on paying for the occasional bit of shopping or lunch. It was a gesture I appreciated, but what was our policy now that we were a couple? The list ended with the items: Residence permit, Wedding, and Baby.

I gave a humourless grunt. Each of those last topics could fill a page on their own. I was beginning to see the enormity of the changes Clara was bringing into my life. But as I sighed and looked out the window, I heard the bedroom door open.

Clara stood in the hallway like a lost soul, still in her bedtime T-shirt, her hair bedraggled. My first impulse was to tell her to go back to bed. I went over to her and gave her a hug, and she sank into my arms. She had been sweating during the night and her hair smelt a little musty. But I didn't care; I loved her smell. I kissed the top of her head and gave her a squeeze.

'Good morning, my darling,' I said.

'Hello...'

'How are you feeling?'

'Oh... I've been better.' She wrapped her arms tighter around me. 'But I'm really happy to be here.'

'I'm happy you're here too.'

I gave her a kiss on the lips and looked into her eyes.

'Fancy a coffee?' I said.

'I'd love one.'

'Okay, go sit yourself down.'

Clara went to the dining table and sat on the chair across from my seat. As I poured her a coffee and collected creamer and a teaspoon, she tilted her head as she read my list upside-down. I placed the cup before her and resumed my seat. Clara took a sip and brushed a stray hair from her face. She was avoiding my gaze.

'Something wrong?' I said.

'No.'

'Clara, I can hear it in your voice. What is it?'

Clara frowned, her shoulders hunched as she held her cup. Then she looked up at me, her pointed nose and chin giving her face a pinched expression.

'Look, I know I'm not feeling well,' she said, 'but that doesn't mean I'm not prepared to do my share of the work.'

'What?'

'I want to be your partner, Jon! Someone you can count on! Not someone who has to be looked after!'

'What makes you think I don't want that too?'

'You've got me written down as a list of fucking chores!'

'Clara... I'm just trying to get my head around what needs to be done.'

'Well, isn't that something we should do together?'

'Of course! I just wanted to make a start.'

'But why would you start planning our life without me?'

'I wasn't! For God's sake, it's just a list!'

'Yes, but it's a list with my name on it! Like I'm in the same category as "Laundry" or "Shopping"!'

I picked up my pen, clicked it and scribbled out her name.

'Is that better?' I said.

Clara bit her lip as she looked down at the page.

'Yes, it is, actually,' she said.

'Anything else you'd like scrubbed out?'

'I don't like that you wrote down "wedding" and "baby" without me.'

'How about "residence permit"?'

'No, that one doesn't bother me.'

I scribbled out the offending words and then gave Clara a look that said, 'Anything else?' I saw tears spring into her eyes and she covered them with her hand.

'Oh, Jon, I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm being silly, aren't I?'

'No, not silly. Sensitive, perhaps.'

'I feel like such a cliché.'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, you know... that women get emotional at "that time of the month"?'

I got up and went around the table. Pulling out the chair next to hers, I sat down and gave Clara a hug. She leaned into me with a sigh, her hand finding my wrist. I put my cheek against her hair.

'Listen, my darling,' I said. 'If I ever say something crass about your period, you have my permission to kick me in the balls.'

'I'm not doing that,' said Clara. 'I like your balls.'

'I'm glad to hear it.'

'I might kick you in the head, though.'

'Oh... okay.'

I felt Clara chuckle as she snuggled into my embrace. I hugged her close, feeling her body against mine. I was just contemplating how much I loved this girl's presence in my life, when I saw a movement from outside.

Through the glass pane next to my sliding front door, I saw a large bull of a man in polo shirt and cargo shorts marching along my short pathway in plastic sandals. With his short-cropped hair and tattoos, plus the way his big, muscular arms were hooked downwards as he walked, he put me in mind of a wrestler on his day off. He caught sight of me holding Clara through the glass and stopped dead, his face and neck turning an alarming shade of red. I hadn't seen this man for two years and yet I recognised him instantly.

It was Clara's father.

***

From the moment I decided to be with Clara, I knew that sooner or later I would have to face this man. I had mentally rehearsed a dozen scenarios and, to be honest, I thought I was halfway ready with my arguments. But as I stared at this thuggish looking figure through the glass, the tendons in his neck standing out like metal rods in a Terminator, I realised that I'd been kidding myself. I even found myself wishing it was the Guardia Civil.

'Clara,' I said in a quiet voice. 'Your father is standing outside the door.'

Her body gave a jolt, as though a thousand volts had been put through her. She let go of me and sat up, staring at the man behind the glass. Their gazes locked, frozen in intense emotion and disbelief. Then Clara's father lifted a meaty hand and jerked a finger towards the handle of the sliding door. Fortunately, he didn't yet realise it was unlocked. Then I swore at myself. 'Come on, Jon,' said the inner voice. 'The reason you made such an impression on Clara in the first place was because of how you handled her father. Don't screw it up now.'

I pushed myself to my feet.

'No!' cried Clara, also jumping up. 'I'll do it!'

'Clara, this is my house,' I said. 'And it's up to me to face the music.'

I moved to the door before she could argue and slid it open without thinking. Best to get it over with. Half expecting a fist headed to my face, I straightened my back and looked the other man in the eye. I was taller than him - not that it would help. If it came to a fight, I wouldn't put money on myself.

'Please,' I said. 'Come in.'

I stepped back to let him in, trying to move as calmly as possible. I felt sick in my throat and my heart was hammering, but I stood my ground as Clara's father walked into my living room. He gave me a look, as though wanting to tear my throat out, and then he moved past. He picked a spot where he could face both of us and he stood with his feet firmly planted. I slid the front door closed and leaned against the doorway pillar between my kitchen and living room. It felt like I'd let a wild animal into the house.

Clara looked vulnerable in her T-shirt and bare legs, but she folded her arms and looked up at her father.

'So, Dad...' she said. 'You're here.'

'Yeah...'

It was like the whispered growl of a bear. I forced myself to look at the man's face; to at least act like a man who wasn't afraid for his life.

'Didn't you get my message?' said Clara.

'Oh, I got your message, all right,' said her father. 'How you were going to fly back next week with your new boyfriend.'

He turned to face me and pointed a thick finger in my direction.

'You should be fucking ashamed of yourself!' he roared.

'Dad! Keep your voice down!'

'I'll shout if I fucking want!'

I pushed myself away from the wall and stood upright.

'Mr Gladwell,' I said firmly. 'You seem to forget that you're a guest in my house.'

'Oh, you want to make something of it, do you?'

'Dad!'

He took a step towards me. Clara, bless her, jumped in front of him. He hesitated, clearly torn between pushing her out of the way and not wanting to manhandle her. And, in that moment, I realised something.

'Clara, don't do it,' I said.

'What?'

'Don't get in your father's way. If he wants to beat me up, let him.'

That took both of them by surprise. Clara turned and stared at me, hands on her hips. Her father stood behind her, also staring at me nonplussed. For the first time, I noticed that he had the same colour eyes as his daughter.

'What's your game?' he said.

'I'm gambling that you're a fair man, in spite of the situation,' I said. 'That you're a man who knows the difference between someone taking advantage of your daughter... and someone who's in love with her.'

Clara's expression softened, while her father's face darkened. I looked him in the eye.

'I'm in love with Clara,' I said. 'And she's told me she's in love with me.'

'I am in love with you,' said Clara.

'You don't fucking know what love is!' shouted her father.

'Oh, like you're the big expert!' she shouted back.

'All right...!' I said, loudly but firmly. 'I don't think anyone here can claim to be an expert! Certainly not me. It's been a pretty confusing week.'

I looked at Clara, then back to her father.

'But, sir,' I said. 'I need to know whether you think I've mistreated your daughter in some way. That I've somehow manipulated her into this. Because if I am guilty of that, I deserve whatever punishment you have in store for me.'

I looked the man in the eye. He glared back, but it was a different glare to before. The animal rage was gone and in its place something much colder. Clara stepped away and turned to confront him. His face changed when he looked at her, becoming tense and pale.

'Is that what you think, Dad?' she said. 'That Jon has somehow bent me to his will? That I have no mind of my own?'

Her father's chest was heaving, his nostrils flaring as his lungs pushed the air in and out. His teeth clenched as he forced himself not to speak. Clara folded her arms and tilted her head as she looked at him.

'Go on, Dad... say it,' she said. 'I know you're thinking it.'

The man seemed huge before the girl, like a bear in front of a fawn. Yet somehow, the fawn seemed the more dangerous of the two. I watched as father and daughter stared at each other in what seemed like the latest iteration of a hundred past battles. Clara took a step towards him.

'Oh, come on, Frank,' she wheedled. 'We both know what you want to say.'

'Don't push it, young--'

He stopped himself, but it was too late. Clara picked it up.

' "Young lady"?' she said. 'As in "Don't do that, young lady, or there'll be no ice cream for afters"?'

'Clara...'

'I'm not a child anymore!'

'Well...'

That 'well' was his undoing. I knew it the moment he said it. Clara's hands bunched into fists and even her hair seemed to crackle with rage. She stretched herself to her full height and looked her father right in the eye.

'I'm having Jon's baby!' she declared. 'And you're too late to do anything about it!'

I stared at her, wanting to shout, 'Clara! What the fuck?' But the damage was done. Her father's face went white and he looked like he might explode. I sat down on a chair at the dining table, too stunned to say anything.

My sitting down proved to be the last straw. Clara's father barrelled towards the sliding door and pulled it open so hard, I thought he'd drag it off its runners. He marched out and down the path, his plastic sandals squeaking with every step, diminishing in volume as he disappeared from view. And as I stared at the empty path outside, I realised with surprise that I felt sorry for him.

***

It was like the quiet after the storm. A warm breeze came in through the open doorway and I could hear my own breathing. Looking around the room, with its white walls and sturdy rented furniture, it seemed beautiful somehow, as though I were seeing it anew following a near-death experience. Part of me was surprised to be still in one piece, but another part was re-examining my opinion of Clara's father.

Why hadn't he gone for me? I was the perfect target for his rage. Sure, I had gambled on him being a fair man at heart, but I would never have risked pushing him to his limits. I turned my attention to Clara.

From where I sat, she stood sideways on, her pointy nose clearer in profile. She was staring through the windows while hugging herself, her expression difficult to read. I wondered if she was looking through the gaps between the huge leaves of the bottle palms in my front yard, trying to catch a glimpse of her father. Actually, I was wondering about a lot of things.

'Clara,' I said. 'Why did you lie to him?'

'I didn't.'

'You told him you were pregnant.'

'No, I told him that I was having your baby and that he couldn't stop me.' She turned her head to look at me. 'The only one who can do that is you.'

'Don't play games, Clara. You know damn well your father now thinks you're pregnant.'

'He jumped to that conclusion. I never once used the word "pregnant". But that's my dad. He never listens.'

She gave a small shrug and went back to gazing out of the windows. I sat back, crossed one leg over the other and regarded her the way a teacher might regard a student who had just denied cheating in a test. Clara felt my gaze and grew restive. Her arms went downwards to hug her stomach.

'Shit...' she said.

'Still feeling unwell?'

'It's called a period, Jon!'

'Okay...'

'I have to go to the bathroom.'

'Then go.'

She glowered at me, as though hearing sarcasm in my tone. Or maybe it was my deliberate lack of identifiable tone that irked her. Whatever it was, she decided that now was not the time to argue and walked swiftly out of the room. From my seat by the dining table, I could see through my kitchen to the bathroom door and there was one flash of eye contact between us as she opened it. Then she went in, closed the door, and I was alone.

I exhaled and looked around the empty living room. I knew this space so well that I could walk around blindfold, and yet now it felt different somehow - like an empty theatre set in the interval. I sat and pondered Clara's recent behaviour, and my dominant feeling was... relief.

Relief at what?

Certainly not with the present situation. Clara had started a war with her father, and I wasn't sure why. There was clearly a lot going on in that family. I also didn't like the way she had denied lying to him. Okay, technically she hadn't said anything untrue. But to be honest, I have more respect for people who take the risk to outright lie than those who build plausible deniability into their pronouncements. I remembered her mother's phrase 'weasel words' and began to see that Clara had a shadow side I would be wise not to ignore.

So why was I so relieved? I sat and thought and when the answer came, I laughed out loud. It was so simple.

I was relieved because Clara wasn't Lisa.

Nor was she Sigrid nor any of the women I had ever been involved with. All those women took the position that because they were women, they understood what made a relationship work better than I did. I was a man, which meant I was emotionally immature, especially in comparison to them. And what was really sneaky was that I used to believe it myself. If I did something and a woman said, 'You can't do that in a relationship', I would feel bad and apologise. Even after the divorce, I still found myself following the unwritten rule that a woman understands relationships better than a man.

But Clara was not like that. Maybe partly because of her youth, she looked up to me as a man with some experience of life and didn't take for granted the idea that she knew more about relationships than me because she was a woman. If I were to sit her down and say, 'Clara, we need to talk about the way you handled your father', I knew she would do it. She would listen to me with respect, even if she disagreed. I began to see that there was a massive difference between a woman who makes a show of respect and the genuine article.

I looked over at the bathroom door. Clara had been in there for some time. I got to my feet and walked up to it, lifted a knuckle and gave a quiet tap-tap.

'What is it?' said a tired voice.

'Are you okay?' I said.

'Not really.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

I frowned as I wondered what to do. The voice spoke again.

'You can come in if you like.'

I opened my mouth to say that I didn't want to intrude, then closed it again. I opened the door and went in.

Any thought that Clara might be getting some sort of kick out of letting me see her sitting on the toilet was dispelled the moment I saw her. Her T-shirt was pulled up around her ribs so as not to soil it and she was leaning forward, her head in one hand. Her face looked pale and drawn, and her hair hung in strings. I went down on one knee and put an arm around her shoulders.

'Oh, my poor baby,' I said. 'You are really going through the mill.'

I rested my cheek against her cheek, while doing my best to give her the space she needed. I felt dampness on my face and realised that she had been crying. She must have done it silently, because I'd heard nothing from the living room and I felt terrible about that. I rubbed her back with the palm of my hand.

'Are you in pain?' I said.

'A little,' she said. 'But that's not why I'm crying.'

She moved her head so she could look me in the face.

'Oh, Jon! I'm so ashamed!'

'Hey...'

'No, please.' She took my wrist with a cold hand. 'Let me apologise.'

The automatic response of 'You don't need to do that' almost came through my mouth and I had to bite down on it. There is a time to be generous with a woman, but now was not it.

'Sure,' I said gently. 'Go ahead.'

Clara took a deep breath.

'You were right,' she said. 'I knew what I was doing with my dad. I wanted to provoke him.'

The words came out and she winced.

'No,' she said and a tear rolled down her face. 'It wasn't just to provoke. I wanted to hurt him.'

The tears flowed freely, and she leaned her head into the curve of my neck and shoulder.

'Oh, Jon...' she said mournfully. 'What am I doing? Do I really want to have a baby? Or do I hate my parents so much that I'm doing it to hurt them?'

'You may be angry with your parents, but I don't think you hate them.'

'Okay, maybe not,' she said. 'But nor do I respect them.'

Clara moved her head back and her mouth was twisted in a look of self-disgust.

'There, I've said it,' she whispered. 'I don't respect my parents. My mum is forty-two, but she acts like a twelve-year-old when her feelings are hurt... which is like all the time. As for my dad, he has this picture in his head of who I am... and that's all I am to him. He doesn't even see me!'

Clara rested her head back against me.

'I'm sorry about this, Jon.'

'What, for having issues with your parents?' I said. 'Join the club.'

'Yes, but... I don't want it to be the reason I marry you. I want to be your wife because I love you and see a future with you. Not because I'm so sick and tired of life in England that I want to get married so I can get the fuck out.'

I was half holding Clara as she sat on the toilet and wished that I could take her in my arms.

'I know exactly what you mean,' I said. 'Ever since you came into my life, you have utterly transformed it. I look forward to waking up in the morning in a way I have never experienced before.'

'Oh, my darling...'

'But what if that's the reason I want to keep you?' I said, looking her in the eye. 'Not because I love you, but because I don't want to go back to the grey, meaningless life I had before I met you?'

'But isn't that what love is?' said Clara. 'I mean, I love knowing that your life is better with me than without me! And this feeling that life suddenly has meaning...? That's exactly what I feel with you! All the plans I had of going to university and having a career seem meaningless compared to the thought of life with you!'

My heart ached with happiness when I heard that. I rested my forehead against her forehead and felt the sweet pressure between us. A couple of tears clung to my eyelashes for a second, then dropped onto the floor.

'Have you any idea,' I said, 'how I have longed to hear a woman say that? To feel that I'm actually a good thing in her life?'

'But of course you are!'

'No...' I said. 'There's no "of course" about it. Every woman in my life has made me feel that our relationship was some sort of impediment to her happiness. That if only I were more like this or less like that, then she would be happy.'

'Well...' said Clara. 'I'm not those women.'

'No,' I said. 'You're not.'

I moved my head to look at her. Despite her pallor and the greyness around her eyes, Clara's expression sparkled with love. It seemed insane to even contemplate life without her. What possible reason could justify turning away the kind of love I could see in her eyes? It was unthinkable. I leaned in to kiss her.

'Hello-o-o!' called a man's voice. 'Anybody home?'

It was the rough, market trader voice of Clara's father. He was back. Clara groaned and leant her head on my shoulder. I put my hands over her ears to protect her eardrums.

'Just a second!' I called out.

Clara laughed ruefully.

'He probably thinks we're shagging,' she said.

'Oh, lovely.'

Clara moved back, looking down at her bare legs and the soiled knickers on the floor.

'Christ...' she said.

'It's okay,' I said. 'I'll go talk to him.'

'I'm sorry to do this to you.'

'It's fine.' Then I frowned. 'But I am going to put him straight on the whole pregnancy thing.'

'Jon... I trust you. Do whatever you think is right.'

I took her cheek in my hand and kissed her on the lips. Then I pushed myself upright and reached for the door handle.

***

The sight of Clara's father standing before my glass door was very different the second time around. For a start, the fear level was way down. Clara's angry pronouncement had left no doubt that I had shot my beans into his little girl's honeypot, and yet he had left off beating me to a pulp. That was a good sign. But also, unlike his former aggressive stare, he now seemed reluctant to look me in the eye. That too was a sign that something had changed. I slid open the front door and looked at him.

'Hi,' I said flatly.

The man gave a curt nod and looked through the kitchen window into the apartment.

'Clara not talking to me?' he said.

'She's in the bathroom,' I said. 'Actually, she's not feeling well.'

'I thought she looked a bit peaky.'

'Yeah...'

'What's wrong with her?'

'She's having her period.'

The relief seemed to hit Clara's father like a wooden club to the head. He took a step backwards, his hand seeking something to steady himself on. There were two white plastic chairs and a table on the tiled area before the front door and his hand found the back of one. He pulled it out and was about to sit down when he froze.

'D'you mind?' he said.

'Of course not,' I responded.

The big man sat and the chair's plastic legs visibly flexed. But they held firm as he leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

'That girl!' he said. 'She'll give me a fucking heart attack one of these days!'

I stood and watched him, wondering what to do next. His asking permission was another good sign - clearly my earlier remark about him being a guest in my home had not fallen on deaf ears. Still, I didn't want to take things for granted.

'You know,' I said. 'Under normal circumstances, I'd offer you a beer.'

'What's fucking normal about this?'

'True. I have to warn you though - it's not British beer.'

'Does it have alcohol in it?'

'Yes.'

'Then that'll do me.'

I smiled and withdrew, leaving the sliding door open. I went to the fridge, took out two cold ones and opened them. I stepped over to the bathroom door to give Clara a quick update, but I changed my mind when I heard the shower running. So instead, I took the bottles and went back outside.

Clara's father accepted a beer and guzzled half of it down in one go. I slid the door to leave it open a crack, then went to sit on the other plastic chair. I took a long sip of beer and looked down the path at my view of the pool area.

'Clara's in the shower,' I said. 'But I think she'll join us afterwards.'

Her father gave a grunt and took another swig. His beer was almost finished. He looked at his surroundings - at my bungalow, the patio, the plant beds and palms.

'Is this place yours?' he asked.

'No, it's a rental.'

'How much do you pay for it?'

I told him and conversation continued in this vein. He asked about housing and house prices, about my work and Lanzarote's work situation in general. He even asked about the weather. It's a cliché that the British like to talk about the weather, but it's a cliché for a reason.

After a quarter of an hour, Clara came out to join us. She was dressed in jeans and wore a cardigan over her top. I fetched one of the wooden dining room chairs for her to sit on, made some tea, and then the three of us continued talking. It was all surprisingly civilised, especially compared to the earlier blow-up.

But part of the reason for this was our avoidance of controversial topics. In fact, anyone stumbling across the three of us would have been hard pushed to guess that Clara and I were an item. I had seated her across the table from me, so that her father sat between us like a chaperone. And although I wanted to address more relevant topics than football scores and Spanish supermarket prices, I had the distinct feeling that neither Clara nor her father had the stomach for another fight. Besides, he was flying back on Thursday, so we had three days to have a serious talk. No point in rushing things.

After two cups of tea, my flip-phone rang. One of my elderly expat clients had tried to fix her own hot water heater and flooded her kitchen. There was an awful mess and could I come? I was glad for the excuse and Clara's father seemed equally glad to see me go. I gathered my toolbox, gave Clara a careful kiss on the cheek and left them to it.

***

I spent that morning grappling with dust-crusted pipes and rusty valves. To be honest, it was a relief. Much as I loved Clara, this morning had been like surviving an emotional earthquake and dealing with a practical, hands-on problem was almost fun. I managed to fix the heater and I even helped the lady to clean up her kitchen. It reminded me that I had a business to run and that if Clara and I were going to start a family, it needed to be a successful business.

I had lunch at a nearby tapas bar and, as if the Universe had planned it, my phone rang again with another emergency. This time it was my German friend at La Casa del Schnitzel where I'd taken Clara for our first dinner. One of his fridges had broken down just after he'd had a big meat delivery. I drove there while making a mental note to either get my landline reconnected or get Clara her own mobile phone. I didn't like her not knowing where I was.

It was late afternoon when I got home. Walking up the short path to my door, the first thing I saw was a chunk of lava rock on my white patio table, placed onto a folded sheet torn from my spiral notebook. It was a note from Clara. I put down my toolbox and opened it.

'My darling Jon,

I've gone with Dad to his resort. He's staying at Aparthotel Los Flamencos, apartment 26. I wish I could say that you're welcome to join us, but it's probably better if you don't. Me and Dad have a lot to talk about and (unless we get into a fight!) I'll be having dinner with him this evening.

I won't lie to you. He's going to try and talk me into going back to England with him. Dad is NOT a happy camper! But since he's come all this way, I feel I owe it to him to at least hear him out. I'm always complaining that he doesn't listen, so I should practice what I preach.

But I promise you, Jon, there is nothing that will change my mind. You're stuck with me! I love you and I want you and I can't wait for these period pains to be over so we can make love again! I am SO happy I missed that plane!

All my love,

Your Clara xxx'

I felt my heart sigh at the word 'your'. I know it's 'not done' to want to possess a woman, but it felt bloody good all the same. Even so, after I went inside and stored the letter carefully in the back of my notebook, I couldn't relax until I checked that her rucksack and clothes were still in the bungalow.

'Come on, Jon,' I said to myself. 'Pull yourself together!'

I stashed my tools, cleaned myself up and went out for a walk. I wandered down to the seafront, crossed the main road to the beach and took off my trainers to walk barefoot on the sand. The sun was low in the sky, but still warm enough for sunbathers and kids playing in the surf. The tide was going out and I walked along the sand that was wet and firm, heading in the direction of Matagorda. The salt wind blew in my face and I looked out at the beautiful blue ocean. Life was good.

So why did I feel so uneasy?

It bothered me that Clara wrote down where her father was staying, then told me not to come. I could understand someone wanting private time, but then why tell me where you were? Did she secretly want me to show up anyway? Or was this a test to see whether I trusted her?

I sighed as I walked along the sand. I could drive myself mad with this constant thinking, thinking, thinking. I tied my trainers together by the laces, then walked with my hands in my pockets, shoes dangling over one wrist. I tried to relax, but my mind wouldn't leave me alone.

'Don't you think her father came around a bit easily?' it said. 'If Clara were your daughter, would you be having a beer with the man who was fucking her? And why come all the way to Lanzarote after she left a specific message that she'd be flying back to England?'

'He was probably worried about her,' I said to myself.

'If he was so worried, why didn't he come round last night as soon as his flight landed?' said the inner voice. 'But no, he went to his hotel, spent the night there and came round in the morning. Are those the actions of a father who's afraid for his daughter's life?'

I sighed and wandered towards the sea. The movement of the tide brought clear seawater washing over my bare feet. It felt cool and pleasant, unlike the roiling in my stomach and the heat in my brain. I looked around and recognised the area of beach where I'd taken Clara a couple of days ago. Was I in danger of losing her? She said in her letter that her father could never talk her into leaving me, but was that true?

I knew I trusted Clara to do her best. But I was also working on the assumption that she was smarter than her father. But was that assumption justified? Just because Clara was well-spoken and her father talked like a London docker, that didn't mean he wasn't smart. The man had run a pub for several years and made enough to provide for a family of four. That was a sign of intelligence right there. Plus, he certainly knew that trying to force his daughter away from me would have the opposite effect. I witnessed that little dance of theirs, where he knew what not to say and Clara managed to provoke him into saying it. But it would be foolish to assume she won every battle.

I stopped walking and turned to face the sun. The seawater rushed over my feet and then sucked at the sand beneath them as it receded. I looked at the great blue expanse of sea and sky and found myself wondering about the existence of God. Did God exist? And if He did, what would He say about my current situation? As if in response, a thought appeared in my mind.

'See... what is.'

I frowned.

'What does that mean?' I mumbled.

'Clara has made the claim that she is a grown woman,' said the inner voice. 'That, in spite of her young age, she is ready to be partner to a man and to take on the responsibilities of a mother. That claim is either true or false.'

'Okay...' I said. 'Which is it?'

'That is for you to determine. Some souls are ready to take their lives into their own hands at a young age. Other souls just think they are ready. Your responsibility with Clara is to determine which.'

'And how do I do that?'

'By letting go your desire to possess her and to concentrate on seeing what is.'

I realised that I was holding my breath. I gave a deep exhale and felt the seawater rush over my feet and ankles. I also felt the sun's heat on my face. Then I realised that the tension in my stomach had gone and my brain no longer felt heated.

Things were suddenly clear.

If Clara wasn't ready, then she wasn't ready. And whether or not she agreed, my responsibility was to honour the truth. You can't force someone to be emotionally mature. And if that were the case, I would be able to let her go, knowing it was the right thing to do.

On the other hand, if Clara was correct in her assertion that she was ready, despite the entire world saying that a woman of her age wasn't even capable of such an assertion... then my responsibility was to honour her competence and say 'Fuck you' to the world. Sure, there would be a price to pay, but I was willing to pay it.

It was all so simple. I wiggled my toes in the sand and looked up at the sun.

'That makes total sense,' I said. 'Thanks!'

A young couple jogging past turned their heads to stare at me. 'Fuck,' I thought as I gave them a rueful smile. Neither of them smiled back and they picked up the pace, leaving tracks in the wet sand as they ran off. I watched them go, then turned back to the blue expanse. I listened for the inner voice, but there was no further information. With a deep sigh of relief, I turned around and began to walk home.

***

I had a quiet evening at home. I had dinner alone and then retired to my workshop. It was equipped with a good-sized workbench and a couple of angle-poise lamps, so I sat before it on my swivel chair going through my collection of refrigerator parts. My friend at La Casa del Schnitzel had bought German fridges and transported them to Lanzarote at great expense, so he was not happy that one of them was on the blink. I had managed a temporary fix, but he needed to replace his evaporator coil and getting that sent over from Germany was going to be expensive. He would probably have to bite the bullet, but I was curious to see what it would take to adapt a Spanish-made component for the job. I liked a challenge and besides... what else was I doing this evening?

It was past nine o'clock when I heard the roll of the sliding front door from the living room. A moment later, I heard Clara's voice call my name.

'In here,' I said.

The door opened and Clara came in. She was dressed in an attractive but also wholesome looking skirt and blouse combination, and her face had more colour than this morning. I gave her a smile and went back to peering at a technical manual, comparing the illustration to the metal grille on the workbench. Clara came up behind me and slid her arms down over my shoulders.

'You busy?' she said.

'Hmm?' I said, pretending to be absorbed by my evaporator coil.

I felt Clara chuckle and she kissed the back of my neck. One... two... three kisses. Then I felt her teeth and her warm tongue on my skin.

'Okay...' I said, smiling.

I swivelled my chair around and invited her to sit on my lap. She accepted the invitation, her bottom lovely and firm on my thighs. She made herself comfortable and then kissed me on the mouth. We French-kissed for a while, our tongues enjoying each other's company. Then she sighed and snuggled into me, her head against mine. I held her close and stroked circles on her thigh with my thumb.

'How are you?' I said.

'I'm good.' I felt her frown and then nod. 'Yes... I'm good.'

I gave her leg a little squeeze.

'And, um...' I began. 'How's your father?'

'He'll live.'

'Oh. That bad, is it?'

'Well... yes and no.'

Clara sat up and looked at me.

'He walked me home just now,' she said. 'And I asked him to come in and say hi. Hope you don't mind.'

'Of course not.'

That earned me another kiss.

'Anyway,' she went on. 'I turned to him and said: "Look, Dad... I know you're not afraid of Jon. And I know you don't hate him." '

'Are you sure about that?' I said.

'Absolutely,' said Clara. 'He hates what you represent. He hates that I've fallen in love with someone he considers should be out of bounds. But you as a person? I think he has a grudging respect for you. And he hates himself for that too.'

'Oh, man...'

I leant back in the chair and let out a long sigh. Clara smiled and used her fingertips to adjust my hair to the way she liked it.

'But as I was saying,' she went on. 'I asked him why he wouldn't come in. And he thought about it and said: "I'm not ready". And I was about to say "Not ready for what?" when I realised I already knew.'

Clara sat up and looked at me, her weight pressing into my lap. Her hazel eyes were earnest, her expression serious.

'My dad honestly thinks that I'm making a big mistake,' she said. 'He honestly believes this. At the same time, he sees that I believe the opposite. And if there is one thing that I managed to get through his stubborn, thick skull, it's that I really, really want to be with you.'

I felt myself melt. Clara must have seen it because she averted her gaze, as though not wanting to get distracted.

'It's not that I don't see the risks,' she said. 'But I'm in a position where I have to choose between a possibility and a certainty.'

'What do you mean?'

'If you and I get married,' she said, 'I think we would make each other very happy. But it's possible that we won't. There are a thousand things that can go wrong in a relationship. So, much as I would love to believe that you and I are unbreakable... it's possible that we're not.'

She looked at me, a little nervously. But I kept my warm palm on her leg and allowed the warmth that I felt to show in my face.

'So, if I understand correctly,' I said. 'You're saying that we might not be as smart as we think we are?'

'Yes, basically.'

'Okay.' I stroked her leg. 'So what's the certainty?'

Clara's face turned serious.

'That if I leave you and fly back to England with my dad,' she said, 'I know for certain that every man I meet after that, I will compare to you. And even if I go to university and have a career, whatever that ends up looking like, some part of me will always be hunting for what I already have right now!'

Clara leaned an elbow on my workbench and shook her head.

'I'm sorry, Jon,' she said. 'But I've heard too many stories from too many women who have walked away from love because the timing wasn't right. And they tell themselves that another man just as good will come along... and then it doesn't happen.'

She looked at me and there was determination in her eyes.

'I don't want to be that woman,' she said. 'And I'd rather take my chances with you than spend my life worrying that I'll become her. Does that make sense?'

'Yes,' I said. 'It makes perfect sense.'

'Good.'

Her mouth tightened and she looked away, her gaze fixed on my shelves of technical manuals.

'Do you know who else this makes sense to?' she said.

I felt sad at the note of bitterness in her voice.

'Your father?' I said.

'Yeah...' said Clara. 'My father. Under all his bluster and bullying, he understands perfectly well the position I'm in. That whether he likes it or not... and even whether I like it or not... I have to make a choice. I have to turn left or turn right.'

A tear ran down her cheek and she rubbed at it angrily.

'But he refuses to see it,' she said. 'Because to see that is to see that meeting you has pushed me into that situation... and that I'm actually ready for it. Against all evidence to the contrary, I'm actually ready for it.'

She turned her head to look at me.

'And he cannot bring himself to admit it,' she said.

***

We decided to have an early night. Because Clara was still having menstrual cramps, it was clear there would be no sex. To me that was a no-brainer, but Clara persisted in feeling guilty and I wasn't sure what to do about it. How do you talk a woman out of a feeling that she herself knows is unwarranted?

We brushed our teeth, washed ourselves and got ready for bed. Clara wore a T-shirt and panties lined with a maxi-pad. I was used to sleeping naked even before we met, but I wore a vest and boxers in solidarity. We kept the bedside lamp on as we cuddled under the duvet and when I felt her bare legs against mine, I got a hard-on. But I lay there and held her, controlling my breathing, and my cock gently softened by itself. Clara let out a deep sigh.

'This is nice,' she said.

'Yes, it is,' I agreed.

'And you know... in spite of everything, I'm glad that my dad showed up.'

'Yeah, me too.'

'Really?'

'Well, I had to meet him sooner or later and now it's one less thing to worry about. The only thing left is the Guardia Civil.'

'Oh, shit! I forgot about them!'

Clara pushed herself up to look at me, the sole of her left foot seeking reassurance from my calf muscle.

'Do you still think they'll come round?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'But now that your father's here, there doesn't seem much point rushing out to buy a plane ticket to England.'

'What do you think we should do?'

'I think our best bet is for you to apply for a residencia. Once you have a stamped copy of the application, the Guardia will leave you alone.'

'Okay, that sounds good.'

Clara leaned on my chest with her arms, then hooked her leg around my legs under the covers. Her limbs were tense and her breathing was shallow. Something was coming. I watched her face and waited.

'Jon,' she said. 'There's something I need to tell you. Something that I did kind of promise my dad.'

I put my hand on her leg to let her know it was all good. Even so, Clara looked nervous. She had to force herself to continue.

'He can live with the idea of me moving in with you,' she said. 'He doesn't like it, but he can live with it. What he did have a question about was this: Was I really sure that I wanted to become a mother at the age of nineteen?'

'Nineteen?'

'Well, my birthday's in three months. So by the time--'

'Okay,' I interrupted. 'I'm with you.'

I was annoyed at myself for not grasping this obvious fact. But Clara misunderstood my tone and spoke with sudden urgency.

'I'm not saying I've changed my mind!' she said. 'I still want to have your baby! The question is whether we should have it right now?'

'Okay.'

'I mean, you yourself said that part of the reason you wanted to get me pregnant was--'

'Clara, I get it! Really.'

She looked taken aback. I kept stroking her leg and looked her in the eyes, but she was unable to return my gaze. I drew in a deep breath and took firm hold of her body.

'Listen, my love,' I said. 'You are the one who will be carrying the child for nine months and giving birth to it. So if you have any doubts about whether you're ready, you have to listen to them.'

'It's not that I have doubts,' she said. 'I just don't want to get pregnant for the wrong reasons.'

'What reasons?'

'Well, doing it to spite my dad, for instance. Or to get people to accept our relationship in spite of the age gap.'

'Okay, fair enough.'

'But what do you want, Jon? Do you really want to have a child right now?'

I frowned and swallowed on a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. Her gaze was intense and I realised that this was not an easy question to answer. What was the truth here?

'To be honest,' I said, 'if I hadn't met you, I wouldn't even be thinking about having another child. Before last week, I was going through life with the assumption that I'd had my chance to be a father and blown it.'

'Okay,' said Clara. 'But now that you have met me, what do you want?'

I looked up at the ceiling as I considered her question. My brain started coming up with one possible answer after another, like a graphic designer presenting sketches to a client. But none of them felt right. The only thing that felt authentic was my hardening cock that was aching to impregnate a beautiful young woman. Everything else was a rationalisation.

'You know, I wish I could say that I had a vision of getting married, having a family and living happily ever after,' I said. 'But I don't. I haven't believed in that for a long time. The only thing that feels real is the desire to cum inside you and get you pregnant for the sheer satisfaction of doing it. It's ninety percent male ego, I know... maybe even a hundred percent... but that's where I am.'

I looked Clara in the eyes and brushed hair from her forehead.

'That being said,' I went on, 'if you want to give yourself more time by going back on the pill, you go right ahead. Your needs trump my ego every time.'

Clara's face softened and the look of uncertainty vanished. She lowered her face and we kissed, softly and without drama. Then she nestled back into me, sighing with pleasure, and her breathing grew deep and relaxed.

'Thank you,' she said. 'You have no idea what a relief that is.'

I gave her a squeeze and then reached across the bed to switch off the lamp. The room became dark and Clara and I settled into each other, warm under the covers and enjoying the feel of each other's bodies. I kissed the side of her head and then lay back with a sigh. Before long, I had fallen asleep.

***

***

Author's Note: I've finished the first draft of Part 6, which will be the final episode, so that will be coming in the not-too-distant future. Meanwhile, if anyone is interested in my other work, besides that you can find on this site, feel free to get in touch via 'Contact Author'. And if you enjoyed this story, a comment would be most welcome. Thank you for reading it.